Night air crackles, alive with anticipation. A sensation Vermillion savors, a delectable appetizer. High atop a transmission tower, Clarkdale shrinking beneath her, she runs her tongue along her Straight Razor's long, even, edge. The metallic tang of venom mixes with the electric buzz from the power lines. She can't help but grin.
"Soon," she murmurs to the sword, "Soon."
Bells woven into her hair jingle a ghostly tune, a skeleton draped in a baggy black robe flickering to life opposite her on the tower. Its void eyes stare.
"Is this wise?" its voice whispers, a low growl.
"Yeah. 'Course it is," Vermillion says, licking her lips as her prey's taste registers in her mind's eye. A sooty, sour, and bitter thing. Her grin flips to a thin frown. "What, is he gonna' run us to death or something?"
Mr. Skeleton feels more like staring than answering.
"Whatever."
With a flutter of her wrist, Straight Razor sings. Cables part, not with a snap, but a yielding sigh. Vermillion laughs as three hundred thousand volts surge through her veins, raw energy making her bones sing and her veins strum like harp chords. She couldn't help but wonder how long it'd been since this feeling.
Vermillion aims her sword streetside, uttering a few words and falling upon the helpless town as a lightning bolt, rematerializing beside a bus stop. Windows shatter. It's a delicious sound, like applause.
The night is a banquet laid out just for her. She tastes people in the air, bland, unremarkable... except for him. His taste makes her mouth water.
"Where are you hiding, little morsel?" Vermillion purrs, a blur of white and purple weaving through panicked streets as debris bursts apart from merely witnessing her, windows ripping from buildings,
Perching atop a streetlamp, she's a phantom, ghostly attire almost glowing in the sudden darkness. "We'll have such fun," Vermillion giggles, the sound sharp-edged, hungry. She closes her eyes, awakening her third. The taste of fear, metallic and sharp, snakes through the air, growing fainter each second. Pardo. He's trying to veil his spirit signature into something more ordinary, but his secret is a beacon in the darkness. He thinks he can hide it, just as he'd hidden it from his Regiment by requesting a station on Earth.
Her eyes snap open, electric with anticipation. "Ready or not..."
Vermillion rounds a corner, a decaying brick wall rising on either side, choked with shadows and a mildew stench. There. He is a huddled silhouette at the end of the alley, hands clasped as if in prayer. His spirit signature flares, a desperate plea for a mercy she won't grant.
"Pardo," she purrs, her voice a silken whisper that belies the storm brewing within her, "time for a talk."
He flinches, turning slowly, his face etched with a terror that would be almost pitiful if it weren't so delicious. "Vermillion," he chokes out, his voice raspy, as if each word is a nail scraping his throat. "Why are you here? You surely haven't been sanctioned on this short notice." His eyes fall to a dead lamp.
"Officially, I'm here to apply justice to a traitor," She takes a step closer, her shadow stretching, eager to consume him whole. "You thought you could hide your infection?"
He reels, his back hitting the rough brick. "Who told you?" For a moment, anger flares. "Who told you?!"
Vermillion chuckles, a low, throaty sound. "I can taste you, dear Pardo," she licks her lips, "a bitter, sour, smoky taste. And…a little something special." Her hands fly, three throwing knives materializing in hand, their edges glinting wickedly in the dim light. A heartbeat later, they find their marks, pinning Pardo to the wall, his arms spread wide as if in crucifixion. He screams, a raw, animalistic sound that echoes through the deserted alley.
She saunters toward him, her smile widening. "Guess there's only one way to find out," she murmurs, her gaze tracing the lines of his body, the way his muscles strain against the restraints. She can't help biting a canine into her lip, fingers twitching. Hungry.
"Vermillion, please," he gasps, his breath shallow and ragged. "Tell me."
"Oh yeah, you don't know why I'm here. One sec." She aims her sword to Pardo's chest and a few inches up.
Her bells jingle. A deathly, skeletal, visitor joins the scene.
"If you insist on this course, Vermillion, restrain yourself. If he is still human—"
Vermillion taps her weapon's pommel, a jagged lightning bolt blooming from its tip and spearing through Pardo right where his windpipe should be. Ozone.
"Tee hee hee," Vermillion teases. No answer.
Blood dribbles from Pardo's mouth, bubbling up in waves as he coughs.
"Why?" he gurgles.
"Oh!" Vermillion can't help a smug grin, raising her brows and leaning in towards the watching reaper. "Eh? Eeeeh?"
Still no reply.
"Geez you're prickly tonight," the Commander says, facing back to Pardo. "So, you really are a Vampire. Otherwise you woulda' been too busy choking on blood to talk, huh?"
Unable to hold his disguise, Pardo's chestnut eyes stain a dull, twinkling, red.
"You're dying tonight, there's no helping that," Vermillion glides in, grinning and speaking something into the pinned man's ear.
"I'll obey." Pardo sighs, blood dribbling from his lips in crimson ribbons.
"Sweet."
His gaze traces to the pale, skeletal, figure. "So, you've made a pact with the Demon?" Pardo chuckles darkly. "I don't envy the world I'll leave behind."
A car flies by, beams flashing like lightning. Thunder brews on the horizon, rattling Vermillion's chest. She sighs, that special feeling beginning to wane. There was just no challenge to these things anymore. No danger. It would be so painful, waiting for her chance to unravel the world, but then…
"I want an apprentice," Vermillion says, "I'll make it quick, just give me some options here."
Pardo laughs, "So that's it—you're still sore they let you go from their fancy Academy, is that right? Do you think this will prove anything?"
Vermillion smiles. A false, serpentine, smile to hide her fist clenching in the sleeve of her hakama. If only he knew. If only anyone knew at all. There would come the day. A day of drinking and laughing and dancing. One where her name would lace every tongue in the Empire.
After retrieving her information and a cellular phone with relevant data, Vermillion regards the spent and unmoving Pardo. Another puzzle piece. A chip half slid into its place. She swishes Straight Razor to her side, its edge afire as the electric lamp flickers back to life overhead.
"Send Kensen my regards," Pardo whispers.
"Yeah. I can do that." Vermillion flicks her weapon sideways and Pardo's head tumbles from his body. She flicks it again, a shockwave tossing some loose bricks as a wall is painted in blood. Straight Razor returns to its sheathe. As Vermillion turns on a heel to go, cool raindrops begin to patter against her scalp.
At last, Skeleton speaks.
"I advise you not to choose him."
"Hmm," coos Vermillion, "noted."