Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25582638-20191001031356

All of a sudden, Brunhilde heard a sound like a glass shattering above her, then a snap.

The Black Magic runes hovering over the deck had reached their limits, so did her Aura. With nothing to hold the worn heavy-duty black lines, they simultaneously fell over the sea like aerial bombs dropped from the sky, raining all sides with a series of thunderous splashes, left to be dragged to the bottom of the sea until their time has come. Only one line was left on the deck. The whip, which lay lifelessly beside the brown-haired Huntress curled up like a fetus.

After a moment, the swan wobbled and crumpled on her knees. Her black trench coat splayed loudly on the puddles of rainwater like beaten wings, its luster lost to the countless dirt and tears and battles it had been put through, shielding her from the heavy downpour as she tried to speak up.

"Lustra I..." Brunhilde whispered, but then she stopped. She didn't know what to say, or maybe it was futile to say anything at all. She didn't know whether the Huntress would hear her out, dreading the thought of what would come out of Lustra's lips if she dared to talk. Yet the need to talk to her former friend consumed her all the same. She couldn't bear not to try.

The Black Swan breathed heavily through her mask's filter, her arms trembling as she fought back emotions and fatigued bubbling inside her mind. Even as she had steadied her breathing like before, it wasn't enough to put back the rocks of the dam she had built to protect herself. It was impossible to stop. For the first time, the consequences of her choices finally caught up with her.

"... Hilda... why?"

If everything was simple, maybe the words "I'm sorry" would work.

If everything was just a game, maybe the words "I'll do better next time" would work.

She wished that it was one of those cases. She wished. But apparently, it wasn't.

Reality just doesn't work that way.

She couldn't look at the Huntress, her cracked visor tilted down as a morose shadow cast over the mask helmet. Brunhilde didn't know if the rain had gotten to her eye, as her vision was clouded with warm yet cold sensation, and the pain in her chest was worsening.

So Brunhilde remained quiet, wrestling with herself, the silence between them filled with distinguishable soft cries of the proud Huntress. It was only when she lifted her head and took a proper look of Lustra's state did the heiress feel something stir inside her. A feeling of unable to bear to see the Huntress this way, and wanting to help to alleviate the pain. It was the same way Brunhilde felt whenever she saw her beloved cousin suffer, and somehow, made her pain more bearable.

Without thinking, she brought up her hand slowly, steadily as she touched the Huntress' shoulder. Regardless of what Lustra would do, the Engelnacht heiress would keep her hand planted on the spot with a firm grasp. She loomed over the Huntress. Wordlessly, she unbuttoned her trench coat and shrugged it off, then set it down on Lustra’s back without removing the daggers still sheathed inside. Her slightly dried clothes was left to turn cold at the mercy of the never-ending rain.

And after some quick arranging, Brunhilde inserted her free hand beneath Lustra, and rolled her to her back as gently as possible. Feeling her head swirl again, she paused to catch her breath, tired from mustering her remaining strength, then heaved Lustra up, before propping her back against the wall and pulled down the hood.

Her hands remained on the hood, though, as the cracked visor stared back at the tired and swollen amber eyes. She still kept quiet, unmoving and her mask was inches away from the Huntress’ face. But the urge to speak to Lustra was unmistakably clear by her fists tightening around the hood’s hems. There, she dipped her head, and touched Lustra’s forehead with hers. There her lips parted, and uttered the words she’d longed to say all this time.

“I’m very sorry… Lustra,” She whispered softly.

Even though these words wouldn’t be enough to mend what was broken, to turn the clock back and restart everything, Brunhilde gathered the will to speak those words to her former friend, one last time.

"I'm very sorry..."

I'm just glad to see you alive

Wynston had kept quiet throughout the ordeal, watching the ordeal between Hazel and Maris from furthest corner of what remained of the bridge. With a large shard stuck in his leg, he wasn't in any position to do anything except pray for the dead and that there would be no more body after it. He didn't know where his distant cousin is- probably on the deck where he'd last heard her fought the Squid Grimm. He hoped that she wouldn't act more recklessly now that the situation calmed... somewhat.

However, he couldn't take his mind off of Hilda's actions earlier. The way she reacted upon hearing what had happened to the Huntress, it would be a stretch to say that his cousin was extremely competitive that she wouldn't let her opponent die at the hands of another. She used to be that way, but that was many years ago. Maybe someone she knew? Perhaps, although he had yet to see her possess any attachment to anyone first hand other than Cyzarine to provoke her to act like that.

But then, the Engelnacht family had always kept their affairs private from the families.

Before he could muse further, however, a faint white beam suddenly appeared at the corner of his eyes. When he turned his head, the light disappeared, and then turned back on. It flashed repeatedly, blinking up to a certain point before the pattern repeats again. After a moment, Wynston then realized that it was a morse code. And from their long-awaited rescuers.

'This is the Black Grave Unit. Ichor. Mistress. Please respond.'

They're here!

Rejuvenated, Wynston pulled himself to the rails, groaning as his hand grabbed the long-barreled pistol. As he clicked the red button twice by the hammer, the two chambers whirled, injecting doses of Fire Dust into the barrel. The muzzle smoked like a lit cigar as the barrel turned hot red, accumulating the wrathful power of Dust waiting to be unleashed

As he looked back at their direction, he could make out the dark shape of the motor launch cruising through the waves with his faunus eyes. A few moments later, it stopped dozens of meters away, the light now brighter as it continued to flash its message to the broken yacht. He didn’t have a flashlight, and doubt that the boat had any after the near-death battle with the Grimm. So he was left with one choice: Dust, and gunshots

“Let’s hope this is enough.” Wynston muttered as he pointed the muzzle to the starless skies.

And then, he shot through the darkness. A streak of red took to the skies, spewing ambers of flame as the blazing bullet climbed up and up, up until the casing cracked. And the power it held burst into beam of red, almost like a blood sun rising in the midst of the ranging shadows.

“C’mon...”

The chambers whirled again, this time stopping at Wind-Gravity combination. Far louder and devastating enough that the previous wielder should recognize it at such a distance. If the said person in question was indeed aboard, as Brunhilde had implied earlier.

Again, he trained the gun up, and pulled the trigger.

This is Ichor.

The Mistress is with me.

With 7 personnel on board.

Approach with caution.

The masked bodyguards onboard the motor launch watched the spectacle, the salvo ending in a fireworks of purple and green in the sky.

“That’s him.” A voice spoke up from behind, to which all heads turned to.

The boat’s current commander, Cyzarine Bluthardt, standing shorter than the rest of the crew. But when she advanced, the bodyguards parted to make a path, glowing eyes of various colors following her figure

Clad in a red mask-like helmet with a silver cross on the forehead, the young Bluthardt strode forward, her black boots thumping against the puddles pooling on the deck. The crevices of her armored suit glowed red like flowing magma, oozing heat as rain drops dissipated into mist. Her crimson eyes flashed at the yacht as the HUD zoomed in the hopes of seeing her two distant cousins.

“Captain, this is Halle,” A male voice spoke beside her. “Prepare to board the boat.”

At that, all the lights lit up and beamed towards the yacht, revealing its battle-worn state as railings dangled and holes littered the sides. The engine roared back to life, driving at full speed as the motor launch trudged against the incoming waves.

“Can you contact the bridge yet?” Cyzarine asked without turning her head.

“No, milady. We’re not getting any signal.” Halle paused, “How we should go about dealing with the other personnel?”

Cyzarine took a deep breath as she took a step back, heading towards the starboard where five people were prepping their firearms. “Our priority remains the same: secure Wynston and Hilda. Depending on the courtesies of those people, we may or may not be receiving guests. Abandon those you deem uncooperative.”

She stopped to consider the assembled crew for a moment before continuing “And form a medical team in case. We’re not here to raid a ship.”

“Of course.”

“And Halle?”

“Yes, milady?”

Cyzarine said as she grasped the railings. As the motor launch neared the starboard of the yacht, she put one foot on a step, ready to jump head on. “I changed my mind: leave Hilda to me.”