Chapter Text
He waits. He watches and waits. This is an important mission for Lord Asher. Lord Asher needed someone to get intel from–and to keep an eye on–these thieves and rogues, nothing more than common thugs and ruffians who think they can be bigger.
That’s why he was chosen. His Lord could always trust him to do a job; that’s what years of work under true strength and power look like, trust. Lord Asher trusts him with his life. That’s why they work so well together.
The warlord and his loyal, devoted second-in-command, as it should and always be.
Strike lets out a stifled sigh as he continues to wait in the tree’s branches, watching some targets down below, a bat and a cat. He’s not worried about their eyes–those are both focused on the crackling, smoke-spewing source of warmth they call fire between them. He’s more worried about their other senses…
His dull gray hand rubs against his silver chestplate out of instinct. It’s a habit of his. It usually happens when Lord Asher comes up in his mind or conversation. Lord Asher gave it to him, thus it makes sense. Lord Asher has always been like that.
Strike breathes out a normal and almost happy-sounding sigh before he can stop himself. He freezes. That was a mistake, He thinks as he silently prays that he wasn’t heard from the well-hearing targets below. That was emotion–a noise. Illuminated teeth, why didn’t I stop myself?
He remains as stone-like as possible, wishing, hoping, that this wouldn’t blow his cover.
Silence, no movement from either the bat or cat, no suspicious movement anyway. The bat’s wings shiver as they wrap around her body and the cat’s ears twitch, but that’s all the movement from them.
Relief floods through his armored body, Good, my cover wasn’t blown… yet—gills I hope not.
The bat outstretches her wings as she rears up from where she was sitting. She shakes out her wings before walking off. He doesn’t question the action. From the hours he’s been watching the two, the act of getting up and walking off is repetitive.
(Gills did he wish he did question it.)
Everything remained normal as he sat, perched up on the branches of the tree. This lasts for a few minutes before something quickly slams into him, shoving him out of the tree.
He slams back first onto the ground, right on top of the fire that used to be below him. The slam, combined with his and his armor’s weight, caused the air to be torn from his gills and the fire to burst out of existence, exploding soot and ash into the air around him. The ashen cloud only helps to twist his already impaired vision.
Focus! His thoughts yell, This is not the time to lose focus! I can’t fail Lord Asher! I was trained for events like this.
Even though his airless gills struggle to disagree, he swiftly slides his arm back to push himself up. His torso only barely begins to leave the ground before a quick strike to his gut shoves him back down. The weight shifts up to his torso and then remains.
“What do ya think ya doin’ shark?” Snaps a high scratchy voice above him.
The ashen cloud begins to fade revealing the source of the voice, the bat, whose foot is pressed upon his torso.
His gloved hand shifts toward his belt, wanting to reach his dagger. He feels nothing. Silent panic sets in. Where is it? He moves his hand to try and find it in the ash. Where did it-
“Ya weapon?” The bat asks, “It fell off when I pushd’ ya out of the tree.” Her tone lifts up at the end. She’s proud she did it, but it answered the question nonetheless. “Now, answer da question.”
He turns his masked head away. Silence is the only answer the likes of you deserve.
“Oh! Does da maskd’ crusada not wanna talk!” She’s mocking him, but he can use this, “Well, I’m certainly not gonna miss this chance to rip ya off ya pedestal!” She reaches her hand down to take off his mask.
Good, she’s stupid enough.
He quickly grabs her hand and jerks her to the side of him. He quickly stands up and turns his focus onto his already standing, yet unbalanced attacker.
“Ooooh! We have a fighter!” She laughs as she gives her head a shake. Her footing is still unbalanced, “But is he good enough?”
The quick fist to her face answers that question.
This knocks her back and she stumbles a bit, but a smile splits across her face, “Oh this is gonna be fun!” She laughs, spitting blood from her mouth.
She charges at him with a swing of her own. He quickly lifts his arm to block the blow. She takes the chance to lift her foot to Roundhouse him. Not expecting it, it hits him directly in the torso, causing him to stumble back toward the tree he used to be in.
The two continue to punch and swing at each other, Strike getting closer to the tree with each swing.
He’s too busy blocking and striking that he doesn’t notice he’s being cornered into the tree, that he’s getting closer and closer to it until it’s too late.
Out of nowhere, someone else runs up and slams him into the tree. A rope is in their orange paws. He’s a cat.
The cat, he realizes as he begins fighting against the cat with the rope. The bat slams into him as well, helping her companion. I forgot about the cat! Lord Asher won’t be proud of this report!... He pushes himself harder as he fights against bat and cat, but it’s of no use; they shove his arms behind the tree and tie them together. Tightly, he can feel it dig into his flesh.
“Took ya long enough!” The bat snaps to her companion, shooting him a glare.
“You never told me where you placed the rope,” The cat returns the glare with a cold gaze.
The two then begin to fight like bickering schoolchildren.
I can use this.
As they fight, Strike quietly tries to shift out of his ropes, hoping he can cut them with his sharp gauntlets…
The bat quickly punches the side of his face.
“Did ya really think we weren’t payin' attention to ya?” She laughs, flicking her wrist as he lifts his head back up to look at her, “Ya dumber than ya look!” She grabs onto his mask. His whole body immediately tenses at the motion, “Yoink!” She rips off his mask, revealing his face. His scarred, apathetic face.
“I can see why you wear the mask,” The cat remarks dryly.
“Ya, almost feel bad for takin’ it off him,” She looks down toward the mask she’s holding before looking back up at Strike with a grin, “Almost!” She tosses his mask to the side.
A small smile creeps upon the cat’s face, “What do you think we should do with him?” There’s an edge to his tone, a sadistic tone.
What are they planning?
The bat’s grin widens, “How’about punishin’ him for tryin’ to spy on us?” There’s the same sadistic edge to her voice, but it’s less subtle.
That’s what they’re gonna do, He realizes, understanding what’s to come. I’ll make sure they won’t have that satisfaction, for Lord Asher.
The bat flicks out a knife as she steps forward; her smile doesn’t hide any bit of sadism or eagerness.
I won’t let them get what they want.
The bat begins stabbing into his flesh but with each twist and gash of the blade, there’s always the same response: Nothing, but an apathetic look on his face. Not even a shiver, flinch, or wince—no thought about his spilling blood.
The bat suddenly stops after a bit and takes a few steps back. Her face is piqued up in clear annoyance.
Learn your place filth, you won’t get to me. Lord Asher wouldn’t like it if I let you.
“Gah! He’s not aeny fun!” The bat complains as she plays with the bloody knife in her hands.
Give up then.
“Maybe go for the armor?” The cat suggests, the small smile leaving his face, “Like digging under his chestplate or something?” Strike freezes at that sentence. His eyes widen at that sentence, just for a split second, but his two tormentors notice it.
The bloody knife stops playing in the bat’s hand and that sadistic grin soon reappears as a twisted twinkle in her eyes follows after it. She takes a step forward and that is where rationality leaves him to die.
They can’t take it off!
I can’t let them see weakness!
What would Lord Asher want?
His mind objects about what to do, but one side eventually wins.
Strike quickly tries to cut the rope with his gauntlets as the blade nears his chestplate. The cat quickly slams his head into the tree, that small smile reappearing on his face as well. He can already feel warm liquid trickling down the back of his head.
“No, you don’t.” The cat says simply, his paws still curled around the shark’s head, “We can’t let you escape.”
No.
The knife digs under his chestplate, going right into his flesh with a sharp, burning bolt.
No!
The bat begins shifting the knife underneath his chestplate, digging it off his flesh. That sharp, burning feeling erupts from his skin… pain.
I can’t take it off! Lord Asher–
Every motion of his body is for fighting back, making sure that they don’t tear off his chestplate. But, with two bodies shoving against his singular, the blade continues to carve under his chestplate, ripping at skin that hasn’t seen anything in… years, making it almost as soft and tender as a blanket, causing pain to erupt from the spots where the knife hit. Blood already begins to drip from his wounds.
His vision eventually begins to blur from his wounds. Black spots begin to eat the edge of his eyesight. The blackness begins to consume more and more of his vision and thoughts until, there’s nothing but darkness, both in his sight and mind.