13990/Night Hunt

Night Hunt
Date of Scene:	28 November 2021
Location:	Two Bridges (Chinatown), Manhattan
Synopsis:	Heng Zhihao is fought off for the moment, and a pack of shadow hounds is dealt with.
Cast of Characters:	Xiang Zhao, Vitali Svyatoslav

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Xiang Zhao has posed:
The moon hangs low to the west, putting the time just after midnight. A bare sliver that would normally provide almost nothing for illumination. However, it has snowed through the latter part of the day and into the evening. The layer of frozen water crystals means the small amount of moonlight that shines upon the snow provides a nice amount of light. Street lights provide the rest, accompanied by the occasional light still on in a window.

It is quiet, and there is almost no foot traffic. Xiang Zhao jogs along a street, on the sidewalk. One of the sidesteets that connects to Canal Street. Canal Street, which still bustles with traffic. This one, however, is all but deserted, save for Zhao's presence. His robes are the same as he'd been wearing that morning. White and pale grey done to resemble blowing snow, the detail muted in the dim light.

He seems to be trailing something, robes swirling around him as he moves along. The Chinaman holds his fan in his right hand, though it is not open this night. Closed and not moving to fan him. Heading away from Canal Street, Zhao rounds a corner and disappears from sight.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
The spirit of Heng Zhihao requires no sleep in order to rest herself. Her existence is a relatively timeless sort of thing. Yet the physical body she occupies has needs, and she is inclined to see them met. Simply... not yet. Settled upon the railing of a balcony that belongs to the room she's been renting when the weather has been less than hospitable, Heng Zhihao lowers the long and thin bamboo pipe as a breath of silvery grey smoke is slowly exhaled. Vitali reaches out, turning the pipe upside down over a glass ashtray on the small table there on the balcony, and then he lightly taps it there, spilling the ash out. The pipe is laid next to the ashtray, and then he smoothly rises to his feet.

The movement of someone within the street below is enough to catch his attention, and he tilts his head a touch to one side. His dark gaze settles upon the robed figure of Xiang Zhao, and a hint of a smile touches at the corners of his lips. He steps back to the railing before stepping over it, and there's a softly murmured word that's accompanied by a slight gesture of his right hand. A platform of ice forms near to the balcony, and Vitali steps lightly to it before using his control of it to guide it in pursuit of Zhao from on high. This might prove to be interesting!

The platform is kept above the height of the streetlights, perhaps in an attempt to be spotted less easily. The chill in the air seems not to bother him at all, yet given his homeland, these temperatures don't come close to what he's used to in the winter. He follows Zhao around the corner, attempting not to have lost him for too long. The Chinaman has knack for disappearing.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Xiang Zhao really does have a certain knack for disappearing. Heng Zhihao had had a good thought, keeping the platform above the level of the lights. If the Chinaman was relying solely on his vision, he might not have seen the one following him at all. As it is, he's not relying on sight to track things. No, he knows the feel of Vitali's body, of his aura. The splendor of it. He knows exactly where the body Heng Zhihao inhabits is.

Just after he'd turned the corner, his footprints in the fresh snow disappear. As though he'd disappeared. Or jumped straight up. But there's no sign of him on anything at the level a human could jump to. No sign at all. So where had he gone?

From the opposite direction, a pack of something that looks like a hound comes. The hounds are pitch black, darker than the night, and look like a stain upon the snow. Their eyes glow like the embers of a fire, orange and sullen. Each footprint in the snow leaves a melted patch and a charred, sooty appearance to mar the otherwise pristine look of the snow.

The hounds pause when they come to Zhao's footprints, and the six of them cast about. The one closest to the footprints looks up just in time for Zhao's feet to land atop its nose. It yelps. Zhao bounces off of it and toward the one closest to it, his fan opening with a snicking snap of sound. The hound it was aimed at screams, in rage or pain, and leaps sideways. A gash can be seen along its left jaw, down toward its neck. Oily smoke drops from the wound, but it doesn't appear to be fatal. The pack all turn eyes upon the Chinaman, and leap toward him at once.

Xiang Zhao spins to his right. The fan slices out, another yelp follows, and that one limps on its front right leg. More oily smoke drips down to stain the snow. Zhao's expression remains peaceful, serene. He might be going after straw filled targets instead of the deadly pack he faces.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
There is little that Heng Zhihao actually knows about Xiang Zhao besides what little the man himself has actually said. Damn the Siberian for having unexpected ways of keeping such kernels of information from her! It would really be useful to know more about the Chinaman right about now. Or before now! Whatever manner of protection it is that he's using to keep her out, it hasn't even budged beneath all of her efforts. He follows the footprints until there are none left, and that's where he stops, to look about.

Where could the Chinaman have gone this time? The footprints give no indication of where, and even up where he is there's no sign. The matter of where Zhao is gets set aside when that pack of hounds come along. So dark against the white of the snow, they are. He tilts his head faintly to one side, watching them as they mill around where the Chinaman's footprints had ended.

Heng Zhihao -- and Vitali, from within the prison of his body -- both watch the fight as it unfolds. There is a quirk of an eyebrow when the fan is snicked open so swiftly and the attack made with it. This is an unexpected opportunity, and one that Heng Zhihao has intentions of taking advantage of. Know one's adversary, after all, and watching him fight is an enlightening sort of thing.

If only Vitali would allow her to do so. But alas, the Siberian is not that sort of person. He has intentions of his own and he's willing to fight for them. Silvery-blue flickers through his dark eyes as he fights with Heng Zhihao to reclaim his physical self, even if he only wins it for a short few moments. The ice platform wobbles a little bit and fractures, a piece of it shearing off and falling. There's a grumbling mutter from him that seems a jumbled mix of Mandarin and Russian syllables.

In the next moment, the platform of ice turns bluish-clear and more solid, and Vitali exhales a breath that fogs in the air. Then he lifts his right hand in a gesture that's similar to scattering seed, and a trio of ice spears appear and hover, glistening in the air and simply held at the ready, aimed in the direction of the hounds.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
The internal battle up above is noticed by Xiang Zhao. However, the only real attention it gets given is to maneuver himself further away from the floating platform. This moves one of the hounds under the platform. Just in time for the chunk of ice to smash it to the ground. A yelp is cut off mid sound, and an oily patch of smoke spreads from beneath the ice.

In the battle, Xiang Zhao continues to be his usual efficient self. He's winning, by attrition if nothing else. He has scored numerous small slices on the hounds. However, they have scored nothing on him. The fan is flicked closed, and tucked beneath his outer robe and the sash beneath.

He pulls curved dao sword from his left side. With the motion, the Chinaman severs a shadowy canine head from its equally shadowy body. Another inky, oily patch of smoke spreads. This time from the now limp head and body. With only four members of the pack left, and none of them the pack leader, the remaining pack goes insane and rushes Zhao all at once.

Xiang Zhao waits until they're almost upon him. His left hand twists, and threads of silvery magic seem to form around him. He pushes off lightly with his right foot, and jumps up into the air to land on the balcony a full story above.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
It was, perhaps, not the best timing in the world for picking a fight with Heng Zhihao. But that's never a thing that stops Vitali. He plans to fight her until the day he dies -- or until she's banished, whichever ends up coming first. Though he rather hopes that she gets what she deserves given that he has reasons to live. It takes him a brief moment after having summoned up the spears to determine that he would be able to stay in control of himself and his magic for long enough to use them.

With two of the hounds dead and four remaining, Vitali has an interesting vantage point to view things in being at the height he is. When those four remaining hounds charge at Zhao is when he chooses to act. The three ice spears hurtle down towards the ground with the intent of skewering one of them. And even as those first spears are in motion, there is another set of three spears which materialize in the air to wait in the wings, so to speak. It uses his energy to create them, but if it didn't feel it to be worthwhile to do then he wouldn't do it.

Staying at height and hopefully out of the range of the hound-demon-things, Vitali starts to guide the ice platform in the direction of the balcony that Zhao had jumped to. And he can't help but to quirk a bit of a grin. "When I am myself again, Zhaoshenka, we should hunt together," Vitali says, the words touched by his usual Russian accent. His attention doesn't stay on the Chinaman for long, turning back to the hounds.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Such fights have to be fought when the opportune moment strikes. Wherever that happens to be at the time. The three ice spears that fly at one of the hounds don't all strike true. But two of them do. The third glances off the hound's back, changing its trajectory and clipping another of the hounds in the upper shoulder. The first collapses without a sound, oily darkness leaking from it. The second yelps and dances sideways.

Xiang Zhao's eyes don't stray from the hounds, but his voice comes, cold and neutral. "Do not interfere." The only one he could possibly be speaking to is Vitali. Which he proves a moment later when he looks unerringly to the man, up there in the darkness. Darkness does nothing to hide the Siberian's aura from him.

He moves his hand again, and drops down from the building, floating easily through the air. He lands, feather soft, and stabs one of the three remaining hounds through the eye. It collapses with a shudder, spilling oily black substance from the pierced through eye. It shudders a few seconds more before going still. The two remaining turn and start to flee.

Xiang Zhao moves the fingers on his left hand, and power glides in a sharpened arch, a wavefront of force. It slices the head off the back one. The angle it's going, the front one winds up sliced in two. Each collapse to the ground. The first hound Zhao had killed is already melting away into nothing, leaving nothing but what appears to be dark smudge marks on the snowy pavement.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
At least the ice spears turned out to be useful, although two of them were more so than the third. When the spears end up causing the hound's death, Vitali's brow furrows slightly as he watches that oily darkness leak from it. It's an odd thing, and a thing that stirs his curiosity some. Some kind of spirit or some kind of demon? Vitali isn't sure, but if Xiang Zhao is fighting them then they don't belong here.

The tone of voice that Zhao addresses him with is enough to chase away what traces of his sense of humour had been present. It's quite sobering, really. He exhales a breath in a soft sigh that fogs the air, and with a slight gesture of his right hand, the additional three spears vanish as though they'd never even existed. He knows the words are for him even before Xiang Zhao looked in his direction. Yet when he does, Vitali gives a small nod that's best considered acknowledgement. He knows there are reasons to not interfere, not the least of which is the fact that he's inhabited by the spirit of a woman that's been dead for decades.

Vitali doesn't say anything more, at this point. Instead, he slightly adjusts the robes he wears and brings his hands to rest in front of himself, his fingers interlaced. How long will he have this time? He doesn't know. He never knows how long it might last, how long it might be before Heng Zhihao fights him back.

He does, at least, behave himself, and he doesn't interfere further. But he does watch! Not only as Zhao floats back down to the ground but also as he dispatches the remainder of the pack of hounds. It really is quite something to watch the Chinaman fight and use his magic. It's one thing that he and Heng Zhihao can agree on, not that he's necessarily willing to admit it.

The platform remains aloft even after the hounds have been dispatched. Gradually, then, it sinks through the air, and as it does, Vitali separates his hands to bring them to his sides. When the platform is a few feet above the ground, it dissolves, the magic released in full, and Vitali lands lightly on his feet. His gaze lingers on Zhao, but he doesn't start to approach even though he would very much like to.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Xiang Zhao doesn't usually fight spirits, so much. Talks to spirits, on occasion, but doesn't usually set out to kill them. Demons, on the other hand, are fair game. They very much do not tend to belong here. Of course, he only kills those who harm people. In truth, the main reason for Zhao's words is for Vitali to preserve his energy and strength. The Siberian might deem the expenditure to be worth it, but Xiang Zhao does not. That energy needs to preserved for the fight against Heng Zhihao.

By the time Xiang Zhao turns and walks to where the platform has landed, the rest of the pack have dissolved into nothing but the dark marks in the snow. Xiang Zhao looks Vitali up and down, and back up again. He stops within arms' reach. He's not particularly afraid of Vitali, even with Heng Zhihao in control of the body. "You are well?" Despite the question, Xiang Zhao's tone remains chill, if serene. As though he's refusing to allow any emotions to touch him at present.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
There are occassions -- at least when Vitali is himself -- when the Siberian talks to spirits as well. He does what he can to try and help them, when he has a choice in the matter. To help Xiang Zhao, there are no lengths that Vitali would not go to. The energy will be recovered, with a bit of food and tea and sleep. Things which Heng Zhihao will see to, for she will be back in control by that point. The fact that she's been taking that much care of his physical self has not escaped his notice, and it is something he appreciates.

His dark gaze watches Xiang Zhao as the man approaches. There is but a brief glance towards those dark marks in the snow before his attention returns swiftly to Zhao. He moves just a touch closer to the Chinaman after he's stopped, and he tilts his head a little bit to one side before he gives a small nod. "Da, Zhaoshenka. I am well and unharmed," he says softly. In these moments, at least, he has control of himself, even though he fights within to keep it. "You are also well?" he asks, curiosity and concern in his voice.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Alas, it's not only physical energy that's used up, but also mental energy, the type that is used to combat Heng Zhihao from within. As Xiang Zhao comes to a stop, he takes a moment to flick the remaining dark residue from the sword's blade. Only then does he sheath it back beneath his robes. "Good," he says, studying the Siberian. "I am also well."

For a long moment, Xiang Zhao goes silent. Thinking, perhaps, or studying what he can see of Vitali's aura. Or perhaps for some other reason. But only for a few moments before he comes back to himself. "I must go. Be well. I will be watching." He waits for a moment longer, and then turns to walk away. He moves in the direction the pack had come from, and tried to flee in. Perhaps he's looking for where the hounds had come from.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
There is a brief glance given towards the sword that Xiang Zhao holds, watching as it's sheathed, but then he lifts his gaze back to the man's features. He draws in a deep breath, and as he gives a small nod he releases the breath. "Good," he says softly, a smile finding its way to the corners of his lips. His chin lowers a touch, and he closes his eyes for a moment, focusing briefly within himself to push Heng Zhihao further back and further away from the forefront. He needs these moments, and he protects the knowledge of them from her. He can't keep her at bay for long, but he can keep her at bay for long enough.

"Xiang Zhao," he says softly, watching the Chinaman. It's very rare that he uses the fellow's full name, but he does it in this moment with the intent of keeping him present. "Zhaoshenka, in this life and in all others, I will be with you. If... if I must die to be rid of the spirit, there is something you must do. Two things," he says in a quieter voice. This is not an easy thing for him to ask, and it shows by his accent being stronger on these words. "Promise me, first, that you will live. And second, that you will not let Soraya die of sadness. Da? Kill her swiftly," he requests. The eagle deserves not to suffer, and for her to pine for him if he dies would be the worst sort of suffering that Vitali could imagine for her.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Alas, Xiang Zhao doesn't even slow down. Though his steps aren't swift, they aren't precisely slow either. He doesn't turn around. And he doesn't acknowledge the words spoken. Xiang Zhao will likely do whatever is necessary for whoever survives the evil spirit. He does pause at the request for him to live, to promise it.

"You have no right to ask such a promise of me, when I am the one who will have to kill you." The words come, soft, but holding no hint of emotion within them. "Do not even think of killing yourself. There is yet hope.I will do what I must as it comes. Ask no more of me than I can give to you."

The words are all spoken without Xiang Zhao turning around. He doesn't look at Vitali at all. Now that his own peace has been said, Xiang Zhao starts walking again. This time, nothing spoken will bring him to stop.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
The Siberian has had a lot of time for thinking, of late. What else is he to do when Heng Zhihao is in control of his body? There is little else he can do but to cocoon himself away, guarding himself from her. And guarding some of his magic and memories from her as well. Vitali had to try, not that trying grants him any peace at all. The thought of Zhao dying because his own death needs to happen in order for him to be free of the spirit is not one that he relishes. Not that he wants to die himself, either.

He listens, as Zhao gives a response to his request, nad his brow furrows a little bit. "I am sorry, Zhaoshenka, to ask for a promise that is not my right," Vitali says softly, his gaze holding upon Zhao. There is a moment of a frown that pulls at the corners of his lips at the request made of him in turn, and he tilts his head just a touch to one side. And then he gives a small nod. "I have hope, still. I believe in you, Zhaoshenka. I will do all I can to not think on it," he says in a quieter voice. It's not a promise, but... he will try not to harbour such dark thoughts. Such thoughts are unlike him.

He watches Zhao as the Chinaman leaves. And once he's out of sight, Vitali sinks to his knees there in the snow. He bows his head slightly, to hide the tears that slip down his cheeks, and then he lifts his left hand to hastily brush them aside as he exhales a breath. Heng Zhihao is coming, and this time, there will be no fending her off.