Day 3

[Demetri Malius]

Blood dripped from the gaping wound of splintered ribs and torn flesh that had been forcefully separated by the pointed branch of wood that Demetri had managed to land on after being thrown clean through a few trees. A low groan escaped him as he shifted, a creaking filling the air before the eventual snap that dropped him to the floor. He heaved and coughed, spewing blood from his mouth as he clutched his chest and felt the rapid beating of his heart.

Laughter erupted from the thief, followed by more hacking and coughing. “Ah, dear Father, how merciful of you to have missed my heart~” He lifted himself to a knee and reached at the branch that still impaled him. Even with the soft tug, pain shot through his body, but it shifted easily. Through clenched teeth, the man gripped the tip of the branch and shoved it back through his chest, gasping and hoarsely croaking for air until he fell to his side and rolled onto his back.

Each breath burned in the right side of his chest, and his hands shook as he raised them to his face. Purposeful twitches began to tug at reality, and his senses began to dull. The pain was the last thing to be muted, and nothing past a stone’s throw was visible to him.

Even without the pain, the thief was barely able to stand and lean against the same tree that he fell from. It was a terrible act, the illusion slipping with each movement that he made to take off his leather jacket and toss it on the floor. With the already existing hole through it, he tore the rest of his shirt and tossed it along with it, before sliding down the trunk of the tree. In a quick, whip-like motion, he pulled his belt off of his pants.

Unfortunately, that was the easy part.

He took a deep breath, pulling back the illusion slowly as he stared at the bloodied hole in his chest, the grass beneath him soaked in red. Copper stung at his nose, and his vision blurred. Once the last façade of the illusion came down, his hands clenched into fists, his chest heaving as he adjusted to feeling the full rush of the injury. He spat blood through his teeth as he wrapped his wound with his bloody, sweat-soaked shirt, wincing and shivering through the agony before securing it with his belt.

In the distance, he could now hear the growls and roars of whatever battle was happening post aggressive-tree-hugging. Draping his leather jacket over himself, he slowly rose to his feet and fumbled with the compass in his pocket, then began his stumbling journey his way to his original objective.

With his vision almost doubling and his head pounding, it mattered not to dull his senses once more. Raising one hand, he stepped back into his illusion and held his Wingman with his other. It was quiet as he traveled, and he lost track of time as the glow on the ground showed that the sun was setting. A strong headache began to settle in, and It was then that the thief could hear footsteps behind him. Almost immediately, he turned and faced the sound, pulling the trigger of the revolver and hearing the shot ring out as it passed through the Mirage in front of him.

"Bam-to-the-boozle!"

Demetri could only sigh and close his eyes while he attempted to take a deep breath, bringing his armed hand in to hold onto what remained of his shattered lung to regain his composure.

“Ha-ha! You should have seen your face, it was hilarious!”

Damn that oversized scientist and shoving his face into that boulder! Ever since then, he kept seeing the trickster prank him as if he was being haunted by the bastard.

“Oh man, you look bad. I mean, real bad. Couldn’t have been your fault, though, because you didn’t do anything.”

Demetri attempted to use the illusion to cool off the headache, keeping his eyes closed as he stood still and took another breath, but found it only becoming worse.

“You were pretty useless back there, didn’t even distract that guy for anyone. But hey, you didn’t immediately die!”

“Can you shut up for one damned moment?!”

“Aw, poor Demetri can’t handle being tossed aside? Hurt your ego?” The voice coming from a woman this time.

The thief opened his eyes to see her again, his piercing gray eyes narrowed at her sneering look. Mirage was nowhere to be seen now.

“Did you even get a shot on him, or were you too busy playing with your cards?”

The thief began to storm off, trying to ignore her, but she continued to appear in front of him, playing with his mind at the edges of his vision.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. It’s just a joke~”

She fell behind and appeared in front of him again.

“Stubborn as usual, too stupid to do anything except fool yourself into believing you are strong enough.”

The thief stopped and gritted his teeth in frustration.

“What, going to burn me away with your mind again? It’s not going to-”

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG​

Before she could finish her sentence, he had turned around and fired the rest of his magazine into her.

“-make you feel better.” The smirk hung on her lips like a painted figurine, similar to the mirage statue he held what seemed like ages ago. Demetri held his head low as the woman simply laughed at him, taunting him in his own mind as he struggled through this event. His fingers finally stopped tugging at his world and he let the entire illusion slip as the darkness of dusk enveloped him.

“Demetri.”

The thief raised his hand and pulled the trigger once more at the voice, hearing only the click of an empty chamber as he held the gun up to a familiar face.

“You seem unwell.” Anders was covered from head to toe in burns, and it was clear that it was wearing him down. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he stared down the barrel of the wingman. As the pain returned to his chest, the barrel swayed and his hands shook, before he flipped the gun around and held it out to his partner.

“Take it. I can’t make proper use of it anyway." He paused to look over his companion. "What happened to your weapon?”

Anders glanced to the side. “It was destroyed. It is no longer of any use to anyone.” Demetri could put two and two together as the Firebrand continued. “I saw that you were using your magic to numb your wounds. Is it efficient?”

Demetri could only give an annoyed chuckle. “Only if you can stand a bumbling fool and a cold-hearted bitch whispering in your ear.”

Anders seemed to give a slight frown, hesitating as he contemplated his answer, but the rogue interrupted him before he could speak.

“If we need to I will, let’s just get to where we need to go, before our good Father catches our scent again.”

 

[Nearl]

Face to Face
#17 Nearl​

The radiant knight frowned as she tapped the screen of the infernal device. After being ejected from the bunker while trying to sleep, she had been struggling to find her bearing in this strange world.

Karl had read off another list of squares, but even as he spoke, Nearl had been spent the majority of the time trying to decipher the current layout. After all, she had spent much of the event on the other part of this landmass, and when she had spent time with the young Josuke, he had done much of the coordination of their movements. If he was here, she was certain she wouldn’t be having this issue.

“Curses,” Nearl groaned as the edges of the tablet’s bezel started to flicker red. “What does that mean?” She asked out loud as she felt the ground shift beneath her. Glancing down to her feet, she noticed that the grass had been replaced by some type of soupy pitch that clung to her footwear. With her gaze off of her tablet, she looked around and realized that much of the landscape had… destabilized? Chunks of black, gooey earth were floating, and the air itself seemed to have grown into a miasma that oozed sinister intentions.

“Oh no,” Nearl muttered as the ground suddenly shifted once more, but this time, she found herself being dragged down. “Josuke!” She managed just before the darkness consumed her.

Spoiler

Nearl has been unmade.

Spoiler

Life slipping away, the pegasean knight could do nothing but regret her negligence. As she sunk into the abyss the voices of the people who rely on her echoed. In the afterlife or not, Nearl knew one thing: She lived right now and she wouldn't let this be the end.

She refused.

A goopy splat of blackness exploded from the pool of unmade. The gauntlet of an angelic warrior soiled by tainted darkness. Through her sheer willpower, she would pull her top side free from the unmade pitch that was corrupting her down to her very soul. "GAH!" The knight gasped for air as she burst from her captive pool.

"To be a knight..." Her voice sounded as she clawed her way out of shadow, numerous unmade also leaking out around her as it began to spread. "...is to be the noble light..." A glowing of light coalescing in her hand as she summoned her arts, her faith made manifest by way of holy radiance. "...that illuminates the land!" Crushing the light in her hand would cause a sudden black out in the darkness of dusk. A single star would shine brightly from the sky, plummeting down to earth, crashing into the pool of pitch and destroying every undead around her.

Despite the concussion and her corruptive infection, Nearl would clumsily rush out of the trap set for her and back into the playing field. If she could get away from this influence, perhaps it would fade on it's own. Nevertheless, she was in control of her mind for the most part.
---
Continuing to trek the land free of the unmade influence, Nearl was still being tracked down by it's minions. She could feel them, like a mindless hive-mind of corruption. They were heeling her with every step she took. Rampant thoughts sought to overtake her mind but somehow she was able to escape it before completely being lost.

"Nearl?!" A familiar voice call out noticing his lost ally. "Sheesh, I was starting to get a little wor-"

"Do not come near!" Her authoritative voice would yell. As the two of them met eye to eye, Josuke's heart sank. Nearl's corrupt influence was a brand on her soul too difficult to miss. Turning behind her, she didn't even have to look to know the unmade were approaching. The knight would let out a guttural growl as she turned back to Josuke in attempt to quell the murderous thoughts she was sharing with the gaining unmade. "LEavE oR I wILl bE FoRCe tO DestRoY YoU!!" Every fiber of her being was resisting the urge to tear the teenager in half. Josuke stood in fear and shock as his new friend was clearly struggling.

"Wait, I can help! I can-" Nearl growled once more, turning as the unmade aimed to pass her and head straight for the pompadour. Her fist would ruthlessly sink the nightmare creature into the ground. "DAMN YOU." The unmade that had passed her would stop for Josuke and turn on her. The concussion was nothing compared to this but she would sooner be torn apart by these hellions before she saw herself become one.

"I'm nOt GOinG To TeLL yOU aGaiN JOsukE, iF yOu do Not leAVe - I wIll bE fOrcEd to END YOU." The unmade surrounded her and pounced, clawing at her flesh as she did so back to them.

 

[Karl Jak]

Evening
Phase 4 (1800 – 2400)​

“Good evening, everyone! Let us take a moment to remember the recently deceased:

#06 Christine Calamity
#23 Shikiria.”

Karl turned and shook his head as he looked at Kevin. “That poor, stupid goblin will outlive all his friends. I’ll bet money on it.”

“Is that fair?” Kevin muttered.

“It’s a joke,” Karl groaned before taking a sip from a nearby glass. “Unclench a little, Kevin.”

Leaning back onto the mic, Karl went back to the announcements.

“Please avoid the following zones that will be completely unmade by the end of the day:

“P8
Q8
S3
S4
S5
S6
P3
Q3
R3.”

“There is nothing to report today, but there are 3 quest items that remain unattached to the device. While I know some of you are dying, dead-adjacent, or monsters … please don’t forget your task. Good luck!”

***​

This phase will end on 6-23 at 9 AM

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#22 Fennec Shand​

The old bounty hunter had played all the cards right. She’d made the trade with the old, blind hunter. She’d managed to secure the briefcase and escape the alien monster, and she’d managed to get the drop on the owner of the last two quest items.

The one thing she hadn’t planned for?

Her tablet beeped something terrible.

Fennec took out the device, toggled to the map, and felt something twist up in her stomach. Her current location was a deep red on the map.

“Oh… oh, no,” the woman whispered as something wet latched onto her ankle. “NO!”

Shikiria, it seemed, got the last laugh.

Spoiler

Fennec Shand has been unmade and will gradually lose control of herself to the corruption.

 

[Omelette Robotnik]

Sleep came fitfully to the little goblin, and Slurt tossed and turned upon the hard cot they had laid him upon. His dreams, if they could even be called such, twisted his memories into dazzling and horrific scenes. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Jester, battling off a woman of liquid death, a man hidden within noxious fumes, and a girl with a too-large grin filled with spinning drill-bits instead of teeth. She stood over him, mountainous and stern, voice filled with anger at his inability to do even the least thing for himself. A body lay in the dirt before him, maggot-eaten and twisted, yet he knew who the corpse once had been.

The last one woke him particularly quickly, and he drew in deep, gasping breaths as he sat up in his sweat-soaked cheeks. If only he could have slept a little longer. Perhaps then he would have been spared what was to come. For, while he still shuddered and shook in his fright and grief, the all-too-saccharine voice of Karl Jak came over his collar. And, as before, he started off with a list. And… again, he recognized one of them. Christine.

A sudden stillness fell over Slurt, and with calm, measured motions, he unwrapped himself from the sheets and slowly lowered himself to the concrete floor. There was no sudden resurgence of grief. No tears shed, nor wails to be had. Instead, a sort of unnatural numbness had settled into the boy. A distancing of the self from the world which allowed him to watch on impassively as this strange green… thing staggered across the room and out the door. Fluorescent lights marked his path as he walked along the corridor towards his destination. He’d spent many hours in this ‘bastion of safety’ and he knew the way as surely as he knew the best hiding places back in the slums of his home.

And yet, as he approached the rather inconspicuous door that led outside of these walls, a strong grip upon his shoulder drew him up short. Calmly, he turned his head and gazed up at the now-familiar face of his newest companion in this realm of death. And, within those large eyes, Riddick recognized something. Or rather, the lack of something. The gleam of life was totally gone. The boy had finally broken; the traumatic battles of the past days combined with the fresh wounds and left nothing behind. They weren’t the eyes of a child, even a scared or sad child. Riddick was very familiar with those eyes, for they were the eyes of the dead.

“Hey kid! I was… talking… to… ” Riddick began, strangely sounding less sure than he usually did. Slurt simply stared up at him, voiceless and expressionless, though he did seem to almost casually jerk his shoulder as though to free it from his grasp.

“Where you going?” the bounty hunter finally asked, but even still he received no response. Riddick knew how to handle the living. Hell, he knew how to handle the dead. But never, not once in his long life, had he needed to handle what his charge had become. A dead thing wearing the skin of a child, breathing yet unthinking. A corpse that hadn’t yet realized it was dead, but was desperately trying to be.

In the end, he did the only thing he could think to do. After all, he was bigger than Slurt. Stronger. And yet, as he took hold of the boy and began dragging him away from the exit, he couldn’t help but to be surprised, and a tad impressed, at the ferocity with which the goblin fought against him. He was a slippery bastard, and had almost managed to squirm away a few times, but the fortunate intervention of McNinja allowed the two of them to lift Slurt bodily and carry him along to one of the medical examination rooms. Designed to restrain soldiers in the midst of an Unmaking conversion, the good doctor made use of the padded wrist and ankle bindings attached to each bed. And, as soon as Slurt realized his greatest efforts wouldn’t be enough to release him, he immediately ceased his struggles and once again lapsed into that unnatural calm silence.

It didn’t take long for McNinja to confirm what Riddick already knew. But what to do with the child, neither man could guess.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#02 Trevor, #05 Chara, #21 Rogue, #08 Aster vs #31 Jason Voorhees​

He was somehow everywhere yet nowhere.

One of the party members was already dead. The collapsed cabin that housed the final resting place of ‘Christine Calamity’ was still wreathed in decades of dust and wood particles.

A second had baited their foe into what would have been a stellar trap. Another cabin had been laid low by an exquisite, explosive trap that would have ended anyone else under most circumstances. From the outside of the cabin, Chara breathed deep into her lungs as she scanned the debris. She’d dropped two cabins onto this piece of shit in the last few minutes, but she still couldn’t be sure he was down. Knives floated at the ready behind her back, and the nail gun stood at the ready.

But … nothing. The silence hung in the air like an oppressive force as Chara backed up and started to scan her surroundings for the others. For the first time, the young woman realized that she had been separated from the others.

Trevor O’Skully was used to the shadows and thriving in the darkness. Yet, this situation made the gifted assassin feel a deep and genuine unease for one of the first times in a very long while. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a thunderous boom, but where he was, there was some type of fog that had rolled over the lake.

Wasn’t it supposed to be the morning? When had it become nighttime?

Should he be happy?

The assassin retrieved a small trinket from his bag and slipped the necklace over his head. The amulet shimmered for a moment as Trevor felt some of his aches and pains from the last few days slip away. It wasn’t entirely reassuring, but it was something as he tried to navigate his way back toward the main section of the camp.

Chh chh chh … ahh ahh ahh …

Tensing up, the shadow assassin whirred the Proto Buster to life and waiting for the pond-scented zombie to come lurching from the darkness. Should he shout some sort of insult or quip into the unknown? Was that the proper response in a situation like that? Karl Jak would say so, but ‘Trevor O’Skully’ was a man of few words, yet even the assassin’s business acumen was being put to the test as he paced his way along the edge of the lake.

CHH CHH CHH AHH AHH AHH

Jason Voorhees burst from the lake in a fountain of dirty water as Trevor twisted and fired. The bolt of plasma lanced through the killer’s side, but the man in the hockey mask was unphased as he strode over and grabbed hold of the cannon. Wrenching it up, Jason took his other hand and punched it into Trevor’s ribcage and out the back.

Shadows came for the assassin as he was thrown into the lake and left for dead.
Chara found Aster and Rogue near one of the central cabins. A cursory glimpse inside revealed that it was probably the mess hall, given the rows of benches and tables.

“Where are the others?” Rogue whispered as the trio slowly slipped into the cafeteria.

“Christine is gone,” Chara muttered. “I don’t know where Trevor is, but if he’s separated, I think we can assume the worst.”

“This innit the best situation Ah’ve ever been in, personally spekain’,” Rogue rasped as she glimpsed out a small window next to the double doors. In the dark and with the fog, it was a bit hard to see which direction would take them out of this camp. “Ah think we all agreed that runnin’ the best policy?”

“Runnin’?” Chara groaned. “It killed Christine and probably killed Trevor. We can’t run.” Fresh rage seethed with every rasping word that the younger woman spoke.

“Don’t be an idjit,” Rogue replied. “Brute force ain’t gonna work on that fella. We need a plan. A smart plan.”

“How about fire, then?” Chara retorted. “Or how about that stupid ace you said you had up your sleeve, huh? What a dud that was.”

“Stop… arguing …” Aster wheezed as the two other women turned to look at their companion. “Since I’m the only one who has probably binged Dante’s Abyss in this room, I think my opinion holds a little more ground.”

“Well go on then, Sugah,” Rogue replied as she watched her companion struggle to stand enough with the aide of the trident. “You need to sit down?”

Aster shook her head. “We need to run. Not just run. We need to fly away from this place and never look back. If that’s the Jason, he won’t stop. You could probably decapitate him, and he’d be waiting for you a mile from the safehouse. We could drop the kitchen sink on this guy, and we’d just be buying ourselves a few hours.”

Chh chh chh …

The southern belle rolled her eyes—not at her companion, but at the twisted reality that a serial killer apparently had background music. “Who does that?” She muttered as she slid over and gently slid into place the piece of wood that served as a latch for the double doors.

Ahh ahh ahh …

“Fear tactics,” Aster answered. “Gets the blood pumping… I’m sure the crowd also gets a kick out of it.”

“They’re aware we’re people, right?” Rogue said with a light chuckle.

“Ratings wouldn’t be the same if we weren’t,” Aster muttered as the double doors shoot violently on their hinges. Despite themselves, all three women shuddered a little before Rogue sprung forward to press her weight against the old doors. The southern brawler clenched her teeth as she braced for another attempt to force the entrance, but instead, a machete exploded through the wood a few inches from her face.

“Run!” Rogue rasped as the three took off across the mess hall.

Before turning to follow her companions, a still fuming Chara buried a number of knives through the edges of the doors in an attempt to keep the entranced pinned shut a little while longer. By the time Chara had caught up to them, Rogue had half-carried Aster back into the cafeteria proper, which was just about as unsettling and grotesque as the squelching zombie stalking them through the campsite.

“You think this has always been here or what?” Chara muttered as Rogue helped Aster hobble over a countertop. “You think this guy just has an affinity to old camps?”

“This could also be some kind of … I don’t know, containment measure?” Aster wheezed.

“Can we blow it up?” Rogue asked as she walked over to one of the big, rusted ovens that dominated the east wall of the kitchen. Her fingers poked at the dials and knobs, but there was no response. “Bullshit.”

“I don’t hear the door anymore,” Aster remarked.

“He give up?” Rogue muttered.

“Ha!” The wolf-girl added before she broke down into a fit of blood-tainted coughing. Rogue moved over to comfort her friend with a gloved pat on the back. After a few moments, Aster nodded her head as a way to silently say she was all right for the moment. “You not lookin’ too peachy, Sugah,” the southern brawler remarked playfully as the wolf put on a weak smile.

“You’re stuck with me for a little while longer,” Aster whispered.

A little while, ironically enough …

The nearest wall erupted outward as a masked serial killer bulldozed through it. Everything seemd to move in slow motion even as the hulking monster seemed to be with startling precision. The closest person, Chara, hoisted her nailgun and pulled back on the trigger—nails sinking into over-moist flesh as Jason turned and backhanded her. The young woman hit the ground with a wet thud and a wholly shattered jaw.

Aster and Rogue made eye contact as Jason Voorhees turned his sights on them.

“I’m sorry,” Aster whispered.

“What?” Rogue asked a moment before Aster stepped forward and took the machete strike square through her shoulder. A beat later, Jason’s other fist punched into the sassy wolf’s chest, and Rogue was spattered with blood as Aster’s still-beating heart was torn out.

The wolf’s knees buckled, but as she fell, she twisted—her mournful eyes making contact with Rogue one last time. That gaze held so many words, but in a blink, the light was gone from them, leaving a blood-stained southern belle covered in the blood of her friend.

While she’d dealt with a lot in her lifetime, this hit Rogue just a little differently. A lifetime of being often ostracized, yet Aster had been someone who hadn’t hesitated to take the southern brawler at face value.

And now she was dead.

Jason swung his machete.

Rogue caught it.

The serial killer tilted his head as he saw the air around the woman start to hum as her body glowed with a faint golden light. Rogue’s eyes had shifted to a shade of teal as her hair started to flutter off of her shoulders.

“You. Are. Dead!” Rogue screamed as a wave of golden ki erupted outward, shattering the mess hall and bowling poor, half-conscious Chara along with the wave of charred debris. For his part, Jason remained almost rooted in place, his black (yet oddly soulful) eyes glued on the spiky-haired woman who proceeded to wrench the machete from his arm with ease.

Stepping up, Rogue caught Jason’s other fist as he went to swing at her.

“Uhhh uhhh,” she muttered with a finger wag before she tore off the limb and spiked it into the ground at their feet. “Too handsy,” she added as she landed a thunderous, literally earth-splintering punch that shattered the hockey mask on Jason’s face and sent the hulking murderer stumbling to the side. Jason recovered, and he turned his grotesque countenance in her direction.

In other circumstances, Rogue may have felt some twist of compassion at that mangled, malformed visage. With Aster’s body not yet cold, the woman felt little more than an unbridled rage. “That’s a face only a mama could love,” Rogue intoned as she thrust her hands forward and released a pair of scintillating golden ki blasts that popped the upper half of Jason Voorhees as if he were an overinflated balloon.

As the killer’s legs wetly thudded to the ground, Rogue let out a long breath as her hair fell back down to her shoulders and the light around her faded.

Spoiler

#08 Aster DEAD
#31 Jason Voorhees DEAD*

For tracking purposes, Rogue just has one Major Injury, supplanting her prior Injuries
Trevor O’Skully, for the purpose of tracking, has one Insane Injury, in that one of his lungs was essentially punched out his back (yes, I have a weird rib/lung mauling thing going on right now, but the visual was too good).
Chara’s jaw is broken and drooping, rendering her unable to speak or eat solid foods (Insane Injury)

Trevor O’Skully used on application of Focus to use Reez Amulet (Trinket; Healing Effect)
Rogue used Karot (1 bite remaining)

Rogue receives Machete

 

[Shinku]

“I…can’t die here. Not…yet…,” Trevor gasped, blood oozing from his chest as he crawled out of the foul lake. The stench of decay lingered, mixed with the smell of dirt that almost kissed the shadow assassin’s face. His unyielding will, barely kept him alive, or at least hanging from the meager life that still remained. He coughed, a sprawl of blood staining the ground before he could push his body to lean by a nearby tree.

If there’s any consolation for Trevor at the moment, it was that the masked murderer was at least not anywhere near him. Another desperate gasp left his breath as he closed his eyes to seek beyond the shadows. He could still sense the spirit of at least two of his companions from a distance. From the looks of it, the battle seemed to have ended, at least judging from the absence of dread that embraced all of them since their enemy’s appearance.

A sigh of relief left Trevor, as he opened his eyes once again. “They were…that strong,” he muttered under his breath as he continued to desperately gasp for air. The gloved woman after all, did a number on him from their previous encounter, and the knife mage held herself at least well enough against Trevor. But to win against something of that caliber wasn’t something that he could imagine with their strength. Jealousy struck him for the first time. He couldn’t deny the fact that at that moment, he was the one that actually needed protection. Nevertheless, with the remaining strength that he could muster, he pushed himself up before allowing himself to be sunken into the shadows behind him.

“It’s over, isn’t it?,” Trevor’s voice surprised the two, as the shadow assassin appeared beside Chara from a puff of purplish smoke that suddenly formed out of nowhere. He coughed once again, spraying blood at the wooden floor of the old cabin before collapsing to his knees. “I hate to say this ladies, but this time…I’m at your mercy,” he breathed, barely holding his body on all four. He couldn’t at least lose consciousness, but not to be a burden against his companions at that time, wasn’t a promise he knew he could fulfill.

 

[Fennec Shand]

When Fennec had been a young girl, she had been afraid of a monster under her bed.

A memory flooded back. She could almost see the scene before her eyes; two rows of thin, wobbly cots spread out in front of her, stuffed to the brim with poor, tired children. Some huddled beneath blankets, some snuggled for warmth. Cevanti’s winters were unkind to begin with, but within the drafty corridors of the place these children called home they were especially frosty. Every child was wrapped in a blanket save the slight, spitfire girl who owned the final cot in the column.

She saw herself, not more than nine years old, sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. With her trained hunter’s eyes, she could see goosebumps forming on young Fennec’s neck, but the small girl didn’t betray her own weakness. She was cold, but she would look warm before the other children. Her bed had been stripped of all its implements, her blankets and sheets now wrapped around other children who’d won them against her in a game of pazaak.

“Fenn,” the boy sitting on the floor with her said, “I’m not letting you wager your pillow.”

“Shut up and play,” Fennec snarked, sliding her finger on the edge of the cards.

The boy frowned, tossing his cards to the floor. “No,” he replied, almost sternly, though Fennec was sure he couldn’t have been more than two years her senior, “I’m not letting you gamble away the last comforting thing you have.”

“I don’t need it,” the girl shrugged. “If I can’t hack it, you deserve to take it.”

The boy glanced over at the others.

“Here, fine, I’ll humor your pity,” she cracked. “Either you win my pillow… or I win everyone’s pillows.”

Protests erupted from the kids around her, each shouting that they weren’t going to risk losing their pillow on blind faith that this guy could win won more game of pazaak. Fennec’s opponent turned his attention to them, slowly convincing them that the bet would be an easy win. She’d been bad at this game the whole time. She’d lost so many hands. She’d certainly lose again, and they’d all be safe and comfortable and she’d go without.

Young Fennec’s eyes drifted to the boy’s abandoned cards as he talked. She glanced up.

Was anyone watching her?

The feeling of eyes all around her suddenly turned into a very real sensation of something wrapping tightly around her ankle. She yelped, looking down to see a corrupted tentacle had erupted from the ground of Cevanti’s forests and now tried to yank her down. She bolted forward, using all her strength to rip her leg free of the unmaking’s hold and start to sprint.

The quest items clinked in her bag. How far was the safehouse, now? Could she make it? If she could even make it out of this square…

The unmaking erupted from the forest around her in full force. She’d never seen it so close up, writhing tentacles and screeching, howling parademons bursting from the shadows and swiping at her. She lifted the Electro Axe up and swung it toward one of the big big creature’s faces, barely clipping his nose. A tentacle lunged out from a nearby rockface and wrapped around her wrist, lifting her into the air and tossing her several feet towards the edge of the square.

She slammed onto the ground, the Electro Axe spinning away from her grasp. She reached for it, stretching as far as she could, when she felt the heavy impact of the parademon’s talon-like foot stomp onto her back. She creaked, but didn’t break; the lieutenant for the Fallen Arbiter spared her for the moment for reasons she didn’t understand.

Corrupted goo began to squelch out of the ground around her arm, creeping up and wrapping around her extension, holding her in place. She could feel the stuff burning into her skin, through her leather gloves and coat. The corruption reached out and wrapped around the Electro Axe, grafting it to her right arm almost as if the blade itself was her hand.

She flipped around, staring the bug eyed creature in its ugly face. It crouched down, bring its sliced and diced nose inches from Fennec’s own.

The parademon didn’t speak, but she heard a voice nevertheless.

Serve.

She pressed her lips together in the tightest of scowls, her brow furrowing and her other hand reaching for the hilt of her machete.

“Hey!” she called through gritted teeth.

“Fuck . Off.”

She flung the machete out of its sheath, lifting it up and slamming it into the side of the parademon’s neck. It sunk in — deep — and gross, unmade blood oozed out of the wound. The creature simply cocked its head to the side, and as it hung there a little more limp, Fennec could feel her frustration rising as it remained clearly very much alive.

Unmade goop burst from the ground around her once again, this time crusting over her chest and other arm. It only took a matter of seconds for the machete and her left arm to become one as well. She screamed I’m response — but the demon couldn’t tell if it was out of pain or fury.

Do not resist, the voice of Darkseid — or, at least, one of his harbingers — echoed throughout her brain.

She could feel her face scrunching up more and more with unbridled anger. Did this motherfucker not know what ‘fuck off’ meant?!

She spit in the parademon’s face, and surprisingly enough, that took the monster aback enough for him to step off of her. She somersaulted backwards, scrambling on her feet and struggling yo drag her now elongated, metal-augmented arms with her as she sprinted towards safety.

She could picture the map in her mind. The edge of the square wasn’t far.

If she could just make it there.

If she could just push across the line…

Her foot caught on a slightly upraised root. She tripped, soaring fully off the ground and going prone in the air. A tentacle snaked out of the darkness, wrapping around her waist. It slithered to the power drill hanging off her belt and lifted it up, hardening and creating something like a third arm out of her abdomen to wield the third implement of war.

Fennec spun in the air and lifted her machete arm, bringing it down on the tentacle. It shivered in pain, retreating back into shadow, as the segment around her waist holding the drill crusted over into that third limb.

She landed with a splat on the ground, but her new trio of unmade limbs pushed her up quickly. She limped forward, her hip and arm still very much broken, and crossed into safety.

She spun around, falling on her ass and watching as the parademon perched on a tree branch just a few meters away from the edge of the square. Why didn’t it pursue? Why did it just watch and wait?

The trickling feeling of something beginning to spread along her spine gave her the answer, almost whispered it to her. She took several deep breaths, each one more shallow than the last, and slowly lifted the blade of the machete to her throat. She wasn’t going to work for this motherfucker.

He simply wasn’t paying enough.

Not an option.

Her arm flung outward against her will, and she felt the will of the Fallen Arbiter begin to creep into her skull.

“Not. An. Option,” a voice called out, reaching out from under the bed and pulling young Fennec forcefully away from her opponent’s cards. A young girl barrel rolled out from under the bed and glared at the nine year old as she shrieked almost in terror.

When she’d calmed, she glanced up at the other orphan. The girl raised an eyebrow, averting her gaze to her opponent’s cards. Suddenly, the young girl felt shame washing over her, suddenly guilty over the cheating she’d been about to engage in. Could she even win the game the right way anymore? Or had she been playing underhandedly so long that the wrong way was now the only way?

“I thought you were a monster,” Fennec growled.

“You can only be scared of monsters if you don’t live long enough to become one, Fennec.”

 

[Rogue]

Mah legs buckled underneath me an mah vision started to blur with tears. Ah was alive, but all the others… but Aster… Ah crawled about in the wreckage of the kitchen, scattering splinters of wood with a frantic urgency. It didn’t matter if ah sliced up my hands or put new holes in my gloves, ah couldn’t hurt her any more than ah already had. There! Ah could see a tuft of gray fur, matted with mud or blood or something, but unmistakable, poking out from under a pile of destruction. Ah scrabbled my way over on all fours. That was her, that was her! Ah shouldered aside a chunk of rock and desperately shoved a broken half of a door off of the blood-soaked body. Clutching her bandaged head tight, ah sat there bawlin’ mah eyes out.

She was just a store clerk, not a warrior, not a madman. She’d regretted joining the Abyss pretty much from the first day she’d been here. She felt like she wasn’t contributing to our team, like she was holding me back. And now, she’d gone an’ saved me when all o’ my powers an’ tricks an’ schemes couldn’t do a thing ta help us! Ah came out here ta make sure ah could handle anything the crossroads threw my way, that ah was strong enough to face everythin’ on my own. Then ah go and find someone who doesn’t mind me, someone who likes me bein’ around, an’ what happens? Ah can’t even keep them safe, they have ta save me!

“What kinda fool hero do you think you are?” Ah sobbed, rocking back and forth, “We were supposed to be the ones bein’ smart about this whole thing!”

Ah didn’t move until Karl Jak’s stupid voice came through on our collars. He was prattlin’ something ah didn’t even pretend to be listening to. She was dead! Why was he still yammerin’ at her like his stupid game was important ta her? Ah closed my hand around the speaker on Aster’s collar, wantin' to crush the stupid thing so it’d at least leave her some peace. My hand couldn’t even dent it. All that strength, gone just as quickly.

Too slow to save anyone but me, and too brief to help anyone else now. What a waste.

Slowly, gingerly, ah struggled onto my feet, craddlin’ Aster’s body in mah arms. Ah wasn’t gonna leave her here. In this damn, cursed place. Staggerin’ out of the wreckage, ah set her down on a patch of soft grass as gently as ah could manage. Nah a small part of me wanted ta be away from the place right then an’ there. But there was somethin’ ah needed to find first. There’d be one here somewhere.

With that decision made ah started to comb the ruins of the campsite. We’d destroyed near half the place during the fight, shards of cabinwood and sheets of metal littered the ground at strange angles. Ah found that sunnuva-gun's blade was wedged into a door frame. It came free when ah pulled, and on a sudden impulse ah almost threw the damn thing into the lake. Ah froze mid-pitch at the sound of something moving nearby.

Ah almost hoped that it was Jason. That he’d somehow shrugged off me blowin’ him in half. Then ah could say that it wouldn’t have mattered an’ ah could die like the rest o’ them. Instead ah found just another body. Poor Chara, slumped in some brush, her pretty face a mangled mess o’ blood. Ah went to grab her too, then flinched as she moved again. Stars above, the girl wasn’t dead yet!

“D-don’t you move a muscle, Sugah! Just lie still a moment. Ah got you!” Ah spoke as urgently as ah could, trying to figure out how well ah could move her without makin’ things worse. She was breathin’ real shallowly through that mess of a jaw. That was somethin’ ah couldn’t fix here. Ah needed to get her to the bunker or somethin’... Ah glanced at mah hands, all torn up an’ exposin’ skin. Carryin’ her’d be no good, ah’d absorb what little life she’d got left.

Eventually ah balled up mah hands in what remained o’ my cloak, then cradled Chara’s head as ah dragged her onto one of the larger pieces of sheetmetal. Ah spent far too long nah even knowin’ what to do for her injuries, eventually decidin’ to try an’ clean some of the worst bits o’ the blood with my last water bottle and wrap her head in the remainin’ cloth o’ the cloak. Slowly, so slowly, ah pulled it tight, tryin’ to keep that jaw of hers from movin’ as much as possible. Ah dragged her makeshift sled back as gently as ah could, settin’ her down near Aster.

Mah knees were startin’ to wobble fiercely now. The adrenaline of fightin’ for my life was turnin’ into exhaustion an’ reality at the events that had just happened. Ah wanted to throw up, wanted to fall over an’ bash mah head on a rock, somethin’. But ah couldn’t. Ah wasn’t done yet. Ah still needed to find somethin’.

Mah last trip was slower by far. Ah didn’t find Trevor, or even what was left o’ the monster’s body for that matter, but ah was gettin’ too tired to keep lookin’. When ah returned to Aster’s body ah brought two more things. That poor lady’s body, and a shovel. Things were, unsurprisingly, the same. Aster was still dead an’ gone, her furred form curled up in the grass where ah’d left her. Chara wasn’t movin’, but she’d opened one o’ her eyes, so that was somethin’ ah supposed.

“Ah’d really urge ya not ta move, darlin’.” Ah said exhaustedly, crouching next ta her, “Ah did the best ah knew how, but you weren’t in the heartiest of shapes before this nightmare, and ah am not gonna lose you here too.”

Chara’s eye locked onto mine, holding it with a firm gaze, a… cohesion ah didn’t have right now.

“Not right now…” Ah mumbled, getting up and walking towards an’ edge of the lack with a slightly higher banked hill. The shovel bit into the soil as ah set to work, heavin’ dirt over my shoulder like it’d do somethin’ to make things better. The tears comin’ back with a vengeance before ah was even halfway done the first one.

You never forget the first grave you dig.

Make sure it is one you can live with remembering.

 

[Ketkin Flynn]

Freedom.



A funny thing freedom. Ket thought he was familiar with it. He walked, talked, and worked with purpose his whole life. He had goals and he achieved them. He learned about things and he studied them. He gained skills and he mastered them.



He doesn’t remember any of that now, and he’s madly in love with it. Or maybe he’s just gone mad. Ever since the third consecutive marring of his face he’s been skipping through the ruins of cevanti with wonder and curiosity that he hasn’t felt in 30 years. He’s been chopping up mechadicks and robofreaks into e-chum with truly unprofessional brutality, and putting said e-chum to good use. He was now “armed” with gauntlets that had EGT (extending grabby thingy) technology. Manual controls unfortunately, but still great for reaching tall fruit and sweet robot parts. The rest of that brat’s rations were buried under a horde of clinking treasure. Clinking treasure with a violent future. He also found time to rest and fashioned a pneumatic stabilizing brace for his leg. It was a little too bulky to sprint with, but he barely noticed the pain anymore. His face was a different story.



The weapons in this game aren’t designed to kill. They’re designed to hurt. It may have been different had he not been recently pierced multiple times and electrocuted, but he’s been seeing red ever since he was almost executed by a magic fucking gun. He can still feel the heat of that blast. He can still see see the flames licking Nico’s shoulder, actively hungry for the rest of his skin. But the thing that haunts him the most is that clown cackling. This whole thing is a joke. And if he dies here then that just makes this the punchline of his life.



“Don’t you get it Wilson? The purpose is what was holding me back. I have transcended. I’m reaching for the stars and if I catch one? I’m gonna eat it. Star Eater they’ll call me. You’ll call me that won’t you Wilson…?” Star Eater prattled on as he rummaged through some dirty mining equipment at the top of a quarry. Wilson sat on his bag nearby watching him diligently. He was deep inside some weird mine cart. It didn’t exactly have wheels but it was (theoreticeally) parked right next to a very steep decline. The teddy bear was instructed to warn Star Eater if the cart started moving as he haphazardly threw tools and scrap metal around and out.



“…and that’s why I need to kill him the most Wilson. He’s the only one who knew me befo- AHA.” The aquanaut popped out of the cart fist first. And that fist stayed in the air until the bear had gotten a chance to really soak it in. He slowly lowered the curved metal object down to his other wrist, where he anticlimactically fumbled for a minute or two fastening it to the gauntlet. “Finally the other one is complete. A good grabber needs three fingers. Three and three is the way to be. Grab anything in the great blue sea.” He mumbled



Star Eater then throws both arms high in the air, flicking his wrists to activate the EGT controls. They resembled motorcycle handles but with a few extra buttons. The lightweight but fairly sturdy grabbers slowly extended a foot and a half past his wrist as he twisted the controls forward. Closing and opening as they went. He thought to himself that Wilson would be more impressed if they flicked out, but certain prizes require a delicate touch. Star Eater shrieked with laughter. “Witness Wilson, for I am approximately 18 inches closer to being a god.”



Wilson stares at his friend with great concern. You get the sense he’s been listening to this for a while. The old man’s eyes were wide and full of murder. His smile was intense and uneven. the intensity of his elation had begun to crack the various burns and holes and they bled down his cheek. His smile only grew as he felt the rumbling of a pack of…something through the trees.



“Well it seems we’ve overstayed our welcome.” He says, igniting his blade.



He leaps high out of the cart. Waving to Wilson as he arcs over him and lands in between his dear friend and the increasingly ominous tree line. It was graceful, as if the winds had gently picked him up and set him down. The dust beneath his feet was barely disturbed.



Three cyber stags burst into the clearing. They were beefier than their agility should allow, and they boasted wickedly sharp horns. They seemed hand crafted to do the most damage possible on entry and exit. Star eater pulled a hastily thrown together fob out of his pocket and clicked it. A bunch of electronic firecrackers go off in a random order beneath the deers feet, giving him just enough time to close the distance.



Once again lifting on the ground with little to know effort he twisted his body and did a full three sixty degree rotation in the air to build momentum. Then he extended his injured but metal encased leg right before colliding with the deer, knocking it clean over in one swipe. He keeps spinning as he lands, kicking up a cloud of dirt as the other beasts rear up. All they see before the dust settles is a red blade ignite downward. And then there were two.



Leaping one final time, Star Eater allows the deer to charge into each other from either side of him. The moment their horns connect gravity yanks him back down blade first. The metal horns clatter to the ground as one reflexively swings its head around, sending him flying with the wind knocked out of him.



He scrambled to his feet. He was grinning wider than ever. The blood collected at his jawline and dripped off his chin at an eerily consistent rate as he made a dash perpendicular to them, being sure to jump over a particular patch of grass. He counts to three and turns back to face them. Right on queue they break the trip wire, releasing some weird giant mantis claw he found. It burst forth from its hiding place and 8 snapping sounds later the flailing bodies slide toward Star Eater. Endorphins race through his body and he breathes a deep sigh of relief as his blade sinks through the skull of his final enemy.



“Don’t bother congratulating me Wilson I know that I just scrubbed some serious barnacle but I can’t hear for shit.”

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

My eyes snapped back to focus in hell, as Rogue looked me straight in the eyes. Jason had failed to finish the job…

My eyes glanced over to where I had last seen him, noticing a pair of smoking legs… It was a shame I had missed whatever happened. I would have quite enjoyed watching the inhuman killer’s last moments…

Not thoughts I normally had. Lilith would be proud. But more important was rogue, as her eyes locked with mine.

It did not take long to see it, the surprise, the relief, then the onset of grief. Rogue, to her credit, was an open book, and wore those emotions on her face. She had not expected me to survive… but I was not the only corpse.

“Not right now.” Rogue mumbled, and the emotion in that…

The realisation struggled to form, as the darkness overcame me, and I blinked for…

Judging by the change in brightness when I next awoke in the misty clouds overhead, at least a good hour.

Rogue had been crying. I had been bleeding. Her condition was better or… worse. I could see the stress and dirt from the tool she’d been using on her hands, the strain she was having from walking, and I could smell the freshly dug earth she’d moved in the rain. A shovel. Most damningly…

That light that had sparked so brightly in her eyes the first time we met had dimmed. I had failed, after all.

“Aaa…”

Ah, right. Broken Jaw. How painfully silly of me, as a shiver of pain went through me and I gripped onto the cloak.

“Sugah, y’all need to keep that shut. I know it’s a little… rough for ya.” Rogue replied, and I quirked my head to the side at her. It was unfortunate I had to suppress my laughter if I wanted to survive this little injury. It… would have masked the pain. The humor still seemed to glitter through my eyes, as Rogue quirked her nose at me with the ghost of a smile, and for a second we could look at eachother, fellow survivors, and feel like everything was alright.

Then darkness took Rogue’s face, and I remembered where we were. I forced myself to my feet on unsteady arms, ignoring the pain that came with moving, with getting up, with every little jiggle that my jaw took.

‘I just have to endure a little longer. Stay determined.’ I lied to myself.

A thought came to my mind, as I pushed myself up onto my legs. Rogue was saying something, but I couldn’t quite process it as my brain whirred. Shinku. Trevor. Whoever he was… wherever was he?

And then the nausea hit me, and the World turned sideways as I fell from my feet. The expected thud - and fade to black - was cut off by soft hands covered in a loose blanket.

“Chara, fer god’s sakes slow down fer a second and get back on that sled miss! You. need. To. recover.” Rogue snapped.

My eyes widened. I hadn’t heard that tone from her before. It reminded me of…

Chara Jennifer Dreemurr, you sit right back down this instant!
…it took me a moment to realise my shoulders had slacked, almost on instinct, as Rogue lowered me into the sled. As my saviour looked at me with eyes between rage and tears, I had to admit the view was nice, at least. I’d never been cried for by a beauty like that, even if I wished I could take it back.

“When you’re back on yer feet, you can go do your solo routine, but until’en, I am takin’ charge, ya hear?”

I understood her point, but worry came through me still. There was much to do, and not much time. We still needed to locate Shinku, and I… needed a way to communicate. I gave a short nod, but also turned my eyes to the side, trying to communicate…

“Oh fer… Fine! Point me where we gotta go!” Rogue snapped.

I gave the closest thing to a smile I could still form.

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

It didn’t take long for me to direct Rogue where we needed to be, where I had to switch between being sledded around, to piggy-backed when we found enough burlap. It was a camp, luckily, and as I had invaded the main building earlier, I had noticed a few minor details - disinfectant alcohol, some extra canvas, and most importantly, some writing utensils.

40-year old pencils and yellowed paper - useful enough for communication, I supposed. My last precious lines of communication for now, as I finally found the strength to stagger back onto my feet.

thank you. had been my first note.

Trevor? had been my second.

you know, the tattooed guy had been my third, and my, would it have been easier if we had properly introduced ourselves before this had happened. Luckily, he found us just as we had assembled to…

Well, tie what we could together.

I helped Rogue by finding the dead wood and rope, and she put to work actually cobbling it together. Eventually we had a small, clunky, wooden gravestone, with ‘Aster’ written in black marrker, And Rogue, shinku and I stood in front of it. I had considered doing the same for Christine, but…

Honestly, her death - the first blow against Jason, her resting place against the chair, and the resulting cabin detonation… it was fierce, lethal, and the final resting place she chose, so I thought it perfectly hallowed ground as is.

Instead, I sat quietly with my new mask, black fabric covering my mouth and keeping everything a bit more secure. It also made it a bit easier for rogue to touch and check on things in the facial region without having to worry about accidentally killing me.

I walked forward and left a flower next to the grave, Rogue went next, and shinku was the final, as we left a trio of white lilites for her. Still, after a couple more minutes of respect and crying, it was time to go, and I wrote as such on my notepad.

“...Oh, so it’s time to go now that you say it is?” Rogue snapped.

I turned to her and blinked, giving her a disparaging glance. This was not the time to get caught in some stupid argument… by the Angel, how was I supposed to defuse this ticking time bomb of a girl? I

“Ya know, like how you said to come to crystal lake. Like how you brought everyone here. Like how ya got Aster Killed for a goddamned machete!” Rogue spat, looking me straight in the eyes.

I tried to meet her eyes, but I couldn’t. She was right, and as my gaze turned to the side, I couldn’t do much except take my old graphite pencil and hastily scrawl something on the notepad.

‘Your right. Im sorry.’

Rogue’s anger didn’t stop her from reading the little note, but it seemed to reach a crescendo.

“You’re sorry, huh, little miss perfect? That ain’t what ah’ve come to get outta ya!” Rogue added, and a desperate laugh echoed from her lungs.

“I mean, go on. Go lecture me. I dug my first grave. It was my first friend. An’ ya get to sit there, and know ya were absolutely right! Tell me! Tell me ah was a cocky bitch who just waltz’ed in not knowin’ what I was doin’, an’ played the part of the fool. Tell me I made this happen! Tell me-”

I didn’t. I dropped the notebook. I dropped the machete to embed in the ground. I took my mittened hands and I wrapped them around her waist, close as I could, keeping my hoodie between me and skin contact. I hugged her as hard as I could, because it’s all there was left in me to give Rogue, and she wept on my shoulder as I held on.

 

[Josuke Higashikata]

The cursed words that Nearl spat out echo mentally throughout Josuke's mind, which starts to haunt him. Reacting to the unmaking process that happens before him, sending the pompadour teenage boy into denial, thinking there can be a way to reverse this corruption. Could Crazy Diamond's restoration fix this horror that's ready to unfold? Sadly, the collar wrapped around his neck reminds him of the unfair technology that seals Crazy Diamond's true potential of healing power. Outside of that, could he fix the unmaking?

"There needs to be a way to stop this! I'm not leaving you behind. I never leave my friends behind!" Josuke courageously stands tall, trying to gather his emotions in check, but the sheer thought of losing a new colleague from a new friendship fills him with tears. He tries to hold back the floodgates of tears, but two tears roll down his cheeks.

"Josuke! Listen to my warnings! I don't know how much more I can hol-" Margaret's words get suddenly cut by her screaming in immense pain, making her fall to the ground and pounding her fist violently into the dirt.

Her darkened aura grows wildly while the eyes begin to glow even brighter, going away from their usual golden color. A scowl appears on the equine blonde knight's face, an unusual attitude she usually doesn't carry. "RuN, JOsUkE wHILE yOU HaVE A ChAnCE!"

Those words, the tone in her voice that once sounded peaceful, echo again within Josuke. Still, Josuke has confidence remaining and attempts to keep his fear at bay. With her head hanging low in defeat, she unexpectedly feels the stand user's touch, striving to get Nearl back on her feet while wrapping her arm on his shoulder. "Like, I said, I'll stand up for my friends. No matter what threat lies ahead of me."

Josuke's heroic act for the moment gives Margaret a little aid in her search for more power to bolden the light and keep the unmaking at bay. Soon enough, the wilderness around them starts to decay into the unmade. The night is upon them, and by how fast everything is unmaking, it seems to be the best time to find a safe position. He carries Nearl quickly to get away from even more corruption that's following them. Grumbling in madness is all Josuke can hear coming from his fallen friend, still clinging to hope that there might be a way to end this decaying.

An unmade tendril sprouts out from the ground and reaches out for them to drag them into the darkening corruption that craves for more lives to be unmade. Before it tries to grab Josuke's leg, the tendril wasn't fast enough to evade his stand power. "Crazy Diamond!"

A purplish aura surrounds Josuke, outshining the unmade soot that seeps off Margaret. Her eyes look up to become aware of what power her once comrade summoned.

"DORA!"

The desperate pompadour boy reveals his unique stand, making it send a punch to the tendril that dared to grab him. It gets reflected and retracts to where the land remains unmade, disappearing into the darkness. Finally, they retreated to a new patch of forest that appeared more natural than the land Josuke left behind. After attempting to run while carrying an alive body with him, he gently sets Margaret on the ground next to a big rock. Her back leans against it, and she remains squirming in pain due to the unmaking process.

Each minute that passes, Nearl's corruption grows stronger.

Slowly watching his friend becoming unmade creates a great sadness within him and makes Josuke comes to terms with how bad things have gotten. He looks away from the corrupted blonde woman who nearly desires to lash out and kill him, similar to becoming a mad dog—hanging his head down a little low with overcoming sorrow. Not sure if he can put himself through putting Nearl down when precious time becomes no more.

 

[Anders Nazret]

Anders idly turned the pistol over in his lap. While firearms were not unfamiliar to him, they were certainly not preferred. Compared to a sword and proper magic they were unreliable things of mass-produced steel. They had started a campfire, despite his instincts advising him against it. The cool night air stung against his burnt and exposed flesh and Demetri seemed too unstable to properly handle true dark. So Anders sat silently, weapon in hand, ready to strike at anyone (or anything) that may happen upon them.

Across the fire Demetri shifted uncomfortably. Anders recognized the man’s labored wheezing as a surefire sign of lung damage. Without medical intervention his life could easily be measured in days… of course the same could be said for every participant. Anders adjusted his position and cringed as he felt scabbed over wounds crinkle as they split open. That damn cockamamie weapon Karl had given him had become a curse. Now every slight movement threatened to send him to his knees in pain. His skin felt like it was pulled entirely too tight across his body. Blood weeped from his wounds and chilled him as it scabbed over. But compared to his friend he had gotten off light.

“You understand why I’ve come here, yes?” Anders asked, hoping to draw their minds from such unpleasant sensations.

Demetri was staring off at a distant treeline, and when Anders turned to see what he was staring at the thief spoke, “It was nothing…” He sucked in a wet breath and added, “But yes, I know why you are here, Anders.”

“Of course you do, I’ve not been shy when it comes to my motivations,” Anders continued, “What perplexes me is your involvement… I was under the impression you were the cloak and daggers type and wouldn’t take on such an unfair contest as this one.”

“Perhaps… I just like the excitement?” He answered.

Anders nodded, “It is a very real possibility that we both are only hours from death, surely there’s no harm in being honest with the man who is bleeding out alongside you. There are plenty of less uncertain avenues for excitement… why choose this one?”

Demetri nodded his head, staying silent for a few moments before speaking. “I suppose you could say that I needed to make a bit of an announcement. I had a brush with death some time ago, and many thought me to be dead or imprisoned. Now that I have a handle on myself again, I figured I’d show up those that underestimated how much I could endure.” He bit his lip a bit as he seemed to glance at the darkness beside them. “Seems it has its own consequences as well. Haven’t felt this paranoid in a long time.”

“Indeed, I’ll admit that this place has a certain way of getting to you,” Anders admitted, his own dream resurfacing in his mind, “A healthy amount of paranoia is good for you, but I can’t shake the feeling that there is more here at play than we are privy to.”

“That much is clear, “ his eyes strayed for a moment before focusing back on Anders. “I’ll admit as well that I was not giving this game full sincerity until the roll of the die decided that it was our turn to be pummeled. I used to actually read some tarot back on Erde Nona, set up a small shop when I was younger. Pilfered their pockets while I read their fortunes.” He paused for a moment and smiled at the memory. “There has always been mysticism in it, whether or not I had other plans alongside it. Speaking of…” he gave a soft chuckle as he pulled out the cards and began to shuffle. “Perhaps I could at least entertain you some while we sit here with our bodies burning in the darkness?”

Anders chuckled, and immediately regretted it. He took in a sharp breath before saying, “Very well, how does this work?”

Demetri shifted in his seat, pressing against his chest a bit to get comfortable. “It’s simple really, just ask the cards for advice with something, anything, though it helps to be specific with the issue. They can be bratty otherwise.” He mumbled the last words a bit, remembering his first drawing when he had ventured alone.

Anders smirked, what remained of his singed mustache adding a sharp line to his face. There was no true magic in what he intended to do. Proper divination required much more than a set of cards. But, Anders relented, perhaps a bit of superstition would put his mind at ease. He asked, “Okay, then I joined this bloodsport in hopes of shedding light upon the False King’s deception. What course of action should I follow in pursuit of that goal?… Will that be sufficient?”

“More than plenty,” Demetri answered as he finished his shuffle and drew the first card. He revealed the card to Anders for but a moment before it vanished in a puff of smoke. Around them seven softly glowing pentacles floated in the air, hovering ever so lightly above the ground. Demetri explained, “Seven of Pentacles. You have been investing in a long term plan. You wish to reap the benefits of your preparation, harvesting the seeds that you have personally sown.”

Anders shifted in his seat. These parlor tricks of Demetri’s were barely tolerable. Illusion magic was a proud and respectable discipline. Were it not for the reverence that his ally displayed for such a practice, Anders would have snuffed out his magical potential without a second thought. Beyond this initial discomfort Anders pondered Demetri’s words. Naturally he wished to see his efforts come to fruition, but he knew that his drudgery was not yet done.

Demetri followed up by pulling a card out of the air, promptly showing it before letting it drop down into a man hanging upside down in some sort of meditation. “The Hanged Man. A challenge will rise that will force you to explore a new opportunity, at the risk of setting your grand vision on hold for just a moment.”

Whatever “challenge” that decided to crop up would be dealt with just as all the others. Every step forward was another step towards the razing of Arcadia, and no matter how circuitous that journey was Anders would see every last inch of it. Ander said after a moment of contemplation, “Well? And the final card?”

The thief pulled the man back up like a yo-yo and then quickly dotted the air with ten sticks, before summoning a small figure to give them all to. “Ten of Pentacles. The burden upon your shoulders is heavy, and you do not need to feel shame sharing that burden with others, or else you may collapse under its weight.” The figure stumbled and struggled with the load he was given.

At this Anders was given pause. Of course his burden was heavy, almost suffocatingly so, but it was his burden to bear. It was not some extra weight that he could simply shed and give to another for safekeeping. Bah, what sort of fool would place his trust in such superstition? His strength was sufficient to see the task through, and listening to the babbling rambles of a half-dead man would do little other than distract him.

“You seem… unimpressed,” Demetri noted.

“I’m tired,” He lied, “Thank you for the reading… It was enlightening.”

“You are welcome.” Demetri answered.

Anders sighed. As the thoughts percolated deeper in his brain he had to admit that this whole ordeal would have been much easier had he not spent the first few days alone. The mere distraction provided by conversation was enough to ease his mind, if only until his burnt skin reminded him of its existence. Without a word he kicked some dirt into the fire, causing it to burn down to embers.

“You should rest,” He finally said, “Tomorrow will be arduous… I’ll keep watch.”

“And what of you?” Demetri countered.

“I expect you to take second watch,” He explained, “I’ll rouse you when the time comes.”

He did not intend to rouse Demetri for his shift. Instead he figured the man could use the rest. He was clearly suffering the most between them. If asked Anders would justify it as a pragmatic choice, a sort of triage with the intent to assist the most injured party. The truth? Well, as much as Anders would be loathed to admit he had grown a soft spot in his heart for the rogue. Plus, there was the matter of the reading. Anders knew he did not accept payment, but it felt in bad taste to get without giving. A restful night’s sleep would be the best gift Anders could provide.

 

[Nearl]

The radiant knight was doing everything in her blood-lusting power to not attempt to end Josuke's life. This feeling was practically impossible to contain, and the more time she spent around her new friend she could only hear one thing in her mind: End him.

"Your compassion is strong, Josuke, worthy of a knight." Nearl would cough through the unmaking process slowly eating at her, blood boiling in her veins.

"Right, yeah all that. Don't worry though, we can do something about this. I refuse to leave you-" A fist would interrupt the boy as he continued to adhere to his hard headed ideals.

"However, as a knight myself, I have failed at protecting myself. If I cannot protect myself, how can I expect to keep those around me safe. I swore an oath to protect the innocent from harm by any means necessary. This time, I will be nothing but harm. You must continue to live. I will fight this corruption and we will meet again." The golden wings she could summon once before would appear behind her back again, wildly morphing into a grotesque, twisted black version of themselves. "I still have my wits and I can resist. What I need from you is to not get caught in my influence and suffer the same fate."

Another wail of pain would come from her as her eye color shifted to that red glow flickering in and out. "TheY'Re cOmiNG foR yOU! ThEy wAnT me TO kilL yoU! AS lOnG As yoU aRe heRE tHEy WonT sTOP." Turning her back to him, she would try to get these impulsive thoughts out of her head and calm down. "Go for the safe house - NOW."

"Wait Nearl! I told you we're getting through this together! I don't want to leave you behind." Blackened wings fluttered as Nearl readied to make distance between them.

"Leaving me behind would imply that I am destined to die. It's a good thing that I don't believe in destiny." Margaret would flash a grin at him. "Walk in the light, Josuke. Fear neither darkness nor hardship."

And with that final line, the pegasean knight would leap past the rocks and rubble taking difficult to reach areas for Josuke to follow her. If this disease continued, she would surely turn on him and she did not want that blood on her hands.

 

[Ganondorf]

Two people now. Two people who he had allied with, when he had them dead to rights at the end of his magic fire stick. But killing someone who threw their hands up in the air… regardless of what the Elder Spirits wanted of him, Kolith wouldn’t do that. Even with his oozing chest wound and his blind eye, he couldn’t betray that part of his soul.

Yet the lesson had already seeped into him. In any battle, he would certainly kill if it was required. Going blind in one eye and having incessant torso pain had a way of solidifying his resolve.

Besides, look at the newcomer! Another scrawny, underfed child throwing his life away. Kolith didn’t kill children. If he could help it.

Plus, his wounds left him exposed in a fight. Having lost Christine and with no attachments to the child goblin, it made sense for Kolith to make his own way, but he had seen the competition. Even if this stick in a cloak only provided a distraction, it gave him that advantage.

And if he turned on him, Kolith would snap his neck like a twig.

The two unlikely comrades traipsed through the forestry. Kolith was hyper focused on his senses, listening for any sound out of the ordinary and taking long stares at the scenery to detect movement. So many battles had begun with a hitherto unknown assailant materialising from the jungle. With his wounds, he had to be sure he would strike first in such a situation.

The temporary ally, Sigmund, made that task much more difficult than it had to be. The silence Kolith required often vanished as another topic entered the cloaked boy’s head and left his mouth.

“Are you doing OK?” Sigmund asked, pointing at the conspicuous line running over Kolith’s left eye and down into his bandaged torso. “It looks like you’re bleeding.”

“I’m not the one missing half a foot,” Kolith said.

Sigmund looked down. “Oh, that! I barely notice it.”

Kolith glanced at Sigmund and returned his vision to their environment. “It’s fine. I’m still breathing. The Elder Spirits give me strength.”

That statement gave Sigmund pause. “Elder Spirits? Like gods?”

“No,” Kolith said. “They are the spirits of the great Elder Beasts. They are powerful, but I don’t think they can be called gods.”

Sigmund seemed pleased by that answer.

A silver flash caught Kolith’s eye. Immediately he summoned Narri, his arms emblazoned with bluish-white stripes, as he pounced on the movement, clawed spirit paws overlapping his hands. Kolith struck without hesitation.

He pulled back. A motionless metal bird with deep gashes in its body sprawled out on the ground, sparks weakly trickling from its fatal wounds.

The otherworldly aesthetics dissolved from Kolith’s body as the Elder Tiger Spirit’s powers receded.

Sigmund walked over to inspect Kolith’s handiwork. “Did that thing disrespect one of your beast spirits or something?”

Kolith grunted. “Keep your senses honed, kid. That could have easily been an ambush.”

Unperturbed by the Elder Spirit Vessel’s gruff admonishment, Sigmund smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’d hate to lose the other foot.”

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#01 Slurt Crumbucket & #11 Riddick vs #17 Nearl & #22 Fennec Shand​

Riddick glanced at the surface of the device. This was the spot. He had no doubts.

Stealing a gaze over his shoulder, he motioned for Slurt to lay low. A few miles back, he had stressed to the little fellow the importance of hiding when the situation went south, and with the little pin on the map nearly on top of them, the bounty hunter knew that they were nearing that moment.

Slurt slipped backward a few steps and found his way beneath a particularly dense shrub as Riddick, eyes on the tablet, paced his way toward a collapsed tree.

As Riddick breached the teeny clearing, he spotted the woman leaning heavily against a tree. Her lips were moving, but aside from a few erratic whispers, she didn’t seem to be talking to anyone other than herself. The man scowled as he drew the Shiv-Spork.

“You good, Lady?” he asked as he adjusted his stance moving forward to conceal the weapon. “I’m just here to take you back to the bunker.” He muttered, even as he saw the black miasma that steamed off of the woman’s body.

“I’m just … I’m just great,” Fennec Shand rasped as she lifted her red eyes and smiled at Riddick. “A lifetime of mileage,” she snapped her fingers. “Gone.”

Riddick scowled as he heard shuffling in the woods around him. Animals? Or something worse? He and the kid couldn’t be the only ones who knew their ticket off this rock was on this square.

“Hand the balls over,” Riddick replied, stepping forward and extending a hand. “I won’t ask again.”

At that, Fennec shoved off the drew and drew an axe twice the size of Slurt from behind her back. “No one’s leaving this place,” the female bounty hunter muttered as the axe started to shimmer with literal bolts of orange electricity. That small amount of light illuminating the ichor that was visibly churning through the woman’s veins.

“High on some of that forbidden shit,” Riddick muttered as he drew the Shiv-Spork.

“I have one of those two,” Fennec whispered as she drew a machete from her belt. “Also,” the woman shuddered as a tendril of seething corruption tore out from between her shoulder blades and fused into the power drill that hung from her waist. The handheld tool whirred to life as it danced in the air in front of a Fennec who smiled as corruption dribbled from her mouth.

Riddick didn’t waste anymore time. The bounty hunter sprung forward and dropped into a slid as the axe crackled through the air. The woman’s drill-tipped tentacle veered for his throat, prompting him to roll as it crashed down into the ground. He got to his feet and managed to stab her in the side with the Shiv-Sport before she could angle the machete against him.

An almost beastial hiss escaped Fennec’s maw as her drill-tendril angled for Riddick’s neck.

Wrenching his weapon free at an angle to try and put as much hurt as he could onto the now nearly slobbering woman, Riddick twisted to avoid the weaponized appendage. He sent the shiv cruising toward Fennec’s neck and was just about to relish her death when something heavy crushed into him.

Riddick felt the air driven from his lungs as Nearl stared down at him with some kind of weird, conflicting expression on her face.

“I can’t… I don’t think I can fight it any longer,” she whispered as her dug her fingertips into Riddick’s arms.

In another situation, the downed bounty hunter may have had something snappy or condescending, but he reacted by simply slamming his face right into Nearl’s jaw. Her grip relaxed enough for him to shrug her off. His eyes shot over to where Slurt was hiding, and the man tried to mouth a simple command: Run. His focus was then immediately torn back to the fallen knight, who jumped him with her bare hands.

On this occasion, Riddick—bloodied and haggard—had the upper hand, and after a few errant swings, he hooked the shiv into the woman’s shoulder joint. “Dumb mother fucker trying coming to a knife fight empty handed,” he wheezed as he twisted the shiv and grunted as the woman’s bone snapped out of the socket. A solid boot sent Nearl to the ground, but that was just one obstacle.

Fennec stepped passed the knight, and without hesitating, she tore off the limp, nearly severed arm and jammed it into her own side. Corruption bubbled up from the woman’s clothes as the extra limb twitched and flexed at the whim of its new owner.

Cursing beneath his breath, Riddick—eyes glued to the massive axe that was now being casually tossed between the woman’s original hands—waited for him moment and struck. Once more, he dipped the thundering swing of the axe, but his stabbing strike was a glancing blow that pulled him just a little too off balance. As he tried to pull back and adjust his positioning, the drill sank into his shoulder. Trying his hardest to shrug it off, he went for another stab, but a hand snatched his elbow. He looked back to see the fallen knight smiling at him.

The machete slammed hard into Riddick’s chest as the wind was once again driven from his lungs. A second later, he was pushed back and struck hard enough with the Electro Axe to propel him off his feet as the blackness momentarily embraced him.

After landing harshly in the foliage, Riddick grimaced as he turned to see the goblin child hadn’t left.

“I told you to run, Kid,” the man wheezed as blood sputtered and curtained down his chest from wounds so deep that they had exposed a few of his likely shattered ribs. “The true monsters are coming out of the dark,” he added as he pressed the lethal spork into Slurt’s hands.

“I got you, Mistaw Widdick,” Slurt muttered as he took off the little braclet and slipped it on to Riddick’s shattered leg.

“No, Kid,” Riddick sputtered as blood dribbled down his chin. The man tried to move, but everyone has their physical limits, even Richard B Riddick “Don’t you dare die for me, Kid. Don’t you di—”

There was a blinding flash of light that stole his vision, and when that cleared, Riddick found himself on a gurney in the infirmary on Dante’s Comet.

Spoiler

#11 Riddick SAVED​

Nearl has a missing arm that’ll be replaced by an unmade tendril (this does still count as uncurable Major Injury for damage tracking)
Fennec Shand has a deep gouge into the side of her chest (Minor Injury)

Nearl was pressured into 1 application of Focus

Slurt receives the Shiv-Spork
Slurt used Evacuation Bracelet on Riddick (who would have otherwise suffered a Mortal Injury from this encounter)

Riddick is returned to Dante’s Comet, where after receiving extensive medical attention (for free, naturally), he may leave or remain to spectate (I haven’t got around to doing these updates, but he’ll have a briefcase with his Coin prize lying next to him, along with --f you would like [you can opt not to use this if you have a different post-DA storyline in mind] a note from Karl Jak implying that the CEO had to 'Make a tragic announcement, especially to the folks over there by Inverxe, that Richard B Riddick sadly died on the operating table')

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#28 Ketkin Flynn vs #15 Josuke​

“Where are you?” Josuke shouted as he scrambled up another small embankment and scanned the night sky. One of the handful of people on the island who seemed genuinely interested in the well-being of others, the teen hadn’t given up his search for his diseased companion, but at this point, he was afraid he’d truly lost her.

The crackle of a lightsaber caused Josuke to pivot. A few yards away, Ketkin Flynn stood watching the younger man with a slightly unstable smile on his face. After the litany of injuries he had sustained, the aquanaut had managed to use his ‘real world’ skills to the best of his ability by fashioning a number of braces and support struts to his body from resources scavenged from Cevanti’s dead fauna. Welding technology? Who needed a welder when you had a lightsaber? Who needed extra materials when you could just use your own charred body as makeshift mounting points?

With his hands long since effectively replaced by somewhat rusted prongs of metal, ‘Star Eater’ looked like something dredged out of a steampunk fever dream.

“Are you okay?” Josuke asked. “Have you seen a woman anywhere? Someone who might look sick.”

Mostly deaf, Ketkin tilted his head as his metal fingers rhythmically opened and closed at his sides. “You stomp too much.” His voice was haggard and distinctly… unhinged. Josuke had seen these types before, and he wasn’t pleased to run into this mostly-burnt madman instead of Nearl. “Clomp clomp clomp!” Ketkin shouted as he proceeded to stomp one of his partially metal-encased boots onto the ground. “I couldn’t miss you even if I was deaf, dumb, and BLIND!”

“I get it,” Josuke muttered as his attention shifted to the crackling energy weapon mounted into a glove that seemed fused into the man’s skin and kept in place by rivet that couldn’t be anchored in anything other than bone. “ARE YOU SURE YOU ARE OKAY?” He shouted as loudly as he could, in the hopes that he could get through to the twitching metal man.

“You’re not a clown, but you seem close enough,” the ‘Star Eater’ rasped as he charged.

Josuke went for his grenade launcher as the lightsaber slammed into his stomach. The teen clenched his teeth to hold back a scream before bashing the butt of his weapon in his attacker’s face. Stumbling back, the stand user backpedaled, fired a grenade, and slipped down over the side of the slopping embankment as the explosion sent dirt and flecks of stone showering overtop his descending head.

Spoiler

Josuke was pressured into using one application of Focus

Ketkin has some additional scrapes and bruises (Minor Injury)
Josuke has a deep stab wound to his midsection that’s, at least, cauterized (Major Injury)