Incarceration

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Incarceration

Post  Transmission on Mon Apr 02, 2012 8:24 am

As the moon began to crawl over the horizon, Dark Astoria was hung with gloom. All of the region was shrouded in shadow, the only light illuminating the abandoned streets from the gibbous, crimson moon and a sparse few flickering streetlamps.The blood-tinted air was dank and musty, unpleasantly hot and humid. Not the perfect night for a run, then.
The black-clad figure dashed across the rooftops, his cloak billowing out behind him. Small, thin strands of smoke still clung to his extremities. With an almost luxurious leap, he cleared the edge of one and grabbed onto the edge of the next roof. He hauled himself up elegantly, then strolled forwards, his pace slowing. Though his dark-hued armour concealed him well, a bone-white mask was clearly visible in the watery light, a glimmer of moonlight reflecting from beneath a pitch-black eye.
Max strode to the corner of the rooftop, looking purposefully out into the distance. Even through the ragged mist, the silhouette of the death god was clearly visible, the foreboding sight punctuated by a distant shriek. The vigilante continued to watch, rubbing his chin thoughtfully through the thin, cloth mask.
Right now, Athena should be headed back to the Zig, and presumably, Konrad accompanying her. The wight had turned up too late to do anything signifigant, not that he needed the help. Still, it was more than could be said about the rest of the team. Their leader - former leader, he corrected himself - was on the verge of being consumed by Mot himself, and only himself and the wight had done a thing to stop it. It just goes to show, he mused, that the more 'ruthless' ones are the ones who get things done. Still, all's well that ends well. He'd single-handedly saved his ex-ally, and stopped Mot from getting control of an immensely powerful being, for that matter. Not a bad day's work, really.
He lifted a foot onto the raised edge of the rooftop, musing on what had been said. Athena's despair was justified, true, but by no means excusable. The foolish woman had been weak enough to let herself feel misery. That was what Mot wanted, in the end; misery and death. Of course he himself had encountered the feeling lately. He was simply able to crush it before it took any hold over him. In a way, the timing was perfect. Were it not for her recent sentence for vigilanteism, she would have been much more difficult to track. As it was, her roaming space was narrowed; Astoria or the Zig. And knowing Athena as well as he did, it would only be the former.
Far off in the distance, the still shape of Mot gave off a deep, low rumble, the ghastly noise reverberating through the entire zone. Max winced beneath his masks. The worst part of it all was the fact that he had to be sincere to her. He was a smart man; he knew that a faked speech would not strike a chord with Athena. No, he had to be honest. And that meant truly confessing his admiration towards her, and heroes in general. In hindsight, a small price to pay for the benefits given, but still. It was a truth he could have happily taken to the grave.
His head sagged slightly, a small sigh escaping from his lips. Ah, well. Once more into the fray.
And with that, he smoothly drew his pair of blades from their sheaths and hopped up from the roof. His black shape fell smoothly and noiselessly for a second, then was gone.

Transmission

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