Stepping down from the carriage, the soft sound of hard heels of leather boots meeting the damp cobblestones underfoot clanked through the salty air. Taking a deep breath, Javac ran a hand through the sleek black hair tied in an elegant knot at the back of his head while the other dusted the fabric of a deep blue cloak. Turning on the spot, the nobleman extended a hand toward the finely painted wooden carriage. A slim hand took his as Javac assisted a woman, dressed as sharply if not more than he, down the steps.
She smiled at him as she landed on the street beside him, craning her neck slightly to meet his gaze. As always, her smile only magnified her beauty, which struck him every time. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze Lady Fallowin strode ahead of him taking in the sights of her city.
“It’s a fine day,” she said, her voice as warm as the sea air.
Meeting her stride, Javac looked skyward to the weak sunlight shining through an overcast sky.
“Mm… I would say, though it looks to storm soon,” he replied.
“Aye, but besides the weather,” she said giving him a look, “this is an incredible thing you’ve accomplished, Latricar.”
Javac smiled lopsidedly. He didn’t care much for such formal title, and loathed being addressed as such. However when the good Lady Fallowin called him such he met with the words fondly.
“We couldn’t have done this without you, you know,” he told her.
“All for the good of my people. You deserve the credit though. I merely funded your project, you discovered the miracles of bone augmentation.”
Finally she came to a stop before a grand building, the white stone peaking high. It matched the surrounding architecture, simple and linear, all straight lines and carved wooden statues of sea life. Carved into the stone was above the entrance in chiseled marble were the words “Cetacean Hospice of Bone Healing”.
“I’m proud of you,” Lady Fallowin said simply, her eyes meeting his own with a bath of admiration and affection.
Javac tried to keep his formality, though he felt the blush glow his cheeks all the same. It wasn’t until that moment he realized he still held her hand in his.
With one last squeeze, Lady Fallowin released his hand and pushed the frosted glass doors open and together they stepped into the lobby of the Hospice. Pillars of marble supported the structure of the building, gildings of gold etched into the frame work depicting the mystic work and Doctors that worked within the white walls. The lobby itself was in the shape of a crescent featuring a wide yet simply carved wooden desk.
As the duo approached, the attendant rose from his seat.
“Latricar, Lady Fallowin,” he said, bowing deeply to each in turn, “welcome. The tour is ready, just as you requested.” Behind the attendant, a white robed Doctor approached, clinically clean and spotless, the face hidden behind a featureless wooden mask.
“Thank you,” Lady Fallowin said to the attendant, the kindness in her voice genuine.
“Welcome!” the Doctor said, her voice slightly accented.
With a wild gesture the Doctor spread her arms wide, “I’m sure you’re quite eager to see your investment, my Lady. I assure you the Latricar has put your funds to the most excellent use!”
“Oh, I’m sure he has,” the noblewoman replied with a smirk.
“If you’ll follow me, we may begin,” the Doctor said.
Javac noted a hint of cheer to the masked woman’s voice. It pleased him, how smoothly things were setting off to be. Walking after the Doctor, he and his companion strode after the medicinal mage up the stained driftwood steps toward the Healing Wards.
The Doctor droned on to Lady Fallowin, happily explaining the layout of the building, the techniques they were employing, and the finer details of the magical bone transfusions that took place within the halls. Javac tuned it out, the lectures unnecessary for himself, as he had written the script for the very lectures himself.
Breaking across his thoughts, the Doctor’s voice cut into his mind.
“Here we have an Observation Deck, where trainees and fellow Doctors may observe the augmentations.”
Snapping back into reality Javac realized the he was standing in small room overlooking a tear drop shaped surgical auditorium. Below the process was already in progress, the patient on the table missing both legs which had been freshly amputated. In silence they watched a team of four Doctors toil away at the bloodied stumps of what was no doubt a sailor who had been caught in a cannon blast.
Together the white robed figures carefully placed carved pieces of whale bone, dozens in number and each detailed in ancient runes in perfect symmetry. One of the Doctors reached out a hand and grasped the arm of the sailor, no doubt telling him to grit his teeth and brace himself. While the one comforted the patient, the remaining three began their work. With blue glowing hands the pieced together the new legs gingerly to the wounds. As they made contact with the flesh they burned white hot, fusing to the skin.
Even from the short distance Javac could see the blaring pain stretched across the man’s face, his body drenched in sweat. To his credit, the man didn’t make a sound, not so much as a whimper.
Within twenty minutes, the augmentation was complete. Delicately the sailor was helped himself to his feet, to despite the Doctors’ protests. Wobbly he took several steps and inspected his new legs. They were expertly grafted, almost an exact replicate of human legs, though rather angular and pointed at the joints.
Falling to his knees, the man sobbed, though they were not cries of sorrow.
“Incredible,” Lady Fallowin breathed.
“Thanks to the brilliance of the Latricar, we have developed a procedure that is both quick and nearly unmatched in success. There has only been two instances where the augmentation has failed.”
“What happened when the surgery failed?” Lady Fallowin asked, not taking her eyes from the sailor.
In the auditorium, the man had been laid back onto a stretcher and was being carried away, all the while sobbing in gratitude and clutching at a Doctor’s arm.
It was several moments before their own Doctor replied, “It proved fatal, and we lost them.”
This seemed to snap the noble lady from her enchantment and swung her head incredulously.
At a loss, the Doctor looked to Javac back to Lady Fallowin.
In that moment, the man could feel the even beginning to derail. Lady Fallowin had nothing but love for her people, and he knew the loss, no matter how small to the greater cause, cut her deeply.
Rather than the Doctor speaking, Lady Fallowin spoke next.
“You told me there were no problems!” she said, turning a burning glare that went straight through the Latricar.
“Well, under the individual circumstances, their injuries were already tremendously grievous,” Javac tried to justify.
“That changes nothing,” Fallowin retorted, her voice shaking, “you should have told me.”
“I-” Javac began, before a resounding crash echoed through the halls outside.
“What was that?” he said, concerned though grateful for the distraction.
“It sounded like it came from the lobby,” the Doctor said, her voice breathy.
As one the trio rushed out, making their way back to the grand entry. Retracing the path the reached the balcony that over looked the lobby to see the door, as well as a good portion of the wall surrounding it smashed to pieces on the marble floor.
“You will not get away with this!” a shaky voice sounded.
Looking over the railing Javac saw the attendant standing definitely against a small crowd of six figures, all dressed in varying degrees of nautical plate armor. One of the intruders seemed to have sensed their presence and looked straight into Javac. Stepping forward away from the group the figure spoke in a deep voice and walked to stand in the boy’s face.
“Boy, it seems we already have.”
With inhuman speed, the man slammed his gauntleted fist into the unarmed attendant’s face, the air literally screaming in a high tone as the metal met flesh. A visceral spray of blood and bone splattered the wall, floor and desk as the poor man’s head was torn in half. Slumping over, the body hit the floor with a heavy thud to the jeers of the attackers.
“Lady Fallowin, your regime has come to a close,” the first invader roared, raising a bloody fist.
Behind him, Javac heard the click of a flintlock pistol, but not the gunshot as he gripped at the blood stain spreading across his chest. Falling to the ground he saw the Doctor holding the gun, still smoking, strike Lady Fallowin across the face with the heavy grip.
Tearing the wooden mask away, the Doctor revealed her face to be that of a monstrosity. Her skin was death white, with eyes set in pure black. Viciously sharp needle like teeth lined behind her lips, sticky drips of salvia streaming from her maw. Without a word the monster fell upon the beloved Lady Fallowin, the deadly jaws tearing the tender flesh of their victim to shreds.
Despair over took Javac as he weakly struggled to her aid as darkness edged into his vision. Before he could even draw himself to his knees a massive hand thrust him back to the ground. A gigantic four armed man stood above him, all bulging muscle and veins. Under his meaty arms were a second pair, though they looked more akin to that of a lobster rather than a man.
With a throaty growl that might have been a laugh, the abomination of a man held him down as the claws closed on his arms.
“No,” Javac desperately moaned.
Screaming agony washed over him as he felt his own warm blood shower his face as the crunch of the claws ripped the arms from his body. With no time for shock to settle in the claws closed around him once again, this time on his legs.
Javac could only stare and howl in pain beyond pain as he watched the meat of his legs be wrenched from his body. Laughing his assailant left him there to die, as did the false Doctor, laughing as wickedly as her companion.
Gasping, tortuously breathing, the broken twisted remains of the man looked to his love, who was just as torn and ground as he. His heart broke, as he barely saw her breathing, though she moved, if ever so slightly. With great effort Lady Fallowin drug herself to Javac’s side, her torn hanging entrails bled out from underneath her. Though her beauty was destroyed, her face a wreck of slashed wounds and blood, Javac felt nothing but love and indescribable sorrow.
He could see the life leaving her eyes as she laid her head on his chest.
“Javac,” she whispered, though it sounded as soft as sea breeze.
Maybe she didn’t speak at all.
“Melyine,” the man whispered back.
Though the call never reached her ears, as the last of the spark of life had already given out.
He felt nothing as he lay there. Though, tears mixed with his blood.
His fingers clacked softly together as he pulled the tattered blue cloak to his figure. It had been almost two years since the attack on the Hospice and Javac had not forgotten, much less forgiven. By some cruel twist of fate, Javac had survived his mortal injuries, his faithful Doctor’s saving his life by administering the very bone magic he himself developed.
He stood there, breathing in the damp night air. Like a wraith Javac took off, bounding lightly across the roof tops of this city, following the scent of his prey. With the miracle augmentations the Doctor’s bestowed upon him other magics, at Javac’s request, skills useful for one thing and one thing only.
The smell of oil and fish clung to his nose, a distinct odor that sent ripples of hate through his core. Ever since the death of Mayline Fallowin, the city had fallen into chaos. A powerful order of Sea Mongers, foreign to Javac’s land, had grown jealous of their wealth and prosperity the city held. So they took it, in one fell manic swoop. Seven rulers had taken hold, though Javac was pleased to say the list had been whittled down to four.
With a shudder Javac envisioned the fourth to die tonight.
At last he reached the end of his journey, coming to rest on a roof of house overlooking a cliff. Hundreds of feet below a manor waited for him, holding his prize. Not even taking a moment’s hesitation Javac leapt over the side. Plummeting downward, the cloak whipped about him in a series of loud snaps. It almost seemed like he would slam into the earth, though in flash his body disappeared. With a splash, a flood of water hit the cobbles, spraying about though relatively staying a puddle.
Under the cover of darkness a boney hand reached from out of the puddle, quickly followed by another. Pushing himself out of the puddle Javac quietly heaved himself to his feet. With the sound of joints popping, the index and middle finger extended out into a blade as the man straightened himself.
In a low crouch Javac crept to window of the manor, listening carefully. Behind the glass he heard muffled voices. Rolling the eyes to the back of his head, his vision went black, until he could see past the reality of his world and into the room beyond.
Three guards. Easy enough.
His eyes returning to their natural state, Javac stood and placed his boned hand to the glass. In a rush of a sound like a water fall, he seeped through the cracks of the pane and emerged on the other side. Not even yet in his solid form, Javac thrust an arm out, catching one of the guards in the chest. As his arm came back from its liquid state it impaled him.
As the remaining two guards reacted in alarm, the assassin Javac raised his left hand in front of one man’s face. Water gushed from the guard’s mouth and he fell, drowning on land as the former Latricar cleaved the throat of the last man. Striding out of the room he heard the pathetic gargling end as the doomed drowning guard finally die.
Stealthily Javac masterfully rushed in his liquid form up the wall to the second floor, to come to the room the smelled the strongest of who he hunted. A light shone through the keyhole of the wood, and he took a moment to look through. There she was, at last, though accompanied by two heavily armed and plated guards.
He pushed his form the keyhole, sending the guards stumbling back in surprise.
“Finally found me have you?” an accented voice asked cheerfully.
With a roar the guards bounded forward. The first guard was simple enough to dispatch. Javac parried the swing of his sword and stole the pistol that hung from his belt. With a swift motion the assassin murdered the man with his own gun. However the second guard was more of an adversary, landing a solid punch to Javac’s side.
Barely bringing his arms up, thick bones of his arms caught the blade of the sword that had been aimed to dissect his head. Dropping the sword the guard pulled a knife from his side and stabbed Javac in the stomach.
Caught off guard he let out a sharp grunt and stumbled back. Using the momentum though he planted a foot on the wall behind him and threw a punch dead center into the face plate of his opponent’s helmet. Yanking the knife from his stomach, Javac hissed as he drove it under the seam of the helm and into the man’s throat. For good measure, he plunged the boney blade of his hand into the poor soul’s chest.
To his astonishment the guard did not fall, rather he ripped the helmet from his head. They met eyes, one pair cold as steel, the other wild and mad. With shaky but certain steps the guard began to charge at Javac. Though he never made it more than a few steps.
A clammy white hand reached around and pulled the knife about the remainder of his throat, almost beheading him. The hand grabbed the head with long fingers and jerked it from the stump as air gurgled through the blood in the severed esophagus.
“Useless,” the false Doctor chimed, “nothing like what you’ve become.”
Again, Javac didn’t answer the monster.
With the needle toothed smile, the creature continued.
“I would have thought I would have been the first you’d come after, with what I did to your precious Fallowin!” She leapt at him with unnatural speed. As she flew at him, she screeched like a nightmare.
Her cry was cut off with a gasp.
The sword his fingers made had retracted. Instead they now gripped the stinking flesh of the murderer of the late Queen. He plucked her from the air as one would with a lightening beetle.
“What do you think killing me will accomplish?” she rasped, “Valenforth has complete hold of the city. He’s turning your filthy city into us, one at a time, and there is nothing you can do. Killing me solves nothing.”
Javac knew that was truth. None of the other rulers held the power Valenforth had. He would never forget the way the inhuman being torn the face off a man with a single punch. But Javac didn’t care about that. That wasn’t why he was here.
Gripping tighter, he felt the sinew in the thing’s neck strain, could feel the bones begin to crack. With his free hand he pulled his hood down to show his face in full, and whispered in her ear.
With that, the monster went limp in his hands, her neck crushed, the bone pulverized to powder.
In the morning, they would find the creature crucified in her own home, and he would be long gone.
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