Niku's Stand

The air in the cavern was thick with the metallic tang of dried blood and the damp, earthy smell of decay. It was a scent I’d come to know intimately, a perfume of the crumbling world. Niku’s laugh, a booming rumble that always seemed too big for any enclosed space, echoed off the damp stone walls. “You always find the best spots, Eli,” he said, his massive frame dwarfed by the cavern’s opening, the weak sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on his brow. “Though a bit more… décor wouldn’t hurt.”

I just grunted, pulling on the gloves. They felt as familiar now as my own skin, a second layer of potent power. “Décor is for people who aren’t running for their lives, Niku.”

He shrugged, his broad shoulders bunching beneath his worn tunic. “True enough. Still. Imagine, a nice little rug. Some… animated tapestries.” He shuddered, a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cave’s temperature. “Bad thought. Very bad.”