Sword of the Fallen

Nagase glanced at the captain briefly before he followed his gaze to the deck below. Right in front of the mast, on the stern side, the air was… fluctuating. It was like something was trying to open up a door right in the reality that occupied the space. And sure enough, a large magical tear skewered the air, revealing a portal that ebbed with black and crimson energy. As the entire ship came to a standstill to look on the sight, two figures stepped out from the portal and onto the deck of the ship.

The taller of a two was a fairly intimidating looking man dressed in white. He had long, brown hair that was pulled back and hung down near his shoulder in a gelled mass. His left eye was covered in a patch of some kind that looked like it was one half of a pair of sunglasses. The rims were white with black stylings and the lens itself was as pitch black as night. His face was sharp and pointed at the chin, with a small tuft of beard hair darkening the point. He wore a royal-looking jacket, that had double pairs of buttons running up the front and had frills coming out of the collar and off the end around the back. A belt was wrapped around his waist that added even more frills to his look. A pair of black pants ran down the length of his legs, except for the added frills that appeared from the top of his pointed black boots, right by his knees. As he raised his hand up to block the sun, the pure white gloves that he wore seemed to glow gently.

The shorter one was a woman, though one could only tell by the small bust she had on her chest. She wore a white mask that covered her entire face, the bestial looking cover running back over the top of her skull and ending where her hair popped out. Her hair was a mass of black that ran out and hung near the small of her back, several strands coming in sharp points like it hadn’t been washed or cared for. Her torso clothing seemed like a mesh between armor and kimono; heavy duty shoulder pads and gloves of a crimson color seemed to buff her body with their intimidating looks. But the actual wrap that went around her body looked to be of silk, the black fabric tight against her body. A large red sash wrapped around her waist up near her stomach. A short black skirt that would make men salivate only covered down to a portion of her thigh, covering enough to keep her modest. But she also had thigh-high black boots that, while they looked to be made of leather, seemed to reflect the light like they were armored as well. A metal contraption hung from her waist on her left side, with a single hilt pointed out from one of the several different ports.

The man looked about lazily, as if he had just woken up and wasn’t sure where he was. “Are we sure this is the place?” He asked, his voice deep and melodic.

“Yes,” the woman said behind the mask. Her voice was garbled slightly by the facial cover, giving it a far deeper tone than perhaps she truly had.

The man took a moment to look over the side of the ship and he sighed. “Apparently we’re on a boat of some kind. Odd place to come out…”

“He’s here,” she snapped, her masked head twisting to glare at him.

The man turned his gaze to her, arching a single eyebrow at her tone. But as he did so, he barely saw the captain and Nagase standing on the upper deck. His eye slid up to meet the Midian monk’s. “Ah. Looks like you were right, Vriko.”

“Who are you people? What are you doing on my ship?” The captain demanded.

“Ah, my apologies. My name is Serethar. This is my compatriot Vriko. We are members of an organization that has business with that monk standing right next to you,” he addressed the captain, taking a moment to point out the elderly monk. “We believe he is one of the Midian monks that took up residence in the monastery in Fiore, no?”

“I am that same monk,” Nagase spoke up, walking along the banister until he stood at the top of the steps. “But you do not look like anyone I would associate with. Explain yourselves.”

“Well, you see, it’s rather complicated. It’s not that we need you specifically. It’s more your connection to someone else, someone you’ve associated with before in your life. We’re looking for his whereabouts and we were hoping you would point us in the correct direction.”

“Mythal Ragnos,” the woman spoke up, taking a few steps forward towards the monk. “Where is he?”

Nagase looked her over carefully, his elderly eyes taking her in. He couldn’t truly sense any magical power from her, though there was certainly something there that wasn’t right. Like the barest hints of foulness that clung to the very strands in the air. “The person you are seeking is no longer under my apprenticeship. He hasn’t been for quite some time. I believe you’ve been mistaken, in assuming that I would know of his current whereabouts.”

Serethar hummed gently, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “Very well. Seems that concludes our mission here then. Vriko, if you will.” The tall man said, turning his head gently to look out over the ocean once more.

The masked woman shifted her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him before setting her gaze back on the monk. Her hand slowly reached over her body to her sword’s handle, extracting the blade from its home. The blade was made up a bloody metal that hummed as it came up before the light, the woman bringing it up until it was held vertically in front of her.

That’s when Nagase felt it – that old, familiar chill that came from this magical power. “No!” He yelled, leaping from the top step at the woman.

But it was far too late. “Fallen God’s Death Spiral,” she muttered softly, the words causing her blade to glow bright. The light swallowed up the entire ship before it took the solid form of a black and red cyclone of magic, ripping the boat to shreds. The sky itself darkened as the tornado swirled over the water’s surface, spraying pieces of the once peaceful ship all over the sea.

And leaving absolutely nothing behind.