Cyrus Kincaid
Reaper of the Revolution
Thirty minutes and three drinks ago Cyrus had hung up his Den Den Mushi call with one of the Four Emperors of the Seas, Junbei VonEcho. It had been nice catching up, even if some parts of the conversation had only prompted Cyrus to drink more afterwards. Still, Junbei couldn't be faulted for that, the man was simply being his normal jovial self. Which, begged the question how a man like Junbei had managed to rise to the rank of Yonko in such a short amount of time. He was a wonderful leader, inspiring countless others to follow in his footsteps, that much was obvious to Cyrus. What concerned Cyrus was more the question of how dark Junbei was willing to go. Was he capable of crushing his enemies without mercy or even a second thought the way Oceanus managed to steam roll through Mariejois. Granted there was no love between Cyrus and the countless nobles and Celestial Dragons that had called Mariejois their home, but it took a certain type of person to be able to murder defenseless citizens in cold blood. It was a bridge Cyrus himself had yet to cross but had played with in the way he had mercilessly cut down some of his enemies in the past. The thoughts and memories of some of his more brutal exploits jarred him from his drunken stupor momentarily as he gazed upon the golden warrior that sat beside him, stoic and intimidating. The seedy dive bar Cyrus and Leo Mk. Z had decided to call home these past few days had given the two a wide-berth, scared off by the silent robot companion. Behind Cyrus men and women drank, minding their own business and keeping to themselves for the most part. This island was supposedly owned by a fellow Revolutionary General, though Cyrus had never met him himself nor did he think David Hyde was anywhere near Hebi for the time being. Oi, you that new General, ain't ya? A voice behind Cyrus broke his drunken thoughts as he slowly turned his head over his shoulder to look at the short ruddy man with the red nose trying to get his attention. Afraid you have the wrong man, friend. Cyrus said before turning back to his drink, fishing around in his jacket pockets for his cigarettes. No no, I'm sure it's you. You're the one they says went crazy. Killed the robo-bitch on Baltigo and then disappeared after your promotion. Friggin waste if you ask me. The man snorted, having risen from his chair now and walking towards Cyrus. However, Cyrus simply ignored him, lighting a cigarette and rubbing his temples while the man spoke. Oi, I'm talkin to ya. Just cause your some high and mighty General in the Revolution think you can ignore us little fish now? The man said, his voice clearly showing indications of anger and ensuing violence. He was drunk, just like the rest of the patrons in this bar, just like Cyrus himself. I think you need to sit down, friend. Cyrus mumbled, not turning around to the man. Sit down, aye? I think you need to stand up. Look at these fine men and women who serve under the same flag as ya. Who actually fight for the cause they believe in instead of running away and hiding to work on some... The man fished for words, looking Leo Mk. Z up and down for a long moment before finishing, some toy to stick your own toy in when you're feelin lonely at night. The man snorted, clearly pleased with his piss poor excuse of a joke, if it could even be called that. Cyrus put his head down on the table, arms around it, lit cigarette silently puffing a stream of smoke into the air. Images and memories flashed through his clouded brain, of his crew's reaction when he revealed what he had done to Leo. Their distaste and hatred of the next step in evolution for the human race and all races in this world. They had rejected it. They had rejected Leo. Most of all they had rejected Cyrus himself and now this drunk small fry, no name, wasted bag of air was accosting him for taking the first step forward in the evolution of the world. Cyrus was trying to build a better world, why could no one else see that? Oi mate, be a man, stand up and talk to me. You can't hide. The man said, jabbing Cyrus several times in the shoulder before Cyrus turned his head towards the cyborg, head still on the dirty bar and simply nodded at the android. On the final jab, Leo Mk. Z caught the man's wrist before his finger could touch Cyrus. The he- Unfortunately the man didn't get a chance to finish his question before Leo snapped his wrist clean in two and the man let loose a blood curdling scream throughout the bar, nearly silencing it save for his voice. We're done here. Cyrus said, his head still on the bar. It seemed the drunken man had friends at the bar, no real surprise there. No was it a surprise that he wasn't the only one with an apparent bone to pick with Cyrus. The Reaper of the Revolution turned as he heard chairs screech across the wooden floor and movement headed his way. He gazed out across a sea of drunken patrons, liquid courage fueling the fires in their bellies while it simply poisoned his own reflexes. Handle this, but don't kill anyone. Cyrus slurred instructions to his cyborg companion as Leo marched out into the crowd and he turned his back to the mayhem. People screamed, both in pain and anger fueled roars of attack as they pounded on the impenetrable armor of Cyrus's project. Wooden chairs and pool cues were no match for Leo's armor. Even the iron and steel weapons some of the patrons produced did nothing but slide off the silent warrior's armor. At one point a belligerent patron actually made it past Leo, who was preoccupied with five others crawling on top of him, but in no danger of losing and grabbed Cyrus by the shoulder, spinning him around to deliver a nasty right hook to the man's face. Cyrus took it in stride, his head snapping back, hat drifting down to the bar top behind him. For a long moment he simply sat there, head back and staring at the ceiling, warm blood oozing down the sides of his face from his most likely broken nose. He then brought his head back up and looked at the assailant. The man in front of him stared back, angry and confused but then, just like before, rocked Cyrus's world with another quick jab to the nose. Pain exploded across his face, but like a wet jacket was dampened by the dangerous levels of alcohol coursing through his veins. He deserved this...or so he thought. He deserved to be hit, to be hurt, just as he had hurt those he cared about most. Emma. Charlie. Even Zoe. He had hurt them physically, emotionally, and so he deserved this hurt. On the third punch Cyrus brought his head up once more for another round only to see a golden claw reach back and grab the man by the head before sending him hurtling backwards through a window near the entrance of the bar. Cyrus glimpsed only the surprised terror in the man's eyes before he seemed to vanish from the insane strength of Leo. Around him the world seemed to swirl with chaos and destruction. People bled, screamed and even cried. The smell of urine filled the air, pungent and acidic. Looking down Cyrus realized it was the man from earlier at his feet, curled in the fetal position and cradling his broken wrist. Cyrus closed his eyes and simply listened to the chaos, let it consume him before feeling a warm embrace across his chest. He was being pulled, pulled away from this world and when he opened his eyes, he realized into a new world. A world full of mirrors. [/end] Words: 1363/1200 |