Hunters X and X Heroes

If X Clipped, X Run

Shichi was tired: the last time she slept was—

... She can't remember when it was, but that time was probably brief and usually left her feeling more deprived than she did before. She dragged her leaden, filthy, sole-worn boots onward through the night never ending not even a comfortable weariness to sink into during the still moments, no lull, no drift. Just a woman stranded, and Shichi was tired.

And now, on top of that, with a mind bogged down by exhaustion, boggled by questions, confusion swamped her conscious and unable to find answers behind actions, Shichi was not only tired, but also angry.

"What." Shichi snapped: more of a curse than a question, "Rukei, I told you that it was an ord—"

"Get out of my way."

Illuminated by feeble, white moonlight that just barely managed to creep through the thick glass, Rukei glared at her. Her hands, though hardly visible, trembled— Rukei was scared, which all the more proved her resolve.

Shichi's slanted smile hilted the acidic cut in her voice. "Are you serious?" You know she is. "You know what you're doing?" That's why she's scared, you fool.

The girl snatched up a toy out of the holster, held in what she struggled to maintain a firm, iron grip steadied on the woman ahead of her. "I know."

After a heavy, silent pause and with a long, deep sigh, Shichi breathed out, "Okay."

She slid the dirty coat off her shoulders and with a frigid, staccato click, click, click retrieved Tenjū from the hard shell guitar case. White wings burst forth from her back, bouncing back a cold glow in the dark corridor- colder still was the look in her eyes. The sea and the ocean were freezing.

"You broke the rules."

Swinging Tenjū out, Shichi swatted away Rukei's grappling hands, blowing the girl back several meters. Her foot scraped against the floor, pulling her defensive rolling to a stop and blasting her forward like a bullet again. Shichi raised her arm and needed to grit her teeth to bring it down. Again. They were doing this again.

Rukei ducked under the heavy end of the rifle, expectedly she would use this to slip through the gaps and grab the woman by the inside of her elbow and throw her weight off, but a filthy boot met the child's abdomen.

The woman was tired, she was tired of all of it!

Rukei kicked out her legs in a snare to topple her sister— they slid over nothing—a single, feathery beat blew the woman upwards. The ghost of stone breathed over her spine; the ceiling hung over Shichi, too low and heavy like a smoke coiling in.

"You've gotten better," Shichi conceded to the girl spitefully, "Not good enough, though."

The brunette barely escaped unscathed when Shichi dropped, heel sailing over the girl's shoulder instead of her head as Rukei retreated, though only a few centimeters, shocked and unbalanced. Predicted and trapped, Shichi slammed the end of her rifle against the girl's nose—

The word barely left her lips before they could get busted. "Trace!"

The gun veered in the other direction, its embellished, smooth, surface running out from the woman's calloused fingers and crashing against the wall— a small hand clutching a paint gun tightly forced Shichi's vision the other direction with a wicked WHAM!

"You've gotten worse," Rukei echoed her own observation dully, yanking Shichi off her center by that grayed lapel, legs swinging and grip steeled to smash the woman into the stone floor beneath them.