WAR: WIIGF 22 (Patreon)

Chapter 22

“Airball!”In sheer defiance of Luigi’s attempt to speak evil on his skills, the ball swished through the net without even kissing the rim. “You wish.”The basketball court in Mellville Park was more crater than concrete after years gone to shit like the rest of the city. It was good enough for a game, but good enough for basketball wasn’t saying much at all when the court was still a sad battlefield of faded white paint and dead weeds pushing past cracked tar. 

Rims on both sides were bent down past what any normal person could have managed, like a full-grown horse had managed to hang off them during a dunk and then never let go. Add to the fact that the chain-link nets were half-rusted through on one side, it was easy to see that the place was a perfect monument to Blüdhaven’s particular ugly brand of neglect. 

In its own way, at least.

Ken wasn’t gonna pretend like he knew anything about Bludhaven’s budget or when the city council meetings were, or what the hell a comptroller was. Hell, he didn’t even know who the mayor was.

What he did know was that nobody was going to fix this shit. 

And unless a body turned up in the bushes by the swingset, nobody from the city was coming by to pretend they cared. 

“I do so much good, just a couple weeks in…” He clicked his tongue and jumped back, higher than Luigi could manage in a split-second. The ball sunk in by the time his Foams touched the closest crack in the court. “And it’s like it’s nothin’ to them, man.”

The late afternoon air was already bruising purple, temperature dropping fast enough to make the sweat on Ken’s arms cool him down. He and Weeg were the only ones out here, the game between them a frantic rhythm of squeaking rubber and the steady thump-thump-thump of the ball against the unforgiving ground.

Ken had been talking for ten minutes straight, barely even a conversation with Luigi more listening and nodding than anything else. It was more a long rambling exorcism, the words spilling out of him like green demon vomit in between layups and jump shots. Throughout it all, Luigi didn’t bother to chime in much and Ken couldn’t be mad at that, because he wouldn’t know what to say either if it hadn’t happened to him.  

"And can you believe…" Ken sucked in a hissing breath, Foams squealing as he juked left and took Luigi’s knees with him, “they're just cutting me loose? Me? Just like that?" He finally came to a hard stop at the top of the three-point line, chest burning just a little bit as his hands met his knees and not really from cardio either. “I’m a hard fuckin’ hitter, nigga!”

The basketball bounced away, rolling slow toward the fence.

Luigi, playing the kind of lazy defense that he knew pissed Ken off, just shook his head slow. The pale Italian wiped a forearm across his forehead, looking more confused and disbelieving than tired.

"I can't believe you were runnin' with the Church at all," Louie drawled the vowels out flat, shaking his head as he spoke. "Those fuckers are crazy, bro. Real talk."

Ken straightened up, wincing as his ribs pulled tight under his gray hoodie, bruises from yesterday still ugly colors under his clothes. "I didn't even know you knew about those guys."

"'Course I know about 'em," Louie scoffed as he jogged over, grabbing the ball up with one hand, and started dribbling it between his legs. "Look, bruh, I only been huntin' for a couple years, right? But I seen 'em before. Creepin' around the Narrows in their spooky-ass black vans lookin' like the Inquisition." The lazy smirk dropped away for a second, eyes narrowing as something dark flicked over his face. "I don't fuck with the Church, man. Ain't no way."

"Wow," Ken shot back, the snark slipping out like a welcome, familiar reflex. "An Italian who don’t like the Catholic church. Send the rapture, bruh. End of days, nigga."

"Nah, nah, listen to me," Louie stopped dribbling, ball arcing into the hoop as he looked back at Ken with eyes still serious. "The Church is full of crazy people. They don't fuck with magic, and they definitely don't fuck with magi. If they knew about me? Especially with the whole vampire ash in my system thing I got goin' on? Bro, fuhget that shit. They'd smoke my ass on sight."

Yeah, nuns did try to end my shit that one time. Least Bug-Eyes did. Ken frowned, green of his eyes narrowing as he thought back to Lucy. The frown only deepened as something from yesterday came to mind. "Wait. But I saw them… I mean, Father Keane… I saw him using magic.”

"That's another way they're crazy," Louie didn’t hesitate, snatching the opportunity to blow past Ken while he was distracted. The Italian kid went up for a layup, the ball bouncing cleanly off the rusted backboard and dropping through the net. "They don't even call it magic. To them, that's 'heresy' against the Lord or some shit. So they just call 'em 'sacraments' or 'blessings' or 'benedictions' or whatever holy word makes 'em feel better. It's magic, bro. Just got a holy paint job on it so they can sleep at night."

"But they were okay with me using jutsu," Ken grabbed the rebound as the ball kicked off the rim. He passed it back hard, Loui hissing like the daywalker he basically was as it stung his palms. "They saw me spitting fire and didn't try to burn me at the stake."

Louie shrugged, wiping his hands down the front of his baggy black jeans. "...maybe they're just weird, bro. Or maybe they just can't afford to turn down allies, considerin' how outnumbered they are by the leeches."

"Then why'd they kick me out?" Ken demanded, the frustration flaring up hot and sudden in his chest again. The raw wound of being benched, of being told to just go be a kid while a blood cult ran through his city, stung like battery acid. He spun on his heel and launched the ball.

It arced high and sank with a satisfying, metallic clatter through the chain links, a perfect three-pointer worthy of the All-Star Games.

"Sucks for them," Louie answered back as he scooped up the ball.

Ken frowned. Sucks for me, too. 

He glanced over toward the sideline to where their backpacks leaned against the rusted chain-link fence, Louie's heavy canvas bag slouching against the metal. It was full of the old, leather-bound magic books the Italian had let Ken borrow. 

Thick pages filled with simple little spells and theories about Od and Prana that had felt so alien that they might as well have been written in the original Old Latin. He'd tried for days to make them work, sitting in his room and staring at the pages until his Sharingan watered, but unlike the jutsu he could pull off by instinct, the magic just didn’t click for him

On top of that, he was still struggling to figure out the stupid wall-walking exercise. Again, even with the Sharingan, it was taking way too long. Can’t even fuckin’ joke with that shit. 

But it was.

A joke, at least.

A really unfunny one, considering he couldn’t make it halfway up the brick wall in the alley behind his house before chakra control went bye-bye and his ass kissed the ground or whatever else happened to be under him that day. Fuckin’ joke. How you a failure at everything all at the same time?

As soon as he though it, he knew that was a step too far, the angry knot in his stomach pulling even tighter. Kicked out the Cutters, failing at magic, failing at ninja shit…

"…no," Ken shook his head, voice dropping low. "Fuck that."

"Fuck what?" Louie laughed, sinking another layup as Ken forgot all about defense.

"They can kick me out the club, whatever." Ken nodded to himself. "But they can't stop me from being a hunter. They don't own the streets."

"Ayyy," Louie grinned, turning around. His silver grillz flashed in the fading, gray afternoon light, catching a stray beam from the streetlamp buzzing to life across the street. "That's what I like to hear. We don't need 'em anyway. We run these streets, cuz."

Okay, bruh. Green eyes went flat as Kenny stared back at the still-grinning Luigi. “Really, we run these streets?”

That grin wasn’t going anywhere, bright silver glinting in the sunset. “Ayy, we can try. What’s stopping us?”

Ken opened his mouth to argue, only to shut it as he realized… Good point. “Truth.”“Ayyy, I love to hear that.” A happy growl of all things slid out of Luigi’s gritted teeth. “We gon’ fuck so much shit up, cuz!”

"Yeah, yeah, one thing…" Ken wiped the sweat off his chin.

"What's that?"

"Where can I get some fighting sh-"

Ken froze as the air just in front of him blinked like an invisible eyeball and began to shimmer, space warping for a split second around the free-throw line, like a heat wave in the worst part of a summer.

It happened with a soft pop.

It wasn't loud, no.

But it was still a sound that didn't belong on a basketball court, a heavy cork being pulled from a thick glass bottle. And then with another invisible blink, it was just… there.

A suitcase?

Long, hard-shelled and sleek, a black suitcase sat perfectly still on the cracked asphalt like it had always been there and they’d just been playing a two-man game around it. What the… Ken took a step closer, just one, Luigi taking one with him.

It looked expensive. It looked heavy. 

And more than that, it looked like it belonged to him.

You’re fuckin’ jokin’, bruh. Because emblazoned right on the top of the lid, painted in blood-red and bright white, was a crest in the shape of a too-familiar  fan; a red crescent moon sitting on a white lower half.

Ken and Louie both stared at it, green and red eyes wide and mouths open.

The basketball bounced away from Louie's hand, rolling toward the fence until it hit the metal wire and stopped. The distant, wailing sound of a police siren somewhere down in the Narrows was the only thing moving in the sudden, profound silence of the park.

Ken slowly lifted his right hand. He looked down at the black ring he’d gotten just yesterday, the one he still hadn't taken off. The Uchiha symbol etched into the dark metal matched the one on the box in front of him perfectly, the same one on the bottom of his super-fast skateboard that still sent him flying headfirst into walls.

Okay… His brain did that familiar stutter-step, gears grinding against the craziness before he shook his head. Nothing new, nothing weird about it. 

That was as half-true as it was also half a lie. Magic skateboards. Magic juice boxes. Now magic luggage. Coolcoolcool. 

Ken took a hesitant step forward, sneakers quiet on the tar before he bent down. Fingers reached out, fingers brushing the cold surface of the hard-shell case, and flipped the two metal latches. 

They popped open with a satisfying, heavy clack.

Louie dropped to his knees right next to him, the Italian's coppery eyes wide as they’d ever been. "Bro… what is that?"

Ken let the box answer for him as he grabbed the handle and opened the lid. Holy…

He stared down at the contents, all of it settled and fitted perfectly in custom-cut, dense black foam. The weak light from the streetlamp caught the bright gleam of the metal inside; knives, shuriken, swords, wire. 

All of that on top of a full set of clothes that he’d never worn before.

Things that belonged in a different world, delivered right to his feet.

Yeah. A slow, sharp grin pulled at the corners of Ken's mouth. We’re gonna fuck shit up.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Nu Blood – 100 NP

Choose to become a vampire hunter without institutional backing or sanction.

[ROLL: Starting Equipment – Elden Ring – Limgrave] – 0 NPAll men have a past, whether embraced or turned away from. You now possess a set of equipment from whatever past you had before coming to the Lands Between. Whether it was as a warrior, vagabond, confessor, or something else, you will at least have a set of clothes and a reliable weapon, as well as a peculiar bell.

Nexus Points: 350