Zedalith
#-#
WORLD WITHOUT EYES
-
This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Realistic or Modern BORROWED TIME
- Thread starter Zedalith
- Start date
ERode
In The Mirror
Pilgrim59
AURS
Kovacs
Klown
Gh0stOcean
Her hand was cool to the touch, compared to the rising heat in Nick’s. She gave his hand a light squeeze, reminding him that he existed outside of his head, and then turned her gaze towards Angie.
“Same as always.”
Qing-Yi wrapped up her turkey sliders as tightly as possible, stuffed it down her shirt, then pulled her pants up too, securing the food best she could. The cove was a cold place. Warm food would be nice, wouldn’t it?
…
The eight-foot tall aluminum ladder inside the janitorial closet within the employee’s corridor of Wally’s Secret Cove weighed eighteen pounds.
For reference, a baseball bat weighed around three pounds, while a sledgehammer meant for construction and renovation reached ten pounds. One could argue that both a bat and a hammer were much more wieldy and top-heavy than a ladder and thus better tools for the purposes of bludgeoning something, but that was only because the principles of leverage made it so much more difficult to use a ladder as a hammer.
Qing-Yi need not abide by such principles.
whump-Whump-WHUMP!
A blur of silver sang through the cove, a delayed refrain to Naomi’s terrific scream. Folded onto itself and blessed by an Agent’s Gift, the Featherlite 8ft Aluminum Step Ladder churned through the undead mass like a ladder through skeletons, scattering phantasmal bone as chaff in darkness. It boomeranged in its trajectory, arcing towards the Aberration that commanded the horde.
“Nick, take care of Naomi for me?”
Her entrance was silent, for the air did not shift in her presence.
Her countenance remained undisturbed, her fingers curling around the anti-shock grip of a Milwaukee 22 oz. Milled Face Framing Hammer.
Qing-Yi floated beside Alma, not a single strand of hair out of place, as she pulled turkey sliders out from her collar like a magician and offered them. Still warm, though the paper packaging was a bit damp from the built-up steam.
“Alma, could you let Angie and Anna know where we are?” A pause, a quirk of her lips. “That’s a lot of A-names. Funny.” The quirk of her lips turned into a proper, meaningless smile. “A-Rank Aberration too. Amusing!”
The only hour that mattered was her last one.
“Big C, work with me.”
Togy
The Fashionable Crab
Fifth
The coaster teetered over the edge of the drop, and darkness swept over the ride. Something washed over Fifth, too. A putrid smell, like rotten eggs mixed with raw sewage.
Indistinguishable blurs through the darkness traced downwards from above. Like static in the dark creeping from the edge of their vision. A noise sounded off through the whooshing air of the falling coaster, a kick near the front barely audible over the ride.
Mell felt a sudden tug on the rope before it jerked out of his hand entirely.
The coaster ceased its descent, leveled out, and re-entered the light. Next to Ilia, Fifth’s seat was vacant.
–-0-0-0—
Ice cold hands clamped fifth’s mouth shut and cut off any scream he’d tried to form in his throat. The sounds of the coaster trundling away grew distant as he was hauled upwards. A dozen or more clammy, wrinkly hands had a hold of him. They were restless, constantly squirming and tugging at him with their digits, making for the most uncomfortable frisking he’d ever experienced. They twisted and turned him like a new toy, and every time he tried to lash out with a kick or punch another pair of hands came from nowhere and tightened their hold.
Through the darkness, he could only make out a twisting pale-gray blur. Any details or general idea of whatever the fuck it was was lost in the dark. All he could tell was that it was big, and didn’t stick to a single shape for long. As they ascended, its shape contorted and stretched, shrunk and deformed at whim to quickly maneuver whatever blocked its path. It was almost completely silent-Almost, because when it pulled him close he could hear a chorus of faint raspy breaths.
He was screaming, very loudly, but the three pairs of hands with a vice grip over his mouth reduced his volume to a whisper. Fifth liked to think of himself as level-headed in intense situations, but this was the sort of situation where he couldn’t do anything but wig the fuck out. He couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t make a peep, and more pairs of hands kept emerging from the depths of the creature to grab hold of him. He was thrashing as much as he could but he couldn’t see a damn thing. He kicked air as often as he kicked a limb, and whenever he did the creature only became more pissed off.
The rope didn’t help much either, its only discernible use being to strangle the Ruskie if Fifth made it out of this alive. And Fifth was an optimist, so he put his odds up as ‘Good fucking luck’.
Finally, the thing (Or things, he wasn’t sure) made it to the top and came to rest on a catwalk overlooking the ride. There were two dim fluorescent lamps over each end of the catwalk that provided minimal lighting for the creature, but even that didn’t help much. It just looked like a formless blob of gray.
It seemed to slow down, but Fifth didn’t have that luxury. His bound hands, with what little wiggle room they had with so many hands pinning his arms, frisked his back pocket. Quickly, they came out with a stolen swiss army knife from the hotel gift shop. He tried to flick it open and saw at the rope, but the hands holding him suddenly began tugging violently. He dropped the knife into the mass of gray below him as the creature seemingly tried to pull him apart. Well and thoroughly fucked, his panicked state quickly devolved to squirming. He kicked out and flailed every which way, and by some miracle his back pressed against the dropped knife by accident and dug it into whatever it was that was below him.
The knife sank into the gray mass, hit something softer than the rest, and popped it. The creature screamed. Maybe out of pain, maybe out of anger, Fifth couldn’t tell. Either way, the end result was him becoming airborne. He only had enough time to process the fact he was free before he slammed through the ajar door at the end of the catwalk.
He hit it headfirst, and his vision felt like googly eyes bouncing around his skull. That wasn’t what he was focused on though, because Fifth finally got a good look at touchy-feely.
A big, ugly motherfucker built entirely of rotting and bloated flesh. Pale grey, wrinkly and peeling skin grafted together with hollow faces and festering limbs. Legs and arms, faces and orifices sprouted out in every direction and constantly shifted as the mass formed into different shapes to propel itself forward. One arm reached towards one of the faces, grabbed his swiss army knife embedded in one of its many milky white eyes, and yanked it out.
Putrid innards trailed along the ground from where they fell out of openings in the mass as the thing rapidly gained ground towards Fifth. It was startlingly quick for its size and Fifth didn’t waste any time screaming. His mind ran off the simple instinct of ‘Nuh Uh’ and threw himself to his feet and down the maintenance hallway he’d landed in.
The migraine almost keeled him over, but the sound of the thing impacting the doorway forced him forwards. It squelched, and then its body contorted to allow itself through, quickly filling the hallway behind him. Hands and legs kicked out at the floor, walls, and ceiling to roll and push it down the hall faster than Fifth could run. The only advantage he had was his headstart, and that was dwindling fast.
There was no thought process to his actions, only incoherent screaming. Instinct and what little self-preservation he had took the reigns, flinging him through the nearest open doorway before he frantically tried to close and lock it with both hands tied behind his back. The sound of the creature neared very quickly as Fifth fumbled with the door, and in that moment he felt an indescribable rage wash over him-Not at the beast, but at that dirty fucking slav.
He couldn’t see his handiwork with his back to the door, but he finally felt the lock on the door twist. And not a moment too soon, as the thing slammed into the door just as the lock clicked. The knob twisted and turned and the pounding threatened to knock the door off its hinges, but it held long enough to give Fifth some breathing room.
There was a fire extinguisher held in a glass case above some cardboard boxes across the room. Smashing the glass with his elbow, he began sawing the rope binding his wrists on the broken glass, only cutting himself three times.
The rope finally snapped in two, and his odds of survival raised to “Meh”. There was another door at the end of the room and Fifth tried fleeing through it, only to realize it was locked. He tried brute forcing it, but only got a bruised shoulder for the trouble. He ran back for the fire extinguisher and tried to use it as a battering ram to no avail. The other door was shaking loose from its hinges and Fifth didn’t have much time, but he finally gave notice to the materials in the room with him.
Wrenches, hammers, tool boxes, but most importantly, WD40. Distantly, Fifth remembered that WD40 was flammable, and as fortune would have it, he had a cheap plastic lighter he’d pilfered from the park’s lost and found. His master plan came to him like car keys to a drunk driver-Descending from the heavens themself and gifting him a holy mission.
The hinges came loose just as Fifth flicked his lighter alight. Even through the pant-shitting terror of being confined in the same room as the thing, he felt a sudden surge of startling, unfounded bravery.
Cockiness, too, because he sang just as the WD40 met the open flame.
“Burn baby burn~ Burn burn ba-AH-AHH-AHHH!” and immediately turned to screaming, because Fifth had forgotten just how flammable WD40 was and the entire can exploded in a burst of flames right in his hands the moment it touched the lighter. Sensation suddenly became a massive clusterfuck of burning nerves, screaming, and Disco Inferno still playing in his head. His entire upper body was on fire, as was his hair, and basic motor function left him as he stopped, dropped, and rolled.
The only consolation was that the creature had similarly been set alight by the explosion and reared back out of the room with a screech to put itself out. Fifth wasn’t having much luck doing the same, and quickly began to take off his blazing jacket and throw it away. As Fifth frantically tried to pat down his still smoldering hair, his burning jacket landed on the pile of cardboard boxes lining the room. It set the cardboard alight, then the packing peanuts inside them alight, and then it set the many, many cans of WD40 held within on fire.
The creature, freshly extinguished, squeezed back into the room for round two just as the fiery pits of hell opened to swallow them both whole. Fifth’s skin was only put through a few seconds of agony before the chemical foam fire extinguisher he left near the other door was pushed to its limit by the heat and exploded in a spray of foam that killed half the inferno inside the room and blew the door off its lock.
Covered in foam and body a world of pain, Fifth somehow climbed to his feet. He couldn’t see the creature through the spots in his eyes or the flames, but he could hear it screaming. He hadn’t killed it, and he hadn’t even hurt it all that much, but he did make it very angry.
He had very little time before the creature came back for him, so he pushed his battered body forward and stumbled out the other door. He barely made it through before the thing came back through the fire, furious and covered in burns. He didn’t even have time to move before it barreled into him and sent him tumbling over a safety railing.
Midair, he realized he was now falling a good fifteen feet directly onto the coaster tracks. Fifth had just enough time to drop all pretenses of masculine pride and scream his head off before he impacted the rails. The side of his head slammed into the rail first and everything went black.
He was unconscious for three or five seconds before he rebooted and felt the pain in his skull. He’s slipped off the track and onto the ground below and he couldn’t see anything through the darkness and his own blurred vision. His ears were ringing and it felt like his brain was bouncing around his skull like a DVD screensaver, and whenever it hit the corner he experienced one, singular thought. Without thinking he traced one bruised, blistered hand over his other, feeling for his bracelet. Still intact, miraculously, and just touching it filled him with a sort of warmth unrelated to his still burning hair. Acrid black smoke poured from the maintenance rooms above him, and embers drifted downwards, mixing with the stars in his vision like a lightshow.
He could barely breathe-must’ve landed hard on his back-and something in his right leg felt out of place-that, or broken. He could feel blood seeping out the side of his head, part of his skin and scalp crimson and peeled loose. The blood was already seeping down his head and to his chin, and all he could hear from his right side was blood running like a stream. Fifth wasn’t a doctor, but he was fairly certain that kills people.
The pain hadn’t set in yet, shock was doing him a favor at the moment. It took him a moment to remember what was happening before the memories came back to him like a cancer diagnosis.
Dead, Fifth thought blearily, before the screensaver hit the corner again, I’m dead.
But no. He was still kicking, somehow, and above him Fifth could barely see with his spotty vision, but the shape of the creature was descending on him startlingly quick. His body protested, begged him to give it a rest, but he managed to roll his body under the tracks and to the other side just before the creature fell right on top of him. It tried squeezing under the tracks to grab him, but realized it was too big and lifted its rear to climb over the track to grab him at the other end.
As the creature made its way to the other side, a creaking of the tracks made by Fifth’s movements as he tried to hide better alerted it to the weakness of the wood. There was no discernable face on the beast, but something about the way it vibrated made it seem as though it were smiling, maybe even smug. It knew it had cornered its prey. The creature leapt into the air and prepared to crash directly on Fifth, crushing it under its weight and breaking apart the wood and recapturing its prey. That was what the creature wanted. But Mell and his portals had other plans.
A portal opened up of to the side where the ride had another sharp drop and then another one opened up directly over the rails Fifth was under. The creature, unable to stop its decent, fell right through the portal and was warped to the other side of the track where it would begin its fall. When the portal disappeared, Fifth noticed Mell, panting and dusty and covered in scrapes standing a couple feet away with his signature grin. “Finally…caught you…” he managed to sputter out through gasps. Mell’s legs were buckling, likely from exhaustion. There was a long line of portals behind him that he had left for Ilia and Elyn to follow. He hoped that they’d be getting here soon, after all, he had made sure to portal them off the ride before coming after Fifth.
“Cavalry’s on its way. Can you stand?”
Fifth threw up on Mell's feet. That would be a no.
Tags:
Zedalith
lyn.
Written with:
Wyll
Last edited:
Wyll
Senior Member
The Caretaker
Mellor
Akir
Akir
Mell was on edge. It felt as though all his nerves were being balanced on a razor's edge and the slightest thing would cause them to snap. However, for Mell, this was not a bad thing. After all, he had been in a situation not unlike this several times in the past. It was in these situations, times like these - moments where it seems like the whole world was holding its breath waiting for the chaos to start - that his refleces are the sharpest. It in in these moments where he shines.
Not necessarily because he is some cat-like-reflex monster or he is particularly dexterous. Rather, he draws strength from those around him. He is moved forward by his sense of duty, his desire to protect those around him. Therefore, the more trouble they are in, the stronger he has to be, and so the stronger he is. Somehow he'd learnt to push his body to be what his teammates needed, consequences be damned. His body could complain later.
He had prepared for absolutely everything. One aberration, several aberrations, S-Tier, D-Tier, random guy trying to play a prank. He had a plan for everything and had ensured that he would be able to protect his team no matter what happened. Then...the unexpected happened. The one thing he hadn't prepared for - the most trivial thing. His phone buzzed. It caught him so severely off guard that for a good few seconds, he thought it was an aberration and was ready to unleash hell...on his phone. He briefly wondered who had texted him - there weren't that many people that he was close enough with to give his number.
In that moment, something happened. Something beyond the physical. There was a sound, one too faint for his ear to fully register and one that he wasn't even sure was real, but it sent a shot of lightning down his spine - a fear; a desperation; a duty. He couldn't prove it, he couldn't justify it, but Naomi was in danger. In that moment, he was snared by the enough indecisiveness to cause him to hesitate and weaken his grip on the rope ever so slightly.
No, Mellor. Trust in those that are with her. Trust in Naomi herself. You don't even know where she is or how to get to her. Stay where you're needed, stay here.
It didn't take long. Half a second of hesitation, maybe. He knew it wasn't a full second. He thought, surely, he should be allowed at least the freedom to waver for half a second. But the aberration shared no such mercy. In that half a second that he lost his concentration, he felt the rope slip. He knew immediately what it meant. It meant danger. It meant aberration. It meant fix up.
He instinctively reached for the rope and managed to grab the very tail end of it. The rope immediately yanked him out of the cart, pretending as if the seat belt wasn't even there. However, the tiny amount of resistance gave him just enough time. He was going to send himself into overdrive.
A purple light bloomed from his iris and the whole space was filled with portals. He had sacrificed the one he prepared for Ilia because there was no way he could keep that open in addition to all the ones he needed to open before he was sucked too far away. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as adrenaline surged through his body, filling his veins with blood so quickly that they started showing and even threatened to pop.
The first order of business was to get Ilia and Elyn of of the cart and so the first two portals that appeared appeared behind and in front of the cart, instantly warping Ilia and Elyn out of the cart as the rest of the cart, now without a head, soared down the tracks.
At this point, Mell had been dragged a considerable amount. He needed to hurry. The next portal was one he already had opened - he opened a tiny portal with the concussive blasts and gloves right in front of Elyn's feet with instructions on how to use them.
By now, Ilia and Elyn had disappeared from his sight, so he was working with a guess. Based on the ten second that have passed and the speed we're being pulled up, they're likely...right there. He created an exit portal right where he was and sent another about seventy feet down. The plan was to have it right at their feet so they could simply step in but it ended up just above Ilia's head level. He couldn't actually see where the portal had landed, he just had to hope and pray that they'd be able to get through.
He was already panting from opening six portals in quick succession and the faintest headache started to bug at the back of his brain. More, more, stay useful, protect them. He would create a new exit portal every ten or so seconds, with the plan that Ilia and Elyn would be able to daisy chain them. He needed to keep them close enough that they could seamlessly go from one to the other, but also far enough that he didn't pass out from making too many portal. His head was ringing at this point but giving up was not an option.
Then the worst possible thing happened. He felt a slack in the rope. He gasped and looked up but couldn't see anything through the darkness of what he guessed was the creatures booty hole. Was fifth trying to cut the rope? No Fifth, don't do that. That's the last thing you want to do. For some reason, the rope eased itself out again but he could still hear the sound of it straining, as it is was desperate to snap. Mellor gulped in fear for his life but held on all the more. He couldn't let the fear paralyse him.
Something happened between Fifth and the creature that caused some thrashing and before he knew it, Mell was slammed on the ground, the wind knocked out of him as he helplessly let go of the rope. His head was aching, ears ringing, world spinning. He felt like he needed to throw up everything he had eaten in the last week. There was a clear path for Elyn and Ilia to follow. they would pop up through the portals and, when gravity pulls them back down, they'd be sent to the next, higher portal. Elyn had energy to absorb. Ilia was Ilia. They would be fine. But Fifth was counting on Mell. And Mell was...counting sheep. Or pretty close to it.
Despite his best efforts, the strain, the pain and the pressure had caused his brain to tap out momentarily. It was not very long but, apparently, "not very long" is all Fifth needed to wreak havoc. When he came to, he could see what looked like fire coming out of one of the rooms down the hall. Fifth? Has he gotten his gift? Is it fire? That would be the perfect thing given the rivalry between him and Ilia. No, wait, I don't have time to think on this right now. Fifth needs me.
He was helplessly tossed and scratched and pulled and rubbed against the walls while holding on to the rope, so his clothes were tattered and his skin was covered in small cuts and scrapes. He looked like he had just barely survived a mining accident. With what strength he had, he pushed all that aside, pushed the headache aside and pushed all pain aside, even pushed Naomi aside. Right now, there was only one thing on his mind...
Save Fifth.
He made it into the room just in time to see the creature jump off after Fifth and barrel down. He followed quickly, slowed by the pain he was feeling and still reeling from having so many active portals open. Thankfully, Fifth had managed to roll to cover just in time. A warm smile found its way to Mellor's face. He's alive, he's still alive. I made it in time. He saw the aberration leap into the air, preparing to crush Fifth. However, it was too little too late. Mell had already hopped over the railing to join Fifth and the aberration on the same level.
As he fell, he created a portal off to the side, a trickle of blood coming down his nose from having so many portals open. No, shut up, bear with it. I can do more. As soon as he landed, he created one a hair away from the railing and, right before the aberration crashed on Fifth to send him back to the hotel, a portal appeared that sucked it up, warped it to the portal that was over the drop and spat the aberration out.
Mellor stood there smiling, blood slowly trickling from his nose. The smile wasn't one of pride or victory - as he wasn't foolish enough to think the aberration was dead. He walked towards Fifth, his legs trembling from the exhaustion. "Finally...caught you..." he managed to get out through pants and a cheeky smile.
"Cavalry's on its way. Can you stand?"
Fifth threw up on Mell's feet and he nodded in understanding. "Fair...I wouldn't want to do much standing after what you went through either." Mell heard a pained, enraged, fury-filled screech as the creature began making its way back up the tracks. Mell sighed, rolled his eyes and turned to face where the creature was coming from, planting himself protectively in front of Fifth as the creature showed up. "Sorry, friend," he began as he wiped the blood that was coming from his nose, still sporting that 'everything's going to be alright' smile of his. "He's off limits."
He could barely see the outline of the creature, so he finally opened the flashlight portal on one of the walls, illuminating the whole area and allowing Mell and Fifth see the creature clearly. At this point, Mellor was moving based off willpower alone. If he didn't close the trail of portals he left for Ilia and Elyn soon, both he and Fifth would be aberration fodder. Mellor knew that all he could do was defend Fifth. He knew that in attack power, he was severely limited. That's why he was hoping Ilia and Elyn would get here soon. Until then though, he would die before fifth got even one more scratch. It was the job of older agents to take the blows the newer agents couldn't. And he was prepared to die on that hill, however hoping that it never actually got to the point where he needed to die.
Last edited:
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Nyctiel
The Blue Composer
Anna Maria Schwarzschild
Wally's Adventure World, NEW YORK CITY
Stumbling upon the lone staff with a peculiar commodity of pacification nature, Anna initially allowed herself to fall into silent observation. While she had her words on endless pages of score drafts and literary pursuits, Angela's linguistic candor was best suited for the situation at hand.
Anna, amused at Angela's witty retort in regards to her voiced preferences, chose to break her silence with a jestful smile: "I suppose I am eligible for the contest, don't I?"
'If you see him, just stay away from the light.' The man's words accompanied the woman, dimming the entry ahead with its ominous insinuations of undeclared trials - well shrouded in the uncertainty of the darkest corners of the evil-ridden cove. "Then I suppose we need only walk in the shades." She added to the statement. "Danke, good sir, please pardon our leave. Auf Wiedersehen." She offered the man a light curtsy before pressing on with Angela in the lead. With Nyctiel's poetic prose still fresh in her mind, now augmented with the staff's cryptic words of caution, it befell her to raise her guards as the two women stepped past their point of no-return.
Anna's hands tugged at the plaits upon her dress, briefly inspecting her apparel neither for dirt nor comfort but that of its shrouded works. The crinoline contraption that shaped her dress served its bulky purpose as intended by its wearer, whose preparations were arranged long past since their departure from the Regenesis. Beneath its elegant fabric surface were multitudes of deliberated parchments that wove an intricate layer of arcane intentions should the needs arose. It would not be long until their cause paid the appropriate attention to the idea, as it often did in the past. Sporadic artificial illuminations twitched at the behest of the agents' presence, keeping Anna tuned in to their surroundings. Every droplet of stray pipes, every impact of their expedited steps, and every muttered breaths resonated with Anna. Yet, her calm expressions betrayed her of her deliberately methodical approach.
Taking Angela's hand, Anna crossed the leveled steps and complied. "Ja. Let us make haste." After about half a minute of sashaying ever-deeper into the underground cavern, the Prussian stopped dead in her tracks as she sheathed her breath. She recoiled at her own expressions, and finally raised her voice. "Halt!" The eerie silence finally caught up to them, robbing the Prussian of her already-constricted lungs. The pungent sentiment was plaguing her cognitive conscience, shrouding her concurrent speculations, gradually stalking her from the shadows before it finally caught her frigid blue eyes. Shifting her sights over her shoulders, the cold rays of ill intentions had finally found them. Petrified by its grotesquely-formless appearance, the magnificent glory of the dreaded omen had finally took form as the vendor had prophesied. A bright light, superceding all that was reasonable and ordained, had dawned on her and Angela. In this dark catacomb of silenced confessions and regrets, the unnatural light converged on Anna and her colleague.
The tailgating pest of a disturbing lumination made it difficult to fathom its design, let alone determine its source. Burning past the cascading sinews of shadows and flickering lights, the tunnel transformed into a realm that defied its own logic. It seemed as if the Almighty had carved a hole in the underground cavern from above to usher in a light of reprieve. Alas, this light was anything but heaven-ordained. Inching closer and closer, Anna furrowed her brows, as she leveled her sleeve to shield her sights in an attempt to make sense of their predicament, retrieving the very hand that had anchored her to Angela. Braving her optics, it appeared as if the light had been unleashed upon them from a untrodden path that managed to manifest itself at will. Anna questioned its origins, as she and Angela have failed consider its existence when they made entry. The emanating point in question had been brought alive with Angela and her presence.
By now, they were engulfed by its overwhelming rays, as she began to question the very grounds that she was standing on. Thoughts ran her by, eating away at her own assurance of her colleagues' whereabouts in this realm of nothingness but perpetual radiation. In an attempt to get her bearings, having broke visual and physical contact with Angela, Anna reached out to her colleague with her own voice. "Ms. Yeon! Where are you?"
AURS
Zedalith
Code by Serobliss
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
LOCATION: WALLY'S SECRET COVEINTERACTIONS: ALMA
Gh0stOcean
NICHOLAS
Kovacs
QING YI
ERode
MENTIONS:
The desolate cavities their eyes forsook drained the desperate heat owed to the atavistic propensity for survival. That which urged one dig to safety unvexed by the blistering red of shredded fingertips and ripped nails. That which demanded one’s legs stay in motion at the expense of frayed and scorching muscle. Even when the torrid rush of blood beneath her skin coated her in a sweaty dew and splotched her face an unseemly red, a chilling icicle spiked down her back at each suffered wail rattled from the bones of things that shouldn’t have been capable of sound at all.
Naomi was fool enough to have glimpsed the gruesome fate of one of her clones. Dragged into shadow, overpowered, and shattered. Face scattered across the dirt in hundreds of glistening shards, its resistance going limp thereafter.
The repulsed gag that violently jerked her stomach was muffled by her hand slapped against her mouth as she’s scourged with memories of her own demise. Where gemstone sundered, she saw blood. Where her clone laid, she saw herself in the flesh. Where the spawn besieged, she saw her assailant.
Inanimate as her clones may be, Naomi felt a weeping sympathy for it in that moment.
Surrounded by the skeletal faces of mortality, she pitied their exclusion for a second chance at the Seraphim’s whims. Those cracked and stripped bones were once warm skin, watery eyes, and irrefutably human. If the Seraphim had elected differently, Naomi would be nothing but bones and rot herself.
Her hand squeezed Alma’s to anchor her back to the present, not that it was much improvement. Its only merit being Naomi was alive. As alive as any of them could be. Looking at their hands to assure herself of this, a murmur of a thought poked through like the very tip of a knife lightly puncturing thin plastic.
Is this happening because Alma’s cursed?
A blur swathed in black excluding its face, which was a piercing white even in the dim. No atom in Naomi’s body could have reacted on time, she hadn’t even registered the blade before it swung. A hole must have opened beneath her. She must have sprained her ankle. Her hand released Alma’s as her arms instinctively swung forward in her unbalance. An explosive surge of pain rockets up her leg and seizes her lungs between a furiously clenched fist as her feet drag across the dirt. She yelps, certain that if not a sprained ankle, a definite broken one.
Naomi tumbled disastrously, grimacing as her wrist twisted then popped uncomfortably. One of the ribbons that held her braid came undone, that side of her hair loosened and draped with specks of dirt and rock tangled within it. Her entire arm looked as if it’d been grated, dollops of blood beginning to seep from the deeper cuts. She was smudged in dirt and dust, and she couldn’t feel her foot but that disorienting painful boiling persisted.
What was her shoe doing all the way over there?
Oh.
The pain had always been there, but the shock of seeing it was a different kind of monstrous agony. Naomi’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just choked air and failed whimpers. The scream, too large, had lodged itself in her throat and suffocated her. Blood. There was so much blood. There was so much blood, and it was hers. The moment she attempted to move her leg, sound burst out of her in an awful squealing cry, tears poured down her cheeks.
“No no no!” She wailed between hyperventilating breaths, mustering all the strength in her arms to push herself back, immediately aware of all the undead spawns that shambled towards her. Each string of movement or involuntary twitch recoiled any pursuit to envision her clone, the pain taking precedence over her psyche. Morbidly, she considered dying just to wake up at the hotel.
A ladder swung out from the shadows and boomeranged through a mob of skeletons, tossing them apart comedically. But Naomi wasn’t thinking of the humor, just the relief. Qing-yi and Nick made it. All she could do was cry harder in a contradictory slew of anguish and respite. Why did it hurt so much when there was nothing there to hurt?
"Fuck! I—I'm sorry just—I can't—" Trembling hands futilely wiped at her eyes and cheeks. "I can't breathe." She wept, chest hiccupping and spasming with each sob. What a catastrophic blow to her ego, she's not showing her face to any of these people for at least a week after this.
Zedalith
#-#
WORLD WITHOUT EYES
Last edited:
lyn.
can i get a bacon egg and cheese
Ilia / Elyn
Dynamic Duo
AURS
questionable inc.
Kovacs
the maestro of mad shit.
ERode
In The Mirror
Kovacs
Klown
Gh0stOcean
Qing-Yi was faster.
Caerwyn was stronger.
Their combined strengths complimented each other, so long as Alma herself was safe.
“Coming, handsome~”
The ladder, shredded to bits by the Abberation’s retaliation, rose up one last time to fly as interception, spinning towards the Whisperer once more. She had grown wise to it though. A swift swing sliced through the aluminum, parting the ladder around her, but that delay allowed Qing-Yi to interpose herself between the A-tier and her fellow Agent instead. The wrath that had risen up was smothered once more, drowned beneath the waves, beneath decades left amongst the corpses of those She had wronged and saved. What was there left, but to proceed? The inertia of a century of misplaced faith would not stop at the mere promise of oblivion, symbols of Her sin brought to serve ad infinitum.
A rusted sword screeched out from its scabbard, its wielder wetting it within the waters.
A catchy tune whistled out through pursed lips, the wingless one floating above it all.
A rasping dirge escaped bloated cords, as the sinner sank into the depths.
There could be no common ground between them, not when the Seraphim stood on high, not when even the promise of salvation would be a lie. Qing-Yi knew not the Whisperer’s story, and the Whisperer cared little for an Agent’s paltry pity. In this Cove, there could only be violence. In this Cove, one would die as many times as needed until the other fell.
…
Calamitous! Caerwyn’s blade was tidal in force, the waters parting as the phantasmal knight cleaved through masses of undead. He pursued with dogged rage, knowing that though it was no fault of her own, Alma would once more take on the responsibility of Naomi’s dismemberment. Skeletal shards and rotted viscera filled the mist-strewn air, while the Whisperer Herself had become as shadow. Requiems kissed the fallen Sister’s lips, phantasmal sewing threads linking up the scattered corpses before sewing them tight into a sacrophagus that collapsed upon the wrought-iron knight. Yet in that void of chaff, Qing-Yi shot forth, a swallow chasing shadow. She flitted in and out, steel hammer parrying bone lance as her body rotated and tumbled in defiance to all known laws of motion and physics. The frenzied exchange continued six times within the span of two seconds, neither side able to so much as land a glancing blow, but while the Whisperer sought to extinguish Qing-Yi’s life, Qing-Yi herself succeeded so long as she bought time.
A metallic roar sounded, a sanguine glare shining within the depths of that undead mound before the phantasmal knight wrenched himself free. He smote the first zombie to scrambled towards him, blade cleaving from crown to groin, then switched his grip. The Whisperer was faster than him, but what of objects sent by him? The flat of the blade smashed into the two halves of the course, sending human shrapnel outwards like a shotgun blast. She twisted her body in response, the mutable form of an Abberation becoming as a bolt of fabric as the Whisperer sprung a-
The hammer’s claw snagged against fabric, biting deep.
The Abberation turned, a cold mien meeting the meaningless smile of the Agent.
Human bones, propelled at the speed of arrows, embedded themselves into the Whisperer’s form, yet the blow was far from debilitating. She drew her lance back, the bones spiralling into a thinner point, a killing point, then thrust it towards Qing-Yi. At this range, in that position, it would have been a strike into center mass, piercing any number of organs before exiting the other side.
But Qing-Yi flew without wings. Her hand slipped off her hammer, relinquishing the weapon in exchange for completely reorientating her body where she stood. The tip sliced a line from her jaw to her temple, hot blood splattering out. Half her vision turned red, but her limbs moved without regard to the adrenaline-inducing pain as she wrapped her arms and legs around the lance as if it were a tree. Then, she flew up, yanking the Aberration’s body up with her, and the Whisperer immediately understood what the Agent was trying to do.
Caerwyn charged, black smoke surging from his cloak as he swung with the intention of horizontal bisection, and in return, the Whisperer detached her lance-arm instead, losing only her hair to his strike. He followed through with a vertical strike next, a blur of steel that for a moment, resembled the cross once borne by the savior. But She rolled to the side, narrowly evading as stone was hewn and water was lifted from the meteoric impact. Without a lance, without a full length of hair, the Whisperer grew ever-faster, slipping away from Caerwyn’s reach before springing out into the air. An undead servant burst out from the walls, their dilapidated form twisting into another spear, another arm, another weapon to grant the Seraphim-slaves release.
Yet while the Knight was stronger, the Wingless was faster.
Half her vision was red, but the other half was clear.
Her index finger pointed at the target, and the Feather-blessed bone-lance responded in kind. A whisper in the Cove’s damp wind. An alabaster bolt for a heart long shrivelled in decay.
The lance travelled swift, piercing the Whisperer’s outstretched hand before it could pierce Her heart. She fought to assimilate it, reclaiming the corpse-weapon as her own, but Seraphim’s gift thwarted off the unholy influence. Lance and Aberration slammed into the wall, and a motley collection of skeletal hands sprung out to grasp at the weapon, trying to pull it away, to break it into pieces. It spun still, a drill that drew the tip closer and closer and closer…until the combined might of the Aberration’s horde stopped it at last, mere millimeters away from the Whisperer’s pale flesh.
That would have been the end of it, if a shadow did not fall upon the Aberration.
A red star shone within the fathomless void.
A gauntlet creaked to form a fist.
The hammer struck the nail, and it was the wall beneath the sister that broke first, sending her twisted form into the darkness of the corridors.
…
Qing-Yi picked herself off the waters, splashing her face and rubbing the blood out of her eye. It didn’t really help, and it really just hurt, so she settled for tying her hair back into a ponytail instead.
She drew in a breath, then let out a breath. Her emotions undulated, but adrenaline still made her jittery. A calm was required. A deathly focus.
For she could hear it from beyond the hole, a dirge sung anew.
The hunt had not yet ended.
Gh0stOcean
New Member
code by @Nano
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Nyctiel
The Blindsided
Anna Maria Schwarzschild
Wal y' S lash Z ne, N W YO K CIT
A familiar voice, far long estranged but not forgotten, reached out to her. Its terrifying cadence brought about a certain high in her, stimulating her senses as she came to. Fair blonde eyelashes batting its way past oblivion to greet their esteemed guest. Glimmering sapphires unveiled its glorious sparkles against the contrasting light that marked the silhouette of a tall gentleman that had closed their distance long before she recognized such intentions. An impulsive hand had taken her hostage, wrestling for her commensurate affection as much as it bled into her own consciousness. Prussian feldblau, complemented by ornate golden epaulettes of a distinguished serviceman, was accompanied by the refined texture of their ceremonial sash. The familiar colors plugged its talons deep within the membranes of her memories, clawing gradually until it finally yanked the distinction from her memories with violent intentions. The Maiden withdrew herself, recoiling from the bleeding memory, as she took into sight of the one and only man who was capable of injuring her consciousness like so. Her one true Officer.
Albrecht von Heeringen, her ordained liberator and beloved oppressor. The Officer from the North that stole her southern heart with ease. The familiarity of the cool wooden floorings came back to her, as she ruminated the still picture of the Officer and the Maiden taking their time to count the crystalized edges of the chandeliers before them. Summer days were long, so too were the times spent where the two would often find themselves indulging in the well-established routine of laying on the fresh oaken floor together to seek refuge from the heat. The indecent endeavor was conjured by none other than the Maiden herself, until it finally became a constant ritual of the curious Officer. The blissful memory was well-received, at least within the Maiden's heart. The times where they would frequent markets and fairs together were well-embedded within the Maiden's cherished thoughts. Yet the very word that the Officer had confided within her now was as strange as the way she would express herself. Searching within her memories, she could not find an instance where he would bestow her such a doting term. Liebchen, as he had titled her, was as detrimental to her state of sanity as she would call him her 'Albie'.
The lady found herself taken aback by her interests and familiarity, while the words that uttered from Albrecht managed to somehow taken a hold of her desperation. A desperation that she could not make sense of, as if her own regrets were already manifested long before - akin to that of a known catastrophe that she could not place in a place in time that she was not privy to. Alas, the toils of six long months had long imprisoned her, as she bursted into tears from the amalgamation of longing. Has he always been this doting on her? She questioned, as if they were still strangers, despite their closeness.
"Albie..." She taken on the nickname that she had long repressed to only herself and never once disclosed to the same man at any given point in time, and finally let her welling eyes explain her posture. Throwing her arms over his broad shoulders, she gave in to the temptation and found comfort in his robust chest. He surrounded her, beckoning the maiden to take refuge in his embrace. The prim and proper maiden had transformed into a helpless, indecent lady who saw it fit to display the tantrums of her affections in public, neverminding the passerbys that would care to take heed of her predicament. She missed him so, and deservingly committed to the act that would surely cost all but her earnest yearning. In this modern world, the two relics of a bygone era had nothing else to lose but time to solidify their declaration of love. At least, that was the bottled sentiments that the Maiden would let herself to believe. Yet, in the embrace of her Albie, his sturdy physique felt empty. Cold, like the solemn steel that was often sheathed by his side. Yearning for more, her gloved hand fetched his affection with haste, as her pelvic curtains shimmered its distance against the Officer's abdomen. She wished to feel his touch, his warmth. Yet the more she buried herself in his touch, the colder she felt. Perhaps it had been too long since she was crowned with his stern aura, she reasoned, alike that of the warmth she had grown accustomed to with her newfound associates.
Associates, she finally came to, reminiscing the faceless icons that stained her heart with undaunted smiles and comedic banter. Yet, she could not associate the familiarity with anything more than a blank memory with those that surely existed in sentiments but not in shape. As she tried to reason with the faceless figures that managed to recall her amnesia, the light finally dissipated with Albrecht's visage. His grotesque flesh were absent of light, robbed of its cold glances. She took a brief gander all around and found others much the same. A paradise of blind personnel. What else can be said but to accept the inevitable irony of her blind love for the Prussian Officer. As the oddly beautiful environment began to take shape around her, the agent felt a disturbance in her guts - spilling the uneasiness of a far-removed entity in a world that should not be. Yet, the familiarity of skinship tempted her so, overwhelming all reasonable aspect of a sane human. But it mattered little for the woman, for she had long found her home - here in Wally's Splash Zone with Albie. The very words of the location distorted as she thought of it, despite her acceptance of her livelihood here for the past - the hazy memory failed her, as she could not place how long she had resided here with Albie. The smell of freshly boiled hotdogs beckoned her attention, just as Albie brought on the matter of the Yank's traditions. A conversation about the barbaric customs of the Yanks, with whom she shared from a time she did not recall, quickly made its mark.
"Yes. The Yanks are indeed strange. Like..." She softly spoke in reply to Albrecht's remarks.
"Hot Dogs. Yankee. Wurst." She muttered to herself quietly this time. Perhaps she was already made aware of the Yankee's odd naming convention and entertainments alongside her Albie. Yet, it did not feel the same placing the same sentiment to his expression. Perhaps it was someone else, someone shorter and less stern to make such a claim, she reminisced with a confused look, before shelving the burden of uncovering the mystery.
The last time Anna and Albrecht found themselves abroad was at the International Exhibition in London. As she dwelled on the memory, the numbers began to plague her mind. Eighteen, the migraine began its work, filling her head with nonsensical voices of familiar personnel that she could not remember. Materializing before her very own eyes were the final numbers - sixty-two. The numbers, what do they mean? Please stop, she painfully begged for the numbers to cease its incessant spiral before her very own vision. Yet, before she could comprehend the numbers playing in her head like a broken record, she looked to her Albie again to regain her sanity. He was her sacred pillar of refuge, the very core of her prolonged existence. She has yet to answer him proper, thought the woman, as she retracted her arms and pushed against his chest with a flushed expression.
"It seems that you have made a schoolgirl out of me again, Albie. My mind is not straight." Having broke away from his embrace, she let out a huge sigh, while trying to wipe away her tears. "Your crude behaviours does not befit a gentleman of your station. I'll have you know that I am quite fragile, lest ... y-you might break me." The last words dissipated into thin air, as her voice receded. Hiding her embarassed expressions beneath the stray strands of her unkempt bangs, Anna huffed and puffed for air. Albrecht was the same with his deliberation, yet different in his intimacy. Has he grown so accustomed to the Yank's customs? She thought to herself. It would come to reason that he would be absent of his optics, as such was the norm of their foreign land. From another perspective, perhaps this world was more beautiful without the discerning discrimination of one's eyes. The grievous subject tempted the woman, for she was on the verge of wishing to embrace such traditions, if it meant that she would be able to remain by Albrecht's side.
Shaking her head back and forth, she finally folded her arms with a pout. It was then, she found herself rappeled back into his grasp. Granted a gentle peck from his affectionate lips, the lacing of her gloved hand failed to repel his initiative. Frozen with the sudden act of intimate touch that surely gratified her yearnings, Anna's cheeks were as ripe as the Hungarian orchards in late spring.
"You, sir, are not to my liking! Not even the courtesy of permission, Herr Heeringen!" She declared, brushing her arms together in a shy but contradicting manner. She had been robbed of her confidence, like many times before with Albrecht in the same breathing space. Yet, this was the time that she felt the most true to her child-like manner, absent of the prim and proper facade that she donned for others. It was then, a dolphin broke the truce of their segregated touch. His chuckle suited her wishes, but not quite the same as her expectations. However, she was quite fond of his suppressed laughter, even if a part of her was cautioning its peculiar nature - far removed from the ideal image of how a Prussian officer would behave. As she uttered his family name, it dawned on her that she had always addressed him as Herr Heeringen, never short of her courtesy as much as he would address her as Frau Schwarzchild. But these developments were long stowed as the numerous distractions around them aided the foggy contemplation of her own mind.
Distracted by the nearby stalls, it called to Anna, as she looked up to her Albie with a reconciling expression. "I have heard of dyed cottons, strung by the sinews of sugar by masters of their crafts. Your affections may be taken for consideration, that is, if you would call yourself to task with indulging my sweet tastes." The cunning lady bartered, issuing her decree to her beloved officer. "Perhaps then, you will be rewarded with a sweeter taste." She added with a playful smile.
Thunderous noises caught her mind, as she tried to remember when she had learnt of the cotton candies' nature. The more she tried, the more hazy the memory became. While she was sure that she had been educated on the matter not so long ago, she could not bring about the name of the one who had taught her so. It only stood to reason that it was Albie that was responsible for exposing her to the Americana culture. Speculated to be her very reason to remain here at Wally's Splash Zone with Albrecht forever, as they continue to learn all there was to know about their home. It was not quite right, she calmed herself, as the redundant mentions of hotdogs and cotton candies only served to further cement the fact that she was experiencing a deja vu not of her own experience. The naming conventions of Yankee snacks, the exponentially tumultuous reckoning of seeing her Albie despite their long-standing life together, and her extraordinary presence in a world of eyeless personnel. She felt alone and confused, against the contemporary norms expected of her existence here with her husband. Given their close intimacy, by the traditions of their time, it only made sense they were more than lovers. Yet, as she shifted fingers to confirm her position within his heart, she failed to locate a proper sign of their matrimonial bond. She did not possess a ring. The thought conjured forth her paranoia and wrath, as she looked to Albrecht's hands to reassure herself. But before she could do so, she convinced herself that it was her usual tendency to give into the habit of defying her own mind. This was real, she reminded herself, and it would benefit her to embrace her beloved Albie.
Laying a tender hand on his chest, Anna let out a heavy sigh. "It's best that I freshen up, while you go about your procurement, my dear Albie." Even now, as she uttered her nickname for him, the uncomforting sensation of the syllables held a tight grip on her entire self. But the woman was ready to defy all to safeguard this very moment. 'I love you' - the three simple words that she wished to say then and there, but did not came to pass. "I won't be long." She reassured him, but could not help but to feel guilty, as her delivery was as empty as her insincere reluctance with her Albrecht.
As she made her way towards the restrooms to take a gander at her visage, she felt a certain tug upon her waist-sash. The friction had made it hard to ignore what she had in her possession, of which did not necessitate an inquiry prior among the many distractions between her and her Albie. Casting aside the primary task of adjusting her makeup, she shifted her attention towards the blissfully mysterious item. Lodging her fingers therein, she withdrew a miniature leather-backed journal that she did not recall procuring. Has it always been with her? She questioned, turning the pages to investigate further. It was then, she stumbled upon her own handwriting, with simplified caricatures of certain individuals that she has already met with their corresponding names labeled beside the designs. Her eyes widened, shaken to her core, as the notebook brought more questions than it did answers. The winding noises crept upon her again, bringing great discomfort for the petrified lady, as she tried to reconcile with its painfully forthright effects upon her unsuspecting presence in this unknown realm. It sufficed her curiosities, but waned of rightful suspicions. Armed with queries, Anna took a deep breath as the glimmering shades of her fair irises leased a sense of dreadful determination.
Something was afoot - sinister and vile. In this eyeless world, perhaps she was the odd one out. The aberration of her own making. Examining her own reflection before the mirror that was free of waterspots, a hand was raised to bear the thought of her convoluted amnesia.
"Eine perfekte Welt. (A perfect world.)" She muttered to herself in her native tongue.
One day of experience is one year of study. An eerie voice echoed the back of Anna's mind, causing her to recoil and take a step back. Her expression filled with terror, as she now stood before a damsel captured in her own image while struggling to recall the feminine voice that said those very lines to her.
Zedalith
Code by Serobliss
Wyll
Senior Member
The Other Duo
Mellor Akir~
~Fifth Avenue
~Fifth Avenue
Mell stood and was ready to square up with the beast. He wasn’t the most offensive combatant and his ability level was probably only about 10% right now, but that wasn’t going to stop him from doing what needed to be done. As the creature took a step toward them, Mell’s gaze was snatched away from the aberration to something far, far, far more positive. Ilia and Elyn had arrived. As soon as he saw them, a smile burst on his face and he immediately dropped to his knees. Seeing them made him feel like he could drop his guard; like he could take it easy for a second; like he could rest - he knew they could handle it from here. His job was simply to protect Fifth and he had done that. He looked over his shoulder at the state Fifth was in. On second thought, maybe he could have done a better job. But, at least, Fifth was alive. The berating on his performance would come later - it didn’t look very good as a protector if the one left in your charge ended up looking the way Fifth did. He shook off the self-chiding thoughts and refocused on the fight.
It hadn’t been obvious before, but Fifth was, on some level, still coherent. He looked…manageable. Couldn’t be expected to help much until he could pull himself together, but he didn’t look to be in imminent mortal peril anymore. His bleeding had slowed to a trickle and although his burns were still fresh, they didn’t seem too concerning. Flames still ate away at his hair, but honestly it added character and some much needed color to Fifth.
After catching his breath for a while, and not having to open up any new portals, Mell finally had regained enough brain capacity to begin closing portals and not accidentally close the wrong one - he’d refrained from doing it up until now because his mind was so hazy he may have accidentally closed the light portal and would have been too tired to open it back up. That would easily have been the worst case scenario. One by one - starting with the furthest one, he started closing the portals and with each one that shut, he felt his energy seeping back into him. It felt like a cold drink of water after a trek through the desert; like taking off your shoes after a 12-hour shift, like…Focus Mellor! He snapped himself back into reality, snatching himself away from the blissful sensation of actually being able to feel life in his body again. The fight’s not over yet. We don’t know that this thing will just give up.
For the entire duration of the fight, Mell watched carefully, looking to see if there was going to be a spot where the others needed him. However, for most of it, he was just smiling with pride. Pride in the fact that he got to be on the same team as such amazing agents. He never once doubted that the two of them could pull the win together and he also figured that they’d want to give him a chance to catch his breath, so he took the opportunity given to him and just watched the two of them dominate.
The proud look on Mell’s face quickly changed to one of concern as he saw the creature bubbling up, and then switch to panic as the bubbles exploded in a spray of acid. Instinctively, he darted toward Fifth, putting himself between the spray of acid and Fifth. While he wanted to cover the kid, he also didn’t want to get melted away in doing so. He knew he could teleport himself out of the way in time - if only there was a way he could teleport two people without having to waste time with creating two portals. The thought passed through his mind in a hair of a second, knowing that he didn’t have the time to get lost in wishful thinking. His strength had returned but his depth perception was still off from the dizziness but he was sure he could handle at least this much. He opened the exit portal somewhere off to the side, not really caring where and then opened one right in front of him and Fifth so the portals would suck the acid away, leaving them unscathed. Unfortunately, creating the exit portal made him slightly late in creating the entry portal and so a small spritz of acid made it through and unto his chest. Below him, Fifth gave a half-hearted thumbs up as thanks.
The acid burned through his shirt like water through a paper towel and began sizzling against his skin. “Holy….Son of a…Mother of…” Mell did nut cuss. It never sat right on his tongue, and he also never really felt the need to. After all, he believed that there was nothing that couldn’t be conveyed with the words he used everyday anyway. Right now was different, though. This was one situation where he very much felt the need. What held him back now was not the absence of a need but the fact that he couldn’t figure out what series of cusses best represented the pain he was feeling and so he tried to throw them all into one but that, too, failed. He resigned to a deep, guttural groan, clenching his hands into fists until his knuckles whitened.
Mell’s breathing was heavy and labored as he tried to keep the pain quiet but it was getting harder and harder to do. That is, until, Ilia fresh rain poured on him and rinsed the acid off, what was left of his shirt sticking to him a little bit from the wetness. His slowly brought his breathing under control, taking long, deep breaths until his breathing leveled out. By the time he was back to feeling like himself, he opened his eyes and Ilia was standing there, the aberration nothing more than a memory and some scars now. He took note of Elyn on the floor and smirked - that was one person that pushed herself as hard as he pushed himself and he could respect that. He looked back up at Ilia, finding it within himself to chuckle at Ilia’s remark. “Of course he’s alive, who do you think you have looking after him?” he teased.
At their Feet, Fifth grumbled something incoherent before slapping Ilia’s hand away. Grunting, he laboriously pushed himself up, teetering like he was about to fall over when a wave of nausea hit him at the sudden movement. He winced when he put weight on his bum leg and leaned against the coaster tracks.
“Yep, fan-fucking-tastic team, celebratory Sushi later?” Fifth mumbled. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, realized his lighter was still somewhere in the inferno upstairs, and decided to light it with his still flaming hair. Taking a long drag, he poked at his bad leg, grunted, and hopped up onto the coaster tracks to sit.
“Okay, problem: Leg’s fucked, knee popped sideways,” He said, casually, “Sounds bad, but easy to fix. You, Scotty,” he pointed at Mell, “Do me a solid and pop it back so we can haul ass fore’ the fire department shows.”
At the request, there was a glint in Mellor's eyes that bordered of mischievous - unusual for Mellor. When you spend half your life bungee jumping and skydiving, things tend to pop and you have to learn to un-pop them. Injuries caused due to being reckless were Mell's specialty. "It's Mellor, by the way," he added as he got down on a knee and stretched Fifth's leg out, ignoring the groans that understandably came with having half your leg disconnected. He found the knee joint and with one hand held it steady and, with the other quickly jammed it back into place. Fifth tried to play it tough, but no matter how many times it happened to him, it really fucking hurt. He stood up and dusted off his hands. "There. Good as new." He then looked over his shoulder to Ilia. "Where to, boss? Back to the hotel? Call it a day?"
Zedalith
#-#
Ilia Drubich
Sanity’s Edge
Last edited:
Gh0stOcean
New Member
code by @Nano
Zedalith
#-#
WORLD WITHOUT EYES
Last edited:
lyn.
can i get a bacon egg and cheese
glauciel
elyn
♡coded by uxie♡
AURS
questionable inc.
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
LOCATION: WALLY'S SECRET COVEINTERACTIONS: ALMA
Gh0stOcean
NICHOLAS
Kovacs
QING YI
ERode
Brittle, splintered. Each supplicated apology a flit of rent butterfly wings lurching into an inevitable plunge, a stinging blade savaged each attempt. Miss Naomi. The moniker was delivered with the decisive snap of keen-edged scissors, severing a bond as if it were a slip of thread. Naomi’s hand, which had sought to block Alma, now cried for her; its fingertips futilely reached into empty space.
Naomi was a hapless spectator of the horror unfolding before her. The screen spectacled the gritty achievements of a team, ramshackle as they may be, triumphing over evil. A rusted knight willed by its tenacious master in a harrowingly glorious manifestation of power. A rift stretches between Naomi and the feature, pushed farther into the depths insignificance until she was nothing but eyes in an abyss.
What was she even here for?
Her skin’s luster dampened into a dull pale. Shivers tugged the strings of her muscles. Sweat dewed her temple. Her limbs felt rooted to the earth; the mere thought of moving them exhausted her. A sheep away from its herd. A rabbit too docile to sense a threat. She might as well have been offered on a silver platter.
A wetness splattered across her face in scorched red whips. Her lashes fluttered in delayed awareness; her conscious mind barely flickered to the surface. Cotton stuffed her head, muffled, pacifying. Numb of thoughts or reason. Something plastic propped on a slender neck, a centerpiece. Sounds coalesced into a thick, melted slosh of nothingness around her.
Alma’s back shielded Naomi. She’s within her reach. But the hand reached towards Naomi wasn’t Alma’s, like a pencil punctured through a sheet of pulpy red paper.
Naomi’s eyes widened, pools of green that somehow still had tears to spare. A sickening realization hit her: tears weren’t the only warmth trickling down her cheeks. Her hand swiped at her face; the redness left on her fingertips clarified what she already knew.
Alma’s body walloped the ground with a nauseating plop. Her pristine visage tainted by a torrent of crimson, too much for the dried ground to drink in time. Naomi barely caught a glimpse of the monstrosity responsible, its laugh springing her wilting heart with the flaring clobber of survival. Two ends of her are made violent playthings between the gnarled teeth of terror and obligation.
Alma’s pain, Alma’s words. Naomi feels Alma’s breath as if it was her own.
“I’m… So…Sor…ry…”
Why…? Why was she apologizing?
“At least you’re safe.”
Phantom words from a time she’d rather leave buried deep and never found. Phantom words from a time not too dissimilar from this one.
Naomi: naïve, guard down, something easily plucked and savaged.
An agent: Courageous, experienced, willing to sacrifice themself for her stupid sake.
Before Alma, it was Mellor.
Naomi all too rapt in the defeat of petty C-tiers she’d failed to sense the oncoming B-tier starved for blood. Mellor had jumped to her rescue just as it struck, caging Naomi between portals for her protection at the cost of his effectiveness.
When the B-tier perished, Mellor followed soon after. Naomi watched, unable to reach him, left to wonder if that was how people from times of old felt when the sun would sink beneath the horizon, unsure if it’d ever rise again. If Alma was cursed, Naomi was no better.
“At least you’re safe.”
The words echoed, almost taunting. She thinks she hears a clash of metal somewhere in the deafening vacuum of her thoughts.
“We will not let you die.”
But what about you?
Naomi reached beside her and palmed for the gauze and antiseptic wipes Alma had rifled out of her bag. What felt like pushing a boulder uphill was simply Naomi gathering the strength to bend her legs onto her knees. The searing ache of her missing foot indignantly throbbing at the effort. Shrill, agonized squeals pierce the air around her, giving away to labored breaths. Her bones attempted to stubbornly weigh her down, her vision spun, but she dragged every ounce of her towards Alma blind to the protest.
“Hold…Hold on.” Naomi whimpered; knees sunk in the agent’s blood. “I can…I can fix…fix this.” Words felt thick against her knotted tongue, the fatigue and the pain steadily wore her down. A persistent current against porous rock.
Hands pushed beneath Alma's shoulders, hooked under her armpits and heaved. The exertion was enough to stir little blinking lights, the tiny specks freckling her vision. With Alma's limp body on her lap, the oozing cavity in her chest gaped up at her.
“O-okay…What is it that…that Angie always says? Pressure? Apply pressure? Right…Alma?” No response.
Naomi bit her lip, chin trembling as her pale hand—colored only by the blistering scarlet of Alma's blood—hovered over the hole and pressed down. A patch of tape against a burgeoning dam.
“I'm sorry…it hurts, right…?” No response. Alma’s opened eyes stared back, unblinking.
A pleading sob wracked Naomi's whole body. Slamming into her with all the violence and turbulence of a stormy ocean. The medical supplies spilled from her grasp in favor of cradling Alma's face.
“You-you said it hurts so….I…I…” Naomi’s tears dripped onto the doll’s face, rolling down pallid skin slowly being abandoned by warmth. “I'm sorry….I'm-I'm so sorry…” Alma would come back. Naomi knew this. She hadn't known it with Mellor, but she knew it now. So why didn't it hurt any less? The hair undone from its braid draped like curtain over them, shielding the shameful moment from view. Naomi tried to wipe the blood off Alma’s lips, only spreading the red further along her jaw. “I…I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.” A wept mantra with no foreseeable conclusion.
Mustering what ghost of strength might remain in her, Naomi pulled Alma further up and protectively wrapped her arms around her small, blood-soaked frame. Steeped in Alma’s blood and sobbing into her hair, Naomi’s eyes shut tight. Whatever happened outside of their illusioned bubble was a smeared wet canvas. Indistinguishable vague shapes and blurs of color. A flash of light crossed her closed eyelids. Naomi, unaware of its source or purpose, doesn’t see Caerwyn’s dissipating form casting a shadow over them, blocking their bodies from the scathing vision.
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Nyctiel
The Blindsided
Anna Maria Schwarzschild
Wal y' S lash Z ne, N W YO K CIT
"And what would you have me do with a child that is not mine? We obliged the rudiments of our defiance!"
"I obliged your hands for a better life, only to find myself shackled by her very own existence."
"We are all prisoners of our past. At the very least, you-, nein, we owe her a future."
"Not with us."
"What do you mean? Ida. What have you done?"
"'Tis been arranged. She will fetch quite a fortune for us and you need not worry about her prospects. Need I remind you what she is? I wish neither to revisit nor impose that bitter memory."
"They will find out, sooner or later. I will talk to her."
"Nein. I will do it. As her mother, it is best she lends an ear to her own blood."
"Fine. At the very least, tell me. Who is it?"
"An associate of mine. A Junker* from the house of Meyer. He is in need of a bride to spill his seeds and would pay a handsome fortune for it. Besides, he and I both share the same sentiments against the Schwarzschild. Think of it as my final settlement on the matter of my exile and she will be the key to my freedom."
Rain - much like the day she took the saddle west in search of a fate that she did not comprehend. The stern visage of an experienced traveller, whose words are inscribed upon his decisive acts. Dark strands of eminent shadow locks, much like his uniform and steed. Course hands, and callous gaze. An intense flame that would surely swallow her whole, yet only flickered with the tugging sensation of a perpetual inflammation that wrestled her lungs - constantly shaping her own being to his liking. She despised his appearance then, wishing only to tear it all down. But as she reminded herself of her own hatred for the nobility, she could not help but find solace in the very existence of a man that managed to defy her alleged expectations.
As she reminisced on the brief image of a distant lake where stained baskets and spilled wine had added the necessary colors to her gray induction, the cadence of Prussian might harassed her senses, bringing about a lingering thought of dreadful bitterness and unprecedented fear. The steady humming of the mirror's light began to crumble under its one resonance, slowly distorting until they become individual tenors of men screaming at the top of their lungs. The darkened edges of the mirror reeled her in, replaying the harrowing image of the light-spangled darkness where harkening shells would detonate with her very own heartbeat. The explosions that surrounded her in a sea of flames began to manifest its intentions, robbing her of her breath as she felt her own skin melt away with scorching shrapnels riddling her entire body. The pouring rain outside then harmonized with the laments of the dying, amalgamating the grotesquely-elegant sounds of rifles and drums.
Her eyes widened, horrified by the deafening sounds of war and that of her own mirrored form, of which had manifested its own undying will. Irises so pale and stricken by the pulsating blood that ran rampant throughout her entire body, accompanied by the sickening urge to give in to the psychotic trance that wrestled for her own consciousness. As she tried to free herself from her petrified state, the world around her began to shift, with the stalls and walls unfounded by impending destructions.
"Nein... bitte! Bitte! (No, please! Please!)" Anna rejected with a whimpering voice, as the painful memories began to flood her mind. The perfect world not of her own making was already collapsing around her. On the precipice of reality and illusion, she found herself torn by the harrowing design of her insinuated death - followed by the speculation of her own existence. If only Albrecht was here, she wishfully contemplated. She would no doubt take to his arms and resided within the safe harbor of his embrace. She wanted it to be true, for he was the only familiar being that knew her soul. Splinters then threw her attention towards the main entrance, akin to that of an invader who longed to intrude upon this safe haven that she had temporarily conjured for herself. The brief shimmering of the world beyond was marked with a sea of flames.
Throwing herself back with a recoiled ejection, the disturbing image of her withered state caused her to break free from her spiraling state of mind. At the edge of death's door, she reflected first on the words that were sealed deep in the confinements of her own soul. The magna carta that bound her to a certain set of principles that she could not forsake, but did not remember. She understood it well enough that she would risk it all to bestow it upon the one she love with all her heart. Alas, there was one factor that failed to meet such criteria for her to simply unseal those words held in regret. The windows to one's soul - their eyes. Yet in this eyeless world, she finally recognized why she was unable to commit those words to her beloved Albie. The answer was simple and plain - he was not her Albie. In her final moments of despair and demise, she wished to see his brilliant eyes again and keep his eyes on her for all eternity.
"What is your name?"
"Anna. Anna Maria Schwarzschild. And you, mein Herr?"
"I am Oberst (Colonel) Albrecht von Heeringen of the Fifty-Ninth Regiment. It would seems that I do require some immediate assistance with personal procurement details. As it stands, we will both benefit from our prerequisites. You will be provided for under my protection with a written contract to action your indentured service. What say you, Frau Schwarzschild?"
"Under such circumstances, one cannot discern what they are not entitled to. I will oblige, mein Herr." Anna whispered to herself, as she repeated the same reply she gave him at the time. She remembered, recalling the steeled, cold gaze of Albrecht's undaunting eyes. A rare feature that managed to impart both fear and adoration in her. Colluding with her own existence on this illusionary plane, she channeled her focus, reining in the toils of her admittance to accept him as she did from a time she has yet to fully remember. His unrelenting eyes had brilliant disguised his empathetic words, but have always remained true to her and her alone with its distinctive glimmers. The very testament of his existence and the very revelation that she had been played for a fool without them.
"I will crush you as I like. But first, you must suffer. I will be in his arms, and you can do nothing about it."
The voices of the Bride coiled around Anna, pouring salt over a wound that had long remained open. Bitter with resentment at the thought, Anna was sure that her invisible assailant was poised on taking away her Albrecht. Pale viridian eyes, boiling with jealousy and bewitching hatred conjured forth the Blue Composer's rapid flair of emotions.
“Anna, focus! Whoever he was, he's not worth dying over!”
"Blazes! I have had enough of you-" Anna muttered to herself, as her welling eyes locked past the narrow corridor in an attempt to process the stinging sensation that zipped past her. Crimson was her left ear, tainting the immaculately rare beauty with a red mark of ill-intentions. Mistakening the Bride's voice to be the same as the invisible gunner, her fists were forcefully clenched with commensurate intensity to match. Unbound to her existing knowledge, as far as she could tell. They knew her name, and had dared to insinuate her beloved Albrecht's disposition in the matter. The trigger that pulled her own perception from this false world would become the same trigger that let loose the Maiden's own wrath.
Wrapping herself in a surgical motion with great speed, the lady somersaulted towards the ceiling by her instincts as a streak of light flashed past her bloody fingers. As she landed on her feet and adjusted her stance, a piece of crumbled paper fell from her grips and onto the ground. Dissipating in a sizzling manner, the parchment unveiled a spitzer bullet that was discharged from a conventional firearm. Dented from the impact against the arcane piece of paper that managed to materialize from Anna's will, it stood to reason that this was no ordinary world that Anna would like to believe, let alone her innate ability to catch it within a short amount of time.
Unbeknownst to her, she had deflected Angela's first bullet, which had conspired to reel both of them out of the false world. As for the source of the bullet, that was a lead that she too must chase after to find her answers. Taking in to heart this mysterious development, the lady reexamined her notebook with a brief glance, as her eyes no longer teeming with the same brilliant blue it once possessed. Her environment would take shape again as if nothing had happened. Drawn by her impulsive urgency that managed to override her gradual movements, Anna wasted no time to apply her own colors and finally emerged from the restroom with flushed cheeks and glossed lips. Her ear still retained some residue of her own blood from the mysterious bullet, though it has been tended to by Anna with a part of her dress's frill plucked off to stem the bleeding prior. A roughened lady, whose instinctive reactions were very much intact, however dormant they may be at the moment.
"Oh, Albie. You silver-tongued Devil, you." She replied with a coy smile, putting on a facade that was as eloquent as her false tone. But to fully sell her performance, she took a step further and locked her elbows with Albrecht's, before leaning over to take take a bite out of the cotton candy. "Arcade? Well that certainly sounds attractive. Though I will have you accomodate me in the matter." She teased him with a warm look in her eyes that was certain to caress any man's heart. Although she did so with a subtle indication to examine her lover's response.
As they made their way towards the Arcade, Anna looked up to Albrecht and raised her sweet voice: "Indulge me, Albie. Do you know how to make a hotdog?"
*Translation Note: A Junker is connotation for land-owning nobles, notably in Prussia. They often possess preposition "von" before their family names.
Zedalith
AURS
Code by Serobliss
Wyll
Senior Member
The Caretaker
Mellor
Akir
Akir
Mell had some experience under his belt and he felt pretty confident in his abilities. He had a pretty good sense for weeding out B-tiers but anything higher than that was a little bit trickier to sense. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed being on a team with Ilia - for all the things about Ilia that rubbed Mell the wrong way, one thing to his credit was that the man's danger sense was second to none. And Mell had come to spot when Ilia felt something wrong. Even while paying a compliment, Ilia's expression still betrayed that there was something on his mind.
At first, Mellor had ignored it and not said anything. However, when Ilia mentioned that the greatest game still awaited, he got this sense of dread. Of course Ilia was going to take them straight towards whatever foulness he had sensed earlier. A sigh escaped his lips as he nodded, proceeding to stretch out his muscles as he slowly got feeling back in them. Within the next minute, he was at full capacity again.
Mellor knew that if the upcoming fight was bigger than this, he'd need to prepare all over again and frowned at the thought that he always had to hinder himself to be effective. Needing to have preparatory portals open meant that he was never actually fighting at full strength and the realisation that if Ilia and Elyn has been even a minute late, it's possible that neither he nor Fifth would still be here left an uncomfortable swirl in his stomach. He'd need to find a way to rectify that...and soon.
For now, he would get ready the best way he knew how. The light-giving portal floated off the wall and let its light sweep over the whole room. "Before we head out, I'm gonna take a look around. See if there's anything here I can use in the next fight."
Experience had taught him that, when you have the advantage of being able to pretty much summon whatever you want, you more than often want bigger things that do more damage. That in mind, when he saw a derailed roller coaster train, a smirk found its way to his lips and he set up a portal under the first car. If nothing else, he could try trapping whatever it was under the cars.
A little more looking around and he found a large, loose rock. Honestly, more of a boulder than anything. It reminded him of a little stunt he, Ilia and Elyn had pulled where they bought him time and he essentially threw a massive rock at the aberration. He looked back at them and whistled to get their attention - wide, refreshed grin on his face - almost as if the four of them weren't actively hunting and being hunted. "Hey, if we really get our backs pressed against the wall, we got old reliable portal cannon over here." He set up another portal under the rock. He'd save this one for last. Hopefully they wouldn't need to use it but it still reminded him of something he regarded as a pleasant memory.
Setting up such a large portal meant that he couldn't set up many others without practically crippling himself. With the two portals he'd opened, he'd dropped himself to about 65% efficiency, which would typically be enough to keep up with an A-Tier, so he could only hope that it was enough to keep him alive against what was very likely an S-tier. If history was anything to go by, Ilia and Elyn would like be the main damage dealers while he provided them with support from the back. He glanced over at Fifth, appraising him with a concerned look. He'd taken heavy damage. Knowing Ilia, he'd want to keep Fifth out of the fight. After all, for as cold as Ilia could be, Mell got the feeling he didn't actually want Fifth dead. Assist Elyn and Ilia and protect Fifth, huh? Sounds doable.
He walked back to Ilia and the others, opening and clenching his fists as he tried to get a feel for how much energy he had left while hyping himself up for the next fight. Ilia seemed to have liked being called boss and Mell supposed that a more pleasant Ilia could do everybody some good, so he'd feed into the ego for now. "Ready when you are, boss," he announced as he finally pulled out his phone to read Naomi's message.
Without his knowledge or permission, a smile found its way to his features as he read the message. It was sweet of her to check in, he'd have to remember to apologise for not getting back to her sooner, but Ilia would probably make a fuss if he started texting her now. After all, they'd likely be meeting up soon. It's good to know that she's doing okay, though. I guess I was worried about nothing earlier. Freaking out because you thought you heard a girl scream. Come on Mellor, you're in an amusement park, of course girls are going to scream. He shook his head at his own paranoia, yet the smile stayed on his features; part of him excited to see Naomi and how her team had done; he remembered her being excited for the mission and had come to look forward to her excitedly telling him about how nasty the aberrations were.
Focus Mell. Naomi later, mission now. You'll have all the time in the world to catch up once you get rid of the aberrations. You can even take her on a ride to celebrate. But for now, focus on the three in front of you. Protecting them is your mission. Naomi can wait.
With that reminder, he took in a deep breath and recentered, mind now solely focused on the mission ahead.
Kovacs
the maestro of mad shit.
Last edited:
ERode
In The Mirror
Kovacs
Klown
Zedalith
“Phew.”
Once the Whisperer was pinned down by Caerwyn and the order was given, Qing-Yi decided that she was a bit hungry too. She had handed most of the turkey sliders over to Alma, but obviously kept one for herself, so amidst the torturous shrieking of an Aberration being consumed by what looked like a black hole, the Chinese Agent unwrapped a slider herself, taking a couple of bites. It was lukewarm now, and the ‘turkey’ was a bit stringy underneath the sauces. Her tongue flicked over her teeth: cooked onion, ketchup, mustard, and an aioli of sorts, hm? Interesting, but a touch sweet for her own tastes. She finished the slider by the time Caerwyn did his own meal and flashed a thumbs up at the rusted knight.
It was instinctual, what happened next.
The air stirred, the perpetual aura of dread that surrounded such blighted places only sharpening upon the Whisperer’s demise. Qing-Yi inhaled sharply, then hurtled back, away from the other three, prioritizing her own well-being as the predator struck. Nick had the safety of intangibility, Alma had Caerwyn’s protection, and Naomi, as obviously wounded as she was, offered up so little that her loss would not impact the mission.
But the dice fell in the worst possible manner.
Sinuous, a visage carved into an eternal smile. Shark-like, eyeless, a predator built for the darkness of the cove. And yet, human too. Human enough to laugh at those whose hearts it grasped.
Caerwyn’s sword clanged against the claws meant to behead Nick, while Alma’s heart burst out from her back. Retaliation came from the rusted knight, intercepting the Eyeless as they turned their attention towards Naomi, but the clash ended swiftly. Without the source of his power, the Knight collapsed upon one knee. He exchanged words. Left behind a sword. Gave up his body as a shield, while the Eyeless opened up its chest and released a baleful light.
Up in the ceiling of the cove, Qing-Yi watched the proceedings, expression unreadable.
And when Nick sprung to action, she did too, dropping back down into the waters where Naomi apologized to the soon-to-not-be-dead. Applying pressure to one part of a hole just meant that you pushed it all out the other end. Apologies ought to be saved for the day after, though it was understandable to do so while emotions ran the hottest. The water lapped at them all, dark blood gradating into a soft pink upon clothing.
“Naomi.” Fabric teared behind the grieving woman, as Qing-Yi tore a strip off her clothes with the claw of her hammer. “Alma died for you, so get out of this cove and call for help from Ilia.” She twisted the fabric until it became a cord, then pulled out Naomi’s footless leg from out under her. A tourniquet was meant to hurt, meant not to be done with mere human strength, but each Agent was inhuman to begin with. As if tying shoelaces, Qing-Yi tied the cord a few inches above the bleeding stump, restricting the flow best as she could. It would hurt. Perhaps hurt terribly. Like having a beast clamp their teeth upon your flesh.
Sometimes, physical pain was the preferred substitute for emotional pain.
Nick was coming back now. Forcibly so. Maybe he had a concussion. Must have done well though, if those Aberration roars she had heard were any indication. Qing-Yi let Naomi go and flew over to the newest member of Team Nyctiel, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
“Good job, handsome. Caerwyn’d be proud.” But her gaze never fell upon him. If she squinted, she could make out the trail of ‘smoke’ left by a disintegrating sword. If she focused, she could make out the sound of a sinuous form snaking through darkness and water. “Let the others know where I went, ok?”
Upon reflection, it was perhaps a bit too much, asking that of someone who may have just broken his back and gotten a concussion, but by then, Qing-Yi was too far into the chase to return. Angie’s map remained in her head, as did a general understanding of her position within it. She would have to catch up to the Eyeless before they disappeared completely.
But she was certain she’d make it.
Flight, after all, was the only thing she was good at.
Users who are viewing this thread
Similar threads
