Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20191208023849

Before the debate between the two Hunters could even wind to a close, Diaboli had already taken his leave, with Trago following a respectable distance behind. He slowed as he neared the treeline, though, and turned to watch as Dust quickened his pace to catch up. Looking back, the crime lord saw the Huntress standing still on the craggy beach, watching them as they slowly disappeared from sight.

A nod of acknowledgement was all Diaboli gave Dust before they set off again. Above, the light of Remnant's fractured moon struggled to pierce the woodland canopy, leaving the path ahead dark and treacherous to the graceless. But even down the darkest trails, Diaboli led the way with the sure-footedness of a ranger - never once tripping over a hidden tree root, or snagging himself on the countless creeping bramble-bushes that sought to tear into the unwary. The surety in his step was so great, in fact, that one could only assume he had made this journey many times...

As the minutes dragged on, and the night sky slowly began to warm with the first shades of twilight, the trail ahead started to change. Old animal tracks widened, and the surrounding trees grew less and less dense with each passing step. Here and there, rotten stumps could be found, standing like gravestones for trees brought low by the swing of a forester's axe. And as they walked, the ground hardened beneath their feet as the soft woodland earth gave way to a well-worn path.

Diaboli could feel Dust's gaze like lasers on his back. He didn't doubt that the Huntsman suspected him, though whether or not he actually knew who he was was uncertain. Did he follow him out of ignorance? Or was he trying to distance them from the Huntress? He touched each thought for a moment, before shoving them aside in his mind. Pointless questions - he decided. He was here now, and that was all that mattered.

Finally, after a long and thankfully Grimm-free trek through the wilderness, the group found themselves approaching a small settlement. It was a tiny thing, concealed on all sides by the surrounding woods, and protected by a stone wall that circled the dozen or so buildings that lay within. But despite its diminutive size, it appeared that Diaboli had kept his promise.

Nobody spoke as they approached the wooden gates of the village. A single watchtower could be seen behind the wall, but the lack of a sentry meant their advance went unchallenged - even when Trago threw open the heavy oak doors barring their way and Diaboli stepped into the dusty street beyond.

"Welcome to Sayuri Village, Mr McAllister," Diaboli announced, the lack of wind making his words sounds strangely hollow as they echoed eerily between the houses. He continued his walk down the village's single street, turning his head slowly as he observed the dark, decrepit buildings on either side. Each one loomed over them like monsters in the night - their black windows seeming to drink in what little moonlight the clouds allowed.

Each one as silent as a tomb.

The sharp screech of rusted metal hinges pierced the air as Trago dragged shut the gates behind them, positioning himself between the rest of the party and the only entrance to the village. But Diaboli didn't react. He just kept walking, and walking, until he was a dozen steps ahead of Dust and his quarry. Only then did he pause, and look to his side.

"I was unsure you'd follow me here," he eventually said in a low voice. "I hoped you would, I wanted to show you...I wanted to bear witness to it - the beginning of the end. I think you've earned that much."

Slowly, Diaboli turned to face the weary Huntsman. The pale mobster was like a ghost in the fading moonlight, his features flickering in and out of sight as the clouds passed overhead.

"This village was abandoned three years ago. If you were from Mistral like me, you would have known that. It was all over the news back then. After all, a settlement this close to the capital, falling to Grimm? It was unheard of. But whose fault was it really?"

He took a single step forward.

"Was it the settlers, who failed to defend their homes? Was it the bandits that constantly harried their people? Or was the Grimm, which drove them away?" Reaching down, Diaboli scooped up a handful of old bullet casings from the dirt and, one by one, let them fall back down to the ground. "The answer? None of them. The fault lies in those who pushed them here in the first place. It lies with the Council, whose incompetent members fail their people every day. It lies with the Hunters, who care more about ego and killcounts than helping those they swore to protect." His icy gaze fixated on Jett, and it was colder than it had been in a long, long time.

"And it lies with the bloated companies that profit from their failures."

The silence was deafening as Diaboli paused to consider his words. Even as the last nocturnal animals retired to their burrows, and the earliest birds took the sky, not a sound could be heard in the ruins of Sayuri Village.

"It's time to pluck Narreau right from the battlefield - one feather at a time," Diaboli decided after a moment, advancing a final step as he spoke. "That girl will lead me to more of her...angelic allies...and then I'll purge my city of the rest of these meddlesome factions. Because you see, my dear Huntsman. Evil cannot be destroyed...only conquered."

Diaboli adjusted the bottom of his shirt, and for the briefest moment the moonlight caught him - illuminating a wicked smile and eliciting a flash of chrome at the mobster's hip.

"After all...war always was the inferior horseman."