[s2—01-03] Dawn of the Second Day

[The Man in Red]

Distantly, the sound of churning helicopter blades faded into a din of other white noise as the contestants began to regain their senses, the hazy sound of rain beating on the rooftops soon drowning it out. Though every various means of timekeeping, including the watches included in their supplies indicated it was just about to strike noon it was dark out as if the sun had just set.

As the clock struck twelve, there came a loud hissing of static over over the small city, and from unseen sources the voice of the event's host blared forth.

"I trust everyone had a pleasant flight down to the city? Make sure you take your time and shake off the lingering effects of that little spatial-displacement, now. Wouldn't want you all to go wandering right out the door into a deathtrap, would we?"

For a few seconds all was silent except a light crackling of static before the eccentric host went on once more.

"There is something wrong in this city, my dear guests. Something very, very wrong indeed. Perhaps my fault, to one degree or another; but that isn't important. Your job this year, my friends, is a simple one: survive. Either outlast all your other competition and be the last one standing, or be the first lucky one to find the other means of victory we've hidden around this city. You'll need to work together to find those, and that means sharing the prize, but if you do well enough...why, maybe everyone could get out alive this time."

The sound momentarily cut out, with the loud sound of an air raid siren whining and shrieking through the speakers instead.

"...ah, and so it begins. That is the signal for 'start', my dear guests. Do put on a good show and try not to die or figure it all out too quickly, won't you? I'll be in touch again soon."

And with a final hissing of static and a final crackling noise accompanied by a flash of lightning in the sky overhead, the speakers went dead, plunging the city back into rain-coated silence.

At Area A 10
Klarion, Sand Hawk, Nico Cinder, Amalia Eckern, Bloodhound

One group within the event awakens to find themselves holed up and barricaded away in what looks like a classroom in a school. The exterior windows are all alternatively boarded up with heavy wooden planks or metal sheets, and the walls are all covered in scribbling and scrawled symbols. Many of the interior windows are smashed and similarly boarded up, though the doors still look reasonably sound, and hang slightly ajar on their hinges.

At Area E 40
Doctor Caustic, Shallan Davar, Nezuko Kamado, Sari-al Waheed, Mirooge, Lan Cameo

The second group within the event awakens to find themselves sealed securely into a warehouse. Rows upon rows of shelving and pallets have been knocked over and ripped apart, lashed together with chain and cable ties and ropes to form twisting maze-like passages and barricades within, leading to the 'fortified' safe area. The windows are boarded and the bay doors have all been carefully sealed with heavy metal sheets and chains to keep them welded shut. No physical locks of any kind have been used, with the few around all being warped and mangled almost beyond recognition.

At Area G 60
Aquarius, Mid-Boss, Karl Jak, Quincy, Adam Gaite, Lilith

The third group within the event awakens in what will be revealed after quick examination as the interior, windowless section of the psych ward of a hospital. The walls are smeared with blood, and covered in all manner of scratches and dents. Doors are broken down and hang crooked in their hinges, and everywhere there are signs of intense violence, and numerous corpses -- and pieces of them. The entire place reeks of death and blood, but it looks to have been reasonably well secured by an organized team before something got to them. Several windows in the west-facing side of the floor are shattered, leaving the entire section drenched from the rain, but curiously no signs of any glass on the inside.


Bulletins, Updates and Notes

• Contestants were transported from the staging facility to the city below ostensibly by helicopter flight. Partway through everyone will have blacked out and been dropped off in their starting locations. Anyone who had yet to have their equipment/abilities appropriately limited will have been done so by the time they arrive and awaken.
• As mentioned above, the time on the island has just struck noon, though it seems more akin to late evening. It will stay similarly dark and dim out regardless of actual time of day.
• The only reliable way of keeping time will be via clock. Thankfully, you will all have some kind of such device included with your rations and survival supplies. Every 12 hours, roughly when it transitions from 'day' to 'night' there will be the sound of an air raid siren blaring through the city, with no discernible source. In the few minutes immediately before and after this, the city seems to grow dead quiet and most of its various dangers seem to grow lethargic and hide.
• Weather: As mentioned, it is incredibly unpleasant. The sky is dark and filled with ugly black clouds, and the city is being drenched in a heavy downpour. As of now it is only rain, with some distant thunder rumbling -- savvy sorts may note it seems to come from the northeast. It will remain this way for some time, with no signs of stopping.
• Power does still work in most parts of the city, but feel free to have it be out or otherwise spotty in places from the damage, foul weather, or supernatural fuckery if it suits you.
• This thread is not technically 'open' until 12:00 PM (Noon) EST, January 31st. You are free to write your posts ahead of then, but do not actually post until that point.

 

[Klarion]

The ghastly wail of the siren faded, the voice of the Death Game’s host fizzling out in a burst of static that was quickly drowned out by the incessant gurgling of the storm outside.

In the yawning void of silence that followed, Klarion groaned from his place on the grubby linoleum floor, still reeling from his transportation to the city. They had come for him when the witch boy was asleep, snatched him up while he’d been enjoying a light doze in the shadowy comfort of his room. Really, it was no wonder that he was a bit discombobulated by it all!

Eventually, he was able to muster up the energy required to lift his head, though the nausea swirling in his gut kept him rooted to the floor. His black eyes narrowed, flickering between the faces of the four figures standing in the room with him, all of whom seemed to be in a similar state of discomfort, before refocusing on his new surroundings.

They appeared to be in a classroom of some kind, though this one had clearly seen better days. The walls were littered with graffiti, dark letterings and incomprehensible scribbles leaping out at him from the aging wallpaper, though no occult symbolism stood out from the mess. All of the windows seemed to be boarded up, only the faintest rumblings of distant thunder audible through the barricade of half-rotted planks and scrap metal. Wooden desks lined the length of the classroom in symmetrical rows, pieces of chalk and the old, yellowing pages of homework long past strewn across them, rustling lightly from a draft of cold air that breezed through the room.

For a moment Klarion’s imagination ran wild, picturing the shades of ghostly schoolchildren seated at their desks, looking toward an ancient chalkboard mounted upon the far wall, practicing their arithmetic— and then the vision dissolved like the hazy wonderings of a dream, the chalkboard sharpening into violent focus, naught but the frantic, jumbled scrawl of a madman marring its surface.

The witch boy gave a rough shake of his head, grimacing. His nose twitched with the impression of an invisible itch, the amount of dust permeating the air driving him dangerously close to a sneeze. This just wouldn’t do. He needed some air, fresh air, and he needed it right now.

Snorting a little to stave off the inevitable eruption, the gawky teen lurched to his feet, wobbling a little as he shouldered the duffle bag of supplies he’d been saddled with. He wasn’t so eager to investigate what was hidden inside it with so many nosy, nosy mortals around, so he turned and stalked over to one of the boarded-up windows instead, keen on getting a better grasp of his surroundings.

Klarion bent down to peer through a small gap between the wooden planks, pressing one eye close to scrutinize the world outside. Streams of rainwater trickled over the shattered glass pane beyond, inky black clouds brewing high overhead in a maelstrom of muddy darkness. The distant shapes of crumbling buildings shivered through the onslaught of heavy rainfall, perfect caricatures of urban decay, but the state of things at street level was hard to make out through the gloomy weather. He’d need to get down there, take a closer look to really get an idea—

CRACK-BOOMMMMM! A sudden and violent flash of lightning zapped through the crack, nearly blinding him. Klarion reeled backward with a sneering hiss, blinking hard to dispel the brightness clouding his eyes, and promptly whirled around to face the other four who’d been unlucky enough to wind up trapped in a room with him.

“Dark and dreary,” the witch boy declared, schooling his face into a confident, sharp-toothed grin despite the white spots dotting his vision. “A fine hour for foulness!”

He looked over the others, a considering, crafty glint in his eyes. They were an odd group, that was for certain. All quite human, as far as Klarion could tell, though the one in the full mask and heavy gear was a mystery to him. As if sensing his gaze upon them, the shiny red lenses of their goggles turned in his direction, a flash of vibrant orange clashing with his own, considerably darker stare.

Ah, but there was a reaction the witch boy was very accustomed to! The masked stranger’s judgment swept over him like water off a duck’s back, leaving the witch kid utterly unperturbed. Instead of reacting outwardly, he merely turned his head, eyes sweeping over the rest of the room to examine the others.

A young woman with long black hair stood a little ways away from him, perfectly unassuming in appearance were it not for… something about her, something that the witch boy couldn’t quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, something seemed to be distinctly off, but Klarion swiftly dismissed such thoughts— she looked frightened enough for all five of their little ensemble put together, her fidgeting hands and darting eyes completing the entire anxiety-ridden picture. It was almost funny, in an embarrassing sort of way.

Nearby was yet another young adult with raven-dark hair, only his was considerably more shaggy, some of it threatening to spill into his eyes as he turned to look about the room. A confused hodgepodge of colored markings littered the pale skin of his left arm, just barely visible from beneath the sagging folds of his sleeve. When he moved to examine the barricaded windows just as Klarion had, a faint slant of light caught on the little bits of metal dangling from his ears, winking in the darkness.

Something about this one seemed off, as well! What was with these people?

And then it occurred to him: Klarion recognized all three of these strangers from his impromptu research session on the Prep Level! That was why they all seemed so weird. What was the young woman’s name, again? Emily? The guy’s face rang a bell, as well… Nicky Embers or something of the like. And of course, who could forget Bluehind?

Following on the tail end of this realization was yet another: Klarion wanted absolutely nothing to do with these people.

It was nothing personal, really. He just felt that they would… oh, what was that phrase... ‘crunch his style?’ Yeah, that sounded right. Besides, he would probably do better on his own, anyway. Chaos forbid if he wound up minding a bunch of baby mortals the whole time he was here; Teekl would’ve had a fit!

Klarion opened his mouth to speak, no doubt intending to say something incredibly, mind-blowingly unpleasant and cheeky, when a third thought struck him: hadn’t there been four other people in this room?

“We meet again, Boy Scout!” An exuberant greeting came from directly behind him. Startling, the witch boy did an about-face and came face to face with… no one. Absolutely no one. What—

From beneath the shadows of a nearby desk, the Sandy Bird Man appeared with a roguish flourish, a veritable cloud of sand gusting out from his desert-themed cloak. As he rose to his full height, the man adjusted the dark shades over his eyes, fixing Klarion with a blindingly bright grin.

“It’s you!” Klarion exclaimed, not quite able to hide the childlike gleam of admiration in his eyes. “You’re the guy who pulled that dastardly prank in the… th-the… ah…”

The witch boy abruptly paused, sucking in a sharp breath. He went absolutely still, face expressionless. His nose twitched, his witchy little ears wiggled, and his eyes watered. Then, in a sudden explosion of breath—

Klarion sneezed. It was the tiniest, squeakiest little sneeze to ever grace the Crossroads, not unlike the sort of noise one might expect from the teensiest newborn kitten.

“... the escalator,” the kid finished lamely. He gave a dainty little sniff, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

Eugch. Sand.

“Oho! Yes, it is I, the great Sand Hawk!” the bandit informed him, as if the sneeze had been a declaration of his true title. “What luck that we have been delivered to the same starting point in this city, and with such a handsome group of cohorts, as well!”

Turning his head as Sand Hawk gestured grandly to the rest of their fellows, Klarion had to suppress a pout. No way was he sticking around with those losers, even if the Sandy Hawk thought they were worth his time of day. He needed to find an escape route or something, fast!

His eyes darted around, noting each of the various exits he could use. It also just so happened that the door behind him was partially open, hanging juuuuust a tad crookedly from its hinges.

“Weeeeellll, I think it’s about time that I blew this lollipop stand,” Klarion drawled, backing away. He gently nudged the door open with the back of his heeled dress shoe, cramming all of his lanky, gangly limbs through the tiny crack he’d created, like an octopus stuffing itself inside a dark crevasse. “I’ll catch you lot later. Or not, if you all, you know. Die.” He flicked a hand at this, careless.

Sand Hawk turned with such speed it was a wonder he didn’t break the sound barrier.

“You intend to travel alone?” the rogue asked, sounding honestly confused. “Are there not monsters in this city, and abominations, and all manners of creatures that would eat your heart?”

Klarion stuck his head back through the door. Just his head, the little devil-horns of his hair sticking up oddly from either side of his skull, perfectly back-lit by the poorly illuminated hallway behind him. His brows furrowed at the question. “Maaaaaaaaybe? I wasn’t listening that closely. What’s the big deal?”

The desert wanderer shook his head, striding forward to meet him at the door. “Then it’s decided; I will accompany you.”

“Auuuuuuuugh, fiiiine,” Klarion complained, though he quickly angled his face away to hide a devious grin. YES! Victory! He’d found exactly what he’d need to make this whole situation much more bearable: a mortal with a killer sense of humor, even if he was a grown-up.

He threw a quick glance up and down the deserted hallway he’d just stepped into, noting the flickering lights overhead and various sections of exposed wiring spilling through the ceiling tiles, then turned back. “Let’s go, then. I wanna get started on figuring out what’s up with this dump of a city, and I have a feeling that hanging out around here for too long isn’t the brightest idea.”

And with that, he started off down the shadowy hallway, the dusty figure of Sand Hawk trailing shortly behind him.

 

[Lilith]

WWRRREEEAAAWW.

The wailing siren and distorted welcome message roused the leather-bound woman from her pleasant slumber. Pleasant, she should say, if only for the fact that it was completely silent. No wretched night terrors to harass her delicate mind, no past deeds coming back to haunt her. Just sweet pitch-black nothingness.

Lilith has grown accustomed to drugging and kidnapping. How delightful it was to be on the receiving end! A sign of what's to come, certainly.

Sitting up and yawning, she groped in the dark psych ward for a point of leverage to stand herself up, discovering some clunky bag sorta thing. Oh right. The supplies.

She lingered on the host's words for a few moments, concluding they weren't worth thinking too hard about. I already heard the whole spiel about how this game's supposed to work. She was playing her own game; surviving and ruining as many days as possible. And if somehow she came out on top? So be it. Winning or losing was inconsequential for a woman like her. As long as she puts on a great show, right?

The drowsy veil cleared once Lilith drank in the intoxicating scent of blood and viscera. How fortunate she must be to awake in such an appealing place. Absently she wondered how the contestants in the other locations were faring.

It would be hard to miss the colossal slab of metal laying at her feet. This beast of a weapon clearly wasn't designed to be held upright, at least not for long. Lilith hoisted the great knife by its grimy pommel and stabbed it into the earth, reveling in its menacing magnitude. A burden for anyone else. But for a woman of her size? It felt just right.

As she leaned on the blade, she examined the competition. Only chance I'll get. Plenty of reasons to be wary of the group she happened to start with. Though, she wasn't exactly the most comforting face either.

Aquarius, the archaic Arcadian automaton. Neutral, maybe.

Vyers, or 'Mid-Boss' as his profile insisted his title be. Nothing terribly special to say, except that, for whatever reason, she assumed the demon would be a fair fight. One adonis to another.

Karl Jak. A danger to everyone and himself. Was this guy important or something?

Adam Gaite. The Time Warlock. The one eveyone else is quivering in their boots about, no doubt. Lilith doesn't underestimate him, like anyone else. But humans are fallible; she knows this best of all.

And Quincy. A monkey so jolly and upbeat its a wonder how he ended up in this game at all. An ally or an enemy, depending on the not-so-clear time of day. The cyber monkey laid close by, and that was reason enough to start fooling around.

Lilith squatted down and lent a hand to the bow monkey, helping him to his feet. "Hey there, fuzzy dude."

The clansman quickly composed himself, or tried to anyways. "The name's Quincy, son of Quincy!" he beamed, louder than the torrential rainfall.

"Lilith. Just Lilith. Ah, you got a rifle? Suits ya, I gotta say."

"Hooh yeah! Awesome, right? It's nothing compared to my bow, though." He points to himself with pride in his chest. "That's uhh… That's a big knife you got there."

"Oh this thing?" Lilith unknowingly brings the blade closer to Quincy as she shows off her weapon. "I guess it's fine… Who am I kidding, it totally kicks ass!"

Quincy admires the great knife too, half in nervousness, half in amazement. "I bet it does, big lady."

"Anyways, I gotta get going. It's a competition after all. Hopefully we'll meet again under… favorable circumstances." She brushed a finger under Quincy's chin before turning heel and busting out of the ward.

Scary woman, that one. Scary, ominous, but nice, perhaps.

 

[The Man in Red]

001 Klarion the Witch Boy & 003 Sand Hawk​

The weather outside, as it turned out, was even more abjectly miserable and awful than it had seemed from inside the ruined school building. After several long, frustrating minutes navigating the dilapidated structure, the unlikely duo had finally emerged outside...into a disgustingly warm environment completely at odds with the thick sheets of heavy, silvery rain pouring down over everything.

It quickly brought to mind that all the fog blanketing things at street level was at least partially clouds of steam borne of the clashing weather patterns. Most bizarre.

A quick, frantic trip in the 'away from the group of killjoys' direction soon enough led the witch boy and the sandy rogue to something that almost smacked of shelter, were it not for the gaping hole in the roof. Still...within it they found the reinforced case of a weapons trunk deposited here by the event's eccentric host. Not even locked, and with only a few moments to get it opened...Sand Hawk found himself the new owner of a shiny (and somewhat battered) handgun and its associated ammunition.

Tucked away in a corner of the old dock house, there was also the huddled and crumpled remains of one of the town's former inhabitants, laying with his back against the wall and arms clutched tightly around his knees. On the wall behind him, in shaking script was scrawled the message 'what does it want?!' and a crude sketch of a treeline, as seen from the edge of the city.

Sand Hawk has acquired the Colt.

 

[Aquarius]

Two demons, a warlock, and a primate walk into a psych ward.

Aquarius let an internal chuckle escape from his mind. No need to pester the others with his laughter. It'd be best he kept it to himself anyways. This was a less than ideal scenario.

Lilith, who he knew briefly by name only through the manifesto and her deeds on Erde Nona and other planets, was one to be watched closely. Her unpredictability was not something he could risk letting hide outside of his sight.

Both Quincy and this Mid-Boss fellow were mostly inconsequential to the machine. Whoever they were and for whatever reason they were here; you couldn't pay Aquarius to give a shit.

Adam Gaite. While Caustic was his only known ally getting to him could be a chore. He would need more information about the surrounding area before he made his way to him. However, this strange warlock was someone he thought potentially useful.

Now, actually thinking about it, he could make just about any of these strangers useful.

"I've a proposition." The antique spoke to all who were still in earshot. He rose his book to the sky and continued to address the group. "Anyone to bring me a more substantial weapon than this will be rewarded with a favor of their own. I see no reason to quarrel from the get-go."

"Why should we do you a favor first? Why not do something for us in kind?" The demon, Mid-Boss, spoke back to Aquarius. Unsurprising that his proposition would go questioned. They hadn't a reason to trust the machine. It was okay, he was prepared for that. Aquarius eyed the demon brat and cocked his head towards his unfortunate weapon. More than what Aquarius had but what essentially amounted to a plaything.

"I could do the same for you, in turn. Seeing as you are in a similar boat. However, due to the fact that my request came first, I ask that it is completed before I do what I would for you. I think that is fair."

Adam hadn't so much as looked Aquarius' way. Irritating. Quincy seemed to be contemplating the task. As for Lilith, her back was already turned to him. Her plans in her own head were set. That was fine. She was best kept at arms length.

The machine strode over to a pile of bodied laid haphazardly in the corner. He sat upon them with one leg over the other and opened the book to again see what secrets it held.

"I'll be here if any of you decide to make an ally."

 

[Mad Maggie]

They came for us when we were sleeping, as was becoming customary for these games. Waking up inside a darkened building in the midst of a thunderstorm was certainly a dramatic beginning to this year's event. It seemed that even the nullifier chemical that the Carnivale had injected me with couldn't get rid of my natural robustness, and I awoke first, other dark shapes scattered around the floor barely stirring.

Survival. I had no intention of playing the hero and helping others purely for altruism. No. I was here to win. Without staying to wait for the others to stir, I immediately left the central nexus of makeshift barricade. Heaving myself over the shelves and sliding down lashed together planks, I slowly made my way out of the fortress at the inside. There was a quiet thumping coming from one of the outer corridors, and as I followed it, reaching into the survival duffel that I'd been provided with, pulling out a plastic emergency poncho and sliding it on over my outfit.

The banging was a double door, hanging crazily on the hinges. The wind and rain had been lashing it and making it thump against the side of the building, and as I stood on the doorway's threshold I paused to listen to the rain. Nothing. No screams or other sounds I could hear other than the wet patter of thousands of droplets.

Checking the map for the marked locations, I plotted my course and set out into the storm.

 

[The Man in Red]

Lilith​

The hospital in its entirety was...a complete wreck, that much was quickly made evident even to Lilith's cursory searching on her egress. Past the relative security of the barricaded psych ward it turned into an even more gruesome display, with signs of countless bodies and corpses having been quite literally torn apart and ripped limb from limb with each other's bare hands.

In at least a few cases the fallen bodies even seemed to have simply gotten up from where they fell, in spite of how much damage they might have taken, and started walking (and fighting) again.

Windows and doors were broken and shattered, and anything that could have been pressed into service as a weapon had been. It was a nightmarish scene by all accounts, though likely as not just another day at the office for Lilith.

Aquarius​

As the old machine opened the book he had been gifted for this event, there was an uneasy rustling and murmuring within the room. The air seemed to grow at once still and heavy, and the wind outside briefly went quiet before whipping up into an all-new feverish gale.

The words seemed to shift and squirm on the pages before Aquarius's gaze, sliding up and down and left and right. Words bled into each other, and spidery lines seemed to slide off the worn old pages and up the machine's hands. A quiet voice hissed and whispered something in the back of the machine's mind, and an oily, wet feeling descended over its entire body as a suffocating, crushing pressure wrapped around his body—

Whap

Suddenly the book had been snapped shut, with a gentle but insistent effort courtesy of Adam. "That's enough of that." He scowled, but more out of tired frustration than an actual malice, the bright sheen on his glasses failing to completely mask the exhausted and dejected cast to his eyes. "Wait until you're alone before fuckin' around with the cosmic forces of the beyond and whatever else the fuck, okay? And trust me. Don't read page seven until after you decipher page ten."

The time-manipulating lad turned and half-limped, half-floated away, leaving the puzzled machine behind. "If you want another weapon, they airdropped one around here. Should be on one of the upper floors."

Aquarius has had an all-too-close brush with things that shouldn't be spoken of by their proper names, but has avoided any permanent damage or lasting effects. His understanding of the book has grown slightly deeper.

 

[The Man in Red]

Mirooge​

After awakening, Mirooge discovered just how...lucky it had been, in more ways than one. In a simultaneous turn of events, it had narrowly evaded instant death, been gifted a second tool and an expedient way out of the little 'fortress' that had been built up around them all.

A passing moment to kick open the weapons locker which had fallen a mere foot away from crushing the slime-infested cranium of Mirage's body, and the necrotic legend-poser snatched up the crowbar from within. A bit plain...but serviceable and useful. More than bare hands, plus a useful tool.

A quick eye over the other competitors gathered, and Mirooge scoffed before the lean, mean, green fiend turned and schlorped his way away, with a quick application of crowbar-fueled forced to wrench open a boarded window and scarper off away from the warehouse, into the downpour outside.

Mirooge has looted the crowbar.

 

[Klarion]

Holed up inside an old dock house with a leaky roof and far too many secrets to count, the chaotic duo made ready for the long, dreary day ahead.

Klarion stood with his back to Sand Hawk, scrutinizing the corpse laying huddled against the wall and the ominous message they had left behind. His ears pricked slightly when from behind him came a metallic clink, clink, clink as his companion fiddled with his new weapon, the desert rogue humming a faint tune under his breath as he worked, but other than that all was silent and perfectly still, only the drumming of the rain outside and the steady drip, plop, splash of the leaky roof disturbing the little slice of quietude the pair had secured for themselves.

Shaking his head, the witch boy went back to scrutinizing the messily-sketched treeline. He lifted a single eyebrow, noting that it seemed to be almost carved into the wooden wall with some tiny writing implement, small flecks of died crimson speckling the splintered wood. A faint sniff, scratch, and a little dab on his tongue confirmed just what the substance was, only further exciting the witch boy’s curiosity.

Oh, if only Teekl were here! She always loved a good mystery…

Hmm-ing in interest, Klarion crouched down, prying at the dead man’s brittle-boned arms. Upon closer inspection, the body’s hands were shriveled and bloodless, very nearly grey in color, his fingernails worn straight down to the quick despite the tiny rub of a pencil clutched in his grip. Raw. Not the easiest way to get a good manicure, that was for sure.

Well, that decided it. The witch boy stepped away from the corpse, finally slipping the strap of his bag from his shoulder. It hit the creaky old floor with a weighted thump, sending a small cloud of dust spinning up into the air, a surprising amount considering just how insufferably damp the place was.

Waving a hand to dispel the worst of it, Klarion bent into a low crouch, tearing at the various zippers and latches keeping the bag’s contents from him until at last it spilled open, something heavy falling out and rolling across the floorboards. He caught it with barely a thought, turning the object right side up for a closer inspection.

When he got a good look at what it was, Klarion very nearly scoffed. A lantern? Only a lantern? What was he supposed to do with this?

Pulling a face, Klarion grasped onto the handle of the lantern and raised it aloft, begrudgingly marveling a little at its heft. To his great surprise, a tiny little flame spluttered to life behind the dusty, cracked glass at his touch, reaching out to cast the room around him in a halo of hazy golden light.

Almost immediately, whatever anxiety he’d been feeling vanished, replaced by a deep sense of comfort— like a fuzzy little kitten curling up on his chest, pleasant and oh so warm.

Ah, well then… maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all?

 

[Aquarius]

A lack of response to his call and all too much confidence in his ability to make an ally was not lost on the Arcadian bodyguard. Adam's words did come in handy;

"I thank you for that information."

But his childish manner and overall demeanor was not something he was interested in being around.10 then 7. That would be noted. He would have to wait a day or so before attempting this. Gathering his bearings and being physically prepared now took precedence over his understanding of this ominous tome.

Misjudging his own patience, Aquarius stood up from the squalid bodies he sat upon like a macabre statue and placed the book in his robe.

"I suppose I should find my own tools then, as none of you have found it worth your while to make a friend." He hadn't lied about this, but trust was never here to begin with. Lilith likely regarded him as an action figure while the others must have been privy to his outburst during his arrival. Unfortunate. However, he had an ally already. Now would just be the time to get in touch with him.

"May you find survival, then." He offered a low bow to Quincy, Adam and Mid-Boss before taking his leave.

It was time to prepare.

 

[The Man in Red]

Bloodhound​

In their own flight from the ruined school, the legend was more methodical. Bloodhound slowly crept through the rain-drenched streets, keeping eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. There were clear signs that someone or something had been through very recently; probably more contestants in this ridiculous game, if they had to hazard a guess.

More importantly, however, there were other signs of something else in the area. Strange, unsettling signs of windows on the upper floors of buildings being smashed and broken in from the outside, with no telltale signs of climbing or ladder usage to be seen on the buildings.

A destroyed storefront, with its contents mostly on fire and burning in a low smolder in spite of the dampness and rain greeted them around the next corner. At least half a dozen figures crouched around the flickering blaze, draped in loose rags like cloaks could momentarily be seen...then the legend blinked and they were gone.

Still, the fire would help stave off the chill of the rain while taking momentary shelter and plotting out their next move, Bloodhoud thought while slipping into the wreckage.

Among the destroyed store, they would soon find traces of recent occupation. Many sets of muddy, ash and soot-covered boot prints littered the interior, and the shelves had been recently rummaged through, with many jars and bottle smashed or knocked over and their contents still freshly wet where they had been spilled, hardly even begun to dry and turn to sticky sludge.

Laying open next to a weakly flickering lamp lay a few scattered pages of a notebook and a jumble of pens and pencils, the book they had been ripped out of sitting a few feet away. Stains from repeated sloshings of coffee or tea marred the countertop and the pages, making most of the writing an illegibly muddy mess, but it didn't completely hide the words scrawled within.
'Weeks now. This has been going on for weeks. They've started WORSHIPPING this thing down in the sewers, and out in the woods.'
'Tall. Too tall. Too thin.'
'What does it want?'
'Hard to keep track of time now. Calendar says it's been a month, but it feels like... Like...ugh, hard to focus'
'Doesn't move. But always following.'
'It got Richard three days ago. Richard is on the phone right now.'
'So cold. Fever.'
'There were five of us three days ago. Then there were eight of us yesterday. There's only three of us today.'
'The trees are moving. There weren't trees here yesterday.'
'It can't move if you watch it. It can't move if you see it. It can't get you if you stare at it. It can't hunt you if you don't sleep.'
'so tired'
'can't stay here'

And next to this were several loose rounds of ammunition for some type of firearm, along with a ragged and dingy duffel bag which had, presumably, belonged to whoever had been frantically. Rummaging around within it there turned up a bundle of saw blades, and the broken handle of an axe and several coils of loose cord and zip ties.

With a few minutes of work, the hunter managed to improvise...something. An experimental heft and swing, and they nodded grimly. It was incredibly makeshift, and likely wouldn't serve terribly well in a prolonged encounter...but for now, it should serve well enough.

Bloodhound has managed to improvise a makeshift weapon.

 

[The Man in Red]

Aquarius​

Searching through the ruins of the hospital, Aquarius finds it to be...quite deserted and in much worse shape than expected. The psych ward had been relatively...intact, even in its ravaged state, but the further he went down on his search for an egress the worse it became.

His fortune did briefly turn toward the positive, however, when he came across an emergency exit door held partially ajar by a severed arm, with a hefty fire axe lodged in the metal frame. The handle had started to crack and splinter, but it was still an axe. And an axe was useful for more than just a weapon, especially in a situation like this one.

Pushing open the door and slipping out into the rain, the machine swiftly discovered the severed arm had belonged to a police officer. The poor man had been beaten and savaged so badly his face and torso resembled ground meat, but his remaining attached arm still clutched a billy club in a vice grip, and there was a taser still tucked into his belt. Not the most lethal implements, but...still a boon to have on hand.

Mirooge​

Heading toward the line of the shore, Mirooge came upon the docks in short order. It was a messy, disordered web of chaos. Everywhere, on buildings and the shipping containers and vehicles, every door was flung wide open and stood ajar. Sparks and traces of melted, scorched metal and stone and wood lingered. Through it all there ran a singular trail; hoofprints, branded into the ground as if made by something white hot. A clear and unbroken trail, leading out of the city the necrotic slime-puppeteer had just come from, and leading directly toward the water's edge. A small boat moored just off the coast had been sliced nearly in two, leaving the decapitated body of its owner in one half, and his head mysteriously absent.

More pressing, Mirooge could see among the docks and buildings, the shadows of movement. A small handful at first, then dozens of people. Clad in loose, flowing black cloaks and coats to ward off the rain, each one clutching torches and long-bladed knives and swords.

One of them lifted a large, brass bell overhead, waving it to and fro with an echoing, resounding tolling noise that crashed bone-jarringly loudly, clearly audible over the rain. "Find them! Find them all! Their arrival is why that thing is huntin' us!" a hoarse voice screamed, barely able to be heard above the wind and rain. "It's after them, not us!" Again the bell crashed and tolled, and more of the hooded crowd came streaming and boiling into view, spilling out of buildings and crates and shadows, more torches and lanterns and flashlights guttering and flickering to life, and the sound of blades being drawn and guns being readied.

"The hunter is already on the loose, we might as well be its hounds!"

A wordless, thoughtless screeching cry of agreement went up from the crowd rapidly turning mob, as they swelled and spread out over the docks, readying to surge back toward the more dense city and out into the boats to start their hunt elsewhere in the city.

Mirooge hissed and only barely managed to escape notice, hiding itself among a deep patch of shadows.

The hunt is on. Mirooge should plan his next moves...carefully.

 

[Lilith]

Only minutes from her arrival and the fun had already started. Lilith cleaved through the shuffling corpses as a butcher to the lambs, grinding her hefty blade across the floor in broad swings. An upward slice split a crawling body in two, and a follow-up slam crushed another under the sheer weight.

Fresh blood coated the sadist and her weapon, a thrill she was all too familiar with. The filth and mire would not wash off as they usually did, but a ruined outfit was only a minor concern. By the end of this ordeal, only tatters would conceal her form.

"KRGHH!"

A loose semblance of limbs hurled itself at the woman's back, clawing with bony fingers and flailing a rusted shank. Lilith shrugged off the undead assailant, but not without a few scrapes and scars. A sweeping slice dispatched the corpse for the moment. No telling if these things will stay down for good.

Can't give the other contestants an easy time now. She licked off the bits of flesh clinging to the great knife, though her appetite couldn't be sated for long. Leaving the decrepit hospital, she scoured the town for supplies. Best to stock up now, it'll only get more treacherous from here.

Lilith grazed her newly acquired cuts.

Not bad for a warm-up.

 

[Shallan Davar]

Shallan felt like the morning after Veil had been out drinking all night. For the briefest of moments she allowed herself the fantasy that this entire ordeal had been an extended bad dream, but the implications of her dreaming and then remembering such a strange reality quickly forced her to accept reality once more. She clutched her forehead with her freehand, squinting about in the near perfect darkness for some kind of purchase to focus on. The Stormfather chose that particular moment to pair a maddening strike of lightning with an equally sense-shattering thunderclap.

Shalln bolted upright, her wide-eyed stare taking in the cavalcade of disheveled shelves briefly before the darkness encroached again. Nothing immediately about to kill her, though she suspected that was just because it wouldn’t be a good performance for the madman’s audience yet. Regardless, she would be safe enough for the moment. This raging storm outside provided another boon to her, and she would make use of it now before it became a liability.

Shallan breathed in Stormlight, the raw power of the storm seeping in from the building around her, filling her with its power, its motion, its urge to act. Her eyes alighted with the blue glow of stormlight and the after-effects of whatever chemicals had been used to transport them here fled from her brain… slowly. Something was impeding the stormlight’s progress, like a barrier obstructing part of a water pipe. She tried to press against it, and found her headache expanding rapidly amidst a pained humming from Pattern. Right, no more of that.

The stormlight drifted off her skin in motes of fog-like light. It was a pale blue, and the soft glow cast a myriad of concerning shadows amidst the tangled labyrinth of metal, wood and cardboard. It did let her at least get some sense of her surroundings though. It seemed that there were three others here in the middle of the building with her, in varying states of recovery from the knockout drugs. A young dark-haired girl in flowing dress, and a thin wisp of a boy with a pale blue hair, the former crouched off to a corner of the space with a wary look and a strange device object in her mouth, the other recovering their senses. It was rare for Shallan to be considered tall but her five and a half feet of height gave her a good half a head over everyone here except the final member of the group.

“Sari!” Shallan exclaimed with some measure of relief, Stormlight wafting from her breath in a visible trail, “I’d call you a sight for sore eyes, but I think it might just be that my eyes are sore!”

Sari gave a faint chuckle, holding a hand up to shield his own gaze from the glow of her stormlight.

“We’ll all have sore eyes if you keep that up, Little Miss. How about slightly less theatrics?”

“In a moment.” Shallan had already turned her attention to a nearby shelf of boxes, judging potential hand and footholds. The current of stormlight held within moved her, compelled her to act, and she started to scramble up the shelving with not quite enough care to be wise. Stormlight fueled her muscles, and she reached the top of the shelving, peering around from her vantage point to scope out their surrounding structure. The other three looked up with a variation of blank or confused looks.
“What are you doing, exactly?” the short blue-haired boy asked with a frown.

“Trying to determine the layout of the warehouse.” Shallan answered as she leaned sideways to squint at a faintly green splatter trail leading out of the structure, “That way we can figure out the wherehouse part.”

“What?” the boy tilted his head with a furrowed brow. Shallan sighed slightly.

“As in where the Almighty are-” Her reply was cut off by her boot slipping from its perch on the edge of a metal strut. She let out the last word as a short squeak while she plummeted down a good fifteen or so feet. Only Sari’s quick action intercepting her fall prevented her from colliding with the floor at unpleasant speeds.

“How about we slow down a moment, eh?" He chided with a good natured laugh, "Before somebody goes and does anything reckless.”

 

[The Man in Red]

Klarion the Witch Boy & Sand Hawk​

Their journey through the city was...to put it mildly, uneventful. Filled with more of the same bone-chilling downpour of rain. They did managed to fine momentary shelter under a bridge, escaping from one section of the docks to another. There was a small rest stop here, set back slightly away from the docks themselves and in overall better shape as well. Likely intended for the dockworkers when they couldn't make it back into town, if one had to guess. It was...in disrepair from lack of recent use and cleaning, but otherwise in excellent shape.

The windows were all intact, and the doors all worked and shut properly. It kept out the clashing weather, and provided some relative warmth and respite.

....at least until the duo found the mannequins.

At least one in every room. Vaguely humanoid, but like ones made out of taffy or clay and deliberately strewtched and elongated all out of proportion. Combined with the plastic lack of any discernible features, and the way the dim shadows cast upon them made it seem like the heads always turned to watch Klarion and Sand Hawk as they moved around the place...it set off warning bells in the both of their heads, making all the little hairs on their arms and necks stand on end like something living was actually watching or following them.

They quickly threw all of the unsettling mannequins into a room by themselves and slammed the doors shut.

The place's still intact shape proved useful and made it easy to barricade themselves in. Old dressers and shelves could be easily pushed in front of windows, and many doors had old-timey wooden beams to throw over them and bar them shut. Whoever had built this place was either paranoid or of a mind to make sure they had ample security, it seemed. Combined with a few scavenged and rigged traps to make plenty of noise and alarm if anyone unexpected came traipsing in, the place was secure enough to sit down and rest, if only for a while.

Their efforts did soon enough turn up an old journal owned by the proprietor of the place, along with a thick ledger of receipts and times of stay at the place. Both confirmed that the place had barely been used for over a month, and that the last ones who stayed here were some 'New arrivals from outta town, droppin' off some new equipment for the docks 'cross the lake courtesy of the big boss from upriver.'

In the last entry there's mention of a hunting trip planned soon, to head out into the woods with a few pals and see what all the recent hubbub and commotion is about some spooky thing out there.

Shallan Davar​

Her look from a higher place did grant Shallan some useful insight, at the least. She could easily see, scattered among the fortified area built up, several small little 'islands' among it all where there had been traps already built up, and caches of supplies dropped off. Whoever built this place up was clearly intending to stay for a long time, but had had to abandon it in a major hurry.

Among all the leftover items, after picking her way through the wreckage and twisting passages of pallet and shelf to reach them, she was able to pick out some things still useful. Plenty of mundane supplies, in the form of food and water of course. Several emergency flares. An entire bundle of dynamite sticks carefully packed and water proofed. And the most curious thing, an old crucifix of worn and tarnished silver, flecked with blood and grime its previous owner.

Said crucifix was a small thing, the head and grip of a large iron key, its accompanying chain wrapped around a battered wooden placard which read simply 'Graveyard'.

The map of the town provided with everyone's supplies can helpfully pinpoint that the graveyard, and the church it's attached to, are in Area E 37.

Amalia Eckern​

Despite its run down state, the school was more...tedious and irritating to navigate than anything else. After several wrong turns, Amalia managed to find her way into the main offices of the structure and end up digging through the lost and found and confiscated items in the hopes of turning up anything useful. There was plenty of old contraband to be found, but in the circumstances not much seemed useful...

...until she turned up a box of firecrackers and an accompanying lighter. Dangerous and not likely to do that much damage to anything wanting to do her harm, but...better than nothing. And a good means to cause one hell of a distraction.

 

[Amalia Eckern]

And for the third time since becoming a pawn in The Death Games, Amalia awoke from a forcibly induced sleep. It took only a moment for her to absorb her surroundings and only another moment for her heart to start trying to self-destruct. The pre-show facility had at least pretended to be welcoming, but here all the pretense of safety and security had been dropped. Sheet metal and boards covered up every last available window, choking out all light save for dust-covered and half-dead light fixtures in the ceiling. Scribbled ravings of some unknown lunatic sprawled out across the walls and spilled onto the cracked linoleum floors. And to top it all off was the musty and stale stench of dried blood.

“Okay, okay,” Amalia said, peeling herself from the sticky floor, “You got this, just relax and breath, holy fucking shit this is real.”

She took note of a duffel bag with her name stitched on it. Would a trap be that obvious? After a few moments of deliberation she nudged the pack with her foot and when it didn’t immediately explode she crouched down to open it up. Okay so far so good, still alive. Her heart relaxed as she removed what appeared to be an armored vest from the bottom of the pack. It was a snug fit, but there was some comfort to be found in the compression. She swallowed hard and swung the bag over her shoulder.

“Erin,” She whispered, “I could really use you right now…”

Everything was painfully quiet. Blood throbbed in her ears and she hoped whatever monsters were lurking about couldn’t hear her breath. Carefully measuring each step she began to explore the school. A tacky film seemed to cover every last inch of the floor and she internally cringed as every step filled the air with the resounding sound of her sneakers ripping free. She was in a school of some sort. Overturned desks littered the hallways, forming ample nooks and crannies for creatures of the night to lurk. More than once she saw a suspiciously arranged pile of desks and chose to take another path.

“Motherfucker!” Someone shouted as she neared the end of a hall.

She froze. She wasn’t alone. Carefully she crept up to the corner and peaked around. A young man stood desperately pounding against a vending machine. Another contestant? Or a monster in disguise? What was she supposed to do now? He cursed again and started rocking the machine back and forth, definitely creating enough ruckus to draw every last serial killer in a fifty mile radius to them.

“What kind of cosmic bullshit is this?” He cried out, slumping against the machine, “Truly this place is filled with the kind of tragedy normally reserved for losers who can’t even skate transition.”

If he was a monster, he was a pretty goofy one.

“Uhm… you probably shouldn’t be so loud,” Amalia said, appearing from her hiding spot.

Regret immediately bloomed in her chest and the man jumped to his feet, taking some sort of karate stance. Once he realized she wasn’t some kind of bloodsucker he relaxed, jabbing a thumb towards the vending machine.

“Stupid machine took my quarters,” He said, “If I don’t cry out against injustice and all that jazz, who will?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that, or even if there was an answer.

“I’m, uh, Amalia,” She said, “I swear I’m not like some kind of monster pretending to be human.”

“Nico, and that’s, uhm, good to know,” He said, “I’m also probably not some kind of monster pretending to be human, but well, that’s something a monster pretending to be human would probably say sooooo.”

She figured a monster pretending to be human wouldn’t draw so much attention to the fact that monsters who could pretend to be human even existed, so he was probably fine - at least in the shapeshifter department anyways. Carefully she approached him and caught sight of the source of his miseries. The vending machine’s last can of Synister energy drink sat wedged against the glass. He was right, this was one of life’s greatest injustices. However, looking at the machine a thought crossed her mind.

“Uhm, where did you get money for this?” She asked, after checking her pockets for cash.

He shrugged, “Found some stuck to the bottom of a desk with chewing gum.”

Gross, but that meant she might’ve been on the right track looking for valuables.

“You, uhm, you think we should stick together?” She asked, “Y’know, with both of us totally not being monsters pretending to be human.”

“Sis, you read my mind,” Nico said with a smile.

 

[The Living]

Hounds. To Mirooge, the townsfolk seemed less like rabid dogs and more like pesky wasps that could be swatted down with ease. On the other hand, there was always some threat in a swarm, they would have to play their cards close at hand. It was time to play off of this celebrity’s reputation.

The roar of the crowd masked the subtle clanks and scratches of the climbing green trickster. Shouts came from the docks, as the herald of the delusion of fear that they held stood atop a rotten wooden platform.

“We must protect ourselves, show the monsters their true enemy!”

Cheers and waving torches held firm.

“We will be safe once we are rid of these trespassers! We will-”

“-make a great dessert! I hear that long pork chops taste better than the regular ones when you add the right spice.”

Gasps were heard around the mob as they stared up at the sickened legend, standing on the warehouse roof.

“It’s one of them,” came a realized shout. “We must defend our home!”

Before others could join in on the fear-driven bloodlust, Mirooge waggled his finger. “Kill me and then who would defend you from the awful monster lurking in the swamp?”

Silence began to seep into the crowd. They could not answer.

Mirooge crouched down and tilted their head, almost too much. “Does a hunter stop hunting if the wolf takes his deer? He only finds other prey to take their place.”

The lime legend teetered a bit on his perch atop the warehouse. “You guys are pretty weak and stupid, so there isn’t much meat,” the slime inside the body began. “However, there’s enough of you that you can have seconds. Man, I love seconds.”

“Why should we trust you!? You weren’t sent here to help us!” A lady cried out, causing her infant child in her arms to wail softly.

“You shouldn’t.” He stated matter of factly. “You should trust what I want.” A sinister smile spread across the legend’s face.

“And I want to win. That means that everyone else out there, even the monsters, is on the menu! So if you don’t want to dance, don’t join the party!” Mirooge beckoned to the crowd.

The leader, bless his dumb and curious soul, questioned, “and what if we refuse?”

A laugh came from the legend as he stood and leaned his head back. “Well, you know. I like to toot my own horn sometimes…” He reached from behind his back and pulled out the airhorn.

“Well, actually, all the time. Afterwards, we can both find out who the monster really is. If you're still alive to see it.”

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

“Hoho!” Sand Hawk chortled, breaking the tense silence that had fallen in the makeshift fort that they had hunkered down in. Mannequins aside, the shelter would serve the pair well enough if anything came after them. “Klarion, my boy, check this out!”

The Colt in his hands, the bandit began spinning and twirling the weapon around on his fingers, flicking it from hand to hand with surprising skill. The witch boy watched intently, seemingly unperturbed by the complete disregard for gun safety, though whether it was due to ignorance of the gun’s lethality or a love for the chaos that an accidental discharge could bring was anyone’s guess.

“That’s totally nauseous.” Klarion cackled quietly, careful not to make too much noise, lest the pair attract any unwanted attention. “Where did you learn that?”

“There was this guy back in my old, old home, called Royland or something, and he was real into guns like this, he could twirl ‘em for hours, I presume at least, and I learned from a friend who learned from a friend who learned from him!” Sand Hawk grinned before ceasing his gun-twirling, catching the Colt in a ready-to-fire position.

He was very much glad to have a proper weapon in the life-or-death situation that they had been thrust in. He wasn’t scared of dying, he had reliable death insurance, but the thought of going down like a chump and disappointing his buddy was depressing. The rogue cast a quick glance at his duffel bag, gulping at the thought of the vials within. He didn’t know what was in them, but he had a feeling it was bad news.

“So, have you had much experience with monsters?!” Sand Hawk asked enthusiastically, peering out the window and tapping the fingers of his free hand on the windowsill.

“Oh, you know, there and here.” Klarion replied, dodging around the question. The bandit simply nodded, not pushing any further. “Uh, have you?”

“Oh, constantly,” The man chuckled. “But there is nothing to fear, even if they could rip you apart instantly, I have developed a flawless strategy to handle such beasts!”

The youth raised a skeptical eyebrow as Sand Hawk rose to his feet, dusting himself off as he did so (though it only served to spread more sand everywhere), and walked across the room. Clearing his throat, the rogue took a small run up before dropping to the ground, sliding forward and quickly whipping a nearby sheet over himself. For all the world, it looked like little more than a ragged old blanket on the ground. After a moment, he pulled the sheet back down, revealing his toothy grin.

“Very impressive, but what if that doesn’t jester them?” Klarion asked, clearly amused if a bit skeptical. To that, Sand Hawk simply waved his gun in the air.

“Spray and pray, my friend, spray and pray.”

 

[The Man in Red]

Lilith​

To most, the prospect of swimming through not just one, but two rivers in the middle of a mostly deserted, dead city would have been pure madness. But for someone like Lilith...well. It wasn't even really an obstacle, even if the streams did smell like some horrible soup made of corpses and sewage.

Which, in hindsight, it probably was.

She left the waters behind, and drew closer to another center of densely packed city ahead. Lights shone and flickered in the gloom from the windows of buildings, but it was still a fair ways off. A huge swathe of forest stretched out ahead of Lilith for now, filled only with an overwhelming stillness in the air. Not even the usual sounds of animal life scurrying about met her ears over the rain.

Though shortly after entering the trees, the smell of smoke and the distant crackle of an unrestrained fire started to cut through the haze. And within mere minutes, she came across a scene of complete carnage.

The wreckage of a helicopter, still fiercely burning in spite of the rain. There were no less than a dozen others scattered around the wreckage, relatively fresh corpses with their blood still dripping from wounds.

The side of the helicopter was branded with a large emblem of the Man in Red's signature mask, a faintly luminous green biohazard symbol, and the numbered insignia for 50.

Within the wreckage, the pilot was still slumped in the seat, pierced and punctured in several places by chunks of glass and metal and with her neck twisted at a crazy angle. Miraculously, the flight logs were still intact in the computer, revealing the copter's flight path. It had dropped something off at the prison nearby, after dropping off the competitors for the game.

Nezuko Kamado​

The crazy weather in the city made it difficult for Nezuko to truly make heads or tails of her surroundings, but soon enough she began to piece it together that there wasn't much to see here. Aside from the group she had awoken in the company of, the entire place seemed almost deserted.

There were of course the tell-tale signs of others having been present fairly recently, and likely still around but hidden.

...so it went, until the sky split open overhead with a particularly violent sound of crashing thunder, and everything turned white with the accompanying flash of lightning. The demonic child, startled by the sudden noise and light, reflexvively jumped and dove aside for cover, only to come tumbling down among a pile of slippery mud and rubble near an open manhole and go sliding down into the darkness.

Crashing and sliding and slipping about, through the echoing slimy darkness, until she eventually shot out like a rocket and landed with a wet smack somewhere well away from where she had started. Dim light, as of flickering candles, glowed from nearby as she regained her bearings, revealing a large sprawling cave.

Standing against the far wall, ringed by candles and with huge masses of long, thorned vines draped over and around it, was a crudely carved wooden effigy. Like a human, dressed sharply in a suit of some kind, but...impossibly tall. Two or three times the height of a 'normal' man, and net no more broad or deep than one of normal height, making it appear all stretched out and thin; malformed and wrong somehow. Its arms were spread out and forward, as if to embrace or capture something, and several thick tangles of slimy vines and choking thorns were wound about it, draping onto the floor behind it.

Worse, perhaps, were the innumerable figures around it, crouched down and kneeling and chanting, murmuring, weeping, utterly disconnected from the world and ignorant of their surroundings. Several of them were nearly entirely bereft of clothing, knives in hand and carving a crude symbol upon their flesh and anything else within reach. A shaky, uneven circle with an X slashing through it.

Nezuko has 'discovered fast travel' completely by accident, and found a cultist's tunnel. She has traversed from area 40 to area 36.

 

[The Man in Red]

Mirooge​

For what seemed like a long time, the standoff held.

The sickly, slimy legend with the airhorn threateningly raised. The crowd below with their myriad weapons shifting uneasily.

Then finally, a loud shout went up from back in the crowd, "To hell with this jackass! He's one of the problems, why are we even considering listening to him anyway?!"

And within moments, a similar mindset whipped through the crowd like wildfire.

"A shame." The green monster sneered. "You had your chance, and—"

Interruption came in the form of a gunshot, the loud crack of a hunting rifle serving as explosively good as any other interjection might have.

The bullet missed, pinging sharply off of the metal roof a foot to the legend's side, but it got the point across just fine all the same. With a snarl, the slimy creature threw itself backward onto the roof as several more gunshots came its way, and the airhorn raised up.

And then it sounded. A loud, echoing DOOT, momentarily drowning out the sound of rain and mob and crashing bell.

As it began to fade, Mirooge was already on his feet, sprinting toward the edge of the building and leaping off, practically swan diving into the stunned crowd below.

A loud splat sounded as the green not-quite-goblin crashed into a hapless villager, and for a moment there was a fierce wrestling match before the man's hunting knife was driven through his own skull and Mirooge slunk away in the ensuing confusion, the ragged cloak of a fallen villager wrapped around itself.

Mirooge has suffered a few unpleasant bumps and bruises, but no lasting damage.
He has also, unfortunately, kicked the hornet's nest, and angered the surviving townspeople.
Everyone within 2 spaces of area 31 hears the aggressive DOOT of the airhorn.