Burning Shadows (Ludwig)

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 851

Tags: Ludwig

In the underground mutants came and went, if someone managed to not be returned to the underground a new mutant always seemed to replace them as if they never existed. This was the way of the underground and had been the entire nine years Hamish had been locked within the dreaded place. Details of how the underground worked were engraved within his mind, he had learned these rules after a single day locked within his cell. Most were relatively simple to follow, fight in the arena and return to your cell afterward were the only rules Hamish could say that he actually followed during his stay. The other rules were nonsense to the mutant. They only served to keep him under control.

Entering the underground Hamish wasn’t shocked like the mutants that had been fed lies by the teachers of The Weeds of Tomorrow. They all promised the good students a caring home and being able to please someone now they knew how to behave. Never having been an angel during his stay at the school so they didn’t bother to feed him the endless lies. Feeling that the truth would earn them a better reaction they informed the ginger student that he would rot in a cell never finding anyone to love him. They weren’t wrong with the information they presented him.
Truly he believed the underground to suit the monster he must have been. Over time his hate for his own mother didn’t dwindle in the slightest but soon he began to believe he had to be some sort of monster for his own family to give him away. There had only been one human to convince him differently but they found someone they deemed better and forgot about the red headed mutant. Some mutants hoped for a home but in the end that was just a childish wish in Hamish’s case. Why would anyone love a demon like him when there were beautiful mutants to buy instead?

Even for mutants that didn’t follow rules the underground ran on a schedule even if no clocks were visible. The time of day was a mystery and yet they still found themselves bond to the schedules the government had created with them in mind. With the usual lights covering his cell preventing major attacks Hamish struggled to use light to judge if it were morning or night. Often he only knew when leaving the cell for one reason or another.

Beginning the day he woke to voice echoing voices that seemed to be coming from the arena as people flocked from all over Russia to see which mutants would be put against one and another. This was the only surprise to the underground, the guards gave no warning to your next fight. When they were to fight their notification often was guards ordering the mutant to sit with their hands behind their back to place some cuffs on their wrists. From there they were led out of their cell and finally to the arena. In Hamish’s case the cuffs often went unused due to his struggle against them when forced onto his wrists, over the years guards learned he never seemed to try to escape and would just follow them to the arena as if he accepted his fate. It has surprised the guards how he seemed to behave as if he had given up hope of ever leaving the underground.

There had been a moment Hamish nearly escaped but something stopped him. Leaving the underground was selfish, with his escape the conditions would possibly harshen and it would rob others of the chance to escape. Hamish was found instead of running away standing by his cell waiting to be allowed to enter his home. After the first year he saw the underground as his home and believed nowhere else to be suited for someone such as himself.

Lost in his thought he didn’t notice guards approaching his cell but it had been no surprise for Hamish. The crowd seemed to favor him even if he fought everyday straight for a week they never seemed to get enough of the ginger. To grab his attention one of the guards hit the bars knowing the mutant knew the drill. Standing he walked to the door and just waited to be led to the arena.

The path to the arena was memorized giving Hamish little reason to watch where he went. His eyes remained closed as he moved through the corridors as if he had every turn memorized. Stopping once he reached the arena he looked to the guards for confirmation if he needed to wait or not. Instead of giving him any verbal cue the scot was shoved forward into the arena. Instantly he felt warmth from the light and felt like relaxing not even casting his opponent a single glance.

Readying himself for the fight he bent backwards letting his hands reach the floor before slowly lifting his legs over and following suit. A feel audible pops and cracks could be heard as he stretched his body and stood back up.

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[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

Ludwig had long ago learned the rhythm of the Underground. Even the the guards weren't feeling talkative or amiable one day, all one had to do was listen to the echoes of quiet conversation drifting from the cells or attempt to sense the collective level of energy of the entire complex. Auctions had everyone running on high alert: the guards were concerned about transporting mutants, the mutants were concerned about their possible fate, and everything seemed to be one wrong move away from total chaos. Day-to-day life, on the other hand, was calm drudgery. Days as slow as that had Ludwig sometimes contemplating trying to melt the bars of his cell, if only to shake things up. Not to cause trouble, mind - he had no intention of doing that. But a broken cell and a possible escape would at least cause a ripple in the calm surface of everyday life here.

Today there would be fights. From the moment he'd woken up, Ludwig had picked up on the low-level buzz running around: some of his nearby neighbors were having hushed conversations about the possible contestants, while the guards, who had already been informed, turned up late for their hourly checks. It was common knowledge that there was rampant betting on the matches amongst the ranks of the guards; they had the closest interaction with the mutants, after all, and knew their strengths and weaknesses well enough to make calculated wagers. It didn't take long for Ludwig's guess to be proven right: as he stretched and exercised as best he could in his cramped cell, a group of guards surrounding a handcuffed mutant passed by, straight on their way to the arena.

This happened a few more times throughout the day, and after each occasion, Ludwig felt more anxious. His ability had made him a more popular fixture in the arena, but mutants were never told whether or not they'd be competing. The guards just showed up with the handcuffs, and you cooperated from there. Nervous energy built up in Ludwig's limbs; he desperately wanted to run, or spar, or do anything physical to get rid of the excess and relax himself back to normal, but if he had been picked, that would have been a stupid idea: he'd be too tired to defend himself. Unhappily, he forced himself to sit still on his bed, starting small fires on the tips of his fingers and watching those flicker out. He hadn't moved from that spot for two hours, when at last he got an answer in the group of guards that approached the cell; one shook a keyring loudly to get his attention.

"Let's go," he ordered, and another guard stepped forward with the handcuffs. Ludwig had no rap sheet -- no escape attempts, no injury of guards or cellmates -- and as a result, the treatment he received tended to be a bit gentler. The cuffs were snug, but not painful; Ludwig wasn't shoved or pushed or jostled as he followed the familiar path towards the arena. And now that he knew he'd be in a match, he felt glad that he hadn't spent the whole day doing push-ups in his cell.  He'd have to hope that his opponent wasn't some poor bait like last time.  As much as he enjoyed the excuse to use his abilities, Ludwig wasn't fond of hurting people, especially people who were obviously weaker and sicker than he was.  And with that thought in mind, the nervous energy returned, and Ludwig couldn't seem to focus; his gaze went to the walls, the other cells, the mutants nearby, anywhere but straight ahead, where the door to the arena rested.  They did reach it eventually, and to the German's surprise, the waiting room was empty. It couldn't be the last fight of the day, could it? He had a shaky grasp of time, what with the lack of clocks and sunlight, but it didn't seem that late. But before his curiosity got the better of him, the cuffs were removed, a door was opened, and a firm hand between his shoulder blades pushed him forward, hard enough that Ludwig stumbled. When he'd gained his balance back, the door behind him had shut.

Compared to the rest of the Underground, the arena was full of noise and light, and Ludwig squinted for just a moment. Across the space, he could see his opponent doing some kind of unusual backbend. A frown crossed Ludwig's face: if that was the man's power, he'd feel bad about winning, even if it would be easy. But the German had learned never to assume anything about the other mutants in the fights, so he remained on his guard as he tugged off the scratchy uniform shirt he wore. It wasn't to show off, and if he had a choice Ludwig would have kept the shirt on. But after his last fight, the dispensary had apparently threatened to stop replacing his shirts if he kept reducing them to ashes in the area. Carefully folding the item, he set it aside before walking away from the door towards the center, now trying to better gauge who'd be fighting him today.

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 589

Tags: Luddi

Hamish felt the other mutant never the arena and didn’t seem to pay them any mind as he continued to contort his body for those watching. Stretching his limps for the fight was made into a pre show as sexual moments were added to the movements from his tongue running over his lips as his eyes flashed a playful glint to the crowd to his hands running over his body with his head thrown back in pleasure. Allowing the crowd to eat up the sight he gave he slowly watched the other from the corner of his eye.

Feeling his body was stretched enough the thin body turned to face the large mutant but instead of standing and inspecting his opponent the bottle green eyes glared and were coated by black removing any color that had once been there before his body began to lean back aimed for the ground. Before his body could meet with the ground shadows rose below him creating a unicorn that caught him on its back. The black creature reared back as it became a solid being but Hamish didn’t even appear to slide as the creature stood. Deadly grin on his lips his hand pet at the unicorn whispering coaxing words to the creature as if it were alive and not his creation. Setting the fore feet on the ground the stallion began to race around the arena circling the German allowing Hamish the chance to study him before they began to tear into each other. As the beast move around the arena Hamish didn’t seem to bounce or anything remaining almost motionless on top of the creature as if the movements had no affect.

This mutant had to be years younger than Hamish judging how the ginger had yet to encounter him. Appearances told him nothing of the man’s power but he could tell by the build if they were not able to strike with a mutation they were able to deal a punch that could do damage well enough alone. Unlike most matches it appeared the man wasn’t going to curl up and give Hamish the win, he would have to work for it.

Plans on how to go about this fight started to go through the gingers head as he inspected every inch of the mutant from his moving thrown. He already fought from a distance but if this man didn’t effort would have to be used to create a space between the two if he were going to avoid damage. However if the man fought from a distance he was going to have to work on defense to make sure nothing not to him. Years of starving and having the cold eat him alive Hamish’s body wasn’t in the best shape and able to withstand more than a few blows at most. If the man’s size was any indication he might only be able to take a single blow without feeling his bones scatter under the first. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one and he planned to avoid such a result after all losers were not fed and sometimes left uncared for.

Nodding to himself over the plan the shadows under him dissolved away and he landed on his feet once more. Shadows rose around Hamish wrapping around his body and waving around him ready to strike at any moment once the fight began. This would sure to be one to teach the youth his name and that he was the demon hiding within the filth of the underground.

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[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

His opponent still hadn't finished warming the crowd up apparently, and Ludwig folded his arms across his bare chest, the mild scowl on his face masking his uncertainty. He felt like he should be averting his eyes, to be honest, but none of the audience seemed to care. They rather enjoyed the display, in fact, and the German felt a half-second of disappointment with himself for not working the crowd as well before he came to his senses. Shaking himself a little, he forced a reminder into his head: nothing, nothing had worked for him in the past, nothing won him any kind of favors. Ludwig's only purpose here was the fight. When the other man finally stopped stretching and fixed him with a glare, the blond met it evenly.

The shadows billowed up from the ground like cloth, a nightmare suddenly made real. Ludwig took an involuntary step back, eyes wide, as the darkness lifted the other mutant into the air as it spilled into the shape of a horse -- no, Ludwig realized, a unicorn. The beast took off at a gallop, racing in smooth circles around him, and his initial fear quickly subsided, replaced by hard determination. Squaring his shoulders, Ludwig narrowed his eyes, watching the shadows spin -- the other man seemed to be floating on air instead of riding horseback -- and he tried to gauge what to do next. He had that advantage, at least: his opponent had already given away his abilities, and although Ludwig couldn't presume to know all of the different ways the man could manipulate shadows, the fact that he could shape them as he wanted and make them tangible were both promising clues.

He would have to keep his distance, then. Either that or light the place up so brightly that the other mutant would have no shadows to bend, but that would be risky and use up a lot of energy that Ludwig had no way of replacing immediately. Keeping his distance would mean a lack of control, however. A lot of throwing flames and fireballs and hoping that the shadows couldn't bat that kind of thing away. It would be a good place to start, a good test, and even if the flames were turned back on him, it wasn't like they'd hurt him. Satisfied for now with his plan, Ludwig watched with wary blue eyes as the shadow unicorn slowed and melted and the other man's feet landed on solid ground once more. The darkness was now surrounding the other man like a living cocoon, stretching feelers out into the air and withdrawing back to shield their master. Straightening his back, holding his arms out, and fixing the other with a glare, Ludwig let the fire go.

Brilliant flames flickered up from the skin of his hands and within seconds the fire had risen to a blaze, spreading up with a roar from Ludwig's wrists over his arms and to his shoulders and bathing the arena in a yellow-orange glow. The searing wave of heat felt like a breeze to him; the fire was as harmless and gentle as water against his skin. Turning his hands over and uncurling his fists, Ludwig flexed his fingers, and the flames flared and dipped with his thoughts. He didn't want to let his opponent get the first shot in, but he hated burning people -- even if he was supposed to in this place. So he'd start off with the strategy he always did, and fed the flames that had by now spread across his back, focusing on the air that surrounded him.

The temperature began to rise one more: what once had been uncomfortably hot crept up past equatorial desert and began to climb to oven. And Ludwig began walking, straight towards the red-haired mutant. If he could knock him out with the heat, this would be a burnless, bloodless victory for him: efficient, brutal, and relatively painless. He could walk out of the arena with his head held high.

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 713

Tags: Luddi don't hurt Hammy </3

Working the crowds a sense of disgust came to Hamish but that didn’t stop his showy display that made people move to the edge of their seat anticipating the battle that would take place any moment. The ginger hated fighting deep down but that didn’t mean he didn’t wear a mask of enjoyment when entering the arena. Humans seemed to scream with excitement if the mutants seemed to enjoy cutting into each other. If giving up their humanity for a match meant being fed Hamish couldn’t refuse the offer. Usually he never ate the food but his winnings were enough to split between a few mutants and give them the meal they all desperately needed.

Humans and other mutants never gave favors to him but Hamish knew these matches were the only reason he had yet to be put to death by mankind. Both beings seemed to wish for him to be killed and not be a threat to either side. Part of him believed during the days in The Weeds of Tomorrow it was votes upon if he should be allowed to graduate or put to death. Teachers always told him that he should thank the lord they hadn’t cut his life short yet leaving it open that they would love to end him. Maybe seeing how long before he became no use was a game to the humans? Hamish wouldn’t be surprised if they were waiting for him to take the wrong step and be put to death with a crowd of humans jeering at him. How would he die if he messed up? Would they remove his head? Burn him at the stake? Maybe if he were fortune they would be merciful and let him die in his sleep. That last idea made him realize he was wishing for too much. If he were lucky the humans wouldn’t force his family to witness his death, it was better if they forgot him after all. Everyone would sleep better at night if the ginger were erased from their minds instead of being forced into their lives. No one benefited from the selfish creature that refused to die.

This fight was not what the Scot wanted. The reaction given told him this wasn’t going to be a match against a weak power he would have to fear getting harmed by a power he had yet to identify. He knew of two strong mutants one who controlled bone density but he knew how to defeat that mutant if he needed and another who manipulated ice, which was a power he had yet to learn how to defeat. At the blonde watched him it was made crystal clear that Hamish would be kept blind to what powers he would face until it was too late.

As focus was lost for a moment arms can out of the shadows and wrapped around Hamish stroking his arms in a coaxing manner. One could mistake the shadows for a living being viewing how they reacted around the mutant who controlled them. Shadows shifting to the pale mutant’s back making large wigs that extended the width of the arena as if to show of their massive size.

Once flames came into view Hamish knew what power he faced, what he would have to fear. If the German were allowed to advance he would be burnt and scarred for life due to the powerful flames. Shadows rose around the ground forming vine whips that flung themselves at the German aiming to shred his skin and bleed him dry. Not sure what he should do Hamish felt panic begin to rise more. Not sure if the whips were doing enough shadows wrapped around the muscular form trying to smother the flames before they could over heat him.

Feeling the heat was too much Hamish’s body couldn’t hide the reaction caused by the heat. His sweat soaked body lurched forward and bile spilled forth from his lips. Stomach acid made a small puddle before being absorbed into the sand. This wasn’t good his body was already weak from hunger and the heat was going to make his body purge food it hadn’t had. Tear filled blacks eyes moved back to focus on Ludwig and formulate the plan to extinguish the flames.

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[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

Keeping his ears deaf to the shouts or cheering of the crowds, Ludwig focused on the fight. He had gotten used to being thrown into the arena with Baits, to be honest. Maybe he'd even gotten a little too complacent. It was difficult to sustain a fight against someone who could control plants or rearrange their body parts: there'd be a little bit of posturing from either side and then Ludwig won. That was the natural order of things. He always tried to keep the battles bloodless and burnless: fire and heat couldn't harm him, but he'd seen the scars it left on other people, the way their flesh had melted and twisted. Still, there always existed some hopeless Baits that fought back, full of the desperation of youth or the resignation that came with years of life in the Underground. Control, Ludwig maintained. He had never used the full extent of his power on a person, just enough to knock them out, and whether that took scorching air or blisters or even the quick swipe of a burn, that was all he did.

This fight, however, made him anxious.

His opponent spread shadowy wings from behind him, wings that extended the full diameter of the arena. What he planned to do with those, Ludwig wasn't certain, but the image was ominous enough. He released more energy into the flames, driving them higher and brighter as they crept up his neck and over his head; the entire top half of him was soon engulfed in brilliant yellow fire. Just as Ludwig's eyes adjusted to the brighter light, he spied the shadow whips rising from the ground, and raised his arms in front of him quickly as the first one lashed out.

The vine lashed across his forearms, raking a shallow cut into his skin, and Ludwig winced, more out of surprise than pain: it had been a long time since anyone had been able to hurt him here. But that put him on his guard and he braced himself when even more whips flew at him, leaving long gashes in their wake. As blood trickled down his arms, Ludwig thought furiously. He could make the flames hotter, but that wouldn't necessarily make the arena brighter. The vivid color of the fire surrounding him seemed to fade just slightly, and then he felt pressure envelop him, heavy and suffocating. Instantly, Ludwig realized the other's intent. The whips couldn't hurt him much, not with his fiery shield, but if that got extinguished…

He wasn't going to let himself lose like that.

Flinging his arms out in an effort to push the shadows away -- if that was even possible -- Ludwig torched nearly everything he could reach. The flames that had burned fierce and low over his skin surged upwards with a roar, fighting away from the curtains of shadow still threatening to smother them. The blood leaking from the gashes on his arms caught fire and dripped to the earth like napalm, starting miniature blazes on the arena floor where it fell. The other man had collapsed, Ludwig could see through the flames: he was bent over on the ground, retching, and the blond abruptly realized how thin the other man's arms and hands looked, the pale skin pulled tight over narrow bones. He almost felt pity there, almost backed off to let his opponent recover when the other man swung his face back up, revealing two pitch-black holes where his eyes should have been. Ludwig's heart leapt into his throat, but he kept his hands facing down and the gouts of flame that would have charred the skin from the other man's face baked the ground instead, leaving pools of flickering light.

In his state, Ludwig realized, the man shouldn't be fighting. He looked far too weak. But at the same time, perhaps they'd thrown him in here because he had nothing left to lose. Any sensible man would have let himself pass out by now.

"Give up!" he demanded over the steady roar of the fires burning on the ground and on him. I don't want to have to hurt you anymore than this. But even as he did his best to burn every inch of the arena and light the place up, Ludwig could still see the faint shadows lingering around the other man. Had it been enough?

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 910

Tags: Luddi! Hamish is insane~

As time went on Hamish wondered if he care about harming his opponent anymore and yet after each match if blood colored his skin caused him to scrub his skin raw trying to remove all of it and feel clean once more. Did any of the powerhouse mutants feel differently when it came to a fight? Hamish only knew his own thoughts and could only observe the actions of the other mutants. Mathias was the main mutant the ginger saw after matches and yet he never saw them go into the same freeze he did trying to cleanse his skin of any bodily fluid that clung to from during the match. Maybe they deep down though the say way Hamish did? It was hard for him to confirm or deny as he would never know the thoughts that ran through Mathias’ head. Avoiding doing damage only was what Hamish did if not forced to fight someone. If the other mutant tried to defend himself or herself and win the match all Hamish could do what cut into them and tear them down before a finger way set upon him. The sooner he could end the match the better of the other mutant would be as would himself. Usually the marks that he left on others would heal leaving not even a scar, his shadows were carefully aimed to avoid hitting anything major never giving the other mutant a chance of dying by his hands. In secret Hamish had studied the human body during the days of Weeds so he would never kill without having the intent to. His shadows would learn the only places to hit and if the aim seemed off he would allowed the dark arrow to become intangible causing it to fly through the body as if it weren’t there real.

Flames were dangerous but wasn’t Hamish? He wouldn’t allow himself to fear the fire that threatened to melt his flesh.

Not wanting to let the shadows be pushed away the edges reached out aiming to pierce the skin the vines had cut away earlier. If they weren’t fought away they’d rip into the flesh and use it to plat the shadows over the flames to devoid them of any oxygen causing them to fade once more. If he managed to get rid of the flames the heat would vanish and he could focus on cutting down the German and being able to claim his title of victor even if the reward wouldn’t be enjoy by him. Per usual it would be given out to the mutants around him and not a piece of the food would get to reach his aching stomach.

It seemed the man didn’t notice that as the flames grew they would leave shadows as they flickered allowing Hamish a split second to use the newly formed shadows to strike out. Shadows could be seen throughout the arena and were drawn to the ginger as if they had a will of their own. Moving about his feet they seemed to wait for a command before taking the next form to put and end to this fight.

Danger would be thought to end the flashy nature of Hamish but he knew how to put on a shadow and could carry these actions throughout the fight as if they were creating a show of their own. Shadows abandoned Ludwig’s body returning to Hamish before gathering to form another unicorn that appeared under the male. Sitting on it’s back the black pools seem to look past Ludwig as he sat with the elegance of a price. Shadows wrapped around his body making the armor of Sir Lancelot and a sword formed in his hands. Without warning the unicorn charged forward with not regret of cutting down the man before him. Little did anyone know Hamish had the ability to fight at any distance when he had enough shadows to make armor. Flames would lick at the armor but unless aimed at the opening that allowed his eyes to peer through not of his body was left unprotected. As the majestic unicorn halted it’s charged forward for a moment and reared back his tired voice could be heard, “Giein' up is surrendering tae thae fowk. Ah wull rammy tae th' end. Death wull be mah end nae a pathetic surrender.” Once the shadows hooves collided with the floor the charge began again and the armored rider didn’t seem to even be riding as he floated through the ride.

Lifting the sword Hamish drew it back before swinging it with the intent to cut into the German. The blade wouldn’t remove a limb but the deep would it would leave to the arm or the side he thought would be enough to excite the crowd and cause the man to give in. One-way another the fight would end with Hamish burnt or the German covered in cuts.

Flames were enough to cover the sound of the crying crowd that called he names of the mutants and demanded for the ginger to behead his opponent. Their disgusting screams were pointless for the endless fight as the mutants seems to be lost in the moment to even care what the humans wish to see as they continued their endless battle. It was as if the Scot had forgotten that he was in the arena and all he could remember what if he didn’t cut into this man he would suffer.

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[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

baby you're a firestorm you're a loaded cannon

Blue eyes cut like steel through the brilliant flames as Ludwig stared his opponent down, mentally willing the man to surrender as he continued to light the sand ablaze. Dirt didn’t burn well but his power seemed to bend the laws of nature at times, and determined as he was to win, he didn’t yet want to direct the flames onto the other man’s body. The redhead still hunched doubled-over against the ground, although looking past the glare Ludwig could see that shadows still boiled hungrily around his thin body, reaching out towards him. As the German watched, even more shadows peeled themselves off the walls and floor and slithered towards his foe — the shadows he himself had caused with all of the fires. Verdammt. Ludwig felt like he’d been battling a hydra. How on earth was he supposed to start a fire that cast no shadows? You’re not going to lose, he tried to mentally reassure himself. You’re not— An inky spike, stiletto-fine, drove itself through the flesh of his forearm quicker than a thought, and Ludwig stifled a cry of pain a moment later as the shadows renewed their assault. The smothering pressure had returned furiously, shadows digging teeth into his skin as they fought to extinguish the fire. Once again Ludwig focused, fire roaring up from his skin in gouts of yellow and orange, ripping apart and dissolving the shadows, but the damage had been done: both of his arms dripped red from numerous cuts, his left hand shaking with an unsteadiness the German wasn’t familiar with. The worst of the pain lingered at the edge of his consciousness, fought off by adrenaline. He’d have time to rest and lick his wounds later, Ludwig confirmed. For now, his arms ached just enough to keep his head clear and steel his focus. And he’d need that, as his opponent had brought back that unicorn, along with a set of armor. Reigning his mount around, the other man charged, and Ludwig jumped carefully out of the way, not bothering to clear the path of fire; if this man wanted to ride him down, let him do it while trying to avoid the blazes still creeping over the floor of the arena. Repositioning himself, Ludwig caught the man’s late response to his order. An unusual and thick accent clouded the actual reply, but the tone carried all the answer Ludwig needed. Death before surrender? An odd choice. A choice Ludwig hoped he wouldn’t be forced into himself: he had no doubt that the blade the man had conjured for himself was sharp enough to kill him, something that the crowd around the arena had suddenly started to cry for. Their frantic screams pierced Ludwig the way no shadow could and for a moment, his resolve wobbled dangerously: he’d dealt with plenty of people who’d clearly hated him but the audience genuinely seemed to want him dead. The unicorn charged, and the rider raised his sword high. Ludwig let the flames go, coaxing them higher and hotter until the bloodthirsty howls of the crowd had been muted by the familiar and comforting roar. Forget them. They meant less than nothing. He could char even their bones to ash if he wanted to, but his first goal remained ahead of him, closing in quickly on the back of a phantasm. Free to concentrate, Ludwig devised a plan. It would be risky, but if it worked he’d have a small upper hand. The sword came down, and Ludwig twisted away in place, enough to avoid the worst of the blow. He still grit his teeth as the shadow tore a deep red line across a shoulderblade and down his back. But the spin and momentum pulled Ludwig in a full circle and he used the strength in his legs to spring forward again, fire erupting from hands extended out in an attempt to snare the other man’s ankle as the foe tried to finish his strike and ride away. If Ludwig could pull him off his horse, burn him a little, catch him just a bit off guard… Word Count: 689 Tags: Hamish A. Stuart Notes: let’s do this

by worldie for lena

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 909

Tags: Luddi just give in you know you wanna

Both these men seemed to stand against all, willing their bodies to bend past any limitation that would be held in place for humans in their positions. Each brought on new pain to the other but with the will to win, the will to survive it was as if the burns were nothing but a warm heat and the slashes cutting open their flesh were nothing but a dull throb of a paper cut. How the two fought some might find it a dance. Ludwig stood strong being the rock of the dance while Hamish seemed to flitter around curling his body is impossible manner that kept the crowd crying for them both to strike at the other. Mutants weren’t always so interesting within the arena but shadows and flames seemed to almost feed from each other causing each to grow more ferocious, desperate.

Darkness moved around the flames dodging them or simply through them as if the flames never were there to begin with as they darted to join Hamish replacing the shadows that vanished with the change in the flames as well as strengthening the structure to keep Hamish from falling from his steed. Combining with the legs to add to the heavy hooves scraping across the sand below and slithering up the beast turning into new additions on Hamish’s shadowed armor or lengthening the horn that could pierce through the flesh of any foe. Each of the flames that grazed the armor caused Hamish to feel the heat but he remained unsure if it even burnt his flesh or hidden by the adrenaline his flesh had been melted by the heat that he climbed his armor as the flames reached for the crowd as if to cover the entire area leaving the shadow user unable to move without facing more harm.
No matter how many flames licked at his armor and tried to climb through the crack the unicorn didn’t halt; hooves pounding against the ground carrying the ginger forward. Cries from the crowd seemed to drown out the stomping of the shadows. Everything had gone silent, the deafening sounds had mixed together creating a peaceful silence that seemed to keep Hamish calm enough to think.

“Keep calm, don’t snap! Ye kin still win,” the shouts in his head were trying to not let him drift off into a vicious mental state. Push came to shove Hamish’s was capable of allowing his fight sense to take over but his fight sense didn’t end until he was covered in blood.

Once this was all done Hamish knew he’d fell the possible burns. His weak body would crawl back to his sell and fade as his wounds healed. By the end of this he wouldn’t even have the energy to lick his wounds.

Having the shadow beast jump Hamish made the legs vanish for a moment throwing the flames out of his way before the legs returned seconds before the creature completed the jump. Humans seemed to scream more with each moment of the show that only seemed to work into Hamish’s hands allowing him to have everyone cheering for him to slice the head of the blond clean off his shoulders. No matter how the humans wished for him to do this Hamish never planned to do such an act if it could be avoided. The self-proclaimed king wasn’t about to end the battle with such a cowardly act in order to please morons that simply wished to see how much blood could the sandy floor absorb. Murder always would be a last resort, the death of humans and mutants was nothing to celebrate.

Turning back feeling the tug at his ankle Hamish allowed the helmet to vanish showing off a twisted grin and pure black eyes. His thin body could easily be confused for a skeleton found in the nightmares of children. What made Hamish himself was also what created a nightmare for those who caught sight of his cruel eyes and wicked grin.

What once had been the unicorn that carried him to charge his opponent was no more as the shadows flew over Hamish’s skin grabbing at the fleshy hand holding him before darting forward taking hold of a thick neck. Using shadows to shift his weight Hamish was thrown onto the large mutant as the remaining shadows bubbled over them. Once the bodies fell to the ground the shadows covered them shielding them from view leaving Hamish bare of his armor but still with shadows wrapped around Ludwig’s throat in a silent warning. With the little light that managed to leak through it could now be seen where the fire had either met his skin or scarred him through his armor. Blood leaked down his legs from some of the wounds being disturbed when the shadows were removed and yet the blackened eyes didn’t seem to pay any mind to them.
Snarling Hamish was going to make it clean he was in control still. “Dinnae ca' yer flames in 'ere. Ye ken gey weel ah wull stab ye afore ye kin end me.” Not moving away Hamish seemed to calm some but his anger still continued to rage on allowing him to wield his shadows with as much ease as he always seemed to. “Juist act it! Ah wull nae gie in 'n' ah dae nae wantae murdurr ye if a'm given th' choice. Whin ah drap th' shadows juist fake ye fainted.”

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