There's the ruffling of paper to break the terse silence in the meeting hall. The only sound save for the murmurs running through the men seated around the mahogany paneled table, glass-topped with the smooth, handblown material.
Two minutes to one o'clock, two minutes until their weekly meeting.
And yet, their boss was nowhere in sight, a strange event- considering how he was usually the first man to be seated in the glided silver and scarlet throne of sorts.
A piece of decor; as excessive as it was symbolic. A king's throne, for the ruler of the Upper East.
No one would ever tell Kensley it was a stark standout.
But, their 'worries' were all dismissed shortly- the curved wooden doors to one end of the room open easily, light spilling from the hallways beyond to illuminate the figure standing tall in the doorway.
Despite being only slightly-higher than average height, the silhouette against the ground was a more accurate indicator of the kind of effect his presence had on the men.
They'd all fallen silent quickly, eyes either dropping to their laps or the mission files they'd brought with them, providing an example of their continued allegiance and loyalty.
Berith's eyes don't even take the gracious extent of letting his gaze fall to any of them, instead walking with ease- almost striding, fear being stalked in every step- as his eyes pit on the throne residing over the meeting. Turning with a soft whirl of his suit jacket, the demon takes his place, fingertips resting along the curled edge of the chair's armrests below him.
"Mission report."
A smooth voice breaks the newly-hushed room, signaling to the man at the end of the table on the opposite side, starting on the left.
Leather dress shoes brace against the cool tile below foot, obsidian cracked through with beautiful runs of gold leaf. Only donating to the gothic look the antechamber held, each and every item and decoration in this room chosen by the careful hand resting on the table.
The male chosen only gives the leader a glance before going into the details of his report, but before he gets too far, there's a voice breaking the silence.
One of the first, and most basic rules for them all: never speak while anyone else was.
Your words are all of the same importance to Berith; and that doesn't merit your interruption.
However, there's still a man on the opposite end of the table, standing up with sure-set anger in his features. So clearly readable, as though he was making no attempt to disguise the emotion on display.
Forgetting himself, and where he stood.
"How do you know who the right targets are? We aren't even trying to engage the other fuckin' gangs in a battle over our turf! The Upper West just reclaimed the entire god damned business district for themselves!"
Cool hazels lift to face the man, looking nothing short of unimpressed as Berith raises an eyebrow.
With that action, the one who'd previously been speaking sits down in a hurry, not wanting to be a part of the upcoming... talk.
"And who are you to speak up when you haven't been spoken to?"
The tension in the room practically sparks.
"Can't even remember the names of your own fucking me-"
"Take a seat, James."
Berith's eyes lock onto the man's furious black eyes, who, very pointedly, does just.. not that.
Remaining standing, as his hands curl into tight fists resting on the table- but at the way the two men beside him- presumably friends of some sort- murmur under their breath for him to just listen and sit down, he does. Still looking at the man at the head of the table.
"Now, state your concerns."
As though he was even listening to the man's worries, really.
"Were you not listening? There's men of yours being killed trying to earn back the district you lost, and you aren't even doing anything about it! Just sitting here in your fucking chair like you own the entire world, while you're losing territory by the minut-"
James doesn't get the chance to finish.
With a mere sigh and angling of his fingers, Berith has the man's head being lifted back before driven down into the flat surface of the table, a nasty crunch ringing out as the man's nose snapped from the impact.
"This is why you listen. Collins, complete your report."
Hazel eyes drop to the man speaking as the report's finished off, the information that the man had failed to listen to- that Berith's push back into the district had indeed succeeded, and they owned it once more.
Hands tending to the broken nose dripping blood like a leaking faucet shakily move to Berith's eyes, drilling into his own once again as he speaks.
"Had you merely allowed him to speak, and held your comments for after he'd completed the report, we wouldn't be here in this current situation. And you wouldn't be in the situation forthcoming, for breaking the single most important rule during meeting situations."
A delicate lift of the man's fingers has James's head lifting, against his will- as though someone was controlling him, forcing his thoughts and actions with the single thought coming from the man barely moving his lips in the throne ahead-
"Down."
James's head comes down hard on the edge of the table, the impact hard enough to splatter his papers with scarlet and drop to the midnight ground below.
At the emanating sound and sudden spray of blood, it was met with various shocked cries around the table, trying to scramble back and away-
From the twitching figure of the man's body.
From the way he's stilling.
From the growing puddle of blood staining gold leaf webbed tiles a faded orange.
warning: possibly major character death, blood/injury mention, general whump warnings. light gore warning.
word count: 1.6k
characters:
berith ryan kensley. (oc, belongs to me (alt account for berith &co is @divergent-demons) )
marvin collins-delvaux.
erin attwell. (belongs to @lilsprout-exe.)
alphie hallbjörn-seeker.(aka they of many names.) (belongs to @sibling-ursidae)
jackson collins-delvaux. (belongs to @miishae)
nebula (haha redacted last name go brrr). (belongs to @oasisofgalaxies.)
mentions of egos.
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Our star adversary of the night clicks his tongue impatiently as he tosses a knife into the air with a casual flick of his wrist, his softened wool coat lying open and spread against the seat of his chair. The coat framed a white button up shirt, short-sleeve with a formerly worn black suit jacket below it. Admittedly, he’d only taken it off after sneaking into an apartment complex full of people who could take him one with one hand tied behind their back.
Taking two of their occupants with him was hard enough without detection, but well-placed portals helped Berith out well enough.
Not to mention the chosen time of half past three am, of his caper.
The stress was enough to make him sweat, even with the planning he’d taken, and it did. No one likes wet clothing.
Two teenagers glare at him from the center of the surprisingly well furnished hideout, wrapped down into softened velvet armchairs with twin clear sprays of water. The substance had wrapped around their wrists and tied them down to the armrests, traveling upwards to fasten to teens to one another with their forearms back to back.
There was no reasonable answer for the bruises and inch-long cuts they’d both suffered, with about three each.
Information has a price.
No bonds for their heads or mouths yet, as neither of them had really mouthed off all that much.
Save for the one with strawberry-pink hair cursing at him using...candies? Whatever being called a ‘rotten peppermint patty’ and ‘plastic-mold gummy bear’ meant, Berith didn’t quite care for it.
Along with the other one, the one with messy brown hair knotted into a braid...they were merely glaring at him, but every so often, they seemed to....-vibrate?- in their seat.
Certainly a trick of the eyes.
Right?
“When will your father arrive?”
His first words to the pair were ones of calculated weight, measured out for the moments of silence before, and yet thrown out with all the grace of plastic-wrapped rubbish.
The brighter boy manages an extremely non-threatening scowl before turning away, but the other one- Alphie, his research had garnered, they/them and rather...ordinary- spoke up, almost certainly vibrating in their seat this time around.
“Why’d you take us? Where’s da? Where’s dad?”
With an over-pronounced sigh falling from the man’s lips, Berith stands up from his own ornately decorated armchair, catching the hilt of the emerald-inlaid blade with one final flick of his fingers. There’s barely a space of ten feet between the chairs, but each step he takes makes it feel as though it was an eternity, widening the distance as the silver of his weapon glints from a diamond-decorated chandelier light.
“I couldn’t give a single damn caring about your father’s husband. I want your father, the one who goes by the name of Marvin Delvaux, here. We have a matter to settle, and he seems to ...spurn my beckoning. Seeing as you two are the closest ones to him, exempting the space girl, and the husband, you were the best ones for the job.”
He could see Alphie visibly tense, and another few steps were taken forwards as the strawberry-blond boy speaks. Erin Attwell, taken in by this family, as Alphie had.
“They wouldn’t come here, they’re not pissbabies like you. Marvin and Jackie are better than you could h-”
Pissbaby?
Berith blinks in semi-shock at the teen’s statement before rolling his eyes, flicking his wrist and binding a bolt of water across his mouth, cutting him off mid sentence.
“You don’t know the magician like I have. The fool would do anything for his loved ones.”
With his back towards the wall, and body facing the teens, his blade was inches away from Alphie’s neck, ready to draw blood if need be to get this damned man out of hiding, after all these years-
So he’s able to see the way their lips blossom into full smiles within moments, shoulders straightening as their eyes both fix on a point behind him-
Ah.
Probably should’ve done something to take care of the parents, rather than leave them be-
“Berith!”
Shit.
Seafoam green cracks a vertical line in the wall before widening into the familiar circular portal of the magician wielding it, slicing open as fire swims off of the man emerging from it.
Formerly blue eyes roll with dark blue flames, a color rarely seen at Marvin’s hand, before he levitates over to the demon, gripping his white dress collar and lifting him about an inch off the ground.
Only raising the two-inch shorter man to Marvin’s level.
Behind the two, from the portal, a baseball-cap wearing entity with wild purple hair leaps down, accompanied by a supersuit clad hero in red and black.
Nebula and Jackie, both hellbent on making one man pay.
Neb grips the hilt of a baseball bat, eyes dancing darkly as a single nod from the hero at her side leads her to the tied down teens, followed soon after by Jackie himself.
Those bonds would take some time to work through.
While they led on, Marvin’s fingers tighten around Berith’s collar, burning the fabric under his mere touch, as he yanks the man up higher, pure rage and adrenaline dancing through his red-hot blood.
“Marvin, old friend.”
Even in this scenario, Berith gives the magician a winning smile, toes barely brushing the ground, as his knife was only gripped tighter between the fingers of his right hand.
“Don’t you dare call me that ever again. Not after what you did.”
Marvin’s fingers tighten, burning Berith’s upper torso and shoulders, along with either side of his neck- but it didn’t garner an emotion other than a mere flutter of pain from the man.
Emotions run high and fast between the two of them, as Marvin lowers Berith to the ground, only to grab at his wrists and form a fiery linking chain- but he wasn’t fast enough.
Sometimes, the numbing power of adrenaline, in certain parts of the body, was a disadvantage.
What he didn’t notice was the knife slipping into his rib cage.
What he did notice, however, was the sudden stabbing pain searing it’s way through his chest, causing a scream to tear from the magician’s lungs; multiplied by two.
Multiplied by twists.
The second wound leaves the silvery blade slick with blood, the winning smile formerly displayed on the demon’s face extending more into a sick grin. Dislodging the weapon, scarlet shines against the delicate carver, the amount of blood dripping from the wound becoming wildly disproportionate for a blade injury of that size.
“Gotcha.”
Blood magic.
A subset of water magic.
One Berith’s training had let him learn, and handle well.
And one that caused the magician to drop to the ground, sucking in a rattled breath as his hands rise to the feline shaped mask crowning his features, ripping it off in a search for air.
His hands fall to the ground, trying to raise themselves to the wounds to heal.
The leather dress shoes before him click against the ground for a moment before a wave of whitewater rises up;
and Berith Kensley is gone.
“Jackie-”
Vermilion shades flash before Marvin’s eyes as he nearly slips in his own blood, feeling the coppery liquid soak into his clothing as it formed a decent-sized puddle below him.
Neb and Jackie had managed to loosen the bonds just enough for them to slip out, but upon Berith’s disappearance, they slid away, splashing against the ground.
Just in time for Jackie to glance up, and see his husband lying in a pool of his own blood, breathing raggedly.
“MARVIN!”
He doesn’t wait for the others. He doesn’t wait for anything, or anyone. Not right now. Jackie’s footsteps thump across the wooden flooring, falling to his knees- damning the bruises, sure to form.
The trio can hear his shattered cry, and they glance up, almost confused- before their eyes widen.
By the time Jackie’s reached his body, Marvin’s magic is flickering across his chest, trying to stitch the first wound up. Flickers of spring green essence manage to staunch the flow somewhat, but deep carmine bursts fight back, bringing forth the damage once more.
Seems as though someone left some of his magic in Marvin, as a residual.
As insurance.
“Hey, love.”
Marvin manages a grin, glancing up at the man, despite the white fabric turned cerise-red all over the front of his chest, and the strong scent of copper throughout the area.
“Don’t you ‘hey, love.’ me. You keep your eyes open right now, Delvaux.”
Tears roll down the hero’s cheeks as he grips the scarlet smeared fabric within his fists, holding the man’s mask in the other as he’s pulled Marvin into his lap.
Blood dribbles out of the wounds steadily as Marvin’s magic intensifies in color and speed, flying back and forth, and yet it’s barely doing anything, capping off the blood flow.
Marvin’s breath rattles within his chest as he manages to speak again, the blood loss getting to him. Spots dance before his vision as he struggles to stay awake, the magician seeing blob-like spots of his family’s faces.
“Guess I should’ve...figured out a way to talk this out over coffee, then.”
His chest rises and falls unsteadily before falling stock still for a beat, lips pausing between breaths to release a breath of air, eyes slipping shut.
