“Food smell good.” Shannon explained.

The pair of Agents simply looked at each other. So, these were the ‘visitors’ they’d been briefed on.

Shannon, keeping one beady eye on the Agents, squeezed into the room to allow the others in after her. The greasy frying pan sitting in the sink deftly held her attention with it’s delicious aroma.

“Humans eat food. Darcy and Bon Bon eat food. I like smell food.”

She picked up the frying pan from the sink and gave it a good sniffing.

“Urm.” The man; Caleb, began sheepishly. “Do you guys want anything?”

“I could whip up a veggie burger?” Denise spoke through a mouthful of burger.

“I no eat.” Shannon sat down in the kitchen area, taking up most of the space. “I no have stomach.”

@RokkuHoshi@Fetzen

Rockin' looked back at Vaughter with a frown. "Yes, I know what food is. I am a pony."

"A veggie burger would be perfect." Rockin' nodded, walking in and sitting at the table with them. "I'm Rockin'. What are your names?"

He looked around the room, taking in the lack of decor. "This place isn't too personal. It seems more like a military place. Reminds me of the Wonderbolts."

Herbert

It was all Herbert could have done to keep up with the bulk of the party. The events that then transpired left him with a thousand tendrils of thought that grasped at his waking mind with oppressive need for reconciliation. The hellish chimeras of snake and rabbit disturbed the murky memories hidden deep in the recesses of that abyss called the subconscious. Yet that was not the most striking thing to happen upon that snow-covered mountain; to bear witness to that so arcane and charnel act, well, it had left tremoring fractures upon his very psyche.

Even now, safe deep within the wild forest of books and shelves, he felt the thoughts still troubling him. He could not keep his hands still. Each page he had to fumble apart from the next, fighting against the tremors. He had read books on medicine, first with the singular drive of furthering his medical understanding of death, and then morbid curiosity grasped him about his dear Liza’s condition, and if perhaps he could diagnosis it. Drifting eerily from aisle to aisle, he must have been the very image some ephemeral spectre of a lost soul, eternally searching for that which they would never find, dressed as he was in crumpled archaic clothes. Books upon books were scanned, but his mind was always pulled away and distracted, and twitching hands would ram books back onto shelves before continuing their futile search.

It was useless. He knew it. If he wanted his Liza back, the simplest route seemed that unnatural pathway only partly elucidated by Twain. He decided to try and research it further, but with not much luck.

In the end he must have stalked silently past the librarian half a dozen times, entering new areas of the dense wood of information. But he could find nothing save for fanciful nonsense or superstitious ramblings on the act of defying death. Whispering shades in his mind taunted him; he knew there were secrets underneath the fold of sordid amnesia brought about by his transmission into this future world. But lo, he could not recall them, no matter how much he strained.

Herbert gazed out of the window and into the sea. On the surface of it, the array of unusually docile creatures was beautiful, but that façade was porcelain thin once you realised the magnitude of the open ocean. There was a crushing primordial fear of such vastness, a cancerous horror whose roots reach into the illimitable pasts and fathomless abysms of the night that broods beyond time.

Herbert’s foot began tapping, and as he turned back to his book, his frustration grew. He could not focus. His heart raced. The words seemed black smear upon the page. Still the devils jibed inside his head. It was too much. Overwhelming.

With a roar, Herbert through the book he was holding hard and fast down the aisle. Then, silently, he fell to his knees.

He sobbed.

Natasha

A few moments before Wolfe had walked in the red head was fighting the urge to pull Tristian over his desk by his collar, unsure exactly what he was implying. The last Message received from Hank did not make any sense. He of all people would have known that she was on vacation but yet his message implied they had no knowledge of her where-about. Yet it was the MOON operatives that had broken communication with her, not the other way around. She had been proudly boasting at how lovely the island she was visiting was and how cheap the booze was. She deflated a bit once Wolfe came into the room for reasons that she could not figure out at that moment, but Trident and Moon business was still a separate matter even though they were all curious about the Rift incident. She sat back in her chair as Tristian invited the marine to explain his own situation once again wither out leaving her out of the conversation. She knew that MOON had investigated the event he was speaking of, but she had been assigned elsewhere at the time and had only skimmed through the information she waited for him to finished then offered a few thoughts, completely unphased at him thinking he had visited hell. Things of that nature were commonplace for MOON Intelligence.

“I don’t know Wolfe. These people you’re describing, they were using crystals and chants. That’s more like heaven and hell and summoning shit. We seem to be dealing more on the lines of blood magic and Necromancy. They are two different fields of expertise if you would. The spook you met though! Chances are he might have been a recruiter for Trident or one of their branches I doubt it had anything to do with the government because they have a ton of red tape to go through when it comes to recruiting and the likes. TRIDENT on the other hand, well, it’s less of a challenge to reach out to people when an organization technically doesn’t exist.” She passed a glance to Tristan then back to the marine, still wondering exactly why he had been summoned to the office. The words of the reanimated corpse still echoing in the back of her mind.

Dayna

The poor ball of energy was at a loss trapped in the mobile command center of trident. All the forces of the ocean there, yet still out of reach for her. She would need lots of time interacting with each element in order to grasp at their differences here on earth and how it was going now, they were so isolated from them it was a rather futile attempt reaching out for them. The recirculated air that was present in the submarines was nothing compared tot he raw energy of air unbound that was topside. She had wandered through the kitchen of the mess hall earlier and even down there, it was hard to find an open flame, everything was so technologically advanced within the submerged fortress and they had strange methods of preparing their food stuffs. In actual fact, the only thing that kitchen had reminded Dayna of was feeding. It had been a long time since the Sprite had fed now that she recalled and once she got to remembering that she felt the effects immediately. She needed to feed. Unfortunately most everything she had come across thus far within the Trident headquarters was already dead and cooked so the energies which she needed in order to feed had long since extinguished. There would be traces of energies within the cooked food stuffs, but hardly enough to replenish the sprites supply of potent energy. They would have to go topside soon where she could find life and feed, but if it came down to it, her need to survive would take over and there was indeed plenty of life within trident's command center to replenish her, but, as much as she hated to admit it, all the people she had met so far since the RIFT had grown on her and she had come to appreciate them all to some extent.

Dayna did not think they would be all that willing to allow her to siphon some of their energy so she could replenish hers so for now, she would wait, and resit the urge to feed on any of the people that were locked in the Headquarters with her. Due to the nature of Twain's foul magics the Sprite was sure he would understand her needs, but just the thought of his necrotic energy, made her very core shutter, as potent as it had been when it had passed through her earlier, she did not like the feel of it and was not entirely sure of the side effects it would have on her should she ever absorb a large quantity of it.

XIII and Rozalind [Joint post Eyeris & @Konan375]
[White text is the present]
[Grey text are the strange memories]

Ready?

Rozalind responded to the question with action. Guarding with her burned arm and leading the strike with her good fist. She didn’t expect to land the sucker-punch, XIII would be wiser than that. The punch might give him a jolt through, flint to light the match of action.

~~~

“Indeed… And I can not wait for it…” The man who called himself XVII mused.

There was an argument down the hall. Voices. Something had happened. Their captors were upset.

Some time would pass. And through the little window XIII could see them pass with a long bag… A body bag… The bag was marked with a sharpie XII

“Rest in peace Twelve…” XVII muttered. “... Shame…”

~~~

XIII grinned when Rozalind immediately rushed in. He took a quick step back and just barely got out of reach of the punch. In response, he stepped back in and to her left and threw a light jab at her. “Trying to catch me off guard?”

Rozalind blocked the jab and countered on the other side, but, still hesitated to use her wrapped hand. “I just don’t like to waste time.”

~~~

“So that makes it, what, three dead and four with them?” XIII watched as the body bag went past his cell. “So, what are you going to do when we get out of here?”

XVII chuckled. “When I get out of here, I’m going to hunt down everyone who tried to kill me. I’m going to, of course, kill them.” There was some venom in his voice as he said this… Then took on a more casual note to conclude; “Then I’m going to go home.”

The body bag was dropped, there was a tear, it fell open. There was a face, pale with death, and a swath of curling red hair… In the past, in that time, XIII would have no recognition of the now exposed body, but the present XIII found her likeness close by...

“You could help me.” XVII added. “They are going to be coming soon.”

… The dead body, XII, looked quite like Rozalind...

~~~

… Rozalind, alive and well in this world, full of grit and ire, persisted in her attack.

XIII managed to dodge the strike and continued to throw light jabs at her while staying to her left, and almost infuriatingly staying out of reach of her good arm. He could see her hesitation to strike with her bandaged arm and was trying to get her to use it in a way that wasn’t just blocking jabs.

“There’s a difference between not wasting time and being too hasty.”

~~~

“You don’t even have to ask. I’ll make them pay for this.” XIII stared at the lifeless corpse of the woman that had been imprisoned with them through the window in his door before she got picked up and taken away, and as he watched her, something snapped. He stood up from his spot alongside the wall and faced the door “Say, do you want accomplish that dream a lot sooner than expected?”

~~~

Rozalind became more aggressive, pushing forward with the wrapped hand to break through his guard, but still leading with the good hand. She was shorter than XIII, so, she went for a low blow, kicking out with her leg for his shin. It connected, and XIII hissed in pain taking a few steps back and favoring his left leg.

She advanced forward with a flurry of blows, not giving him time to recover. She finally landed a jab to the jaw that momentarily stunned XIII… Rozalind was in her element now, she was sweet and aggression, she lunged forward to sweep out his leg and take him down to the ground… Her bandaged hand was finally called to action, it was meant to press down on his collarbone to push XIII down in a grapple to the floor, but, the hand landed high... The take-down was still successful… Though the hand gripped XIII’s neck instead…

~~~

“Of course....” The voice on the other side of the wall was intrigued. “You have my attention…”

“Good, because we’re getting out of here, now.” There was a thought that XIII had had a while ago, the cold was stopping him from call upon his inner heat, but did he need to be fully cold to block it out, or partially cold? He clasped his hands together and breathed warmth into them. Once they were warm, XIII focused solely on making them even more warm, soon enough, steam started to come off his hands.

He smiled to himself. Good, they needed to keep him fully cold to stop him. With a grin, he placed his hands on the hinges of the steel door. For a second, the cold nearly stopped him, but he forced himself to continue and started to further increase the heat in his hands. He made short work of the hinges and after a few moments, he managed to melt the hinges. Now the only thing holding the door up was the lock.

But the melted hinges came at a cost. It had taken an immense amount of energy out of XIII, and the steam coming from his hands had turned to smoke at some point. With heaving breaths, XIII fell to his knees. “Heh… that took… a lot… out of me....” He managed to say before he blacked out, collapsing to the floor.

’They are coming…’

In the darkness of XIII’s consciousness there would be the voice of XVII, strange whispers, fragmented memories.

The alarm had sounded. Something was wrong in the prison. Chaos. XIII had melted the hinges and passed out. XVII slung XIII over his shoulder, and left the cell.

’Alas… We shall soon be free…”

XVII slew guards as he passed them with an ancient sword. Where had he gotten that from? Blood lined the hallway as he walked. Yet, there were other things killing the guards and orderlies of Bes. They were strange… Somewhat human… but more like their shadows… XVII avoided these. A guard got close to the two… XVII kicked the guard, sending the man into one of the shadows… It… Consumed him… Slowly… From the inside out… The shadow barely touched the guard because it barely existed… Yet the strong muscular man was stopped in his tracks, and he changed, his eyes became dull, his body stilled… Then…

XVII walked away before the change happened, yet somehow XIII could still see the man vanishing, like a damare. The guard vanished from the inside out… His mind was drained away first, then his pulse, then his blood and bones, then his flesh and his skin…. His breath that was the last to go… And he was gone… Mostly... Something less than his shadow did remain… More like his shade…

Then it began to move… Flitting down the hall and now indistinguishable from the rest… Searching…

”And don’t touch the Shades.”

The next memory was outside the prison, XVII and XIII traversed bright green grass and toward a tree line of a thick wood. XIII looked over his shoulder and saw something which did not make any sense at all.. The Bes base… the ‘shades’ were swarming it, and behind them were billowing black clouds, the thickest of thunderstorms, it seemed to tear up the entire world in it’s wake...

”Beware the pale rider.”

Somewhere behind the shades but just ahead of the storm were two figures. One seemed to be made of darkness itself. She had a large dark bird, a raven or a crow on her shoulder as she walked… Yet, She did not walk, but seemed to float along, her cloak obscuring her feet or even the movement of her legs, dragging a long train behind her. In one hand she held a long silver scythe… You almost couldn’t see her with the black clouds behind her.

The other was mounted on a white horse, her long hair was white as well, and her skin ivory, her robes the color of fresh snow. She seemed to glow in stark contrast to the black clouds behind her.

Though XIII was leagues ahead of them, and the prison of Bes between them, and even that prison disappeared from his sight as they crossed the treeline… He could still see them in his mind… The daymare... He could see the storm behind them literally tearing apart the fabric of the world…

’Her name is Magnolia, she is good, but not good enough… If she catches up to you, don’t tell her who you are… Not your name… Your favorite color... Not anything… She has no power in this place, not unless you give it to her…’

XIII sat in a cold metal chair, his arms were tied behind his back, there was a single light above him, he was bound, the Pale rider was there… Walking around him… Interrogating him… Testing him… “Who are you?” “Where is XVII?” “How did you meet him?” “We know he helped you?” “Do you really suppose you will make it out of here alive?” “Where did you get those scars on your face?” “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” “Where is XVII we know that he helped you escape.” “What is that smell? Lilac perhaps?” Sometimes she appeared to be on his right, sometimes on his left, yet she never stopped pacing him, she spoke but her lips never moved. The Pale rider wasn’t looking for answers… She was looking for weakness in his mind… Weakness she could exploit… IF she found that weakness, and got into his mind, she would know everything that she needed to know, and XIII would become a shade...

Stay away from the circle…

This memory was the most disjointed from the rest, but the most clear.

There were three mages. No, there were more than three, but only one was doing anything that mattered.

The outer two were figures in XIII’s vision, blurs, surreal, were they even there?

Perhaps there was only one mage. She was crisp, clear, sharp, she was the only one that mattered. She drew a circle of white light. One mage drew on the ground with pale chalk, one mage painted the stone with blood, they gesticulated and muttered as they went about the circle. She did not stoop nor use such crude materials for her working, she paced the circle. She walked with her hands held out and her head held high. She carved the innermost circle with her mind, for, the mind was the realm she had dominion over.

Despite the advice of XVII… The circle reminded XIII of the cell… The white circle was a door, the Pale Magician had the key, it was just like the cell door of the prison… It only looked different… It was almost like he was glimpsing through the little window of his cell back at Bes and he saw the Pale mage stood outside with the key he so desperately needed, looking down at XIII without even pity.

XIII waited. He had managed to hold out during the interrogation and they got nothing from him. Not even what he could do. To hell with the warning. If the circle was a way out, he was going to take it. He waited until she had finished crafting the inner circle, and when she did, he acted. XIII focused all of his energy into himself and set himself aflame. He bolted towards the circle and as he neared it, he sent out a jet of flame towards the woman and dove at the circle.

~~~

The hand gripped him with an inhuman strength, the bandages fell away, they were clearly unneeded… Perhaps they were just there to cover the grim appearance of the disrupted flesh. Rosalind's face changed, her focused fighting face shifted quickly into a look of surprise, as if she too did not know the strength of her arm, as if it were not a part of her… “Fuck.” She moved her shoulders, as if to parry away… But the hand stayed clenched over XIII’s flesh. She frowned, as if unable to let go, the rest of her body lurched as if trying to pull away from him.

Stars swam in XIII’s vision as he was dazed not only by the punch, but also by the flood of memories that came back after Rozalind landed her jab... He didn’t have much time register them as he fell to the mat. Smirking at Rozalind, XIII reached up and tapped out on her arm, but he knew something was wrong as both the hand around his neck tightened and Rozalind’s eyes lit up in surprise. As quickly as he could, he tucked his chin into his neck and started slamming his hand into the inside of her arm in an attempt to leverage her hand off his neck.

Rozalind cried out as she tried to wring her arm from XIII's neck... She even put a foot on his body to brace herself better and pull away... Finally one of his blows struck a nerve, and the grip loosened. She retracted it immediately and hugged it into her chest with her other arm. She was covered in sweat, she panted. After a few long moments she spoke.

"Forgive me... I didn't realize... I'm sorry..."

Wolfe, Natasha, Tristan.
[@cpldingo@Affili]

Tristan nodded toward Wolfe, sympathetically. “That is very helpful, Wolfe. Thank you for such a thorough account...” He brushed back the unruly locks of hair around his left ear.

“And you are correct, Natasha. It does sound like a much different ritual, yet, we should not discount it. We must note both the differences and the similarities.”

“You know Wolfe, I was a military man once.” He stood from his desk now, and approached a small pane of glass on the wall, it glowed soft blue, bubbles and small fish floated freely past. “I was in the navy… I can’t say which navy, of course. I was born without land-legs. I was the only one in my company who was anxious to be docked and granted shore-leave, and relieved once we were back on the open water. I was different than the other men. I didn’t realize how different until… Well… It became obvious... It is inevitable, to become who you are, I think. Someday you will find yourself. Like it or not.” He looked a bit sad. He touched the glass, a little fish followed his finger with its nose as he traced it along the glass.

He motioned to the picture on the table. “After I was discharged from the Navy I was a bit lost. I met Ibrahim and Slay first. Ibrahim was diverted from some quest for enlightenment, I was never sure if Slay was just tagging along for fun or if Slay was the reason for the diversion. They said I was different, like them, and that they wanted to find others like us, find the ‘truth’. We just… Met everyone else along the way. A collection of misfits. Hibiscus was our means to make peace with the dead, Magnus connected us to power and a network we never would have known about, Sooleawa was our soothsayer... and really our heart… We had fun, we faced danger, we helped a lot of people, discovered a lot of truths, banished shadows… Then I developed a vision for something greater than us… I was the only one with a mind for that kind of thing, so, it ruined us really. We parted ways. Ibrahim left to make his coffee fortunes, the others left for their own reasons, or, for their own eternal rest. I remember them, and continue, because I believe in the purpose that they forgot or died for...”

Tristan stopped, catching himself in his drawn out story.

“My apologies, you came here to speak, not to listen to me ramble…” He walked away from the pane of glass. “You must have come to my office for your own reasons. Please, tell me how I can help you.”

There was an awkward silence. The implication being that, Tristian did not summon Wolfe at this time. Perhaps he just forgot… He was known to be a bit forgetful…

Wolfe, while listening to Tristan speak, would begin to feel a bit… different. A sharp itch behind his ear, the smells in the room would become rather vivid (The room was very clean and didn’t have much of a smell on it’s own, maybe a bit of faded bleach. Tristan smelled like salt and seaweed. Natasha smelled like trouble…) Their voices too, would become a bit harsh on his ears, he would slowly feel less and less comfortable, unsettled, a wild energy rising up in him…

If Wolfe tried to answer Tristan. His words would be minced between growling sounds that emanated from his throat, which, felt thickened and constricted now…

Wolfe was changing… The wolf pin on his chest glowing slightly… His body and his muscles felt tight and his stomach felt empty… Hungry…

Rockin, Shannon, Vaughtar, Winston, Zesiro
[@Arty Fox@Fetzen@RokkuHoshi]

Zesiro hung back, crossing his arms and walked to the large glass window that looked out into the dark and open ocean. He watched the wildlife outside as if he were quite bored and had no care for what the otherworlders in the room were doing. Winston would chuckle and write on his clipboard, shaking his head with a smile. Zesiro, every so often, would glance over when shannon spoke, but then turn back to the sea with his usual apathetic expression.

The door to the room opened, and Hirsch stepped in. The others might notice that he had been fully re-equipped. He was wearing an interesting bit of armor, it looked like it had once been old plate armor that had been scrapped and refashioned into something more modern, then crudely painted black. He didn’t say anything upon entering, ignoring the current chit-chat happening within the room, and walked over to the ocean-window, where Zesiro happened to be standing.

Zesiro didn’t look up at first, then rolled his eyes and glanced over at the military man.

“Nice weather we’re having, eh? Ah… Why are you wearing that--?”

As Zesiro spoke, Hirsch had slipped on a metal helmet that matched the armor. There were glass lenses over the eyes, but they had been painted black as well, it obscured his expression completely. Then then he clenched his right hand into a fist…

Then he punched the glass.

The glass cracked.

This glass, made with advanced engineering and magic, should not have been susceptible to any mere mortal’s strength. How did Hirsch do it? Maybe the strange glowing red smoke seeping out of the cracks in the gauntlets was an indication of foul magic at play...

Hirsch pulled his arm back for a second blow on the glass. Zesiro was the closest and grabbed Hirsche with both hands on his shoulder. “What the FUCK man I--”

Hirsch reacted, snaking one his arm around Zesiro’s, then with a sudden jerk, dislocated the boy’s arm from his socket. With a second quick sharp movement, everyone in the room could hear the bone break. Still clutching Zesiro’s broken arm with one hand, Hirsch punched Zesiro in the stomach with the other… Once… Twice… The third time his fist broke through the torso. Red smoke pouring out of the armor now, as if invigorated by the violence it conducted.

He them tossed the crumpled limp body of Zesiro aside as if it were a doll. The blackened lenses of the helmet turned back to the glass wall. He drew back his fist for a second punch… He was trying to break through the glass…

Charles, Dimitri, Twain
[@Arty Fox@Affili]

Twain was laughing out loud. Drunkenly speaking with his hands. “She’s just playing hard-to-get. Mark my words… That little spark will be back for more of this!” He gestured with his hands to himself, and stumbled a bit to one side. His sheepish drunken smile widened. And he managed somehow to sit back down at the table.

“A safe word!?” He guffawed. “It’s got to have a nice ring to it! We are exploring the most dangerous of all magics, you know. Something quick, maybe even funny, Pizza? Hm… That won’t work because it should be something you wouldn’t normally say. Like… Banister or… Zucchini boobs… ooooooooor aaaahh….” He giggled between each suggestion…

Then he stopped. Suddenly his smile fell from his face like a bird shot out of the air. He tried to stand quickly, but, was too drunk. He knocked over his chair on his way to the ground. He landed flat on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, a supremely shocked look on his face, he coughed every so often.

“Zesiro…” he blinked, looking around for Dimitri and Charles. “Zesiro’s like… ah… I think… Crap… Someone help me up!”

Herbert
[@jdh97]

The sob of the old man was not unheard, nor was his sorrow unanswered. Light footsteps approached him in the library, a lithe figure sat down beside him and put her small hand on his narrow bony back.

Dzel spoke. “Herbert… It is okay to be sad...”

“... Everything is changing, Herbert.” She said her voice soft. “It is in the nature of everything to change.” She said. “Yet, you can still decide how... I wonder who you will become now that you have a second chance...”

Things around them changed. A pink light rippled across the walls. Magic runes infused into the steel. Warning everyone within of a breech. It pulsed three times… Then… as if short circuiting, fizzled out. Leaving the library lonesome and dark once again.

XIII coughed violently as Rozalind released her grip around his neck. He waved her off with one hand as he messaged his throat with the other. "Don't worry about it." XIII managed to get out with a now very hoarse voice. "I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I've nearly been choked out by someone unintentionally because they lost control or were stronger than they thought. I'm used to it."

XIII pulled himself to his feet and cleared his throat before grinning at Rozalind. "Well, you won that one. Let's have a rematch some other time, and get you used to that arm." He rubbed his throat one last time before running his hand through his hair. "But for now, I'm starving let's go get some gru-" XIII stopped as the walls flashed with a pink light three times

Immediately, XIII's demeanor changed. His smile faded and he looked at Rozalind.

"That's not good."

Rockin' reacted as soon as he saw the man aim for the glass a second time. Galloping as fast as he could, he aimed to knock the stranger to the ground. Unless he failed to do so, he would stand on top of the man, his horn glowing. It was at that moment he realized he didn't have his wings. He didn't have the strength or the weight to keep the person down. He needed help. Looking around the room, he saw Vaughter. "Help!" he shouted, knowing he could get thrown off at any second.

Rozalind and XIII
[@Konan375]

Rozalind still sat on the ground, slowly moving the fingers on her 'injured' arm, exerting her control over the hand... Yet, she still didn't trust it.

"I'm not stronger, I'm cursed." She looked ready to cuss out her doctor, Twain, when the pink lights flashed upon the walls.

Rozalind looked up, puzzled for a moment. The gears in her brain slowly shifted, and she recalled a tiny bit of information from a TRIDENT procedural manual she had read a long time ago.

"That... That means there is a breech in the hull!" She blinked, then jumped to her feet. The pink light had stopped by now, the last flash had seemed to... fizzle out...

Rozalind ran to the wall of the gym, there was a button and a speaker, there wasn't good cell service at the bottom of the ocean, the communication system was a bit archaic, but with a bit of magic in the wires it did suffice... Until now...

"Den Mother, calling in for confirmation. Is this a drill or a breach?"

No answer.

"Drill or breach?"

No answer.

"Gil?"

Nothing.

Herbert

The sobbing man flinched at the touch of the tiny hand. Then he sighed deeply. Lifting his head from the ground, he sat up, and stared at Dzel with shimmering eyes.

“It is self-indulgent,” Herbert said, wiping the back of a hand across his eyes, “quite a pathetic lapse on my part.”

The corners of his lips turned upwards almost imperceptibly, “Things should not change so quickly though.”

A dry laugh then escaped his soggy lips. “Of all the people, I might be the least deserving of a second chance, I have done dreadful things, beyond redemption, I must be, but…” His brow creased, his vision went blurry as he tried to recall, “My mind is fractured.”

He sighed again, slouching forwards and dropping his gaze, “The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. And yet, perversely, I find myself craving the burden of knowledge, proof of my sins.”

Despite this though, a small kernel of fantasy began to develop, entertaining the possibility of self-recreation. Yet, he knew it could never be, encharmed as he was with a maiden so radiant and pure, and so deceased. She would always curse his mind. She was the one constant in a world where everything had become dreamlike and he could not separate reality from aberrations of the mind.

“I fear there is no place for me in this world.”

Light flashed. After the fleeting pulses of pink illumination, the darkness seemed grossly oppressive.

“What was that?” Herbert asked, not looking at Dzel, but the steel all around from which the magic runes had glowed.

Being in the cafeteria, Vaughtar had been busying himself with the bewildering array of different foods this world appeared to offer even in places their inhabitants considered 'remote'. He had found especially good taste in what one had been quick to tell him were so called 'hamburgers'. Since their arrival a mere few minutes ago Vaughtar had consumed no less than five of those stacks of roasted patties, cheese, bread and some very minor amount of vegetables mixed in between.

Things rapidly changed however when he was about to reach for his sixth meal. Hirsch entering the room had slipped his attention at first, but hearing Zesiro suddenly screaming. Vaughtar turned his head only to see Hirsch toss Zesiro's dead looking body away. Had he gone completely crazy ? And frankly since he had already had one training fight with one of the marines he found it hard to believe that any of them suddenly was able to pull off such a feat and was capable of beating his way through the massive and robust looking glass.

Strange things appeared on the wall, some symbols he didn't truly understand but were rather mean looking by themselves as if they were designed to tell him that something very ugly was going on. They fizzled out suddenly not to be seen again. The unicorn had jumped into action, Vaughtar was only second to follow him several seconds later. By the time he did though his mind had come to the conclusion that Hirsch needed to be stopped no matter if there was any idea about what had happened available or not. He had left Munimis only days ago, maybe things like this were not so uncommon on this... earth ?

Vaughtar sluggishly built up speed, wreaking havoc on his way through the allotment of tables. But how to stop Hirsch without the risk of killing him, just in case things disappeared as quickly as they had reared their ugly head ? Seeing that Rockin' was struggling quick action was required, so the gargoyle opted for what he believed would not cause too much damage and reached for Hirsch's wrists. He'd try to wrestle this out if this was possible.

"Call for help!"

XIII followed after Rozalind as she called for confirmation on the lights. When no answer came from the comms, XIII spoke up. "We need to go. The lights should have stayed on a bit longer even if it was a drill, right? So we can assume that there is a breach in the hull and someone is trying to keep it quiet."

XIII ran to the door and looked down the hallway.

"So where would someone go to disable the comms?"

@Fetzen@Eyeris@Rockin Strings@Affili


It was the tone of fear in Twain’s voice that struck Charles, like a slap across the face, and pulled him somewhat out of his drunken stupor.

“ayup there mate, steady on, steady on.”

Standing up from his chair Charles grabbed the table to steady himself as he swayed slightly and bent down to pull Twain back onto his feet. A ribbon of red flashed across the room and briefly filled with a deafening tone. Something was wrong.

“What the hell was that?” Charles blinked. “Oh crap it’s the alarm!”

Once Twain was up Charles spun around and only managed to take a couple of steps before the room began to sim around him. Covering his eyes he swore in a few languages.

“Dimitri, listen to me.” He rocked from side to side. “On the wall, by the door, there’s a uh…um...panel! Panel with buttons, push the red one and speak at it. Ask them what’s going on.”

Charles slapped his cheeks a few times to sober up as Dimitri hopefully did as was asked.


“Zesiro Friend?” Shock gripped Shannon tightly. “Hirsch Friend?”

Shannon didn’t understand it. Why was Hirsch hurting Zesiro?

The metallic smell of blood punched her senses and she let the pan clatter to the ground. Zesiro lay sprawled across the ground, partially obscured by an upturned table.

Flashes of red washed over the room and a siren drilled into her skull. Loud. Too Loud. She remembered that sound. She remembered the white walls and their red flashing lights that screamed.

Shannon dropped on all limbs. The room was too small. The walls were closing in. Shannon roared with the sounds of hyenas filling the room.
“Friends no hurt Friends!” She shrieked and skittered across tables to Zesiro.

Zesiro lay in a pool of his own blood below her and the crumbled, grisly, remains of his own torso. Shannon prodded him with a whimper. The walls were still closing in around her. Drowning her in the rancid stench of Zesiros blood which tearing at the back of her throat.
How could the other two stand it?

“Zesiro Friend Hurt. Hirsch Friend hurt Zesiro Friend!?” She turned to stared wide eyed at Hirsch.

But Hirsch didn’t smell like Hirsch anymore, he didn’t even look himself either. His arms were splattered in red and even from where he was, held up by Vaughter and Rockin, she could smell something like rotten eggs. The table crumbled under Shannons grip.

A frenzy was building inside of her as the walls continued to close in. Another roar was bubbling deep inside her throat. The eyes in her skull spun this way and that, but pair of the snake saw only Hirsch.

Wolfe listened to Tristan speak. He made a good point, Wolfe was technically not part of the Corps anymore, and he didn’t have to lead that life anymore. Although, it wasn’t like he can just uproot from his former position, those he served with became brothers, closer than blood. Those he trained and had serving under him were like his children, and they made him proud. All Wolfe knew was the Corps, but that didn’t have to define him.
Tristan trailed off, and redirected the conversation back to Natasha. Wolfe was trying to pay attention, but he kept getting an itch behind his ear. He casually scratched the spot and changed position, crossing his arms. His stomach began to hurt a bit, and then his heart started pounding, it echoed through his ears, he started to breathe rapidly.

He noticed his heart rate pickup he could feel his heart racing in his chest, beating against his rib cage, sending signals to his arms. Then why did he hear a rhythmatic beating if his heart was racing? Wolfe realized it wasn’t his heart he was hearing, focusing, or trying to focus he began to hear two separate heart beats. He realized it was the other two he could hear. Wolfe became confused, just as his head started to throb, and an intense malaise feeling flooded him.

The smells that flooded him almost overwhelmed him. Tristan smelled of seaweed and salt, a hint of bourbon, the man is a closet drinker. Natasha smelled of pheromones and… trouble.

“Wolfe, are you ok?” Tristan asked.

Wolfe tried to answer but a growl came out, he coughed, trying to clear it away, it became more intense. He dropped to a knee, his muscles tensed, throbbed, felt as if they were to rip out of his skin, every vein began bulging grotesquely. He became hot, sweat began pouring off of him.
He dropped the armor he was wearing, it clattered to the floor, hoping the released weight would help, it did not.

Wolfe let out a small grunt, then it happened. His bones began to snap, it was painful, and every snap brought a grunt or a pained yelp. Breathing heavy, labored, he screamed, his body shifted, the skin becoming ebony, fur began to sprout around his neck and head, down his back into a mane of hair. His arms extended and bulked, finger nails extending into points, claws, like razors. His knees snapped inward ankles outward, the pain was unbelievable.

His face began to change, a snout protruding his teeth becoming spaced, and sharp, very sharp. He tried to move out of the office, and crashed through the door, the secretary screamed. Wolfe screamed back. He still wore his uniform, sort off, the trousers were ripped from the knees down, boots gone, and the blouse remained in tatters around his now massive chest. The wolf pin still present.
When he was fully morphed he let out one more howl, this time long, loud, and sharp. He took a large draw through his nose. The scent from the office had that smell that was trouble, but the beast caught another scent. A scent that the former knew, and with that scent…was…corruption. Corruption was what the former knew well, and he hated it, much like the beast who could smell it. With a roar beast charged down the corridor toward the source of the smell, bounding on all fours mouth agape with large sharp teeth showing. The secretary, paralyzed with fear, did not move out of the beats way, only to be shouldered roughly away and into a wall, she lay on the ground unconscious.

Rockin', Vaughtar, Shannon, Zesiro, Winston, Hirshe
[@Rockin Strings@Arty Fox@Fetzen]

When the pony rammed into Hirshe, the man’s feet did not budge from their place, the pony clambered up on top of him, an armored hand reached up to swat away the equine nuisance… He managed to dislodge the pony from atop his head, tossing Rockin’ to the floor--- Then grey claws arrested his wrists as Vaughtar arrived and grabbed them.

Hirshe twisted his wrists, but, they did not escape the gargoyles grip. That strange red steam began to pour once again from the cracks and seams of the gauntlets.

Shannon made a noise, yelling about friends, Hirshe seemed not to hear or not to care. The glowing red smoke billowed furiously from his arms.

Hirshe drove his body forward into the Gargoyle, with a burst of superhuman strength, pushed Vaughtar toward the cracked-glass wall...

If the gargoyle hit it, it would not break… but the crack would grow and splinter even more.

On the ground the body of Zesiro lay still with a hole in his stomach… The body had landed ungracefully, one elbow was bent the wrong way...

“Fuck.” Said the dead boy. His eyes opened, bright blue, and amazed by the pain he was in.

He struggled to sit up, reaching around with both his broken and his non-broken arm for something to heave himself up by. He had little success in getting himself upright, but, did get his head up enough to watch the fight as it was unfolding.

Winston was still panicking nearby. “Get away from him he’s dangerous!” Then as Winston watched the crack grow. “Don’t let him break the glass!”

His voice was weak and wheezing because one of his lungs was no good anymore, but the volume with which he cursed did not seem to be inhibited. With which he cursed was strong. “Fuck” He winced, it was painful to speak. “Winston shut up. They can’t do both.” Zesiro dark blood came out of his mouth as he spoke. “They’ve got to kill him.”

Herbert, Dzel
[@Jdh97]

Dzel tilted her head to one side, then the other, as she considered each of Herbert’s words.

“It only seems fast to you, Herbert… Your petty sins, the dread that haunts you, the fear that there is no place for you in this world….” She put a hand on his shoulder, touching his grey hair to comfort him. “... It is merely the ghost of an outdated morality, a way of thinking, that if you could finally put to bed you would realize… What you could do… What we could accomplish…” Dzel seemed about to say more, when, the library walls flashed with pink runes… A warning...

Dzel looked around for a moment, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Then she turned back to Herbert. The pink light reflected strangely in her bright green eyes

“... First we need to get out of here. That is the alarm. It means there has been a breach in the hull of this submarine.” She stood up and held out her small and to Herbert.

“Come with me, quickly. I will take you to the rafts.”

XIII, Rozalind
[@Konan375]

“Good thinking.” Rozalind replied, though she was nervous, if the hull had been truly breached… How much time did that give them to investigate and escape.

“They might head to the rafts... They’d want to escape themselves, I think. The control room is up by the Bridge, that way. Then the rafts are down this way by the...

Rozalind hesitated, her and XIII would hear a deep and wolf-like roar echoing through the corridor…