Here's the first Omake, writen by me, involving one Maxwell Willis. Enjoy...cause i sure did while writing it.
Unlike popular belief Maxwell Willis despised deliveries.
Sure, he lived for making weapons and found the deepest pleasure is selling them, but deliveries were another matter entirely. To put bluntly, as the tall, blond and blue-eyed werewolf tended to do, they were cumbersome, time consuming and above all unnecessarily risky.
Problems Willis was reminded of more than ever as he lay groaning face down on the cold hard pavement of a derelict building. Yes, unexpected five story falls were painful even the infamous immortal werewolf. Stupid abandoned unfinished buildings. Someone should at least have the decency to put a warning sign when they left unused piles of bolts on top of roofs, were anyone jumping through could trip and fall.
Well, at least he reached his destination, Willis contemplated. Considering all he usually went through for a delivery, a broken ribcage and a few shattered bones weren’t really a setback. They would regenerate in a minute and he would be on his merry way. A sickening crack later Willis took his queue to rise to his feet.
Nonchalantly brushing off dirt and debris from his battered clothes, he eyed the shattered pavement for any sign of the titanium briefcase that had fallen from his grip. Ah, there it was. Willis casually took two steps to the left and bend down to dislodge his precious cargo from the thirty centimetre indentation it had caused on the asphalt.
No, visible damages, good thing the alloy held, his client would panic if he saw his order’s container in a mess. Of course, Willis knew there really was no danger on the equipment within; after all, he designed the thing; it would take nothing short of an antitank missile at point blank to even rattle the weapons inside this little beauty.
Anyway, the night wouldn’t be young forever, better get going. The metalmancer gave swift crank of his neck before moving on. He strolled forwards, through the glimmering remains of a glass door, past the pealing paint of the reception, by the vandalised corridors, up the dusty staircase and finally to the wide and empty room that consisted the second floor of the abandoned business building.
“Twelve o’clock, old Parker Industries Building, New York. As agreed.” Willis exclaimed, eyeing critically the dozen gathered men about fifty meters away. He paused, produced an antique pocket watch from his tool belt and stared at it for a second before to sighing irritably. “Sorry about the delay. I had to…drop somewhere a while before.”
“Never mind that! What about the goods?” A man in the middle, obviously the boss of the litter, shouted. Using eyes that had long learned to tell the honest customers from the weasels, Willis quickly analysed the man, a tall and thin human dressed in a black cliché gangster outfit, perfectly matching that of his lackeys. The werewolf almost slumped, this would probably not end well, meh, it was worth a shot.
“Twenty enchanted Willis mrk four hand guns, five empowered Fefnir grenades, a Beowolf rocket launcher and forty protective amulets, physical and not, extra strength.” Maxwell recited mechanically, indicating at the briefcase in his left hand.
“Excellent!” The boss exclaimed, eyeing the briefcase hungrily. “If your services are this good you’ll be hearing from us pretty soon!” One the goons took the signal and started to close in on the werewolf, obviously aiming to relieve him of his baggage
“All at a grand total of fifteen thousand American dollars.” Willis continued, slightly put out at this man’s impatience. He could have at least let him finish. Oh well, it’s not like this hadn’t happened before. Ready for any possibility, the metalmancer delivered the briefcase
“Oh yeah, about that.” Willis resisted the urge to groan, here we go. “We don’t actually have the money with us at the moment. At least in cash.”
Willis’ azure eyes instantly went from stoic to menacing.
“Our contract clearly stated; cash only.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The man fumbled; obviously unnerved that one of the most dangerous creatures of the planet was currently glaring at him. “But you see, our last trafficking operation didn’t go so well and-”
“Mr. Clemens. May I remind you what happens to the people who try to steal from me?” Magic practically poured from the furious beast in man’s clothing, causing the entire building’s metal frame work to tremble on the six-Richter scale.
“Wow, wait a second!” Clemens shouted, visibly panicking. “We may not have cash but we have something worth as much on the black market.”
Really, the guy in front of him was already in too deep but just for the sake of his commission, Willis decided to give him a chance. As such he lowered his magical aura from murderous to the scaring-the-living-shit-out-of-people level.
“Well, uh, remember about that trafficking operation I mentioned earlier? The elven inquisitors may have busted us but we still got some of the merchandise left. Bring her to the front boys.”
He motioned to the side and two of his underlings parted. Willis’ eyes widened.
“Elves are nigh immortal you know.” Clemens begun, a sick smile adoring his face.
In frond of him, bound in chains, appeared a small elven child. The poor girl was dressed in rags and clearly scared out of her mind. Her hair was ebony-black, her frightened eyes were wide open revealing glistening grey orbs.
“You should understand how rare their children are to find...” Clemens kneeled next to the girl and wrapped his arms around her frame as she desperately attempted to draw away. “…And what a good price the fetch.”
A flock of blond hair appeared in his gaze; abyssal black eyes met glowing blue.
Clemens tried to yell out in shock, but found himself curiously out of breath. He looked around to see his subordinates petrified, their expression conveying the surprise he felt. He realised that something was pushing against his chest, something cold. Finally staring downwards he found the offender. The hilt of a Japanese sword was pressing against his torso, right over the heart, stained in red and held by a workman’s glove.
Willis stood from his half crouch. In a swift movement he freed his weapon by slicing its way straight through his former client’s left shoulder, leaving gravity to take its toll. Clemens was dead before he hit the floor.
His lackeys instantly drew back in fright.
The sole vampire in the group and the only being in the room that had actually conceived the werewolf’s movement, rushed forwards drawing a sword. In a wild furry he slashed at his boss’s killer.
Willis leapt into a blur of motion. His body dove straight through the oncoming attack with little effort. The elbow of his free arm lashed sideways, digging clean upon his enemy’s chest. At that same moment conjured silver spike tore through the vampire from front to back.
With a casual flick of the wave of the impaling arm, the dying bloodsucker was send hurling backwards the room, crashing through the wall and soaring through the night sky.
By the time their associate’s corpse was sailing through the street to crash to the opposite building, the remaining thugs at last begun to move. As some of them finally awoke from their stupor and prepared spells, weapons and rituals, the metallic components of a scabbard appeared and assembled themselves next to the metalmancer. Faster than any could react he sheathed the blade and brought it underneath his body, in a perfect drawing stance.
His eyes caught those of the girl, still frozen at the entire ordeal and he uttered a single, silent command.
Her entire world exploded in blades.
With the werewolf’s natural physical prowess and extensive martial skill combining with the flawless workmanship of the blade and the magical acceleration spell Willis was so fond of using, each slice was virtually supersonic and merely a fraction of a second apart from the rest.
The roaring slashes flowed around her and before her very eyes every one of her abductors vanished in a cloud of red mist within the span of an instant.
And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
The blade vanished, returning to Willis’ body as magical power, as he stood to his full height, his back turned at her.
“Morons.” He exclaimed to no one in particular as emotionlessly as ever. “What use do I have of a child. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to profit from them? No wonder your trafficking operation failed.”
With a simple gesture, the chains binding the girl’s hands and legs broke. She stared bewildered, first at the chains, then at the man.
“Go away,” Willis exclaimed, bending down to retrieve his briefcase from the bloody mess that once tried to steal it. “you’re useless to me,”
Silence reined for nearly a minute.
“I…I have no were to go.” The girl finally replied, voice as soft as a feather.
“Family? Friends?” Willis questioned motionlessly, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.
The girl merely shook her head.
Willis sighed. “How good are you with machines?”
The elven child shrugged.
“Come on.” He spoke walking away. “I can always use a helper in the workshop.”
She stood there, staring at his retreating back for the longest time.
Tiny steps echoed behind the werewolf.
“And that’s how I met me boss!” Millian exclaimed with a wide grin. Now a full grown elf, she stood tall in her black T-shirt, bloated yellow cap and yellow trousers. “Afterwards he worked me to the bone to, quote, ‘pay him back for saving me.’ Not too shabby for a knight-in-shining-armour story, heh?”
Arthur could pretty much admit at this point that he was dumbfounded.
He turned to his lupine companion, who was currently performing the logistics for the new silicon computer chips he was buying, with wide disbelieving eyes and a gapping mouth.
“I didn’t know you had a heart.” Arthur exclaimed accusingly, sounding almost offended.
Millian, the proud owner Mil’s Electronics and one of the main suppliers of the immortal werewolf Maxwell Willis, burst into a cascade of loud robust laughter.
“You know Fangs, I don’t know who you are but I like ya. You’re a heap of fun.” She chocked out, unknowingly being the first being in over a century to touch, let alone slap, the Genoside berserker on the back.
Fortunately for her, Arthur was just too busy with his flawless imitation of a stone statue to care.
“And just for the record…” Willis said stoically, still focused on his work. “I don’t.”
“Its just good business.”
Made it myself. (Tukinode may not reflect the ideas of his original creator)