Character: PFC Michael Roper
Location: Orik Farmstead
With: No one.

---

The light receded, and Michael's sight gradually restored itself. A moment ago, he'd been looking into the obsidian eyes of an alien monstrosity; it had been a lanky, gangling beast with bark-like skin. It had no mouth, but it spoke to him regardless, though the words meant nothing to him. Then again, most of the last few hours of his life meant little. It had all been chaos. Rifle smoke, air strikes, blood and death - and them.

Now however, Michael was in a field - a corn field to be precise. The crops looked sickly, drooping with disease, and smelled not so unlike the familiar stench of rotting flesh - something he'd become accustomed to at Black Mesa. The sky above was clear, and the moon was high and shined brightly; he could make out a hundred yards in either direction.

Thumbing his radio, he tried to make sense of his situation. "Squad, come in." His voice was obscured by a voice changer, and came across as messy and robotic. "Where are we? What just happened? Sarge?"

Nothing came back to him but static.

After a few minutes of trying various frequencies, Michael gave up and decided to explore the surrounds. He made his way through the rotting corn, wincing as his bare elbows made contact with the stuff. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, and he paused until he felt secure enough to continue.

Eventually, the field gave way to the open, and he found himself looking across at a structure; a farm house, perhaps? Its lights were on, and the windows pulsed with a warm glow.

"Maybe someone knows where the Hell I am," he said. "I must have somehow stumbled into one of those teleporter-thingies, yeah, that's it. That makes sense - as much sense as can be made from all this horse shit. I probably got shunted to backwater motherfucker land, USA. I'm fine, everything is going to be fine. I'll find out where I am, and get back to civilisation."

The soldier was lying to himself of course. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, adrenaline pumped to every extremity; he was in a permanent state of fight or flight, and he knew it. Too many things had happened over the last few hours that he could not explain, and his sanity was starting to falter.

He started off towards the house, his spas-12 shotgun held rigidly in both hands on the off chance he would need it in the very near future.

Character: Sophia Hewitt
Location: Fort Henrik
With: N/A

---

Sophia awoke with a start, sweat dripping down the bridge of her nose. She stood up and brushed her skirt off, it had gotten a bit dirty.
She looked around, she was in a long hall with a red carpet down the middle. It seemed medieval, the style it was in.
That creepy old man must've brought me here...
The dark grey bricks creeped her out, it was so real. She walked up to a wall and knocked on it. It didn't sound hollow, it felt real.
She looked out a window to the right of the wall, and she saw trees, scattered in the plains.

Sophia continued down the hallway, ready to knock any opponent down so she could run off. She looked up at the wall at the end of the hallway, mounted on it was a bow. It seemed to be important, it was encased in a large wooden frame. Sophia hopped up on a regal looking chair and pulled it down from the wall.
Use this to protect myself...
Sophia had expected this place to be filled with methheads and just general addicts, but it seemed to be deserted.

Sophia entered a room through large wooden doors. There was a dresser, she set the bow she had previously found on top of it while rummaging through the drawers. A dull primitive knife laid in the top drawer, with a sheath lying next to it. She strapped the sheath around her left thigh and stuck the knife in. She sighed and continued looking around, mostly for a way out of this strange place.

Charater: Arth Bek
Location: Fort Buckmere
With: Nobody

---

Vision slowly returned to Arth's eyes. Standing, he found himself in some form of wooded area, Arth would have gambled he was near the Conclave if it wasn't for just how dark everything seemed. Looking upwards towards the moon the Boros officer tried to spot some tower or other such thing, and upon finding none decided that he must have been atop a rather large spire. Returning his gaze downward Arth saw a large stone fortification in the distance, only about thirty feet away down the road he stood upon. Deciding that he would be able to see something from atop the battlements he started walking towards the structure.
If he was atop a tower higher than any of the ones nearby then he couldn't be in Golgari lands Arth thought, and yet the forest seemed to chaotic to belong to the conclave. The soldier heard a wolf's howl, which only confused him further. While it may have been a wolf and it's rider Arth wasn't willing to find out, the fort was his best option.

Coming up to the gate Arth saw that the iron portcullis was torn apart, the gates behind it in shambles and rotting. Stepping through the ruined entrance Arth saw no sign of battle, or anything for that matter, aside from a heavy layer of dust. He was in a courtyard, though it wasn't well kept. Even in the little light the moon provided Arth could see that the grass was dead, the stone path cracked. Rather than stepping into any of the buildings Arth made his way up a stone ramp onto the battlements.
The walls were as empty and poorly kept as the courtyard. Half open crates with nothing in them, crumbling and useless crenelations, clearly the fort had been abandoned for some time, which troubled Arth. Few places stayed empty in Ravnica, if there was no sign of life then it could be some hidden fortress belonging to the Dimir, or perhaps it was the lair of some foul monster. No matter the case however Arth had to figure out where he was. Stepping into a square tower Arthur made his way up half rotted stairs to the top, where he stood overlooking the nearby lands. However the veil of darkness that lay over the land made it hard for the Boros to see any details, and it was with luck that in the middle of the tower was a large metal brazer, conveniently already stocked with wood and with tinder nearby. Not thinking of the risks Arth lit the brazier, which while giving him some light to see by also made the tower a beacon for the nearby areas.

Character: Gunsō Haruka Kazuko
Location: Deep in Bervan Woods
With: Nobody

---

Running hurt, walking hurt, standing hurt, thinking hurt, everything hurt, but Haruka had to keep moving. Fear, a concept somewhat new to the soldier, was engulfing him just as he thought the fire would. Haruka tripped from exhaustion after running for a couple minutes and quickly rolled over to get a last look at what would be his killer. However, when he saw what was behind him, he saw nothing but trees. No sounds, no movement, just large, ominous trees. They weren't even the trees that you would find on Peleliu, they looked more like pines or something of that sort. Haruka was confused, and his head throbbed when he tried to understand what was going on; his mind was thinking something much stronger than that of being lost...thirst.

Haruka had been cooped up in a cave system with other troops for at least two weeks, probably more like a month almost. The fresh water supply on a small island wasn't plentiful, and Imperial ships hadn't been able to breach the blockade Uncle Sam had set up, leaving the troops on Peleliu under siege with no supplies coming in. Now, without the constant sounds of combat echoing in his eardrums, his mind focused on this new pain, with its craving thoughts tearing at his throat. Someone had to have some water at the makeshift camp they had made in case they needed to retreat and hide for a while, he would head there.

Haruka starts to try and orientate himself, but just stumbles around for a couple minutes as he tries to align stars in the sky. Eventually, he sits down, completely bewildered, there were no stars; none that he could see, at least. The only thing he saw in the sky was the bright yet dark moon. He stands, and decides that the moon was to his East, and starts heading in what he assumes is North.

Character: Danielle Mason
Location: On the floor of the Church of the Creator
With: Nobody

---

Darkness.....it engulfed her completely in those final moments, the last ounces of her precious life draining ever so sudden from her face. It set in like a thick, black cloud, like smoke and ash from the mouth of a fiery chasm.

The beast with the pyramid shaped head, as it lumbered towards her, convulsing and groaning in such unbridled agony, as the paint and mortar flecked away from the walls revealing the nightmare beneath them, walls that squished and squirmed like the innards of a human being, Danielle quickly shut her eyes, anticipating dreadfully to feel its massive, bloodstained blade impale her through her gut or cleave her head off in one fell swoop. But none such came to her.

The siren, screaming as though banshees would to announce impending death, slowly it began to fade from earshot, a distant whimper it was in the ever encroaching darkness.

Then...a bell.

Danielle awoke with a start to find herself lying on the dusty and dingy floor inside the old, dilapidated church to the tolling of a mournful, broken bell being carried upon the ill, chilling winds that swept through the cracks and creases in the old stained glass windows. "Mngh...wh...where am I?" She pondered aloud while rubbing the back of her head, her almond colored hair a bit tousled and a dry, stinging sensation in her throat. Earlier....it was so vivid, everything, the rust, the monsters....her dead mother...but now it all just seemed a blur in the back of her mind. Speaking of which, her head was still pounding incessantly.

Rubbing her eyes, tired and bloodshot, she looked around. Her surroundings..they were so bleak and unnerving. All the pews of the church were smashed to pieces, now just discarded planks of rotting wood bristling with rusted nails. The stained glass windows were caked over with layer upon layers of dust and cobwebs, so much that they had lost their shimmer and were nothing more than mute, drab colors. And the large wooden cross above the pulpit, where an image of Christ would be normally seen, instead it was usurped by a crucified human skeleton, its skull replaced with that of a goat-like creature and wings protruding from its back that seemed to be made out of....pieces of human skin haphazardly stitched together.

Beneath it, beside a few flickering dim candles, a crudely put together wooden placard. Written upon it in what could only be discerned as blood was the phrase:


Latin for: "ALL HOPE IS GONE"

"What is this place?" She whispered to herself shivering. Churches were supposed to be places of peace and serenity, right? So...why did Dani feel this place was less of a house of the holy....and more of a den of demons?"

The cantankerous cackling of a passing crow startled her, causing her to nearly leap from her skin. She had to wonder....was this that place her mother told her about? The place she was never to go under any circumstances?

Was this.....

Silent Hill?

"It can't be."

She rose to her feet dusting off her slightly tattered jeans, trying to shake away the fear that was encompassing her body like a bitter frost on her skin. In fact, this place felt cold, as frigid as what the inside of a morgue probably felt like....and just as dead too. Not a soul but her left in the abandoned parish, save for the few spiders and other creepy-crawlies she witnessed scuttling about through the cracks in the creaking and moaning floorboards and the shattered window panes. The winds outside were contrary, their solemn wails heard all throughout the barren church, along with the peculiar rumbling of distant thunder.

Every once in a while, Dani would catch the flash of lightning outside, yet...no rain to fall, even if the skies above seen through the gaping holes in the plated roof were dark and dreary. This couldn't be Silent Hill...and yet....that is what this place felt to Danielle.

...A living, breathing nightmare....

"Hello? Is someone here?" She called out, her voice echoing. She's had that feeling for some time now, the feeling of eyes upon her always, eyes...intensely gazing at her with a fiendish delight. But there wasn't anyone else here; just her right?

Character: PFC Michael Roper
Location: Orik Farmstead
With: No one.

---

The door had been kicked through some time ago; the wood had rotted, and was laden with mold.

Michael stood flat against the wall besides the door, his armour chaffing against the wooden panelling. He breathed slowly, trying to minimise any noise he was making. Candle light flickered from inside, casting shadows across the porch; he studied them intently, and after a while, he started imagining he was seeing shapes form. He closed his eyes, shook his head.

"Keep it together, man," he murmured to himself.

He counted to three in his head, and then rounded the doorway with his shotgun held at his shoulder. He swept the barrel from left to right, but all that he was greeted with was dilapidated furniture and the odour of rotting food.

"This is the army!" he called out. "Anyone home?" But only silence answered him.

He stepped forwards, careful with his footing. A few planks creaked with his weight, and he winced each time - but it couldn't be helped. He kept his gun at the ready, and continued to methodically check every corner, crack and crevice for signs of life. Though nothing stirred, not even a rat or a group of flies.

It appeared he'd walked into the house's living room. It was rustic, with large wooden beams supporting the floor above; a tattered sofa lay against one wall, and an old fire place sat devoid of warmth. A few candles were scattered about the place, and looked to have been lit recently.

He moved over to a door on the left, and tried the handle. It clicked open. Using the barrel of his rifle, he pushed the door aside - and then recoiled.

It had been some kind of cloakroom or storage cupboard. Now however, it was the scene of some grizzly nightmare. Two corpses, torn and tattered, and probably at least a year old, looked back at him from a seated position. It appeared they were holding each other in comfort, but the ancient blood spatters and filth that covered the walls said they died in anything but. So bad was their state, that Michael couldn't even make out the style of their clothes, or even their genders.

"What the fuck?" He asked aloud.

One of the corpses held something in its hand, a little touch screen tablet by the looks of it. A red light blinked on the device periodically, and Michael bent down to retrieve it. The corpse was an unwilling participant though, and Michael was forced to break the poor bastard's hand clean off.

As he turned it over to examine it, the device suddenly sprung to life, and text whizzed across the screen. Michael read it aloud to himself.

Captain Morgan Jared,

2425, March 16th: Earth Time.

This will be the last entry of my Captain's log.

We went out to the escape pod earlier, to see if we could get it airborne. It wasn't there. How did someone move 20 tonnes of ceramic and steel from right under our noses!?

It doesn't matter I guess. It wouldn't have taken off, no, it was a false hope.

The Watchers took six more of my men last night... well, for what passes as night in this strange land. Now there is just me, Sergeant Baits, and Doctor Eleth Claud. Baits says we should make a stand. Claud says we should keep exploring. It doesn't matter what we do in my opinion, we're doomed either way.

Baits is talking about going to a farmstead up the road in search of food. I'd go, but me and Claud are both too weak.

If anyone finds this, please notify the United Nations Space Command that I, Captain Morgan Jared, did not dessert. I did not run. I did not go missing. The Gravity Drive misfired, and it

They're coming.

Forget everything. If read this RUN DONT STAY

Michael lowered the tablet, mythed. "2425? United Nations Space Command? This has to be a joke," he said to himself, smiling broadly underneath his gasmask. "Someone is royally fucking with me."

Meanwhile, the corpses at his feet shuddered slightly.

Why is everything so dark? Elora has lived in the ground all her life but this is just incredible. When Elora finally comes to her senses she is greeted by the moons waves of light, it was the most pretty thing she has seen in her entire life. But she quickly snaps out of her daydream when a howling comes north of her. Where am I? She slowly gets up and checks if her hair pin. Good still there. When she finally checks her surroundings she is greeted to some sort of large tall brown things that all are twisted and wavy at the top, "This must be what trees are." As you can already tell Elora can be very distracted very quickly. "Why can't I just be a normal person. Then it came to her who was she? She tried thinking as hard as she could but she just could not remember. By now Elora was terrified by all sorts of things, who is she what is she, why am I here, why can't I remember anything? "Okay first lets search around."

Character: Gunsō Haruka Kazuko
Location: Deep in Bervan Woods
With: Nobody.

---

It was tiring business, walking, though at least he got to pick his own pace, though every pace beyond "stop" was too much to ask for from Haruka. After an hour of walking in what seemed to be a straight line, he felt great pains, and began to vomit out what the rest of the contents of his stomach. It hurt as he hurled and nothing was left to come out, but he couldn't help it...Thirst was driving him mad, and he could've sworn he heard something earlier, and seen something shuffling in the shrubbery, but he couldn't think straight.

After puking for what seemed to be hours, though was really on a minute or so, Haruka grabbed his knees and tried to get some air in his lungs. As he did this, he heard movement, lots of movement. He quickly turned and picked up his rifle, and saw something he was very comfortable yet rather petrified to find...Americans. Several men, a full squad perhaps, of American soldiers; though something was obviously wrong about them. The troops were already torn apart, some shredded with bullet holes, others half-burned or missing an eye, one even missing both of his arms.

The strangest thing to Haruka, however, was what they said, or more HOW they said it. The troops mumbled and groaned similar phrases, "You killed us. Bloody murder. Sinner," in perfect Japanese dialect. Haruka, though exhausted and confused, chose against his better instincts, shot a round into the closest soldiers chest, and rushed him with his bayonet. In putrid disgust, Haruka backed away as the soldier didn't fall over or clench his wound as he'd expected it to so he could finish him off. Instead, the American continued to close in on him along with the others.

At this instant, Haruka backed further and further, then cocked his weapon and shot another straight between his...eye and eye socket.....This time the American collapsed and whispered something inaudible at such distance as Haruka turned around and ran in what seemed like the same direction. The troops gave decent chase, but Haruka, filled with adrenaline, outpaced them and eventually lost sight of them. He slowed his pace and hoped to reach the rally soon...

Character: Legionarius Marcus Nerva
Location: South of Grendan Farmstead.
With: Nobody.

---

Marcus...my name...is Marcus Nerva.....Legionary...Second Cohort, Legio XVIII of Roma. he kept repeating, trying to jog his memory and remember why in the name of Jupiter he was alone and lost in the middle of the forests of what seemed to be Germania. Eventually, he got over his identity crisis and started to focus a bit more, as he tried to orientate himself in the dense forest he stood in.

Wretched, barbaric wastelands... is all that ran through Marcus' head as he gathered his bearings and tried to find a way to get to somewhere, anywhere...Those Pagan Germans were probably roaming these regions looking for things to kill or sacrifice, so choices had to be made.

Marcus' choice was to try and find the nearest road, for as the saying goes: "All roads lead to Rome;" so he could probably find some sort of help or something for him to help himself with along the roads of the land. However, all Marcus knew about what was going on is that he was lost in Germania, the Northern regions of Rome that would eventually form Germany in the far future. The land wasn't as hilly as he remember, and thanks to this, Marcus saw a glimpse of light in the distance. Elated, Marcus began heading North to what seemed to be a guiding lamp that one could usually find lining the more traveled roads of Rome.

However, after a couple minutes of walking, Marcus came to realize that he was actually approaching a tattered farmhouse. Initially, he had hoped to pillage some food, only to find no crops, planted or harvest anywhere around. He entered the farmhouse, as it was so decrepit and decayed that no man could live in it, and searched that as well. To Marcus' dismay, nothing was inside beyond debris and overgrowth.

As he stepped outside of the farmhouse, he sat down atop an emptied barrel, and checked his equipment. He still had everything he would normally have: his weapons, his armor, and a good wad of Denars for the occasion where he found something of value he couldn't acquire through the legions. Beyond his isolation and misdirection, everything seemed in order, Marcus simply had to find his way to the nearest Roman outpost. However, it seemed to be late into night, though unnaturally well lit, and Marcus was tired.

He crafted a small cot to rest in from scavenged materials in the debris of the house, and choose to camp it out inside the nearby barn, which was also abandoned; though it still had a roof on it, at least. Roma won't need me so badly as for me to go without sleep, he concluded, as he nestled himself into a light sleep.

Character: Danielle Mason
Location: the Church of the Creator
With: Nobody

---

After a while or so she had grown accustom to the creaking of the floorboards beneath her, same with the lightning and thunder outside, no longer flinching with each violent crash of noise, but still...this place gave her the creeps. It wasn't just the rotting corpse on the wooden cross up front or the damaged pews and church windows that set her at unease, but...upon further inspection of this place...she soon realized on both the walls and the floors were smears and stains of dry blood. Blood, spattered everywhere, as though a painter had gone mad and tossed about his buckets of red paint in a crazed fit. That alone was enough to say that something horrible had taken place here, but no corpses...save for the crucified skeletal remains.

Gradually all around her....it began to grow increasingly dark. A sudden gust of air sliced through her body leaving her in chills, and snuffed out instantly the flickering candles at the foot of the ruined pulpit. Now...there was no light at all. Only....blackness.

Dani gulped audibly, her body trembling, knees buckling together.

"I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be okay." The mantra, she repeated it in a shaky breath, the same mantra she uttered whenever she....had one of her episodes. This certainly felt like one, the only difference, she could shut her eyes and open them all she wants...but it would never go away.

This darkness...it was so unreal, so...unnatural. It felt as if the shadows themselves were living creatures, devouring Dani and the church whole...until she could see nothing, not even her feet on the ground. That's when she remembered something. She still had her flashlight she kept for emergencies, and this was definitely one of them. She reached into her coat pocket and fished it out, trying to keep hold of it with fidgeting hands. She clicked the on switch and sighed with relief when it beamed a dim but useful source of light...but the relief was short lived.

The light...as much as it would have comforted her...it revealed something in the darkness.

Suddenly, before the light could catch it, something fast fleeted from her gaze, causing Danielle to yelp and nearly drop the flashlight. "W-who's there?! Dani called in a panic. She shined her flashlight everywhere, on the walls, the floor, the ceiling, but nothing she could see. That....that thing...she only caught a brief glance of it, a bizarre, grotesque shape that moved so quickly...and so violently. What the hell was that?!

She reached into her back pocket, the cold touch of an ivory handle gracing her hand as she brandished the small switchblade and flicked it open with an audible, echoing click. "S-stay back! I have a knife you fucker! D-don't even think of coming near me!" As brave as she tried to sound, her nervous stutter betrayed her, even as she held the tiny but sharp blade out in front of her while hesitantly shuffling backwards hoping she could make a break for the door.

God....let's just hope it isn't locked.

Character: PFC Michael Roper
Location: Orik Farmstead
With: No one.

---

"This must be some kind of training op," Michael muttered to himself. "Black Mesa... was it just some elaborate test ground of some new weapon?"

It was no secret to the boys of the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit that the U.S Government was overseeing some pretty shady projects. In fact, that was the main reason that the HECU existed in the first place. He'd only been in the unit for eighteen months, but in that time he'd seen some pretty trippy sights - though the aliens (imagined?) at Black Mesa certainly proved to be the crescendo of oddities that the Government had thrown his way.

Something latched around his ankle, like an iron clamp, and squeezed hard until it hurt. Michael jumped, dropping the touch screen tablet, and looked down just in time to see one of the corpses at his feet close its jaws around his boot.

"Gah! What the fuck!?" He screamed, his voice sounding like the guttural cry of a robot gorilla thanks to the voice changer. He tried to kick his foot free of the corpse, but found it impossible. Bringing the shotgun up in a panic, he pointed it at the thing's head and pulled the trigger. The corpse's head disappeared behind the bright muzzle flash, sending an uncountable amount of skull and gloopy brain fragments skittering in all directions.

Michael backed away, the corpse's teeth and parts of it mouth still fixed to the end of his boot. "What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?"

The second corpse was still inanimate, though it had slumped forwards - obviously as the other one had moved to attack Michael. None of this made sense, but then, nothing in the last twenty four hours of his life made much sense. Was he in some kind of high tech military training facility? Did they dope him with acid? They'd done that before. He tried to recall every moment of his life before he was sent to Black Mesa, looking for a break in its continuity - a moment that would provide a clue as to where he was.

And then the door to the living room swung open, crashing against the wall. The rotted frame gave way, and the whole lot tumbled to the floor. Two men stumbled inwards, their clothes torn and tattered, their flesh dry and cracked. White eyes settled on Michael, and they froze as if surprised.

Michael raised his shotgun at them. "Stay back! Stay the fuck back!"

Character: Arth Bek
Location: Fort Buckmere
With: Nobody

---

The Boros soldier gazed over the landscape. This didn't look like Ravnica at all. At first Arth had thought he may have been at the top of some tower where nature was allowed to get out of hand, but from his vantage point Arth saw no end to the trees, no other towers, nothing that would indicate he was in a city. Of course, being from a plane of existence that is one massive city and nothing else this confused the soldier greatly. "What in the name of the angels is this?" He muttered as his eyes suddenly locked onto movement.
Three large creatures, Arth couldn't see exactly what they were from the tower, were running on all fours towards the fort, and towards Arth. As they came closer he could see features that would mark them as wolves, but clearly larger. One of the beasts ran through the gate and made it's way to the entrance to the tower itself, however Arth was more concerned about the other two, who flung themselves into the tower and started climbing.

Rather then attempt to question the savages Arth did the most reasonable thing he could. With a great deal of strength he hefted up the iron brazer and dumped it over the side. A sound of yelps of pain reached Arth's ears as he drew his blade and prepared himself for the third one, who would be coming up from the stairs any moment.
Right on cue the third wolf creature sprang up, and Bek without thought brought his blade down upon the beast. The sword cut into the wolf's shoulder, but then got stuck. The creature merely snarled at Arth, who got a good look at the monstrous wolf. It stood on two legs, and was larger then most men, Arth included. The wolf threw one claw out to rake the soldier, and though Arth's armor held up he was still thrown across the tower, and now was separated from his blade, which was still lodged in the monster.
Picking himself up Arth clenched his fist as the wolf slowly walked over, snarling with an inhuman glee. That glee left the creature in an instant when Arth threw himself at the beast and punched it squarely in the jaw. A snap of bone was quite evident, and the mark of the Boros Legion was now firmly indented into the beast's flesh.
The wolf staggering Arth tackled the creature, pushing it against the crumbling stone. Then a crack was heard, as the stone the beast was being pushed against gave out and the monster fell from the tower to the fort grounds below.

Arth looked down at the creature, it didn't look to be moving, though Arth would have to go down and retrieve his sword. Before he had a moment to think anything else however he heard a deep growling coming from behind. Turning Arth could see one of the other two beasts clawing up over the battlements, burnt and tinged fur creating a foul stench. Arth was about to fling himself into the beast before seeing another clawed hand come over the battlements, the other wolf was climbing up as well. While the soldier of Boros was indeed skilled, he did not like the chances of him taking on two foes of such strength at once, so instead Arth fled down the stairs.
However before he could go far the rotted wood under him gave out, and the armored warrior fell, crashing through to the floor below, though luckily the wood there was not so quick to give, otherwise the soldier might have kept falling till he hit the ground floor and would have surely been dead or too weak to fight the beasts even now descending the tower.
Picking himself up Arth stumbled out of the nearest door to find himself once more on the walls. However he was not allowed even a moment of rest as he caught sight of one of the wolfs running across the grounds below towards him, and Arth could hear the second wolf behind him. Claws with rake through the air, however Arth had already began running, adrenaline pushing him across the walls as he neared the main keep, luckily attached to the walls themselves, a sturdy looking iron door open and waiting. Both the wolves were behind Arth, and they were naturally faster, catching up to the knight. With one final frantic leap the Boros soldier flung himself into the building, before turning and slamming the iron door shut and throwing down the wooden bar than acted as a latch.

With a deep sigh the man turned his back to the door, leaned against it, and slowly calmed his breath. The beasts would find some other way in Arth knew, and he would need to find a new weapon. But first he would need his energy.

Character: Danielle Mason
Location: the Church of the Creator
With: ..... "There's....t-there's something here..."

---

That's it! She wasn't staying here any longer to find out!

Whatever this...thing...was, she needed to get away from it and quick!

This feeling overwhelming her, like sharp claws raking down her back, leaving her in a cold, shivering sweat, how uncomfortable and sickening it felt.

Without a moment's notice, Danielle just turned on her heels and raced for the door. She tried to open, but...no.... No! It couldn't be! The door...it was locked...for good. Her hand, in the darkness she felt it grace metallic, rusty chains, something sticky and gross smelling coating them. Was it blood? It felt like it, but as she drew her hand back, she noticed the black, slimy substance. Then...it began to burn her hand like it was acid or some other corrosive substance. "Agh!" She yelped at the searing pain, quickly brushing off this bizarre, burning liquid off onto her jacket, finally resorting to banging her fists on the door frantically and screaming for dear life, "Help! Someone! Anyone, get me out of here! Please help me!"

It was getting closer....she could feel it, the hunger it had for her, not for her flesh...but her very soul. "Please! Someone fucking help me!!" But no voice replied from the other side, no force tried to jar the door open to free her from what would soon become her macabre and desolate tomb, her sepulcher of shadows.

Death...it was all around her, the putrid scent of rotting flesh and graveyard soil penetrating her nostrils and forcing her to hold her breath. It was happening again. No...not now!

Suddenly, the siren started blaring in her ears, that wretched, horrific sound bringing her back to those horrible memories, her mother butchered and brutalized, the walls of burned, bleeding flesh and sinew...and...that creature. And just like before...now the church was shifting into nightmares. The chipped and cracked paint upon the walls peeled away like dead leaves in the bitter cold of autumn, revealing underneath rusted and blood spattered metal. The skies above, their demure shades of depressing grays instantly perverted into hellish reds and oranges, as if heaven was blazing with demonic fire, but that's not all she saw as her terrified eyes looked towards the ceiling. Bodies...hundreds of rotting corpses hanging by their necks from metal hooks, some in such grisly states of decay with bits of flesh dripping off their bones. The church...it was more of a cannibalistic butcher shop, dead bodies and instruments of horrific torture and mutilation everywhere....and it was about to get worse...

"T-this isn't real! No! It's not REAL!" Danielle panicked shutting her eyes, falling to her knees trembling. Her nightmares, reality before her very eyes. Then...it revealed itself.

The skeletal being upon the cross, its hands and feet ripped away from the nails as it lurched and writhed with skin and muscle tissue growing back over its dry bones, an ear piercing screech of utter agony belting from its mouth full of sharp teeth, eyes, red and menacing, glowing in the deep shadows like the impending fires of Hell. Its twisted wings flourished, producing an icy gust of air that smelled of rigor mortis.

Danielle...though she could not bring herself to, she looked upon the creature, it shambling towards her while screaming and flapping its ghastly wings.

Then...it attacked!

Character: PFC Michael Roper
Location: Orik Farmstead
With: No one.

---

"We hunger for you!" the two men screamed in unison, their voices amplified by an unseen malevolence. They rushed forwards, arms open wide in an offering embrace.

Michael had only half a second to react, and he pulled the trigger. A large hole appeared in one of the men, the size of a basket ball, and he was flung against the nearest wall like a rag-doll. The second man came within arms reach of Michael, before the soldier was able to bring his weapon around and squeeze off another thunderous shell. His attacker disappeared from the chest upwards; brittle flakes of dried flesh and bone rained over the room like some kind of doomsday confetti.

Before Michael could even take stock of his situation, the first man - the one with the hole in his torso - was back on his feet. He snarled as a dry and swollen tongue licked at cracked, putrid lips. Were it not for his gas mask, the unfiltered smell of decay may have been enough to knock Michael on his ass.

"What the fuck are you?" demanded Michael, thrusting forwards with the shotgun in a futile attempt to ward his enemy off. "Is this a training op? VR? DT-19? Please, I can't take any more of this bull shit!"

The man smiled broadly, yellow and black teeth poking out from behind his swollen tongue. "We are for you. We are the hunger." The words should have been muffled, but they came through as clear as day.

Michael didn't understand the cryptic response; didn't understand how a man - apparently in the late stages of decay - could stand when half a foot of his spine was missing. He pulled the trigger, and his spas-12 combat shotgun reduced the man to a bloodless stump above the waist.

There was little time for further thought, as a window to the soldier's right exploded into fragments of wood and glass. A woman crawled through, her dress torn and shredded; she looked up at Michael with the same nightmarish features of the men.

"Fuck this, fuck this," Michael decried, half sobbing. He turned his back on the woman, and sprinted out of the door; the darkness of the farmyard embraced him like an old friend.

Character: Danielle Mason
Location: the Church of the Creator
With: Evil Incarnate

---

As the horrific monstrosity pounced on her, Danielle rolled out of the way across the filthy, blood spattered floors of her living, breathing nightmare, hastily scurrying to her feet as the demonic creature whirled around releasing another ear piercing scream.

The way it moved, lurching and shambling, convulsing with every step like it was in complete and utter torment, that alone made her stomach squirm in discomfort, the sickening tinge in the back of her throat to vomit. But she suppressed it and kept running, kept evading every vicious attack this abomination threw at her, every swipe of its deadly claws, every deluge of poisonous black liquid that jettisoned from its putrid mouth.

It took to the air again, flapping its frail, tattered wings before soaring down, this time a hit connecting with poor Danielle unable to escape it.

"AGH!!" The pain...oh the ungodly pain... Its claws ripped through the fabric of her jacket, carving into her flesh with such a horrendous fervor. Blood, warm and viscous, spewed forth from the deadly wound as she was thrown to the floor, skidding across like a hockey puck before smashing against the wall. The impact jarred her body, leaving her disoriented for a sparse moment, a moment taken advantage of by the monster. It swooped down again onto Dani, grasping her arm by its wretched talons, another horrible screech before it resumed to toss her about the church....as though she were nothing more than a useless toy. Every wall she slammed into, every rotten, filthy church pew reduced to splinters by the violent crash of her body hitting them full force. The beast was weakening her, like a cat that played with a scared, timid mouse before biting its head off and ending its worthless, meaningless life...

She was done....and so was it playing with her.

Weak, her entire body throbbing in pain so horrific she could barely stand, let alone move her smallest finger an inch, all she could do was lie there...and wait for it to finish her off.

The demon wrenched her upwards, the force nearly yanking her arm clean off. Now...she was eye to eye with it, or rather eye to empty black eye sockets that only burned with its hatred and malice it had for her. With every screech, every scream of the horror in her face, more and more droplets of a mysterious and searing black slime coated her face, causing Danielle to cringe and cry out at the infernal agony. She could feel it....staring through her, the hellish gaze passing her eyes and piercing right into....her very soul...the only morsel of her it sought to devour.

It opened its mouth, a strange, incoherent language it babbled, like a chant of corrupted monks in a church for the damned...pretty much what this place was at the moment. Danielle, something was happening to her, the very essence of her life seeming to drain from her body like blood from her many ghastly wounds. It was taking it from her...her soul. She would be dead within minutes...this nightmare...would be over...

"N-n-n...NO!!!"

No, it wouldn't end like this! Not for her! Suddenly, with as much force she could muster to drive her battered and nearly broken arm upwards, Danielle jabbed her knife straight into the monster's eye. It's grip relinquished, the creature writhing and wailing, grasping at its eye spewing forth black, foul smelling blood. A newfound strength, it fueled Daniella in that moment, adrenaline soaring to extreme levels like never before. She wasn't going to run from this beast any longer. She....was going to kill it.

"D-DIE YOU UGLY FUCKING THING!!" She screamed to the top of her lungs, her voice a righteous fury having broken into frantic, painful sobs. She leapt onto the creature before it could get away, and like a madwoman, over and over she stabbed it with her switchblade, every piercing blow of the knife spattering her face and her tattered clothes with blood, the sickening crack of bones and the squelching of brain matter as she savaged the beast's head.

"DIE!! JUST FUCKING DIE!!" Without remorse, without quarter she savagely murdered the demon, until it fell before her, nothing more than a bleeding, rotten corpse. She climbed off the beast, trembling still from the sudden endorphin rush, her shaky hand barely able to grip her bloody knife, her small chest rising and falling with every ragged breath she took. It was dead, the monster was slain....but it was far from over..

Before her very eyes....it began to shift. Its bones cracked, its flesh melting away and forming into some bloody, gelatinous shape, a mass of skin, organs, and sinew squirming as if maggots upon the corpse of a deer, a sight that was even more disgusting than before... Then...the form took another shape, a familiar shape, that of a woman. But this woman...she was riddled with horrendous wounds, stab wounds. Her skin was pale as porcelain, once a beautiful complexion, now marred with blood and ghastly black and red bruises. Her eyes, once a lovely shade of green, now flickering like dim candles beside a lonely grave...

The demon...it became....

Heather.....her mother...

"M-mother....? No!" Danielle....she was in shock, absolute denial. The knife slipped from her hand, quickly her feet carrying her over to the desecrated corpse...seeming to cling to what life was left in her.

"D-Danielle....wh...why...?" Remorseful she whimpered to Danielle, Heather shivering as the cold talons of death began to pull her away. "Why did you....do this...to me....?"

"Why did you do this...to me....Danielle?!"

Things began to take a turn for the worse. Blood, like tears, streamed from the pain ridden eyes of her mother and seeped through the slender crack between her lips, spewing from her mouth all over the floor. Violently she coughed, every convulsion racking Heather with a pain Danielle couldn't stand to see any more.

"Mom....I'm sorry! Please...please don't die! I didn't mean it! Please!" Danielle sobbed cradling the fragile body of her mother in her arms, gazing into eyes that would soon hold no light, no source of life at all. "Mom, no! Please...I can't lose you again! I'm so scared!"

"W-why.....? It's your fault....I'm dead...."

Her body, slowly it crumbled away in Danielle's arms, disintegrating into ashes...and leaving her with that final, painful whisper...

The truth... Whatever or whoever killed her mother...they were looking her her...

So in fact.... she did kill her mother....

Character: PFC Michael Roper
Location: Running from Orik Farmstead towards the Olos River
With: No one.

---

It was too much for Michael.

He was a decorated marine, a soldier who had been lavished with the kind of training regimens reserved for the best of the best. During his time in the HECU, he'd seen things - horrible things, the kind of things that twisted one's belief in their own perceptions, and left them with an existential crisis. Nothing had phased him, not really.

Hell, he'd fought an entire race of aliens at Black Mesa. He'd held his dying brothers-in-arms as they perished from wounds left by weaponry so advanced and unreal, it made the entire U.S military look like a third world nation militia. Nevertheless, he'd held the line, he'd stood his ground in the face of the impossible.

But this? Whatever this was, defied it all. Michael was not built for it, and standing his ground seemed like the last bad idea of many bad ideas.

And that's why he was running for his life, like a frightened child.

The stalks of corn, frail and moist with rot, brushed against his arms as he sprinted through them. His equipment felt unusually light, as adrenaline kicked in to power his blind panic to near superhuman levels. He'd look up at the night sky, to see the calm of the full Moon beaming back at him ominously, and then he'd look back to see if he was being followed.

It was too dark to tell, and the sound of his laboured breathing seemed to be drowning everything else out. Whatever the case, he wasn't going to stop until his legs gave up under him, and so he carried on.

The corn came to an end suddenly, and in the darkness, Michael ran straight into an upended plough. The rusted metal caught his shin, and he went down like a sack of shit and with a cry of pain. He wasn't aware of the extent of his injury; he might've cracked the bone for all he cared, as the pain was soon forgotten by another wave of adrenaline. He ran on, a slight limp in his gait, but he didn't dare look back.

Everything was dark, despite the Moon above, and through his gas mask he could barely see a few feet ahead of him. If he didn't stop to get his bearings, then he was going to hurt himself - he knew this, and for once, reason over powered his instincts. He skidded to a halt, went down on one knee and pointed his shotgun in the direction he had come.

He tried to stifle his breathing, and strained his ears to his surroundings. He could hear rushing water nearby - a river maybe - but also something else. A rustling - no - rustlings.

A person's figure burst from the corn with an inhuman howl; Michael watched its silhouette storm forwards with an insect-like gait, its limbs cracking and flinching as it stumbled towards him.

Time to move.

He pulled the trigger, and the figure flew backwards with a growl, and then he took off in the direction of the suspected river. More howls answered the echoing thunder of his shotgun, and Michael was of little doubt that more than just a few of these nightmares were hot on his trail. He was making good time, but his pace was slowing - no doubt thanks to his leg injury - and there was no way of telling whether or not he was keeping ahead of his pursuers.

The darkness didn't let him. He could make out the odd shape of a tree, or a rock, but everything was composed of varying shades of black which made it impossible to discern any landmarks. As far as he was concerned, he may as well have been blindfolded. However, the sound of the river was getting louder.

"WE HUNGER!" something screamed with a guttural tone, and it sounded far too close for comfort. Michael chambered another shell.

He stopped abruptly, turned and fired just as the rotted face of another nightmarish ghoul smashed into his. Michael fell backwards, and rolled down hill - unable to stop himself - until he was launched off the edge of a sharp embankment.

The icy cold water enveloped him, and he immediately fought against a current that threatened to keep him under.

Character: Arth Bek
Location: Fort Buckmere
With: Nobody

---

Breath, calm. No injures. Sword, gone. Arth thought these things, evaluating it all.
He was in a fortress. There were two beast men were hunting him, and would likely be finding a way into the keep he had barricaded himself into.
Standing the soldier began to take in his surroundings. It was dark, and with the roof intact the only light was that of the moon dimly coming through the stained glass. Despite that, Arth could see that he was on a balcony of some description, overlooking a main hall.
A glimmer, a piece of metal catching the scant amount of light. On the far end of the hall, on the ground, was a blade.
Arth needed a way down, one that didn't involve just jumping. It was a fair distance between the ground and his balcony, and he had had enough falling for one night.
Walking across the wooden overlook he noted that it seemed to go the entire distance of the room, yet he could see no easy way down. No stairs, ramp, or even a ladder to be seen. However, at the far end was something.
A number of crates were stacked up from the ground floor, nearly but not quite reaching the balcony. Arth estimated that he could safely fall to them, and then leap down the rest of the way. If he did however he could see no easy way back up.
The sword however was needef if he was to fight the beasts that hunt him.
Taking the first fall, he heardna sudden howl, and the armored knight tripped, falling the remaining distance to land painfully on the stone tiles. The crates followed, and soon the soldier was half buried in wood and... what seemed to be rotten fruit. Standing and shaking off the foulness Arth took the final steps towards the blade. The sword was short, and dull. It rested inbetween the ribs of a long dead skeleton draped in what was once noble garb.
Pulling the blade from the bones Arth heard another howl, and glass shatter as the largest of the glass windows shattered above the knight, one of the were-beasts leaping through.

Character: Danielle Mason
Location: Leaving the Church of the Creator and heading elsewhere
With: No one...but herself...

---

youtube.com/watch?v=oxVBVSs7szY

The church had returned to its normal dilapidated state, but the horrors she had witnessed remained fresh in her mind...and always will remain there till her very end.

She stood up, her knees buckling slightly, still the shiver of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, a jolting high that faded away into a debilitating crash as the pain racking her body intensified. God...that thing slung her around something fierce. It was as though every bone in her body was shattered porcelain, a fragile frame that was doing all it could to keep her standing. From head to toe she was covered in a disgusting coat of dry, sticky blood, blood that still smelled so awful, like a corpse left in a dumpster on a hot summer day riddled with worms and maggots.

With tired, bloodshot eyes, she looked around at the church, the perpetual darkness giving way to more cracks of lightning across the dull gray skies of tumultuous storm clouds...now receding to give the ominous, pale light of the full moon beaming through gaps in the plated roof. "I don't understand...." Danielle whispered to herself, feeling nothing more than confused...alone...and lost. Between the visions, the nightmares, the horrible things she had seen....and now this... Nothing made sense to the teen anymore. It was as if the very world she lived in was caving in around her, leaving Dani in nothing more than a deep, dark abyss.

Her mother...or at least the thing that turned into her.... it wasn't real, and yet, Danielle felt it attack her, felt its horrible words infiltrate her ears, damning her to an eternity of Hell filled with guilt, filled with remorse. Felt its claws cleaving into her flesh and leaving her broken and torn. "Why....why is this happening to me?"

Was she going crazy?

Without another thought, the old, rusted doors of the church opened, creaking and groaning amidst a cool breeze that held a more pleasant...but still a foreboding scent. Nevertheless...Danielle was free to go but only from the church. Not...from this nightmare.



To be honest, her first steps outside the church were akin to a baby fawn learning to walk, learning to begin its journey into a strange and bewildering new world. She stumbled in the dark, pulling her jacket closer to combat the ill chilling winds of the unsaintly weather. All around her, on all sides, trees that were withered and dying flanked her, no leaves to cover their naked, thorny branches that bristled like the tendrils of some Lovecraftian cacophony. A dense, unearthly mist shrouded it all in obscurity, glowing a cool, demure shade of blue from the moonlight beaming through the dead canopy.

This place...as if the church alone was creepy enough, this was a whole new level of fear. For a moment or so, she could catch....things...peeking from beyond the thick of the trunks and wilted shrubbery, eyes that gleamed wolfen yellow with hunger, insatiable, ravenous hunger. And worse...her flashlight was dimming ever more, soon a struggle just to keep it lit...for one more minute, one desperate minute Danielle needed its comforting light. "Why am I here?" She wondered aloud while shuffling through the forest, paranoid eyes flickering left and right just to catch frail glimpses of the shadows that were...stalking her.

How she wanted to just...wake up from this nightmare...

Character: PFC Michael Roper
Location: Olos River (Opposite Church of the Creator)
With: No one.

---

The water was freezing, and its current was strong.

Stronger than him.

Michael fought with all of his might to break through the surface, to fill his near-empty lungs with precious oxygen. His equipment was too heavy though, and his shotgun was a crippling talisman that he was unwilling to surrender. The river pulled him about like a rag doll, throwing him into one rock, and then another, before snagging him against a branch.

He reached out and grabbed at the rotted wood, and unsurprisingly, it snapped with an audible crack. He found himself flailing, grasping for anything that might give him purchase, but with one hand it was nigh impossible.

Let the gun go man, you're going to die.

"No!" he screamed in defiance to his mind's own reasoning, smashing through the water's surface. He tried to breath in, but the freezing liquid had gotten into his gas mask, and he found himself spluttering.

The river continued to carry him, slamming him against another out crop of rocks for good measure. Through his misty/water laden goggles, Michael saw his salvation - a thick log hanging out from over the bank. He reached up with his hand, and caught it. It took a few seconds to shimmy along the length of his saviour, but he was soon able to pull himself from the icy death of the river.

After crawling a few yards, Michael unclasped his mask and helmet, and threw them to one side; he had a long face, with chiselled features and broad green eyes. His head was shaven, though his face was showing a few day's worth of growth.

Laying there on the bank, he took his time catching his breath - the horrors of only minutes before long forgotten.

Character: Danielle Mason
Location: Leaving the Church of the Creator and heading elsewhere
With: No one...but herself...

---

@Frengo

Dead leaves crunched and crinkled with each slow, weary step she took through the barren growth, the all too familiar chill of...being watched...creeping up her backside.

This place...the more she stayed here, the more she felt as if...it was more than a forest, like she was traversing the cold and calloused flesh of some living creature, an abomination that was long forsaken...and buried beneath the packed mud and layers of dead, festering forestry. Strange moans and lamenting groans, they permeated the irritable silence that hung over the forest, momentarily broken by the sound of her foot rustling through leaves and twigs. Danielle shivered all the more, pushing herself further and further, praying that there would be an opening soon to this labyrinthine hollow.

She swore for the most part she was going in circles, that the forest was altering itself in some...bizarre fashion to keep her trapped, alone, and confused beyond all reasoning. And...she couldn't shake that feeling, that of eyes observing her in the deep veil of shadows, a creature lost in obscurity and raving with delirium, licking its chomps insatiably for a taste of what else but her flesh and blood.

If another monstrosity like that....whatever that was back at the church...were to attack her, no way would she in her battered and weakened state be able to drive them back. It would be a feast of sinister delight as it mangled her flesh and tore out her entrails to the horror her very eyes would behold.

"Cut it out, Dani! You're just scaring yourself now." She chided her wandering mind for traversing such dark subjects, but the thoughts couldn't help but be entertained given her grim situation.

A few feet into the mist and mire, a peculiar sound had caught her ear. Was that....water? The gentle babble...if it wasn't for the cawing of ravens and those...other noises, then surely it would have been welcomed to her. The sound of water trickling always had that calming effect on her, yet she never knew why, Danielle.

The sound of the water she followed until emerging upon sight of a river, a swift, flowing river at that. How thirsty she was, her mouth feeling as if she had been swallowing salt and sand for days on end, even though it's only been a sparse few hours she's been here....wherever this was. But....one look at the river...or rather...one smell and any thoughts of drinking from it were thrown out the window. "Ewww... I've seen better water in a truck stop toilet. No way I'm gulping that down." Her nose scrunched sniffing of the foul liquid. Was water supposed to be this black...and reek of nearly hundreds upon hundreds of dead fish? In fact...there were dead fish, all in the river, floating upon the surface only to be carried away by the tumultuous, rolling current.

If water wasn't even safe for the fish in this place, then most certainly a human had no business swallowing it, no matter how desperate they were to quench their insatiable thirst. She sighed, disappointed that she would have to search elsewhere for sustenance.

Another realization was how was she going to cross such a river. One step into the current and surely she would be dragged underneath...down into the depths of a watery grave, plus....why would she even think swimming in it was a better idea than drinking it? "I need to find a way across. Maybe a log or something." Danielle pondered searching about the river bank, eyes skimming to and fro in need of said log, but none she could find.

Although....something did indeed catch her eye. "What the....O-oh my God!"

A body was beside the river, immobile, lifeless, and yet...they didn't appear to be dead. Cautious she approached them, the dim glow of her flashlight upon the disheveled figure. Their clothes, judging by that alone, Danielle could pinpoint this...John Doe was a soldier perhaps, that or just one of those paranoid survivalist freaks with way too many guns and anxiety, not the best combination in her opinion. But wait...they were still....breathing?

Albeit subtle, she could detect hints of life remaining within them, the frail movement of their body indicating they still had a pulse.

Now the real question...

Were they friendly...or....were they going to rip the flesh from her bones?