#ft. spider strings

SCOUR, DIVIDE, AND CONQUER -- the plan had been simple, the situation much more complicated. They had been given no traits, no physical hints or possible colors to look out for, not even so much as a mention of the ability they were seeking. It was a blind game, pure intuition; Ujin tended to pride himself on having keen eyes.

The streets were dark but were filled with life, every living thing breathing heavily in tandem, the sounds of pounding footsteps and banging on doors, wide spread fear slick and heavy, pouring into storm drains and out of open windows. He hadn’t seen insanity like it in a long time, the clattering of shaking hands akin to dropped silverware, the sirens a screaming warning, the boom of the explosion releasing bated breath and held tension. Ilbern had been waiting for an event such as this, holding in their anxieties and mistrust, pretending not to look over their shoulders for the sake of normality but such bottled pain built up, carbon dioxide and shaken bottles, begging to escape, for a reason to release their screams.... and release they did.

They all feared the Night Monsters, almost as much as the feared the Emperor, and he spread vicious words of them and beat the city black and blue. Neighbors, friends, children, parents; no one was safe from the possibility of a seared mark, no one was cleansed of the sin that was released with the last siren this small world had heard -- Delulu scarred them, and now the Monsters have been born to finish them off. 

Qu'ils mangent de la brioche.

He seeps through dampened streets, the ground a dark abscess where light would normally bounce off, the pavement gone oily and slick, the walls creating an invisible maze. His eyes linger only briefly over most passerby, most running or shaking or hiding, mere blips in the timeline, inconsequential victims, pawns -- until, however, he sees her. 

She’s tall and stealthy, weaving; she is patient. She is looking, just as much as he, but he doesn’t know her, her face unfamiliar, her stature brand new. She isn’t afraid, she’s curious, and in return, so is he. He follows her, hides in shadows and blends with his surroundings, eyes keen and body haunch like the cat he adorns, slinking limbs and slit pupils. He watches her for quite some time before deciding she was worth coming out of hiding, fingers brushing over the hilt of the knife hidden inside his jacket before dropping his arms and descending on her, all sharp teeth and bleeding fingers, nails cracked open and oozing from climbing and clawing.

He appears in an otherwise abandoned part of town, no hope of someone interfering, no distractions or inconveniences -- she will answer his questions, and he will decide what to do with her from there.