It was never about control. It was the complete lack of it.
Sander failed to understand the drive behind his own resolve at times.
Sander knew very well the only reason they didnβt snuffed his miserable existence, despite all the hell he raised back in his early days. They wanted his frenzy, after all. They wished to harness that animalistic rage and turned it into a weapon. Was restrain his little form of rebellion? Was his control a childish persistence? Would it get in the way, when he needed to do what needed to be done? Had it?
Then again, it didnβt not matter. Whatever pathetic determination he possessed always crumbled away the moment he set foot on the field, not unlike the specks of dry blood between his fingers. Perhaps that was for the best. He needed the craving to numb his emotions and deaden his fears. He wouldnβt be able to keep a clear head in the midst of battle otherwise. Well, to say that his head is clear would be erroneous. The correct word would be βfocusedβ, since the craving demanded one thing, and one thing only. Nothing else mattered. In a way, he found the singularity relaxing. There was no doubt, no hesitation, no fear. Just a primal urge. Once submerged, he could drown so easily.
Sander tore his gaze away from Christmasβ bloody form and turned toward where the battle raged. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Someone somewhere was bleeding, but Sander didnβt risk a glance. From the potency of the scent alone, he could tell that the blood must at least form a puddle right now. It was not a train of thought he would like to entertain. Before he could pick out a target to attack, one came running, or rather, skipping toward him. It was one of those giant doll-like creatures, its lumbering frame grew larger by the second. In the face of such monstrosity, Sander was actually thankful for the blood high. It spurred him on, taunting his lust for violence and taking his attention away from the tempting scent of fresh brew coffee nearby. As the doll drew closer, his body tensed, but he held his ground, still without violence.
Then, in a split second, he broke off running. His feet barely touched the ground in his mad dash, intending to meet his attacker halfway. The creature towered over him like an old tree, its daunting height proved to be rather troublesome. He knew that he needed to close the distance. He needed to strike where it would hurt. He wanted to dig his fingers into its lolling eyes and spill the content of its head. But first, he would need to bring the thing to its knees. And that shouldnβt be too hard. Big things didnβt move fast, he would move faster. Or at least, that what he assumed, given the strange way these creatures moved.
The coppery taste of blood lingered on his lips as he darted forward, ducking by the dollβs legs. Just as he was behind the creature, he twisted, launching a kick aimed at the crook of its grounded leg.
Emma didn't have time to worry about Hazel's odd behavior- odd being relative to her earlier behavior, meaning she was now being extra-odd. Hazel didn't take the time to acknowledge Emma's question, simply ordering her to 'move' as the doll counter-attacked the duo. Hazel blocked the attack but that didn't mean Emma wasn't about to comply. The almost robotic girl was clearly not herself and that worried Emma quite a bit, meaning that she was eager to get out of the way. Emma scanned the battle around her. There wasn't an immediate threat coming towards her, so she had a moment to think about where she would be needed. The first thing she registered, of course, was Lawrence and now Hazel fighting the eye-scorpion creature. They seemed to have the situation reasonably handled, and either way the next thing that Emma saw quickly grabbed her attention.
Her eyes caught the other trio of roommates: Sander, Christmas, and Kusari. She made a number of very startling observations: Sander had just finished drinking Christmas' blood and was now charging into battle. Christmas was now a bleeding wreck. Kusari was dead.
Kusari was dead?
This isn't happening.
The realization hit Emma like a truck. She didn't have time to think about the fact that the Sander was apparently a vampire. She didn't have time to worry about the fetal Christmas or the rampaging Sander. She had just met Kusari only moments ago and now she was lying before her throat open, leg gone. Thoughts of Lawrence and Hazel slipped away as Emma ran over to the already pale, now pallid girl. She was covered in blood, both the monster's and her own. Dirt caked her clothes. Emma was now panicking, tears welling.
What do I do What do I do What do I do?
The single string of words repeated ad infinitum in her head. She was trying to remember what people in movies did in this situation. Not a great point of reference, she knew, but she hadn't exactly handled anything like this before and she was now in a very deep state of panic.
And then she realized as she approached that Kusari was, in fact, alive.
Emma's panic was replaced with even more panic. She was no longer dealing with a dead person but now a person that she needed to help. She heard Kusari's gurgles of pain. The white-haired girl was drowning in her own blood. Emma didn't know what to do. Shouldn't she be dead? Emma evaluated the girl's injuries. Her throat was torn open. Her leg was gone. Her power must be keeping her alive... I think? I don't know what I'm supposed to do... I have to try to make sure she doesn't die. Do I... I have to apply pressure, I think? Emma was still panicking but large doses of a adrenaline were giving her some semblance of composure. She was a blubbering mess that was on the verge of breaking down but at least her head was mostly clear, besides the occasional lash from her stigma.
You can't save her... in fact, you'll probably get her killed, won't you?
Emma shook her head, pushing away the intrusive thoughts. She fell down to the ground, kneeling next to the dying girl. She picked up Kusari, cradling her in her lap. Blood was now spilling over her pants, but that was the least of Emma's concern. Emma pulled off her scarf and used it as a makeshift rag, applying pressure against Kusari's throat, trying to stop the bleeding.
Emma had absolutely no idea if she was doing the right thing.
"Shit... shit shit shit." Emma wasn't prone to swearing but this situation seemed to call for it. "Kusari... it's..." Emma wanted to say it was going to be okay but that didn't really seem appropriate, given the fact that Kusari should by all rights be dead. "Your power is keeping you alive, isn't it? Is there anything... anything I can do?" The dismay in Emma's voice was clear. Emma didn't even think about the fact that the girl with no throat would be unable to communicate.
The sound of stomping caught Emma's attention. Dolls. Giant dolls, headed towards them and Christmas. Emma didn't have time to think about a battle strategy. Determination and Devotion appeared before her, her resolve apparently manifesting once again now the a dying girl was in her arms. "Stop the dolls!" Was the only order she gave the duo, although her voice for once wasn't hesitant. She now sounded like she really was commanding the creatures, no uncertainty present in her order.
Metal bars across the inside of the window--as if he would have even tried escaping from the second floor. The bars just made it harder for him to plug up the gaps in the window frame; spring allergies.
Grass and dirt rubbed against his face, nicking at his scrapes and cuts. The uncomfortable feeling of prickly leaves and clinging dirt particles shuffled his memories elsewhere even as Christmas knew--knew, knew, knew--that he needed to focus on something more important at the moment. He just couldn't identify what. It was like he was groping in the dark for his own mind.
"Holy shit. Alan wasn't fucking kidding about you, Snowflake. You really don't get angry."
"Guess that means I don't have to worry."
His left hand twitched, sending a sharp spasm of pain up his arm and into his shoulder.
I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.
The puzzle pieces were supposed to match up, but Christmas just shoved it all together into a messy pile. Even a facsimile of repair was fine. It probably all looked the same from a distance anyway.
I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.
Thoughts formed at the pace of molasses and Christmas watched almost absentmindedly as his vision blurred, focused, blurred, focused--he almost got lost in that hypnotic pattern again.
I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.
He balled his left hand into a fist, triggering another shot of pain through his system. Here. Like he had just stumbled onto the section of his mind that made sense.
And everything was hurting and stinging and he was shivering in the cold night air while thin trickles of warm blood dripping into the grass below reminded him that this was a battlefield and that he was going to die like this if he didn't move. It was silly, then, that his mind proceeded to check if his ribbon was still intact. The tail end of the cornflower blue ribbon fluttered against his temple. Still there.
A moment more and Christmas finally recalled the combination of terror and mental frailty that had obliterated what little fortitude he had mustered up. Weight on his body, fear for his life, pain.
And Alvin would be waiting around the corner.
Thinking straight was a skill Christmas had yet to master as he slammed his right hand onto his bandaged wrist. It hurt so much he couldn't even breathe for a few seconds, a long, soundless scream the best he could manage until tears and shuddering noises of agony finally pulled him back to where adrenaline could grab ahold of him.
His wrist throbbed and the spreading pain felt like he had set his entire arm on fire. This was no triumphant return to awareness. Just a weak, wounded crawl. But pain-addled and here was always better than being there.
Christmas finally rolled onto his back, just in time to catch a blur of movement as Sander dashed towards one of the dolls that had made its way closer to the two of them.
Lily watched with strange fascination as Grant clubbed the squirrel she had successfully transferred her injuries to. As it died with her injuries, she was left unscathed and brand new. The black string that had connected her with the monster dissipated into thin air. I've got something to contribute to this battle, after all, she thought a little gleefully. She would have whooped but then she remembered what she had done earlier and her eyes sought out Marcus. Was he able to take cover from the blast of her poorly aimed grenade? Poorly aimed... yeah... Grenades are probably a bad idea... She had been distracted when the shrapnel hit her that she was not able to keep track of what had happened to her team mate. Her heart began beating fast as the thoughts of him being blasted to bits crossed her mind. Too late for her thoughts. She should have thought about that before she let the bomb fly out of her hand. But Lily had a habit of worrying about things a little later than she should. And for most times, she ended up getting the desired result anyway. Or at least close to it. When her eyes finally landed on him, she sighed in relief. He seemed okay. But she'd bet her life that he's probably angry at her.
With the squirrels basically taken care of and the rest of the threats a good ways away from them, Marcus took a moment to process what was going on around him. His eyes struggled to avoid looking over towards their latest casualty, the twisting in his gut threatening to increase if he glanced that direction. Instead, he turned his attention to the second pressing issue; Ethan's team, where a sun was apparently being conjured in above their fight. He hummed in surprise more than anything, silently hoping that the great ball of light was a side affect of one of their powers, rather than the herald of their imminent doom. He flinched as a loud, guttural roar rang out across the battlefield, and turned to see the addition of a dragon on the field. Thank god it seemed to be on their side; otherwise Marcus would have seriously considered jacking one of the trucks and driving back to USARLIN.
A different, but equally loud and guttural roar swiveled his attention back to their predicament. The fish men seemed to be trying to dig out the other...'creature'...and it seemed to be none too happy with its situation. Siena and Grant seemed preoccupied at the moment...for various reasons, and Cal was still fighting the big thing, which left him and Lily to try and take out the rest of them for now.
While Marcus was eyeing the monsters closest to both of them, Lily was transfixed by the light show from Ethan and the eye scorpion from red team. She looked up at the sky, at the green spinning circles, and wondered what they would do. Leave it to the golden haired girl to be distracted while chaos raged around them.
"Alright Lily, you and I, let's see what we can do about the 'Freaky Face' crew over there." Marcus said, his words humorous but his tone sounding very strict. He wasn't super pleased to be stuck with her; she had thrown a grenade at him by accident mere moments ago. But, accidents happened, especially in the heat of battle, he wasn't injured, and he could very well be much worse off without her help than with it. His eyes flicked nervously to the remaining grenades on Lily's soldier belt.
Lily snapped back to focus when she heard Marcus' voice addressing her. She looked at him and followed as his eyes settled on the grenades on the soldier belt she had stapped on to her hip. It was obvious that her earlier move had been a total failure... well, not exactly a failure since she apparently was able to take out some of the fast squirrel monsters. But still... Her mind drifted off.
"Alright, here's the plan, let me know if you've got a better one: We run up, and we shoot the fish until they die, and then we shoot the bug-man until he dies. Then we celebrate and go home. Simple as that." Marcus said, half jogging over to where the fishmen were retrieving their incapacitated team member. "If they can't get him out, we should be fine. If they do get him out, we run as fast as we can back to the trucks, and hope that he's not faster than us." he paused for a moment to look over to the blonde girl, his tone becoming serious for a brief moment, "I'm gonna sound mean, so don't take this the wrong way, but DO NOT touch any more of those grenades. If your hand even brushes those things, I will take you back to the truck and stuff you in it myself."
Lily nodded as she looked towards the fishmen trying to free the creepy beetleman from his entrapment. They were slow, clumsy and obviously panicking from the enraged moans of the trapped monster. It would have looked funny if these things weren't out to kill all of them. She jogged towards Marcus and lifted her hands up in the air in an 'I surrender' type of gesture. "I won't touch them. I'm sorry," the blonde girl immediately apologized as she once again turned her attention to the team mate she almost killed.
"Good, as long as we're on the same page, because it'll be a while before I can do that trick again!" He smiled a little more warmly this time, trying to make light of the situation. He hadn't been hurt, miraculously, so he wasn't as mad at Lily as he probably should have been, but he still wanted to avoid that happening again. His mind was still trying to comprehend exactly what it was that he did, but he pretty much had a vague understanding by now. There'd be time to think about it later.
"Keep an eye on that light show over there, and keep an eye on that mystery circle above us. If you say 'move', I'm going to do so without hesitation, but I expect the same from you, deal?" he said, offering a warm, but still strict, smile. "Just make sure you tell me which way to dodge!" he finished, turning to take a knee and aim at the still-digging fishmen.
At Marcus' instructions, Lily nodded again. She made a mental note to remember to ask for instructions next time to avoid any unnecessary mistakes. "Watch your back, keep an eye on the lights, say which way to dodge. Okay, I can do that." She said in a confident manner. She looked back towards the fishmen and an idea struck her. She could apply what she did earlier. Of course it would hurt like hell but why not? It seemed like an effective way. "There are two of them...aim for only one. Once you take it out and the other comes for us, you can shoot me and I'll transfer the injuries to it." She scratched her head. "Perfect way to get even with me too," she added.
"Wha-? Shoot you?" he said, turning to look at her worriedly. "I mean, I'm not that upset with you, I just- you know what, let's just save that for Plan B." he sighed, before returning to his aiming. Even if it was one of the best ways to damage the enemies, Marcus wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with shooting his own teammate. There were too many risks, in his mind, but if it came down to it...he shook his head slightly; right now he needed to focus. He peered down the sight, grinning slightly, his finger gently resting on the trigger. "Alright, let's make some fillets!"
They weren't very far away from the targets, about 30 feet give or take, if he had to make an estimate. Close enough that a shot shouldn't be too difficult, but far enough that they'd hopefully be able to make a break for the truck if bug-boy did manage to free himself. Steadying his aim, Marcus looked down the sight at the nearest fish man, relaxed his elbows a bit, and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession.
Cal felt a surge of excitement as the bird head lunged and missed. She grinned smugly as her sword connected. Although it wasn't where she wanted, she supposed any hit was better than no hit at all. Her sense of accomplishment, however, was to be short lived. Blood splashed the back side of her arm and torso, but she spared it no thought. Landing on the ground, she twisted her body away from the massive beak as it tried to peck her, the wheels of her mind spinning at a million miles a minute-- trying to come up with her next move.
The feeling was gradual-- first, a warm tickling sensation as it rapidly ate through her shirt and then, searing pain. "Agh!" her jaw dropped, lips curled and everything seemed frozen in time as she arched away from what she thought might be fire. Looking under her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the bloody rash before the bird head's beak, a grim reminder that time had indeed not stopped, came crashing down directly in front of her.
A ribbon of the creature's blood splattered across her cheek as she staggered backwards. She winced and exhaled sharply, realizing she had been holding her breath. Her hand shot to her face and hovered over the wound as it burned. She quickly regained enough wits to dodge the third beak attack, but the same question from before had wormed it's way into her mind-- fight or run? She'd only been fighting this thing for about a minute and she was already hurt. How much more could this thing harm her??
Gripped with apprehension, she knew she couldn't keep backing away from the blows forever. Eventually the monster would try something else or Cal would find herself encroaching on another teams territory-- then she'd have a whole lot more to worry about. What she needed to do now was calm down. She wasn't thinking clearly... and if she lost control of herself-- she might lose control of that. Her eyes flickered to her shadow. It was long and stark black due to Ethan's light behind her.
It might've been her imagination or the way Ethan's light was rapidly brightening, but she saw her shadow squirm and the hand hovering over her cheek quickly clapped over her mouth, muffling a startled scream. She couldn't run-- people were counting on her. Not to mention the prospect of ending up like one of those students from that morning wasn't exactly a great alternative. Failure simply wasn't an option right now. She had to do something... do something... DO something.
From her shadow, her eyes flitted to the quadruped's legs. If attacking from above was out of the question, then maybe.... She dove forward to dodge the next attack, trying to position herself between the monster's four legs without getting trampled. She grit her teeth and swung at the front leg, her eyes watering as her body twisted against the pain in her arm and side.
In the midst of agonizing pain Kusari's bloodshot eyes winced as the sky brightened. Was she dying? Why was it suddenly so bright and where was the tunnel she'd always heard about? Her chattering teeth stopped as she forced her mouth shut and closed her eyes. As if, she wouldn't die that easily. Nothing in life was easy, in contrast everything about death was. You no longer existed, there was no need to feel misery, happiness, sadness, nothing. Of course she couldn't get off that easily.
"Kusari, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
A man's voice rang against the dull corners of her mind like a dust covered bell. Why was she remembering her father now?
"You want to be an artist like your old man huh? Well I should warn you, us artists have to suffer for our art."
That's right, he'd said something like that once hadn't he? Just how much talent must I have by now... Kusari thought.
She opened her eyes, and was shocked to see that she was somewhere else. Water, there was water all around her. At her feet, above her and behind. It was as if she were inside an empty cube of air under the ocean. She couldn't quite place why, but it looked familar. She took an uneasy step forward, and her right leg sunk into the water. She struggled to pull it out, when the sound of her father's laughter run in her mind once more.
"As expected of my daughter. Well when you draw that masterpiece that can ease an artist's suffering, I'd like to be the first to see it." Her father's voice faded, and Kusari stopped struggling. She'd forgotten that bit, maybe because it was too embarrassing to remember.
"I don't want anyone to suffer for art, I want art to make everyone happy." She repeated the words she'd spoken as a child, it all seemed so ridiculous now. Her leg eased back out of the water, and she only just now noticed how dirty she was, covered in grime. But the ocean had cleaned her leg, made it look perfect...
Kusari opened her eyes once more, someone's crying face was hovering over her. It was Emma. "Kusari... it's..." She looked like she was about to say something, but she stopped. Instead she spoke to her, asking if there was any way she could help. Kusari tried to speak, but only ended up spitting up blood. She spat it away from Emma, and looked back to her.
"That's... Better. Platitudes... Useless." She barely managed to speak, her throat still feeling as if she'd swallowed a container of rusty razor blades. Before Kusari could try to actually respond, Emma went to action herself, using her power to summon creatures and command them to stop the doll that was headed their way. "I... can get up." Kusari muttered, holding the cloth on her neck herself and standing to her feet. Her... feet?
She looked down at her legs, and her eyes widened in disbelief. She had only tried to stand because it was second nature, the last time she checked her leg was barely attached to her body, and now in it's place was something she was having a hard time believing was there. At first glance it looked like the leg of a raptor, however the three claws were crimson red and gleamed like polished steel, and her skin still appeared smooth, albeit a bit bulkier. She took a step back and wobbled like a newborn fawn, the new limb not only looked alien it felt it too. What the hell was she supposed to do with this?
Rhian wrapped the blanket around her tingling fingers, twisting herself deeper into the mound of blankets she had accrued that afternoon. She slipped a hand out and dropped a cold HotHands packet onto the floor. The heater was clearly broken in this place-- but they couldn't exactly call someone to fix it-- not now. Everyone had been too tired to look for a better place to hole up-- Rhian included. And nothing made you feel more alone than the cold in February.
The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans greeted her like a warm hug as the bell above the door rang. A young barista smiled from behind the counter, providing a friendly welcome. As Rhian approached the register, she saw the woman's smile fade upon noticing the tightly wrapped gray scarf around her neck. Rhian smiled and casually loosened it, revealing her bare neck. Even with it being so cold outside, the custom held firm ever since The Slumber.
"Perfect day for coffee, huh?" Rhian said cheerily, motioning towards the snow framed windows.
"I KNOW!" the girl laughed. Her long chestnut hair was tied up in a braid and her name tag wobbled loosely as she bounced up to the register-- Becca. "I was so cold this morning. This weather is ridiculous!"
"Aye, good for business though," she nodded, fishing her wallet out of her bag.
"I guess so," Becca laughed, "What can I get for you?"
"One grande caramel mocha for me," Rhian nodded with another smile. It came so easily to her lips. That was her second clue.
"And for him?" Becca looked past Rhian to the tall, dark haired figure at her shoulder who had, until then, been admiring the quaint left-over Christmas decor.
His cyan eyes glinted in the fluorescent lights of the shop as he politely turned towards the barista and grinned. His lips moved, forming the words "peppermint mocha"-- his beverage of choice.
Becca smiled and nodded, as if she could hear him-- clue number three.
"That'll be $10.50! Names?"
"Rhian and Whisper."
Rhian suddenly felt Whisper's hand at the small of her back. She paused for a moment, waiting to see if he'd done so by mistake. A moment passed before she defeatedly sighed, long and loud. It was a tender touch-- the way you touched someone you trusted with more than just your back in a fight. The way you touched the body that kept you warm at night. The way you touched your world and the way he would never touch her.
"Aw, shit!" The scalding hot coffee ran down the back of her hand, forcefully yanking her from the memory of her dream from last night. She hurriedly set down the pot and stepped over to the sink, submerging her hand under a cold stream of water. She looked up to where Whisper was sitting at one of the tables waiting for her-- the only other person, besides her, that occupied the recently abandoned cafe. All the ingredients were still good, though the depressing state of all the overturned chairs and tables might've suggested otherwise.
She gestured to herself with a quick I'm fine before returning her attention to her hand. It was a little red, but nothing she was about to have Garrett lick her over.
Whisper got up anyway, heading in her general direction. He didn't touch her hand, but he kept a careful gaze on the red patch of skin for a while before turning his head to meet her eyes. The cyan-eyed subnatural smirked a little and formed a partial fist with his right hand, index finger pointing outwards and thumb lined parallel to the pointing finger. The sign for the letter "G." He moved the same hand over slightly with a little bounce of his wrist. The same letter. One more time. GG.
Before he could provoke her ire, Whisper's deft hands formed the sign for "help," placing a loose fist with a thumb resting gently above the fingers on the open palm of his right hand, extending the gesture towards her with a slight cock of his head and a set of raised eyebrows to denote a question rather than simple insistence. Do you need help?
Rhian pursed her lips, shaking her head with a reluctant laugh. 'GG' indeed. "It's done-- I was just pouring it into your thermos," she answered out loud as she turned off the faucet and reached for the paper towels. Whisper grabbed the roll first and tore out one of the perforated sheets, eyes still lingering on her hand. As if on second thought, he took her by the wrist and wiped the slightly burnt hand gently with the sheet, only handing her the damp remains when both of her hands were fairly dry. She could feel her face burning up. She brought her fingertips to her lips and outward, not meeting his eyes as she signed. Thanks.
She quickly turned to grab her own thermos on the opposite counter. "Uh, you want cream?" she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder. She already knew the answer, but her mind was racing for something to say all of a sudden. Whisper nodded, eyes still fixed on Rhian's hand. Handing him the can, her eyes followed his line of sight.
"Hey!" she exclaimed sharply, trying to bring his attention to her face, "It's fine. Seriously. If you tell Garrett, I'll make you pay."
Whisper grinned at that, raising both hands with his fingers splayed as he backed off a step. With a mock-serious bow, he grabbed the thermos from the counter, tapping his chin several times with his free hand's index finger while mouthing the word "prefer." He followed that up with a quick point at Rhian before jabbing his index fingers straight towards each other several times, twisting his hands in opposite directions. "Hurt." A final shake of his head during the motion indicated the negation. I'd prefer you don't get hurt.
A smile of the stupid-looking variety tugged at the corners of her mouth. She inhaled, preparing to say something. She wasn't entirely sure what that something was going to be, but it failed to matter. The opportunity suddenly slipped out of her grasp- though she felt it was more accurate to say it had been rudely 'yanked'.
A harsh crashing sound trashed the moment. Erica stood in the open doorway, the hapless door still ringing from getting slammed open so furiously. Her usual neutral scowl deepened further at the proximity between the two.
"Nico's calling," she reported drily to Whisper, not even bothering to acknowledge Rhian's presence, "Seiji got punked by Donovan again and he needs you to separate the two."
With a long exhale of breath, Whisper trudged outside obligingly, his thermos in hand as he cast Rhian an apologetic glance before slipping out the door. Rhian clicked her tongue in annoyance, leaning up against the counter with one arm crossed. Erica made sure he was out of earshot before turning back and scoffing at Rhian.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, you desperate goth-punk reject," she glared accusingly.
Rhian was too fuming to answer. She wasn't quite sure who she was more mad at-- Whisper for always-- always-- rushing to Nico's side at the drop of a hat, or Erica..... Nah, right now it was definitely Erica. She sipped her mocha, staring at her over the thermos before pushing off the counter and making her way towards one of the couches in the lounge area. She propped her boots up on the coffee table and looked out the window-- figuring the best thing she could do was not give Erica the satisfaction of knowing she'd bothered her. Best to play it aloof.
"Silent treatment? Or maybe you've just got nothing to say," Erica made her way over to Rhian, undeterred by Rhian's response or lack thereof, "Don't tell me you're trying to imitate Whisper now. That's pathetic, I mean, he can pull that off--not you."
"Heh," a derisive smile spread across Rhian's face. "You'd know all about being pathetic, wouldn't you, Stinky?" she hissed. So much for playing it aloof.
"No more than you, Tapeworm. At least I've got a fucking star-class resume. You've got an emo kid's fashion sense and probably their emotional insecurity, too," the blonde woman retorted, "Do you really think that Whisper gives a fuck about you? You're nothing but a starry-eyed little girl who's playing way out of her league."
"Oh, aye?" the redhead sneered, "Then tell me why you've got to barge in every time we're left alone in the same room."
Erica visibly bristled at the comment.
"You know that feeling when you look at pearls being thrown to swine? That's basically how I feel every time I see Whisper stuck with your skanky ass for company. Sorry if I can't help but rescue him from lowering himself to your level."
Rhian's smile widened. She was getting on Erica's nerves now. Good.
"Hmph, and what's your level in this group, Erica?"
"How about way higher than yours? Same as Whisper's, in case you've forgotten. If you'd just remember how beneath us you are, we wouldn't even be having this conversation, Dung Beetle."
Rhian narrowed her eyes, taking another long sip from her thermos, "You may think you can boss everybody else around here, princess, but you don't scare me. I don't answer to you."
"Yeah? Last I checked, I just need to breathe out and you're dead. Think you want to try me now?"
Her lips curled and she slid her feet off the table, leaning forward, "Your power suits you, bitch. All your mouth is good for is spewing lavender-scented shit." Beneath Rhian's heavy coat and scarf, her sigil glowed and an ant that had been curiously poking around at some spilled coffee on the floor crawled beneath Erica's boot.
The former diva continued, undeterred by Rhian's comment and oblivious to the ant's movement, gloating over her teammate's discomfort.
"Besides, just because you answer to Whisper's dick doesn't mean you'll get promoted to his lips any time soon. Hope your bugs help you work that lonely corner."
"Right," Rhian scoffed, trying to appear unaffected though she was. She brought her thermos to her mouth, but couldn't bring herself to drink.
"I think that's for him to decide," she huffed, nodding her head in the direction Whisper had left.
"Don't grasp at straws. Looks desperate, even for a hooker. You seem to be forgetting-- I've known him a lot longer than you have. And a lot can happen in a year. Thought you'd have figured out by now we're already an on-off thing."
Rhian's face flushed, she physically felt like a stone had been dropped into her stomach. "W- ...you're lying," she stammered; her accusation sounded more like a question. She tightened her grip on her thermos, her eyes flickering to the redness on her burned hand.
"You're a fuckin' liar!" she repeated, this time with more conviction.
"We've done it. He's liked it. Why don't I have another round with him tonight and you can come keep a tally of how much fun we have," she taunted.
Erica had scarcely finished her sentence before the ant suddenly blew up-- roughly the size of a hotdog stand. It was more than enough to throw the woman off her feet. Rhian subconsciously found herself calling upon several of the bugs from outside-- pulling them from their cozy nooks and nests, they quickly crept over the snow and towards the cafe. Her shaking knuckles were white around the thermos as she leaned further forward. Using her ability just now had been a mistake, but she wasn't in the frame of mind to care.
"LIAR!" Rhian shouted, throwing her thermos on the ground as she shot out of her seat. The two long incisions on her leather jacket fluttered as her wings broke out of her skin. She barely flinched at the pain, too blinded by rage. This was a long time coming.... The assortment of bugs gathered at the windows, buzzing and humming and writhing as they converged, causing a few small cracks to mar the glass.
Erica's mouth was already glowing with golden smoke when Donovan burst in with Nico and Whisper in tow. On seeing the scene, Nico's sigil flashed into existence on the backs of both girls' right hands, shutting down Rhian's power and dissipating Erica's smog.
Whisper checked over Erica first, still on the ground from her fall, and the actress in her was clearly overplaying how much pain she was in. When he confirmed there were no serious injuries, he placed himself between Erica and Rhian, a questioning look in his gaze as he leveled it at the person who clearly appeared to have the upper hand. Donovan, after checking on a heavily breathing Nico, did an annoyed 'tsk' at the two of them.
"Are you two fucking serious?" he asked furiously. His tone was far from the lighthearted teasing he usually displayed, "I swear to God, if I sense this shit again I won't bother to bring Nico. One snap and I'll have you both fucking breakdancing to that loathing song from Wicked."
He looked at Erica, still on the ground, and gave her a pointed glare. Then he turned his gaze to Rhian. Most of his anger seemed directed at her.
"You better not lose your cool as easily as this next time we're in trouble," he glowered, "I don't care what excuses you make. Use your bloody brains instead of your powers."
"What..." Nico gasped for breath from the sudden sprint to the coffee shop and the heavy use of his power in completely shutting down both of the girls--both of the ludicrously powerful Animi. His fine control of how far down or up he could tune a power was shot when he needed to react quickly--it took some mental preparation beforehand to avoid overexertion, and he had not been given enough warning for this. He tried again after catching his breath, "What were you guys arguing about? Please let it be something important."
Donovan visibly flinched. He glanced around for an answer, blatantly trying to avoid Whisper as he scanned the store. Rhian deliberately ignored the question as she took off her jacket and pulled out the serrated buck knife she kept stored at her waist-- proceeding with the grueling task of getting rid of the wings she'd just grown.
"Nothing important, buddy," he said a bit hastily, "Just some dumb girl stuff. We should get back already, Vanessa and the others are waiting."
"Dumb girl stuff...? But you were saying they'd kill each other..." Nico's bewildered face looked between everyone as he leaned lightly against the door handle.
Whisper's brow furrowed at the comment and he glared at both Erica and Rhian in turn.
"Oh Nico, haven't you watched Heathers before?" Donovan's usual light demeanor returned as he attempted to usher Nico away, "I'm telling you, they're all insane."
"R-really? But you were so serious..." Nico glanced between the girls again, skepticism on his face. "Is it okay if I stop cutting off your powers now? You guys won't kill each other?"
Erica made a scoffing noise before muttering a quick "Yes" as Whisper helped her stand. She clung onto his arm as she pretended to wobble unsteadily on her feet and Whisper rolled his eyes, though he humored her all the same. Rhian was silent, still busy sawing at her wings and avoiding eye contact.
Realizing this was about as satisfactory a response as he was going to get, Nico turned off his sigil, letting Donovan shove him gently back outside while he peppered the Aussie with questions about what exactly had been going on.
Whisper, meanwhile, led Erica to the seat across from Rhian and sat her down, still playing along with her act of being weak and defenseless. No one in the room believed it, but Erica could sure play the part at least. He sat down in the chair next to the actress, looking between the two girls for an explanation. With a final grunt, Rhian dropped her hands, angrily throwing the bloodied wings to the cafe floor-- still refusing to look at anyone.
"Well, that was fun," she said mockingly, directing her statement towards Erica. She wiped some of the excess blood on her already-ruined blouse, grabbed her jacket, and made a beeline for the door, kicking her spilled thermos as she went. She ripped the door open and trudged outside into the snow. Now the only person she had to be mad at was herself.
She shouldn't have lost it back there. Had she completely gone insane? She couldn't beat Erica. She and all her measly bugs would be dead within moments. What was she getting so worked up over anyway? Whisper doted on everyone's injuries. It was just the kind of person he was. It wasn't like she'd actually made any progress with him today. Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change.
She watched the air leave her lungs as she exhaled a shaky breathe. Her back throbbed painfully. She would have to go see Garrett soon if she didn't want that to scar.
The sound of crunching footsteps behind her signaled Whisper's pursuit. His long strides caught up with her quickly and he lightly tapped on her arm. Rhian cutting off her wings was a routine thing following heavy combat, but that didn't mean it was something to just ignore. He had hoped she would explain what had happened, but he certainly could put that off in favor of getting her treated first. Her sudden departure had surprised him almost as much as his surprise at the fact that he had run after her, shaking off Erica's protesting fumble on his sleeve.
Rhian's pace slowed. She took another deep breath before glancing back towards the cafe, ensuring Erica wasn't lurking about. Her eyes then fell on Whisper and suddenly all the suffocating embarrassment was there-- standing right in front of her with questions and captivating cyan eyes. "Sorry," she muttered, rubbing her fist against her chest to sign the word. My fault she signed, weakly shrugging and rolling her eyes as she brought both hands up in front of her.
He flashed her a smile at that, before pointing to her back, the question clear.
Why was he smiling? Wasn't he just as mad at her as Donovan? She briefly hesitated before returning the smile, "Aye, guess I couldn't avoid a lick from Garrett today after all."
His smile widened into a grin and he would have been laughing if he could. Relief. It was a combination of relief that Rhian wasn't leaving and amusement at the joke.
He signed a series of quick gestures at her, touching the tips of both bent hands on his shoulder before pointing at Rhian and clamping his index and middle finger against his thumb in a quick motion. He followed this up with a light touch of a straight hand to the side of his head, before flicking the hand downward, thumb and pinky extended. Finally, he smiled at her, raising and clenching both fists quickly. Wasn't your fault. I know. Brave.
"Brave? You makin' fun of my accent now, Whisper?" she jeered, playfully nudging his shoulder with her own, "Well, you've got a pretty funny accent yourself, y'know."
Before Whisper could give any response, Garrett came running up to them, fabulously underdressed for the weather and completely unaffected by it.
"Oh, catfight!" he called out, waving Whisper away from Rhian as he circled behind her. "And I bet I know what it was about~" he continued in a sing-song voice as he examined Rhian's bleeding shoulder blades. "You've got two choices, Rhian: I can ram my beautiful fingers in there and fix it up like that--" he snapped his fingers several times "--or we can go somewhere more private and I can lasciviously lick you until you're better."
Whisper stepped forward at the last few words and Garrett held up a manicured finger, wagging it back and forth.
"Ah-ah-ah, big boy, you need to let the lady decide. Have some tact, please," he scoffed, waving a hand at Whisper.
Rhian scoffed as well. "You know what I like~" she cooed with a mockingly sensual tone. Of course, she was referring to the terribly uncomfortable 'finger ramming'. As much as she liked Garrett, a tongue bath was far off her bucket list-- and far more uncomfortable. Besides, it simply took too long.
"I love a lady who likes it spicy," Garrett responded, leading Rhian over to the rest of the group who was busy looking through all the cars Seiji had hotwired and driven to them. Donovan was busy admiring a Chevrolet Bel-Air, one of the many cars in town that had been abandoned by its owners, while Seiji was regaling a blank-eyed Nico about the many reasons why the group should pick the tastelessly chrome-bedecked Bugatti the teenager preferred.
"Celine Dion, come here for a moment," Garrett called to the boy, who scowled at the name but walked over anyway.
"What, creeper?" he grunted.
"Make holes in Rhian's back with your darling pet, would you? I can't stick my fingers in with these wing stumps in the way."
Seiji snorted and obliged, directing the floating Maaya towards Rhian's back. The creature wrapped around Rhian immediately, but its body only devoured the wing stumps and enough of Rhian's flesh to allow Garrett fingers easy entry. Rhian shouted out before gritting her teeth, holding her breath as Maaya ate-- getting parts of yourself deleted by Seiji's pet wasn't something she would ever be able to get used to. When that was done, Maaya withdrew, the creature's permanent killer grin looking even happier as it swirled around on the ground, eating snow and making random shapes in a set pattern. Seiji left it to its self-amusement and went back to boring Nico with car talk.
Satisfied with the depths of the wounds, Rhian scarcely had time to catch her breath before Garrett did indeed ram his fingers in, abandoning all semblance of delicate femininity he had been displaying as he brute-forced the same hand into and out of the two wounds quickly enough that the pain would be minimal. A shiver ran up her spine and, though she tried hard not to, she couldn't bite down hard enough to prevent the agonizing cry that escaped her. The injuries were gone the second his hand left each one of them.
Whisper, meanwhile, had looked on with some measure of horror and embarrassment. It didn't feel right to watch a girl get partially eaten by a black monster blob and then stabbed by Garrett's fingers. Specifically Garrett's manicured fingers painted in "sparkling pink." Whisper's mouth was slightly ajar in a sympathetic look of pain and general disbelief.
He patted Rhian's shoulder comfortingly, the sound of her screams still ringing in his ears. As a personal rule, he usually tried not to be present for Garrett's more involved healing. Rhian attempted to shoot him a comforting smile, but it came out as more of a grimace-- which then turned into a straight-lined look of flustered embarrassment as Garrett started talking.
Garrett sighed dramatically, watching Whisper pat Rhian's shoulder awkwardly. "You hug the girl in moments like these, not give her one of those bro-pats on the shoulder like some socially deprived Neanderthal."
Whisper looked at the healer like the suggestion had been to jump off a cliff headfirst. Donovan hooted and cheered in the background.
"Well, go on, Neanderthal. Hug her," Garrett's tone of mock-surprise that the event hadn't already happened left little room for argument.
"Oh n-no," Rhian winced, still catching her breath, "It's alright, you don't have to--"
Whisper pulled her into a stiff hug, patting her back carefully, even though they all knew the injuries were completely gone.
She had to remind herself to breathe, her body stiff and awkward. Had it really been so long since she hugged anyone? Erica's timely (or untimely) arrival onto the scene only made it better. The former star looked at the two in shock, horror, and no small amount of hatred before growling loudly and stomping off to fume elsewhere. Whisper tightened his grip a bit on Rhian. Her body relaxed and for a moment she wondered if she wasn't dreaming again. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against his neck, allowing her breathing to steady, though her heart was pounding wildly out of control.
Shit, she pulled away all of a sudden, glancing at Donovan before looking at Whisper. He looked back at her quizzically. She chuckled nervously, "Thanks... I, uh... gotta gather up my shit. Looks like we're leaving soon."
Nico was blushing and furiously trying to pretend he hadn't seen all that, now looking completely engrossed in the car Seiji was still going on about. Donovan was trying and completely failing to hide his delight at the scene, or rather, what he sensed from it. He clapped Nico roughly on the back and flashed the 'couple' a double thumbs up. Nico copied the gesture weakly, trying to direct it at them.
Whisper gave Rhian a joking salute while Garrett groaned loudly and mumbled something scathing about unromantic dipshits. Rhian hastily pulled her jacket on, trying not to meet Donovan's eyes as she scampered towards the hotel to collect her things, Whisper following close behind her.
"Oh, yes! So we're taking this car!" Seiji crowed, mistaking Nico's thumbs-up for approval of their ride instead, diving into the driver's seat to check on the fuel while Jon wandered over from where he had been standing to stare at the ride, rubbing his aching hands together gingerly. Vanessa came over to look as well, disappointed in the chrome-plated abomination of a car. Her disappointment seemed to redirect itself at something else as she looked from Rhian and Whisper to Donovan doing a "celebratory headlock" on Nico. Donovan pretended not to notice her sudden feeling of regret.
One squirrel out of the picture, a sign that she was just too slow. Grant moved quickly to eliminate the vermin in the most brutal method possible, but Siena didn't let herself think about it for long. Instead, her mind immediately began to work out the kinks in her initial plan. The squirrels, though vulnerable to pain and bullets, were likely to provide some resistance against a trench knife designed for stealth kills or extremely close quarters combat. Narrowing her eyes against the thought, the mage considered that she likely only had one shot before it became a fight she didn't want to have. Pausing in her tracks, her eyes trailed towards a truck not far away.
Now, that had some potential.
'Ezio is starting to fade...I should do this quick.' The thought didn't have time to complete itself before she took off towards the nearest truck, weaving between a soldier or two before quickly clambering towards the top. The fall would be uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was worth a guaranteed crippling blow, if not a perfect kill. Gerwulf would have been proud, had the processing been her own. Siena barely gave herself any time at the top to survey her surroundings, only pausing long enough to brush the hair from her eyes and do a quick estimation of how much force she would need to make her landing.
One breath in, one breath out, jump. Ezio's skill led her through the motion, twisting her body into a graceful backflip as she adjusted her angle to account for some minute movements--she was aware the flip wasn't necessary, but what her marks learned was out of her control--and barreling towards the floor at increasing speeds. When she landed, it was with a wet crunching sound and the feeling of bone giving away underfoot as her knees bent to absorb the worst of the impact, body lurching forward just enough to bring her beloved trench knife down into the squirrel's throat. It tore with the accompaniment of a strangled gurgle and a spray of what she could only assume was blood. The worst of it stained the side of her shirt, some flecking her chin. A surge of apprehension and nausea notified her that she had just killed something larger than a spider for the first time her life.
Ezio was gone.
The brown faded from Siena's eyes and her hands shook. Where were Gerwulf's hands? He was supposed to guide her through these violent motions. She tried to acknowledge the logic--that the beast was a monster, and that it would have killed if not taken care of--but the cold reasoning didn't work like it had before. As the rest of Ezio's experience left her, the emotions began to rise like heat. The grief that Ezio had set aside returned with a vengeance and took a battering ram to her chest, and for a moment she could hardly breathe for the emotion that gripped her, but it wasn't the first time she'd felt loss to that level.
It was just the first time she knew it was her own.
Pulling herself to her feet, she turned her attention to Grant, took a shaky breath, and took a few steps towards the boy, waiting for her breath to calm before she called out to the boy, uncertain if he could hear her at all. "Grant? Grant, it's dead! We should h-help the others." A shudder crept up her spine, drawing with it waves of emotions that she wasn't prepared to deal with. "I'm going to try and use the trucks a-as cover so I can take another name." Images of the squirrels tearing into Padma's flesh came to mind, and the brunette grimaced. She didn't know if she could do it again at that cost. Turning, she moved back for the soldiers, telling herself to keep sounding confident. 'Look confident enough, and someone will usually make a path for you.' Gerwulf had told her that once. He was right in most cases. "I need to use the truck for cover. I'm not going to run."
@Deathmyster feel free to have Grant ignore her or not hear her huehue
Allison's efforts were proving to be fruitless. As she approached, the noodle that was lifting Alexis had been joined by two of it's compatriots, whisking the girl far above and away from Allison. Considering what one of those things had done to Aaron, it was very unlikely that Alexis was alive at all. Allison had already failed.
Allison looked around her, trying to find something else to latch her mind onto. Zoe and Savannah had managed to injure one of the monsters, as well as free Aaron, who had crawled just passed Allison and fallen to the ground.
Allison moved to check on Aaron, but a sudden series of gunshots tore her attention towards Angel and Chris. Angel was being attacked by a meatball, and Chris had just gotten shot, though his transformation seemed to be nearing completion. Allison started towards Angel, thinking she might be able to help her get rid of the meatball, when she saw something begin to move towards her. One of the spaghetti monsters was rushing right towards Allison.
Angel would have to deal with the meatball on her own. Allison stood her ground, holding the makeshift blade in front of herself. She needed to prevent this thing from getting to Chris before he transformed. She probably wasn't much of a roadblock to the massive thing, but it was better than nothing. At least she would be able to buy him half a second. She braced herself for the monstrosity's approach.
Allison had underestimated the amount of time that Chris had been Transforming. It had already completed. Allison watched as a massive scaly beast rushed past her, a charred meatball in its maw. The dragon was certainly more impressive than Chris' human form, and Allison considered what it would be like to f...
Allison focused herself and looked around the battlefield. The dragon had launched the scorched meatball at the creature that Allison had stared down just moments prior. Angel was free, and had ran to the monster that held Alexis, screaming up at the pasta that held the girl. If Alexis wasn't dead, and Allison was all but sure that she was, she was likely to be now. Allison had failed. Alexis was definitely dead. It was her fault.
Allison needed to do something. Chris could likely handle the monster. Allison turned to the crumpled form of Aaron, and ran to check on him.
The wave that Brent gave as he entered the lobby caught her attention, as did the cringe that accompanied it. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she noticed that he had been careless and used his right arm, before returning to normal and nodding politely as he greeted her. "Hi." She wasn't really used to people making nicknames from her name, as she had never thought that the name Sophia provided much opportunity for nicknames. Sophs sounded a little strange, but she didn't really mind. Giving him a slight though rather tight lipped smile as he complemented her cape, she then headed out the door.
Glancing over at him as they walked, she was able to make out a hole in his clothes from the light that was being emitted from the buildings. He's wearing the same clothes that he wore on the way here. Wasn't he able to pack a change of clothes before leaving? I guess not. Putting her focus back on the glass building ahead, she began to try and solve the next problem that she knew would be coming up next. Eating. Actually that wouldn't be too much of a problem, since she could use a fork with her left hand without dropping food all over. But if she had to cut up anything, that might prove tricky. Frowning and biting on her lip as she thought, Sophia at last dismissed the problem with an answer that wasn't sufficient enough to satisfy her. The answer being to simply wait and see. If I'm hungry enough, I'll figure something out. Though from what I've been able to understand about Brent, he'll probably end up using his right arm at least a little. He shouldn't.
It was easy to make her way back to building D, they had just come from there. Entering the dining hall for the second and hopefully successful time, she spotted the same man that Brent had spoken to earlier. She made one step towards the man, before stopping abruptly in her tracks. Without looking at Brent, she spoke abruptly in a voice that was, miraculously, audible above the background noise. "You know, you should probably use your arm less." Why she even said that was unclear to her, she just felt that he should be more careful. Leaping up stairs, running around, and using your injured arm to wave around was not her definition of careful. Not that she was a doctor or anything, she knew basically nothing about medical stuff.
Without waiting for a response, she made her way to the man at the counter and silently handed over her ID card for him to swipe. As the man waved her through and handed back her ID, she muttered a quiet thank you before passing by and into the main part of the hall. He didn't respond, she had probably been too quiet anyway. Stopping a few steps away to wait for Brent to have his ID scanned, her eyes were the only part of her body that moved as they darted around the large hall. The place held so much food, and there were way too many choices. This was going to be hard.
Immediately after the sigil appeared onto the noodle-arm, something strange happened. The noodle started to spew white and gooey sauce all over the place, getting a lot of it on Savannah. Then, a blast- it sounded sorta like firecrackers, but louder. There was a bit of smoke, rendering her unable to see for a moment. When the smoke cleared, she observed the spaghetti monster on the ground, a writhing mass of noodles atop the plate.
But then it got up. Her face twisted from a amazed one to a frightened one in an instant, and she took a step back, staring at it attempt to balance itself. Looks like her power hadn't killed it after all. And, oh shit. Her power wouldn't work again for another five minutes. Plus she was covered in parmesan goo. She shook her hair out, not taking her eyes off of the struggling pasta.
She stepped back to where Zoe was. She didn't exactly want to be killed by being so close to it. Her steps were slow, not taking her eyes off of it in case it made a sudden move. The look on her face had reformed into one of calm, but her heart was thumping frantically in her chest, and her breaths shallow and quick.
"What do you," she asked Zoe under her breath "do you think we should do?"
On a bright battlefield at night where everything is going to shit.
Lawrence had no time to feel relief at the lack of impact on his back as he moved away from the Eyepion to relative safety. Trusting that he had bought himself a few seconds, he finally had time to catch up on what had been happening around the battlefield since his power had been disabled, and what he found quite frankly pissed him off. Kusari, clearly recovering from being injured and sporting some kind of new hardware on her body. Emma, wasting her time trying to help the member of the group who was "basically immortal" as she had put it during the truck ride over. Christmas on the ground, alive but clearly injured, Sander charging in without restraint, and Hazel still choosing to prioritize his safety over that of their healer.
A faint glow around his body signaled the witch's spell fading, and Lawrence severed his connection with Christmas in response. It was pointless to calm the boy in his current state.
In a perfect world Lawrence would have magic that would actually be of use for turning the battle to his advantage. Their advantage. As it was though, remaining calm was no longer an asset. No, now emotion would be their strength. A stoic did not simply feel nothing, rather he controlled what he allowed himself to feel. Anger, self doubt, fear, all of the emotions that were considered more harmful than good could be countered with reason, and logic, and practiced indifference. Now though, could they be considered more harmful? Here in a place where his life was in danger? No.
Aiming his shotgun once more, he took note of the magic that his two opponents were readying. Fear pricked at him, an emotion that was easily battered aside by logic. However, this time he made no attempts to do so, no efforts to reassure himself that fearing the uncertainty ahead of him would do more harm than good. Instead, he felt the beating of his heart speed up, and his gut begin to tie itself into knots, and fired. Aiming for the first time directly at the witch, but closing his eyes as his finger squeezed the trigger.
He didn't expect the attack to kill the witch. Monsters, as it turned out, were very good at not dying to conventional weaponry. It wasn't an attempt to end the threat in front of him so much as to deafen himself to the world around him. For a brief moment on the battlefield, with his eyes closed and his ears deafened, Lawrence was alone with his thoughts.
These people he was fighting with, these incompetent children who had no real grasp of their powers were certainly doing a much better job than he had upon first arriving at the Institution. Self loathing began to flow through him at the memory, but he welcomed it. Loathing was something he deserved, being so weak and yet afraid of what he was capable of, what he was.
A power to control people's emotions. It was a simple thing on paper, and certainly limited in application. However, it was something that made him a pariah among his peers. When he had first arrived as USARILN East Lawrence could not turn his power off and on at will. Could not choose whether he was going to start making the people around him start falling in line with his mental state. There was no consent involved, and there was no Meditations to help him control how he felt. Some had even called him a mental rapist, and he could hardly argue with that. Had he not just done something similar to Christmas earlier? Was it not even worse when he actually had control of his ability? The prickling fear from earlier began to intensify, joined with even more self loathing.
He was a weak man, that is why he needed the crutch of his philosophy to find any strength whatsoever. A cardboard cutout encased in steel, cut off from the rest of the world. Still, beneath that outer shell there were names scrawled across that cardboard. Some tiny, and barely noticeable. Names like Emma and Hazel. Others still were larger, and as the names grew in size more and more of them were scratched out.
Cynthia.
Thomas.
Richard.
ELIZABETH
Lawrence's breathing turned ragged as crushing loneliness joined the ever escalating sense of fear and loathing. He was trembling as the reality of his existence crashed on him like a tidal wave.
He was afraid.
He was worthless.
He was alone.
He could not say, though, that nobody could ever understand how he felt. With tears beginning to fall down his face unabated, Lawrence opened his eyes once more and engulfed his opponents in a glowing white light.
The shotgun blast hammered into the witch's already wounded torso, spattering white blood across the eye scorpion's back. She wobbled from the shot, screeching weakly before keeling to the side and falling off the scorpion's body with a thump. If she wasn't dead, she was at least incapacitated.
Meanwhile the eye scorpion, glowing with the effects of Lawrence's power, blinked repeatedly, trying to both comprehend what it was feeling and attempting to clean the coffee off its cornea. Emotions were concepts the creatures had never known. What it felt, then, was as indecipherable to its limited intelligence as Dreamcatcher was to the rest of the world. The creature froze in place, green cast dissipating as it parsed through its new sensations of worthlessness, self-loathing, and fear. But the original directive, the one that trumped all else, was simply "distract." Confusion aside, the order remained.
In an attempt to shake off the emotion, the monster thrashed about briefly before beginning to shuffle forward, still somewhat blind. In its tantrum, one of its legs crushed the witch. It didn't seem to notice and likely wouldn't have cared either way.
Just then, a thin gash appeared across the creature's front right leg, cutting down into the finger leg's cuticle and nail bed. Hazel's attack. It reared up in pain, the combination of Lawrence's magic and Hazel's attack now thoroughly hampering its basic decision-making process. Who was the target? Where had the attack come from? In it's blind rage and confusion bolstered by Lawrence's magic, it began to flail wildly at the air, skittering haphazardly across the battlefield. Left to its own devices, the eye scorpion's trajectory would take it straight towards blue team.
As the eye scorpion charged blindly, the doll near Hazel held back, waiting for a better opportunity to strike. Finding one just as Hazel's scream caught its attention, it dashed in, the movement almost acrobatically smooth for something that looked so ungainly. It swung its chainsaw arm vertically at Hazel, the momentum of its sprint preventing it from dodging any potential retaliation, but sending it close to Hazel at breakneck speed.
A short distance away, Emma's command, as firm as it was, left too much room for deviation. Devotion charged at the doll first, running headlong into the doll's casual backhand and dissipating almost instantly. Determination, finally processing the order, followed up with a low dash and punch aimed for the doll's feet. Uncannily fast, the doll jumped aside, swiping at the air with its other hand. Light gleamed off long, narrow blades that extended from its fingertips midswipe, catching Determination across the torso and tearing the shadow puppet apart.
Pirouetting on one leg, it turned to face Emma and Kusari, blades extending from the fingertips of its other hand as well. Noting the lack of counteroffensive, the doll began skipping towards the two of them.
The last doll, targeting Christmas, saw Sander coming. It saw him readying and it saw him moving. But for all its speed in attempting to dodge, Sander was just that much faster and that much stronger. His kick smashed through its leg, breaking off the entire lower portion right at the knee joint and sending the doll toppling forward with a loud chatter of its mouth.
Instead of turning around, thin wires shot from the fingers of its left hand, wrapping around Christmas's leg and slicing gashes into his exposed skin. As the boy screamed, the doll's wires began retracting, pulling him towards itself for the finishing blow. The monster was determined to kill what seemed like the easiest of the nearby targets. It shot wires from its right hand back towards Sander, the thin, sharp lines catching Sander's right arm and leg and cutting through his clothes. The blood mage's damage resistance was heightened now, though, and the wires failed to break skin even as they tightened.
β
He couldn't charge up the attack anymore without completely losing control. With a cry of exertion, Ethan dropped the orb into the small corral of creatures Myla had set up for him.
The blast detonated in a narrow, skyscraper-high pillar of light, blinding almost everyone in the vicinity as it briefly whitened the battlefield.
When it finally faded, the only monster left standing in the 18-meter depression in the ground was the obsidian golem, large portions of its body shattered by the attack. The creature didn't seem fazed by the loss of the entire left section of its torso and head, nor did it seem fazed by the cracks marring its entire body.
Ethan was on all fours, gasping for breath as sweat rolled down his face. Genevieve and Eric were out cold, the younger girl having tapped Eric's power to its limit only for her barrier to nearly shatter in the face of Ethan's attack. She had held on just long enough to ensure the fading vestiges of the attack didn't hurt the others, even as she had screamed in pain from the impact.
Now only Myla remained standing, facing a golem that had survived the strongest Ethan had to offer. Luckily, the creature didn't seem interested in fighting. It stood there in the new pit, unmoving and calm, almost like it was content.
Myla breathed heavily as she struggled to stay on her feet. Could she afford to ignore it and move the others to safety? Could she even hurt it? Whatever it was doing, standing there quietly, she was afraid to turn her back on it. With a pained gasp, she stepped towards the edge of the hole and began casting another cutting field, her arms and legs trembling with exhaustion.
Clark stumbled as he reached the elevators at the end of the hall, his legs weaker than they had been a few days ago. God, he was falling apart, figuratively and literally. He was exempt from the facsimile of education USARILN East boasted, but that was because he had to be hooked up to an IV 95% of the time. His body couldn't digest anything properly anymore. A few years ago, he had been the picture of health. Then the fucking streak had appeared across his temple and suddenly he couldn't eat normally anymore.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he shoved himself into the elevator beside a young nurse who was busy checking her pager. The control panel in the elevator revealed where she was headed. Making sure she wasn't looking, Clark pressed two buttons with one hand, holding it for three seconds before letting go and tapping a third button. No button lit up when he was done, looking for all the world like he had just boarded an elevator with no exit in mind.
The nurse looked at him oddly when she finally noticed that only the button for her floor was lit up despite her certainty that the other occupant had definitely pressed something.
Clark grinned at her, revealing his deformed mouth, reminiscent of a crocodile.
She recoiled instinctively.
"Just headed down," he said, voice smooth and soft. He had worked hard on that voice, realizing that with everything else out of his control, he could at least sound as pleasant as he wanted to look. It would only drive the pain deeper when his vocal cords inevitably failed, too, but for now his voice was untouched by everything else going wrong with his body.
The nurse departed very quickly when the elevator doors opened on the first floor.
Clark continued further down, his input combination one that only the Director, those higher than her, and certain staff members knew. He adjusted the sketchbook he had picked up earlier, making sure it was tucked firmly against his body. It'd be something to look through when he was stuck on the IV drip again.
He could eat one thing, as much as he preferred not to. With a mage at her side who could identify powers, Clark had been unable to pretend otherwise. And the ever-efficient Director had put him to good use.
The elevator doors opened into a reinforced hallway, the strange, transparent material familiar to Clark by now. Hephaestus's work. The crafter mage--arguably one of the most powerful mages in the world given how widespread and effective his mass-produced equipment was. Of course, no one could actually produce any of the material without him, but what he did send out was mysteriously malleable enough to shape using normal methods of metalworking, even if the material itself was nothing at all metallic.
Clark strolled down the magically fortified hallway, noting the unusual presence of far more soldiers than normal. Had to be the emergency. They were afraid Menagerie was after the students contained in the underground chambers.
He had a hard time believing the Precursor known to be a soft-hearted, all-around good guy would turn on the group the guy had claimed was "like family" to him in an old interview. Either insanity came in all shapes and sizes or there was more to this than he knew. Frankly, both options seemed viable at this point.
The sudden movement of the nearby soldiers stopped him in his tracks. They were calling to each other and communicating over their respective devices, jargon and codes flying over his head as he turned fearfully towards the direction of the movement. Someone in a long, olive-green coat and a balaclava was rounding the corner at the far end of the hallway, having entered the underground sector from some other entrance. It wasn't Menagerie, but the monsters drawing themselves forth from thin air certainly resembled Menagerie's power. There was a finesse they lacked, though, like the creator wasn't quite sure how to put things together the way Menagerie could. Another group of bloody creatures stepped in front of the figure, taking a hail of bullets for him with minimal damage. Wasn't hard to guess the fate of the soldiers down that hallway. Clark stepped backward, turning around to run towards the elevator, only for a nearby soldier to grab his shoulder.
Nick, a new guy. He had hung out with Clark during the few moments of free time Clark had before and after a feeding.
"Get inside one of the rooms. The Director just locked down the entrances here so you can't use the elevator back up. You'll be safest inside anyway."
"You're going to stay out here?" Clark whispered, fear cutting his breathing down to shallow gasps.
"Have to," Nick gave him a weak grin. They both knew what Menagerie's creations were capable of. People called him the weakest of the Precursors due to the inherent instability of his creations, but that didn't exactly make them harmless. It just made them relatively weaker than Dreamcatcher's refined creations. The difference wouldn't matter to a regular person.
"You could come inside, too," Clark tried protesting. "To--to make sure the person inside doesn't hurt me or something."
"Sorry, kiddo," Nick scanned his security card against the door, the green light and pneumatic hiss the signal of either salvation or death. "Stay inside."
He shoved Clark through, closing the door quickly after. Without an outside access command, that door would never open. To add to it, the heavily warded room was vibration-proof, and Clark knew he wouldn't be able to feel or hear anything that went on outside. He hated being stuck in the room, but with his power he would have been completely useless in a fight anyway.
The large room held one occupant: a shaggy-haired blonde girl in a straitjacket. She was taller than him and would have made an imposing figure if she wasn't slumped against the wall, drugged beyond belief.
Clark sat down against the wall opposite her. He had eaten from her just the month before, hoping he had made a difference. Didn't look like it. Black lines stretched in erratic patterns across the room, the lines existing in straight lengths punctuated by sharp changes in direction, extending into the walls, far past where Clark could see. Geometric art on a 3-D plane.
He looked away, focusing on the pages of the book in his hands. The sketchbook and its delicately drawn still life images helped him think about something else as he waited for help to come. An exquisite pencil sketch of a glass of water caught his attention for a long time as he marveled at the artist's talent. The soft lines from human hands were far more preferable to the terrifying mass of straight-edged lines he saw on every Aberration. Far more preferable to the explosion of lines that was currently blanketing the cavernous room, emerging from the black X on the girl's throat.
On the open secret that was the "Death and Taxes" forum, the mages there referred to the personal torment the Aberrations had to constantly suffer as a "Stigma." Clark supposed the branching, constellation-like patterns he saw sprouting from the throat marks of all Aberrations was the physical form of that--or maybe just his power's interpretation of the Stigma.
He ran his eyes over the infinitesimally splitting black lines emerging from the girl's X. A map, a tree, a madman's game of connect the dots. He saw something different for each person. Hers looked like a claw, whlie others looked like open fields, or clouds, or parakeets. Something that probably meant something to them. But they all had one thing in common: no matter what shape that impossibly complex constellation of black lines took, they always had a core "noose" of sorts. It was a simple black ribbon, or sash, or thick cord--something and nothing of that nature-- wrapped loosely around the throats of every Aberration, the rest of the line stretching upwards to apparently nowhere. The lengths of that cord varied between Aberrations and Clark had come to the conclusion that the worst ones had the longest cords. If he could see things through television screens, he'd have been morbidly curious how long the cords were for the members of Cat's Cradle.
Even as he feared the sight, Clark followed one of the lines as it stretched in a deranged zigzag towards what became the tip of a clawed finger that bent on too many joints. Logically, with the basis of his human mind, he knew there was no conceivable way to decipher the shape. But his power imparted a miniscule bit of understanding that stretched beyond him. He shuddered as he watched another line draw itself into existence despite the girl's unnatural slumber. This was what the Director needed him for. He couldn't alter the core's length, but he could at least mitigate--to some degree--the demands of the Stigma.
"...Who are you? You're not Mommy," the girl's rasping voice surprised him before terror set in. She wasn't supposed to be awake. None of them were. He'd have to tell the Director that the girl in containment chamber five needed stronger sedatives. If he survived the night.
"...Nidhogg," he whispered the nickname Director Zhang had given him. The monster that gnawed on the roots of the world tree.
The girl's breath hitched in her throat and her body twitched. She was conscious and her Stigma hadn't been sated in months.
Clark dropped the sketchbook and scrambled towards her, his power welling up inside him and bursting into a white, glimmering half-mask of an animal jaw across his mouth, the edges frayed and jagged like it had been torn from the face of something else. He pulled back his hood, revealing short, black hair that tapered slowly down the back of his neck, multiple piercings in his ears, the white Arbiter mark across his right temple, and the full extent of his crocodilian jaw, which had split his face almost to his ear. The white jaw overlayed on his mouth moved with the motions of his own jaw as he pressed his teeth against the black X on the girl's neck.
His power snapped shut across a thick congestion of black lines, shattering them like glass, the resulting chain reaction destroying entire networks of the constellations that stretched far above and behind him.
The girl went still, her breathing calmer as Clark continued tearing at the superficial cravings of her Stigma.
By the time he was done, the branches of her Stigma's call had been pruned down to thin meshes of black lines and Clark could barely read the image she formed.
Without the overwhelming urge of the Stigma waking her, the girl fell under the sway of the drugs again.
Finished, Clark's power dissipated and he collapsed to the side, lying beside her as he threw up repeatedly until he was only dry heaving. He felt full--he felt like he had eaten an entire three-course meal--but his body fell apart a little more every time he fed. He wasn't even sure "falling apart" was the right word. Changing. It was changing, even as his natural instincts kicked in and his body attempted to make use of every biological rejection mechanism to prevent that change.
"I don't want this..." he whispered at the wall, his voice so thin he could barely hear himself.
As if the wall had ears, the door hissed and slid open, a thin layer of blood seeping inside slowly as Director Zhang's heels tracked more through the doorway. She held a black semi-automatic in her hands, the white stag mark on its barrel the signature of the gun's creator. She nearly stepped on Kusari's sketchbook just inside the door, now stained partially red from the blood. The Director stopped just in time, picking up the sketchbook and pausing to look at it, then handing it to someone outside.
"Clark," her voice echoed in the large room, still imposing and steady despite how tired she sounded.
He barely had the breath to wheeze out a sound so she knew he was alive.
Of all the people in the Institute, Director Zhang was the last person he expected to have a motherly touch, but her warm hand on his head was more soothing than anything he could have hoped for in the moment. He had completely forgotten that Director Zhang was stronger than she looked when she picked up his malnourished body with some effort and headed outside, the door closing immediately behind her.
Clark was losing consciousness as the Director handed him off to someone else, but he couldn't help his immense relief when he heard Nick's distorted voice talking somewhere above his head.
An gangly Aberration flipped over a table on the first floor of the dining hall, sending drinks and food scattering across the white marble floor. His brown eyes were wild beneath his unwashed and unkempt shock of black hair as he screamed something unintelligible, arms clawing at his body. Swirling blue lines began drawing themselves across his arms and legs, spreading into the floor as he continued mumbling rapidly to no one in particular. The usual bulk of soldiers on hand to handle situations like that were elsewhere at the moment and only regular staff remained to manage it.
A man in the fearful crowd pointed at the student and shouted, "D-danger level: high! High! Stop him!"
The ankle cuffs of all nearby students blinked briefly with several lights before turning off, the only shining cuff left targeting the unstable Aberration. Were it as simple as a taze, the issue might have resolved itself there, but the cuff only knew how to respond to orders and its priority was not to spare lives. Once the pinhole camera had confirmed which student the staff member was pointing at, it executed the command.
A 300 mA current ran through the student, charring the skin on his ankle and knocking him out as his body convulsed violently. The spell he had been casting dissipated immediately. Without a stop order, it continued tazing him, increasing the current by 100 mA every time. The cuff had already tazed him twice more before someone else in the crowd stammered out a reedy "Threat--uh--threat n-neutralized!"
The cuff beeped twice in acknowledgement before the blinking light on it turned off.
The skin around his ankle had split, bleeding profusely while the rest of his body continued twitching and spasming, blood running from his nose as he practically frothed at the mouth.
Terrified, most of the staff began clearing out while others threw up. None of them moved to help the boy or check if he was still alive.
Jason, coming in from the lobby desk to see what the commotion was about, stopped at the sight of the potentially dead student. He swallowed and walked over, checking for a pulse. At the same time, he pulled out his phone, calling for the paramedics team. His hands shook as he followed procedure and a cold sweat had his rectangular glasses slipping down his nose. While the phone rang, he hastily shoved his glasses back up his face.
"Hey--yeah--need a-need a t-team over at Building D," he took a breath and continued, steadier, "first floor. Got a tazed X. He's--uh--not looking good."
Within moments, a team of paramedics from one of the hospital buildings had arrived to take the Aberration away and Jason ran a hand through his sandy hair, mussing up the slicked-back look in his agitation at the event. Before too long, though, he headed into one of the staff entrances of the dining hall, returning with a janitor who quietly began to clean up both food and blood without comment. The tension on his face coming in indicated the graying, old custodian might have already been briefed on the situation as they walked.
Any students nearby had already moved elsewhere, faces grim and food generally untouched as they watched the janitor work. Some of them poked at their food half-heartedly while others ate with their heads bowed.
It was common knowledge that the student body handled its own issues without much staff intervention, but incidents that happened so close to jumpy regulars usually led to an extreme that even the harshest of the students wouldn't advocate. Problems that involved Aberrations losing control also tended to end in that same manner and no one tried to lighten the mood as the minutes passed. Things that people couldn't control and fear for their lives were factors the kids all knew too well. The Aberration that had been taken away was either permanently injured or dead, barring an ability that could save him from those fates. It wasn't his fault, but it had to be done.
You two can check the scene. If you want. Though no one will be saying much. Continuing to eat/interact with each other is also an option. If your character was nearby, the ankle cuff flashed for them, too, before settling on the correct target.
A pale, spidery hand slammed against Gregory's window, spanning the width of the frame.
Something tall, lanky, and wearing a long, featureless black dress leaned in to look at his room, its height far higher than any human should be, especially since Gregory was on the third floor. When its door-sized face came into view, there was no doubt that it was a monster.
The creature had only a vertical slit across the length of a face framed by long, stringy white hair. That slit soon opened to reveal a mouth like a lamprey, and the thing pressed its face-maw against his window with a guttural moan.
Outside, a young, brown-haired boy in a red parka and dark jeans giggled loudly at the spectacle, a black X across his neck.
I don't know if Gregory would panic at this, but if he does, feel free to autohit the thing (though it won't take damage from any attacks) and break the window in the process. Otherwise, running away works, too.
If you break the window, that thin mist that clings to the walls of both dorm buildings will start slowly repairing the structural damage. The walls can't be completely broken, though. Should something happen and the walls take severe damage, the plasterboard and concrete sheeting would break away to reveal the material beneath--which is the same transparent material the trucks were made out of.
Any students nearby do not seem at all concerned about this.
Callan's sudden dive befuddled the bird head. Despite the length of its neck, the more aggressive head was unable to maneuver well enough to properly scan underneath its torso for its enemy, a problem that was intensified by its bleeding eye. The blade had cut deeply into the quadruped's front leg, coming to a stop about a third of the way in due to the leg's thickness and durability. Even with her enhanced strength Cal would have difficulty severing the creature's leg in a single blow or even pulling the sword back out from the dense appendage. Strangely enough, there was no immediate reaction drawn from the attack. No squawk of agony, no spurt of acidic blood. The bird head simply continued whipping about, having lost sight of its prey and eager to finish the girl off for once and for all. Thanks to the bird head's stunted vision, Cal was momentarily hidden from sight behind the monster's leg. If she was to closely inspect its cassowary-like limbs she would notice that they had a diameter of a standard vinyl record and the texture of a sturdy oak tree. The legs resembled polished tree trunks; there was no way to make certain the substances of the creature's limbs but they were definitely wood-like. The bird head's brief search bore its fruits when it spotted the foreign object embedded in its front leg. With a curious grunt the leg was lifted, sword and all, and Cal's temporary cover was blown. The bird head screeched indignantly and returned to attempting to spear Cal with its beak, though with much more difficulty than before due to the girl's location.
Marcus' shots hit one of the fishmen square in its scaled torso, blowing it off its feet. The extent of the impact from the bullets made it clear that, despite their clumsiness, the fishmen had quite sturdy bodies. The shots had only left the fishman slightly dazed. It flopped around on the ground, struggling to get back on its feet while the beetle man continued berating the pair. The subordinates had done a decent job in the brief minute they had spent unearthing their superior officer. With a triumphant roar, a black fist burst from the rubble. The beetle man would emerge very soon. In the meantime, the fishman that was still on its feet took it upon itself to provide cover fire while its comrades recuperated. The human limbs pat around in the dirt to reposition the torso, before shooting a machine gun-like salvo of razor sharp scales from its body. Its aim was atrocious but the spread and duration of the scale-fire was more than enough to present a threat to Marcus and Lily. One projectile nicked Marcus in the shoulder, a solid cut that immediately started bleeding. If they didn't find cover or stop the assault soon, they would be in major trouble.
@Baklava: Rashes hurting/burning steadily now. It is possible that Cal was still holding on to the sword when the quadruped lifted its leg, swinging from it like a monkey. Up to you to decide if she was. @Deathmyster and @PapiTan: Nothing engaging you at the moment. @Chasers115 and @Kyrisse: Fishman shooting super sharp scales at you. Find cover or find a way to stop that heavy fire. There's a chance that it'll need to reload soon but are you really going to wait that long to find out? Marcus has a slight cut on his shoulder.
Notes:
Bright-ass pillar of light from pink team. Temporary blindness if you were looking directly at it.
Enemies remaining:
1x bigass quadruped (Blinded in one eye, cut hippo snout, still spattering spicy blood all over. Very pissed and attempting to spear Cal with beak. Has a sword stuck in its leg.)
1x beetle man (Immobile, pinned under rubble a fair distance from the truck but almost unearthed.)
2x fishmen (One trying to get up, the other going Rambo with machine gun-like scale-fire. Terrible accuracy though.)
The middle spaghetti monster slammed its uninjured noodles against the ground in a rage as it tentatively resumed its floating, unsure of what had caused the loud, frightening explosion from earlier. Unfortunately, Zoe's attempt to decompose the plate failed. Whatever the plate was made of, it didn't appear to be organic. More importantly, it didn't seem to be a part of the spaghetti monster-- and therefore was non-living. Before Savannah could finish the sentence she posed to Zoe, a noodle from the airborne spaghetti shot out towards the girls with intense speed. The noodle arm passed through Savannah's legs, sweeping her feet out from under her, before wrapping around Zoe.
This time, however, it seemed the spaghetti monster had learned an important lesson from its attempt to devour Aaron-- don't play with your food. The noodle arm arched back before aptly flicking Zoe straight into its mouth-- gone in an instant with barely a chance to scream. The monster screeched victoriously, hovering over Savannah with its noodles withdrawn from reach. Evidently, the creature needed a moment before it could resume eating.
Not too far from them, Angel's scream cut through the air towards Alexis and the spaghetti monster that held her. Attempting to aim at such a far away target, however, Angel's ability only nicked a half of the spaghetti monster. It jerked away from the noise, its noodles whipping around more rapidly in discomfort. As the monster turned to 'face' her, a low, angry roar, seemingly out of frustration, emanated from its leech-like mouth.
The monster had grown tired of trying to stir Alexis from her sleep and now seemed to have a new target-- Angel. It threw Alexis to the ground-- hard. Too hard. She landed beside Savannah with a sickening crunch. Blood trickled from the girl's ears and nose-- it was a wonder her head hadn't split wide open, but the unnatural position of the redheaded girl's body-- coupled with a distinct lack of breathing-- didn't bode well for her chances of survival. The monster, meanwhile, made a beeline for Angel-- coming in fast.
The long-dead meatball, charred to a crisp thanks to Chef Chris, crashed into the meatball monster threatening Allison before it could further descend upon her. The meatball slammed into the side of the plate and it was sent spiraling backwards, screaming like a terrified passenger in a riotous tea cup ride. As Chris arched in hopes of getting behind the spaghetti monstrousity, the creature's spinning turned his plan onto its head. He landed on top of the spaghetti's plate, which instantly closed to protect it's mouth. The spaghetti monster gripped the plate with its noodles for dear life, furiously trying to wrap its free noodles around the dragon. Several partially formed meatball monsters rolled off of the monster's backside, twitching and rocking on the ground with half-formed legs and mouths. They rolled around on the ground without direction, marginally smaller than their predecessors.
As Allison reached Aaron, he seemed to be coming to-- slowly picking himself up off the ground, holding his side. He faced away from the imposing battle, only seeing Allison when she came right up beside him.
"What are you doing over here?" he hissed through the pain in his side, "Go help the others!"
A blinding pillar of light suddenly blasted skyward from pink team as he spoke.
Anyone unfortunate enough to be looking at pink team when that light pillar went off will be temporarily blinded.
Remaining enemies include: --(3) flying spaghetti monsters (roughly the size of barns) with massive leech-like mouths --(4) half-formed meatball monsters. Currently harmless. Appx 3 ft tall.
@Holy Grail : Aaron is up, but hasn't started casting yet. Still well out of range of everything. @canaryrose : Sav has fallen down. Alexis' corpse is only a few feet away from her. @VarionusNW : Same position as Aaron. @Riffus Maximus : One spaghetti monster is rapidly approaching from the air. @dragonmancer : Chris is on the top (or rather, bottom) of the spaghetti. He will be unable to so much as scratch the plate protecting the spaghetti monster, though the noodles are vulnerable.
Everything was a blur, what was like a voice in the back of his head seemed to only grow louder with each focus. As he was sprinting, the sight of Allison triggered a desire to burn her alive, had he not exhausted his breath moments prior he may have not been able to resist this sudden urge. Regardless Chris tried to stay focused, the growing lust for destruction accelerated through his head, for a moment he didn't even notice that he was on the plate of the monster as he had been so caught up in the rush of the moment. This temporary distraction gave enough room for the tentacle monster to latch three of its noodles onto Chris's torso, wrapping around him like a serpent. The feeling of noodles wrapping around and trying to lift Chris brought him back into focus, the desire of destruction wasn't lost, but rather redirected from human civilization and livelihood to the monster that dared threaten him.
Chris let out another tremendous roar, his torch-like eyes glaring at the noodles grabbing him and trying to lift him off of the plate. Despite the strength of the noodles, Chris would thrash about violently in its grasp, especially his still-bleeding tail. The aggressive motions combined with his rigged scales was enough to tear through the noodles, two of them severing . Freed Chris would proceed to dig his claws to sever several noodles that were hanging onto the plate before he would bash his horned skull onto the giant plate with brute force out of blind fury. The plate didn't shatter, as if enraged by the lack of destruction, Chris let out another roar, almost standing upright on the moving plate and nearly loosing his balance.
The monster took advantage of Chris's growing wild demeanor, five noodles would launch forward that ensnared Chris and lifted him off of the dinner plate. This was easy for the monster as Chris was already on the verge of falling. The moment Chris was lifted off of the plate he would go into a fit of rage, trying to claw and bite at the noodles which by now more noodle-arms were being applied to keep him still. White blood, at least that is what it seemed like, flew out from the noodles as Chris violently tore through them. Once again escaping the grasp of the monster as he fell to the ground, a single limp noodle was in his mouth. He was tempted to consume it, but his conscience had finally grabbed the reigns of his new form and spat away the delicious over sized pasta. After all Chris had no idea if there was anything dangerous about ingesting such a beast. His eyes locked to the recovering monster, scraping his claw against the dirt like a bull about to charge.
Flinching at the sound that interrupted his music, Gregory reached over and paused the player on his laptop before he looked towards the window. βWhat the fu-β His panicked yell was interrupted as he jerked sharply away from the sight and tipped his chair over as a result. Grunting as he scrambled back to his feet, he stared at the monster uneasily and backed away from the window.
Clammy hands were wiped on his shirt before he tried to reign his breathing under control. Whatever the hell it was seemed unable to get in, and there was a distinct lack of⦠any other reaction. Something this big probably should have drew a lot off attention, even if people were busy dealing with all the shit that seemed to have hit the fan today. Keeping his eyes on the unsettling mouth suctioned to his window, he swiped a few of his belongings and then quickly backed out of the room, shutting the door to that unnerving sight.
Sighing quietly, Gregory shook his head before he wandered over towards the communal kitchen on his half of the floor. Peering around the corner, there wasnβt any monstrous abomination outside any of the windows, so he slipped in and grabbed a quick glass of water to sip at. Leaving the kitchen, Gregory wandered over towards the central foyer and peered over the ledge to the lobby on the first floor. Quirking a brow at the student nonchalantly flipping through a magazine in a chair below, he took the stairs down in sets of two.
He would have called out to the student, but Gregory noticed the guards outside when he reached the first floor. Figuring theyβd know just as much, he hurried through the lobby and poked his head out of the door. He took a quick drink of water, looked between the three guards, and asked, βSo, uhβ¦ whatβs up with the mons-β Pausing mid-way through his question, he followed their gaze towards the young boy further from the dorm, narrowing his eyes a bit before he turned to look at the guards again. βSo, this is how they haze the new kids?β
After hissing his message to the team member who had jogged over to his side, Aaron noticed his own shadow cast in front of him by some bright light source behind him very suddenly afterwards. Glancing back just after the light had faded away completely, Aaron could not see the source but the sixteen year old guessed it was one of the powers from the other groups. If nothing else, perhaps the other groups of new students and old students were faring better with their own fights, at least as compared to the Green Team's fight thus far from what he had seen. These monsters, while tasty from his own experience, were not to be underestimated in their ferocity.
With all of that in mind, he needed to begin summoning one of his clockworks. That was, perhaps, the best he could manage at this point in time with his current condition. Unfortunately he required prep time for his summoning, a thing the boy cursed under his breath as he began to slowly, painfully, and steadily make his way towards the truck nearest to him. With each step the boy winced in pain, the severity of his injuries more evident as the agony of his current condition wrote its way into his face even more deeply.
Coming up to the truck, Aaron turned around, leaning back against the truck to help prop himself up in a standing position in the meantime. In his new position, Aaron scanned the Green Team's portion of the battlefield for a brief moment and then began to start his summoning process immediately, hoping he would be able to finish bringing in one clockwork in time to assist in the battle as it was now. because as it was now, the battle seemed to be more than just a "mess" from what he had seen.
Three monsters of spaghetti were still roaming about, one struggling with a dragon-and-lizard like creature he guessed to be Chris, one approaching Angel, and one that seemed to be on its own for the moment to his perspective. Beyond that there seemed to be smaller, other meatball creatures he had seen, and it seemed like his allies were in enough a bind as it was from their positions at that. Heck, there was already one body lying on the ground that seemed dead near some of the others.
At least he was far from the action, which the brown-haired sixteen year old hoped would allow him to summon a clockwork and actually help now....if anyone from his team was left by the time he was finished summoning that is.
Sitting on a stool is a young woman playing a guitar. The melody playing from the black-haired girl was sweet to the ears, people all around her were silently and intently listening to this strangely-crafted song. Even to Angel, this music was oddly familiar, yet she did not know most of the notes she had been playing so far, just as if she was threading on the surface of something far deeper beyond her understanding.
As she continued playing this eerie melody, she was suddenly taken aback by a few people suddenly dropping from their chair, falling lifeless on the ground. Despite that, her fingers never stopped strumming the cords of her guitar, her body refusing to leave the stool and check up on the corpses. No one seemed to care about the unconscious people, as if they were entranced by the music provided from the cursed instrument. She desperately tried to call out for the hypnotized crowd, but her voice was muted by the melody of her guitar.
And then, the music suddenly stopped just as one of the cords snapped. Investigating the strange occurrence, the young woman was shocked to see her fingers dirtied by a crimson liquid. Blood, THEIR blood.
ββ¦Murdererβ¦ Pathetic excuse of a leader...β A woman sitting at the front row from the crowd ushered in a whisper, all her features but a silhouette concealed by darkness.
A strange feeling overtook the emotionally-wrecked aberration. She felt disoriented, as if she had experienced dreaming in a flash. All of what she had been feeling up until now ever since she set foot on this battlefield; all of the fear, the despair, the hate she went through, they all seemed to emerge as she turned to face the spaghetti monster that was rushing forth towards her. All of these negative emotions converged into a single, primal feeling: Rage.
As the monster quickly approached young miss Lachance, she was remembering just how the creature had smashed with unimaginable cruelty one of her comrades, a potential friend she could have made in this fucking prison. The still-fresh vision of Alexis being slammed to death by the creature fueled the rage boiling up inside the metal-loving singer.
βYou let your βfriendsβ die as if they were mere plastic soldiers. Will you let your life end just as pitifully as theirs?β a whisper taunted, louder and surprisingly more complex than all the words she had heard so far in the back of her mind.
Just as if this familiar voice triggered her already maddened state, Angel responded in denial. But instead of an actual answer, a feral scream was all that echoed off from her mouth, a shriek louder and deadlier than anything she had conjured up until now was directed at the charging monster that was but only a few meters away from her.
Pound after pound, Grant stared at the practically nonexistent corpse of the baby squirrel that was in the now ditch in front of him. He didnβt care, he didnβt want to see the damn thing again. Just a splash of red. Red. Red. Die, die, die, die, die...
"Grant? Grant, it's dead! We should h-help the others."
Grant snapped back to reality. The ensuing battle around him coming back to him. He looked around, his chains retracting from the club shaped earth and it fell into the ditch that once laid a corpse of a dead squirrel, now buried in rubble. Confusion shot through his mind. What was he doing? There wasnβt any time for this. He turned his head to see Siena running away for cover. Right. If he was going to get through this, he needed to ensure that his team... the rest of his team survived this. For... his own survival. But first, he stepped toward... her body. He didnβt look. He didnβt want to. He knew that if he did... no, he didnβt look. For his mental stateβs sake. He noticed the knife that had clattered to the floor, moment before her demise. He didnβt even give a thought to the pillar of light. It just seemed important to pick it up, but his attention was drawn away from the knife in his hand.
Gunshots. Or more accurately, a gunshot. If he remembered right, one of his team mates had retrieved a gun, and said team mate was shooting at running fish. His eyes lead from the fish that had been shot, the fish still up, to the armored man, who was just getting out of his earthen prison, roaring. That was a problem. βOkayβ¦ just gotta throw another..β He mumbled to himself, lowering his chains to the earth, but his plans soon changed after he saw the remaining fishman begin running at his two other team mates, seeming to... fire at them? As strange and weird it was, it was happening, and he was closing in on them. βGotta help them.. But I need to keep the armored man downβ¦β He muttered to himself, conflicted. He knew he needed to act fast. He glanced around in a panicked manner, before he noticed the somewhat perfect square hole in the ground from the earth that he had initially thrown from before. Something clicked in his mind, as if someone slapped him and told him off for being so stupid.
He took action, beginning to rush toward the two who were being shot at. He felt sluggish, but he wasnβt collapsing. Must be the adrenaline pumping through his body. Once he was close enough to them, not right next to them, but close enough for them to at least hear him, he called out to them. βHey! Over here!β He shot his chains down into the earth. He focused. He took a deep breath in and pulled a large amount of the earth from the ground, leaving a large, rectangular shape in the ground. His feet felt unsteady, and his heart was pounding. Nevertheless, he managed to chuck the rubble in the direction of the large, armored man that was just recovering. After he let go, he let out that breath. He felt lightheaded... and his feet were right next to the edge of the trench he had just made. In his daze, his foot slipped and he ended up falling into the ditch with a thud, for better or worse. He laid against his back in the trench, the breath taken out of him as he breathed heavily. A thought crossed his mind. This... Sucksβ¦
@Chasers115 and @Kyrisse: A trench has been made for ya. An out of shape skinny, lazy boy awaits in there, exhausted on the floor.
