14 Dark Guild Commission

Somewhere in the Kingdom Of Fiore,

Year:780,

The moon peered down at the cobble roads twisting harshly around a boarded-up bar.

Splintered cellar doors lay flat on the ground, one of the doors fluttering conspicuously ajar causing light to burst onto the street,

"Hahaha! Full house, hand 'em over!" A greasy voice spoken by a short man, slightly balding with tattered robes rang out from within.

Inside, his ugly face, filled with greed was highlighted in rough lantern lighting as he looked over at the split oak table.

"Bastard! Watch how I clean you up one of these times!" A gruff voice grumbled from the side of the table from a lanky man who towered over the original.

"Yeah, yeah" a perfunctory voice as his fat hands quickly swiped the chips towards himself ignoring the glare from his side.

Waning in the light, in the deepest parts of the multi-layered cellar, a black flag with symbols of a horse hung on the wall limply.

"Alright, alright calm down!" A hearty voice came from the end of the table where a sturdy man with cross-shaped scars near his sunken eyes sat.

*Thunk*

Slamming a knife forcefully onto the table causing a crushing sound, the man continued to look at his cadres with a satisfied look on his face.

Seeing the noise calm down, he coughed lightly with a hideous smile on his face.

"Gentleman, we've been given a commission to hunt some 'merchandise'"

Malicious smiles spread across the room as they all knew what kind of merchandise was being talked about.

"The client this time wants em young and blonde and they must be pure"

Giving a slight glare to the short balding man, who lowered his head not hiding the still hideous grin on his face.

"Get your subordinates ready, we'll strike tomorrow night, I've already got a few good targets in mind" Passing out a photo list with various addresses on it, the scarred man took on a serious tone.

"Now that business is over, deal the cards!" Continuing matter-of-factly as if he hadn't just talked about kidnapping, the scarred man put on a hearty smile looking at the sweating dealer.

"Oi, grab me a drink!" an impatient, gruff voice of the lanky-robed man shouted out towards the sturdy door of the room.

Echoing out in the cellar it sounded particularly harsh and loud however, there was no response.

Lights shining harshly on his scabbed skin showed a face full of annoyance.

"Bastards! I said get me a drink, don't make me ask again!"

His face now with a tendon sticking out on his forehead yelled out again in the waning lights.

Getting up with a start, slightly stumbling over his seat he began to walk over toward the door as the greasy, short bald man snickered thinking of watching a good show.

The scarred man seeing this looked on faintly with a slightly lewd smile on his face thinking of tomorrow.

*Click*

Opening the door unskilfully revealed a dark corridor, devoid of all the usual uneven lighting caused the man's drunken face to slightly drop as he continued to look out.

"Oi! Where is everyone?" Yelling out into the darkness the man's face had a faint trace of nervousness hidden behind the mask of rage.

No response.

Looking over slightly, the scarred leader and greasy cadre also turned their heads toward the darkness.

*Tap* *Tap *Tap*

Heavy rhythmic footsteps of boots crashing onto stone approached slowly.

"This isn't funny! Who are you!" Drunk ravings to hide nervousness echoed out in the cold corridor as the man's back began to work up a cold sweat.

Crimson-red eyes like the grim reaper hung a little over a foot above the man, the rest of the figure shrouded in darkness.

"Intruder!" Turning around frantically hissing followed the sounds of chairs being roughly scraped back as the remaining inhabitants of the room got up peering out warily.

The footsteps continued like the sounds of the grim reaper, revealing a tall, muscular figure of about 7ft with crimson spikey hair, illuminative crimson eyes, and a pale scarf, an open leather jacket showing 6 pack abs and tight leather trousers with a skull metal belt.

"W-what do you want to do? Who are you?" Looking at the towering figure, the drunk stammered out pointing with a finger.

"Nagare Mochi" an indifferent voice rang back causing the room to begin to warp unnaturally.

The lights dragged further down the walls and ceiling which seemed to melt, slightly drooping down.

Panicking, the drunk man tripped back falling into the melting room again.

"Get out!" A hissed response from the scarred leader only to realize he couldn't lift his legs which were trapped in the gloopy substance.

"Bastard!" He huffed as a magical array lit up causing the room to illuminate a red which rebounded irregularly against the gooey white walls.

*Crackle* Fire blasted out toward the floor as the substance began to drip like stalagmites from the wavy ceiling.

Roaring flames crashed down violently against the floor but contrary to his expectations, it just caused the floor to harden around his feet further trapping him.

Seeing their leader stuck, the greasy balding man began to wail

"Save me! I can give you money, women, anything!" a hectic plea ran out as the figure in the dark bore on apathetically.

Aglow with a slight crimson in his eyes, the figure turned around to leave as a gentle whisper rang out from the dark

"Commission complete."

3 seconds later, the ceiling collapsed on top of the struggling mages causing them to suffocate in the dough-like substance.

Walking back into the dingy corridor of the cellar, the tall figure headed back out of the cellar doors, passing dingy corpses bent over abnormally and roughly against harsh granite walls.

The moon blinked down on the now fully revealed figure of the 15-year-old Katakuri.

Just like his previous description, he was now 7ft, towering over most passers-by with a fluffy pale scarf strewn about his lower jaw only revealing grim eyes that stared callously ahead.

On his chest three pink lines, the same color as his guild mark ran up on the left of his chiseled chest heading toward his back.

Peeking out from the sleeve, his tattoo continued with pink lines ending in a slight pink skull ending just above the spikey cuffs which sat near his wrists.

The baby fat had all but retreated from his face giving him a slightly harsh mature temperament.

Having just completed a commission his face was filled with vague displeasure thinking of the scum he'd just dealt with.

Ignoring his displeasure he continued trying to return to the guild.

Strolling at a constant pace, his spiked boosts clanked roughly against the cobbled roads as he navigated the winding streets aiming for the train station to better facilitate his travel back toward his home, the guild.