He breathes through his nostril. He's never been a fan of 'nose breathing'. He thinks he would understand the appeal if he himself had a pair of working nostrils. He's doing it so as to not suspect weakness in front of the girl.

She looks at him without a care in the world. She's half his size but twice his weight. She could topple this stick if she needed to. "Turn around!" she shouts. This guy isn't getting away, she's finally caught him and despite her lack of back-up she not going to risk him getting away. Not again.

"Turn around! I won't ask you again." she reaches for her tazer and aims at his torso.

He thinks about taking those prongs out. He could sweep across at the right moment and let momentum swing his arms across the electrical wire.

With one hand on the pistol and the other on tazer, she stiffens her wrist and bringt the weapon to her sights. She know this guy is up to something.

He throws his hands up and turns around. She''s going to have to put her weapons away to arrest him. He can still take her...he hopes.

She tells him to interlock his fingers behinde his head and to slowly drop to his knees.

"I've got bad knees!" he yells out. Lying.

"I don't care. Drop!"

"This is bullshit!"

"On your knees, or on your face!"

"Fuck You!"

"Listen, my dude.." she says condescendingly.

"Your'e going to drop to your knees or you're going to stand there all day until my back-up arrives. But if you move from that spot right there-like, if you unlace your fingers or drop your hands I'm going to shock the fuck out of you!"

He stays quite. All that's going through his mind is that he's not going back to prison. Her back-up isn't coming. He can time his reaction just by the sound of the tazer shooting out.

"ok, this is just going to look worse on your arrest record"

He spits on the ground. Hoping that would cause her to react.

"Listen, my dude-"

"shut up! stop calling me that!"

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"What's your name?"

"My name?"

"Yeah, you're name"

"My name if Fuck-You-I-got-bad-knees!"

She notices that despite him being less than six feet away they are still yelling at each other.

"Ok, F.Y.I.G.B.K..." she says, sounding out each letter in quiter tone.

"If you want to stand here all day we can. I'm half your size- I mean personally I know I can take you- but I don't know if you have any other weapons. So we're going to stand here all day until my back-up shows up." she says, taking huge gulps of air.

"Ok, well I'm not dropping to my knees, I earn my money doing labor if I lose my knees I can't make a living." He tells her. He's biding for time. Despite what she says, his back-up will be back before her's.

"I understand that-"

"No, you don't! You get to go on medical leave and get paid time off if your thumb is sore from paperwork! Regular folks don't have that. I'm not dropping to my knees. Come and arrest me or we wait for back-up."

"Or I can fucking taze you if you move," she says. Losing her patience.

"Do it!"

A loud burst of gunfire erupts on all sides. She feels bullets wizzing by her and retreats to a secure position. She ducks behind a solid object and keeps her firearm at the ready.

The man takes a deep breath but feels an obstuction. It's as if he's breathing in water. He notices himself laying down. His breaths get shallower and more labored. His back up he thought, dying.

The room was brightly lit, white walled, & filled with only a chair & a table. He could not get up, his ankles & forearms strapped down. People had come & gone for three days now, he had not been fed or allowed up at any point. The bruises across his body reminded him of how much better this was.

She entered the room, setting down a stack of papers on the table before pacing back & forth in front of him. She never looked his direction & for a moment he thought she might not even speak.

"What is my name?" The woman spoke as much to the wall as to him. Her voice sounded bored, lacking any celebration or even the malice of her predecessors.

There was no camera, so this wasn't another attempt at a staged confession. A brick red coat came to her knees, the uniform of a political officer flowing like a cape as she paced.

"I… have no idea, honestly." He tried to recognize her but couldn't bring to mind ever having seen her since the rebels had dragged him into captivity. "...are you the one who captured me?"

He didn't even see the pistol that came from the folds of her coat. The flurry of motion took him entirely by surprise until the sound of it firing became the only thing in the world beyond the pain of his shattered wrist.

"Wrong answer." The harsh click of metal when the pistol hit the table forcibly gripped his attention from the bleeding mess that had once been his hand. She met his eyes now & ice cold resolve bored into his very soul. "Try again."

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The rift was sealed, the chaos in the chamber subsided as the living nightmare ceased. The black dragon set the tip of his sword into the floor to steady himself. He waved off two of his footsoldiers who tried to offer assistance and walked toward the wreckage at the end of the room.

"Everyone... behold... your 'glorious' leader." The drake announced, grabbing Formosis and lifting him from the wreckage of his golden throne. "What say you; traitor, defier, most unfit for their power, what say you now!?"

The elder council head was silent as he affixed the drake with a glare from his remaining eye. He flinched backwards as the tip of the glowing Star Saber was put to his neck.

"Answer, not just to me, but to everyone here. You summoned this, you summoned Them."

"You are a danger to our way of life... you, your kind. A disgrace upon the fabric of the cosmos."

A grin spread on the drakes face, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Go on."

"It's the truth! You Chaos Jumpers, especially Dark Jumpers, you are all dangers to the universes we reside! We would be better off if none of you remained!" Formosis pushed aside the sword and arose, still shouting. Sixxus chuckled and let the sword free. The three component bots saluting him before returning to his pocketspace.

"You should have never succeeded your trial, you were meant to die! It would have been so easy, and nobody would have questioned it! Instead, you just couldn't accept your fate. You survived and brought question to MY rule, MY leadership! Never before since the inception of this council has there been such division in its ranks! I was pushed to these measures! Surely some of you understand!"

The dead remained silent, those badly injured looked on in pain and sorrow, the rest of the survivors had disgust clear on their face. Formosis faltered as he took in his surroundings, as if noticing for the first time the damage he brought. "Funny thing is... you might have once had a point there."

Formosis whipped back to face his hated enemy, the savior of the day. "Except: I'm not that bad (mostly), I can respect your existence, and I'm mostly willing to play by your rules. I just don't desire to be bound by them. Instead of living and let live, you decided to bring forth powers beyond most comprehension, powers so terrible the gods themselves could not stop them. Powers so vicious that the gods forged superweapons to defeat them. Superweapons which gained sapience and were banished once their jobs were done."

"..."

"Superweapons that made me. And Jobias over there, but he's not important. A bunch of superweapons made a habitable planet and a race to occupy it. A planet you condemned to death because you had some preconceived notion about how the cosmos should work." Sixxus sneered, waving his hands around to the room. "Tell me, HOW DID THAT WORK OUT FOR YOU!?"

Formosis squeaked as he was grabbed from behind, a large hand around his torso. He looked over his shoulder to the Gaurdian that held him, the badly damaged being looking on in rage and disappointment. "We have failed our duty, allowing your rot to fester in our Council of Light... I will now correct that mistake."

The last thing Formosis saw was the Chaos Jumper taking a sarcastic bow, as if ending a show.

Follow the adventure at r/PrimusWrites

Sylva sat at the wireframe table out in the garden. She barely noticed as Brigette sat down across from her. "So, is this it then? Are you here to kill me, Eighth Death?" Brigette smiled and laughed. "No, I could never. This isn't true death, it's death of race. Once I turn you, you'll be one of ours, a Deathkin. My apprentice." Sylva sighed and Brigette nodded. "I know how you feel, I felt the same way when Apophis chose me." Sylva looked at Brigette, puzzled and Brigette nodded. "You'll be allowed to meet him." Sylva nodded and stood as Brigette did too. "I'm ready to begin." Brigette nodded and spoke. "Choose your name then." Sylva spoke anew. "I am Saint Azrael." Maman Brigette spoke in her deathtongue taking Saint Azrael's hand. "A pact. For The Masked Killer, The Hooded Hunter, The Saint. Take my hand, and be reborn, as a reminder that Death is merciless. Be the dark in the last moments of the light. Remind them of where they go. Remind them of what they’ve done. For I am Death, and I name you my blade. Saint Azrael, The Reaper." Sylva was dead and Saint Azrael stood in her place.