He woke up to a pain in his side. A pain that he hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

"Oh fuck! He's alive!"

The man held his chest, unable to breathe. It was as if he was drowning, but he had a felt like that was ironic for him. As he was trying to get control of himself, two figures stood near him, searching what seemed to be the man's backpack. "Oh Jesus look at this! this guy has all sorts of good shit! Chips, bottled water, fuckin' desserts too?" It looked like they were in what once was a community pool. Sunshine glowed through the broken and dusty windows, the pool has long been dry as they were sitting in the bottom of it, and the breeze from the outside gave a low whistle. The place was in horrible shape outside the pool too, pipes leaked and creaked, and everything was covered in a fine layer of dirt.

The man finally was able to catch his breath, he managed to roll onto his stomach and get on all fours to look at his reflection in a puddle of water. He was handsome, and gave off a sense of power and authority. His hair and beard were thick and jet black, with a couple of dark gray hairs visible. His eyes were the darkest green he has ever seen, and he had a strong jaw, straight nose, and a scar on his cheek. His skin was a deep bronze, and looked weathered by sea travel... He wore a dark blue flannel coat, with a warm v-neck sweater underneath. Around his neck was a scarf made of cloth and what looked like a fishing net. He also had on jeans, and some old boots. he looked like he dressed as a dirty crewmember of a fishing boat.

His self realization was cut short by another shot of pain to his side. One of the two men kicked him back down, but this time. "Where'd you get your gear?" He asked. The two men wore matching outfits. ski masks with disturbing stitches to create a scarecrow smile, bullet proof vests over their heavy jackets, with army fatigue pants and boots. Something told the man that they were looters for a living. "Where'd you get your shit pal? you couldn't have possibly gotten this type of stuff on your own... And what is this? A harpoon?" The second one spoke up, holding up something that made the stranger's heart beat faster.

It was an old fishing harpoon, the metal dulled, but the edges still sharp. The shaft looked like it was made once of bronze, but was just as dull as the blade. Leather was wrapped in the center of it to get a better grip. It was an ordinary looking antique, but something told the stranger that he had a very long history with that harpoon. "Might be one. He's all dressed in ocean looking shit. Who are you? Where're your friends?" The first man demanded.

"I'm.." The man said with a hoarse voice. A name came to mind immediately in his head. that was the only thing that appeared about him, actually. I Am Poseidon. the voice in his head said. "Ben." The man now known as Ben said, his voice more confident. The two of them laughed. "You don't look like a Ben, but alright." The first one stepped forward, holding a knife. The second one tossed aside the harpoon and continued to search the backpack. "Tell us Ben, where'd you get your gear? We don't like repeating questions." The blade got closer to Ben. "I... I don't know." He managed to say, backing up. Before he could do anything, the man with the blade punched Ben in the face, grabbing him by the shirt, and picking him up. "Bullshit. Where's your base held up? We don't kill people unless its necessary.. So we'll give you one more chance."

"I'm telling you I don't know any--" Ben was thrown backwards, hitting the side of the pool wall hard with his head. He was in half a daze, his head hurt, but most of all... He was starting to get upset. He was punched again in the face, then kicked in the stomach, everything was hurting, like being hurt for the first time. And this kept fueling the hatred he had for this man. The angrier he got the more he sensed something... He didn't know what, but it was like something in his gut told him that something was within the pool side wall. His hands tingled as he looked over at his harpoon a few feet away, and his stunning green eyes stared at the man with anger. "Don't do that again." Ben said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"Or what, old man? You gonna tangle me up in that fish net of yours? I hope your friends' lives were worth more than yours. Thanks for the free stuff, by the way." The man lunged at Ben with the blade. Everything went in slow motion. The tug in his chest was stronger than ever, his right hand was on fire. His instincts took over. Ben put out his left hand, and extended his right to the side. A very low creak sound appeared, and then a jet of water rushed out of the side of the wall, hitting the looter straight in the face. He fell to the ground, and when Ben looked at his right hand, the old harpoon was in his hand. He assumed that in the heat of the moment he went to grab it.

Water was now flooding the pool. The water was up to their ankles, and Ben started to feel the back of his head and other wounds numb down. He guessed it was the adrenaline finally kicking in. "Ohohoh, I don't know what you just did, but you're dead you son of a bitch!" The man with the knife lunged again, but this time, Ben was ready. He swiped the pole towards the man's wrist, making the knife go sideways. With a twirl of his own wrist the harpoon was parallel with his forearm, and he smacked the man's head with the bottom of the weapon. He man went out cold, blood trickling out of his mask and in the water. Ben and the other looter stood in amazement. and then the second man came in to attack. Ben ducked and swung the harpoon at the man's legs, making him fall over. With another flip of his wrist the harpoon's blade quickly went to the man's neck.

Ben had no idea how he did that. He never fought with any weapon before!... or did he? Everything was a blur to him! the only thing he knew was that he was in New York, and the world has gone to shit. The two stared at each other for a second, until Ben decided not to kill the man. He kicked him square in the head, knocking him out cold. He was scared at this moment. Where exactly was he? Who were those people? Who was he? He dropped down to the ground to pick up his backpack, and then did a very quick search through the looter's objects. Satisfied, he put the backpack on his back, the harpoon in his hand, and climbed out of the pool, and out of the building.

New York City was not what it once was, or at least what he thought it would be. Once mighty skyscrapers were now toppled over and covered in plans and dust. The roads were willed with bones of all shapes and sizes, as well as rusted cars, oil drum fires, and all sorts of debris. Ben looked both ways, uncertain on where to go. he looked down at the weapon that saved his life minutes ago. It definitely didn't look special. Just a rusty harpoon, but something in the back of his mind told him it was so much more, but the more he thought about it the more blanks he drew. It was as if this memory should be here, but it wasn't. The only memories he had were those of the end of the world, and what his true name was.

I am Poseidon. Rang through his head again... It wasn't a normal name, but that was the only thing that made sense about him right now. He was Poseidon. And he had to find the others... The others? Whatever that meant. He heard distant gunfire to the left, with a very high pitched and bone chilling screech. A normal person would have started running the opposite way. But Ben needed to find some answers. The sound of battle was his best bet. Putting the harpoon in between his back and backpack, he started to run towards the sounds, keeping low as he did so.

I am the dead.

He stirred, stirred in the darkness, sensation gradually flowing into his mind as warmth flowed into his limbs. There was something on his tongue, something cold, metallic--he spat, or tried to, dirt coming into his mouth. He realized then where he was, why he couldn't see...Why he couldn't spit whatever it was out. He was underground, his legs pinned by their muddy prison. He nearly screamed, but realized the sound would be muffled, that any air he gave up would be air he couldn't get back. He slung one of his arms up with all his might, wincing as his fist hit the wall of earth--but it cracked, and spurred on he punched it again, and again, until finally light started to stream through the hole. He gasped, pulling himself out, coughing the rest of the dirt and the metal object (whatever it was) out on to the mud of a freshly dug and extremely shallow grave. It was a small, golden coin, as it turned out... And though he couldn't see why, he felt strangely attached to it. για τον Άδη the inscription read, and somehow he knew...

For Hades. Was that who he was? Another name came to his mind, a longer but somehow... Less oppressive one. Hal Desmond. First syllables aside... Hal. That was his name. That's who he'd be.

A scarf was around his neck twice, the same color as the rest of his clothing--black, for some reason, maybe Hal Desmond was some kind of Goth--but seemed to shimmer--

BANG! A single shot careened off a headstone near Hal, his eyes going wide with fear as he turned--

"Damn it man, he's alive!"

The shouter was holding a backpack and a two-pronged spear, and instinctively Hal knew... Those were his. And he was going to get them back. More from reflex than anything else, he threw the end of his scarf around his neck once more, and--the world was transparent, like a dream... The gunmen facing him looked like shadows of themselves, aiming back and forth, looking for a target that wasn't there. Only the spear was still solid, and Hal made for it as fast as he could, snagging it out of the thug's lax hand, spinning and slamming the butt of the weapon into his head. The man crumpled, and Hal, still in the flow of battle, stabbed him in the chest--then pulled back, the man's breath coming in ragged gasps. Damn, he hadn't meant to... By the gods... Killing mortals, Hades? some voice rang out of his subconscious, and he shook his head, still in shock.

Still another one to worry about, though. The clatter and careen of more shots scared him out of his reverie, and another quick slam to the head sent the other man into sleepy-town-fun-times. Hal unwrapped his scarf, staggering back and leaning against a particularly large monument, staring at the sky and at the ruined city buildings around him. He'd answered the "who" question, he was Hal Desmond. Maybe... Maybe "what" and "where" were better...

The sound of shouting was moving toward him, and he pushed himself off of the stone, facing more of what looked like the same band who had just attacked him. There were five, at least, and even with the scarf... Frenzied shooting was likely to get him...

There came the last, slow, death rattle of the man he'd killed, and then a much louder sound. Black energy burst forth from the dying man's chest, shrieking as it blasted its way toward Hal, slamming into him and removing all of his fatigue, his weakness at just waking, filling him with what seemed like infinite energy. He smiled slightly. Fight was still uneven, but... Whatever that was, no matter how it disturbed him, it sure did even the odds.

[error]

She slightly jolted up, back arching as the sharp intake of air broke the eerie silence of the desolate place the young maiden lay. The first gasp of air spilling into her lungs felt as though it was both a gift and a curse. She greedily took in each new gasp of air but with each breath came a throbbing pain as if she had been slammed in the rib cage more than once and her head felt like it might split in two. She didn't understand why everything was spinning even though she was still unmoving from the dry unforgiving earth below her but eyes looked up above, the same bright blue as the sky she was staring at. The only thing to block that vision was the twisted branches and limbs of dead trees that refused to fall and withstanding the destruction of what was probably once a vibrant beautiful orchard. She waited, the world slowly coming to a halt and no longer a dizzy mess which made her feel steady enough to try to move as well as take a look around. She carefully pushed up into a seated position, her legs curling to the side as if a natural lady like position was something she always did but even she couldn't be sure.

Nothing, that was her memory. The only thing she got was basic knowledge and the reason for the chaos around her but to who she was and how she got here...she just didn't know. A hand reached up for the dirt, brushing brunette locks out of her face as she had a look at what was nearby. A sword lay at her hip but it seemed dull, useless and covered in only knows what as well as rust. It would do her no good and for some reason, though she knew it was hers...she didn't feel to much connection to the object. Her eyes continued to scan, landing on a backpack not to far away but that isn't what made her heart stare to rush. Next to the pack was a simple fruit, one that shouldn't mean anything more than food but she felt like it meant everything. She carefully crawled closer, not caring if she dirtied her pants legs and gently picked up the blood red fruit...no...pomegranate...that is what it was. A soft smile graced her lips but the feeling of happiness was short lived as a voice spoke up in the distant.

"Hey! We got one over here!"

She felt blind panic fill her, weak and with no direction to guide her it didn't seem too bright. She wouldn't just sit and wait for doom though as she heard the hoots and calls as strangers started to rush closer. She quickly shoved the item in her hand the pack, slinging it over her shoulder fast before jetting off in a full sprint.

What have you gotten yourself into Lily?

Her head shook, pushing the shock of a sudden name popping into her head out of the way for now to focus. The name sounded nice but it wasn't really familiar...something was missing in her memory...a name more important than that of Lily but it was all so blurry.

Focus now. You can't get caught. Keep moving. They are getting closer...No one is here to help you this time...if there ever was anyone...

He woke up slowly, starting to regain consciousness but not movement. Why can't I move? The only thought to pop into his head, his eyes forced open and he found himself laying on top of a fallen building. He looked down at is chest to find the culprit, an adolescent German Shepherd was laying on his chest. Naturally he would just shove the beast off but he felt a strong connection to this being. Could you please get up? Almost as if reading his thoughts, the dog got off and sat beside him. He stood up and looked around, the only thing near him was the beast and a backpack. He walked over to the backpack and put it on, thinking that he would have time to investigate the contents later. He looked out around the town that surrounded the building and saw three groups. Two were getting into a fight it appeared, one who had killed and five who wanted vengeance. Typically due to the state this world is in, but where is this? And who am I?

You are The Judge

A voice rang loud and clear in his head. The Judge, but what does that mean? Judge, apparently, looked down at the last group, one man who had killed and was heading towards the other two. Oh great, two pole-wielding murderers. Judge looked back towards the fight. He watched as the murderer had a black energy surge towards him, and then he looked back towards the five.

They need to be judged

Them!? But their the good guys, right? Or perhaps all of those people down there require judgement. Judge carefully found his way off the building and headed towards the sounds. "Come on Beast." What was that? Did sounds just come from my mouth? They call this talking don't they? At his words, the dog found it's way to his side. "Well then, I guess your name is Beast. Let's go then." Judge carried on towards the fight, slowing fading in and out of existence. He was not aware of his slight jumps here and there but Beast got confused every now and then.

"Hey, you! Give me your bag!"

Another voice, this time not coming from his head but from nearby, called to him from his side. Oh great, just what I needed. Judge turned around and saw a man holding a pistol and standing in front of his son. Judge walked closer to them and faded out, provoking a shot that went right through his faded form, he reappeared in front of the man and quickly knocked the pistol out of his hand. Judge grabbed the man by his head and threw him against the ground. He stepped over the father and raised his foot over his head. A voice that was not his own came from within him, "You have been judged by truth and have been found guilty. Your judgement... is Death. Just as his foot was about to crush the man's skull, Judge regained control of himself. "But you shall be spared for the sake of this innocent child." Judge walked off, grabbing the pistol off the ground. This should prove useful, I wonder how many bullets are in.... One Freaking Bullet! My Gods! Ugh, I better make it count then.

((I hate First Posts...))

*Apophis*
Waking up he immediately clutched his belly! It felt like his ribs had been broken. And then as soon as it had happened it stopped. Opening his eyes his vision cleared and the world showed itself to him. A grotty sign half broken said WELCOME TO CHICAGO on it and he got up. Feeling awkward he just stood there trying to remember how he got there. Or was he a he? How could he tell? What was his name? So many questions. A raging voice started whispering to him in his head "Apep, Apep, Apep..." He whacked his head like you would a vending machine that stole your money and the insane whispering stopped. A poster passed his feet and he went to pick it up. It had mostly been destroyed from being rained on but one word remained, Ash. Well thats a good a name as any I suppose he thought in his head. Wanting to say something otherwise he felt like he'd go insane he shouted out "I AM ASH!!!!!" with his voice echoing out throughout the area. Suddenly, a gang came round a corner in suprise. "He's alive!!!" one of them shrieked and the other replied "Not for long" The man came at him and swung a crowbar at his head, instintivly he raised an arm to block it and the crowbar snapped in half. Suddenly an energy made him much stronger and faster and not knowing how sent a flurry of punches, kicks and head-butts at the other man until he was on the floor. He regained awareness with his teeth over the opponents life who was crying out for mercy. In wonder he started to step away but the whisper started again "NO Kill Him!" he resisted but his true nature (although he doesn't know it is) won. And his teeth finished the man off. The other members of the gang ran away as quick as they could after that. He fell over backwards wondering what he had done. He ran into the nearest ruined building, sat on a table and thought...

She saw.

She saw the festivals, with music and laughter dancing with the wind. The priestesses, garbed in red, danced for their goddess as cheers went around. Perfume, ambrosia, and passion clogged the air like a thick sweet smoke. The people, drunk on wine and excitement, felt no sense or emotion save that of pleasure.

She saw her father standing tall and strong as his ship sailed across the sky. Behind, emanating fear and hatred and all things evil, the serpent followed with malicious intent. How, everyday, her father would battle to defeat the demon with the aid of her or her siblings. It was her own paws, stained crimson and holding a dagger, that sliced off the creature's head.

She saw the cats curled around their young kits or swollen bellies, defending their children from danger. Their hisses at unknown beings, but their welcoming purrs at her presence. They had no masters but themselves as they strutted through the alleyways, and their large two-legged servants served their sacred feline companions. It was their deaths that caused her grief, and their existence that filled her with joy.

She saw.
But she did not remember.

---

The first thing the young woman noticed upon awakening was not the odd instrument by her side or the ramshackle establishment she was currently inside. It was the pain. The pounding ache in her head, as if someone had shoved a knife or two into her skull. Pure throbbing pain. A weak groan slipped out of her mouth as the women forced her dark eyes open. She slowly got to her feet. Her headache screamed against her, though she did her best to ignore it. She leaned heavily against the wall and anxiously ran a hand through her waterfall of black hair. There were too many questions in her mind. What had happened? How did she get here? What was this place? Who was she?

The woman slowly looked around, taking in her surroundings. She was in a building. A store, or at least, what used to be one. Broken glass lay shattered on the floor, while empty shelves lined the walls. The puke green wallpaper had begun to peel and rot, revealing the splintering wood behind it. Graffiti speaking out ominous warnings of 'This is the END' and 'ALL WILL DIE' covered the walls. From somewhere in its hole, a rat's corpse had begun to stink up the building.

A glimmer on the ground caught her eye. One the ground, nestled among the dust and debris, was a strange golden...thing. It was shaped like a cross with a loop on top, with rods crossing through the rounded area. Though the space around it was littered with dirt, it was pristine and new.

Sistrum. It's a sistrum. An instrument.

She didn't know how she knew its name, and a part of her, too enamored with her find, didn't care. As she lifted it, the rods shifted and rattled, and the sistrum began to sing in its hypnotizing tone. It sang with the dances of papyrus reeds. Of whispers told by the wind. Of the river pushing the ship towards home. Of fire as it warmed the home. Of--

"Meow."

The woman whirled around, snapping out of her daze. She brought a hand to her mouth and stifled a scream of surprise. She clutched the instrument to her chest, eyes darting around rapidly.

"Meow."

She slowly looked down, her shock gradually turning into embarrassed amusement. At her feet, out of all things, was a cat. It stared up at her with sharp golden eyes, its fur matted and torn. The woman let out a nervous laugh and bent down, extending a hand towards the creature. "Hey there," she greeted quietly. "You gave me quite a scare there, buddy." Before her fingers came within an inch of the cat, it turned and darted through the shattered glass door. The woman hurried after, desperate not to lose the first and only sign of life around. She carefully pushed open the door and gazed around, her breath catching in her throat.

While the store itself was a mess, the world outside was a disaster. Buildings, once grand and tall, lay fallen in rocky heaps. Cars lay empty and rotting in the streets, and a thick smoky rot tainted the air. The woman walked forward, careful of the chunks of debris that littered the cracked road. "Oh, gods..." she uttered, her grip tightening around the sistrum.

She glanced back at the store, her eyes traveling to its sign. Yasmine's Bakery. Was she Yasmine? The name did seem familiar, but...
The woman shook her head and shut her eyes. Yasmine. It was name. It could be hers, it could be not, but it was name. Yasmine...from then on, she was Yasmine.

Yasmine turned back to the ruins before her. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw, in the distance, the cat from before. It perched on top of a jutting piece of concrete. Its eyes narrowed at her and its tail flicked back and forth, as if it was...as ridiculous as it sounds, as if it was waiting for her. With a shaky breath, Yasmine walked away from the store and towards the cat, into a world she barely knew.

KASIM, SOMEWHERE IN SEATTLE

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity”

Bright light filled the void of darkness that seemed to be the only thing to exist before. He inhaled sharply, as if breathing was something he had not done for a long time. His senses slowly came about him as the light dulled and his vision focused to see where he was. It looked like a building, or perhaps what was left of one. The window to the outside world was shattered, the place appeared to be mostly ransacked, nothing left besides the bed he awoke on. Part of the ceiling was gone, revealing another floor above. He slowly sat up taking in the dead world he saw around him. This wasn't what it was suppose to be yet this what what the world had become.

Now that he saw where he was, he had to answer who he was, what was his name again? It was there somewhere in the back of his mind, something that started with a W, an odd name but it was his. Yet instead of finding that name he chose another. Kasim, yes that would be his name for the time, his name to survive in this new world. He stood up on shaky legs as if walking was a new concept to him but it didn't take long for him to understand his balance and began taking a greater look at the room. On the ground was a bag, perhaps it was his, perhaps it wasn't he could not remember but he took it with whatever was inside, figuring it could aid him with wherever he went now in this destroyed world. He left the room through a door that was shattered. The only sound to greet him was that of the wind howling through the forgotten hallways of the decaying building.

Kasim saw no one else as he made his way out of the building which involved taking the stairs, or what remained of them. He had been on the third floor of some apartment complex. Once reaching a door that led outside he saw the extent of the shape of this new world. It appeared so desolate so quite. Nothing seemed to stir, nothing except for the ever changing wind. It was calming as much as it was disturbing to him. He had his name and now saw the world he was in and had an idea on perhaps he was up against but now he had to decide where to go, and what his purpose now was.

"I must remember," he quietly said to himself deciding upon his purpose and then taking his first steps forward in this bizarre world. The only path to his goal could be forward.

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SCORN, LOCATION UNKNOWN (SINCE YOU KNOW DON"T KNOW A TEAM YET)

"Do you know the definition of insanity?"

The light blinded her and made her cringe when she first awoke. She would of preferred to sleep the day away but it felt like she had been sleeping a long time all ready, an excruciatingly long time. Why was that?

Bah who cares, she thought to herself sitting up. Other voices whispered in her head but she tuned those out as if they were some normal occurrence ,What to do now Scorn? What to do? Who is there to play with? The name just randomly came up without even thinking of it. It was foreign to her yet also fit her, like it was her's all along. There were other name's but they were as much dead to her as where they came from, wherever that was.

She stood up stretching, not taking much care in her surroundings as she headed off in search of people to play with to get her out of her new boredom. It didn't take long for her to find her new playmates, they made so much noise they could of woke the dead. The thought made Scorn laugh hysterically. Wake the dead, like they soon would be once she had her fun.

A group of three scavenged about some ruins, looking for supplies when she came upon them. She stuck in the shadow's only making her presence known when she laughed at her thoughts. This caused them to jump which made her oddly happy seeing them search in fear at the noise.

"Ah let's play a game," she said still hiding among st the shadows ",Why not tag, you're it and have to find innocent little me. Marco." She taunted while running around to make some noise to get them to follow. They said something to one another but she didn't care, it was time to wait and make her next move. Foolishly they split up, just what she wanted. One by one she would have her fun that she craved. The first one walked by the place she hid herself as she waited and with ease she came out and disarmed him before pinning him to the ground.

"To slow," she whispered with an evil grin hands reaching to the face with thumbs at his eyes. He screamed in agony, such sweet music to her ears as she pushed her thumbs down, the sickening blood painting her fingers red. The screams soon died until there was nothing.

"One down, two to go," she said getting up and skipping her way down the cracked pavement, the hunter's now becoming the hunted ",Now I'm it." She hummed to herself while she skipped.

The second scavenger was looking through a run down building for her the floor partially caved in to a basement that had dropped a bunch of nasty toys for Scorn's amusement. She stalked up and pushed the man in, no sound came from him as he was impaled upon the spikes.

"Now only one playmate remains," she said returning to the first scavenger's body to which she found her final friend ",Oh now this is fun. Who shall win I do wonder?" The man had a gun and fired at her but she ran taking cover behind the corner of the building she just appeared from and waited. The man crept forward, his footsteps loud enough to hear. The barrel peaked around the corner and Scorn grabbed it ripping it out of the man's hands and tossed it aside. They fought for a time but eventually Scorn came on top, hands around her prey's throat watching merrily as his life ebbed from his eyes.

"That was fun but the game is done so see you hun," she smirked once the last bit of life bled out of her prey.

He woke with a jolt, his eyes opening to see an clear blue sky overhead, the harsh light of the sun beating down savagely upon his head. Instead of discomfort, however, the oppressive heat and the dry, moisture free heat of the day brought a sense of peace over him. He let out a contented sigh before rising to a sitting position. No thoughts whispered into his mind, as it was empty of everything but a name: Jayden. It was who he was, and yet, it was who he wasn't. An odd statement to consider, but it was the only thing that could explain his feeling of confusion. Alas, his peace was not to last, as he felt something get pressed up against his head, a voice talking to him from behind.

"Well now, looks like you're alive after all. Too bad you won't be for much longer. Stand up, or I'll paint the dirt with your brain right here and now."

The man didn't say a word, rising slowly from his position on the ground. Something about this gunman's tone irked him, but he could figure out what. Some part of his kind was wondering why he wasn't freaking out as it seemed like his life was about to come to an abrupt an immediate so soon after beginning. However, even as the gunman started talking, presumably to give demands, he was trying to figure out what it was about the man that bothered him so. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally hit him, as did the gunman's, obviously pissed that this strange man was ignoring him.

"Hey, where do you get off spacing out while I got a gun to your head, dumb bast-AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"

Before the gun men had a chance to react, the mysterious man had turned the tables in him, turning around swiftly to grab his arm and breaking it at the elbow after locking it with his arms via a solid strike to it. Now he was left rolling on the ground, holding his unnaturally bent limb while the man played with the gun he'd retrieved from the attempted robber. After turning it around a few times, he held it firmly in his hand, finger on the triggers as he turned to his aggressor turned victim, a sadistic smile on his face as he pointed the firearm at the pathetic figure.

"You're much too pathetic to think you can command me around, and I think a punishment is in order for your transgressions." Jayden gets ready like he's about to shoot the man, but the gun suddenly crumbles away into sand, slowly at first, but soon it gets overtaken by his power. The sand particles whirl around his hand, the smile never fading as he brings it down on the gunman's face, his look of horror only souring Jayden on as he made use of his suddenly discovered power, more of a instinctual decision than a thought out one, and that same instinct guided his actions as the sand began to spin wildly around his victim's face.

Soon, screams of pain would fill the air as gunman was killed, slowly and painfully having his face shredded apart by a mini sandstorm. After there was nothing left of the flesh, Jayden was surprised to hear a faint moan from the body, though it was quick to turn into dark amusement.

"Well now, looks like you're still alive. Too bad you won't be for much longer." He spoke in mocking pantomime of his victim's words, before turning away from the dying man, the sand flowing around him now bathed the most delightful shade of red. What a magnificent color, so full of passion, vitality, and emotion. I don't think a more beautiful color exist then that of the blood that gives us life. And all that is red belongs to me, for I . . . am Set.

Another name, but this one made him feel full and alive. And as he walked away from the corpse of his victim, he spied a couple of bag in the distance, guarded by a strange hound, looking closer to a wolf, except that it's fur was the most curious shade; a deep blood red that was solid through out it's form. A curious thing, as he doubted that dogs were normally of such coloration, but he shrugged it off, reaching out to pet the beast as he passed before collecting one of the bags. It was a dark red, nearly black, and attached to it's side was an odd curved sword, which he took in hand with a smile, enjoying the familiar feel of the blade in hand.

Now armed with a good weapon of his own, he walked off in a random direction, now noticing that he and that bandit had been in the middle of a road, leading to a city he somehow knew was Phoenix. Instead of taking the road, however, he took his own path, walking for an unknown distance across the desert until he came upon an orchard of somekind. He didn't know how he knew of this place, only that his senses had led him here. Something was here, he could feel in his bones.

While he waited for something to happen, though he didn't know what, he reached out to pick one of the fruits, only to hear the sound of rushing footsteps. Turning around, he is suddenly plowed over by a running figure, both falling to the ground behind a small patch of overgrowth. The stranger's mouth was covered to keep them quite, the blade at their neck to assure their silence as some men ran by, seeming to be looking for something, before rushing off after their supposed quarry.

Once they were gone, Set looked down at his captive, eyes shining with a mischievous glimmer as he slowly took the blade and sheathed it, flipping their positions so that the stranger, a beautiful raven-haired woman, was underneath him. They'd stay this way for a bit longer, gazing at her with a enchanted curiousity. As he did so, the woman would get the chance to study her savior(?). He was a caucasian man with slightly tanned skin, his eyes a deep red in color as he gazed down at her. His hair was a chaotic mess of wild locks that went down to his chin, taking on a bright red coloration. His eyes were lined with thick black-lines, further accentuating their unnatural color. His feature were also somewhat angled and sharp, giving him a rather sly look to his face, one that spoke of mischief and wrong doing. His clothes were rather light, being only a red jacket, some boots, and jeans. His jacket was open, with only his bare skin underneath, his thin body being packed with lean muscle. Along with all of this was an intimidating presence he had, which radiated danger and warning without his conscious effort.

After so long without words, Set simply chuckled before getting up, offering a hand to help the woman up. Whether she accepted her help or not, he'd then give a small nod in the direction of the bandits, the grin never leaving his face.

"I'm guessing they're not friends of yours. Lucky thing you ran into me, or who knows what might have happened. A stroke of luck, or maybe this is a fated encounter? Whatever the matter, I guess we should introduce ourselves. My name is Jayden, what's yours?"

@Akayaofthemoon

You are Sin.
I awake with a start, having apparently fallen asleep in the middle of reading something. Except there's nothing in front of me, and I don't remember coming here at all, so the only reason I can assume I was reading is the fact that I'm actually in a library at the moment. I seem to be in the central area of said library, sat on a blue plastic chair at a round plastic table, located near several other round plastic tables surrounded by other blue plastic chairs, with mostly-empty bookshelves spanning around them all. All in all, not where I picture myself being in five years time.
Or maybe it is. Apparently, I'm called Sin? I don't know what that's referring to, but somehow, that doesn't sound like the Bible definition of the word...
"Hey, you!"
I turn to face the sound of the sudden call, to find a young man in a leather jacket and jeans, with a rifle pointed at me. I have no idea what he's doing here, but since he is in fact pointing a gun in my direction, I slowly raise my hands into the air next to my head, just to show that I'm not doing anything suspicious. He heads toward me a few steps, then lowers the gun barrel and says "Alright, just checking you're not a zombie. I thought you were dead?"
It takes me a moment to respond. It feels like I haven't said anything in... well, a very long time. "I, uh... well, I'm clearly not, so that's a start."
"Yeah, it... wait, hold on, hold on... aren't you that one guy, uh... head of that company Syn Inc., before it went bust... damn, what was the name of that guy...?"
You are also Sebastian Verlak.
"Ah, Sebastian?" I propose, deciding that a name given to me by my subconscious is as good as any.
"Yeah, him! Probably. I'll have to check later, uh... man, I thought you were dead."
"You said that already."
"No, no, but, like, years ago, I think- I'm pretty sure they had a big old funeral for you and everything... I mean, before the end of the world, even!"
End of... ah, yes. That's a state of affairs too, so far as my subconscious is aware.
"Well. I'm evidently still here, so..."
"...yyyeaaah," he says awkwardly, "well, uh... I mean, you're the CEO of that company, then, or- or ex-CEO anyway, since it's collapsed due to... y'know... um..."
There's another awkward pause for a bit; then he slowly points the rifle in my direction again, a grim expression on his face. He's so young, but it's clear he's been marked by years of acts like... this.
"Are you really going to shoot an old man, sir?" I ask quietly. Sadly, almost. It's a shame, what some are driven to in desperate times.
"I'd rather not. But, uh... you're rich. You probably have, uh... well, you have nice clothes, at least. Don't know what else. I want them."
I look down at myself, checking my pockets for... a wallet? No. Keys? Nope. Anything resembling supplies, maybe food or water? Nil, nada, zip. Which leaves my clothes... very nice clothes, in face. A businessman's suit, very professional. A pity I'll have to lose it in just a-
...now what is that clopping sound? I look up at the same moment as my would-be mugger turns round, to see... oh my.
"...that's a bull," he points out, stating the obvious. Yes, it is a bull, a bull's shadow... what's it doing up here?
"What the hell is a bull doing up here...?" the thief begins to ask, echoing my thoughts, but quickly decides he doesn't want to be near the bull in question, and with a final glance over at me, as if saying "let's try not to cross paths again", runs away from the area and out of the building. The bull rounds the corner... aaand it's much smaller than it looked. No more than a calf, actually, and one eager to scramble over to me, stopping just near me as I stand up to get a better look at it. It- no, no, he's quite beautiful, I must say; his fur is a gorgeous deep brown, more horse-like than cattle-like, and he's staring at me with... something almost resembling intelligence? I'm not quite sure, but I could swear this is no ordinary cattle. The only real deformity he has are slight bumps on his shoulderblades... I wonder whether those'll affect him as he grows up? Either way, I feel an affinity with this calf. I'm going to let him stay with me, if he likes; I'd like to see how he develops.
Speaking of time passing, I wonder if I should get out of here? And where am I, anyway? In terms of geology, rather than of terminology. A glance out the nearest window (not as close as I might like, mind) tells me nothing much, aside from that this city is a rather worn-down place; thus, if I am to figure it out, I'd best get moving. I can't imagine the library will be much use, given how bookless it is; I therefore decide to head down to the ground floor, carrying the calf in my arms as I walk down the stairs- I believe cattle can't actually go down stairwells due to their leg structure, and it's not too much trouble for me to do this at the moment anyway- and eventually emerge at street level. Still not sure where I am, but hey, maybe if I walk around long enough, I'll figure something out. Maybe even find somebody who doesn't wish to kill me for my clothes. Only time will tell.

---

You are Marduk.
"Who the hell is this?" I hear. I'm cold, though not hideously so; for now, I can handle remaining absolutely still with my eyes closed in order to listen to what's happening around me.
"I dunno... he looks rich as fuck, though. We gonna frisk him?"
"No shit. He's probably loaded with cash."
"Oh, I know who he is! Jonathan Morganson, the guy who owned Morningstar Industries before it went bust!"
You are also Jonathan Morganson.
"I have... never heard of that."
"Yeah, of course you haven't, Bill! You're as dumb and uncultured as a fucking rock. Now help me find his stuff..."
I feel a great many hands patting me down, feeling into pockets and pushing up bits of clothing. How dare they? How dare they touch me? If I weren't still invested in listening to them, I'd beat them all down right here... I'm not sure why I feel like that, but how DARE they?
"Ah, there's nothing on him. Fuckin' cheapskate bastard, why the hell's he unconscious here anyway?"
He dares to insult ME?! Does he know-
"I'm gonna put my dick in his mouth."
...what.
"What the- Larry, the fuck's wrong with you? He's a guy, and also probably dead!"
"Nawww, it'll be fine! He's alive, I felt a pulse."
"You FELT A- you could've said- I mean he did feel a bit warm for a... a dead guy- tha-that's not the point, why do you want to put your-"
"'cause it'll be funny as hell, that's why! Now watch, watch..."
Well, I'm going to kill that man. I can tell roughly where he is just by the sound he's making; all I need to do now is wait, untillll...
There's the sound of a zipper. Abruptly, before "Larry" can utter more than "Wha-", I snap my eyes open and swing my fist round into his groin, nailing his genitalia directly. He collapses with nary more than a whine of pain, and I knock him out him with a return blow to the temple as I stand, towering over these other gentlemen as they stare, awed at my sudden awakening.
"...what the fuck?! You son of a bitch!" one of them yells, drawing a gun on me; as though by sheer muscle memory, I charge him before he can aim the weapon, knocking him down and snatching the gun from him, then pressing it against his forehead whilst he's dazed and shooting once. Blood sprays across myself and the ground, ruining my suit- apparently, I'm a man of very high standing- and with my sudden bloodlust sated for the moment, I stand and face the others, who have all drawn weapons of their own - knives, bats, sticks with nails in them, but no other guns. And they fucking know they're in trouble, too.
"Uh- uh- d-drop the gun, man!" one of them demands. "We outnumber you, there's no way you can kill us all!" At this, I laugh uproariously. "You couldn't stop me from killing one of you when you did have a gun," I explain to them in a gloating tone. "Which of you is willing to die to try and take me out now that you don't, and who's willing to bet that I cannot, in fact, shoot every last one of you before you get to me?"
Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm so confident. I figure it's a natural trait of mine, to be frank; I'm able to gloat about topics like this, I was apparently the head of a company prior to the apocalypse that seems to have occurred, and I clearly have at least the the skill and muscle to deal out devastating surprise attacks, so clearly, confidence becomes me. It does not become them, though; with one of their gang members just starting to wake up with a headache, possibly a concussion, and little chance of reproduction in the future, and another killed outright, there's only five of them remaining. They take many glances at one another, uncertain for a short while, before their morale finally breaks, and they run off as one mass, swiftly followed by Larry at a limping pace as he struggles to remain on his feet. Now, I'm evidently not too fond of people who try to put their genitals in my orifices without my permission, so I aim at Larry as he tries to run, and fire a second bullet, downing him outright. His companions leave him to die, and I then kneel down next to my first victim, frisking his body for... ah, ammunition cases. Three of them, in fact. Perfect. I take them, slip them in the pockets of my suit, and then look at my surroundings. One corpse and one soon-to-be corpse aside, it's just buildings. Quite tall buildings, actually. So that tells me...
...that I'm in a city.
Yeah okay I have no idea where I am. Oh well, I at least have something to protect myself with. Flicking the safety on the side of the gun and placing it into the right-hand pocket of my trousers- probably not safe, but where else will I put it?- I walk in the opposite direction to the gang, ready to take on this world of... gangs. Apparently. I don't know, maybe it's just that one group, but somehow, I think I'd almost be happier if it wasn't...

Xavier-Seattle

Jolting awake he wondered where he was, who he was and how he had gotten to where he was now. Standing with aching joint and a sore chest, he looked around his surrounding with black eyes. He seemed to be in the bathtub of a dingy bathroom. Groaning as he heaved himself out of the tub to stand on the rough mildew covered carpet he looked around at the walls, with black mould covering the majority of the surface like a weird furry wallpaper. He lurched and staggered to the mirror and sink, holding onto the white porcelain for dear life. Staring into the mirror he looked at his face. Asian. Almond eyes with black pupils and iris’. Slight scar on his lip. It was only as he looked around behind his reflection did he notice there was no lights on inside the bathroom. As he sighed trying to answer the questions in his mind, where he was, how he had gotten here, why he was there at all and who he was, his breath fogged the mirrored surface. His fingers deftly wrote the words ‘Xavier Windsor’ on the cold surface. Xavier smiled grimly too himself. That was one question answered, only a couple hundred more to go.

Noticing the door beside him he slowly turned the cold brass handle before slipping outside the bathroom. Xavier glanced around the hall, his breath misting up in front of him. He looked down and was glad to see warm clothes on his body, black jeans and t-shirt, black canvas shoes and a nice warm hoody, black as well. As he turned his head side to side, cracking his neck with small pops a lock of hair fell in front of his face. His hand tentatively reached up and pulled his long black hair from behind his head to his right shoulder. A small silver dragon pin with a jade ball in its mouth felt heavy in his pocket until he pulled it out. His hands deftly put his hair in a topknot, the pin securing it in place, as if he had done it a million times. Shaking his head in bemusement, he stepped carefully into the hall. The wood creaked ever so slightly as he walked gently towards the stairs. The stairs barely made a sound and Xavier found himself in another hall on the bottom floor. Through the front door no light came in, the inky blackness of night visible to him. As he tiptoed around the hall, checking each door with a small jiggle of the doorknob only one opened up so Xavier stepped into it. The warm heat from a wood fire hit him like a warm blanket. Closing the door behind him Xavier explored the new room. Trophy heads of animals hung on the walls and old-fashioned rifles adorned the walls. Xavier disregarded them and huddled near the wood fire in a large leather sofa. Warm and comfortable Xavier felt like there were weights on his eyelids. Succumbing to sleep Xavier rested against the sofa near the fire.

Xavier woke up with a muffled cry. A throbbing in his head made lit feel like a war drum was beating in his mind. His arms were bign held down by two knees against the arms of the sofa. A rough hand was covering his mouth and what felt like a knife blade was pressing against his neck, a small trickle of warm blood already trickling down his neck, but Xavier felt strangely calm. Rough voices assaulted his ringing ears. His dry mouth seemed to suck in the warm air of the room like a pair of bellows. Opening his eyes slowly he blinked at the bright light around him. He saw through misty vision two guys in front of him, one dressed in a plaid shirt and the other wearing a too large jumper. The man with the jumper, his face scarred and bearded, was staring at Xavier then slapped him hard.
“You ‘wake you little shit. Think you can ‘ide in our base and steal our shit with out getting beaten. I don’t think so. It’s four of us and one of you, so don’t even try and put up a fight…yet.” Jumper-man leaned forward closer and shook Xavier’s head roughly. “What’s yer name? Where you from? Why you ‘ere?”
As Xavier blinked slow and hard he thought about the questions. The blade was removed from his throat so he could answer but two strong grips squeezed his shoulders roughly. His voice sounded weird too him, different from the accent of the man who spoke to him. It took him a while to place it but he finally figured it out, English. “Xavier. What’s yours?”
A punch to Xavier’s guts shut him up as the man spoke again. “Shut it …Xavier. We ask the question ‘ere, not you!” Jumper-man turned around and picked up a black backpack and a sword, the handle black leather and the scabbard made out of black-stained wood. “We found yer shit in the bathroom. Got a sword and everything don’t ya. Proper little warrior aren’t you.” As he pulled the sword out of the scabbard the black blade seemed to absorb the light of the room. Silver etchings shimmered with designs of a turtle and a snake. Xavier tried lunge for the blade but two strong hands pulled him back down into the sofa. “Let go of that!” His voice filled with rage Xavier glared at jumper-man.
The man in the plaid shirt spoke up for the first time. “Hey boss, how about we make him fight for his freedom?” The jumper-man turned and grinned at the man in the plaid shirt, “good idea Jimmy.” Turning back to face Xavier he spoke. “Alright, we will let you go, with yer gear. Cant say we aint fair and all that, if you fight us. We’ll even give you yer sword back. Whadya say?”

Xavier felt calmly reassured by the prospect of fighting for his freedom. A simple nod and the hands from his shoulders released him and pushed him out of the sofa. Turning around to face the two people who held him down he saw one was a skinny female and the other a large giant of a man, the two obviously brother and sister. As Xavier turned around his eyes went cross-eyed as he stared down the length of the black sword. Jumper man grinned nastily, “or we could just kill you now and save us the trouble.” Protests came from the other three, mainly from the man in the shirt. Shaking his head jumper-man laughed, his voice mocking, “nah we’ll fight ya. Be fun to practice.” As jumper-man slowly sheathed the blade and dropped it to the floor the others grinned and grabbed their weapons. The brother grabbed a metal baseball bat, the sister a small hunting bow and the man in the plaid shirt a large pair of machetes. The jumper man just pulled a pair of solid looking brass knuckle-dusters out and slipped them over his thick sausage like fingers. Xavier stooped to pick the sword up and the moment he touched the handle he felt more alert, more alive. As the four strangers lined up on the opposite side of the room Xavier unsheathed the blade, letting the scabbard drop to the floor.

Xavier walked out of the house, his backpack stuffed with tinned food and water. His sword was strapped to his back between the pack and his back. The blade was clean of all blood as the sword seemed to have drank it. As he ran in the cold night air, his hood pulled up over his face, Xavier smiled.

---

Tormund-Phoenix

He woke up as if from a deep sleep. He lay on his back staring, his legs a tangle and his arms resting behind his head. The hard surface beneath him felt wooden, solid and warm. He was inside a building but the hole in the roof framed him in a rough circle of light. The hole had jagged edges, metal rods visible inside the concrete. Through the hole above him the sky looked clear, the sun beating down mercilessly and not a cloud in sight. He got up with a groan, propping himself up with one hand. He was on a desk, a metre off the cracked concrete floor. Turning his head from side to side he saw tables, office chairs, monitors. All broken. Frames and partitions were smashed and burnt, glass lay strewn on the ground like jagged knives. The red backpack by his side had a scrap of paper attached, fluttering in the breeze like a miniature flag. Ripping it off he read it, Tormund Askan. A faint memory stirred in his mind but he couldn’t remember it.

A large clear water jug lay on the ground a few metres away, half full. It was only as he saw it that Tormund realized how thirsty he was. Already small sweat rivulets were trickling down his forehead. As he hopped off the table and staggered over weakly he picked the jug up with ease, a surprise to him as even he knew a half full jug of water should be heavier than what it felt like. Disregarding the thought he drank the water without stopping once. The tepid water felt lovely trickling down his throat slowly waking him up. His pale skin felt tingly as he poured some water over his face. Once finished the jug fell to the floor with a loud hollow clatter as Tormund let it go.

A squawk made him turn around startled. Through the empty glass frame, of a floor-to-ceiling window, an eagle flew in and landed on the edge of a wooden table he had been laying on only a few minutes before. It cried loudly, the cry echoing around the room, before bobbing its head almost like it was bow. Its long hooked beak held a leather cord with a metal amulet at the end. It dropped it on the table before flying out off the window. Tormund walked slowly too it, stepping carefully over the jagged glass and picked the amulet up.

A simple t-shaped design with intricate etchings in the metal but he just knew what it was. “Mjollnir!” his cry was both a mix of surprise, wonder and gladness. He slipped the cord around his head and tucked the amulet into his clothes. Looking down he looked at his clothes for the first time, black jeans, a white t-shirt and a zip-up hoody. A large black belt with silver etchings of celtic designs held his jeans up. Sturdy looking black army boots covered his feet and black & silver leather gloves covered his hands, they were both extremely comfy. He wiggled his toes and fingers, a smile forming on his face for no reason.

Popping his head out of the window. Tormund looked down and grinned harder. The height of the building didn’t really bother him, the 40 stories or so seemed insignificant too him. Hanging off the frame he swung into the free space, one arm and leg hanging in free air. The large silver letters on the side of the building said CHASE so Tormund assumed that was the name of the building. Swinging back in he cried into the wind happily, exhilarated by his experience of swinging out of the building. He headed back to the back pack and placed it on the desk. Opening he lay out the stuff inside on to the table. Food, water, a bottle of vodka, a knife and some other tools. He took off his hoody while his pack was off and tied it around his waist. Around his arm to arm torques made of gold, one of two goats both with eyes of black onyx and the other a snake with rubies for eyes, twisting around his muscled forarms. Repacking it he decided to head out down and find what was going on. He couldn’t think where he was, why he was there or who he was really. Come on nobody is called Tormund Askan, he had to have another name.

His pack on his back, where it should be, he walked slowly around the large room clambering over each obstacle slowly. As he got to the doors, the words ‘tairs’ written in flaking sticker and pushed them opened he yelped in surprise. The doorway opened into open space, there was no way of getting down via the stairs, no rails, no supports he could hold onto, no concrete at all for a long way down. Backing away slowly he looked around for another exit. Two silver doors partially opened were by the ‘tairs’ doors. He grabbed one and heaved with all his strength. Surprisingly easily the door slid open easily. The light from the smashed windows partially illuminated the black abyss that was the elevator shaft. A thick metal cable could be seen in the middle. Sticking his head into the blackness he looked up, the underside of a lift visible. Looking down as far as he could there seemed to be nothing but metal cable. “Why?” he moaned to himself before backing up a few steps. He hoped that his gloves would be able to handle the cable.

As he ran forward and jumped into the darkness his body slammed into the cable. It was more solid than it thought and was like running into a tree, hard. As he started falling he let out a yell of delight. The feel of air rushing around him felt good, better than good it felt awesome. Occasional shafts of lights from open doorways would blind him. A sense, a small tingle in his brain, told him that he was near to the ground. Squeezing his hands around the cable as hard as he could he slowed himself down to a halt, outside a doorway. A quick swing and he was in the doorframe. His gloves oddly were unmarked, and his boots just had a blob of grease on the soles. Wiping them off he looked around.

The marble foyer was trashed, the tables strewn around. Holes, Tormund assumed them arrow holes, pockmarked the walls and large metal drums covered in soot and ash were placed out of the wind and sun. As he walked through the empty glass doorway and onto the street he looked left and right. Paper flew around and the road was covered in a layer of sand. His hand went and touched the hammer unconsciously as he walked slowly on the pavement. A cracked piece of reflective glass stood against the wall. He looked into the reflection, seeing his body fully for the first time. He was well muscled, and tall. His hair was long and shaggy and his beard was held midway with a small gold ring. His cheek had a scar on it and his eyes were pale blue, really pale it seemed.

Off in the distance he heard the sound of footsteps. Tormund had two options, run away from the sound or go see what was causing the running. He chose the latter, he wanted company and he wanted answers. Touching his amulet once again he stepped forward towards the sound of running. As he rounded corner he heard voices. His hands forming in large hammer-like fists he shuffled forwards towards them. “Hello?”

He woke to the chill of unfamiliar air, jumping with a start under a strange tree. Looking down at himself, he saw himself wrapped in a forest green jacket, underneath that bring a turtleneck sweater of similar coloration. He was also wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, and some boots as well. As he worked to stand, he notice something hanging around his neck, a piece of shell that naturally curled into a spiral. It was tied by a thick leather strap, and as it hung around his neck he could swear he could hear it whisper to him, with voices as gentle as the breeze.

Where am I . . . Who am I . . . and why do I feel do cold?

The man hugged himself as he felt anothe wind pass through him, and while it didn't fill him with the same level of chill, it still felt colder than he was used to. Or at least, that's what he felt like. His mind told him nothing about his past, nothing except for two names: Quetzalcoatl and Damien. Neither name held any more information than that, but he felt more of a draw towards the first one. He focused on trying to squeeze some knowledge from the thought, but alas, his amnesia held firm.

Finding no point in just sitting here, Quetzal rise from his seat, noticing a green bag not far away from him. There was no one else around so it must've been his. Picking it up on his way towards . . . where ever his current path led him. As he made his way through the corpse of the city, he felt a tickling sensation spark in his mind. Seattle, that was what this place used to be called. So many lives used to be here, so many hopes and dreams . . . and now all that's left is an empty shell.

Quetzal sighed, unsure why these thoughts came to him, or why he felt such pain at the desolation around him. These feelings were soon swept aside by the sound of a scream tearing through the night, and before he even knew what he had heard, his body was already rushing towards the sound, his previous depression giving way to a sense if worry for the safety of the person he had heard. Soon, as he made his way through desolate city streets, he finds a group of men surrounding a single woman, the glinting of their blades visible even from this distance.

The sight brought a white hot rage to ignite in his stomach, though it was tempered by the cascades of disappointment and shame that accompanied it. The world is falling down around you, yet you choose to act like animals in the face of the end. This . . . this is not what humanity is supposed to be. You're better than this savagery. Quetzal walked forward, announcing his presence with a loud shout of "Hey!", causing the men to turn around to see who had come to interrupt their fun.

Standing alone was a tall, lanky looking man, with a myriad of brought colors to make up his coarse hair, which stuck up like spikes from his headin a backwards sweeping fashion. His eyes shone an intense jade green, seeming to radiate with a hidden energy. Alas, a single man was far less intimidating to a group, especially when that man was sorting rainbow colored locks like Quetzal.

"Can you believe this clown, fucking idiot wants to play hero?"

"Ha, he doesn't look like he could take on one of us."

"I say we show him exactly how much of an idiot he is. Who knows, might make a fun pet to kick around every now and then."

The bandits grunted and muttered in agreement to the idea as they approached Quetzal, who stood there, unfair aid if the men before him. His eyes locked in the leader, a savage looking man who had made the suggestion of making him their pet. Without any hesitation, he went right up to the man, looking him square in the eye.

"Look here, my friend, this is wrong and everything about is sinful, disgraceful, and below you. You, all of you, are better than your base instincts to kill, steal, and-" Quetzal's speech wa cut short as one of the men kicked him in his stomach, knocking the breath right out off him. This set off a chain reaction as the rest of the group start to take their turn kicking and punching the man as he lay there, until the leader held his hand up, signaling them to cease. Without a word he pointed to where the woman was, only for the rest of his gang to see that she had fled.

"Looks like you played the hero pretty good after all, Mr. Self-righteous," The leader said as he put his foot in the back of Quetzal's head, pressing his head deeper into the dirt. "Meh, not as much use for you, but we needed a pack mule anyway. Got a name, you little shit?"

Quetzal looked up at the man, his head ringing from the multiple blows yet still he held defiance in his eyes as he said not a word. The leader shrugged, brining his foot up or one more stomp. As time seem to slow down, he felt a surge of energy push through, a vitality that rushed through his body like a raging gale. Suddenly, all the bandit's for pushed back aways, one even knocking into the inside of a building, causing it to destabilize and fall right on top of him. The rest would turn to see Quetzal rise from the ground, his eyes flowing as he subconsciously gripped his Pendant. Blood began to flow from his hand, sliding out of his skin and converging on the spiral, traveling down to the center to make a small ball. After that was done, a wave of exhaustion hit, causing him to falter slightly. The pain he felt right now was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to his anger and rage. As the bandits rose up, looking to seek vengeance upon him, he simply swiped his hands in an X-pattern.

Suddenly, they all fell to the ground with a pained shout as a pressurized blast of air smacked into their ears, rattling their brain and possibly rupturing their inner ears, but they'd live. He could've easily focused the blast and killed them, though how he knew that he was unsure, but then he'd be little better than them. Looking down at the bandits, Quetzal began to walk away from the square, only to fall to the ground, no longer being able to support his own weight. His vision was going in and out and blackness creeped along the edge of his vision. With the last of his strength, he gathered his energy to send out an intense burst of white light, one that could easily be seen by anybody in the area. And then he thought no more, joining the bandits in unconsciousness.

Yash woke up in a garden. Quite a large garden with a pond in in. Next to it was a farmhouse burning down. It was quite a windy day in this part of phoenix. Blinking his eyes and rubbing them he got up and looked around. Suddenly a puzzled look entered his face. He didn't know what anything had happened, his mind was completely blank. Shrugging he decided that they were questions for another day. Walking around the garden carefully making sure he didn't step on the plants his leg got caught on a thistle, a weed. Enraged he grabbed the thistle ignoring the pain pulled it clean out the ground and lobbed it out of site. Suddenly just as fast as the anger had come it left, leaving him completely calm. Finding a tattered backpack on the ground he picked it up. A bottle rolled out the top as it left the ground. Catching it quickly it turned out to be full of milk, pulling off the top and taking a gulp it revitalized him and made him feel strong. Thinking 'cor whats in that thing' he put the stopper back on he chucked it back in the backpack and closed it. Swinging it onto his back he strolled out of the garden ready for whatever comes his way.

He didn't know how long he had been here, or how long he had been asleep. All he knew is that when he came too, he knew nothing. He couldn't tell the year, the day, the week, the month, all he could tell was that it was probably morning and that as of know he was in what appeared to be quite the shitty little shack. Cíocal rose up, getting off of what he believed to be a makeshift mattress made out of five layers of torn up blankets with a couple quilts thrown in there. Cíocal took a quick survey of the rest of his room, as well as gave himself a quick rundown. He was not injured, nor hungry. His vision wasn't blurry and his book was....

Where the fuck was that book?

Cíocal tore the small shack apart looking for it. He couldn't quite comprehend why he even knew there was supposed to be a book or why he wanted it, but as he searched and wished for it to be a little easier to find, it fell atop his head. It then dropped to the floor and made a small 'thud'. Cíocal picked up the book and then looked up towards the ceiling. There wasn't even a fan or anywhere for it to be, so how had it been up there for so long? Well, whatever the reason it was up there, it didn't bother him all that much. It didn't seem plausible, but its convenience put him at ease. He then flipped through the pages of the book, he could only understand a few of the names on there and the rest of the pages were either completely blank, had too much scribbling on them to read, or had some ink-stains that almost seemed to move to cover up the most important parts of the names. Even if he couldn't read most of it though, he felt it was natural and ok. He almost felt as if the book would heal, like it was a living organism or something.

Cíocal then raided the single pantry and the fridge in his awful little shack, and found an unopened can of beans, a bottle of captain-fizz that appeared to be quite stirred, and half a pomegranate. Not exactly the brunch of champions but it certainly would suffice. After cleaning himself up and taking a shower, with water that was actually clear, he looked around for some cleaner clothes to dress up in so that he could be presentable. However, he only found rags and trash. As he was about to give up hope, he looked towards the door and a suit was hanging from it! Cíocal went up to it and put it on as quickly as possible. As he was doing so, a small note fell from one of the pockets.

To Aodhán, goodluck. You're gonna need it.

Was that his name? Aodhán? Wasn't my name Cíocal? He asked himself, both of them felt right. However, one of them felt a little more 'extreme' in a way his head just couldn't wrap itself around at the time. So he decided to go with Aodhán, at least for now. Thats what he decided as he walked outside into what appeared to be some kind of desert. The nearest road he saw was about six-hundred feet away, and from what he could tell it was a highway. With no where else to go, he decided it was best to follow it. Left or right? As he came closer to the road and wondered which way to go, towards a left he saw a giant sign that read, 'Welcome to Pheonix!'

So I'm in Arizona, huh? Cíocal felt a part of his mind become clear as he read the sign. He recognized now the he was in Arizona, America. Closest city was pheonix. Cíocal didn't know where his home was, but it felt far away after reading that, as if his home wasn't even on the same continent.

As bothered by that as he was, he felt as if he had something to accomplish here. A feeling of determination that had no place to let itself out, bottled up in his chest. He walked towards the city of Pheonix, which was going to be about a fifteen mile walk. Something he didn't want to make at all. Was there a way around this? Maybe the answer is in the book! The thought flew threw his head as he took the book from his hand and opened it up to the first page. He put his finger to the text and mumbled to himself as he looked over the first couple names. As he mumbled, a motorcyclist appeared from behind him and was carrying an extra helmet.

"Hey boss, need a li-"

Cíocal slugged the man across the face and knocked him out. He briefly wondered why the man had called him boss, but then figured it was probably just a figure of speech of the locals in this area. Cíocal then quickly took the spare helmet off the ground and dropped the book in its place, then got on the motorcycle. He had never driven one before, but as he got on he felt as if it was going to be fine. The keys were already in the ignition; he twisted them and the motorcycle let off a small roar as it turned on. Cíocal then speed off towards Pheonix, leaving the motorcyclist and the book behind.

What Cíocal would have seen if he had turned around though was not what he would have expected to see at all . Both the man and the book disappeared into a flash of light and smoke, leaving only a trace amount of ash where they once lay. The motorcyclist, who Cíocal thought was unconscious, was laughing as he disappeared. Almost as if this was some inside joke between friends.

Who was she? What was she? Where was she? The answers to these questions were at the very forefront of her clouded mind, sharp and distinct against the chaotic darkness that had engulfed her very being, but there was still an undercurrent of mystery, of uncertainty, that tainted these answers. She was Feng Jiandi yet also Nüwa. Why was this so? She was supposedly human yet felt as if a part of her was different. Why was this so? She was in the ruined metropolis of New York yet she remembered only the quiet grandeur of Luoyang. Why was this so?

Why was this so?

Why was she sitting in the remains of a restaurant's second-storey, drinking green tea from cracked china as she beheld what had once been the jewel of western civilisation, now a ruined city wasting away in a dying world? What calamity had laid waste to humanity? What suffering had brought low their spirits? And what trauma ... what danger ... what had taken away her memories? Her identity? Why was her mind so clouded, lacking in clarity? Who had she been? Why was she here? What had changed her?

Why was this so?

She placed the cracked china back onto the rotting table, the quiet thud the only sound to disturb the eerie quiet of her new world. Her eyes watched the steam rise from the cup. It was soothing, calming. She could allay her doubts, allow her mind to rest. She could continue on in such a manner forever if she wished.

Yet her heart refused.

It bayed at her blood. It called for her to act, to leave this ruined restaurant for the greater city. Responsibility and duty. It called to her. It was her role to fix it all, her heart said. She could not simply avoid it all. Her misgivings, her fears ... they were to be discarded.

How strange, she thought. How strange it was that she felt the chains of duty to a world she knew nothing of. It was grand ... prideful.

But ...

Feng Jidian sipped the last of her tea and rose to her feet.

It was a role she would gladly embrace.

Atlas

"Oh god... Oh god...! Please! Someone help me!"

Eli shot straight up, gasping for air. His first reaction: his whole body hurt. A lot. every muscle in his arms, back, and legs were on fire, as if he just did the most intense workout of all time about 1 billion times, and his neck felt stiff. Although he hurt badly, there was a sense of relief and happiness... As if he was waiting a very long time for this. The second reaction: Who the hell was he? Eli Greene. The Bearer of the Heavens. A voice chimed in his head. His name was Eli Greene, and although the second part sounded familiar, he had no idea what it meant. He heard a female scream again. The voice that woke him up. His golden eyes scanned the area. He was in a courtyard. The grass was dead, the trees as well, weeds and other ugly plans grew through the concrete, and Eli was in the center of it. He looked to be in what was a pavilion, but the roof was long gone, only the wooden posts remained.

"someone! Please!" The voice said once more, sobbing. Where was the voice coming from? One block away, ground level, about 70 feet from his position. That was the first thing that chimed in his head again, and although it came out of nowhere, and he didn't know anything, he knew that it was right. He started forward until his foot hit something solid. Looking down he saw that it was a backpack, and upon further investigation, it was full of a lot of goods and valuables in this hellhole of a city. There was also a dull golden sword under the pack. It looked grimy, but the blade was sharp even though it looked as dull as a butter knife. The handle had worn leather around it, and the sword itself had a small layer of dust on it, as if it hadn't been used in a while... Why was this here, where was he? He was in Chicago, and he also knew that the world was in fact a hellhole. Funny how he knew that but absolutely nothing about himself...

He grabbed the backpack, putting it over his shoulder, strapped the blade to the belt of his jeans, and headed towards the voice. It was still sobbing, so it was easy to follow. he stumbled upon an old mechanic shop. The store was run down, and the giant garage gate was partially open, a woman was underneath it. She was the source of the call. Eli walked over, obviously hesitant to just rush. She was the first person he's seen in the deserted city, he had to keep his eyes open.

"Oh thank god! You have to help me!" The woman sobbed once she saw Eli. Her face was bruised and cut, and her blonde hair was cut short. Her face showed a lot of pain, and although tears streamed down from her eyes she looked relieved that someone found her. Eli looked at the heavy garage door, then down at the woman. "How did this happen?" He asked her, trying to examine the situation. "I-I was trying to get some supplies to help fix my door. Raiders tried to get in last night. As I was leaving the garage door fell on me.. Please, I need help. My-My daughter is all alone right now." The woman fought back a sob. Eli was determined now.

He knelt down and grabbed the bottom of the garage door. "I'm going to try and lift this up." He said to the woman, who looked at him skeptically. "This thing is heavy, maybe you should take off your pack to help." she suggested. Eli thought for a second, but decided it would be a good idea. Less weight to carry. He dropped the backpack, put his hands on the bottom of the cold metal garage door. He took a deep inhale, and started to lift. Eli was feeling a great sense of deja vu as he lifted the heavy door with some sort of ease. He kept his hands on the door, lifting it up so he could rest it behind his back. His knees wobbled a bit at the weight, but he held his ground. "Alright... move...!" Eli struggled to say. He didn't hear the woman move. She only gave an even more depressed sob, and spoke a very weak and broken. "I'm so sorry..."

Eli understood what just happened. He had been tricked. A group of four men came storming into the garage, weapons drawn at Eli, and laughing. "They would have killed my baby..." The woman tried to explain to Eli who was now having a much more difficult time holding up the door. "They threatened to--"

"Come here, Bitch!" One of them yelled. He was a muscular man and wore a black wifebeater and some cargo pants. He held a machete, and looked like he survived a lot of fights before. Eli immediately hated the guy. The woman obeyed and stood at his side. He put a hand up to her face and she flinched, closing her eyes shut and muttering something. Things were making sense to Eli, and he wasn't sure how he liked it. He glared as the man walked towards the golden eyed man, a smug look on his face. "It's always the heroes that die first, my friend. But you saved her, you die with nobility, and we get your loot. Nice sword." The man said with a scoff. Eli didn't have the strength the talk as he held open the door. If he let go the door would immediately fall on top of him, killing him.

The way he was tricked, the way he held the heavy object above his head, it all seemed all too familiar, and he really hated the feeling of both. "Let...The wo...Woman go." Eli managed to mutter, it made the guy laugh. "Not a chance. She's great at lying to people, plus she's with us for the safety of her baby. A true treasure." She looked at Eli with a dark stare, but it wasn't for him. She managed to get to a movable tool box. He soon understood what was happening.

"I'm not your treasure." She said with a strong voice, although she was trembling. The leader laughed at her now, walking over and smacking her across the face. "You'll be whatever we want you to be if you want to keep your child safe." He said with a chilling calmness. She looked back at him with anger in her face, spat blood in his, and then took the movable toolbox, slamming it in his side, and then pushing it towards the garage door.

Eli let go of the heavy metal, falling to the floor on his stomach, his hands going above his head... The toolbox held its ground! Eli looked up to see a frenzy. The woman was running, the gang following after her. Eli was infuriated. He had been tricked by a man who thinks he's superior than everyone. Eli stood up, and charged at the leader. He tackled him to the ground before he could turn around, cussing at Eli. The golden eyed man still had incredible strength, and his hatred for him fueled it.

The leader of the gang managed to find a wrench and hit Eli upside the head, knocking him off him. He was dazed, and when he finally got his vision again, he saw the man running where the woman ran seconds ago. Eli stood and heard a scream coming for him. One of the gang's members swung a blade at him, but Eli ducked and gave an uppercut to his jaw. Eli seemed to have incredible strength as the enemy was knocked backwards a few feet. Eli's anger got the best of him. He grabbed a heavy pipe, from a table, lifting it with ease, and swung it at the man's head, hearing a sickening crunch. One down, three to go.

Eli ran after the other group, hearing shouts of frustration as they were searching for the woman. Eli found two of the four, as he burst open a door to a small office, and immediately dove back out when they drew their weapons. "don't shoot the fucker! It'll draw the creatures out!" One of them yelled. He didn't know what they meant by creatures, but he did know that they won't shoot him. He took a sharp inhale of breath before showing himself in the door frame again, an throwing the pipe with all his might. Another sickening crunch was heard as it made impact with a man's chest. Eli rushed in, tackling the man, but at the same time getting stabbed in the shoulder. He grunted in pain, but it didn't stop Eli from swinging his fist at the man's face over and over, ignoring the blinding pain. He had a feeling that he had experienced much worse. Once the man stopped moving, Eli stepped off him, his hand numb and bloody.

He heard a gunshot. Eli ran toward the sound, and saw a horrific scene. The woman he tried to rescue was slouched against the wall, a red dot in her chest, looking at the leader with fear and realization. His rage built up, the sword on his belt feeling heavier. He looked down and pulled it out, walking quietly over to the man who had tricked him, beat a woman for his own gain, and now killed her. The swung the flat side of the sword at the man's head, sending him flying to the side. He made his way over to the woman, crouching next to her to see the damage. She had been shot in the lung, and he assumed the hospitals were not open anywhere. She looked up at him with awe, and smile on her lips as her hand tried to reach up to him. She tried to say something, and although there was a lot of gurgling, he heard the words "I'm sorry" escape her mouth. He didn't know if she was being sorry for tricking him, or saying sorry to her child somewhere out there. His rage turned to dread, and sadness, trying to fight back tears.

Tell me, Atlas... Bearer of the Heavens...

The same female voice was in his head again. His mind started racing, he heard the name and title before... He was Eli Greene, but he was also... Atlas? The woman had passed. Eli looked at her with sadness for a little bit before gently closing her eyes. He heard the whimpering of the last gang member on the floor. The leader. The one who tricked Atlas in holding up the heavy door. The rage soon returned. He walked over to him slowly, examining his sword, then him. He placed the golden sword up to his neck, he was flinching and breathing heavily, glaring at Eli as if thinking how could he have possibly lost to this guy.

"She deserved it. Heroes don't live long out here..." The leader explained, a sick smile on his face.

Which is heavier? The World, or its people's hearts?

Eli had no sympathy for this man, but he still hesitated at the thought. No. He tricked you, and killed an innocent. He raised his sword, and then swung down at the man's neck.

You're the only one strong enough to bear this weight. Redemption is full of loss sorrow. Find the others. Do not be on the wrong side again.

Eli flicked the blood off his sword, staring at the aftermath. He collapsed to his knees and broke down. Minutes after waking up with no memory and this was his first experience. He got his composure, standing, and grimly left the mechanic shop, grabbing his backpack along the way.

"So...now parents or relatives, and the only thing you remember is waking up in here?" an aged man of Chinese descent asked the boy sitting silently at the corner of the table, while he placed a bowl of warm, freshly cooked noodles before him.

Zhang Lau and his wife, Pin Yin, ran a humble flowershop in Chinatown New York for most of their married lives without causing any bit trouble. Yet out of nowhere, the whole world fell around them, with simple people they knew for hears turning into little less than maddened animal, killing and hurting everything and everyone around them. The pair could little more than lock themselves and survive with the few rations they had left in the shop. Days went by as they watched their once quiet neighborhood being malformed into something akin to a warzone. But the greatest surprise for the pair would arrive when they found a lone child within their otherwise cellar, sleeping peacefully upon a bed of fresh Lotus Flowers.

"I only know that my name is Ning, but I don't remember my family...I think I have a father...and two older brothers..." its had been like this ever since he woke up, as if his mind was covered by a thick cloud. The only bundled memories he could actually perceive were pictures of himself playing in the sea,but nothing that a child wouldn't do as a toddler. Still Zhangs look remained suspicious, until his wife broke off the mood.

"Oh just lay off with the interrogation for now Zhang, it is obvious that the boy wishes us now harm. In fact, we should be thanking Ning for sharing his food with us..." It was true, that besides the clothes on his back-a red athletic jacket with jeans and black shoes- the only other thing that the mystery boy carried with him was a bag with enough rations to survive for weeks, as well as a pair of expensive looking rollerblades. And even Ning himself didn't know how they ended up with him.

For a few seconds, he nibbled on his instant ramen as both him and Zheng waited for Pinyin to come to the table, his eyes wandering around the place, looking at the pictures upon the shelves until his eyes paused upon a very unique object. Forgetting his meal instantly, Ning stood up and reached for the small ivory statue of a child with multiple arms, each one holding a different object.

"What is this?" a near dumbfounded Ning asked. He felt as if this was a precious object, a beacon of sorts, and the two eyes shaped eyes of liliac eyes shed small rays of revealing light into the darkness of his memories.

"Just a souvenir...you see when I was young I used to work as a taxi driver, and the boss had a statue like this in every cab. Its supposed to be the guardian of drivers..."

"Nezha!" the boy completed, the name escaping his lips effortlessly as he took one last look over the statue. Was this some sort of revelation for him? "I have to go..." Ning said to the elderly couple, and now it was their turn to look on in question "I am needed somewhere else."

"We got one alive over here!"

Pain reverberated from every bone, pierced every muscle and for a few brief moments, she wondered if the pain was even worth it. Her hands dug into the ground below to find it hot and dry; grains of sand that gave way under the clamouring of her digits. Her lips felt like parchment and faintly, she could hear the evil screeches of vultures circling. Oddly, her skin remembered the damp dew of the grass and her ears replayed the calls of morning birds lovingly crying out to one another. This was not her home.

"It's alright, little one! God has deemed you worthy and gifted you to us! Hallelujah!" A southern drawl brought the young woman to her senses as she suddenly felt a cold, metal canteen touch her lips. Water flowed and she guzzled greedily before her eyes could finally open.

A woman was hanging over her, kitted out in some sort of desert camouflage. She looked to be in her early fifties with a flurry of dirty blonde hair tied up into a neat bun. Who was she? The young woman pondered, the water already jumpstarting her system. It took her a few moments but eventually her questions turned inwards. Who am I? Her memories were like the far-off peak of a towering mountain; she could see them, feel them, all around her, but they were alien things that she couldn't translate.

"What's your name, little one?" What was her name? A thought came to her, a quick one that both felt familiar and hostile.

"Robyn."

The blonde chuckled warmly before patting Robyn's stomach lovingly. "You close your eyes, Robyn. God has sent an angel to aid us in our task of rebuilding his glorious nation. You sleep now, girl, you'll be all better soon!" There was a sticky trust in her words, like jam jars used to catch wasps yet Robyn couldn't help but needily give in and in an instant, she was asleep.

---

She remembered waking up momentarily in a car rambling along a dusty road. A coat covered the tatters of her clothes and comfortably rough hands held her against a warm shoulder. She registered his smile but everything faded again.

She remembered it was early morning when she woke but her sense of time slipped away as she swayed back and forth between consciousness. She was brought to a room with other women who cooed then set about cleaning her skin. When she woke for the final time, they were gone and she was dressed in nothing except for a rather innocent pair of lacy, white underwear. Her skin had been scrubbed to the point that it held an almost rubbery texture to it. Robyn was confused.

The woman returned with a meal which she devoured while allowing the Southern Belle to casually braid her hair. "You and Sam seemed to get on quite lovely this morning! Reminded me of when I was a girl your age! You know, when I saw you lying out in that desert, I thought you were a goner but then I saw those lovely eyes of yours and I knew that God himself had sent us an angel, strong and pure who could complete his mission." After her little verse, the woman hummed a little song. Robyn had a sneaking suspicion that it was holy in nature.

Finally, after perfecting her art, the woman rose from the bed and gave her a genuine smile. "Beautiful. I don't know how any warm-blooded man could resist you like this!" She got to her knees then and held Robyn's hands in her own. "Usually I don't burden our newcomers with this so early but Sam is leaving in two days time for a supply collecting on. He ain't gon' be back for a few weeks an' we have to start our mission as soon as possible. You're doing God's work now, my little angel."

Robyn's face dawned with realisation, her jaw hinging and unhinging as if in silent desperation. The woman went to the door before calling for Sam and leaving her with a smile. Her eyes darted, her breath dancing with incredulity as she searched, desperate, for a weapon to defend herself. The door opened; too late.

Her eyes hid low, not willing to meet his as she heard light footsteps approach before the bed creaked with the addition of another person. After a minute of deafening silence, she raised her silvery eyes to find his. He was handsome, with intelligent blue eyes tracing her figure. A light stubble coated his chin, adding some age to him but he couldn't have been over twenty. Strong muscles rippled and she could immediately see he had a height advantage of about a foot and a half. Robyn cursed her smallness.

"It's Robyn, right? I'm Sam!" She was acutely aware of her lack of clothing. She nodded nonetheless. His hand settled on the inside of her thigh and she shifted only to find it following her.

"Not much of a talker, eh? Don't worry; we've never really had one like you around here but you'll fit in well enough!" His friendly tone didn't do well to hide the aggressive desire in his voice. His hand followed her thigh upward and narrowly avoided her panty-line before settling on her hip. He drew her close and her breath caught in her throat, replaced by a rising plume of fear.

"No." Her voice was hard as she pushed his hand away, rising to her feet. He followed, the height and strength difference becoming painstakingly obvious as he backed her against the wall. "I'm grateful for all of you saving me but I don't want any part of this!"

"But it's your duty." He interjected as she found her back against the cold of the wall. He advanced onward until they were pressed together. Her eyes rose to his, mixing with her frown to form a look of hatred. It was broke as he struck, his knee parting her legs and painfully riding up until it was pressed against her intimacy. A mumbled whimper escaped her lips as she tried to push him in vain. His head dipped down and hungry lips found the succulent skin of her neck.

Words danced from those evil lips, interspersed by kisses and bites. "Ephesians five: twenty two to twenty... four. Wives, submit to your... husbands as to the Lord. For the husband... is the head of t- Oh shit! You little fucker!" As he tarnished her porcelain skin, her knee found an opening and took full of advantage of that. He toppled backwards, cursing and groaning in pain.

Robyn darted from one end of the room to the other, using her agility to dodge his grabbing hands as she found another corner. She had highlighted her danger and this time, he was taking no chances as he drew a mean-looking knife from the back of his belt. "Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything."

Almost as if time itself had slowed to remind her, Robyn recalled an image - she was a small girl, sitting in the lap of someone she held very dearly. She couldn't hear what it was they were both saying but she knew it was something dear to her; a promise. But those memories weren't hers and that promise was not her own. Inside, something toiled. An ancient and angry thing that lashed out at any who dare blight her. A name rung clear in her head but it didn't make sense so she ignored it as time returned to normality.

Sam was approaching her, knife in hand yet now, she felt different. Power rippled through her veins, intoxicating while she separated her legs, pulling her hands up into an open yet ready stance. Sam's only mistake was his mercy - he went for her with his hand first. She ducked, pulling it with her before slamming him into the wall with a strength that was in no way Robyn's. Her other hand found his and pounded it against the wall, freeing the knife from his grip.

They both went after the knife but she was quicker and smaller. Falling down to grab it, her fingers locked around the grip just as Sam threw himself down on her. A gurgled groan escaped his lips as his eyes went wide with surprise. Words attempted to form on his lips but Robyn didn't let them. She tore the knife from his stomach and stabbed and stabbed until she was coated in his blood and he was good and thoroughly dead.

They laid like that for a little bit, locked in a passionate embrace that reeked of death. Finally, she slid out from under him. The white of her underwear was dyed red with his blood.

Robyn felt a smidgen of guilt rise in her but this other being, the one that guided her hands, quickly dismissed the feeling. Guilt was only reserved for the innocent. Her head hurt again but she had to escape this place. Oddly, the other being seemed to long for something as well but it wasn't escape. Robyn heard the thrum of a bow in the distance which only served to confuse her. Whatever it wanted, Robyn had no time - she had to get out.

Soft, rolling fields, green and sparkling in the warm spring...wet air rushing across her skin, through her hair.

"Epona."

She stirred, the rough mixture of gravel and broken glass pebbles scratching her sensitive skin. Something soft snuffled against her cheek. "Eghh...not yyyeeet. The sun is so warm." The ginger batted at the inquisitive creature. There was a shuffling sound and something heavy was dumped abruptly on her stomach with a small whump. She sat up reflexively, as the sudden weight had knocked the wind from her lungs. As she did so, what had landed on her rolled into her lap and she examined it inquisitively, rubbing her now sore ribs. "A backpack? Where did that come from? Whatever's in there must be really dense to make it weigh that much."

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of her hair being pulled on. Turning slowly as though afraid of what horrible person/creature could be behind her, she almost laughed as she came face to face with a long muzzle. "Hey there." she crooned, stroking the animal's nose. "You sure are a friendly -" she ducked around its long neck for a moment. "girl." From what she could tell of the mare, it was a good-sized grey and white paint...draft horse, maybe? The equine certainly looked fit for difficult pulling, if just a little thin.

Standing and gently disentangling her long, curly hair from the mare's mouth, the young woman brushed herself off. She blushed. Her current attire consisted only of a short, rather plain dark green dress with a hood attached, sepia leggings, and dark brown hiking boots. "It seems whatever brought me here forgot to give me pants." To be fair, it could be argued that she didn't need them seeing as how she was wearing leggings, but did the dress really have to be so short - and split up to her hips on the sides too? Well, she'd just have to make do. Unless...she dug around in the backpack, muttering absentmindedly to the mare as she pushed past the rather generous amount of food provided. "Nope, nope, more food, sword, oh, what a surprise, more food." she narrowed her eyes. "Hold on, sword?"

Suddenly, she was aware of just how tense the atmosphere was. Looking around for the first time, her jaw dropped. "Where am I?" she whispered dazedly. She was in the middle of what had once been something thriving and functional-the name came to her in an instant:"New York City"- but it was just so wrong, so dead. "I have to change this, but I can't do it alone." Her pale green eyes hardened in resolve. She closed the backpack and swung it over her shoulders.

"Come here, G-host." she named the mare at the last moment. Just like a phantom, it had appeared to her from nowhere. She twisted her fingers into the equine's mane and pulled herself onto her back, using an old display case from a nearby collapsed jewelry store as a makeshift mounting block. "One last thing before I go. I need a name." Just then, a golden flash from inside the display case caught her eye. Leaning over and reaching through the jagged remains of glass panels carefully, she produced a small golden ring with a gift tag of sorts tied on. As intentionally generic as it was, she couldn't help but smile at the sentiment written on the tag: Congratulations, Thorne! May success find you in your new career!

"New career, huh?" she grinned. "I guess you could call surviving the apocalypse a 'career'" she turned Ghost and sped her into a gallop, appreciating her new name, the commotion in the distance she was heading to, and, for the first time, her freedom of leg movement.