Brokentooth March

[Strazio Rockwell]

　　In The Pale Moors a certain scent hung heavy in the thick acrid air. The smell of rot and corruption, the scent of devilry and death. Sour rain poured from the oppressive clouds. Even the ground turned against trespassers in this damned region. Sloppy muck and tangled weeds covered the Moors, everything inedible and inhospitable. The Moors pulsed with hostility, veins of profane magic sent evil through the very fabric of reality. Throngs of unholy monstrosities slaughtered the weak and carved pounds of flesh and sanity from the strong. No one was welcome here in this hellish landscape.
　　
　　Even in this pace of death Strazio felt strangely at home. The electric hostility in the air formed goosebumps across his scarred skin. His tongue pressed against the inside of his gritted teeth. Without hesitation he began the long trek to Darkshire. Acrid rain soaked his cloak and soupy mud clung desperately to his boots. Even the rainstorms threatened travelers here in the Moors. Wind buffeted the scowling Defender, slowing his progress to a crawl and chilling the marrow in his bones. But despite the austere environment he felt a surge of purpose. Every slipped step in the mud only served to fuel his unquenchable rage, and it was that rage that pushed him ever further to Darkshire. If Shang was to be found in that haven Strazio would find him.
　　
　　Ahead of him, only several meters out Strazio saw a hooded figure. Underneath the Avatar’s cloak the crackling of magick could be faintly heard. If this form was a foe there would be no respite for it. As Strazio neared his new acquaintance it called to him with a voice reminiscent of sandpaper.
　　
　　“Oi! Are you friend or foe!?”
　　
　　Strazio froze and shouted back through the downpour, “I’m a Defender of Darkshire, you tell me if we’re enemies!”
　　
　　“Ahg, thank Omni a Defendah, I’m glad ta see one-a-ya, ya see I’m a scout for Darkshire.” He spoke in an accent that mangled his words and stitched the remains back together “I’m tryna make it back, but up ahead a--a creature keeps meh at bay. I’m no good at faightin, but iffen ya can killit I’d be appreciative.”
　　
　　“You need me to kill something?” Strazio smirked, “I’m game, point me in the right direction.”
　　
　　“That’s-tha spirit bigguy, justa follow me and I’ll show ya the beasty.”
　　
　　A pair of meaty legs gave mobility to this creature. It lumbered aimlessly across the path to Darkshire. Strangely humanoid in appearance the monster howled and moaned and paid no mind to the approaching Strazio. Several rope-like arms protruded from a mass of pulsing flesh upon its back. Two sunken eyes smoldered deep in the creature’s skull. The hunchbacked monster seemed tortured by its own existence, what was once a man was now nothing more than an aberration of meat and sinew. Its beady eyes locked onto Strazio and a toothless grin greeted the approaching prime. From deep within the hunchback’s gullet came a baritone chuckle.
　　
　　“Life feels good, everything feels good, please make the redwater come out.”
　　

[Strazio Rockwell]

A chill charged through Strazio’s spine. Even as he was preparing to rip this creature asunder he felt a twinge of fear. This thing was so unnatural, and yet it was strangely human. Behind the inky spheres for eyes hid a subtle hint of humanity. A secret tucked behind those beady eyes and cracked teeth. Despite this creature’s potential humanity it stood before Strazio and his path to Darkshire, and that, among other things, was unacceptable. Large swathes of his flesh hissed with voltaic energy. His muscles trembled in anticipation of the coming battle.
　　
The many-armed man rushed forth, intent on ripping his magick-infused opponent apart. Strazio smirked at the monster’s eagerness to meet its own doom. A roiling coil of white magick began to swirl around the prime’s right arm. The monster’s many arms grabbed at the rain-soaked ground to pull its lumbering body forward faster. Rook watched from afar, unsure of how his newfound friend would fair against the tortured beast.
　　
“So eager to rush to your death?” Strazio growled, “come on then, I’ll incinerate you!”
　　
Punctuating his threat the Avatar released a vicious spear of destruction. The white beam tore through several meaty arms, leaving nothing but bloody stumps behind. Unabated his assailant pushed through the pain and blood loss. An open palm launched itself towards Strazio’s face. It slammed into his maw and lifted him into the air, without missing a beat the beast threw his new-found ragdoll across the dirt. Muck stained Strazio’s white cloak as he tumbled across the ground like a skipped stone. The Defender climbed back to his feet, his whole body felt sore from the ride.
　　
“So much fun!” the hollowed man declared, slapping his hands against the mud in excitement.
　　
“Oh, we’re about to have a lot of fun you freak.”

Another coil began to charge around the prime’s arm. The searing energy burned his skin, the simple price of his magic, a price that he was more than glad to pay for power. Another arm launched itself towards him, quicker than the first. Strazio tried to dive out of the way, but the blow managed to clip the side of his gut. The tremendous force bruised his organs and sent him tumbling once again. His attack fizzled and misfired, leaving him defenseless against the oncoming flurry of blows. Like a gatling gun of fists the blows rained upon the downed man hard and fast. Pillars of muddy water erupted from the ground, signifying missed strikes. Into the mud Strazio was driven as a carpenter would drive a nail into wood, every strike only served to bury him deeper into the filth.
　　
“Enough!” Strazio bellowed between blows.
　　
His flesh burned and peeled away, forming into hundreds of bright white butterflies. The burning bugs scattered into the air before surging forth past the striking arms. Each mote of energy chewed into the monster’s flesh, searing pock marks into its flesh. The scattered particles reformed into one fuming mage. Nothing short of complete annihilation would stop the rampaging psychopath known as Strazio. His boots found purchase in the rain-soaked earth and he sprinted towards his prey. A white flash mirroring lightning erupted from Strazio’s outstretched palm and crashed into his target. Unprotected flesh gave way to sundering energy revealing thick bundles of sinew and muscle beneath leathery skin. A baseball sized hole vomited blood from the twisted tree of bony arms fused into the monster’s back.
　　
“More!” the creature howled in apparent ecstasy, “more, please more!”
　　
Akin to a dying spider the freak’s arms curled in upon themselves and twitched violently. No longer interested in combat, it simply savored the exquisite pain that only death could bring. Strazio watched in frustration, there was nothing that he could do to harm this monster, pain only brought pleasure. He stepped towards the writhing bundle of limbs, latent magick danced between his muscle fibers ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
　　
“You pitiful monstrosity, mistaking suffering for satisfaction.”
　　
Jet black pinpricks eyes met the judgmental stare of the defender. The unyielding grin was still present upon the creature’s maw. The heights of pleasure to which this twisted man was being brought to was unfathomable. Another crash of magick bored a smoldering hole through the monster’s skull, relieving it from its “suffering.” The rain had turned into a torrential downpour with small nuggets of hail to assault the unwary. Strazio turned back to Rook and motioned for the scout to come closer.
　　
“Helluva show that’un there, real ‘pressive Defendah” Rook’s mangled words offered little comfort for the simmering Avatar.
　　
“Yeah,” he trailed off before turning back to Rook, “what was that thing?”
　　
“Not sure, but ah they’ve been comin’ ‘round recently, humans, ah not quite humans them, but somethin’ diff’rent - somethin’ changed.”

[Strazio Rockwell]

This Rook guy was a strange character no doubt. Strazio stole sideways glances at him through the rain. The man look haggard and wirey, almost like a starved dog. His accent, if you could call it that, mangled the english language in ways that Strazio didn’t think possible. He wasn’t a foreigner, at least not from what the defender could tell, he just had a disastrous way of speaking. Still the scout held himself confidently and trudged through the pouring rain as if it didn’t exist.

“So what are you doing outside Darkshire?”

“Ah,” he cleared his throat and spit a grey wad of snot, “there’s been reports’a’undead ta tha south and they sent ol’ Rook to check em out.”

“Find anything?”

“Whole lotta those bastahds,” Rook responded, “they ain’t undead, but they ain’t humans neither.”

“What are they then?”

“Not sure,” Rook pointed towards Darkshire in the distance, “whatev they is, I don’t like em.”

Strazio nodded and turned his sights towards the approaching town. Darkshire was the final bastion of resistance against the unending tide of darkness. It was really the only place that the Defender could call home. His veins pulsed with anticipation and every step dug deeper into the earth. Dante’s Abyss and the Colosseum gave him a platform to champion for Darkshire, but it left him unable to truly fight for them. Today marked his homecoming, it would also mark the beginning of his campaign. With an army or by himself Strazio vowed to eradicate every last trace of evil in Darkshire.

But the journey ahead would begin with a single step, the retrieval of his journal. The mere thought of Shang boiled his blood and sent minute sparks across his flesh. Even beneath the pouring rain the Avatar raged with the intensity of a crucible.

“I’ll have these for you in Darkshire.”

The sheer fucking arrogance of the man sent shivers down Strazio’s spine. His core tightened and his tongue felt so awfully dry. Stealing the Necronomicon was to be expected, the power it held was disturbing , but the theft of his journal?

Unacceptable.

The pair came to the towering gates of Darkshire and announced their presence. The enternal skeletal guard was strangely absent, but Strazio cared little for their presence. The undead in any form were abominations only spawned through the twisted misuse of magick. Perhaps they had bolstered their forces to a point where the skeletons were no longer needed? This small thought brought a smirk to the Defender’s face, the thought that perhaps Darkshire was no longer on the back foot in this war. The thought of pushing back the darkness and turning The Pale Moors into a haven of light was an inspirational one to say the least.

The two entered through the gate and Rook turned to his companion, “this’is where we’ll split defendah, I gotta report back ta the Junta bout me findins.”

“Junta?” Strazio cocked his eyebrow, “who is Junta?”

“Eh? Didn’t ya hear?” Rook began to turn, anxious to escape the downpour, “old man Skenda was murded, the town’s led by a council’o’equals now.”

“And Junta leads them?”

“No, no, Junta ‘nother name for tha council,” Rook turned his back on Strazio and began to walk away, “take care defendah.”

“How much has changed since I left?” Strazio asked quietly, his words drowned under the oppressive rain. “Fuck the rain.”

Rumford’s house wasn’t far from the center of Darkshire. He was one of the few sergeants that didn’t live within the barracks, no doubt a side effect of having to care for a child. A series of rapid knocks thumped against the door, signaling the defender’s arrival. Groggy eyes greeted Strazio, but surprise cut through the sleep dust as Rumford smiled ear-to-ear.

“Sorry to wake you,” Strazio smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t want to stand in the rain all night.”

“Nonsense! Come in, come in.” Rumford pulled his sopping companion into the house.

“Thank you, friend.”

“Hopefully you brought a change of clothes, you can have the guest room upstairs.

Strazio thanked his friend and followed the soldier to the guest room. He was soaked to the bone and he had neglected to bring a change of clothes. Certainly nothing that a liberal application of omnilium couldn’t fix. He peeled his drenched clothes from his cold flesh, revealing a scarred and bruised body. Almost every inch of Strazio’s form had a scar or burn of some sort. The grisly cost of his magick was carved into every pound of flesh and evident in every pained movement. Rumford turned his back upon the naked prime, offering the man some privacy as he summoned a fresh set of clothing.

“So, what brings you back to this hellhole?”

“I made a promise that I intend to keep. I’m not leaving until I have Dracula’s heart in my hand.”

“Ambitious,” Rumford spoke, “you going to crash his castle by yourself?”

“If I have to,” the avatar laughed, “I’ve got a bad habit of making poor decisions. But first I have to get my journal back, that bastard Shang Tsung stole it after he killed me.”

Rumford furrowed his brow and asked, “did you say Shang Tsung?”

“Yeah, I fought the fucker at the Colosseum. The prick beat me and stole my journal.” Strazio started to fume, “he said that he would have them waiting here for me. Why, do you know him?”

“Well, you aren’t going to like this.” Rumford rubbed the back of his head, hoping that the avatar wouldn’t wake Rika, “he’s a member of the council that was put in place after Skender’s death.”

A deep bone-rattling sigh escaped Strazio’s chest. Of course his target for revenge was a political figurehead in Darkshire. He couldn’t very well knock down the front door and slay a council member. What kind of game was Shang playing? He very clearly wanted Strazio to return to Darkshire, but for what purpose? The thought of being manipulated by the sorcerer played havoc with the defender’s mind. If worse came to worse, would he be willing to forsake his allegiance to Darkshire in order to recover his journal?

“What about Demetri, how has he been?”

“Well,” the soldier smiled, “he’s been promoted, he’s part of the council now as well. He was one of the few that took charge when everything went to shit. You should get some rest, you’re liable to catch a cold if you don’t rest. We can go see him in the morning, besides Rika is going to lose her mind when she sees you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, after your performance in the Abyss and Colosseum she’s been wanting to learn magick and be a badass like you. Maybe you can teach her a few things?”

“Yeah,” Strazio responded, his mind already lost in thought, “thanks for letting me stay the night Rumford, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night defender.”

“Night.”

The door was shut and Strazio was left with his gnawing thoughts. Fuming and silently raging against the thought of being subservient to Shang. A defender lived to serve and protect Darkshire, and the sorcerer had a direct hold over the local government. These scratching thoughts sent dark machinations through the avatar’s head, visions of worst case scenarios and escape plans. But the most terrifying thought of all was the fear of defeat. Shang had no doubt grown stronger since their fight in the Colosseum, how could he hope to emerge victorious? He had given everything, offered pounds of flesh and thrashed violently against his opponent, and yet he was unable to claim victory.

Pathetic.

“No use worrying now,” he muttered and crawled into bed. With sleep-filled eyes he flipped open his dataverse device and scrolled through the recent news. Three days worth of current events filled his news feed and he lazily scrolled through each item. A certain headline caught his notice. Nippur had fallen, and it appeared that LAW was responsible. Gilgamesh was reported to have been banished.

“Thaal you bastard” Strazio growled and tapped a furious message to the red-skinned warlord.

[Strazio Rockwell]

The golden king Gilgamesh had been deposed, and Nippur practically razed to the ground. Strazio scowled at Thaal’s blasé faire attitude towards the whole situation. Gilgamesh needed to be taught a lesson, but to burn his people with him seemed unnecessary cruel. The boiling rage of the Avatar simmered in Strazio’s chest as he set his dataverse device on the endtable next to his bed. Right now there were more pressing issues than worrying about some second-rate desert monarchy. If that inept king was unable to defend his territory, well that was of no concern to the Defender of Darkshire.
 
“Whatever,” Strazio turned over and pulled the covers tight, “hopefully that arrogant prick is burning right now.”
 
Sleep came rough for Strazio’s tormented soul, nightmares of fire and ash consumed his mind. It had been years since a pleasant dream had found its way into the avatar’s night. Every night his dreams were plagued with the fall of Riverweldt and the subsequent slaughter of his family. Damien Alabaster’s wicked visage haunted the poor mage every night. Another night of cold sweat and strained muscles tormented the white-haired man.
 
“Hey!” Rumford called from downstairs, “you up yet? Demetri wants to see you yet today!”
 
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute!”
 
Sizzling eggs and greasy bacon filled Rumford’s home with the scent of breakfast. It occurred to the starving prime that he hadn’t eaten since is resurrection at the Nexus. The burning pit of rage that roiled in his gut kept him sustained through the previous day, but now with no conflict to be had his body demanded food. His strained body creaked out of bed and he stretched deeply, feeling every ravaged muscle pull against themselves. In very slow deliberate movements he dressed himself, starting with his undershirt and ending with his tight-laced boots. He stomped down the stairs, not wanting to seem too eager for his meal. 
 
“Strazio!” the young brown-haired Rika shouted upon seeing the defender. Her bare feet stamped across the wooden floor of the cabin as she rushed to embrace Strazio. The avatar shuddered as the young girl hugged him, the sudden human contact was a surprise to the disgruntled mage. Rumford laughed as he loaded Strazio’s plate with breakfast.
 
“She watched you in the Abyss, all she could do was talk about you.”
 
Rika looked up towards Strazio and asked, “will you teach me magick!? Please, please, please.”
 
“Erhm,” the mage coughed, carefully pushing the girl back, “maybe when you’re older.”
 
“Dawhhhh, come on!” wide-eyed and full of wander the girl tugged on Strazio’s cloak.
 
“Why do you want to learn magick?” Strazio asked, nudging her back slightly.
She shuffled in space and looked away, “cause I’m scared of the monsters.”
 
Strazio smirked and kneeled down to her level. His aching bones creaked as he kneeled, but he swallowed the numb pain. A scarred hand was placed upon the girl’s forehead and she flinched slightly.
 
“Here Rika,” Strazio smiled, “I can’t teach you magick, but I can give you some of mine to borrow.”
 
Wonderment sparked through Rika’s hazel eyes, “please, please, pleaaase.”
 
“Just close your eyes.”
 
“Okay!”
 
Rumford watched with slight curiosity, his meal put on hold for the festivities. Living in Darkshire put a great amount of strain upon his adopted daughter’s wellbeing. The general fog of malaise that hung upon the Pale Moors seemed to affect children worse than the elders. How long had it been since he had seen his daughter’s eyes light up like they just had? Strazio brought light to the bleak state of affairs in Darkshire, he gave people hope wherever he went. And now, now he would bring that hope to the heart of a little girl, Rumford’s little girl. Small white sparks of energy danced across the back of Strazio’s palm. Small measured breaths escaped the defender’s lips. It took considerable effort to control his energy at such a small and precise level. He allowed a few small sparks to snap into Rika’s forehead, forcing her to wince instinctively. After a few more moments Strazio withdrew his hand from the excited girl.
 
“There you go,” the mage chirped, mimicking the cheerful nature of his mentor, “now if you ever run into any monsters, just point your palm at them and you’ll blast them away with magick.”
 
“Woah,” the girl opened her eyes and stared at her palms.
 
“Come on let’s eat now before out food gets cold,” Rumford spoke, reminding the two of their meal.”
 
The trio ate in relative silence. Strazio’s sore body kept him from truly enjoying the company or the meal. Most of Rika’s breakfast was spent examining her palms and letting her imagination run wild. Rumford spoke occasionally, relaying the recent events to the returning defender. The mayor’s death and the subsequent rise of the council of equals intrigued Strazio. Demetri’s promotion was excellent news, the thought of his old companion rising through the ranks brought a smile to Strazio’s face. Perhaps the rise of Darkshire would finally begin with the council in place. Perhaps the eager avatar could finally kick down Dracula’s door, and fulfill his promise to Demetri.

[Strazio Rockwell]

The rain had stopped, and was merely replaced with the acrid smell of churned mud and overcast clouds. Rumford and Strazio trudged over the wet earth, their boots caked with muck and grime. The sergeant was the first to break the silence.

“You didn’t actually give Rika magick did you?” the worried father asked.

Strazio laughed, “no, that’s not how magick works. At least that isn’t how my magick works.”

“What did you do then?” Rumford slowed his pace.

“Nothing,” the defender responded, “just gave her some hope, the light show was just to make it more convincing.”

Sergeant Rumford paused for a moment before speaking, “thank you Strazio, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Don’t mention it,” you’ve done most of the heavy lifting, I’ve just cracked some heads.

Sergeant Rumford nodded and pointed to a large regal building near the center of Darkshire, “Dmitri is in the headquarters, he’s already informer the guards to let you pass, just show them your crest and tell ‘em who you are. I’d join you, but I’ve got drill duty in a half hour.”

“Thank you,” Strazio patted his friend on the back and ambled towards the headquarters.

“Strazio!” Rumford shouted, forcing the defender to turn around, “don’t do anything too rash okay? Shang has done some great things for Darkshire.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Well please try to keep your cool,” Rumford sighed.

“I’ll do my best sergeant.”

Easily the most opulent building in the dying town of Darkshire, the HQ served as a shining beacon of hope against the encroaching gloom. Its halls were lined with aging regalia and crests of long dead nobles. The history of the Pale Moors was splayed within the building as if it was a museum. Strazio’s pace did not slow as his eyes darted across the strange symbols and tapestries, no his fuming purpose forced him forward like a man possessed. His crusade only slowed when he came upon the door to Dmitri’s office, with a deep breath he pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold.

“Strazio!” Dmitri exclaimed, “what a surprise!”

Tactical maps and documents covered every square inch of the leader’s office. In the center his impressive desk sat covered in political papers and various ledgers. Large bay windows silhouetted the reclining Dmitri, whose feet were kicked up on the desk. In his mouth smoldered a dying cigarette, a few more puffs would finally extinguish it’s flame. Cradled in a corner Dmitri’s battle-worn guitar sat collecting dust. The man himself looked terrible, wrinkles and graying hair marked the telltale signs of stress and age. Five o’ clock shadow sat in stark contrast to his steam-pressed uniform. Gone were his days of leather jackets and grungy clothes, their familiarity replaced now with Darkshire’s military uniform.

“Dmitri!” Strazio smiled, taking in a moment to study the weathered contours of his friend’s face, “you look like an old dog.”

“I feel like one,” he laughed weakly “welcome back to Darkshire, I’m sure Rumford has given you a rundown on what has changed in your absence.”

“Yes, yes he has.”

“Good,” Dmitri took the final toke of his smokestick, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke.

Strazio sat down across from Dmitri and teased him, “those things will kill you, y’know?”

“If this job doesn’t do me in first.”

“Having a rough time?”

Dmitri sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair, “yeah, everyday things seem to get worse. The undead are scratching at our gates and the Drow are even more restless. It seems like every inch of land we take back costs hundreds of lives.”

Strazio listened silently, idly playing with the metal crest draped around his throat.

“I hope you’ve came to help, we need every available hand.”

“Yes, well,” Strazio locked eyes with Dmitri, “I need to speak with Shang Tsung before I can do anything, is he here?”

“Ah yeah, I watched your fight with him in the arena,” Dmitri’s face forced a smile, “it was a good fight, a clash of defenders, you both have done so much for us. It was a shame you had to fight so early in the tournament.”

“He stole from me.”

Strazio’s accusation hung heavy in the air, illicting an awkward moment of silence between the two.

“What do you mean?” Dmitri finally responded.

“My journal” he growled, “when he killed me, he took my goddamned journal and I want it back.”

“I see,” Dmitri leaned forward, “well he isn’t here right now, but in the mean ti-”

“Where is he?” the near-fuming avatar cut his friend’s sentence short.

“Last I heard him and Atelos were heading towards the Nexus gate,” Dmitri’s eyes narrowed, “you’re not going to fight him again are you?”

Strazio stood and spit coals, “of course I’m going to fight him! He stole my journal, and I want it back.”

“Strazio,” Dmitri sighed and rubbed his forehead, “look, I know I can’t stop you, but please look at this reasonably.”

“I am!” the avatar growled, his vitriol evident, “without that journal I can’t sleep at night! That book is more important to me than my own life, I can’t just sit here and wait for him to get back!”

“What is so important about that damn journal?”

“It,” Strazio paused and sighed, trying to find the right words, “it just is okay!? Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Dmitri sighed, “I can tell it means a lot to you, but I can’t help but feel that there are more important matters than tracking that journal down. The people of Darkshire need help, and you are one of the few capable of making a sizable push back against the darkness.”

“Don’t you think I know that!?” the avatar raged, “if your precious Shang hadn’t stolen it in the first fucking place I wouldn’t have to hunt him down!”

“You really are stubborn aren’t you?” Dmitri asked, a slight smirk cracked upon his face.

“Sorry,” Strazio deflated, “I just can’t help Darkshire until I get that journal back, when I was young I made a promise that I wouldn’t lose that journal. I don’t break promises Dmitri, that book is precious to me and I’ll rip it from his cold dead hands if I have to.”

“Fine,” Dmitri sighed, “I’ll even lend you a horse, just please promise me that you won’t kill him. That no matter what happens you’ll let him live.”

“I can do that,” Strazio conceded, “but don’t think for a second I won’t fuck him up if he is anything less than cooperative.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you defender, now hurry back.”

The avatar stormed from Dmitri’s office after he gave him instructions of requisitioning a steed. He was not a man, but rather a barely contained bundle of rage waiting to unravel. Every word held venom and every thought held fury, the ride to the Nexus gateway was filled with dark thoughts and vicious curses.

That wretched sorcerer better be prepared, because this time I won’t lose.