Do you know?
They like their meals...
Fresh.
________________________
Luka was aware of his weakness.
That one weakness that he really never had—and never believed that he would. After all why would he, at some point of time in his life, choose to put his heart on the platter—ready to be served for dinner?
But that was when he realized that such things had nothing to do with choice at all.
There were other things; other weaknesses that could be avoided; banished; annihilated for the sake of strength but this?
Affection?
Where would that lie?
Affection served his heart for dinner and not just any dinner—it would be his foe's greatest meal.
The beating, living reward that was the result of something so petty a trap; the lock on his cage.
Luka made a swift and soundless landing, releasing the sparrow in his arms just for a moment before he stopped to hold him close once again. Slayne took his place beside the eagle, morphing into a human just before feet touched ground in the most cautious manner.
Cautious; for he disliked dealing with those that he would never come to trust.
The perfect example stared into his eyes—windows that separated the Self from the world.
There, perching on the ledge above the exit, watching—
Waiting; was Vaughn.
The eyes of the vulture snapped towards the flock of three, head turning with a cock; and for a moment its beak gaped—as if in delightful laughter.
Luka folded his wings, trying to conserve the energy that was ebbing away as he stepped forward—in front of Io.
The sun was in the process of retreating; and it was then that the sky had two eyes.
Io glanced down at the outstretched arm holding him back, keeping him behind. His friend was protecting him. He should have been glad—relieved, even.
Yet, he wasn't.
There was an anxious seed that a devil had planted and it was beginning to grow. It rooted, deep in his heart, a weed so strangely endearing that it was and could be a beautiful prospect.
Still, a weed was a weed—
And Io knew that it had to be removed.
He was beginning to realize that having an eagle and an owl on his side wasn't the crucial winning factor after all.
Being the strongest wasn't the crux that determined Victory;
It was the weakest link that decided Defeat and that—
That was him.
He was the weakest link.
The sparrow was their weakness, and all three made that connection seemingly at the same time; acknowledging the weed that someone had, so subtly, dropped in their gardens.
What was peculiar was the fact that each of the three had grown it in a different manner.
One, watered with affection;
The other, planted for the sake of another—
And the last; rooted forever?
By the time Luka and Slayne acknowledged that Vaughn had a hold over them, it was—in their eyes—far too late.
With the vulture's stage set; audience filled; players waiting behind the curtains just for a cue—
He dived for the sparrow, claws poised in attack
Io turned and their eyes met with a shudder of fear before the wings of a guardian shielded him in a blink.
Luka was faster than Vaughn;
But that didn't make him any weaker.
Everything was going as planned—the latter feigned a left and broke past just enough to catch a glimpse behind the wings on the eagle's back.
Vaughn cursed when he realized that the sparrow was gone.
His head turned to catch the fleeing prey; stumbling, tearing through the thick undergrowth towards the exit that was barely hundred meters away.
Friends? No, they had to be allies, Vaughn narrowed his eyes in confusion. But who would want to be allies with a useless sparrow?
The owl was leading him, flying ahead of Io—
Turning back, there was the tip of a blade poised between Vaughn's eyes before he bolted to the side in attempt to make a last second amendment; his mistake being that he had taken his eyes off the eagle.
Luka's dagger slashed through—the resistance that he had expected; absent.
Still—the blade drew a trickling blood that splattered, rain-like, on the dead leaves beneath their feet.
The vulture cried out in silence, pain screaming softly in the back of his head; a scratch that felt very much like a slash.
Nox broke their bond, forcing the human back to his original state in order to split the pain. Vaughn staggered back, his Avian diving forward to screen the eagle for a second.
The delay lasted long enough for Vaughn to control the pain that shot up his arm. He regained his composure; accessing, thinking once more.
Luka wasn't too happy with all this scheming. He knew he had to end this quickly—his form wasn't going to last long, and he could already feel the weight of the wings on his back.
They were beginning to feel like a burden;
A life that drained his own.
It all happened too fast—or was it...slow?
Luka only wanted the sparrow to finish safely with the owl, but since when did he equate that to victory?
Yes; it must be the fact that the sparrow was their only weakness. Getting rid of him would, of course, mean victory for the eagle, no?
For Luka, it was slow.
He saw the wings of the vulture fold—as if curling into a ball—before it, or its soul, slipped into the human's body to form the wings on his back.
The sun had disappeared along the horizon, leaving a trail of poison in its wake.
Darkness woke;
And so did his wings. Vaughn spread them wide—almost as wide as Luka's—all one could see was the void, so dark; so cold. In a single beat, the human had crossed the distance between the sparrow and him.
For Slayne, it had been all too fast.
He had heard the one strong beat from behind—a fearful sound that sucked any form of emotion into the abyss on the vulture's back.
The owl turned; eyes sharper than before. It was his time, after all—his time of the night.
But what he saw was something he did not wish to see at all. The Nocturne dived forward in attempt to knock Io out of the way but it didn't take him long to realize that he was too late.
Vaughn had left the eagle behind in his moment of contemplation. Emotions, he thought, always came with a moment of hesitation. They made one so, so weak—and easy to read.
There was the sweet taste of victory on the tip of his tongue the moment his fingers sunk into the back of Io's jacket. The vulture gripped it hard and with a single tug, jerking the small frame backwards.
For Io, his world had slipped away into the coming night—his bated breath and dimming light.
The boy lost his balance; falling on his back as his field of vision changed from the hopeful exit to darkened skies.
Something else entered this field.
Something he'd never seen before.
The barrel of a gun.
It was, yet another—another eye. Watching, the single black hole trained on its target.
All things froze, as if the world had decided to stop and stare.
Slayne halted, dropping in height. Even Luka, who had drawn an arm back a moment too late to hurl his dagger at the vulture had to pull the reigns on his instincts.
Vaughn stood over the sparrow. Against the sky, he looked like a tower rising from the earth.
It was getting darker.
Io never imagined this was how it felt to have a gun pointed at him. He was breathing, still, unmoving, his back crushed against the ground. Lyra dived towards the vulture, nipping his hand that held the weapon but he swatted her away as though she was a fly.
A fly.
The sparrow cried inside, reaching out to cushion his Avian's fall.
The vulture stepped on his hand, turning his foot with a crunch.
Io thought that pain was an instinct; something easily understood. It was then when he came to realize that pain wasn't so raw an emotion after all. It was strange. Curious.
Luka could feel the ember in his chest glow with a furious heat; igniting—flaming. He bolted forward on instinct—
Vaughn cocked the pistol.
Do you like your sparrow still?
The eagle stopped.
Gunshots attract attention.
Do they? Came the voice of the vulture.
There was something wrong about the gun pointed at Io. Its barrel, from where Luka stood, was long. Longer than any normal gun that he had the misfortune of seeing—oh.
A silencer.
Firearms aren't allowed, the eagle's eyes narrowed.
He could see the darkness in his sparrow's eyes. An unnerving darkness that reflected the eye of a gun.
Will you allow me to correct you? The vulture, as if having his silencer trained on the one below him wasn't enough, placed more pressure on the fingers under his boot. Io cried out in his mind, trying to push the predator's foot away with his other hand. They aren't advisable because they give out your position.
Luka hated rules.
That was why he broke them; occasionally. And got his deserved punishment for doing so.
What he despised even more, however, were the people who broke them—and got away with it.
No.
No—that was the thing; they were so clever, so smart, so cunning and so scheming that they didn't even have to break rules to get ahead.
Predators are allowed one weapon, no? Vaughn glanced, with a rotting smile, at the owl.
Slayne couldn't believe that he got dragged into this.
He shouldn't have helped the sparrow.
He shouldn't have invited the voice of others into his life when all he wanted was silence. Silence and a beautiful voice.
He shouldn't have gone and dug his own grave—
Would you like to hear how silent a wet suppresser can be?
NO, no; Luka did not want to hear it at all.
Vaughn was getting to his head.
He felt like he fucked up badly, which he never had, and all of this because of what?
What was he doing this for?
Vaughn hummed.
Will you hand me the Joker's mark?
The eagle wasn't even thinking anymore. Compromise—victory?
Its line of definition was beginning to blur.
Somewhere along the way, he had begun to lose its meaning.
Was the sparrow victory? Or was the possession of his mark?
True victory—
Which was it?
Skeletal fingers of resentment replaced his empty pocket the moment Luka dropped the Io's mark on the ground, kicking it towards the vulture.
Resentment; for he knew that he could have won. Victory had been within his sight, and now—now, strangely...it hadn't disappeared?
He wasn't going to give it up. Not yet.
The Joker's mark lay on the ground, piece of glass reflecting the weak veil of moonlight.
Somewhere along the way, the white eye had appeared; its view blurred by the dark breath of clouds.
It had been on purpose for Luka to kick the charm instead of throwing it. The vulture would have to lean down to pick it up, perhaps giving him a chance for a—
Will you be so kind to pick that up for me?
________________________________
Io didn't recognize the voice. It was sweet—awfully sweet; sultry; smooth, like velvet.
He was hearing things. Hearing them, again, just like he did so with the eagle—but how?
Vaughn was staring down at him, pistol cocked with a smile.
His words—polite as they were—felt more than dirty; almost rotten.
Like flesh.
Io's eyes darted to his left; where his charm lay.
His charm.
His mark—it was his.
When Vaughn was beginning to feel a little impatient, perhaps slightly disappointed by the lack of a response from the sparrow himself, he placed more weight on the foot that crushed his fingers.
Io had to cry out.
He had to—
They were broken and he had heard the crack of his fragile bones, joints displacing themselves with a headless roll—it hurt so much.
For some reason; darkness was visible.
The night was empty.
A hollow box without a breeze.
Stop it—
Then the sparrow must hurry, Vaughn shifted the blame, stroking the barrel of his silencer.
The line between right and wrong seemed to blur for Slayne. It wasn't as if he was standing on either side in the first place—in fact he might just have been standing on it.
For the owl, the weight of his responsibility was becoming far too heavy for a high flier like himself.
He should have known nothing good would come out of helping someone else. Did he really care if the friend of his nightingale died? Why did he even care in the first place?
Slayne couldn't remember.
It all didn't seem very worth it at this point of time—nothing was, really.
The headmistress wasn't going to be happy about this, since she was notorious for being biased towards vultures.
His trail of thought headed towards a cliff.
This was where he would drop his weights and fly.
Luka wasn't like that.
Affection and fear seemed to have kept his mind locked away—he was thinking with his heart.
And we all know that hearts don't think.
The eagle focused, leaning forward; taut, ready—
They beat;
Like wings.
Luka bolted forth, knowing that he could close the distance between him and the vulture in that bare second of hesitation before the trigger could be pulled but—
No, no—not now;
His wings were heavy; had he exhausted his use?
How long have they been on his back?
Vaughn was fast. Faster than Luka wished he was.
The barrel of the gun corrected its gaze;
It moved—an eclipse—into the path of the sparrow's light.
Click.
_________________________________
A sound stirred in the silence, within Io's mind.
Something roused—waking from its sleep.
He turned to the sound that had called. The sound that woke him up.
It was the beat of a heart.
Ah, he thought. A familiar sound.
Was it his?
No, it wasn't—he had heard this before. It sounded like the eagle's.
Luka.
Io didn't hear his voice. It wasn't the predator's thoughts he was hearing—
It was his heart.
The sparrow dug his fingers into the earth, dirt caking his nails but in the palm of his hand—his charm.
He heard something else. He heard another beat. What was it this time? A heart? A pair of wings?
CLICK.
What he felt wasn't pain;
It was a powerful force that sucked and
Left him
Empty,
Hollow;
Dry
As bones.
Io felt nothing lodged in his chest. There was no bullet. Perhaps it was because he couldn't feel anything that he felt no bullet—after all, he was hollow. The vulture breathed the night; the owl was nowhere in sight. The eagle, soft as the sound of the silencer was, thought he had gone deaf from its fearful shot.
Then why was the sparrow moving?
He could feel the chill of the Mark in the heart of his palm. He was going towards—
He was rising.
The boy felt light.
He heard a hiss in his mind—someone he had left behind, for he was going forward.
Io was light—
He was in flight.
There was no feet and no undergrowth and everything, everything was below, beneath; he was rising.
Iolani was soaring, his first time in flight, with the mark of the Joker in his hand, towards his destination.
He flew—just beneath the arc of the exit, into what he believed was the end of a very bad dream.
After all, the boy wasn't one to let a nightmare end a nightmare.
It would end in stars
And he would wake as if he had seen a sky full of them.
_______________________________
The face of the night revealed a watchful white eye.
Nash was warming his hands by a kerosene lamp that Vijay had brought along and placed outside their makeshift shelter. It was their first attempt at spending the night outside just to wait and pray for their friends inside.
Vijay had insisted, on several occasions, the importance of supporting their sacrificial classmates who were thrust on the chopping board without knowing what they had signed up for.
Nash the mynah—who had tagged along grudgingly under the persuasion of the former—had a far less positive outlook on Season as a whole.
His gaze swept the fairly occupied field; a scowl forming unconsciously on his face.
It was like a show.
A show that people had come to see.
What was there to see anyway?
They were stuck here waiting; watching the exit, listening for a sound, hoping that the one who would come through was the one that they were waiting for.
It was about time.
The second day was coming to an end—
Something was coming.
The wind had begun to pick up, softly, slowly—and then it was loud and something crashed into the open gates.
Tensed figures rose to their feet, sweeping murmurs carried by the night. Nash and Vijay scrambled to their feet, craning their necks to get a better look.
People were beginning to crowd, drawing nearer to the gates but the official held up a hand.
"Stay back," The warning was clear; students and teachers a-like stopped in their tracks.
The person who had come through the gate first was breathing hard.
He or she was empty handed, and their clothes were so stained and tattered beyond recognition that Nash naturally assumed that it was no victor.
It was probably one of the marks who had found his or her way to the exit by sheer luck; had their Mark of Prey stolen somewhere along the way—
"...Joker?"
The voice was tentative—laced with doubt, but it was enough to stir a sleeping whisper.
Nash turned to Vijay, eyes narrowing in confusion. He tried to push past the taller students in front, but soon realized that they were predators. And none were going to let him through.
His Avian hovered above begrudgingly, having been forced to scout ahead.
The whispers were stirring—the flicker of a flame turning into a heated fire when one—no, two predators made their appearance.
Nash could tell who it was almost immediately.
His throat constricted in discomfort and he had to avoid his gaze to swallow fear.
Nash.
The boy's Avian sounded uncertain. Doubtful, skeptical, as she was—always. That sparrow.
He frowned, impatient. Nash turned to Vijay. "What do you see?"
"What—actually, I...I think it's just a mistake, it's dark so I can't really—" His classmate was restless. He insisted that it was a mistake.
"You've got to be kidding me. It can't be him, he's the Joker?"
Then, surely what he felt—it must be the vulture.
As much as Nash didn't believe in friendship or prayers, he hadn't wanted it to end like this.
This was the worst; the worst possible end for anyone at all—to be hunted and caught by Vaughn himself even before the end of his first term.
Wow, the sparrow had worse luck than he thought—
__________________________________
The eagle kept his wings and went up to the official, eyes shaper than a blade.
"Get a medic," He snapped with a hiss, turning to the limp frame on the ground. "It's not the time for announcements."
The sparrow was still.
Far too still.
Everyone was looking at Luka. Him and the cursed vulture and...and him.
The sparrow.
Victoria was speaking and Luka was listening but he couldn't hear. Things; monsters, ran, scuttling across the floors of his cage inside, asking; rousing—confusion. Was this victory?
Eyes turned—searching; the gun, where was it? Hidden.
The world outside the Box was loud.
Luka loathed the sight of the vulture. He felt the stirring of a vile desire for justified violence—
"No one's injured," The official narrowed his eyes with a frown, as if confused. He was standing beside a very still body.
None of the spectators who gathered round bothered to give a second glance at the boy who had collapsed on the ground.
They had assumed he was nothing.
"Ah, but I believe I am."
Eyes turned to the voice that spoke; a voice that resembled the thick velvet of maple syrup sliding down the back of one's throat.
Vaughn had held out his hand to present the cut on his arm—compliments of the eagle.
The official straightened immediately, sending his Avian to emergency shelter. "Right away. You have the Joker's mark? I assume."
He had raised this in a skeptical tone, of course. It was a scavenger he was talking to.
Yet, he couldn't stop the seed of fear from growing in his eyes.
The victor—displaced—was careful with his words. He smiled strangely. "No, actually."
There was a pause; much like the night that had come to a stop just to watch.
"He has it."
They followed his gaze to the boy on the ground.
Luka's impatience was eating; chewing at the bars of his cage and he felt as if it was about to set free a mindless, vicious creature.
Pride was a nasty thing.
It protested against the idea of an enemy's help. He hadn't expected the vulture to tell the truth—nor to request for a medic.
The eagle wasn't injured. In fact, he was perfectly well; perhaps only a little tired from remaining in his Winged form for a longer time than he was used to.
He could have very well insisted that the medic wasn't for himself but for the sparrow and use his authority to order the official but—
There were eyes.
The crowd, the people who had come to see a show—they watched.
What could a mere prey mean to a predator?
He was just a sparrow.
"Check him," Someone said. Vaughn's defeat was seeping into their mind, but how was it possible?
The sparrow? Won?
Those words just didn't seem to match.
They glanced at the other possible victor. Him, the eagle.
Someone managed to push his way to the front—oh, it was the mynah. He had seen him with the sparrow more than once.
Luka willed him to do something.
Surely, one of the preys would; it didn't have to be him—
"You, search him—" The official's finger was pointed towards Nash on the order, and he visibly stiffened.
After all, was it necessary for their hands to get dirty?
"I'll do it."
When he first heard another voice, Luka almost sighed. He wasn't in the mood for more parties. Each and every soul was beginning to get on his nerves but still, he turned to the source of it without lowering his guard.
Slayne was late. And the eagle knew perfectly why.
It was simple enough to tell that the Nocturne wanted nothing to do with orderly chaos. The nasty things that were planned.
Slayne leaned down to pick at Io's pockets.
He knew that the eagle's charm was somewhere in there—the boy wasn't good at hiding things—and that the Joker's was somewhere...
"Two?"
The owl held up the glass charms that dangled from black chokers, turning to the official. Raised whispers swept the night and still, the focus remained on victory and defeat.
Who won? Who lost?
Perhaps that was all we really cared about.
"He won...?"
"He won?"
Was it?
_________________________________
"I think this upsetting—details of your incompetence fail to interest me."
She raised a dismissive hand towards her child.
"I understand."
"Do you?" The bearded vulture's head cocked to the side, mimicking her. "Not that it's any of my business, really—"
"All I did was place that fledgling in the game and here you are, displaced!" The headmistress found it thoroughly amusing. It being her child's defeat. "Are you not ashamed?"
Vaughn kept his words to himself.
Luka wasn't the only new addition; in fact he barely felt like he was. The eagle—yes, a little soft on his part—was strong to begin with.
What mattered more—
"His name."
"What?"
"The sparrow. What's his name?"
—was him.
V was losing interest in the conversation, and it was easy to tell.
"Curious? Well I don't care for a prey like that; so ordinary it pains me to think of it."
Ordinary?
What was ordinary?
"Leave, will you?" The headmistress sighed. "It bores me to think that the eagle lost. I was so sure his indifference would be a winning prospect. He was made without a heart, don't you think so? After all, the lack of emotion makes for a charming winner. Ah—you wouldn't understand the fun of it all."
Vaughn found himself quite surprised.
It was precisely because the sparrow was not ordinary that he was able to stir a weakness in the eagle—who lost.
Or maybe he was ordinary.
Perhaps it all boiled down to luck?
Vaughn's mind strayed towards the abandoned possibility of friendship—
No.
"Good night, mother."
There was a bitter impatience for revenge that waltzed in his mind.
He was irate; resentful; upset; jealous, and most of all—
So, very...interested.
________________________________
A/N: Omgawd it took me so long to write this 'cuz I really wanted to show the distorted definitions of victory and defeat in every character's eyes and and and I wanted to also show how Slayne is someone who would help others if it's for his Jiro but when it gets too troublesome he would just give up. I think it's quite human to do so.
Luka is just stuck between who he is; who he wants to be and who he is becoming. After all, Predators aren't supposed to feel emotionally attached to their prey...and I think he wasn't ready to speak up for Io when he has been conforming to society's expectations for most of his life.
He dislikes unnecessary noise (maybe that's why his mind is very quiet) so that's why he doesn't want to do anything that would attract attention and disrupt his peace.
But apparently his heart is starting to become louder, and louder.
-Cuppie!