Duoya

Dear Gamer: Let's Seek Each Other Out

I'm still here as well.

Forgotten Heroes: Marvel's Underdogs

Interested, if there is still room.

Knights of Elementia.

Will post after @ViannaNight

Darkness in the Light

Will throw up a post after @GarlandDaHero

closed

Interactions: @GodOfWar@Blu@Kuma@liferusher

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Pushing open the two doors, Karada made his way into the cafeteria to see that it was fairly populated. The goat boy, Gank, was sitting at the table, alongside the white-haired girl from earlier. While he didn't see who it was, he did hear another person in the connected kitchen, and the sounds of bubbling oil revealed that a still active fryer was being used. The room itself was, like the rest of the house, old and beautiful. Karada walked forwards, making his way towards the kitchen while doing his best to hide the limp, before Gankona noticed and called out to him.

"Ay, Karada, throw me two cigs and a light. I need my sixth smoke for the day."

Karada reached into his pocket, pulling out two cigarettes and one of the matches he had with him. He tossed the two to Gankona. Most people would probably be a little pissed that someone was going through their cigarettes so quickly, but Karada really couldn't care less - He rarely got past a single pack in a month, and he hated the taste anyways. Gankona caught the three items, revealing the condition of his hand - it was red, and had slight burns all across it. They looked fairly minor, and looking at his plate revealed that he most likely spilled grease on his hand while cooking. The chunks of fried material seemed to be too small to be fried chicken or a meat product, and Karada was stumped on what it was. Karada was about to turn and enter into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, before Gankona called out again.

"I think the other blondie is gonna make pizzas. Take a seat if you want."

Karada sighed slightly. He was thankful to the blond boy, 'Yuri' if he remembered from the introductions they made. Karada was very tired from the fight and patching up his wound, so not needing to make your own food was a very nice prospect. Slowly, Karada made his way over to the table that the two were seated at, before gently lowering himself into a chair. The girl seemed to have a plate of grilled cheese, with some meat inside of the bread, and was just as small as she was earlier. Karada now noticed that Gank was offering her the second cigarette, to which she was vehemently refusing to take. At least he wasn't the only person who didn't like the taste of cigarettes, but the fact that the bug girl didn't like smoke was pretty hilarious. Karada turned his head quickly to the boy that had just entered, the black haired young man that entered throwing a glance to the table before slowly reaching into his bag and pulling out a small tube...

It was bug spray. A slight chuckle escaped Karada's throat, before he stifled it quickly. He found the expression on the boy's face to be completely hilarious, and the careful way he walked towards the group only added onto the humor. Quickly, Karada adopted a straight face. After all, he was supposed to be the serious guy. He chose to acknowledge Kaz's existence, but not comment.

Instead, he turned to the group. Perhaps this would be a good time to get to know one another, to learn each other's stories. Perhaps they could find some common ground with one another. Of course, Karada had no desire to share the circumstances for his coming here, and chose to instead sit with the group in silence, awaiting for Yuri to finish the meal. All the while, he did his best to avoid the white-haired girl's gaze. He still was apprehensive towards women. After all, he was nearly inconsolable after the incident that sent him to Reject High, so it would be understandable. Despite this, he still felt childish for being afraid of a girl he was nearly a foot taller than and must have been nearly double her weight.

Afterlife: Dead Sun

The spirit pushed with all it's might, ignoring the writhing of it's brothers against the thorny boulder. This soul was one of the last to make it to the stone, managing to avoid the fate of it's siblings. Instead, it was able to push the overly large rock along with it's fellows, the only drive it experienced was to follow the monstrosity's orders. It had no power, that was obvious fact. The giant, the monstrous figure that commanded and ate them - it had power. The spirit didn't remember the concept of right and wrong - all it knew was that if it didn't push the rock, if it didn't obey, it would die. Even the spirit knew that dying was not enjoyable, but the work of pushing the stone made it feel something - not malice or anger, but a strange nostalgic feeling, even as blood coated his hands and thorns broke off of the stone and stabbed his feet. The other spirits lacked the mouth on their faces, but the spirit could sense their emotions. It was their eyes, the haze that coated it and the tears that streamed from their faces. They all felt overwhelming fear and sadness. Even with it's lack of a nose, the spirit could feel the disgusting scent of it's surroundings, the smell of brimstone, smoke, and feces filling every inch of the place. This only seemed to add to the misery of the place, not that the spirit minded. It's job was to push the stone, that was all.

Just push the stone, and everything will be alright.

The spirit continued to push the stone, which was easier for him now that the bodies on the thorns stopped moving, until the rock slowly came to a stop. Even when pushing harder, the spirit was unable to move the rock, and it took it several seconds to realized the cause - the others had stopped pushing, and were looking back. Turning around to see what had caught the other's attention, the spirit was truly shocked. A large swarm was descending on the toppled guard, who was aggressively clawing at it's throat. The guards staples, the pieces of metal that held the flesh of it's gut together, was slowly being pulled off, met with screams from the guard. By this point, all spirits had stopped pushing the rock, watching the carnage that was occurring. It was insane to one spirit, the spirit that had pushed the rock to survive. What did they think they were doing? They were challenging the one with power, they were challenging their superior. This was wrong. Or, it was, until the spirit saw the face of the horned guard. Of course, there was anger and pain, depicted from it's misshapen mouth. But along with that, their was something else there, something you needed to feel. Underneath that blind fury, there was an overwhelming emotion.

Fear. The monster was afraid. He didn't have power, and the spirits were the ones who were stronger now. The spirit kneeled down, picking up one of the smaller thorns that snapped off the rock as they pushed. It cut into the spirit's hand, blood seeping out and turning it's pure white hands a crimson red. The spirit made it's way over to the toppled guard, the monstrosity, until it stood close to the guards stomach. The spirit, still clutching the thorn, jammed it into the guards side.

Blood slowly seeped out of the wound. The skin felt leathery to the touch, and it was clear that the wound was merely a pinprick to the giant. Slowly, the spirit pulled out the thorn, before stabbing again, before retracting the blade once more. The intensity and speed at which this occurred only increased, until the spirit was relentlessly jamming the blade into the guard, the holes caused by the blade being somehow familiar in appearance. The guards screams continued to reverberate throughout the area, and the spirit eventually managed it - their was now an fairly large hole in the guards side, blood pooling below the creature. The thrusting continued, until the inevitable occurred - the thorn had broken, digging itself in a hard object inside of the guard, most likely bone. Not wishing to stop it's assault, the spirit climbed up the guards bloated stomach, seeking to join in the staple removal, which had made extreme progress. Countless staples fell from the beast, landing all around it's body and leaving the stomach partially exposed. The spirit merely helped it's siblings, pulling the remaining giant pieces of metal along with its brethren. Even with all of them, there were at least several more staples to remove. But the knowledge that it was in control, that it had authority, the spirit knew that it -

... No. The spirit knew that he was superior to the tormentor that he stood upon. The fat creature was cocky, it allowed the spirits to assault it. The spirit could see clearly now - the guard must have choked while devouring on the bodies of the spirits. Even with all it's strength, it ignored the strongest factor in a battle - numbers beat everything and, with enough numbers, it didn't matter how strong an opponent was. The spirit decided to return to the hole he had created at the guards side and, after sliding from it's massive form carefully, began to tear the creatures side apart. The skin was far to tough to rip with his bear hands - even the thorn had difficulty doing so. Instead, the spirit tore the flesh from the inside, digging into the guard. The work was slow, and his hands were already bloody messes from wielding the thorn, but the spirit continued. The guard wasn't going to let them kill it so easily, and being inside of it would make it much harder for the guard to reach him.

closed

Will try and post later today.

Afterlife: Dead Sun

Will post sometime later today.

Dear Gamer: Let's Seek Each Other Out

Brent Young

Nearest player: @GoodLuckTuck

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Deep darkness permeated Brent's vision as he slowly began to awaken, his closed eyelids shading his surroundings in darkness. The air in his apartment felt far cooler, and his body was sore nearly everywhere. If that wasn't even enough, his bed was hard as stone, and he realized he may have fell onto the floor in his sleep. This seemed strange, but as his consciousness grew stronger, he soon began to remember details - he hadn't fallen to sleep. In fact, the last thing he remembered was being on his computer... Yes, he was filling out that strange email he received. Everything after that was fuzzy, almost nonexistent. Brent simply deduced that he must have spent the rest of the night grinding on one of the MMO's he played, eventually passing out from exhaustion. Brent immediately bolted upwards however, realizing that he hadn't woken up to his alarm - he woke up on his own. Today was a Wednesday, he had work... If he rushed, perhaps he could make it to work before he got chewed out. Upon rising from the hard surface he was laying against, Brent opened his eyes to see the world.

The walls were lined with shelves, upon which various cleaning supplies and miscellaneous objects sat, such as a mop that laid diagonally against the opposite corner. Everywhere in his vision, from the shelves to the disgusting floor he was sleeping on, was coated in a thick, oppressive dust. As if the room hadn't been touched in ages. The most mysterious part of it all was that their were no footprints that broke the dust - somehow, he was taken to this room, and he didn't even know how the culprit could have managed such a feat. The surroundings were unlike anything in his meager apartment, and the thought of being unable to show up to work was gone from his mind. The only thing that he was thinking of was the very real threat that he had been kidnapped, and was being held hostage. Looking down, Brent saw that he was completely unbound, a surprise considering he seemed to be kidnapped.

But that was not all - a pack laid at his feet, a quick investigation revealing it's contents - 4 plastic bottles of a clear liquid, presumably water. 6 bars in a bland white packaging, lacking even a nutrition table. A matchbox which had a large number of matches, somewhere between 30 and 50. The item at the bottom was a small pocket knife, not enough to defend oneself reliably in a fight, but a very nice tool. Finally, the bag itself was made of a Nylon fabric, and had far more space than was necessary to hold the meager supplies. Placing most of the items back into his bag, he zipped it up and slid the large bag onto his back. In his hand was the small knife, fingers resting against the blade and prepared to unfold it should he meet his assailant. The knife would surely be of little use considering it's small size, but any weapon was better than none. Shakily reaching his free hand towards the door, and giving a silent turn, the door appeared to be unlocked. The fact that the door was unlocked and he wasn't even bound up led Brent to a single conclusion - he most likely wasn't kidnapped, or at the very least, the kidnapper didn't intend to keep him in one location. He was nearly about to open the door when a small, barely audible voice managed to pierce the thick wooden door.

"H-Hello?"

The voice nearly caused Brent to yell in surprise, but he managed to keep his voice muffled. Someone else was outside the door, and their voice, while very soft, was easy to tell the owner was a woman. Sliding the pocket knife into his pants pocket, he gently opened the door, prepared to pull the knife out should he need to. After all, he would probably be able to overpower her if she tried to attack him... Unless she was the culprit, and had a better weapon than a few inches of sharp metal. He swiftly made his way out of the closet, which he now recognized as a janitors closet - the area he was in appeared to be the ground level of a fabulous hotel. Or, a once fabulous hotel, as the entire place was coated in dust and dilapidated with age. Sunlight poked through many yellowed windows and the occasional holes in the walls, dust specking the rays of light. Despite his best efforts, stealth was an impossibility. The floors were creaky and did so at the slightest pressure, occasionally making a slight noise of their own volition. The rug was partially eaten, Brent praying that the large sections missing in the fabric were caused by moths rather than something... larger. Brent made his way to the desk before realizing that he didn't know where to go - the staircase further to the right seemed to be an option, but considering the disrepair of the place, climbing to higher floors was clearly not in his best interest. He could leave, but the barely transparent windows of the hotel revealed that the surroundings were unfamiliar - a dark forest, despite the rays of sun that poked through the windows. Hoping to avoid a more dangerous change of scenery, Brent realized his only course of action.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Calling out to the voice was a risky tactic, but it was the safest of his available ones. Worst case scenario, the woman reveals herself to be the culprit behind his awakening in this strange place and he may die. Best case scenario, she's a police officer looking for a Mr. Young who disappeared from his home, and he would be taken out of this nightmare. Either way, it's better than walking out into the forest unarmed.

Afterlife: Dead Sun [Recruitment]

Intrested