Whiteclay II

There were many things that Irwin could do with what credit he had, but like the archangels born of four, there was only so much he could do against a force of nature dictated by God himself.

So when a blizzard hits the moment they're plane landed in Central Nebraska Regional Airport, all Irwin could do was moan in exasperation as he rented a car to drive towards their destination.

Unfortunately for Scott, he had to listen to his newest boss groan and bitch about giving priority to growing his magik to be strong enough to blast the blizzard away one day. Apparently, the Trade Store could wash away the natural phenomena but for almost thirteen hundred credits which Irwin was sorely tempted to buy.

After half an hour of thinking, Irwin settled on setting the car's heater at maximum and cared not if they ran out of battery the moment they arrived at Harvelle's Roadhouse.

What had further ground his gear was that the snowstorm was messing with phone signals which caused the existence of satellite phones to permeate Irwin's mind.

As the storm grew stronger, so did Irwin's boredom. With nothing else much to do, he let Scott handle the drive as he reclined backwards and tried to rest.

It didn't take much to make him fall asleep given that his body and mind had synchronically alerted him that an of relaxation would do him good from the months of torture. Although he didn't actually remember it lasting that long–partly thanks to Alistair's old techniques–there were still remnants of muscle memory that was yet to be informed of their escape.

He didn't dream. No vivid imagery of yellow nor remnants of that scenery, merely darkness and lucidity. Frankly, Irwin much preferred that than to be always reminded of his past.

●●●●●

The silver eye blared in defeat as the tears of white cascaded down the glade of green.

moon 

snow

His memories reminded him of the eye's name. It reminded him of many things, things that had helped him survive during the great tears of white.

winter

There it was again, memories filling his head beside the worms of the great land. Worms that had brought down the creatures of the sky, creatures that had fed him from the falling of the leaves and the burning of the wind.

fall

summer

"GRAAAH!" He roared, rejecting what he had been.

The old him wanted out, dreaming of becoming less than what he was now. But he would not let him out. He was better now than he was before.

Thankful for the grace of the land, he had found prey bigger than worms and tastier than the dogs that bite at the smell of blood. Dogs. He was reminded of that word during the last great–winter.

When the snow had invaded his Sanctuary and his hunger had grown up to his skull, he had found the critters of thick skin and thicker bone.

A sudden crisp snap invaded his side hole–ears, his mind recanted–which meant that something was moving within his Sanctuary, a hole within the glade of green that was beside the tall wall of rock. 

Blood eyes scoured the Sanctuary to find the form he had taken before he became better.

mutated

"Huuuuummaaaaan." He whispered, crawling around the rocks that hid his hulking form.

The human that he had stored for the winter had gotten loose, rope that had tangled his body were still bound but had loosened enough for strained movement. He scurried forward, fear coursing through his addled mind as his tongue lolly-gaggle around his lipless mouth.

The only thought in his brain was to capture the food. Mother knows how dangerous it had been to trap this one. What more if it were aware of his existence?

"Run, Cyril. Run!" The food cried out, which hurried him more, for soon other food scurried away from the Sanctuary.

Luck was on his side as he reached the first food and grabbed its meaty hind quarters, causing it to kick and thrash away as if its meager strength would do damage to his form.

thrash

He liked that word. Most words he remembered were essential to elucidate thoughts, but thrash? Elucidate? That was expressive–

A burly food jumped into his gangrenous back and smashed its still-tied up hands on his skull. Pain was second nature, given that he was in a state of eternal hunger so the bashing was without merit. 

Still, the food thrashing atop him was annoying him and preventing him from capturing the others. His magnanimous roar reverberated across the Sanctuary, causing echoes to blast like the howling winds atop the peak of the wall of rocks.

magnanimous 

The roar affected the nuisance in his back, which allowed him to reach its body with his spindly long limbs and throw him towards an upper tooth of the Sanctuary. Both tooth and body broke from the throw and cracked from the fall, causing tasty morsels of flesh to be dipped into the sauce of life.

blood

Hunger dominated his rationale more often than not. Rear legs bolstered by the sight roared forward as he used his upper limbs to maneuver closer to the food.

"tasty… tasty!" He muttered, long simpering tongue languishing into the sauce of life–blood.

Before he knew it, his hunger had abated, and the food was nothing but bits of bone with stringy flesh. The sauce has scattered around the rocks and could no longer be eaten. Licked, maybe.

Still, the bones could still be used to taste what was now gone. He had enjoyed it, but knew his hunger was eternal and soon it would gnaw again.

"Huuuuummannnn." He whispered excitedly before gazing back at the first food to escape, only to find a trail of hemp and blood leaking out of the Sanctuary.

"hunt… hunt…"

●●●●●

Irwin was enjoying the effects of his slumber, in so far as it had no effects compared to the previous guilt-ridden dreams that he had been experiencing only Chuck knows when.

Yet for all that relaxation, his body and, subsequently, his mind had been trained, molded, and upgraded by the various skills, spells, and potions he had consumed in the seven or eight months.

As such, when the vehicle he rode upon rocked his body, emitted a bone-crunching sound in front of him, and lurched to a screeching stop, Irwin immediately awoke with an intense glare as he summoned an Angel Blade and the Indestructible Hex Bag from his spatial bangle.

"What's happening?" He asked Scott, who, as he turned towards the man, was wide-eyed and shocked.

Scott blinked hard before answering, "I-I ran over someone. A woman–Fuck!"

"Calm down." Irwin said in a neutral tone, noting that the Scott's contract still allowed him to react to unfamiliar situations like a normal human being.

'Ansem must be alienated in the house.' He thought before ordering Scott to lock the doors as he exited the vehicle.

He hid the Angel Blade on the sleeves of his blazer as he walked in front of the car, revealing the large dent on the rental's hood and the strings of bloodied hair stuck in its grill. Not a few feet away from the car was a mangled body of a brown-haired woman, still twitching and moaning from the pain of the hit.

With the headlight, his only illumination against the blustering wings of the blizzard-woven night, Irwin stalked closer as he scrutinized the woman. Clad in what appeared to be hiker's clothing, with hemp rope tied around her waist and two distinct holes puncturing her left outer thigh and left shoulder blade.

Irwin knew that her broken arm, dislocated hips, and broken skull may be their fault. The rest of wounds were not.

"Baby, this is why I love Nebraska." He muttered as he stashed the Angel Blade for an Angel Sword and drove the tip upon the asphalt, letting it stand there in case he needed a weapon.

The snow never bothered me as he kneeled beside her and saw how gaunt and pallid her face was. Small claw-like marks bedecked her cheeks and aquiline nose and there he saw a chuck of her left temple were missing.

No, not missing. Eaten.

"Awe-I mean, crap." Irwin cleared his throat and felt the woman's pulse. It was beating—that much was clear—but not for long.

"You owe me about 35 credits." He whispered as he force fed her a Health potion which would cut out a large portion of her already waning Stamina.

The potion's effect was potent, especially in her as it immediately closed the visible wounds before growing enough skin to heal the scratches and scraps that she had accrued from captivity.

'At least I think she was captured or, hopefully, in a BDSM dungeon gone very, very wrong.'

He hoisted her up and walked towards the back of the car, scanning the surrounding forest line before placing her on the back. He retrieved his sword and returned to the passenger seat.

"She's not dead." Scott sighed with relief. "Thank god."

"No. Thank me," Irwin corrected sternly, gazing at Scott's eye before wrinkling his lips into a smile. "God, I've always wanted to say that. Let's go to the nearest town, motel, or something. She still has broken arms and, frankly, I want to know why the fuck is she in the middle of nowhere."

Scott nodded, consulting the map from the glove box. "Alright. Nearest one is… Whiteclay. Small town, barely a town, actually."

The car restarted and rolled forward with a few hiccups, leaving a trail of gas and blood.