Julius POV
Pain.
Loads of it.
"What the hell Richter, did you have to get hit so much," I grumbled under my breath, falling to the floor in exhaustion beside the mask.
My entire body felt like it had been put through a washing machine filled with rocks. Richter always did this, took control, had his fun, and left me to deal with the aftermath. Part of me was grateful he handled the monster, but the other part wanted to strangle him for being so reckless with my body.
"Like seriously how am I supposed to explain this?" I asked into the air, knowing full well he could hear me somewhere in the recesses of our shared mind. No answer came, of course. Richter was probably already retreating back into whatever mental corner he occupied when he wasn't in control. Typical.
My hand went up to above my eye, where the blood had already stopped pouring out, the cut however still stung, as for the rest of my body, I had a cut on my cheek a few on my arms and my back and torso felt like they were about to collapse.
I tentatively touched the wound above my eye, wincing as my fingertips made contact with the ragged edge of the cut. It wasn't too deep, but it would definitely leave a mark. Just another scar to add to the collection I'd been building since Richter first made his appearance in my life. The cut on my cheek stung less, but the blood had dried and pulled at my skin every time I changed expressions.
The real problem was my torso. I lifted my tattered shirt to examine the damage and immediately regretted it. A massive bruise was already forming across my ribs, colored in magnificent shades of purple and blue. Nothing seemed broken, but it hurt to breathe too deeply.
"Thanks for nothing, you battle-hungry psycho," I muttered, knowing Richter probably took pride in these injuries as if they were badges of honor.
I slowly got back up pushing through the pain. Every muscle in my body protested the movement, but I couldn't just lie there on the floor of my school at...
What time was it anyway? Probably really late. My foster parents were going to kill me, assuming I managed to make it home without bleeding out first.
I walked over to the mask, each step sending jolts of pain up my spine.
It was stuck on the face of a wailing woman and yet I could still tell it was liquid-like. The expression frozen in eternal agony, eyes wide and mouth stretched in a silent scream. It was haunting, but also strangely beautiful in the way that terrible things sometimes are. While staring at the white mask, I rounded up my whip.
The Vampire Killer as Richter had deemed it, I had just followed suit. We got it from the first monster we ever killed, well he killed, if you couldn't tell I wasn't great at combat. I was the brains of this operation, when brains were needed, which wasn't often in Richter's opinion.
He preferred the direct approach, which in his own words was. All we had to do was rush forward and hit it till it dies! Woohoo!
Yes those were his exact words, even the woohoo.
I still remember like it was yesterday I was 10 and one of the middle school cheerleaders wanted to say something to me, so I followed her and bam.
Goat leg, bronze leg, fangs, bat wings. Basically a furry vampire. Wait could vampires be furries? Were they already furries? I mean they were part bat after all.
Either way the monster could use a fire whip according to what I remember and that fire whip was what had ended up in my hands, though in my case it was bronze.
Four years had passed since that first encounter. Four years of being dragged into fights with creatures that shouldn't exist, four years of patching myself up afterward, why did you think I had been sent to over five families in so little time, it's because they always thought I was some psycho who got into fights or child services thought that they were mistreating me (which some did but that isn't really important).
Four years of Richter.
I walked over to my bag placing the whip inside it, winding it carefully so it wouldn't get tangled. The bronze almost glowing as if fire was spreading inside it. Perhaps it was.
I then turned to the white mask, picking it up.
The face of the wailing woman began to ripple, turning into liquid that sunk into my skin to which I could only shrug my shoulders.
I know I should have reacted worse, but I was honestly too damn hurt to care, it was a drop of a monster I'm sure it would be fine. Or maybe I'd panic later on when I wasn't as hurt. Problems for future Julius.
"Probably just going to give me weird dreams," I muttered to myself as I zipped up my backpack. Though, given the nightmares I already had, I doubted I'd notice the difference.
I grabbed my backpack, and began to think about what to do.
Every movement sent spikes of pain through my body. I needed to clean up before heading home. My shirt was torn in several places and stained with blood. If someone saw me like this, they'd probably call the police.
"I'm gonna hit the showers, they probably still work at night right?"
The janitors usually turned off the main water supply after hours, but the gym had its own system for some reason.
I sighed to myself again and dragged my broken body back to the gymnasium and to the boy's locker rooms. The walk felt like it was taking much longer than it should have but that was probably because I was walking much slower than normal.
I finally reached the locker room and pushed the door open with my shoulder, wincing at the pain. The room was dark, but I knew my way around. I opened up one of the closets grabbing a towel and putting it on a bench, I then took of my clothes.
The process of undressing was slow and painful. Every time I lifted my arms above my head, my ribs screamed in protest. When I finally got my shirt off, I could see the full extent of the damage. Besides the massive bruise on my ribcage, there were several cuts and scrapes across my torso, and what looked like claw marks on my left shoulder. Richter had really outdone himself this time.
My pants were in slightly better shape, though there was a nasty gash on my right thigh that I hadn't even noticed before. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it would need cleaning.
I entered the showers and turned the knob.
Cold water began to run from the showerhead.
"Thank whatever gods exist, really thank you," I muttered as I stayed under the shower letting the sweat and blood roll of me, I didn't have shampoo or showering gel but that didn't matter all I wanted was to get the blood of me, even if my clothes still smelled and were torn open on various places.
The cold water stung the cuts at first, but soon it numbed the pain. I watched as the water at my feet turned pink, then clear. There was something almost meditative about standing there, letting the water wash rythmically hit my body.
After a good fifteen minutes of standing under the water, and not any new blood dripping from my open wounds, I turned the shower head off and began drying myself. The towel was rough against my skin, but I'd endured worse. Much worse.
I put on my long sweat pants, my shirt and my hand reached for my jacket. When I suddenly heard a creaking noise which made me tense up.
I glanced around for the whip, cursing myself for leaving it in my backpack. Richter would have had it ready. But then again, Richter wouldn't have bothered with the shower; he'd have gone looking for the next fight.
The handle of the door to the boy's locker room began to turn and the door opened soon after.
I braced myself, ready to dodge or run, whatever the situation called for. But what came through the door wasn't another monster, at least not one I recognized.
A woman tall, graceful and gorgeously beautiful. She had brown eyes, a slightly upturned nose, copper-colored skin, and a silver circlet braided into the top of her long, dark hair, a bow and quiver were strapped to her back and a dagger was strapped at her waist.
Wait why did she have a bow? Why did she have a dagger? Was she here for a renaissance convention? Was she going as the stereotypical rogue?
My train of thought got cut off as the woman closed the distance between us, threw me over her shoulder and smashed me against the ground.
The impact knocked what little air I had left out of my lungs. My already battered body screamed in protest, and for a moment, I thought I might pass out, but years of Richter's abuse had given me a high pain tolerance if nothing else.
I felt the air leave my lungs from the impact and I just stayed there dazed, the woman then asked me her voice neutral.
"Where is the Mormo."
It wasn't a question, but a demand. Her accent was old, kind of sounded like british but at the same time it didn't.
"You practice the accent for the convention?" I asked in a gasp, still in my previous train of thought. "Gotta say it's pretty good."
She pressed her foot on my chest, which, ouch. If I had been in another position it may have been kinky though.
"Where is the Mormo?" she asked again.
I wasn't sure what a Mormo was, but a wild idea formed in my head.
"The white monster?" I asked. "I killed it."
Well, technically Richter killed it, but I didn't think the distinction mattered to this woman.
The girl looked at me in suspicion and... disgust?
"You lie, you are much too weak."
Ok technically I was lying, but I wasn't going to tell her that.
"Excuse you," I said.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her eyes sharpening.
"Let me finish."
She actually closed her mouth.
"Excuse you, I killed that thing. I'm weak cause I got fucking hit by the monster, can't you tell, I thought rogues were meant to have good eyesight."
She stared at me in silence, a rope suddenly appearing in her hands.
Where the hell did that come from?
She tied around my hands and soon after she began dragging me across the floor.
I didn't resist. Partly because I was too injured to put up much of a fight, and partly because I was curious. She knew what the monster was called.
"Wait," I said, thankfully making her stop. "Can I at least get my backpack."
The Vampire Killer was in there. I couldn't leave it behind.
The woman came to a stop, and almost as if in a trace. She looked at my bag, then nodded. Grabbing it from the overhead strap by one hand and dragging me with the other.
The trip through the school corridors was humiliating and painful. My back scraped against the floor, aggravating my existing injuries. The woman didn't seem to care or notice, maintaining her brisk pace as she dragged me along like a sack of potatoes.
Finally, we reached a set of double doors that I knew led to the lunch room The woman pushed them open with one foot, still maintaining her grip on me and my backpack.
The girl finally stopped dragging me and let go of the rope I was surrounded by three dozen girls there ages ranging from 12 to their early 20s and I was left of in front of a girl 15 years of age, with shoulder-length raven-black hair and striking silver-grey eyes. She looked more, what is the word... divine.
Yeah divine. She looked more divine than the rest.
The girls were arranged in a loose semicircle, all wearing similar silver circlets to the one my captor wore. All of them had bows and daggers for some reason. All looked at me with varying degrees of curiosity, suspicion, or outright hostility.
Was the entire renaissance convention here?
The girl who had been dragging me bowed her head to the girl at the center as she spoke in a low tone.
"Lady Artemis."