A Manor can be seen far off from the hillsides, if one had enough height and visual distance for it. A dense forest with small lights gleaming across the trees, a signal for the front yard, where spirits float aimlessly around the porch. No matter how close they got, they made sure never to cross it. Two sets of steps were being made, one inside, and one out. A gun was dragged across the floor, scattering any debris around it, veering the souls away. The man was a hunter, a large barrel to cover his arm, a cloak and hood with a camouflage pattern flowing freely, clicking off the hilts so he can tuck it back into his vest, folding it neatly with his other arm.
The Sniper in Hell, Bronx Stophles.
At the same time, someone would exit the doorway and sit on the porch, scroll rolled out to write down some kanji, a calligraphic hobby, a poem for himself, as he'd watch on the spirits that float idly by. Each soul that tried to take shape ceased, in fear of upsetting the man, with his eyes always covered, his crown shining amidst the encroaching night.
King Cliffside.
"Apologies. The devil switched my mission and I had some complications along the way." Bronx would state, an apology to the King as he'd kneel down, barrel fully planted on the ground like a sword, ensuring he doesn't cross the porch.
"Did he, now? Curious why the sudden change..." A small murmur to act as the King's answer. Only a sigh of annoyance escaped from the Sniper.
"Been wanting to ask that for the other targets he wanted. Flippant, I'd guess." He'd raise his head to see if the King was upset, but no emotion was visible on him. No reaction. As if he's heard such strikes a hundred times over. "Are you doing calligraphy again?"
"Indeed. It's a hobby I picked up recently." His quick remark would be further proven by showing the poem towards Bronx, much to the latter's confusion.
"You know I can't read Japanese, right?"
"Ahh... my apologies. I'll translate it for you..." He'd clear his throat as the King began his read.
"Faceless men walk on."
"To a land without mercy. "
"A badge of power."
"Badge?" Bronx would be confused as he'd relax himself, watching the King prepare another stanza with the black brush.
"To some, it could be physical. To others, mental. From the few visits I've seen, there has been those that want to prove themselves they are worth something. They do this by charging ahead at me, sword in arms, magic in tow. They aren't seeing the full picture. They don't want to see it. They want to face the consequences, if it means a chance to take my throne."
"...How many people have you challenged so far?" Bronx's concerns rose as soon as he put the pieces together.
"A thousand or so."
"Yeah, no. I'm not standing by on a king that-"
"Throws his life away? What for? You do the same when you go on these expeditions, do you not?"
"There's a Difference!" A visceral emotion escaping from the level headed Sniper, an emotion that, as soon as he noticed it, had his eyes open. He tried to reach and disable his gun, but stopped himself as soon as he connected it further. He'd grit his teeth as he'd stare down, conflicted, confounded, cursing himself as he'd remember his moments.
"As expected. The Devil still wants you to serve. It has taken a toll on you, my friend. Why not go back against his word?"
"He has my Soul. Why would I even attempt such? At any point, he can just as easily command his Weapon with a flick of his fingers to whomever he wishes. I might as well do the job first, to grant them a chance. A chance-"
"To die?"
Bronx fell silent as King issued his question. The King of All dropped his brush and scroll gently to his side, a gesture towards the floating lights. The Sniper followed, watching them remain in mid-air, watching the faint features that he could recollect. One possessing a black eye, a fighter who gave their all, breaking their own bones as a result. Another holding spears against his own chest, a soldier that fought to the very end, impaled by his own weapon. A woman with no head, a spy who refused to tell a word, biting her own tongue off and having her corpse be desecrated by beheading for not complying. Each one was forced by another's hand, yet they gave their lives away, not wanting to be chained by those that damn them. "At some point... you will inevitably join them. There is no shame in not following the Devil. No shame at all. You wish to be free, do you not?"
Bronx took a deep breath, his calm self resurfacing. "When someone puts me down for good, when their Weapon breaks, then I will. I have made this promise to myself, and they know it. They'll know when I'm coming for them, for what they made me do."
"Like a soldier, you don't refuse your position. I ask you this then, what if I was the next target the Devil demands?"
"Then I'll die before you. Simple as." A small trace of a smile is seen on Bronx, a showcase of his loyalty, knowing if he was commanded, then the King is not hesitating to put him down. Nobody can reach the King through brute force alone, anyway. One must be equal to him, and as it stands, Bronx doesn't see himself reaching such ranks for an eternity's worth. A shimmer came from the paper in his pocket, a new name etched in it.
"Lomian Lahweh - 47 years old"
"July 8th - TBA"
"Barrel Magic"
"Another name..." As he mumbled, Bronx felt an iron grip on his shoulder, the King watching over, patting him, as he'd make his way out of the Manor.
"I believe that man is in Calibren. I need to pay a visit there, anyhow. We can keep talking if you'd wish, Bronx." His voice was stern, but not dismissive. Like a father figure, tending to one's young. The Sniper can't help but look away, abashed, unable to see eye to eye, unwilling to be given this level of care. "Do not look down, my Soldier. You'd only disappoint yourself further. You will be free one day, and when you do, you know the order I am willing to give."
"...Thank you." The Sniper whispered, a small tear dropping onto the flowery fields, as they walked away from the floating lights.