Bounty Head Bebop Comlink
Role Playing Games => BZ's Games => Disciples => Topic started by: BerkaZerka on June 13, 2018, 03:24:02 pm
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Killer pulled up a chair and sat beside the Bishop, where he lay on his bed.
It was well past midnight. The urge had been driving Killer wild for the past two days; he’d been on the very cusp of turning his need to kill on Faith – but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that just yet, as it would be hard to explain the girl’s death to the others. She was something to kill once he knew he was going to be found out.
Earlier today, Killer had told Miguel to go practice his possession skills, for when he would provide the ghost conquistador a new body, now that the Killer had acquired the skills necessary to do so. He wanted Miguel to get used to operating foreign flesh. Or at least, that was the excuse.
Killer had scried out the Bishop's location in preparation for the hunt, and on the way to the cathedral, he’d activated his life sights to keep careful track of all the people in the surrounding area. He’d forsaken his usual priest getup and had altered large and crucial parts of his facial structure in preparation – he now had dirty blond hair, a strong jaw, large cheekbones and tanned skin.
No way anyone would recognize him, should he accidently get spotted lurking around the Bishop's house.
Once Killer got to where his prey was located, he looked through one of the windows and began manipulating the shadows on the other side, having them unlatch the window for him to open.
From there, he cast human minion to usurp control of the Bishop’s body, not wanting to give him a chance to wake up and complicate anything. Once inside he walked up to him in his bed and pressed an elongated fingernail into his neck, injecting an extremely potent paralytic venom he’d fashioned using fantasia.
The man’s breathing turned quick and shallow, becoming panicked - as someone who could barely breathe - gasping for air. The Killer noted how the Bishop's eyes trembled, as if he was trying to force them open.
Killer leaned down and whispered into his captive's ear – “I’ve learned a few new tricks recently; I’ve been itching to try them out – they’re not very practical in a real fight you see; they are a bit more complicated and not even as effective as the others, but damn if they’re not satisfying to see in action.”
The old man released a weak moan, unable to shape any words with his frozen jaw.
Killer then pulled the old man from the bed and laid him out on the floor – he didn’t want to stain the sheets in a way that would bring his death into question.
Pulling out his prayer beads, Killer carefully traced them along the Bishop's skin – first on his legs, then on his stomach and arms, all while chanting the words for death, rot, destruction, pain. The rot spell twisted the helpless victim's bones; his flesh turning black; his body swelling as his blood thickened; his teeth beginning to fall out. His skin then shrunk, like drying rawhide - and where it got too tight, it simply split open. For all the pain he suffered, the Bishop still couldn't muster anything more than the weak moan.
Killer next drew the prayer beads back towards the Bishop's heart, and there he splayed them across the man's chest and pressed his hand down. This time, he reached into the Bishop's fading pattern and began to burn it - drawing mana from the old man into himself.
Picking the prayer beads back up, Killer ran them across the shriveled corpse and reversed all the visible damage to the body, then put them away.
“He died of a heart attack in his sleep,” Killer spoke to himself quietly, as he puts the Bishop back into his bed - tucking him in as he would a child.
“They’ll say he barely felt a thing. His veins were clear of any poison, his house was undamaged. My most horrific kill yet.”
So why don't I feel a goddamn thing?
“I can't kill worse than this. I can't hurt them any more than that. No one can. Is it the target? No, I feel like even Sarapheen wouldn't be enough at this point.”
Wait, Sarapheen!
Suddenly the Killer remembered how he'd initially planned on getting rid of the angel - setting up an ambush in the cathedral basement and sealing her soul so that she couldn't reincarnate.
It doesn't have to end when they die does it?
Suddenly, the Killer found himself filled with something the likes of which he hadn't felt in months, and he knew he had stumbled onto the right path.
Going through the Bishop's kitchen, he took a small tupperware container - not wanting to take something people would notice was missing.
Returning back to the Bishop's room, he laced his prayer beads around the container and placed them both on the chest. Maybe what Killer needed was to start collecting souls as trophies. The thrill of having to hide something so sinister from the others might reinvigorate his zest for life.
Beginning the spell, he hoped that it wasn't too late to still capture the dead Bishop's before it had departed the mortal coil...
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“Get out!”
The Killer finds his chanting suddenly interrupted by… himself?
The words had just slid out of his throat in a coarse whisper, almost as if on their own.
Looking up, his confusion resolved itself. Across from him was himself, eyes burning with righteous fury.
“So you’re finally awake?” Killer said in a disturbingly playful tone. “Took your time. It’s fine though, I figured out a new way to have some fun. You can go back to sleep.”
“Get out. Get out of my head, get out of my body, get out of my life, you farking filth. GET OUT!” Saint shouted angrily, running towards the Killer and striking at him – only to have his fist pass through his mildly amused alter ego.
“You shouldn’t treat our body like that, self-abuse is seen poorly in heavenly circles.”
Saint clenched his teeth as he answered, “This is my body, not yours demon.”
Killer shrugged and gestured to Saint – “Then make your move. I’ve been wanting to cede control back to you for nearly a month now. Your priest life is boring. You’re the one who’s pretending to be held captive while you’re hiding in your own head.”
Killer then looked slyly at the Saint; “Could it be that you’ve wanted me to do what I’ve been doing all along?”
“Why do you think I would ever fall prey to the lies of a demon?” Saint shot back; “I know you, I know what you are, and this ends now. I silence your use of the power given to me by God, and soon I will take back myself. You cannot hold me back forever, and when I regain control the angels will purge you from me.”
“Leave now, while you still have a chance, and perhaps you will have a few more hours to live before I hunt you down.”
Killer smiled sadly at Saint; “Where do you think I’m going to go? I’ve only ever had one home, and it’s here”. He tapped his temple twice for emphasis.
“You’re lying to me again.”
“What do you think my name is, Saint?”
“I don’t care, I will erase it and you from history.”
“You’ve already tried.”
“If only I’d succeeded, how many lives I could have saved.”
“I’m not a demon.”
“You’re murderous filth AND possessing my body - of course you're a demon!”
Saint took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but it clearly wasn’t working. Killer could see the holy man trembling with pure, unadulterated rage.
“I hate you so much that it burns me.” Saint confessed; “When I think of the things you’ve done with my hands, I feel like every nerve in my body is screaming with pain, ordering me to leap at you and rip you to pieces. You are a monster, you are disgusting, you are evil, you are –”
“I am Giles Moreau.”
“A LIAR!” Saint screamed out.
“You’ve locked me away for so long Saint,” the Killer went on unfazed, “it’s unhealthy. Our mother sold our soul and it damaged us; but you can’t deny that part of yourself; you can’t throw the darkest parts of your mind into a dungeon and ignore them forever – it doesn’t work that way. The more you deny me, the worse this will get.”
“Accept me. Become me. We don’t have to be two halves. I’ll play along with your angel friends, and we can hunt together, kill together, save together. We’ll do what we have to. I don’t want to fight you Saint, you’re me after all.”
“You’ve spent too long in my skin;” Saint scoffed, “and it’s driven you mad demon. Especially if you think a servant of God would forgive the sins you’ve committed. I’ve seen your thoughts, as you lived with my fellow disciples; I know your lies and how you can lie; you will never deceive me.”
“I’ve told you what you have to do Saint. You’ll never get rid of me, it just doesn’t work that way. Until then, if you’re not going to do anything then you should quiet down – I’ve got work to do.”
As the Killer leaned back over the corpse and began the chanting again, he found himself completely unable to muster up any magical energy whatsoever.
“The power of creation was given to me, not you, monster.” Saint chided.
“I guess it was, wasn’t it?” Killer remarked. “I was wondering when God would realize his mistake.”
Saint grimaced. “He took too long.”
“Well,” Killer suggested, “until you get back, I hope you’ll still let me use it for missions. I kind of need it to keep your idiot teammates alive.”
The Saint didn't answer.
"I'll take that as an angry yes. I'll be going home now, we have some pretty urgent business to deal with in the morning. Would you like to wish the bishop good night?"
Again no answer. The hallucination of Saint was gone, but anger and disapproval continued to flash through the Killer's mind.
Well, this is getting interesting.
END