(grumble) Merc-verse (mutter) icedark_elf (mutter, mutter) fusion (grumble, grumble) Destroyers (mutter, grumble) blame shower.



An hour in Midgar, and his kill count was still only in the single digits.

This was not what Yuber had signed up for. The air was clogged with every type of energy imaginable, thicker than even the smog. Promising. He got to kill off some stupid bastards for hitting on him. Fun. So far, the Silverberg brat was on the mark. Of course, the brat was a Silverberg, and they knew all about risks. Not to mention that whenever that family of egotistical fucks was involved in anything, it was a guarantee of mass murder.

Killing mundanes had lost some of its interest, which was the reason why he'd even come to Midgar in the first place. That, and the prospect of fucking the smug out of the Silverberg brat's face. So far, he'd had seven kills, none of which were from any important families, noble, underworld, or otherwise; gotten practically drunk on the energy in the air, but not one damn mage seemed to want to show up; and grown stupidly bored.

The boredom faded when he saw the immortal.

Yuber wasn't sure what had given him the impression that that pretty little boy couldn't die. There was just a sense of "this is wrong" that hovered all around him. The boy was flanked by twins, obviously half-demon and obviously subservient to the boy. The twins simultaneously looked towards him and glared.

Half-demons wouldn't normally be worth his time, but they seemed like they'd be fun, even if for a while.

Yuber would stay. He'd have to thank the Silverberg brat.