Chapter Text
Despite it being dug deep into the molten rocks of the boiling Banlands, the prison walls themselves are freezing. They’re built that way intentionally, forcing any potential escapees to endure the full body shock that would hit them the moment they get near the lava plumes outside. Not that any of them have ever made it that far, save for Broker, seeming to delight in how his body tenses as it unfreezes and makes his skin feel like dry paper.
No, the Banlands prison is as secure as it gets. Unbreakable iron bars, and a steel-willed menagerie of guards under he who leads their charge, Ban Hammer himself, yanking the latest ne’er-do-well by the scruff of the neck to maximum security. This is typically his favourite part of a job he already loves to death, getting to scrape some terrible criminal across the harsh stone floor and hear them beg for mercy, oh hoh, how the sounds of their voices echo through the Banlands Prison Island like OPERA SINGERS!
Yes. Yeah, he usually enjoys it. It’s a favoured past time to taunt them as he walks, and how Ban Hammer has daydreamed about hearing nobody other than Scythe of the True Eye CULT hissing behind him as he laaaaaaughs and laughs, yanking her by the tail as she curses his name until the end times- but it’s not her. It’s never her.
Doesn’t mean he’s given up on that dream. Alas, the dream is nowhere near being realized. In fact, this is probably the first time Ban Hammer’s ever felt downright uncomfortable dragging someone behind him like this, whether they deserve it or not- and there’s no doubt that this newest visitor to his locked down prison deserves it, for all the commotion he caused during that Phighting tournament! The tournament he’s still desperately bitter that he had to miss, stupid fucking paperwork that he had to sign with his stupid pens in his stupid office…
Still.
It could have been Scythe he’s being this harsh with. It could have been anyone, really, and he would have been happy as a clam to do his job to the letter of his personally written law! But he’s…
He doesn’t like how loud this guy’s laughing.
Nobody laughs. When they go to Prison. Not if they aren’t crazy and/or masochistic, and Ban Hammer knows Sword isn’t supposed to be either of those things. The kid can be cocky, swords above knows how full of himself he can be when he wins a tournament or two, but-
He can’t think with all this laughing, damnit- “WILL YOU SHUT IT UP BACK THERE?”
It doesn’t help. Sword keeps cackling at his heels, foaming that same awful green shit he started convulsing with at the tournament. “I, hhahg, I’m gonna get ‘em once im out of th’ penalty box, I’m gonna really show them, I- you wanna be on my team? We’re going t’ win, I know we are, just gotta-”
“Tournament’s over, there’s nothing to win anymore, is that going to keep you quiet or do I have to shut you up the hard way?”
“HARD WAY? I’LL TAKE THE HARD WAY! AAAHAHAAHAHAHAH-” You get the point, right? The kid’s screaming loud enough to crack the stone foundations! Ban Hammer’s getting a migraine just thinking of how long it’ll take to keep the prisoners quiet about their new addition to maximum security, ohhhh fuuuuuuuuck him Broker is NEVER going to shut UP about this…
Sword deserves it, that’s what he’s drilling into his head to make this whole nasty trip worth the torturous sound of his cackling. There’s no other place for him than sweet, harsh, molten rock after the stunt he pulled back there. The Phestival was supposed to be lighthearted competition, and sure some folks can get overzealous with their sense of competitive spirit, but there are hard rules that everyone’s supposed to follow. No harm outside of the games. No dragging personal business into the teams you’re assigned (god knows how that’s made his blood boil whenever he’s been pushed into a team with some of those criminals).
And absolutely no fighting during intermission.
Ban Hammer doesn’t scare easily, but. Look. He- he didn’t know someone could do that. It wasn’t even like the kid was aiming to hurt the inphernal that much, he was just clawing at them. Laughing as he smashed his hands against the poor kid's rocket launcher. Like he was going to break their Gear.
Kill them for good.
...
He deserves this. And Ban Hammer shouldn’t be feeling as sick as he does when he throws the kid a little too roughly, and his horns bounce uncomfortably against the harsh stone floor. What does he care, the jackass just laughs at the pain- again, he’s heard his Mama go on and on about how Venomshank won’t shut up about this guy. He’s meant to be sweet and full of life, enough life to tick you off, he’s not…
This is cult stuff! It’s not meant for someone built like Sword.
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Separation from one’s Gear is not a punishment Ban Hammer enjoys carrying out for longer than he has to. It doesn’t feel fair to punish someone this way- not in the sense that Ban Hammer specifically thinks it’s a cruel and unusual punishment, it just feels… cheap? There’s a thousand other ways to weaken an inphernal that allow them a chance to get a few shots back at you, cutting them away from their source ruins all the fun! It’s the coward’s way out! Ban Hammer’s prided himself so much on being the bravest inphernal to ever live, and this is NOT because he’s scared of Sword he would never be scared of a puny thing like Sword this is for.
Study. Probably.
Look, so what if he’s not the smart one here, he doesn’t have to be! Knowing all the specifics about body-to-Gear bonding properties is Blackrock’s creepy little forte! He has folks hired to peel people apart in slow, clinical ways instead of smashing them to pulp with an awesome fucking hammer. Even managed to find the one literal cold spot in ‘hell’ for them to keep their fancy machines clean, ticking and blinking away into the night as whatever cadavers that couldn’t withstand the Banlands get thrown their way for matters of intrusive study, so they better be happy he’s handing them a brand new case on a silver platter like this one.
This also means that there’s not much else for him to do in the Banlands prison itself. If he wanted to torture himself along with the inmates, he’d spend the next few hours pacing up and down the jail cells, snarling at anyone that looks at him funny. But it’s been a long day, and the tournament’s on hold until everyone’s sorted and accounted for, especially that Rocket kid who took the brunt of the damage, so…
Ban Hammer takes one last look at the gear he stripped from Sword, and before he can make himself sick watching those awful, rusty looking patches squirm, he leaves for home.
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Ban Hammer’s living quarters in the Ban Lands looks like a frat house.
In this corner is the kitchen- here sits the fridge stuffed to the brim with godly foodstuffs, provided lovingly by a mother who wants to see her already massive son ‘grow up big and strong’. Next to it is a sink with what little dishes remain unbroken, not by any intentional means. They’re just so fragile, and Ban Hammer is a big guy, what do you want him to do?
Then across from that, you have a living room with a couch only ever laid down on by one, a door only ever opened by one, a bedroom down the hall with a bed only ever slept in by one… not that that concerns Ban Hammer in any way.
He’s thought about it, you know. Having people over. Throwing parties like the folks at the Crossroads tend to do, kicking it back like they don’t have their own duties to carry out in the meantime. Ban Hammer knows how to kick it with the best of them, he’s friendly and loud and hits harder than any inphernal he knows, but it’s not like that makes him very approachable, yeah? And he LIKES being a scary son of a bitch, too- that’s how his mama raised him up, he wouldn’t change his intimidation factor for the WORLD! Besides, throwing a big blowout party at the Banlands prison wouldn’t make people want to stay longer than they have to. Which they shouldn’t want to either way, if you ask Ban Hammer. It’s distracting, having people around- that kind of fun-sy, party stuff is reserved for when he gets to let loose in fights, or- or for chasing people outside of work into different factions, like Lost Temple!
Where…
Where she is.
Now Ban Hammer knows he’s fucked. He only starts missing her when there’s something worse on his mind that he’s trying to put off as much as he possibly can. That conniving snake- now THAT’s someone that would pull this horseshit with violence in the tournament! She’d probably kick off some infighting between factions, that little shit and, ooooohhhhh Ban Hammer KNOWS she’d have the SMUGGEST little grin on her face as people start ripping each other apart, probably spit out somethin’ real infuriating too about how she was feeling ‘too lazy t’ do it all herself!’ or ‘just wanted to see how those fools liked bending over backwards for a pretty laaadyyy’ and then he’d GRAB her by the collar and-
Break the damn glass in his hand is what he’s bound to do, actually. Fuck.
Is… is the Sword thing really getting to him that bad? Ban Hammer’s tougher than this, man- maybe it’s just the family relation? He’s been on little ‘get along’ trips with the nerd without his knowing (wasn’t that fun, by the way. Big scary Ban Hammer trailing behind this loser who hasn’t even left the wingspread of Papa Plague over in Darkheart’s tower, hah-), and duh, he’s a nerd, but he’s not bad! He’s NOT bad! Not- not violent, or manic, or nothing- he does nerd shit! And he LOVES the tournament, it’s all the kid lives for, he’d-
He would never do this. And that awful fuckin’ green around his mouth was…
Ban Hammer stares at the wall-mounted phone in front of him.
Windforce doesn’t like being bothered with pansy little mortal problems. He understands that, and half the time he agrees that defending the Crossroads from crime really isn’t his business, but. Would this be worth her time? It’s really just some guy getting sick, why should his Mama step in? But- but Sword is family, and she knows how to get in touch with Venomshank, and sickness is his whole thing the creep that he is so he’d be able to- but she doesn’t like doing what she’s told, runs in the family- but, but he NEEDS his Mama right now because Swords above knows he’s not a DOCTOR what is HE supposed to do with-
So his hand is on the phone. Has been for the past five minutes. And Ban Hammer’s head is beginning to ache with worry at all the ways disturbing Windforce could go wrong. Doesn’t help that she’s liable to answer his call for help HER way, and if she brought down her holy Gear to his prison, saw it fit to put Sword out of his misery like…
She wouldn’t, right?
Not if Ban Hammer asked her not to. Yeah?
Fucking hell, why is this so HARD it’s just his mom! This isn’t even cowardly, you piece of shit, it’s just asking for help! Nothing wrong or bad about asking for help, just DO IT, JUST DO IT JUST-
Right after the line goes dead in his hands, a high pitched whine that makes him squint his eyes shut, a shockwave throws him into the wall. It rattles his windows, delicates crashing in tandem with each other as Ban Hammer recovers, swears, shoves himself upright and slams his front door open to-
What in SFOTHs name is that?
It’s heading to the Crossroads. That’s all he needs to see to summon his Gear, biting back all assumptions of whatever that thing could be and what it might want to fulfill his duty. Not a moment is spared to process the sight of all that blinding, holy light. Not a second is left to mourn the smouldering ruins of his prison, or the good inphernals within it.
If it’s heading to the Crossroads, then so is he. Oh Mama, please let him be as fast as you are so he has a chance to get there first.