Corvus of the Black Night
Wild Duck Pokémon
- 3,408
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Age 32
- With the Birds
- Seen Jan 9, 2015
This is actually a crazy fanfic idea that sparked from a suggestion to make Ivan from Golden Sun a mobster... it's not entirely based on the game so I thought I could possibly post it here without confusing everyone.
The smog that covered what was once the city of Kalay had sunk to a lower level than usual today. Although it could not affect my already blind eyes, the potent chemicals from the industrial metropolis devastated my already weak lungs.
The way that life had changed for me so quickly was startling only five years before, I was a common servant, serving my life and soul for my master. Now after his horrific death, I was now thrown into this dystopia to survive on the streets.
Alchemy was released upon our world at that time. With it, a great power unleashed into my body, along with my comrades who have helped me light the beacons of the elemental lighthouses. It flooded my senses and destroyed my ability to see, but with it came an extreme advancement with my ability to use clairvoyance and my olfactory sense, causing me to view the world from a completely different light. The world before me came to my mind as a flowing river of information; as I passed by objects, I sensed the depressions they made due to their texture and thus was able to form a somewhat black-and-white picture of the world that surrounds me. Combined with the scent of the individuals I came in contact with, I was able to appear as a regular among the streets of Weyard.
Finding the rusted old sign embossed with "Kalay Weaponry", I quickly slipped into the alleyway and uncovered the door to my business. Entering the old seemingly abandoned building, I started for the narrow hallway before me.
I walked down it, with every step I take the boards creaked underneath, as those ahead of me prepared to follow as their brothers before them. The damn boards were known for complaining, and it seemed they almost loved annoying me to the point of me losing my sanity. Hidden below the creaking boards was a brewery, in which a special tonic was produced for my customers.
Their lives mean nothing to me. I only serve them for business.
This special tonic was something that the world has seen overflowing with only five years earlier. Those who could remember before the water was tainted, such as myself, knew that we wouldn't be doing this illegally at that time. However, if this business weren't illegal, I wouldn't be making this much of a profit.
It was a brewery of pure water.
When Alchemy was released, I was not the only one to obtain its power. A man named Alex had obtained a part of this power, and with it, he conquered the world. He had been able to carve his face into the land with his ability to convince the world that he was God in a human form. Demolishing the order that had existed for hundreds of years before, he brought to our world the misery of dictatorship and chaos, using the bodies of his subjects as slave labor to build towers of iron. The water that flowed down the rivers and streams was a concoction of control, as Alex had contaminated it with a substance capable of overriding one's mind.
I, among another few brave souls, were the few that actually thought for ourselves in this modern hell.
I continued to walk down the hallway, until I approached what seemed like a dead end. However, a secret latch on the floor lead to what was hiding underneath. I pulled the latch open and dropped down.
There, my coworkers laid down on the small cots that we had assembled for ourselves. The basement in which we lived and created our tonic was a thirty foot cube, with much of the space taken up by the machines that purify the water for our product. In front of it lie our cots, all five of them, followed by a small bar on the right hand side, where customers can have a sample of our special "moonshine".
I counted the men there. On the far left was the bartender, Michael Simmons, with the experiences of his long life written all over his wrinkles, as if they were vandalized by the father of time himself. On the left two cots slept Jason Hyson and Tyler Jacosono, both hard working brewers who were known for their great teamwork. On the right cot sat bored Timothy Farmard, who seemed to have lost his patience in waiting for my return.
"Where the hell have you been, Ivan?" he yelled in my face. Timothy was not known for having particularly polite greetings.
"I've been doin' business as usual." I paused for a second. I sniffed the air for a second. "You killed someone today, Tim," I muttered.
"Yeah…--"
"Don't worry, Tim. Get used to it. They're all soulless puppets. Anyhow, I got ourselves another five grand today. We can finally get off our dead asses and renovate this place,"
I pulled the fifty hundred dollar bills out of my pocket. Tim did the same. I pulled them up, beginning to count.
"…Let's see, you've got twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, oh my, twenty eight hundred dollar bills today. My oh my, someone was busy," I reported.
"That gives us…"
"Seventy eight hundred. Today must have been a good day," I remarked.
"Brilliant! Not only will we be able to renovate this place, but we'll be able to get some new suits and maybe even a little banquet for us—"
"Now now, Tim, we shouldn't go too over the top. We might look suspicious. Those policemen are literally programmed to hunt us down."
"Hm, well, at least business is going well."
"Hey, Tim. Speaking of which, have you seen Simon?"
"Simon?..."
"Yeah, Simon… Simon Ramara. He bought some of our specialty a week ago. He owes us two hundred."
"Uh… no. I don't believe so."
"Thought not. I can't find his scent anywhere around this place. Ah, well. I'll just go out again tonight. Besides, I prefer to hunt at night."
"You're gonna…"
"Naw, Tim, I'm just gonna show him the rules, that's all."
And with that, I loaded my revolver and started for the stairs. Tonight things would be interesting, I could just feel the hunch.
I returned up the same hidden stairway as I climbed down to reach our hideout. Leaving the building in haste, I almost didn't even notice the sign that remarked "Kalay Weaponry" on the side of the building.
"The revolver is a relatively old technology in the comparison to Weyard's known history – the ancient tablet inscribed in the Anemos language was only unearthed by me and my comrades only three years before. The word got out to other breweries on how to create this simple yet effective killing machine, and to date, it was considered one of Weyard's most formidable weapons, due to the fact that Alex has been unable to extract the instructions on how to build such a weapon for himself and his army.
It is a simple object with a thin, nozzle like pipe, connected to a revolving 'loading bay' of sorts, then, in a bent 'L' shaped curve, drops down to a handle for an easier grip. Latched to the revolver is a small crescent-shaped trigger, which, when pulled, releases a small metal projectile known as a bullet using a controlled explosion with enough speed and force to tear through human flesh. In the right position, this projectile can make an effective mess of a once alive man. Connected to this weapon is a small notch by the revolving 'loading bay' which turns it to quickly load the next projectile in place, so that little time is wasted to reload."
I spoke to myself while meandering down the Kalayian streets, searching for Simon. I knew the exact alley in which he would pass – my power of precognition has developed only enough to read the future five minutes in advance, but to me, I always felt it gave a bit of zing to what would happen next. I was one to never really enjoy spoilers.
"They say that the revolver is such a dangerous force that normal citizens are not
permitted to own one. However, I am no ordinary citizen."
I sunk into the alleyway. Simon would be there in three minutes.
"I am not a puppet, like the rest of them. I ripped the strings from Alex's hands."
Two minutes.
"Ah, if only my old friends were able to see this…"
As the time drew closer and closer, I stopped whispering to myself, realizing that Simon would know something was up. I tipped my hat down to hide my face and prepare for the jump. His scent became stronger and stronger.
Simon Ramara had no way of seeing it coming. I lunged from the shadows, wrapping my left arm around his chest and holding the revolver's nozzle to the back of his head. He struggled, but there was no escape. I pulled him back into the dark alleyway.
"Hello there, Simon," I calmly whispered into his ear. "Do you remember me? My name is Ivan."
Terrified out of his mind, he hurriedly replied, "Yes,"
"Oh, good, good. Now, I think you wanted to play a little game with me, you know, how you didn't pay up like you said you would." I pushed the nozzle a little harder, and drew my face to his ear. "I don't think it's fair to let you play without you knowing the rules, first, though."
"It's a little like baseball. You've heard of that, right? Three strikes and you're out."
"I… don't know what you mean…" he whelped.
"Oh, I guess I should elaborate. First time you screw with me, I shoot you in your left foot. Second time you screw with me, I shoot you in your right. Screw with me again, and I blow you head to oblivion. Do you understand?"
He did not respond.
"I said, do you understand?"
Again, he remained a pillar of silence.
"Well, if you don't understand, then I'll just have to make you", I said in disgust as I aimed the nozzle to his left foot. However, he remained a hesitant man, so I showed him how the rules worked.
"Do you understand now, Simon?"
The pain caused by his left foot seemed to have caused him to learn quickly, as he hastily nodded "yes."
"Alright Simon. It's good that you learn so quickly. See? The rules are simple."
It was fun to play with poor Simon like this - even though I could read him mind to instantanously discover where the money was hidden and shoot his brains out there and then, it didn't seem quite nearly as satisfying as playing around with him as a cat does with a mouse.
"Now... do you have any of the money on you?" I whispered.
"No... not on me..."
"Where would it be?"
"In the house."
"Your house, correct?"
"...Yes."
"On 1573 Solomon Street?"
"Yes."
With each question, he answered with more haste.
"Now, where would it be in your house?"
"In my... in my library."
"Don't screw around with me." I reminded him of the presence of the revolver by pressing it against the back of his skull.
"Okay... it's in my bedroom..."
"Where?"
"It's in my drawer."
"Underneath what?."
"What do you mean, 'underneath what'?" he snapped back.
"I told you, don't screw around with me."'
"But I--"
Strike two. Wailing in pain, he finally yelped "Jesus Christ!... Alright, alright... it's under some legal documents! I didn't want you to see them! Please, just let me go!"
The plea seemed sincere. I pushed him on the ground.
Simon was left crippled on the ground to rot. The muscle that made up both of his feet was torn to pieces by the bullet's shock wave caused by them hitting the ground. I doubted the man would be able to make it through the night.
"Say a word and it's game over for you."
I walked deeper into the alleyway, when suddenly the scent of something overtook me. His blood.
Ever since I had gained this extremely powerful olfactory sense, I have had an addiction to the smell of human blood. It almost seems as if it was programmed into my genetics all along, only to be activated by that boost in my sense of smell. It only seems to be natural, as I, a carnivore, share the same traits as dogs, cats and bears.
The man was still trying to get up on his useless legs. Seizing the opporitunity, I shot the man right through his skull, making an effective mess of a once alive man. "Ah, whoops. It seems that I messed up on the rules a little, poor Simon," I remarked. "Even worse, my suit and fedora is a little messy from the blood spatter."
I pulled out a small vial to collect the blood from his wounds. Only halfway full, I pulled it back, capped it and placed it in my pocket. I knew that there would be more messes tonight, as I approached his house on Solomon Street.
The smog that covered what was once the city of Kalay had sunk to a lower level than usual today. Although it could not affect my already blind eyes, the potent chemicals from the industrial metropolis devastated my already weak lungs.
The way that life had changed for me so quickly was startling only five years before, I was a common servant, serving my life and soul for my master. Now after his horrific death, I was now thrown into this dystopia to survive on the streets.
Alchemy was released upon our world at that time. With it, a great power unleashed into my body, along with my comrades who have helped me light the beacons of the elemental lighthouses. It flooded my senses and destroyed my ability to see, but with it came an extreme advancement with my ability to use clairvoyance and my olfactory sense, causing me to view the world from a completely different light. The world before me came to my mind as a flowing river of information; as I passed by objects, I sensed the depressions they made due to their texture and thus was able to form a somewhat black-and-white picture of the world that surrounds me. Combined with the scent of the individuals I came in contact with, I was able to appear as a regular among the streets of Weyard.
Finding the rusted old sign embossed with "Kalay Weaponry", I quickly slipped into the alleyway and uncovered the door to my business. Entering the old seemingly abandoned building, I started for the narrow hallway before me.
I walked down it, with every step I take the boards creaked underneath, as those ahead of me prepared to follow as their brothers before them. The damn boards were known for complaining, and it seemed they almost loved annoying me to the point of me losing my sanity. Hidden below the creaking boards was a brewery, in which a special tonic was produced for my customers.
Their lives mean nothing to me. I only serve them for business.
This special tonic was something that the world has seen overflowing with only five years earlier. Those who could remember before the water was tainted, such as myself, knew that we wouldn't be doing this illegally at that time. However, if this business weren't illegal, I wouldn't be making this much of a profit.
It was a brewery of pure water.
When Alchemy was released, I was not the only one to obtain its power. A man named Alex had obtained a part of this power, and with it, he conquered the world. He had been able to carve his face into the land with his ability to convince the world that he was God in a human form. Demolishing the order that had existed for hundreds of years before, he brought to our world the misery of dictatorship and chaos, using the bodies of his subjects as slave labor to build towers of iron. The water that flowed down the rivers and streams was a concoction of control, as Alex had contaminated it with a substance capable of overriding one's mind.
I, among another few brave souls, were the few that actually thought for ourselves in this modern hell.
I continued to walk down the hallway, until I approached what seemed like a dead end. However, a secret latch on the floor lead to what was hiding underneath. I pulled the latch open and dropped down.
There, my coworkers laid down on the small cots that we had assembled for ourselves. The basement in which we lived and created our tonic was a thirty foot cube, with much of the space taken up by the machines that purify the water for our product. In front of it lie our cots, all five of them, followed by a small bar on the right hand side, where customers can have a sample of our special "moonshine".
I counted the men there. On the far left was the bartender, Michael Simmons, with the experiences of his long life written all over his wrinkles, as if they were vandalized by the father of time himself. On the left two cots slept Jason Hyson and Tyler Jacosono, both hard working brewers who were known for their great teamwork. On the right cot sat bored Timothy Farmard, who seemed to have lost his patience in waiting for my return.
"Where the hell have you been, Ivan?" he yelled in my face. Timothy was not known for having particularly polite greetings.
"I've been doin' business as usual." I paused for a second. I sniffed the air for a second. "You killed someone today, Tim," I muttered.
"Yeah…--"
"Don't worry, Tim. Get used to it. They're all soulless puppets. Anyhow, I got ourselves another five grand today. We can finally get off our dead asses and renovate this place,"
I pulled the fifty hundred dollar bills out of my pocket. Tim did the same. I pulled them up, beginning to count.
"…Let's see, you've got twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, oh my, twenty eight hundred dollar bills today. My oh my, someone was busy," I reported.
"That gives us…"
"Seventy eight hundred. Today must have been a good day," I remarked.
"Brilliant! Not only will we be able to renovate this place, but we'll be able to get some new suits and maybe even a little banquet for us—"
"Now now, Tim, we shouldn't go too over the top. We might look suspicious. Those policemen are literally programmed to hunt us down."
"Hm, well, at least business is going well."
"Hey, Tim. Speaking of which, have you seen Simon?"
"Simon?..."
"Yeah, Simon… Simon Ramara. He bought some of our specialty a week ago. He owes us two hundred."
"Uh… no. I don't believe so."
"Thought not. I can't find his scent anywhere around this place. Ah, well. I'll just go out again tonight. Besides, I prefer to hunt at night."
"You're gonna…"
"Naw, Tim, I'm just gonna show him the rules, that's all."
And with that, I loaded my revolver and started for the stairs. Tonight things would be interesting, I could just feel the hunch.
I returned up the same hidden stairway as I climbed down to reach our hideout. Leaving the building in haste, I almost didn't even notice the sign that remarked "Kalay Weaponry" on the side of the building.
"The revolver is a relatively old technology in the comparison to Weyard's known history – the ancient tablet inscribed in the Anemos language was only unearthed by me and my comrades only three years before. The word got out to other breweries on how to create this simple yet effective killing machine, and to date, it was considered one of Weyard's most formidable weapons, due to the fact that Alex has been unable to extract the instructions on how to build such a weapon for himself and his army.
It is a simple object with a thin, nozzle like pipe, connected to a revolving 'loading bay' of sorts, then, in a bent 'L' shaped curve, drops down to a handle for an easier grip. Latched to the revolver is a small crescent-shaped trigger, which, when pulled, releases a small metal projectile known as a bullet using a controlled explosion with enough speed and force to tear through human flesh. In the right position, this projectile can make an effective mess of a once alive man. Connected to this weapon is a small notch by the revolving 'loading bay' which turns it to quickly load the next projectile in place, so that little time is wasted to reload."
I spoke to myself while meandering down the Kalayian streets, searching for Simon. I knew the exact alley in which he would pass – my power of precognition has developed only enough to read the future five minutes in advance, but to me, I always felt it gave a bit of zing to what would happen next. I was one to never really enjoy spoilers.
"They say that the revolver is such a dangerous force that normal citizens are not
permitted to own one. However, I am no ordinary citizen."
I sunk into the alleyway. Simon would be there in three minutes.
"I am not a puppet, like the rest of them. I ripped the strings from Alex's hands."
Two minutes.
"Ah, if only my old friends were able to see this…"
As the time drew closer and closer, I stopped whispering to myself, realizing that Simon would know something was up. I tipped my hat down to hide my face and prepare for the jump. His scent became stronger and stronger.
Simon Ramara had no way of seeing it coming. I lunged from the shadows, wrapping my left arm around his chest and holding the revolver's nozzle to the back of his head. He struggled, but there was no escape. I pulled him back into the dark alleyway.
"Hello there, Simon," I calmly whispered into his ear. "Do you remember me? My name is Ivan."
Terrified out of his mind, he hurriedly replied, "Yes,"
"Oh, good, good. Now, I think you wanted to play a little game with me, you know, how you didn't pay up like you said you would." I pushed the nozzle a little harder, and drew my face to his ear. "I don't think it's fair to let you play without you knowing the rules, first, though."
"It's a little like baseball. You've heard of that, right? Three strikes and you're out."
"I… don't know what you mean…" he whelped.
"Oh, I guess I should elaborate. First time you screw with me, I shoot you in your left foot. Second time you screw with me, I shoot you in your right. Screw with me again, and I blow you head to oblivion. Do you understand?"
He did not respond.
"I said, do you understand?"
Again, he remained a pillar of silence.
"Well, if you don't understand, then I'll just have to make you", I said in disgust as I aimed the nozzle to his left foot. However, he remained a hesitant man, so I showed him how the rules worked.
"Do you understand now, Simon?"
The pain caused by his left foot seemed to have caused him to learn quickly, as he hastily nodded "yes."
"Alright Simon. It's good that you learn so quickly. See? The rules are simple."
It was fun to play with poor Simon like this - even though I could read him mind to instantanously discover where the money was hidden and shoot his brains out there and then, it didn't seem quite nearly as satisfying as playing around with him as a cat does with a mouse.
"Now... do you have any of the money on you?" I whispered.
"No... not on me..."
"Where would it be?"
"In the house."
"Your house, correct?"
"...Yes."
"On 1573 Solomon Street?"
"Yes."
With each question, he answered with more haste.
"Now, where would it be in your house?"
"In my... in my library."
"Don't screw around with me." I reminded him of the presence of the revolver by pressing it against the back of his skull.
"Okay... it's in my bedroom..."
"Where?"
"It's in my drawer."
"Underneath what?."
"What do you mean, 'underneath what'?" he snapped back.
"I told you, don't screw around with me."'
"But I--"
Strike two. Wailing in pain, he finally yelped "Jesus Christ!... Alright, alright... it's under some legal documents! I didn't want you to see them! Please, just let me go!"
The plea seemed sincere. I pushed him on the ground.
Simon was left crippled on the ground to rot. The muscle that made up both of his feet was torn to pieces by the bullet's shock wave caused by them hitting the ground. I doubted the man would be able to make it through the night.
"Say a word and it's game over for you."
I walked deeper into the alleyway, when suddenly the scent of something overtook me. His blood.
Ever since I had gained this extremely powerful olfactory sense, I have had an addiction to the smell of human blood. It almost seems as if it was programmed into my genetics all along, only to be activated by that boost in my sense of smell. It only seems to be natural, as I, a carnivore, share the same traits as dogs, cats and bears.
The man was still trying to get up on his useless legs. Seizing the opporitunity, I shot the man right through his skull, making an effective mess of a once alive man. "Ah, whoops. It seems that I messed up on the rules a little, poor Simon," I remarked. "Even worse, my suit and fedora is a little messy from the blood spatter."
I pulled out a small vial to collect the blood from his wounds. Only halfway full, I pulled it back, capped it and placed it in my pocket. I knew that there would be more messes tonight, as I approached his house on Solomon Street.
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