[OPEN]

[soul_mods]

Characters: OPEN
Location: Witch Factory
Rating: R
Time: October 2019, at dawn.
Description: It’s time for war. This is the log set in the TYL timeline. Everything else following this will resume in the present timeline in November 15.

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WEST | CLOSED

[suchselfishness]

Being sneaky was much too easy, sometimes; with the battle raging, it had been relatively easy for Rhode to duck into quieter hallways after dispatching several enemies who stood between her and her escape from the main fray. There was something to be said for the familiar halls, and as she carefully crept around a corner, she realized she'd seen this quiet corridor before.

Rhode smiled as a chill crept over the scars on her back and neck, an odd little thrill coiling in her stomach. Perhaps she'd get to see her old friend in this battle; give him a few scars to match what he'd done to her. He would likely be in the midst of a battle with the rest of the invaders by now, however. Pity that he'd be killed before she could get a chance to play.

[neverbeenworse]

The scent of blood (Or the memory of the scent? Some psychosomatic reaction to his restlessness?) had been teasing his senses and pushing at his self control for some time when the alarms had gone off. It was an attack, a full on battle, something that he had been itching for for far too long.

Calloused fingers ghosted over his eye patch -- the thing was a memento a certain someone had left for him, and Enma was eager to see if he could return the favor today.

After all, it had been such a long, long time since he had seen his good friend Rhode.

He didn't waste time waiting for his weapon -- Spitfire, after all, was more than capable of taking care of himself, and Enma wasn't about to miss a moment's worth of the excitement. Black smoke trailed from his fingertips, ghosted its way up his fingers, up his arm, twisting and solidifying into metallic claws as he suddenly caught the sound of footsteps in the corridor. What perfect timing.

"Scary inside here, isn't it?" he asked slowly, moving carefully towards the sound.

[suchselfishness]

Rhode paused for a moment, tilting her head to one side to try and place the voice. It was difficult, with the echo, and even if it was familiar, there was a chance she had simply heard it in passing during her time with the Witches.

But there was that chance that it was someone she knew. Exciting either way, really, because a kill was a kill.

"Not very." Her voice was rather light for the situation, boots clicking on the floor as she took two decisive steps forward. "I think 'nostalgic' would be much more fitting."

[neverbeenworse]

Nostalgic, was it? Enma felt his excitement rising, eager anticipation causing adrenaline to slowly begin dripping into his bloodstream. He quickened his pace, rounded the corner, then came to a full, sudden stop when he was greeted by a familiar face. Luck was, as usual, on his side.

He lowered his gaze for a moment, though he had weaned himself from the habit of contemplating his shoelaces or counting cracks in the flooring a long time ago. Instead, he was eying his claws, fondly remembering how good it had felt to tear into her that first time.

"Enjoying the memories, then?"

[suchselfishness]

"Something like that," she breathed the words, well aware he'd be able to hear her with the way noise carried in these walls. Her eyes didn't move from his face, though she almost certainly noticed those claws.

Rhode reached up slowly, adjusting a piece of stray hair that had fallen into her face and adjusting the ponytail the rest of her curls were pulled back in. There was something distinctly different about the way she carried herself now compared to when she'd left the Witches; more certain of her movements, focused on her surroundings.

"Shouldn't you be a little friendlier? After all--" She spread her arms out, as if offering him an embrace with her nasty little smirk-- "Your saviors have come at last."

[neverbeenworse]

A few strides, quiet, calculated, and he was within half an arm's reach of her, raising a hand to run the very tip of a claw down Rhode's throat. The motion was a mockery, no doubt, of the incident that had left them both a little more torn, a little more broken then they had been before -- and it took a fair amount of self restraint not to dig those claws into her neck again, tear out her throat, say good riddance to the pest once and for all. But that wouldn't be fun, no, the high would be momentary, fleeting, and despite the urge, Enma knew he would regret that.

"A savior? Been waiting too long for that," he muttered. "Don't need you anymore."

[suchselfishness]

Rhode raised her chin, slightly, watching him move with narrowed eyes. Stupid way to start a fight, letting him so close, giving him the opportunity for that killing blow-- But god, she could feel her pulse speeding up, a delicious shiver running down her spine at the sensation of metal against her skin.

Someone was going to die, here. She could taste it.

It was beautiful.

"You don't need me?" Almost a purr, a hand rising up, slowly, to rest on his wrist. "If that was true, you wouldn't be here right now."

[neverbeenworse]

"You're the one who came back," he replied, regarding her hand with an air of disgust. "You and the rest of them. They're crawling all over this place now, aren't they?"

Enma didn't wait for an answer -- he wasn't particularly fond of Rhode's answers. He had never been, and he noted that maybe next time (if there was a next time) he should save his breath rather than babbling out questions he didn't want answered.

"Wonder if I'll get to see everyone again."

Rhode's hand was brushed away and Enma stepped back, one step, two, three, each muscle in his body tense, ready to spring into action. It was an invitation -- the first move was hers.

[suchselfishness]

"I almost didn't come." She smiled at him, that monstrous, inhuman grin. The hand he had shaken off went to her chest, resting just over her heart. "I'm glad I did, though. It's been so long since I've felt this way. I had forgotten how it feels to have a real game."

Oh, what a gentleman. Rhode hardly remembered to breathe in her excitement, air catching on the excitement rising in her throat. A step back, slowly lowering into something like a crouch; she wondered, vaguely, what his blood would taste like.

"I hope you won't disappoint."

Rhode relaxed for a split second, as if she had decided to refrain from jumping-- But then she sprang forward, right arm shifting into the blade of her weapon as she moved.

[neverbeenworse]

Enma had no plans to disappoint. He had had quite enough of that.

Rhode's blade cracked against the metal of his gauntlet, the sound ringing in the corridor, an accompaniment to the quickening pulse that Enma could hear in his ears and feel in his fingers.

This was it -- the excitement that he had been waiting for, the pleasure multiplied tenfold by Enma's desire to settle his own personal scores.

He stepped back, pushing her arm away before countering with his own swing, aimed at that precious, precious face of hers.

[suchselfishness]

The shove to her arm was inconvenient, defensively speaking. Turning disadvantages into something potentially useful, however, was not terribly difficult.

Using the momentum from the push as a counterweight, she swung her left leg up, aiming to kick in the back of his knees and sweep him off his feet, jerking back just in time to avoid the full brunt of his talons.

He'd caught skin, barely-- she could feel a stinging sensation at her jawline-- but her focus was fully on her attack.