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[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]
Part I (extremely NSFW) (it's very gross) (I'm sorry about everything)
Part II (NSFW post)
IT'S BACK, BABY
Imagine, if you will, that Drift is not a robot, but a gratuitously tropey half-demon hunter roaming around Boston killing demons in order to atone for his as a, well, killer for the demons. For all intents and purposes you can just assume this takes place in the same universe as Buffy (or something like it) for the sake of using a conveniently existing lore that I already really like. Maybe with an extra side of Kabbalah. whatever
HERE ARE SOME FACTS ABOUT DEMON HUNTER AU DRIFT:
- Drift is half-demon on his father's side. He never really knew his dad, idk he like fucked off or got slayed at some point when Drift was young and he was mostly raised by his mother, who died of cancer when he was a teenager. It was real sad and Drift had no money and got pretty promptly kicked out of his mom's apartment shortly after her death. This made Drift a TRAGIC TEEN ORPHAN who was homeless on the streets for a while, and given his ~UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA~ it wasn't really very long before he fell in with a bad crowd. A demon crowd
- Tragic teen orphan Drift got into drugs, specifically orihalcon, a potent substance derived from the refined blood of certain types of demons, because regular human drugs don't quite cut it for him. He was pretty knee-deep in the local demon community, partly because he didn't fit in anywhere else, partly because some of them knew his dad.
- Drift spent a while as a homeless addict, barely scraping by, until he was recruited by Megatron, a powerful demon lord who saw much more potential in Drift and his untamed demon powers. He offered Drift a place in his ranks even though he was half-human, and helped him hone his terrifyingly natural talent for violence. For a while Drift mostly did it to feed his habit, but he began to enjoy the rush of violence and of releasing his DEMON SIDE way more than the drugs and eventually got clean.
- He also inherited this sweet demon sword from his dad that Megatron apparently had handy. It is powered by his DEMON SIDE
- Eventually though Drift's taste for violence got a little out of control and after pissing off some of his superiors for wildly disobeying orders in favor of MORE VIOLENCE, he fucked off and went into hiding. It was at this time that he met a witch named Wing from a smug hippie witch cult based in San Francisco. Wing offered him sanctuary and to teach him to better control his demon side by being ~~more in tune with the spirits~~. Drift took the sanctuary because he had nowhere else to hide, but wound up begrudgingly coming around to Wing's way of seeing things, at least enough to grow to care about him. Unfortunately for the both of them Drift's UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA led Megatron's forces right to the Wing's door and he got horribly murdered. Drift managed to get away but he was so tragically torn by the untimely death of his spiritual sensei that he swore off working for Megatron and decided to USE HIS POWERS FOR GOOD
- Since then he's discarded the name Megatron gave him and returned to Boston as the newly-reformed demon hunter Drift. He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment in Southie and fights demons by moonlight in order to help people out and atone for his murder-filled past. He has fully embraced his former mentor's spirituality with a level of enthusiasm that, tbh, should probably be worrying. He believes (or hopes, at least) that what Wing taught him will not only help him keep his demon side in check (he is pretty much always concerned he will LOSE CONTROL), but also lead to his eventual redemption. Unfortunately Drift is still learning how exactly to have real faith in something because he is the world's biggest faker
- He is Jewish because I know what I like and oh boy does he ever dabble in Kabbalah and a lot of other magical spirituality bullshit that mostly drives other people up the wall
- Being half-demon has a lot of perks, SUCH AS: super strength/reflexes/stamina, accelerated healing, and being able to jump way higher than any human. He's obviously not as powerful as a full-blooded demon, but plenty powerful enough to be able to take them head on. He's also really good at fighting shit. Drift's swordsmanship is pretty solid, having been trained in Megatron's demon army, but also he has studied very seriously from a lot of kung fu and action films
- He literally owns fourteen swords
PREVIOUSLY ON DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU:
- Rodimus is this AU's equivalent of the Slayer, and Ultra Magnus is her Watcher. She and Drift are best buds who also make out a lot. Ultra Magnus STRONGLY DISAPPROVES of Rodimus spending time with someone with Drift's substantial murder past but Rodimus believes wholeheartedly in Drift's turning a new leaf.
- Perceptor (Percy) is a talented witch and physicist who also serves as Drift's go-to for information about demon lore and magic. They go back a long, long ways, and is one of a handful of people Drift trusts implicitly.
- Dealer was, predictably, Drift's orihalcon dealer when he was living on the streets. There were some bad (good) (bad) times that Drift would really love to never talk about, and Dealer loves to hold over his head.
- Ratchet is a trauma surgeon whose family was killed by demons around the time Deadlock was active. After patching up Drift a couple of times, they fell into an undefined sort-of relationship that nearly came to an end when Ratchet found out just who Drift used to be. After taking some time and talking to just about everyone else Drift knows, Ratchet decided he still wanted to know Drift as he is now, though things between them are still uncertain.
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The choked sound of Drift's voice is half from incredulous laughter, half from the tight pressure of Rico's tail around his arm, the bladed edge biting into his sleeve. Alright, cool, he's got a hideous demon pissed off and off his feet -- but no time to reach for his sword when Rico lunges at him, taking him down hard to the rooftop. If he'd been a normal human, it'd have knocked the wind out of him, maybe broken a few things, but Drift has that advantage at least. He's always careful about keeping his demon side in check, always worried about losing control, but this really isn't the time for restraint. Dark patterns begin to swirl under his skin, only faintly detectable in the moonlight.
"Hey, at least I got this jacket at Savers," Drift shoots back, grunting as he tries to grapple with Rico. He gets one arm free enough to draw back and drive a solid, demon-strength-enhanced punch right at Rico's jaw. If he's lucky, it'll buy him enough time to get back on his feet.
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Rico's hands scrabble for purchase, scratching and tearing where he can. At least he's ripping that disgusting excuse for a jacket to shreds in the process, even if he can feel the phantom memory of bone snapping and muscle tearing like paper under his fingers and it's something he wants so bad. It's hard to get a grip on this slippery little bastard, but he can almost see the blood -
Rico's jaw slams shut, the force of the blow snapping his head to the side. A crack appears at the impact, oozing a black viscous fluid that burns on exposed skin. But he still holds onto Drift, lunging forward as the teeth at the hollow of his throat yawn open to bite at him.
"Now this is more like you, Deadlock..."
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"I told you," he grunts, feet finding purchase against against Rico's abdomen, "it's Drift now."
He kicks, hard, enough to send Rico pitching off of him so he can get to his feet and maybe have a chance at getting back his sword. He flexes his fingers with a series of cracks, blunted fingernails starting to grow clawed, and he looks down at his shredded jacket in dismay. "Man, I'm going to have to hit Savers again tomorrow."
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"Drift," he spits. "Deadlock. Doesn't matter. You'll always know what it feels like to have bone splinter under your fists, to split flesh and skin. You're one of us." He jerks his chin to the growing claws. "You'll come back after this fucking hippie tantrum. Maybe I just need to push you a little more."
He starts to lunge forward as if to re-enter the melee, but suddenly stops in his tracks and cocks his head to the side.
"Oh, I've got a better idea." A pink tongue flicks out and licks off the blood in the hollow of his throat. "I'm feeling pretty hungry actually, and since you're not sitting still, I think I'd rather look elsewhere. What do you say to that?"
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"Be careful what direction you push me in," he starts, and then his expression goes unguarded and alarmed for a moment as Rico suggests turning this into another kind of hunt entirely. There's nothing he can say to stop Rico, he knows that much, and talking will only delay so much. So instead he just leaps at Rico again, this time swinging from above. If he can do enough damage on a first hit, he can at least slow Rico down.
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He half-falls, half-scrambles down the edge, swinging from ledge to ledge and leaps over to the next building. The injury slows him down, stretching his back in uncomfortable ways. But Rico pushes the pain to the back of his mind, tasting the air for potential victims. The night air is cool on his true skin, and it feels wonderful to be unmasked again.
But there's no real reason to bother. Should he scuttle down into the alleyway, drop down on the first person he sees there? Or clamber into one of those open windows, and see if anybody's home? So many options, so little time.
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But he can't let Rico get away from him -- the demon's already killed at least once tonight, and if he gets anyone else, it'll be on Drift. It'll be because he failed to stop Rico in time. His grip adjusts on the hilt of his sword, energy crackling between his fingers. He sets off at a dead run and jumps off the ledge, clearing over Rico and landing on the other side.
"Not another step, Rico!"
This time, when Drift comes charging at him, his sword is lit up with demonic energy, dancing over the surface like sparks of electricity. The bright blue gleam in his eyes is a much more familiar look, a callback to his Deadlock days, and so is the way he throws his weight into the blow.
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But fuck, something inside him screams back, demands that he stand his ground, reach out with both hands and show this little upstart what he's really made of. How much power and influence he's accumulated since they'd last met.
His bloodlust is tempered by the burning reminder that he's not invincible, but even so, Rico has been guided by his temptations too long.
"If that's what you want!"
He pushes his arms out, meeting the blade with the palms of his hands and closing his fingers around it. It's a strong strike, bearing Drift's full weight and momentum alongside with it. The toughened hide over his hands and arms protects him better than his skin, the edge sinking into his flesh just before it hits bone. But it's the energy that really, truly hurts. Hurts in a way he hasn't had to endure in a while.
With clenched teeth and a guttural roar, he swings his upper body around and lets go, right at the building edge.
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It's already too late to change trajectory by the time Drift realizes what Rico is doing, and his expression is wide-eyed and a little shocked when Rico grabs hold of the blade. That has to hurt, but that's about all Drift manages to think before he's tossed off the side of the building.
Falling fast, gotta think fast -- he thrusts his sword into the side of the building and jams it in as hard as he can. His weight and momentum keeps him going, the sword tearing through layers of brick and stone and insulation until he manages to come to a stop, his feet precariously perched on a ledge a few stories down. There's a woman half-leaning out the window next to him, watering her window planters and staring. Drift holds onto the hilt of his sword and gives her a tight smile and a wave.
"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure your landlord's got insurance," he says, wrenches his sword free from the building, and leaps off the ledge, kicking off against the building across the alley to give him the boost he needs to get back onto the rooftop with Rico. He just hopes he's quick enough.
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If he follows it, he'll see the flash of a tail slithering into an open window, a path of disturbed laundry and potted plants behind it, flicking it shut after him. The dark figure inside pauses as if sensing eyes on him, then turns around to give him a cheery wave from where he's crouched inside the apartment, with a grin to match.
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"So, Deadlock," Rico starts, standing behind a terrified young man, a hand placed firmly around his neck and lifted an inch off the ground. His other hand is settled patronizingly on top of his hostage's head, the pinpricks of his claws dangerously close to driving into his skull.
"Impressive entrance, but I think we should parley. Drop the sword."
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"To what end, Rico? Because I'm not convinced a damn thing would change if I laid down my weapon. What would it take for you to let this human go?"
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He then lowers his hostage by an inch, and the man takes in a giant wheeze of air to start chanting 'what the fuck' under his breath, staring at a spot two inches over Drift's shoulder. But Rico keeps him firmly in place, between him and Drift.
"But if you haven't got the patience for negotiation, I suppose you could run him through to get at me." he suggests, cheerfully. "It'd probably work too. Your sword's certainly long enough."
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"Not gonna happen, Rico. You know that."
Not killing the hostage, not killing himself -- although Ratchet had argued that Drift's entire mission was just slow-motion suicide, with how reckless he gets. In this moment, he's inclined to agree: this was pretty fucking reckless. Drift holds up his empty hand, palm out, as he slowly crouches to lower his sword.
"And you know I don't kill innocent civilians."
He doesn't break eye contact as he crouches low, making a careful and deliberate show of laying his sword slowly on the ground. And then, before he's even finished, his other hand goes to his hip to draw a pistol and fire it right at Rico.
A water pistol. Filled with holy water, naturally.
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And then Drift is aiming a gun at him, and Rico lifts the body in front of him higher to take the bullet but it's not a bullet-
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
He staggers backwards, swallowing the scream of rage and pain, every instinct in his body screaming at him to get out. It burns where it lands on him, electrifying like a cattle prod but utterly repulsive. He hunches lower and bounds towards a window, but not before giving his hostage a vindictive shove towards Drift with a grunt, raking his claws deep over his back and splitting his flesh open as he does.
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The shove of the civilian is a predictable enough move, and Drift catches him and tries to see how bad the damage is -- it's bad and it's bleeding, but it's not fatal at least. "You're going to be fine," Drift tells him, "but, uh -- call an ambulance anyway."
He'll be fine. He'll totally be fine. Drift has to make sure Rico doesn't cause any more collateral damage. He snatches his sword off the ground and lunges into a flying kick, hoping to tackle Rico to the ground before he can get to the window.
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His jaw cracks open impossibly wide, and Rico's voice is warping under his own anger, breaking apart like a ship in the ocean, a dark, slick oil spill staining the air and spilling out from his mouth.
A FUCKING WATER GUN? ARE YOU LAUGHING NOW?
He cocks a fist back, muscles tensed, ready to drive in his spiked knuckles, utterly unheeding of the way it leaves him open to attack.
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"I was aiming for your ugly hide, but hey, if I gouged your pride in the process, that's just a bonus." He can't stab up through Rico like this -- not enough room for his admittedly really, really big sword. But he does have enough strength to make a one-handed swing -- straight through Rico's raised arm.
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His arm falls away to the side and Rico suddenly drops forward, unbalanced. But he catches himself with his other hand, landing squarely around Drift's neck, squeezing for all he's worth, his palm still glistening wet and caustic from the gash inflicted earlier.
"You're going to look so much uglier when I'm done with you."
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He hates doing this. There's always a risk he'll lose control completely, succumb to the side of him that gets a thrill out of watching the life drain from someone else's eyes. Even now, as he starts to unspool the careful self-restraint he's built up over the years, all but letting go, there's a heady rush that comes with it, with the power. Within seconds, Drift no longer looks nearly as human -- his skin mottled with dark, swirling patterns, his teeth fanged and his claws sharp, and his eyes are a bright, electric blue, flashing bright. He bares his teeth at Rico, more than just an echo of the old Deadlock.
"Let. Go," he snarls, and with renewed strength he starts pulling at Rico's fingers -- he'll snap them clean off if he has to.
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"Attaboy," he says fondly, baring his teeth back in a parody of friendliness like they've just met for the first time. "I knew you were in there somewhere, Deadlock. I was wondering what it would take."
His fingers flex with anticipation and he clamps down harder, his grip like iron bars closing in, but inch by inch, his fingers are slowly pried away from Drift's neck. Rico redoubles his efforts to hold onto his prize, but the loss of his arm has left him weaker.
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"It's Drift," he growls, and shoulder-checks Rico with his full strength -- right through the wall.
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"Shit."
And then they're both sailing through the air, pulled down by gravity. Wings, he thinks, somewhat desperately. Wings would be good for next time. Entangled together as they are, the only thing he can do is buck his hips, his remaining hand fisted desperately in Drift's collar and dragging them around so that he's on top of him. But in the confusion and struggle, it's difficult to maintain that status as he braces himself for impact.
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He grapples furiously with Rico as they plummet down towards the alley, his sword abandoned up in that poor schmuck's apartment. Fuck. He'll have to go back for it later. But right now, his main problem is Rico, and how badly he'd like to tear that demon apart with his bare hands, but that's a little hard to do midair. He tightens his grip around Rico's neck, trying to kick away the demon's grasp on his shirt, but not to much effect, and they're falling quickly -- and while Drift is tough, he's not sure how easily he'll get up and walk away from a fall this high.
His hand lashes out to grab at the railing of a fire escape, and it creaks and bends under his grip and their combined weight. Drift tries to use the momentum to swing and slam Rico against the building, but the fire escape finally gives under their weight and they're plummeting back down to the alley.
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