[s2—01-03] Dawn of the Second Day

[Ezrihel]

It was sacrilegious, what he was about to do.

More like downright heathenry, if he was being completely honest, and he internally scolded himself for even considering contemplating the curiosity that dwelt in his head, pressing against the confines of his handsome skull. Ezrihel and Tzalel would’ve had him punished if they knew what was bouncing around in his cranium, certainly.

But he could not help himself but look and wonder at the beautiful ivory white skull perched above the minor reliquary, with its gilded human canines and jewel rimmed orbital bones. The icon’s dark and empty eye sockets seemed to peer down at him no matter how he moved about the room, as if to carefully watch him. A less superstitious man would have probably paid little attention to the skull outside of its value and craft, but the assassin couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow meant to guard this place.

It probably held the soul of some poor interred spirit, spending its entire afterlife as the guard dog of some family’s tomb. So... why did the azure haired man feel such a strong compulsion to grab and touch it?

Was it the exquisite beauty the object possessed? Morbid curiosity towards discovering some vile curse? He drug a hand down his dark face. Nithos save him and Dhir’lous guide him, the long nights spent next to Ruedlen really had been messing with his perspective! How grim and macabre she always was, her curling words encouraging him even now to dare testing a possibility!

Sari smirked, rough and roguish like a lone wolf grinning at a new amusement. He was hoping Ruedi’s return from the brink of absolute physical destruction would be swifter than not, because trekking through graveyards and crypts was something that was definitely way more her speed than his... Plus he knew that she would adore the stories he’d tell about this job, even if he was brutally and cruelly torn to ribbons by the end of it all.

And he missed her, hated her long-term absence in his comms and in the ship’s mess hall. He missed taking lunch with her and discussing the strange spiritual enigmas happening all around them as the war changed the very fabric of their worlds.

His grin pulled down into a frown. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in his thoughts and daydream about his missing flames. Something was tickling his ears anyways- was someone calling his name?

Turquoise eyes yanked themselves away from the polished skull and darted to observe the hallway back to the surface. He couldn’t hear the faint rains from here, but he was certain someone or something had called out to him...

He felt a certain dread wash over his scalp in a prickling wave, settling in the pit of his stomach to the tune of distinctive malaise. His keen eyes darted back to the empty ones of the ivory relic, and he hoped to all of his gods that some spirit wasn’t about to crawl out of it at him-

'Wait, did it just turn to follow me?'

He backed away slowly, watching the damned thing like a hawk. He could have sworn the relic had shifted on its perch! Ne’heia observed through the empty eyes of evicted craniums- perhaps she was just watching one of her loyal servants? The assassin only hoped his goddess would be so gracious as to watch over him in this godless blood-sport of an event.

Perhaps... if he reached out and touched it, he could commune with her. It was her, calling out to him in the back of his mind, wasn’t it? It was her alluring voice pulling him in closer, urging him to snatch the exquisite artifact; her voice guiding him deeper until his senses began to tunnel.

Wasn’t it her?

Suddenly a voice rang out far clearer and far more familiar, wrenching the assassin from the haze settling over his brain- Lan was calling his name somewhere close by on the surface. Had they found something, or did they need help? The professional hitman sharply turned his back on the room, deeply unsettled by the dissonance he felt strumming through the music of his soul. The hooded man cast one last look over his shoulder at the bejeweled memento mori, a deep scowl betraying his normally upbeat nature before he bounded up the stairs.

He stepped out into the open, glancing over to the church some fifty-odd feet from the crypt he’d been exploring, and sucking in a deep gulp of clear air. The fresh rainy air instantly helped to clear his mind, though it did little to ease the spider-web-like tension that desperately clung to his frame- as if weakly trying to keep him underground. He shook himself and in a single controlled breath regathered his composure with perfect form.

It was only a several second jog over to the wooden door of the church cellar before he spotted them, standing in the doorway while they waited on him.

“Greetings my friends,” Sari beamed warmly with his signature mischievous smirk. “I see that you have found the door to our key, how resourceful~! I am touched that you waited for me outside, in the drizzle and fog no less!”

He peered down the stairs, to the cracked door at the bottom. A cellar, perhaps? The lights were on, jumping with the soft yellow flicker of candle light. He gestured to the passageway, lowering his voice, “It looks like someone is home, or recently was at least. Candles do not stay lit forever,” he paused, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile, “unless the church exclusively uses tricky relighting candles or magic that is~”

The idea of cowled monks or altar-tenders running to the novelty-gags store to stock up on trolling, prank candles was admittedly a pretty amusing thing to suggest, but he’d seen a lot in his days of travel- enough for the seeming absurdity to be more than just a passing teehee funny-guy suggestion.

“Either way, it is a better place to dry off and take our meals than the cold mud of a flooded grave, yes my friends?” Sari clasped them both by a shoulder. “So, should I take the lead, or do one of you have a better plan for approaching this eerie unknown?”​

 

[The Man in Red]

Klarion, Sand Hawk & Adam​

Things had been going well enough. The weather was beginning to improve, they now had an actual goal to try and solve, and they'd managed to gain another ally, if only for the moment.

It was looking up, right until they drew near to what the map told them was another corner of the game's area.

The entire way, they had all felt it: the creeping, crawling, sickly cold and oily feeling of something watching them. Stalking them from just out of sight, always one step out of view. Hiding among the fog and the trees and shadows. It had begun to get all of them on edge, to the point that eventually the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves from ahead of them nearly made them all break out into a fight.

At least until the source of the noise revealed itself. A half dozen or so bedraggled, utterly terrified looking individuals covered only in ragged cloaks and dark sheets, and all of them bearing the same...bag-mask drawn over their faces and heads. They were frantically running through the woods, whether toward or away from something it was hard to tell.

The sigils they bore, tightly clutched in the form of wooden or metal trinkets and amulets or quite literally carved into their bare skin, were familiar by now. The symbol of the Operator, that circle and x emblem which had been cropping up everywhere. They spared only furtive, fleeting glances at the three contestants as they ran past.

"You should run. Flee. Hide!" one shouted back, her voice hoarse and strained. "He is...angry. So very angry. You aren't safe. No one is safe." She shivered and sprinted ahead to catch the others.

".....yeah, so. Like I said." Adam adjusted his glasses. "Shit's fucked."

 

[The Man in Red]

Mirooge​

Stumbling away from his previous fight, the oozing legend retreated north. Toward the city, away from the docks and the water.

In his anger and woozy state, he brandished the airhorn menacingly, waving it about threateningly at any perceived movement. More than once he sneered and snarled, blasting it with an echoing DOOT for all the world to hear.

It even seemed for a time he might manage to get away with his manic doot-ing, until everything started to fall apart again.

That sickly feeling plaguing him intensified, a bone-deep aching taking root as pain flared more sharply through his borrowed body. A gripping feeling of nausea rippled through his body, bringing him down to his knees and making him retch as his entire body convulsed, something inside of him feeling like it was trying to tear its way outside.

And then he felt it.

An icy cold grip of something closing about his body, as he was unceremoniously yanked off the ground and through the air. He sailed upward in an arc, whipping through the fog only to come smashing down into an old car with a horrific crash, the metal creaking and buckling under the necrotic mass along with a chorus of snapping, cracking sounds.

The towering, slim figure of the Operator — the Slender Man — loomed out of the fog, a veritable swarm of tentacles and tendrils emerging from its back as it stalked forward. One impossibly long arm was stretched out, fingers splayed wide and grasping for Mirooge's battered form to manhandle him again.

But the necrotic fiend was having none of it.

With a wordless snarl, he forced himself up, throwing himself to his feet and staggering forward. "You think you're some kind of big, unstoppable monster?" he sneered, arms spread wide in a taunting, mocking gesture. "I'll show you a monster."

And he surged forward, a sickly green light burning around him as his flesh started to ooze and drip.

The Operator merely continued to stalk and glide forward, both arms outstretched in a mindless grope for the perceived easy prey.

There was a wet squelching sound as the two made contact, the sickly pale gray fingers of the Slender Man closing around the oozing, slimy and gelatinous body of the possessed Legend's corpse. And the alien being squeezed down with force that would have reduced bone to powder, grinding and clutching and squishing its prey like some absurd stress toy.

...only for a faint, sizzling sound to begin to rise up.

Smoke and steam boiled up where the slimy green flesh of Mirooge touched the Operator. The eldritch terror recoiled in surprise, its featureless face craning forward to look at its arms as they started to smoke and burn, oily black residue starting to run down its fingers and drip to the ground below. Like rapidly dissolving and decomposing plant matter, the suit and arms of the unknowable being started to droop and deflate until eventually with a wet sound of tearing fabric they fell apart entirely, dropping to the ground with a sickening wet splortch.

"Everything is prey to something," Mirooge seethed, slowly rising up out of the sludge. Green eyes stared defiantly up at the Slender Man, as it took a menacing step forward, the slime and decaying matter around his boots flowing and schlurping its way up his legs, absorbing itself into his noxious mass. "I'm something. You're prey."

Even disarmed as it was, the alien mind of the Operator was undeterred. Its featureless face twisted and contorted, the space where its eyes and brows would be knitting together and giving the flesh-covered skull the semblance of a scowl. An unearthly, shrieking noise rose up as it threw its head back, tentacles flailing and writhing about with a slithering chorus of whipping and slashing noises. Glass in the nearby buildings began to shatter, the concrete and asphalt splintering and cracking, and the air itself seemed to start vibrating and shaking, making the world seem ready to tear it self apart entirely...

....and then everything exploded.

A huge, towering conflagration went up, the pillar of flame soaring into the heavens above and bathing everything for at least a mile around in a sickly, evil dark red glow. The massive pillar of hellfire was visible from across the entire town, scorching the earth and sky around it.

And when it faded, the Slender Man remained there, clutching the blackened, scorched body of Mirooge in a cluster of tentacles and drawing it toward its body, the angry canvas of its "face" locked on the faux-legend.

Weakly, with a shit-eating grin plastered over its face, the slimy green jackass lifted the airhorn and pressed the red horn to the Operator's face.

HOOOOOOOOONK!

The airhorn blasted out its most powerful doot yet, directly into the alien visage of the Slender Man, and the sheer audacity of the act made even the alien being recoil, flinging Mirooge's battered and burned body away as it turned and retreated into the fog.

Mirooge was pressured into using an application of Focus.
Mirooge has suffered from an everything-first collision with a car (Minor Injury) as well as a point-blank eldritch hellfire blast (Insane Injury), but he still lives.
The Slender Man has been...injured, its arms dissolved and melted, but it has escaped to continue plaguing the town.

 

[Aquarius]

Wiping the rotten viscera from his elemental weapon, Aquarius continued his march so far unimpeded. He hardly considered his first encounter an impediment.

The bodyguard was beginning to wonder if he was going the right way. He was fairly certain this was where Caustic had started, at least this direction, but had only ran into illusions and minor threats. How much farther did he need to travel? Was there something he was missing?

If there was one thing the machine was good at it was sticking to his guns. He’d push onward and his ally would appear at the end of it no matter what. With his axe slung lazily over his shoulder, the walk offered him nothing else but time to ponder. Such a bizarre place he found himself in. Was this really considered entertainment? Surely something else besides his own mundane journey had to be stealing the screen time.

Really, that was fine with the automaton. He greatly preferred his anonymity. Even if the manifesto had squandered a large chunk of it he still flew mostly under the radar in Erde Nona. For now. There’d be a time when his and Anders’ name rang throughout Arcadia as revivers and heroes but good things come to those with great patience. Something Aquarius had all too much of.

It seemed too that the rain had ceased and now it was a grey and red robot walking against the quiet grey sky. But his eyes soon took notice of a path, an actual road. It was littered with abandoned vehicles and as far as highways went it lead itself to be rather narrow. This was a boon, though, as he now had some sort of direction towards a more active area. Perhaps another small gaggle of monsters would offer him their skulls. If only.

Aquarius continued his quaint journey now down this road. Grateful for the sound of gravel crunching beneath his metallic feet.

 

[The Living]

Pathetic.

The slime felt itself course slower through the veins of the corpse it had parasitically inhabited. The legend seemed to already start to shrivel as the ooze struggled to maintain its form. Acidic chunks of its form sat upon the damp ground, next to the limbs he had claimed for the foretold ‘monster’.

They could remember a time when they were as mindless as the creature that hunted them now. A hunger that could not understand when it was faced with true adversity.

Not that it deterred them any more than it did before. Of course there would be times when it was not as powerful as its prey. The difference was in the eternal presence of the green biomass, even in its suffocating environment. It was the only thing that could truly claim to be living. All those around were as much as a walking corpse as the one that it had salvaged for this wretched game.

And they were just as useless in helping to be rid of these heinous creatures that claimed these withering lands. Mirooge felt its forsaken body ache and crack, shaking at some of its attempts at movement. The slender figure had decimated the mass within and force it out of its host, and affects on its strength were more than noticeable.

However, it was not barred from receiving a prize.

The ooze reached out to the twitching of the arms on the floor. They beckoned to it, flesh to flesh. Mirooge followed the awakened within the severed limbs, calling back to them to become a part of a true existence. It took only moments for them to crunch back to life and attach themselves to his shoulders.

They would serve him well to find their former wielder. It had to discover what secrets lie beyond the swamp, and with that, whatever was truly behind the slender creature.

 

[Shallan Davar]

“I’ll take point,” Veil shrugged, “I’m quite done with this rain.”

Without another word she slipped past the rusty door and down into the bowels of the earth beneath the old church. The steps dropped a few feet further into the earth, stone slabs overhead and along the wall. The light turned out to be a large red candle. A spiral of wax arcing down from the wick to a saucer which sat upon a surprisingly modern-looking wooden table and chair. The doorway opened up into a tunnel more than a room, leaving the table and chair somewhat out of place, but the lack of immediate threats was enough of a relief for the trio to step inside out of the drizzling rain.

Veil could only shake her head at Shallan’s foolishness as she attempted to wring out some of the water from the havah dress. The girl had known she would be in a survival situation, and hadn’t thought to adopt more practical attire for the outing? She clearly hadn’t settled down about being lost in the Crossroads yet, for all her excitement over its technology. As though keeping a dress from Roshar would get her into the Tranquiline Halls if she got killed.

At least she had thought to wear a glove on her safehand. Veil slipped it out of the pouch, rolling up the sleeve slightly with only the slightest hint of embarrassment from the portion of Shallan that wasn’t totally isolating herself from the situation. They weren’t even Vorin, safehands didn’t have any meaning to either of them. She was going to be stuck trudging around in this heavy wool dress, the least she could do was use both hands without impediment, right?

The darkness of the tunnel stretched out beyond the candle’s light with a firm hold. Bare stone paneling, neither adorned nor crumbling. The three of them stood for a moment, listening to the silence. Veil wasn’t scared of the dark, but there was certainly something eerie about the pitch blackness ahead of them.

“Well, whatever we shall find, it has a desire for light.” Sari spoke aloud, tossing a flashlight each to Veil and Lan before pulling out a lighter for himself. “Not likely to approach something with stealth down here.”

Veil examined the device with a hint of curiosity, knowing that Shallan would have several questions. The switch was obvious enough., and the beam of light it produced was like a focused lamp of diamond broams. Impressive, if only it was able to keep its intensity reliably. Lan’s flashlight was also sputtering a bit, but it seemed to work better when he hit it a few times with his other hand, so Veil did the same.

“Should we come to blows with foes in these odorous catacombs,” Sari continued with a self-satisfied grin at his wordage, “I would prefer two hands on my blade. Little ones, it shall be up to you to keep Soleus's light steady for us in this darkness, yes?”

Veil nodded. “Easy enough, now let’s get moving before something out there hears us and figures out the door isn’t locked anymore.”

They pulled the door shut, it’s rusty hinges echoing gratingly ahead of them, but the blackness remained as still as ever. With a mental breath, the three of them started into the darkness. Two flashlights strobing forwards in the darkness, revealing more of the same twisting bare stone tunnel. The stone walls and floor were smooth, and better kept than much of the city appeared to be, though more from a lack of use than an intentional effort to clean them. They were going underground, but the vague slope of the passage made it difficult to assess how far down they were at this point.

“It seems like more of a basement than a catacomb.” Lan hummed, crossing to the other side of the tunnel to give a patch of mold a rather wide berth.

“Maybe a wine cellar?” Veil shrugged, “Ardents always seem to have the best wines.”

“In my experience the best wines are from people who think they’re winning right up until you beat them.” Sari smirked at Veil. She gave him a sociable smile, but then returned her attention to the tunnel.

It was too big, too twisting. There was something here she was missing, Veil could feel it. They had been walking almost five minutes now, no sign of anything but mold and bare stone. She cursed as they rounded a bend to find the tunnel ending unceremoniously in a blank stone wall of the same make as the rest of the tunnel. Veil cursed, playing her flashlight’s beam around for any signs of an opening.

“Deathtrap?” She asked with a casual enough air as the three of them began to examine the area.

“Seems a poor one.” Sari frowned “That door looked sturdy enough, but not so sturdy to trap anything that might wander down. Besides, it would be risky to keep watch on. I see no sign of a door here, hidden or otherwise.”

Veil could only nod in agreement, her eyes squinting at every corner of the tunnel. There had to be something here. Something she had missed. Was this tunnel just a fake decoy? A way to fool the monsters that were supposed to be haunting this town?

“That candle would last a while, but the table and chair would be only a decoy then, and a surprisingly detailed one, given they don’t fit with the rest of the place very well.” Lan shrugged, tracing a gloved finger along one of the stone walls. He pulled it back, noting with some concern the amount of dust that had accumulated on it.

“...Nobody make a strong gust of wind in here, please.” He added, tucking his flashlight under one arm and brushing his hands free of the clinging particles.

Veil stopped, pointing her flashlight directly at Lan, then she knelt down to the floor. She drew her freehand across it, examined her finger, then repeated the motion on the wall nearby.

“It’s not abandoned,” She murmured, “Someone is sweeping the floors here. Not all that often, but enough to make a difference. Look, we’ve left footprints in the dust, but only barely. In fact…” Veil started back up the tunnel, her flashlight casting back and forth across the ground.

“See here?” She called back to Sari and Lan as they followed, “From here to the door they’re completely gone!”

“Someone’s sweeping to keep the dust off the floors?” Sari rubbed his chin, pondering.

“Exactly.” Veil nodded, her confidence in the theory growing, “They don’t want their footprints traced if someone else manages to find their way down here, so they clean them up. The thing is, they don’t use the full tunnel. It’s a fake, like we thought. They’ll sweep it on occasion if the dust starts to stand out, but they’re only worried about footprints up to here!”

The three of them turned their eyes to the nearby walls. They looked to be the same blank and dust-covered panels as the remainder of the tunnel, but Veil was all but convinced now. She leaned close to the stonework, rapping against each slab of stone with the bottom of the flashlight. The third panel down echoed dully and Veil’s face broke into a satisfied grin. A bit more fiddling found the edge of a seam, and a moment’s work between her and Sari had the stone panel out and resting on the nearby wall.

There was a small space behind it, lit from above this time, though the three of them were paying far more attention to the very terrified man brandishing a wrench that waited just behind the door they had found. The four of them stared at one another for a moment, before the man lowered his weapon.

“Oh thank the heavens, you’re fairly normal.” He exhaled with obvious relief, “Come on, quickly now. Inside, before anything realizes how to get down here!”

 

[The Man in Red]

Bloodhound​

Moving away from the docks and toward another section of the city, Bloodhound crept quickly but quietly. After what they had learned about this...Operator, and the unsettling presence they had felt when it merely passed by, it wasn't the sort of thing they wanted to run into unprepared. Or have get the drop on them.

The strange thing, as quickly became evident however, was the sudden profusion of barricades and obstacles built up in the city streets. Wreckage and detritus dragged out of homes and buildings, and cars and trucks and other vehicles in varying states of wrecked and working order strewn about the street, making things into a confusing and hard to navigate maze of blockades and dead ends. Fires burned here and there, piles of broken items and oil drums spewing out greasy plumes of smoke into the air.

And perhaps worst of all, there were the city's occupants.

Wrapped in heavy cloaks and hoods to ward off the lingering chill of the previous day's rain, they splashed and stormed about. Every man and woman among them was armed in some way, wielding large knives and clubs or firearms. Some of them brandished makeshift torches, and many more had large sturdy flashlights and lanterns, prowling the backstreets and back alleys where the gloomy sunlight didn't quite reach.

Everywhere, they prowled and patrolled, muttering and calling to each other in paranoid voices. They were visibly twitchy and frightened of something, and at the drop of a hat would often break out into violent arguments or fights. They never actually used their weapons against each other, but more than once a gunshot was fired.

This entire stretch of the city was an ugly, unwelcoming maze, and it was only Bloodhound's natural sense of direction and careful pace that kept them from getting completely turned around in the twisting, foreign streets.

Their luck didn't hold out forever, though.

Just as they crept through the shadows and into a building to try and get out of sight, a rustling noise came from ahead and suddenly the nearly-blinding glare of a flashlight shone in their face. "Found one, found one of 'em! The newcomers! Outta towners! The ones she's after!" a hoarse voice bellowed, its owner storming forward and hurling themselves bodily into the Legend.

Both of them went down to the floor in a tangle of limbs, the townsman grappling and striking out with his hefty flashlight. But he was just a feverishly panicked man, who's only experience with combat was a few scraps in his youth and a drunken barroom brawl or two. Against a trained opponent like the Legend...

Soon enough, they had kicked the man off and surged back upright, a deft blow knocking the air from the man's lungs and making him drop his flashlight. Snatching it up, Bloodhound whipped it around to clock him across the side of the face with a meaty, crunching thwack and dropped him like a sack of bricks. Likely not dead, but down for the count.

Just in time for a nearby door to rattle and burst open as two more stormed in. One held a burning torch aloft, brandishing a large, curved hunting knife in his other hand while the other squinted past the torchlight into the gloom and hefted a battered old hunting rifle.

Whirling around to face them, Bloodhound settled into a low crouch, staring them down.

With an angry snarl, the knife-wielding one lunged while the gunman took aim and fired...

Several vicious growls and cries of pain, and a handful of gunshots lit up the interior of the room, and after a moment...the Legend emerged, beating a hasty retreat from the scene, sporting their new prizes.

Bloodhound has encountered the "hounds" of the Dullahan. They suffered a surprise attack, but got out of the encounter with only a knife-inflicted arm wound (Minor Injury) and a general beating from the worked up townsmen (Story Injury).
They looted a sturdy maglite flashlight, a hunting knife and a hunting rifle (along with some ammunition for it). None of it is in anything like perfect condition, but it's all more than useable.

 

[The Man in Red]

Nico Cinder & Amalia Eckern​

After their miraculous escape from the (apparently) living house, the two tragic misfits had kept moving. Much more warily than before, after that unpleasant run-in, but moving all the same.

Steering well clear of the nearby densely packed city, they had avoided any direct encounters with the roving bands of violently paranoid villagers and townspeople. They had heard the frantic shouts here and there in the distance, heard and seen the passing of vehicles from their engines and headlights, and had more than one close encounter as they passed perilously close...

...but soon enough they started to learn that the crazed folks were incredibly wary of the water, and hesitant to get too close to it if it wasn't necessary. Sticking close to the water's edge gave them some sense of relative safety as they made their way along.

It wasn't until they reached a bridge leading to an island off the main shoreline that that safety fell apart.

The fog rolled in thick off the water, and suddenly a low droning whine began to sound from somewhere nearby.

"The heck is that?" Bewildered, Nico looked around for the source of the sound.

"I...think it's coming from you?" Amalia ventured after a moment. "Or something you have?"

"The hell?" Patting himself down, it took the lad longer than he would've liked to admit to find the source of the racket. "Oh, right...this fucking thing." The useless ass radio that had been in his supplies for the game. Damn thing didn't even work right, and no matter how he messed with the volume or signal knobs it just wouldn't even make a sound.

...but it was sure making a sound now. One of the little lights on it had lit up, weakly flickering and flashing green, and the speaker was vomiting out a constant hiss of droning static, like some kind of all you could hear white noise buffet.

Shit was awful.

"Wait...do you hear that?" Amalia suddenly went stiff, standing up straight and looking around.

"'Course I do. Don't think I could miss it..." Nico shook his head (and the radio), trying to get it to shut up.

The little light on it flickered from green to yellow.

"No, not that..." Frantically, Amalia lurched closer and clamped her hand over the speaker, muffling it. "...that!"

And suddenly, he did hear that too. He wished he didn't, for some reason he really couldn't put his finger on, but he sure heard it.

The sound of something approaching. Fast.

Pounding, thundering impacts on the ground, like footsteps but waaay too damn loud and heavy. It took the puzzled duo a few frantic seconds to actually figure out what it was.

The radio's little light flickered and went from yellow to red.

Hoofbeats.

The droning whine of static rose to a shrill hissing crackle, the noise actually distorting from the speaker.

From far out on the bridge, there came the neighing of a horse, piercingly loud and clear, before a shape materialized out of the fog.

"Run." Nico muttered, staring at it with wide eyes. Somewhere, somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew what it was now barreling toward him. Toward them. Fuck him if he knew how, but you didn't do crazy shit like get a bargain deal for your soul's return from death without being able to lay eyes on Death and recognize it on some level.

"Run!" he turned around and slapped Amalia and his own ass into motion, bolting off with the quickest sprint he could manage in the closest "away from that fuckshit" direction he could manage.

Amalia didn't need to be told twice, the actual panic in her companion's voice all the motivation she needed (on top of, of course, having some huge ominous figure charging at them out of the fog) to get her ass into not being where it just was.

Thundering out of the fog the thing came. A huge horse, black as night from nose to tail; sparks flew from its hooves where they struck the road, and hot steam flowed from its maw as it panted and heaved every breath. On its back, the rider; one hand clutched the reins, the other sported a massive broadsword held out and ready to strike. Garbed in dark, flowing clothes and blacked out leather armor, along with a long scarf wrapped high around the neck and lower face. Pale blue skin, and almost obnoxiously long flowing silver hair.

Both horse and rider sported eyes of the same eerie, piercing gold color, shining through the fog as good as any lantern.

Try as they might, the tragic misfits couldn't hope to outrun a charging horse at full gallop, however. And as it bore down on them...they felt the already chill air start to grow even more cold. The horse thundered forward, barreling down and nearly trampling Nico as it beelined directly for Amalia.

The terrified girl looked back over her shoulder just in time to see it.

Just in time to meet the gaze of those unblinking, gold eyes...

...and then the sword came down.

Amalia was struck across her side and back, the blade producing a shower of sparks and a horrific screeching crash as it caught and skittered across the armored frame of its target. The girl was lifted from the ground and flung through the air, momentarily leaving her sense of the world behind as her mind struggled to process and cope with such a bone-jarring impact.

Had it not been for the armor, she likely would've suffered far worse. But as it was...she rolled and skipped along the ground like a stone over water, making several breathless squeaks and cries of pain. Something was broken, somewhere; she could feel it. Probably several somethings. All the wind had been taken out of her lungs, and seemed to stubbornly refusing to let her regain it.

She was internally thankful for the armor, being the only thing that had her still in one piece, but fuck that still hurt.

The rider thundered forward, yanking on the reins of her horse to come about for another pass. But the momentary slowing of her pace was all that was needed for Nico fucking Cinder to blindside her this time.

With a rush of energy he couldn't tell you from where it came, he sprinted over the muddy, grassy ground and jumped for all he was worth. He came crashing into the side of the rider as she reared her horse around, and sent both of them crashing to the ground. He felt something snap, unable to tell if it was in his body or his target's, but it didn't so much as perturb him.

They fought and struggled, only his advantageous position keeping him from being immediately kicked off or skewered by that fucking sword. After a moment of desperate back and forth, he reached up and took a fistful of her hair and yanked to one side, bringing her down and in contact with his own noggin.

He immediately wished he hadn't.

A nauseating, soul-wrenching cold blossomed within his head and for a moment the entire world went black. He reeled back and away, toppling over onto his back, and the Rider did the same...even as her head quite literally came off in Nico's hands, and went sailing away into the grass when he hit the ground.

She rolled over and sprang to her feet, sword held in both hands and her headless body 'looked' this way and that, as if searching out either its enemies or its own missing head.

As Nico and Amalia struggled back to their feet, there suddenly came another surprising noise. The sharp, rapid report of gunfire from the near distance and then the pattering of bullet impacts nearby in the soft ground. The Dullahan recoiled, bringing its blade around to swing in the direction of the gunfire and intercept a few stray bullets.

Then there was the sound of sprinting footsteps, and something came vaulting and somersaulting over the headless horsewoman. "C'mon!" A voice shouted, as none other than Quincy, son of Quincy, entered the fray. Spinning around, he dropped into a crouch between the two and their foe, and unloaded upon the rider. "Make a run for it, you two! She isn't gonna stay down for long!"

They ran for it.

The Dullahan has attacked. Amalia Eckern is her target.
Nico Cinder has suffered some severe bruising and near-trampling injuries (Minor Injury all together) as well as several cracked ribs (Minor Injury) from his diving grapple maneuver, and severe head trauma from contact with the Dullahan's head (Minor Injury).
Amalia Eckern has suffered a grievous wound from the Dullahan's sword, which will swiftly turn nearly her entire back and left side into one giant bruise (Major Injury, reduced to Minor Injury) and has had the wind completely knocked out of her, needing some time to manage recovery (Story Injury).

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

The trio made their way through the woods in the light of the new dawn, though it brought little comfort in the face (or lack thereof) of their supernatural pursuer.

“Oh ho, I may have found an altar, friends!” Sand Hawk declared cheerfully as he bent down, picking up a bundle of twigs that had happened to get caught on one another on the forest floor. Klarion grinned enthusiastically at their good fortune while Adam resisted the temptation to beat himself unconscious with his own crutch to spare himself from hearing that comment for the dozenth time.

With a grunt, the rogue crushed the sticks between his hands and postured gloriously to his comrades, doing his best to appear as the Great Sand Hawk that his companions had come to know him as. Deep down, though, worry was seeping into his mind. While, certainly, he was still very eccentric, he was down about 15%, which was considerably more than 100% from your average person!

He found himself wishing that he had paid attention to those lectures and lessons on all the eldritch nonsense, Gal’skap and such. Not enough to resolve to listen more in the future, mind you, but still, it would be nice information to have right about now. At the very least, he knew the difference between a minor and major Old God, and if this boogeyman was an elder god of some sorts, it was almost certainly the former.

That was a rather weak reassurance, but was a reassurance nonetheless.

“Sooo, does this ‘boogeyman’ challenge you to a dance battle if he catches you?” Sand Hawk ventured, his voice somewhere between fear and hope.

“Yeah, you wish.” The Time Lad snorted. “He, and this is the professional term, ‘fucks your shit up’.”

A full second or two after the curse words had left Adam’s mouth, the rogue quickly reached out and covered Klarion’s ears in a terribly vain attempt to shield him from the profanity.

“Well, I’m not looking to have my shiz fizzed, so unless those little crossed out circles do anything, I suggest that we don’t let him catch us!” Sand Hawk declared, clearly far too proud of his plan as he removed his hands from the witch boy’s ears and rested them on his hips.

Having heard every word, Klarion glanced down at his talisman, briefly wondering just how much that it was actually helping. After a moment of contemplation, the youth shrugged. What was the best that could happen? Either it would help out… somehow when their new friend found them, or it would do nothing and they’d be back at square one. And as the three continued on their hunt, they all thought one thing:

The best outcome of all would be to not meet him in the first place.

Actually, Adam and Klarion were thinking one thing. Sand Hawk was thinking two things with the second thought being ‘Call me the bread maker because I’m about to make that dozen altars a baker’s dozen!’ as he spied another pile of twigs nearby.

 

[Fennec Shand]

The demonic girl had… so many questions.

Karl Jak rambled on for what seemed like the entire night as Nezuko followed him through the wilderness. She wasn’t really absorbing anything he said, as the tale snaked into more complicated twists and turns than even that of the little black book Geoffrey had read some excerpts from. The demon girl could tell, though, that despite the complexities stringing the narrative together, the grizzled soldier was fully invested in his story. She may not have understood the words, but she understood the rise and fall of his inflection, the peaks and valleys his voice crescendoed and decrescendoed into.

He’d taken to calling her ‘Eight.’ With no way to properly correct him on her name, Nezuko went with it; it was refreshing, at least, to have someone who wanted to call her something. Already, Jak had shown more empathy towards her situation than any of the cultists had; perhaps he’d encountered games like this before? Or perhaps he saw her childlike exterior and felt… bad for her?

Nevertheless, Nezuko was going to follow him either way. The gratitude she had for him busting up her captors was endless. She didn’t often find herself wanting to hurt humans — hardly ever, in fact, back when she’d been traveling with her brother. These humans, however… they seemed different. Before, any humans she’d met had understood the difference between good and evil, but these cultists seemed almost happy to serve their vile god.

She’d been wrestling with that. Did that make them just as bad as the monster itself?

“What the fuck time even is it?” Seven wondered idly, looking up at the sky. It had seemed to be the same level of gloomy and dreary for however long they’d been here, so the demon girl could understand how Jak might not be able to discern the time just from looking at the sky.

She could tell, though. She galloped ahead a few paces, sticking her face into the air and pulling in a big, long sniff. She could smell the scent of morning dew beginning to form on the grass, and could tell from the mixture of aromas wafting in that the more nocturnal creatures roaming through these woods were beginning to fade away in favor of the daytime denizens. What was that smell — a small litter of squirrels, coming out to bust some nuts?

Nezuko turned back towards Karl Jak. She grinned a toothy, probably very creepy grin, and placed her hands together, then lifted one up slowly to try and communicate ‘sunrise’ to her grizzled companion. Jak smirked, chuckling a bit before reaching into his bag and pulling out a small device that looked primed to be fastened to a wrist.

“Thanks, Eight,” he said, not unkindly, “but don’t strain your nose too much.”

He looked down at the watch. “Just after five AM.”

Nezuko blinked. How long had they been here, then? Had it been more than a day? Time was something she… couldn’t really remember, couldn’t really put her finger on. It seemed to pass, on and on, and she seemed to move with it. She knew that eventually, she’d need to sleep, but without any sense of hunger or thirst, the idea that the day came with specified sections had faded away.

Luckily, now, she had Seven for that.

“Time for breakfast,” he smiled. “Gimme that shotgun, will ya?”

Nezuko handed over the weapon perhaps too willingly. Jak readied it, turning and looking up in the trees for a few moments before squeezing down on the trigger and firing it.

BLAM!

A single squirrel dropped from a lower branch, marred by Karl Jak’s uncanny aim. The demon girl, shocked by the loudness of the sound and the distinct echo pinging off the trees around them, crouched into a battle position. Jak turned back to her, chuckling a bit as he watched her looking around frantically for any enemies about to hop out of the shadows.

“Chill out, Eight,” he tried to calm her, reaching down and handing her back her shotgun. “Let them come. This is a Death Game, right? So we’re just going to give them what they came for.”

Nezuko blinked as Karl Jak moved towards his future squirrel souffle. Not much Karl Jak had said sunk in, but she understood all too well what he meant by ‘give them what they came for.’

And just like that, more questions popped into her feral brain.

 

[Shallan Davar]

Shallan sat in the corner of one of the church’s window panes, sketching on a pad of dirty notebook paper she had found. By the fourth or fifth drawing she was starting to feel enough like herself to relax and really focus on things again. The town wasn’t abandoned, not entirely. At least for the moment there were still pockets of relative safety like this one. Some two dozen members of the community had hoarded together what supplies they could in the church and the bunker beneath it. They had space and the bedding for nearly double that number though. Perhaps ‘relative’ was the more operative word than ‘safety’ in this situation.

She glanced back out the window, peering out between the wooden planks that crisscrossed the outside of the glass to keep things from realizing who was in here. The morning was doing precious little to alleviate the darkness of the area, but at least the rain had subsided for the time being. She had done a quick sketch of the clouds already. The storms here weren’t anything near the strength of a highstorm, thank the Almighty, but it would be helpful nonetheless to actually be able to move about in her havah without it doubling in weight. Stormfather forbid her from actually having to run for her life in the thing when it was weighed down!

Turning her gaze to the interior of the structure she watched Sari and Lan discussing the town’s situation with the closest thing the group had to a leader. They were all scared near to the point of breaking, the Operator seemed to be a nearly unopposable force. The town didn’t have any sort of protectors, they were just holding out as long as they could, hoping that something would change in the world. Shallan felt on some level that she should be doing something about this situation. That was the whole point of being a Knight Radiant, right? Life before Death, Strength before Weakness, Journey before Destination. That was an oath she had sworn, but did she even have the means of protecting these people? She was barely able to protect herself out here.

She hummed, her eyes turning towards the assorted detritus that the villagers here had accumulated but not yet found a use for. Sari had managed to negotiate some bartering already with food from their MREs. It was amazing how much variety of food was a luxury in some cases, and the marked ones that this game was ostensibly for weren’t likely to end up dying of starvation out here, realistically. Maybe they could spare a bit more in exchange for some supplies….

She slipped down from her window perch and over to the assortment of random materials that were set up in a vaguely organized mess. Protection, eh? She held up to lengths of hollow white material, humming to herself as she thudded them against one another. They weren’t anything that would hold up to a real weapon, but they were surprisingly sturdy for how light they were. Maybe this could work after all. It wasn’t quite the same as drawing, but this could still be a useful distraction.

The sound of Sari approaching from behind her eventually brought Shallan out of whatever pleasantly distracted headspace she had been in. She was indulging in a bit of art after all, drawing a glyphpair on the sheet metal surface of her newly made shield. Protection and Sanctuary. It was a bit on the nose, but in this instance Shallan didn't see the point in making things more complicated than they needed to be. Sari crouched down beside her, tilting his head slightly at the construction.

“PVC pipe and metal sheeting? I suppose that might do some good at keeping things off of you, but it’s hardly what I’d call a weapon.”

“A proper Vorin lady doesn’t fight, Sari.” Shallan stated with an exaggerated haughtiness, “Besides, when I need this I’m expecting I’ll mostly just be trying to make sure I don’t die before you or Lan can get to me.”

“Appreciate the confidence.” Sari chuckled, “Do proper Vorin women also scramble about on warehouse shelves and poke around in graveyards? Just for my reference, of course!”

“If you’d like I can carry around a piece of heavy wood all the time; On the off-chance I need to brain someone over the head with it like a common thug?” Shallan hefted a chair leg with a smirk. Sari grinned back.

“Despite my vast skills, young miss, I cannot in fact promise that I will be able to protect you against everything that will be after us on this island.” Sari gave a dramatic sigh.

And that wasn't even bringing up the fact that they were technically competitors in this ordeal. She would actually need to carry this club around wouldn't she...

“Well in that case, our audience will be privy to two failures one after another! Your failure in your solemn oath to defend an innocent young flower like myself, and my absolute inability to accomplish a task that by definition, every functioning member of society should be able to do so well they can do something better!”

Sari laughed. “It seems we are back to the jovial Shallan, then?” He raised an eyebrow.

Ah. Right. Storms.

Shallan blushed deeply, putting down the paintbrush. “Yes, ehm. I do owe you and Lan an apology over that, I believe. It’s…. Storms it’s complicated to explain, and I’d really rather not say much of anything while we’re publicly performing. Being kidnapped and killed is one thing, but a proper young woman would be positively mortified to have all of her secrets exposed to the public.”

Sari gave a nod, though he clearly wasn’t going to let her brush things off that easily.

“A case could be made that a proper young woman would not have secrets to air.” He smiled, “but perhaps you just need the right kind of shield?” He gave a nod towards the contraption she had fastened together with duct tape and nails. Shallan hummed.

“It’s… not generally like what you’re experiencing right now, though I don’t know if that’s a consolation or a cause of concern. Some of the problem’s to do with this place, some of it to do with not being in a certain other place. I… just have to be the right person for the job, you know?”

 

[Lilith]

After several hours of endless foggy roads, Lilith concluded she was officially lost. I've been on this same bridge twice already, haven't I? She traveled in circles of self-doubt and second guesses, the disorientating grip of this town finally taking hold.

All that walking just to end up back where she started—the hospital. She'd left in haste, assuming the worst of the other competitors, so maybe it was worth a look now. In place of a few intelligent and alive people, an abundance of zombies bumbled throughout the building.

Krrrrnnk. Krrrrnnk.

Lilith rested both palms on the heavy blade, turning her attention to the rusted slab of razor metal. Sure, everyone's gift was arbitrary and random, but… There had to be a reason the weapon now rested in her hands. Perhaps it chose me. If only she could parse the forbidden secrets in its bloodstained hull. Alas, no amount of resolve could force her supernatural senses to return.

The design of the great knife seemed wrong, somehow. It swung and chopped like a giant machete, but the slot in its handle told a different story. Incomplete. It's closer to half a pair of scissors, thought Lilith, twirling the torturous tool in the concrete. This implement of execution used to be whole… or had it always been this way?

She'd not receive any answers just staring at the thing. All the more reason to hold onto it, until the inevitable end.



Fetid flesh and tiled floors splintered apart as the madwoman ascended the hospital. Zombified guts inundated Lilith's outfit, dousing her a rancid shade of maroon. Somewhere in her killing spree, she had a moment of self-reflection. Would they actually leave anything here?

Her reckless violence paid off with a shiny new addition to her arsenal. She worked around the bulk of the great knife, using its momentum to her advantage; by comparison, the P.R.L. 412 was simple to handle. The letters and numbers… what do they mean? Probably not important, in all honesty.

The device fit tight on her left arm, whirring and buzzing as it calibrated to its wielder. Before Lilith could question how the weapon operated, a jolt sparked along her spine, and a moment later, a blinding beam of white hot death discharged from the cannon. I don't usually enjoy guns very much, but I'll make an exception for this.

—​

A crashed fence and tire tracks veering off-road led Lilith to point of temporary respite. Hold on, I know what this is called… Wait, fack, um… An arvy? Whatever, shelter is shelter. But how desperate was she?

"Urrghff- C'mon! People are really supposed to live here?" She struggled to cram herself into the confined space. Uncomfortable, inconvenient, but not impossible. I've managed to fit in tighter places.

After rocking the vehicle with her forced entry, the tall woman slung off her duffel bag and collapsed onto the nearest couch.

"Huff…"

Sure would be nice to just lay here, walking is such a chore. Buuuut I'd miss all the action!

She could solve this cruel quandary after filling her stomach. Unzipping her bag, she hoisted the hunk of meat onto her lap and peeled away its red soaked wrappings.

Lilith devoured the pounds of flesh with ferocious efficiency and downed two bottles of water. Not bad for an appetizer.

Moving on to the fridge, she found its rotten, moldy contents none too appealing.

The cabinets, while shelving actual food, disappointed Lilith’s palate. Pasta, ramen, canned food, cereal, useless junk, and… veugh… candy. Her search was not in vain, however, as she discovered a trove of beef jerky, seeds, and nuts. Some of these treats though… sugar free? What a score! The water is important too, I guess.

Speaking of candy.

Lilith examined the bottle of painkillers. Judging by the bold, over-the-top packaging, the absurdly high dosage would kick her into overdrive and blind her to the most grievous injuries. These almost look like sexual performance pills. Not that I'd need it. She plucked one of the green capsules and swallowed it, feeling a faint tingle in her nerves, but otherwise no noticeable effects.

That little experiment aside, she explored the front end of the cramped motorhome. A corpse occupied the driver's seat, the top half of his head sprinkled across the roof. What drove this man to blow his brains out? Did he want to prevent himself from becoming the living dead? Perhaps he succumbed to the madness? Dead bodies don't speak, and yet they have so much to say.

"You don't mind if I take this, right? Guns ain't really my thing, but, ah, it's nice to have a backup. Who knows how bad things will get."

Total silence.

Without waiting for approval, she wrenched the shotgun from the quiet headless person. Nearby she found a box of ammunition and a flashlight in modest condition, stowing away her plunderage.



Darkness overtook the skies, though that didn't help discern the time. Poor Lilith, she lost her night vision. Thankfully, the sci-fi blaster served as a decent light source when held on standby. She ought to not get too trigger happy; a flashy laser gun is a surefire way to tell the whole city where you are.

High above the rolling fog, she saw the edges of an expansive building come into view—the penitentiary.

All this zombie slaying stimulates Lilith!
Agility maxed out