Job offers Abound (Vsevolod) [finished]

[Frezzik Don Kiplen]

Frezzik Don Kiplen, the man clad in black, stood in front of the arcade box as he undid the buttons of his black satin shirt before removing it and draping it over the machine he was at leaving him in a black tank that would be tucked into his black slacks. A thin platinum chain hung around his neck would be the break from the black he was wearing. Feeding quarters into the Area Fifty-one Site Four DX Arcade Machine he would stop once both player light guns had one plays each. Taking the plastic guns in hand he shrugged at the oddity of the plastics balance.

Pointing the guns at the screen he would fire selecting two player and the hardest setting on the game. His focus would move in between the two guns alternating as he took his shots to fire at the alien enemy in the game making sure that their was a two bullet difference for when he had to reload a gun. It almost made the game too easy as he worked his way through the game, making each shot count as he stood in the laundry mat waiting for his clothes to dry. It had started to become a Thursday night hobby for him and because of that he had already owned the high scores for this Area Fifty-one game, memorized the patterns that the A.I. used which made the game even easier, all it was left would be a test of reflex.

By the time he finished his game and tossed up two more FDK's on the high score board his load would be done. Putting the light pistols back away he would put his satin shirt back on and retuck it in after he buttoned it back up, leaving the top two buttons undone to show off his chain. Moving to his dryer he would put the all black load into his laundry bag to take home. His KA-BAR like normal would be strapped to his right hip it sheath connected both to his belt and around his leg so it didn't move around. Pulling the strings tight he would run a hand through his hair to make sure it was still slicked back before shouldering the bag. As he walked past the owners desk he would repeat the habitual words," See you next week, Em Lee."

"And maybe you won't cheat so well at my game, next time.", Em Lee would joke as Frezzik pushed open the glass doors and started to walk down the street to were he had parked his black 1969 Pontiac GTO with the orange pin striping, so that he could make the drive home. The sun was just about to set and he wanted to get back home before heading back out into the night life of this city. Honestly one could almost wonder if this city ever slept, specially if they did not know that most of the occupants in this city were the things of fantasy books you could check out at a library. Getting a feeling that he was getting fallowed he would turn to see who or what it was knowing that it was not quite time for vampires to be out and about.

[Vsevolod Khlystov]

Dalit Zarrof…Gaap hated the name he needed to answer to. It was so degrading that a demon of such power as he was reduced to being a butler and a chauffeur to a human. The Khlystovs were an impertinent family, and the way that they treated the Goetic demons was beyond disrespectful. Humans had to understand that they were ants beneath the power of higher beings, and just because they could channel a smidge of magical power did not give them any right to treat demons like slaves. Of course, Gaap kept the thoughts to himself. Vsevolod was a cold ruthless man, often times proving himself to be more evil than a demon. He didn’t take to criticisms very well, he was cold and imperious and never hesitated to punish whenever he was disobeyed. Gaap hated him – no, hate barely sufficed his emotions towards the mage. He wanted to drag Vsevolod’s trashing and flailing soul to the deepest parts of hell and subject it to such inhumane and cruel tortures, and milk from it every drop of pain and suffering he could. But right now, he could do nothing; the Magic of Solomon prevented him from acting out against the one who conjured him. It also forced him to follow every command that was directed to him, such as the one he was tasked to do right now – locate a man named Freznik Don Kiplen.

Gaap sat crossed-legged on the ground in the parking lot of Khlystov World Tower. He took the form of a tall man, dressed in sharp black suit, with an I.D. of a Khlystov Enterprises employee hanging from a strap around his neck. He was lean-muscled underneath the suit and even though his face didn’t look particularly young, his hair was platinum white. There was a dim light that swung overhead, one of the many that hung, uniformly spaced from each other, from the ceiling. He didn’t need much light, especially not with his demons eyes and even though he seemed to be staring at a puddle, he was actually staring across the many eyes of the water demons in the city. He was their lord, and despite his seemingly destitute state at the hands of the Khlystovs, he still had dominion over them. They provided him with their sight; every single puddle, creek, canal, drain or source of water inhabited by a demon functioned as a scope for Gaap to see a large portion of the city at once. It was taking longer than expected, so far the description that Gaap was given wasn’t appearing in any of his remote-viewing locations…until that is, he finally did.

It was outside a Laundromat in China Town of all places, Gaap didn’t enjoy that sector of the city very much. It had too much human culture. And Gaap found humans very tiresome; they really didn’t deserve all the acclaim and propensity that they were given by higher beings. How could such insignificant creatures be able to impact all the plains of existence so much? Yet here was Gaap doing the bidding of one, and what made his metaphorical stomach lurch even more was the fact that he was dreading the punishment if he failed. He moved to stand up, brushing off the dirt from the seat of his pants before boring a hole through space and time in order to travel a large distance in a single second.

He appeared just as the man he was looking for turned around, for what it was worth the man had good reflexes. There was little to announce Gaap’s arrival except for the mild twisting and distortion of space-time as he appeared; this Freznik would have felt a mild tugging sensation at best. Before the other man could say or do anything, Gaap threw an arm around his shoulder, almost reminiscent of friendliness. But obviously, the object was to make physical contact so that he would whisk the man away to…

---

Vsevolod D’yavolich Khlystov, vor v Zakone of the Khlystov Bratva was seated on a large, seemingly throne-like chair that was behind a gigantic white marble desk. His face seemed to be originated from the same material as his desk was; in fact with the austere images of Russian Orthodox Church carved unto the facade of the desk, it showed more emotion than Vsevolod Khlystov did. He just sat there, slightly leaning forward his fingers crossed in a pyramid of deep contemplation. The entire office was dressed in dark stone, and over a grand fireplace was a portrait of Vsevolod with a very young Anatoly propped on his knee. Despite being a internationally infamous crime lord and an extremely potent demonologist, he was a good father. More images hung across the walls, those of his older sons and of course his late wife. The décor was an intersection of cultures and traditions commonly seen in the eclectic palatial styles of wealthy homes during the former Soviet Union. Off to the side there were crossed Cossack sabers hung on the wall, while on the other side was a malachite chess table in front of an extensive bookshelf.

Vsevolod just sat back on his chair as he watched the air spin around him before two figures appeared. He wasn’t surprised, Dalit had sent a warning prior to his arrival. The demon now knew better than to barge in unannounced. At once, the man spewed across the carpet and it set a grimace across Vsevolod’s face. He knew that teleportation wasn’t a very comfortable experience, especially if it was your first time. Being split apart molecule by molecule, traveling across the air at incalculable speeds than being reformed, all in the expanse of a second wasn’t enjoyable at all. It much too often also caused the contents of one’s stomach to rearrange differently. To this day, Vsevolod still wasn’t completely immune to its effects; he could only handle three consecutive jumps before he also became sick. But that understanding didn’t change Vsevolod’s distaste of having his carpet covered in vomit. Dalit should have predicted that this would happen, but he still brought the man directly into the office instead of outside the doors where Vsevolod wouldn’t have had to watch any of this gross display. The demon seemed to understand, and an expression of resignation showed itself across his eyes but his face remained impassive as he walked back and took his place beside the door.

Vsevolod made a mental note to command the demon to eat the vomit afterwards, but right now it could be useful. Vomiting in public would affect a person psychologically; make them feel as if they were exposed in a weak vulnerable moment. It would help, even if only a little, in allowing Vsevolod to persuade this man into doing exactly as he wanted.

Almost instinctively, Vsevolod used his natural mage talent and delved into the other man trying to find any trace of magical ability. He found nothing, which meant this man was no mage. Vsevolod’s intelligences were correct on that account, but then again they were rarely wrong if due to fear of his wrath than anything else. Vsevolod peered from above his fingers at the man, he was intimidating for sure, but the blatant display of it actually made him seem less dangerous. Tolya for example possessed a cherubic countenance, yet Vsevolod knew how dangerous his son could be. Appearances were always deceiving, and this man no matter how human, was someone not to be taken lightly. Nobody in Arc was to be taken lightly.

If Vsevolod had wanted, he could obliterate this man- this human hell hound - right then and there. He could have very well been in league with Jusztina all this time. But Vsevolod didn’t. Why? Because he had means far better suited for the situation. He didn’t always have to destroy his enemies, sometimes it was more convenient to keep them alive and use them. Vsevolod opened a drawer and pulled out a tin box that contained some cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth, pulled out an ornate lighter and spent a few seconds to light the cigarette. Through the rote actions, his heavily tattooed hands were exposed, and as with all of a Russian mafioso’s tattoos, each one told a story. This man didn’t have to know what; all he had to know was that they did, and that they weren’t very nice stories. He hid the lighter again and puffed a few times before he finally spoke.

“Good evening Mr. Kiplen. Two questions: Do you know where you are? And do you know who I am?” Vsevolod’s voice was winter cold. Despite the general cordiality of his words, his tone was pure frigidness. It was as if somebody had taken the nuclear winter of Russia and turned it into a man’s voice. Many men had faltered just at hearing that voice; would this human hellhound be added to the list?

[Frezzik Don Kiplen]

Frezzik saw the man, saw the movement as the other guy moved to put an arm around him. If there was something Kiplen did not like it was random strangers playing buddy, buddy. His instant reaction was to lace his arm over as he let go of his laundry bag then torque the elbow and the shoulder. This would normally force the other guy to bend over or have his arm broken and shoulder dislocated with the force Kiplen could put into it and once he was doubled over a knee or two could finish the job.

However this was not a normal case for before Kiplen could fallow through something happened, it was strange like every being of himself was being ripped apart. The only time he had felt like that was when he was on the operating table, what was it, five, six years back. Man, did time fly, and at this time so did space apparently as he found himself being put back together not where he was on the streets in little Tokyo, but in an office. Staggering forward as his body finished the movements he had started before the shift. His stomach was reeling like the first time he was subjected to the gas chamber in training.

His eyes were locked on the carpet as he felt his last meal start to rise. Catching it in his throat he would force it back down as it left its acidic taste in his mouth, causing his head to jerk and twitch slightly. Looking around quickly he would locate the nearest trash bin for every office he knew always had one and Frezzik might have been able to hold his guts in place for the initial wave but he knew there was a plausibility for a second. Standing straight he would slick back his hair as he continued to survey his surroundings. He could only guess that it was some kind of magic that had brought him here. Finding a stoic man behind a desk that reminded him slightly of a past C.O. Frezzik could only hate the fact that he did not even have his KA-BAR on him Em Lee did not allow that kind of weapon in his laundry mat, or well any weapon for that matter.

The man talked in accented Russian and that was enough to get him to smile. Frezzik admired Russians if only for their Spetsnaz. In fact Frezzik took that admiration into his own way and forced himself into the enjoyment of pain just like them since pain was something that could not be simply ignored yet when viewed as pleasure instead of pain one was able to carry on even with broken bones or torn muscles. His questions he gave were as easily understood as that all important question that was in that one movie,"Who is your daddy? And what does he do?"

Looking left then right he would give his reply,"Well evidently not in Kansas, so your office and with me not were I was, your some kind of magician. Putting those two together and the nice furnishings, Russian accent."

Slowly making his way to the desk so he could set his hands down on them right before he got to the name that he had pegged," I'm a say Vince-no-wait that's the Italian one, Vsevolod Khlystov. The question I have is, why did you have Fido play fetch before I even could get my cloths to my car?"

There was no doubt that he would have to buy a new wardrobe after this.

"But that is not the question you want to hear from me. You want, so whats the job?"

Feeling the affects of his stomach once more he would close his eyes and swallow hard once again. As he opened them he saw the tattoo's and forced a smile. Frezzik knew a little about the significance of tattoo's and how they could tell a story, Don however believed scars to leave a better tale. His eyes still could not focus completely and his head pounded and his ears rang like a mortar went off nearby. Lowering his jaw as he kept his mouth shut he would see if popping them would help a little.

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[Vsevolod Khlystov]

In all honesty, Vsevolod had expected this man to have learned at least a smidge of respect after his experience with Jusztina. Vsevolod’s informants had told him that it wasn’t a very pleasurable experience for this man. In fact, the incident actually became a sort of running joke among the vampire population - how he begged for his life. The Vampire Queen never took so personal a touch to chastise humans, so news like that spread across the city like wild fire. Of course, as with all rumors, it was probably inflated and distorted.

But if the stories had been true or not, it seemed that Don Kiplen hadn’t learned anything, for he was once again gravely disrespectful even going as far as to walk up and put his hands down on Vsevolod’s table. Even the most notorious criminals did not do that without hesitation, this man was either extremely courageous or extremely stupid. He had managed to face off against one of the most powerful people in the city and lived, and now he was so ready to do so again.

"I'm a say Vince-no-wait that's the Italian one, Vsevolod Khlystov. The question I have is, why did you have Fido play fetch before I even could get my cloths to my car? But that is not the question you want to hear from me. You want so what’s the job?"

Vsevolod barely heard the last parts of Don’s speech because the very notion of getting mistaken as Vincenzo set a deep ire in his blood. He felt it bubbling at the pit of his stomach like some mass of molten rock, and as the man continued to talk the swirling rage escalated. Vsevolod was already grinding the cigarette in his mouth, filling it with a strong bitter taste. When the man condescendingly asked Vsevolod what the job was, the crime lord had enough. Jusztina may have been merciful and generous, but Vsevolod would not be so kind.

One would have expected his anger to explode in searing heat, but Vsevolod’s character was not that of fire. He was of the coldest, most terrible ice; the kind of ice that numbed and blackened fingers to the point that they simply broke off. He didn’t answer and merely swiveled his chair to face away from the man. Vsevolod took the cigarette out of his mouth, using his thumb he flicked the cigarette to take out the burned part. Bluish-grey smoke exited from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke over his shoulder, not to Don, but to Dalit.

“…Dalit” was all that he said, but the demon understood right away and moved with apparent eagerness, the Fido comment wasn’t appreciated it seem.

From the corner where he stood, Dalit morphed out from his human form into a torrent of rushing water. He moved to rapidly form a sphere of water around the man, entrapping him. The waters rotated at high-velocity, causing the man trapped inside to get buffeted violently. The pressure also increased, probably making Don feel like he was getting crushed from all sides. The average duration that a man could hold his breath was about a minute, and that was exactly how long Dalit maintained the twisted form of water torture. The bottom of the sphere gave out, sending Don to crash down into the floor with a splash. One would have expected the entire office to be drenched, but all the water quickly receded back, coming together and forming into a vaguely human shape. The transparent liquid got filled in with mass and color until beside Don stood Dalit in his true demonic form. His true form was a very tall and lean-muscled man, but he had a distinctive shark-like appearance, complete with pale blue-grey skin tone, small, round white eyes, gill-openings on his shoulders and sharp serrated teeth. He still retained his platinum white hair but now it was dripping with water. His entire naked body was drenched, for that matter, but whenever a drop hit the ground it moved beneath his feet to rejoin with the rest of him. Dalit moved again, bringing down his bare foot on the base of Don’s skull and pushing his face against the floor with a display of his demonic strength.

Vsevolod still did not turn his chair to face Don again, but considering his current position Vsevolod would not have been able to see him because of the desk. He did speak however, his voice easy and restrained even though his arctic rage still stormed inside him.

“You really should learn respect Mr. Kiplen. Furthermore, I will clarrify that we are not friends, we are not allies, we are not equals. In this game of the city, you are so far beneath me that it is by my own graciousness that I have even chosen to take notice of your insignificant existence. From now on, I expect nothing less than reverential from you. Do we have an understanding?” asked the Russian. His speech was delivered with such coldness that one would have expected frost to form everywhere around the room.

Vsevolod somehow appreciated the other man’s spunk, but he wasn’t about to take any insolence from some guppy who thought himself on par with the sharks of the city.

[Frezzik Don Kiplen]

Seeing the man turn around Frezzik knew something was wrong, he could feel it before Vsevolod Khlystov gave the name of his demon lakee, if you could call the demon that. Slave was closer to the mark. As he heard the sound of rushing water he would not have time to react as he started to look behind him. The water would suround his being but Frezzik would not panick, he had training in forceful interigation, that ment he had been watter boarded before. Even if this was a different style it held the same concept. It was the pressure that was different that made him close his eyes to sheild them with the thin sheet of skin and muscle.

The time under felt like forever as the water tried to contort his face and body, Frezzik would force his jaw to lower causing his ears to pop, allowing his body to adjust to the pressure. As the seconds ticked away he felt his muscles start to burn with the want of fresh oxigen, his lungs burnt painfully and slowly he found himslef forcing a slow exhale releaving some of the pressure in his lungs. Teasing them that the end would be soon. This trick was taught to him while in the bootcamp for the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command, and developed further in his other milatery careers as the possibility for capture and torture rose. To say that he was ready for sompthing like this would be a slight understatment but he would play along for now and as the water flushed away he would let his body collaps as he inhaled and instantly poped his ears back. His body was going to be one big bruise by tomarrow due to the vessles in his skin that had been broken in the eskipade.

It seemed he alwayes rubed people wrong but here their was a big difference then the past, Vsevolod had braught him here on his own, Frezzik had not been the one to disturb this mans day. It was sad really, that the man behind the desk wanted respect when he himself was not one to earn it. Even the Vampire Queen, even though he had no idea that that was who it was at the time, did her own dirty work. This man was different he was human that had a big ego just because he could command a few feinds from beyond the relm. He could bleed and die just as easy as any othe human. But what did Frezzik have to defend himself even as his head was stomped on, about what, five dollars in change, a pack of Marlboro red longs, and a Zippo. Worthless. This whole predicument was starting to piss Frezzik off.

First the man was a mage of some sort.

Second he had demons under his beck and call.

Third he had the nerve to bring Frezzik here and treat him like this.

And the most likely forth, The man probably though doing this would get Frezzik to do a job for him...

Evedently if there was a job Vsevolod Khlystov nor those under his care could get it done, after all there was places demons could not get to and Vsevlod evidently did not whant his other mages getting hurt or killed. This Man had saught out, out side help and hoped to win that help over like this. No mother fucking way. Going at it like this could only get a man killed.

Frezzik tightened the muscles in his kneck and shoulders as he pressed his hands on the floor and pushed, his max bench press with out aid was well into the seven hundreds and the prblem with standing on a person, it did not matter how strong you were you gould only force your own weight on the person. To crush a skull you needed impact, acceleration, and thus space between the attacking force and the object in question, however to lift the foot to do so would only make Frezzik's push into the starting position of his push up that much easier while trying to force the leg down would only make the demon rise as if going up a stair. Frezzik of course would not stay in a push up position but work his way up until he was standing, releying on his ability to amplify his power with the ambiant magical energy around him if need be, though he doubted that the demon would try to grapple him back down and loose face for having needed to do so to deal with this "human" even if he was gifted.

Standing Frezzik would take a parade rest stance, his feet shoulder width apart and his arms folded behind his back, each and every muscle in his body tense once more as he spoke,"Sir."

It had been over eight years since former Captain - the highest rank one could achive and still be a feild soldier instead of behind a desk - Frezzik had taken the militeristic pose. Vsevolod has reminded him of a former Comanding officer and seeing how he had been treated so far Frezzik could only guess that this was the type of servitude that the man was looking for in the kidnaped contract killer.

"There is a difference between Respect and Fear. Respect can only be urned and breeds loyaly. Fear can be forced but will only turn out enemies. So once again I say, Sir. What is the Job that you brought me here for, so that we both can urn a little mutual respect, Sir?"

Frezzik spat, it was clear that his anger was at a boil as he tried to keep it under his control. It might not have been the most intelegent thing for him to do but he had, had it. Hellhounds were known for strength, brutality, invisability and the ability to finish their end of contracts, intelegence sadly was not part of this.

[Vsevolod Khlystov]

Vsevolod once again turned his chair around to face Dalit and Don Kiplen. He saw the other man visibly struggle to get up from the ground, attempting to right himself. Such a fool he was, if a demon wanted to keep him pinned-down he would be. Demons weren’t bound by the laws of physics, or did this man just forget that he was inside a water death-trap that hovered a meter off the ground without any obvious support let alone container. If Gaap wanted he could have held Don Kiplen down by willing his own weight to increase or by merely pushing the other man down with psychic force, both were the least of the demon’s abilities. By the looks of it, Gaap wanted to do it; he hated humans with a passion and was always eager whenever Vsevolod allowed him to take a human life. The shark-like demon looked towards his master and seemed to silently ask if he should let the other man up or keep him smelling the carpet. Vsevolod made the tiniest gesture with his head and, with it, instructed the demon to release the other man.

Right away, Don Kiplen was able to stand up. Vsevolod was pleased when the other man went into parade-rest and addressed him as ”Sir”. It was short-lived however, for the next few words that exited from Don Kiplen’s mouth were far from reverential.

"There is a difference between Respect and Fear. Respect can only be earned and breeds loyalty. Fear can be forced but will only turn out enemies. So once again I say, Sir. What is the Job that you brought me here for, so that we both can earn a little mutual respect, Sir?"

There was a pause, a silent moment where everything was still and unmoving. Vsevolod’s eyes were trained on the ex-military man. There was a threat in the man’s words; did he honestly think that Vsevolod feared to make an enemy out of him? Gaap stood at the corner, and Vsevolod was well aware of how much the demon despised him, yet the demon would follow every single command that Vsevolod gave him. Was it out of respect? No it wasn’t it was because Gaap knew that if he didn’t follow Vsevolod’s commands his essence would get subjected to such torture that in the end he would be begging for the final death. Vsevolod was a Khlystov, his family’s motto was To Command and to Conquer, it was not in their nature to cultivate relationships with men like Don Kiplen. Then the next thing that happened could only be described as the torrential and murderous blizzard inside Vsevolod, finally breaking free. He stood up and flung out his arm, his hand contorted like a vice. It would be observable how the depression of fingers showed itself curling around Don Kiplen’s neck. Vsevolod pivoted on his foot, and with his movement Don Kiplen was lifted off his feet and carried across the room before he smashed through the giant window behind Vsevolod’s desk and was flung out into the cold and thin air.

The force that held him by the neck disappeared and he began to fall for a second, but suddenly a new invisible hand gripped him by the ankle so that he hung suspended upside down. He was about fifteen feet away from the side of the building, and if he looked down it would have been a straight drop for thousands of feet. If he fell, he wouldn’t have been able to hold unto anything, so he was pretty much dead unless he spontaneously developed the ability to fly. The winds were whipping around violently and it was really only that unseen clamp around his ankle that kept him air born and alive.

Vsevolod still stood where he was; even though his anger was severe his face wasn’t contorted with rage. It was still stoic and impassive, as cold and as ruthless as the worst winters of Russia. Vsevolod looked across and continued to watch the other man hover there, the shards of glass and metal from the window were also suspended; caught in some unseen net that made them look as if they were frozen in time. This wasn’t the first time that Vsevolod had hurled somebody from out of his window, he learned from that experience, which was also why a standing glamour spell hung around his office window. To anybody looking from the outside, everything wouldn’t look out of the ordinary. There was no man hanging upside down in the air. Vsevolod lowered his hand, but the telekinetic hold on Don Kiplen didn’t waver. Vsevolod took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it out where it was instantly carried by the wind.

“What need have I for your respect Mr. Kiplen?” began Vsevolod, his voice was so cold that when a cloud of frost escaped his mouth, one wouldn’t have attributed it to the high altitude. Despite the strong winds, his voice carried over perfectly due to a simple spell that amplified his voice. “You seem to be suffering under the illusion that I need you. Well let me put your fantasy to rest and assure you that I need you about as much as I need your vomit in my office.”

Vsevolod really didn’t appreciate how this man had been acting. The first set of insolence could have been attributed to stupidity, like how he walked up to Vsevolod’s desk and how he mistook Vsevolod for Vincenzo. Mistakes – possibly – and therefore Vsevolod planned to forget them as soon as Don Kiplen said that he understood. But to threaten the Vor v Zakone, it was a blatant action of disrespect and was already grounds for death. It would have been understandable that Don Kiplen was irritated with his unfortunate situation, but faced against a hungry Siberian tiger you made sure you didn’t make any sudden movements to provoke it, you most definitely didn’t threaten it.

“There are many other contract-assassins in the city” Vsevolod continued. “…hundreds more…thousands more. I could have chosen a dozen other men with better skills, better powers and better track records, but instead I chose you. Why? The answer to that is because your moniker caught my attention…a human calling himself a hell-hound? An ambitious claim but it readily piques the interest of a demonologist such as myself.” Yes that was truly the reason, Vsevolod heard the stories and he was right away intrigued by the man just because of his name, and the fact that he could possibly now have a vendetta against vampires because of what Jusztina did to him. However, Vsevolod could now actually empathize with the Vampire Queen. If this idiot had been this insolent, then it was little wonder why Jusztina took personal action, hell Vsevolod was taking personal action right now.

He narrowed his gaze towards Don Kiplen. By now the other man probably began to feel the effects of all his blood rushing to his head. “But what I see before me has so far been disappointing. You’ve not proven your worth or your skill. If anything you have just proven that you are ignorant, unintelligent, and unreliable. You were fool enough to threaten me, which begs the question of just how much of a fool are you? Should I really waste my time and money on such a fool? I can so easily release my telekinetic hold on you, let you plummet down seventy-two stories and crack your head on the pavement. I know of your powers Mr. Kiplen, do you think you’ll survive? Or perhaps you’ll enjoy the little experiment?” Vsevolod did know – some parts at least. Among the powers of some of his demons were to reveal secrets.

“Either way if I intend for you to die…you will. But it will not stop there, for I am a vindictive man. I will choose to be far crueler and I will take your soul and prevent it from ever having peace. I will seal it inside an iron box along with a pack of true hell hounds. They will feast on you until nothing is left, and after every day they will regurgitate and defecate you and you shall be reformed only to be eaten again. Apart from the pain, only one other thing will resound in your mind, and that is how horribly insignificant you are compared to an actual hell hound.” Vsevolod narrowed his eyes in concentration and at once Don Kiplen floated closer, just close enough that should Vsevold still decide to drop him he wouldn’t be able to grab on the side of the building. He telekinetically guided the man so that their eyes would meet. Freznik’s hazel eyes would meet the dark piercing augers that were Vsevolod’s own. They would be like frigid icicles boring into the other man's skull, so cold that they actually burned.

“I rarely repeat myself Mr. Kiplen, but this once I will for your sake. From now on, I expect nothing less than reverential from you. The moment that you irritate me again, I will carry out everything I have just described to you. You can either fight at my side or get crushed under my heel. But you will not stand in my way. Do we have an understanding?” Everything was delivered in that same frigid tone as before. Don Kiplen hadn’t showed himself to be intelligent, but in the situation he was currently in he wouldn’t be able to afford the luxury of being stupid anymore. It was a wonder how he had even survived this long. In Arc City, stupidity was a luxury nobody could afford, not even Vsevolod.

[Frezzik Don Kiplen]

Frezzik had only offered some advice after all he was starting, no he was fed up with this reverse interigation. All he wanted to know was what the job was that this Russian had brought him here for. would Frezzik get the answer, no. Once again he would find himself beat around like some two bit hooker. Yet even as the telekenetic grab wraped around his throat he would not move from his parade rest pose, nay it would not be until he was let go and dangled by his leg that he would move at all. His pocket change, cigarettes, and zippo would slide out of his pockets as he was stoped mid fall. His hands would reach out to grab for his possesions and while his left hand could not find its mark his right hand would catch two quarters as Vsevolod begraded him.

Sure there might have been thousands of contracted killers, hell almost any one with a vendetta could be baught to do a dirty deed, and they might look a dime a dozen however there were ways to tell which was better then the rest. The first thing a true killer learned was the riffle, it keeps the target at a distance and gives plenty of time to get away. Any new hot shot could be great with that as a factor. Hand guns would be next as you have to get closer to make your mark, quick and easy. It creates recless beings but over all any one could by a gun and ammo then point and shoot it. Sure some diverge after this but the last weapon a true contract killer learns is the knife, it was Frezziks calling card his speciality was in decapitation from behind however he was not a one trick pony.

As he gazed at the man that dangled him in the air his eyes would remain preditorial as his mind worked. Seventy-two stories, even with the blood starting to pool into his head he would perform a quick calculation. Nine hundered and seventy seven feet, a free fall at max volosity would be a ride just under six seconds how ever it would take three times that to even reach max falling speed. Things where looking up or well down and this guy talked way to much, thought himself to be a god among men, that could push without those able too to push back. Rolling the quarters in his hand until they stood devided between his index, middle, and ring finger of his right hand as Vsevolod asked him if he would enjoy the "experiment".

Truth was that looked like the only way Frezzik would be able to get out of this, If he was going to die however he was going to give atleast a little show in comparison to the mans monologe he would only give his two cents, literally. As Vsevolod lifted him higher to make eye contact Frezzik's hazzle eyes would remain unbroken as he moved his hands. The pinky and his middle finger pressing tight against his thumb before seming to dissapear as the tendons and muscles shreded as they flicked both the coins causing the bones in the tips of his phlangies to shatter on impact with the twenty five cent peices launching them as quick as a bullet from a air riffle. Not quick enough for a through and through but it would for sure enter a body at this range. One would fly for impact in the liver reagion while the other would go for mid chest. The quarters would wreek havik with in the body should they make their mark that would most definatly end in death, most likely falling out of the window after the blows. The only reason Frezzik did not go for the face was out of habbit for one could not get paid if the body was unrecognizable.

The placement for the water demon in the corner behind Vsevolod only made it better for Vsevolod's body would hide the fifty cents from its view. Frezzik was ready for the drop that would soon come after and positioned his posture so that he would catch the wind and end up free falling as though he had jumped out of a plane.

[Vsevolod Khlystov]

A simple show of obeisance, that one thing and all of this could have been avoided. But apparently such things were beyond Don Kiplen’s comprehension. He simply did not understand the hierarchy of power in the city; he had no knowledge about the unspoken rules of deference that normally worked among people. There were three layers of secrecy in the city. The legal business front hid the seedy underground criminal workings, which in turn hid the shadowy supernatural realm. At every level, Vsevolod was a man who commanded respect. With his powers he could so easily reduce this man to nothing, without them he could order have a hundred armed men gun him down, and even without his criminal enterprise he still had enough money and power from his legal one to make this man’s life…uncomfortable. But no, even with everything Vsevolod was and everything he had tied to his name Don Kiplen believed himself above it all. Vsevolod felt that the devil may cry view on life was an admirable trait for the strong, but for the weak it was simply self-destructive.

Vsevlod watched as Don Kiplen moved despite being suspended upside down. Something in his hands caught the light, something small and obviously metal. Vsevolod raised an eyebrow inquiringly; what did this idiot plan to do now? Don Kiplen positioned his hands with the quarter between his thumb and forefinger before he flung it at Vsevolod. They moved like bullets and any other person would have died. Unfortunately, Vsevolod wasn’t just any other person. No matter how fast the quarters moved one of the fastest things in the world was the human mind. The synapses and the electrical signals in the human brain moved faster than any bullet did. In Vsevolod’s case, he just had the added benefit that his mind could impose its effects on the physical world.

The quarters all halted a good five inches away from Vsevolod, frozen in the air much like the glass shards. His telekinetic powers weren’t spells; they didn’t require from him any incantations or other such necessities. It was a power he had stolen from a demon and effectively imbibed into himself via a magical ritual from the Magic of Solomon. He had already been using his telekinetic powers when this man before him was still soiling himself in diapers, so to say that Vsevolod was masterful in its use was to gravely understate. Gaap was already half-crouched in attack but Vsevlod raised his hand to stop the demon. He never took his eyes off Don Kiplen though, and his face didn’t even change its expression at all. He lowered his hand in front of him, and the coins moved down to begin circling above his palm. Perhaps, Don Kiplen had wanted to take him down with his death, a last spit in the face before he died. But the idiocy of it was sad; Vsevolod had tried to make it clear how far apart they were. Even halved in power Vsevolod would still be able to overpower Don Kiplen.

Well, such an outright act of violence against the Vor v Zakone couldn’t be ignored, and Vsevolod wasn’t a very forgiving man either. He closed his fist around the coins while muttering a curse that melted the metal into slag. He then lifted his eyes back to Don Kiplen and didn’t utter a word but merely released his telekinetic hold. The other man immediately plummeted to the ground, Khlystov World Tower was one of the tallest buildings in the city and a straight drop from its top floor to the hard unforgiving pavement would have done serious damage to a werewolf so what chance did this human have, no matter how gifted he was? But it didn’t even matter because letting Don Kiplen fall was barely skimming the surface of what Vsevolod intended to do to him.

Don Kiplen would fall the entire trip down he’d have the time to think about how stupid he was for disrespecting, threatening, and outright trying to kill Vsevolod Khlystov. He would fall but at the very last second Gaap twisted into view. The Prince of Hell moved in a motion as fluid as the element he controlled, twisting around on the spot he stretched out his arm and caught Don Kiplen by the throat. By now, he should have understood that teleportation was an unpleasant experience. That had been one jump, but what about twenty? The man would be puking himself inside out by the time Gaap was finished. Gaap had a cruel twisted smile on his face; he was going to enjoy this. The next instant they were gone. They were suddenly on a high hilltop somewhere, perhaps New Zealand. Lush grassland below. Pasture, with maggot sized sheep.

Jump

They were in a desert. Copper-coloured sand dunes. Magnesium-flare sun.

Jump

An icy waste. A howling wind. Endless whiteness. Bleached blue sky.

Jump

Some city. Not Arc. The other side of the world. Broad daylight. A dusty market place. Vendors yelling. Flies swarming over foodstuffs. India?

Jump

A rainforest. Liquid jungle sounds.

There were many more jumps, and each one would have made Don Kiplen’s stomach lurch more than the last one. Finally the jumps stopped and Gaap threw Don Kiplen down on the ground. The floor was just bare concrete but it was cold as ice. Don Kiplen would still be busy heaving and spewing everything he ever ate that he wouldn’t have had time to see where they were. It was an enclosed building of sorts, there were no windows but some patches of the wall had been torn down allowing the pallid moonlight to flood in. There were a lot of machinery lining the walls, large metal devices with turbines and coils. Some were toppled over while some were rusted over. Gaap disappeared again, but almost right away he was back and bringing Vsevolod with him. The demonologist didn’t vomit, he had more experience with teleporting.

Vsevolod just stood there and every breath he took released a cloud of frost from his mouth. The place they were in was terribly cold. “This is one of the older nuclear power plants of Krasnii Mercurii, in Russia. It’s been abandoned for a while now but there are still some traces of radiation in the walls.” Vsevolod didn’t know if Don Kiplen heard him, because the other man was still on all fours heaving despite nothing coming out of his mouth anymore; such was the effect of numerous consecutive teleportations. Vsevolod didn’t wait for Don Kiplen to right himself and made a motion that lifted the other man into the air. Vsevolod moved his hand, it was a scornful gesture, a flipping of his heavily tattooed fingers as if to shoo a fly. Kiplen flew backwards through the air as though a huge fist had caught him. With an ear-shattering crash Kiplen smashed through one of the turbines causing it to collapse on top of him. Despite his power, Vsevolod could still be awfully petty. He made a slow arcing sweep with his hand and Kiplen was dragged out from beneath the pile of metal debris and smashed into the far wall. Another motion from the Russian and Kiplen was thrown violently to the floor before his face was dragged across the entire length of the room. The brutality of the telekinetic maltreatment would have inspired such feelings off dread among most people, but Vsevolod didn’t know how Kiplen would react, and frankly he didn’t care. In all honesty, this was now an indulgence that Vsevolod was giving himself. This man had been nothing but irritating and Vsevolod was releasing all that pent up rage and hate. He then made gesture as if beckoning something to him and Kiplen was pulled up into the air again before being deposited at Vsevolod’s feet.

“I keep my word Mr. Kiplen, so I hope your meager intelligence can process the situation now. You are going to die.” Vsevolod’s eyes narrowed in concentration and immediately Kiplen’s tongue burst into flames inside his mouth. Vsevolod had enough of this man’s brainless comments, and so he decided to burn Kiplen’s tongue off. But he didn’t stop there; the next that ignited was Kiplen’s eyes, then something else, between his legs. Vsevolod’s informants said that this man was a deranged masochist who was aroused by pain. He didn’t think that he would be enjoying this so much though.

The odorous smell of sulfur and burning flesh wafted in the air, but Vsevolod refused to acknowledge it. He had his focus on the task of making Kiplen regret his actions. He watched the other man go through the ordeal of being burned alive and when Vsevolod was finally satisfied he stepped forward. Gaap remained close, ready to move faster than any human being and protect his master if required. Although, it didn’t seem as if Kiplen was in any position to attack right now.

Vsevolod mentally commanded the flames and from the inferno that was Kiplen’s body and tendrils lifted out then began writing an intricate magic circle around the man. Vsevolod reached inside his coat before he brought out a small tinder box that contained magical requisites. Vsevolod picked out two: Chervil was among the ancient Egyptian funerary herbs, while salt was a very multi-purpose reagent. He cast both in the spell circle and the flames roared and turned a bright emerald color. He held out his hand and began muttering an incantation.

''Ipsis in foribus, in adituqu' atrii, Moraus genus latrantium: Molestum fiet baubatu multiplici, Et faucibus terribile…''

His magical ritual forcibly ripped out Kiplen’s soul from his body. When the soul fully detached, his body fell down in a crumpled heap and Vsevolod half-mindedly set the entire thing on fire so that the soul could never return. Kiplen’s soul floated over the burning carcass and Vsevolod met its hollow empty eyes. He muttered a few more lines of magical verse and ghostly chains materialized and constricted the dislodged soul.

“Dalit, iron.” commanded Vsevolod and at once the demon flickered off to the far side of the room where he ripped a chunk of metal from one of the machines. He flickered back beside Vsevolod and handed over the metal. Vsevolod took it and moved closer to speak to the man, who was now a ghost. As he walked through the flame, it parted for him almost reverently, which was a lot more than he could say for Kiplen.

“In death, men are meant to rest. But you will not get that privilege Mr. Kiplen. You will instead get the opportunity of regretting how you acted before me, and it will last a very…very…very long time.” Such coldness, it was hard to believe that a man’s voice could drip so much ice.

Vsevolod raised the piece of metal over his head and began to incant. The entire place seemed to darken and Vsevolod’s voice carried itself with a double timbre that shook the air. Also, the sound of a howling hell hound seemed to echo everywhere at once. They were coming, at the invite of food they were coming.

---

Gaap appeared over the River Dean, the waters were so dark and deep that it could practically swallow anything. He supposed that was the entire idea behind Vsevolod’s instructions. He lifted up a hand where he held a rather nondescript piece of metal. To anybody looking at it they wouldn’t have found it special, most would have just threw it away because it was barely even worth anything in a junk shop.

But Gaap knew better, and magically-attuned people would know better as well. He could hear the horrible screams of the man; he could also hear the entire pack of hell hounds going wild as they feasted on his eternally damned soul. Such an idiot he was, Gaap had seen Vsevolod kill many men in cold blood, but this case was an entirely different situation. Gaap could only describe it as watching a dragon battle with a rat. The rat stood no chance, and the dragon dragged out the kill tortuously. Vsevolod Khlystov had the winter’s heart, blood didn’t run through his veins – ice did. Gaap unfurled his fingers and let the piece of metal drop into the water where it soon disappeared out of sight swallowed by the shadows in the water.

…such a stupid man.

[Vsevolod Khlystov]

End