[Braelin]
- Broken, But Not Forgotten -
Huff huff huff
Ragged, short breaths were caught in between the high-frequency shrills that came just before bright blue streaks pierced through the walls of the narrow corridor an auburn topped male was sprinting down. Braelin had timed their barrage down after the second volley to know when he needed to bob and weave as to not waste any excess movements that might get him hit—again.
His left arm, loosely clutched, had a perfectly cylindrical wound carved just above his elbow. The sensation of pain was no longer an issue for the golem, but it hampered any efficient movement when requiring the use of both hands. These were not the typical freelancers hunting down his bounty. They were too coordinated, too well geared to be just another mercenary corp. That dwindled down the remaining options to a very select few with resources to throw at an old world magic being like himself.
A flash of sharp icy hues was made crystal clear in forefront of his vision just as he turned right on his heels to head down another hallway. A new series of openings for sunlight to shine through into the building were placed just where he had been half a second before. It would be him, it could only be him. There were a miserable few subjects that ever could bring true emotions to the features of the blank-faced automaton; feelings that he'd been deprived of for most of his life, then burned out of himself in the latter half. Cracking a wry grin at the fact that he managed to personally catch the eye of his previous owner was certainly one of them.
Braelin would have to focus back on the matter at hand, or there would be little point in such revelry.
There were at least four hunters that had a bead on his position judging from the consistent number of shots. They had to be tracking his mana signature, a curse brought on by the eternal engine within his chest. It refused to let the boy die all of these centuries gone by. It forced him to watch the only one that had ever touched his nonexistent heart turn to bone and dust. It mocked him in his cowardice to rip the device out of his fabricated ribcage. Now it shined like a beacon for these paid thugs to point their expensive toys at. Surely there were more, waiting for the agile runner to attempt a counter-play to their aggression. If a game was what they wished, Braelin was all the more happy to dance in step. Their rifles were at their maximum distance he figured, they knew of his abilities and were ensuring a safe, but still effective range. That said, they were not so far as to be out of the shadow of the small apartment complex they were shooting up, and that gave the worn down golem an idea. Insane as it was, he'd come to appreciate the more ludicrous schemes than the straightforward directions he used to be fed day in and day out.
Wrappings around his right arm were loosened, a length of white cloth dragging along the rotting wood flooring his boots padded across. There was a wall directly ahead and coming up fast, but he wasn't going to take either direction. Reaching the end, Braelin would kick off and break out into a full sprint in a straight line back the way he came. Radiating almost neon azure, ancient runes inscribed into his still functioning forearm activated, their volatile magic leaching into the trailing fabric and leaving a translucent crack into whatever it made contact with. Naturally, a direct route to the opposite side of the structure was not so easy to reach. In his path lay drywall and wooden frames that the toned figure would barrel a solid shoulder through with a grunt at the impact. Without a second thought, he broke through one room to the next. Having tossed taking care to avoid the new waves of gunfire to the wayside, their shots were far closer to hitting their mark than before, several catching at the fringes of his clothing, ripping new tears into his cloak that he'd have to patch up. Whether luck or their poor aim was on Braelin's side he'd not question, having made it his destination he wasted not a second in tugging at the extension of his less than ordinary hand to remove it from the floor.
A bitter and aged youth spit silent curses at his foes, and almost immediately did a shudder run through the vacated building. In all these years gone by, Braelin had not gone lax in training, if anything he had been required to hone what had been an unruly destructive force into a finely tuned weapon of precision in order to not only survive but simply exist in the vast universe he now wandered. The ethereal marking that he left in his wake had received the signal from Braelin and dematerialized a near surgical slice into the apartment. His attack didn't stop on the fourth floor, following straight down into the earth and all but separating one-half from the other. Unable to hold an unsupported weight, the wall to his side crumbled, and he'd assume where he had started the reaction a similar sight would unfurl. The ceiling came down and the boy took a step back out of the way as the street-facing front of the structure fell away like a domino tipped over by a strong wind. It all happened in the few seconds Braelin took to enjoy his success, and perhaps the men were struck off guard by his ploy or just unable to react in time. Regardless, when the rubble came down, the squadron was well in the spot to be crushed.
The dust didn't even have time to settle before the redhead made way to get the hell away from this battleground. The longer he stuck around the greater a chance of potential backup rearing their ugly faces.
Whirr
Came the sound of a beam rifle being fired. Down at the bottom of the steps, he was descending appeared one more problematic individual, light refactor breaking as a brilliant blast lit up the dark, narrow space. His gut would take the blow, but it took far more than a little hole, or several to put the golem down. If the soldier had read the dossier on the golem, and they damn well should have; Braelin had seen it himself. He'd have taken the surprising strike to destroy his oculars. Perhaps the soldier didn't wish to risk hitting his power core and having himself be at ground zero of a mile wide detonation. As it was though, Braelin didn't miss a beat, and certainly wouldn't allow him to land another shot. Taking a leap downward, one more beam would try to mar his being. Only this one would be caught by an open palm, and there was nothing that wouldn't be torn apart when meeting that dangerous touch. Sturdy boots slammed into the now cracked boards at the base of the stairs, Braelin's assailant having little recourse but to put his back against the wall and steady his gun for one last shot. Only he wouldn't get it off, close quarters combat was Braelin's forte, and able to get into within arm's-length, he made a simple swipe at the energy weapon, slicing through the body like it were butter and rendering it all but useless.
Then the merc had the gall to drop the busted rifle to grab at a blade in his side belt. That cost him the offending limb just under the shoulder joint. A wail in shock, one of many sensations trained out of the now vagrant traveler. Braelin had no sympathy for these hunters, but he didn't kill this one, not yet. Before assuredly bleeding out from the arteries and veins severed without a means to cauterize shut. Braelin having to peer up at the taller man with a sneer had but one inquiry. "Did he pay you well enough?" In this, perhaps the boy's pride and smoldering rage would cost him, but at this moment he couldn't help himself.
Gritting his teeth, the dying leader of the group had a rebuttal that surprised Braelin in his newfound cocky demeanor. "I'm sure...he'll triple the price for the next group...and for the one after that." Chest going through several spasms in the struggled dialogue, but still impressive in how steady he kept a grizzled tone, Braelin didn't catch a quick grab at the belt pack. "He's got your number, boy." Another high-pitched screech, but this was no blaster. Braelin instinctively pounded his hand at his feet, dropping him through a now spacious opening in the floor. He'd escape the blast if only barely, his form showered in splintered wood and fine particulate as a bright red pulse of energy lit up the hole he'd made.
Even the small victory did not allow a moment's rest. If there were others they'd not wait for him to catch his breath. He wanted to curl up into a pile and have all of this fade away, but there was no bundle of ravaged sheets and pillows, no pack to call his family, all that he had was his determination to push on. If Zeno wanted him so badly he could come and see him face to face. Pushing to his feet, Braelin staggered out from a nearly demolished housing unit.
Anywhere away from here.
---
A ship off planet was impossible to procure with how few credits he had to his name, but he had managed. Somehow, the youth crammed himself into the back of a shipping freighter whose destination he had not quite understood considering the golem had not politely asked to tag along in the first place.
Tattered cloak folded as neatly as possible next to where he sat, a satchel would be wearily pulled from his waist. Inside were a collection of strange tools of which Braelin took hold of just one device. Akin to a spatial screwdriver, it radiated a soothing glow when activated and passed over the breach in his forearm the energy weapon had inflicted. In his prime, such a wound would "heal" itself in perhaps mere minutes after being formed. Half a millennia after his expected lifespan left much to be desired in terms of how his golem shell operated. The core in his chest ran as strong as ever, but his body could make less efficient use of its innate gifts as time passed. The tool he held over his injuries focused the mana coursing throughout him as a means to kick-start replicating his semi-organic construct.
Hiding away the device once more, he'd pull out one last object before shutting those sullen emerald hues to the rickety freighter interior. Digits built and trained to destroy traced over every bump and crevice of a singular metacarpal bone, otherwise worn smooth from apparent handling as was going on now. One of the few remnants of Cheswick small enough for him to carry around with him at all times. Back home, she had a proper burial as she'd shown him that night so long ago. Along with that, he held out hope of finding a necromancer to...aid him. A woman smaller than him, with a fouler mouth than he, and often dressed in a stark white suit.
Ziggy Stardust.
The golem may not have approved of anything she performed or stood for, but Braelin had long since discarded the childish notion of the universe working in the simplistic rules he'd created in his early days of innocence. There were others to go for sure, but the boy trusted few, and this one in particular he felt had the purpose to handle this one job no matter the price. He just had to find her, and lose any other goons Zeno would be sending his way...
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