Azure: Gunner

The Kalmár family has climbed firmly to the top of the Fourteen Families. According to the society publication Rich And Famous Angelites (RAFA), the Kalmár’s net worth could soon eclipse that of the four least-wealthy Families combined.

The ascent of the Kalmárs began nearly a century ago with Kadre Kalmár, who was succeeded by his first son Konrád. Today, the heir apparent to the Family is unclear, with insiders speculating about the chances of Konrád’s eldest child Karen, vs his only living son Yuri. Family members insist that it is not a requirement to have a name beginning with ‘K’.

- Fodorick’s Lonely Traveler – Guide to Lost Angels

Yuri Kalmár looked down at the Whore. His hands twisted in her hair as he finished, then he hurled the girl away, sending her sprawling on the rich carpet of his suite. His lips twisted in disgust even as he raked his eyes down her curvaceous form.

She might actually be attractive, if she was human. Mutant scum! How has it come to this?!

He knew exactly how, of course. It was all that Wasted peasant’s fault. Azure. It was thanks to that fucking scum that he, the heir to the most powerful and influential family in Lost Angels, was forced to turn to the dregs of Nine for satisfaction.

There was a certain grim humor to the situation that he reluctantly acknowledged as he tucked himself away and fastened the tailored pants of his tuxedo. He hadn’t even been planning to kill the bitch, no matter what that fucking high-and-mighty Thompson had thought afterwards. No, he’d just been planning to have a little… fun.

Another dose of venom, to make sure she remained paralyzed, never even fully conscious. A little knife work, a little – perhaps more than a little – blood. And then, when he’d had his fun, the final touches. The injector – one loaded with a nice, high quality healing potion. And the cleaning enchantment, waiting on a mana-crystal powered wand in his Inventory.

No trace would be left of the wounds, and she would have remembered little more than a nightmare. He’d have had his prize – the sweet, delicious memories. And maybe a bit of her blood. Just that… pittance would have satisfied him, for a while.

Then he’d have done it again. There was no need for her to die, not when she could have been used over and over. All he had to do was not get caught. The hardest part was supposed to be not cutting the same lines on her too many times, lest even the best healing potions struggle to fully repair his work.

Somehow, she’d shrugged off the poison far too quickly. Somehow, she’d pushed a message out on the Comms, past his Level 13 ward. And then everything had gone to shit.

The funny part was that the bitch would have been far better off if she’d never woken up. Now, she would have to die. Die slow, hard, and most importantly – permanently. He was going to take his time, though. He’d underestimated her before, but not again. No, he had to be patient. He could find other ways to entertain himself in the meantime, after all.

Yuri’s thoughts returned to the present as the Whore writhed on the carpet, shifting from the ungainly sprawl she’d landed in to a more coquettish pose. His expression tightened slightly in disgust at the sight of the subtle inhumanities of her form.

Fucking mutt! At least this one didn’t vomit when she saw… everything. The carpet is worth far more than her pitiful life, after all.

He vividly remembered the look of horrified disgust on the face of the first woman he’d had sent to him after his return. He’d needed help to hold her still – she’d been well into Tier 1 and considerably stronger than him. Alianze had restrained her like a kitten while Yuri finished using her as she deserved, then slowly pushed a knife into her heart.

Alianze looked at him, dark face an expressionless mask as he waited for his orders. Yuri knew his bodyguard would be equally content to have the girl paid and sent on her way as he would be to dispose of another corpse for his master. As tempting as the idea was, he dared not.

No, his father had been… disappointed, afterwards. He’d been angry that Yuri had taken the heirloom dagger with him without permission – even though it was his birthright. He was furious that Yuri had lost a duel to a nobody and fled the Academy in shame. The woman’s death was a minor inconvenience in comparison, but Yuri didn’t dare push him again.

Not so soon, anyway. His father’s anger was a well-known quantity to him. Yuri had long ago learned to read its comings and goings, knowing instinctively when to keep his head down and when to stand tall in the face of the terrible storm. It was only since his return that he’d learned there was something far, far worse than watching his father’s face twist in fury.

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It was the cold, distant look that had cut him far deeper than he’d had a chance to do to Azure. Disappointment, touched with pity. And worst of all, for the very first time he’d felt his father’s doubt. Doubt in his potential as the heir. His corruption wasn’t enough to disqualify him, but Yuri knew it put him at risk like never before. He still had three sisters, after all.

“See that’s she’s paid,” he said shortly, and Alianze nodded. “Oh, and make sure you know where to find this one. I may want to use her again,” he added. She was mutant scum, but at least she’d pretended enthusiasm well enough.

“Thank you milord!” the girl said in a fawning tone, her curtsy as low as it was inelegant. With a snort, Alianze escorted the whore out of the room, taking her to one of the family’s button-men to be paid. It was out of the question that money would ever change hands directly.

Instead, the slut would be passed through several sets of hands until she reached a button-man, whose job was to ‘push the button’ and transfer funds to any one of the many ‘independent contractors’ sometimes employed by the Family. Whether the money was handed over in cash or sent via the System, the process was the same.

It was one of many precautions that ensured they remained untouchable by the law. Every person in the chain would have to turn for a member of the Family to be directly tied to any wrongdoing. Not that whoring was even illegal, but the procedures were to be followed nonetheless, the better to avoid any hint of scandal.

Although it’s far too late for that… whatever Father thinks.

The girl herself would never talk, Yuri knew. That was her most important qualification, after all – the Whore’s Skill called ‘Black Book.’ It ensured that no details of the girl’s clients would ever pass her lips. Thanks to the Skill, it was physically impossible for her to convey any information about him without his explicit permission – even under considerable duress.

Yuri himself wasn’t able to read the girl’s Status deeply enough to confirm her true Class and Skills, but Alianze had. Both of his bodyguards had exceptional Levels in Identify. It was as essential for their role as their fighting Skills, after all. And Yuri trusted both Alianze and his brother Trianze completely. The two brutal killers had identified Yuri as their path to the top and tied their fortunes to his years before.

As Alianze escorted the girl from the room, Trianze entered to take his place, the heavy door closing silently behind him. Yuri moved to the mirror, examining his outfit. It would not do to appear at the ball looking anything but his best – whatever his best meant these days. This was to be his re-introduction to LA’s high society after several weeks of hiding away, unable to face the outside world.

With grim determination, Yuri slowly unbuttoned the sleek white shirt he wore. He forced himself not to react, not to flinch, as the slowly-parting silk revealed his sternum and ribs. The yellow-white of his bones truly looked like a cage, enclosing the disgusting, pulsing sacks of internal organs. The corruption had turned his skin translucent where the fire had burned his flesh away before it had been healed.

It had started after his… death. As always, his mind twisted away from the memories of what had happened. He’d known long beforehand that no one ever talked about anything that they might have experienced in the unknowable eternity between death and revival, but firsthand it was another thing entirely. There was a void in his memories that refused to be examined lest he risk his own sanity.

At first, it had been an area no larger than the palm of his hand, centered on where she’d shot him. Easily covered up by his armor, or any shirt. Then had come the duel, and the fire.

He forced his face into a rictus sneer beneath his mask, shoving the horror at what that bitch had done to him down. Down it went, deep inside, where he could feed it into the raging furnace of his anger. Slowly, Yuri rebuttoned his shirt, shutting away the gruesome sight.

Of course, it hadn’t been enough for the fire to ruin his chest alone. The damage extended down to the middle of his thighs and up past his jawline. The white half-mask he wore covered his face from just below his eyes on down. It meshed with a white silk wrap that encircled his neck like a scarf, hiding his disfigurement.

It was enchanted to adhere to him like a second skin. Breathable and flexible, it moved perfectly with him. So fine was the work that sometimes he almost forgot it was there, yet there was no escaping it. Every time he touched his face or licked his lips he was reminded of the debt he was owed. A debt that he planned to collect, personally, with usurious interest.

He took his bowtie from the lush mahogany table by his mirror – the wood so rare the simple table was worth thousands of eagles. It pre-dated the System’s arrival, after all. Expertly tying the knot, he slipped his arms into the vest held for him by Trianze, then the jacket. He looked himself over with a critical eye. Thankfully, the corruption had spared his hands and forearms, only just reaching his biceps.

To an unknowing observer, he looked every inch the perfect young nobleman, albeit one who was making quite a fashion statement with his white mask. He smiled thinly, the contours of the mask shifting seamlessly along.

“How do I look, Trianze?” he asked perfunctorily. He knew, of course – he was staring in the fucking mirror at that very moment. It was simply part of the ritual.

“Like the heir to Kalmár, milord,” his bodyguard answered, and Yuri smiled. He was back.

Yuri

(Yes, I know the style is different than most of my images but for some reason I liked this version the best)