RedDusk

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Welp I am bored so I add some songs for Sander. Not that anybody would care.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Whoa the OOC is really barren.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Sander Lorraine

Sander had been here before.

He remembered this place well, when they bound him with stag chains and dripped red down his throat until he was nothing else but fire and fury. Sometimes, it would bring him here.

Its form was not something the human sense could, or should, comprehend. So there was just a vastness. Waves upon waves of gentle emptiness that lapped against his skin. It held him like familiar arms, closer and tighter than anyone ever had. Warmth soaked into his skin, fuel to his fire, and he did not fight. He knew power when it bled into him. And here, he couldn’t lie. He wanted this.

It had got its hooks in him now. It always had. Its touch is tainted. Unholy. But it was all he knew.

---

Something snapped, and Sander found himself back in the battlefield, the warmth on his fingertips already faded. He clenched his fists, still covered in the bright glow and white mist of both his teammates’ powers, as if to cling onto what was left. However, his eyes darted onto the smears of Christmas’ blood. Lawrence’s power dulled his cravings, but after his latest fix, Sander could already feel the thirst tugging at the edges of his thoughts. He knew that he was so close, but he didn’t want to risk it. He couldn’t, not with Christmas…like this. Not even when the blond boy clearly didn’t have any use for the pooling blood on the ground. So with gritted teeth, Sander struggled to his feet and scanned the battlefield, the primal urges slowly cutting through the haze of Lawrence’s mind magic. His improved senses could easily pick out the standing members of Blue team, and it was obvious that they were mostly finished with their assigned targets. However, beyond them, the sound of combat still rang in Green team’s direction. He spared the senior students a glance as he dashed off toward the stench of pine needles and marinara. Despite the lumbering monster, Pink team didn’t smell like they were bleeding. Not as much as Green team, anyway.

Somewhere along the way, Lawrence’s magic was cut. The fire returned, stronger than ever, and Sander almost choked on the metallic scent that hit him as he passed the Blue team. Then something else permeated the air. The next few gulps of air brought an unnatural heaviness to his head. His neck-break sprint faltered, but soon enough, the bout of nausea was gone. He resumed his mad dash toward the Green team location, and soon found himself approaching them.

They looked rather battered, but he wouldn’t blame them. Their targets seemed dangerous and bizarre: floating plates of tentacle creatures and a scaly beast. His body charged before he could form coherent thoughts, and he let it. Maybe it was better this way; he could persuade himself to ignore the mangled bodies or the helpless girl hanging upside down nearby. He wanted to help, truly, but he was afraid. He didn’t trust his strength and he most certainly didn’t trust his resolve. So with a few steps and a final leap, he landed on the abomination, hands grabbing onto its tentacles. They did not feel very hard in his hands, so he began to tear away at the appendages.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Jan finally gave me an upgrade for my character in exchange for my firstborn. Yay. Added to my CS n shit, so view at your leisure.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Sander Lorraine

The towering monster was reduced to a mere annoyance in the matter minutes. Just as the creature’s arm broke off, Sander pulled on the wires with a sharp movement, snapping them right off. Finally free, he took a few steps until he was right in front of the doll and drove both of his arms into its eye sockets. Thick, white fluid splattered, but he didn’t stop until he was elbow-deep in porcelain flesh and gore. Grabbing a handful of whatever strange organs the creature possessed, he tore them out over and over again, and didn’t stop until the doll ceased moving.

When it finally did, Sander slowly stepped back, seemingly in a daze. He choked down shallow breaths, eyes glued on the ruined head that was all his doing. Just minutes before, his limbs pulsed with strength and fire, but now they were starting to weaken. The fire in his veins was dying, the heat he both despised and desired was slowly fading. Frost crept under his skin, like crawling bugs, and he was shaking again, desperate. He needed the warmth. He needed the fire to kickstart his heart again. And before he knew it, he had begun to seek out the heat. Its scent was thick in the air, the potent aroma of coffee caught his senses in a steel grip.

Frantic pulses beat right beneath his lips. He can’t get enough. He just can’t…

He swallowed thickly, staring at the red patch on Christmas’ ruined leg as Lawrence tried to help the wounded boy. Somewhere, a part of him wished to help, but he did not dare to. He wouldn’t just stop at ‘helping’. Still, he found himself moving toward the closest source of warmth, feet dragging at a snail pace compared to what he was still capable of. His mind was waging a war on itself, hurling thoughts and desires and rationalizations in every direction like a dysfunctional household. Between his inner conflicts and the thirst that was ramming its limb down his throat, Sander barely realized he was still taking shaky steps toward Christmas and Lawrence’s general direction.

Then a strange calmness clammed down onto him, thick and heavy like a cloak. The tension bled out of his limbs; the need to main, to kill, to tear, to plunge himself deep in blood and gore was suddenly extinguished. He came to a halt, looking befuddled and confused. The craving remained, but it was reduced to nothing but an incessant yet muted nagging at the back of his mind. For the first time in years, he felt its hold on him loosened. However, instead peace, he found only despair. Without the animalistic bloodlust to spur him on, Sander floundered. Without the supernatural rage to propel him, he was lost. Once again, he was just a scarred kid in a broken world, alone and adrift. It didn’t matter how much he struggled against the hold of his addiction; it didn’t matter how much he blamed his power for dooming him to a life of imprisonment. Take this war away from him, and he had nothing. It was pathetic.

Like a puppet with its strings severed, his knees buckled and he slumped, kneeling just one step away from Lawrence and Christmas’ prone body. Something caught his eyes, prompting him to take a closer look at his hands. He was engulfed in a strange white light, and once he looked up, so was Lawrence. His eyes widened, but whatever rage managed to bubble up was easily extinguished by the lethargy that currently coated his limbs.

“Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”- He managed, but didn’t meet Lawrence’s gaze. Instead, he scanned the battlefield, taking in all he had missed. So far, it seemed his team had managed to take down most of their assigned targets. There was many more remained, but they were managing. There were already casualties; he winced briefly at the battered bodies, not used to witnessing gore without the filter of his bloodlust, but they were managing. He shouldn’t put them into more danger than they were already in, right?

Who was he kidding?

“I can’t just sit here, can I?”- Sander muttered, glancing back at Lawrence. Kusari’s words echoed at the back of his mind, but he himself knew enough. He was tired. So tired of fighting this losing war. While winning was never a possibility, surrendering was not an option either. The choice was never his to make.

“I need to get back.”- After a short pause, he continued – “I can get even stronger. I just need a little bit…more.”- His eyes fell back on Christmas’ bloody leg. While the wild look was no longer there, the message was clear.

What he didn’t expect though, was for the brown-haired boy to offer his own blood in Christmas’ place. It made sense, since the blond boy was hardly the picture of health at that moment and Sander silently berated himself for suggesting such thing in the first place. However, this time he did not dove straight for the offered hand. Which said a lot about the strength of Lawrence’s magic. Again, he had no love for manipulators, but at least with Lawrence, he would get a warning.

“Just tell me when you get dizzy. I will…”

stop

His mind helpfully supplied the right words, but he didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep. Drinking under the influence of this magic was entirely new to him. However, Lawrence was quite ready to risk it, Sander couldn’t back down. He didn’t have that choice.

“…not hurt you.”- He finished, reaching out to close his fingers around Lawrence’s wrist.

“Don’t hesitate if I do.”-Sander eyed the shotgun momentarily, before turning back to the welled up blood. The thirst was dull, not deaden. He could drown again, so easily. Maybe he would like that.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Sander Lorraine

The kick landed with a resounding crunch, signalling shattered bones and broken resolve. Sander couldn’t help but shivered at the familiar sound. He twisted midair with a feline grace and landed effortlessly on his feet, heart still hammering from the rush of blood.

Hands closed around his throat but he peeled them away like walking on dead leaves, with a satisfying crunch. Warmth wrapped around his shoulders in a wet embrace, and he was shaking from its feather-light weight.

Something dropped to the floor next to his feet. He looked, only to find lifeless eyes staring back, waiting. A question on dead lips. The promise of fire. He leaned down.

Then guns went off. Loud. He crouched, curling onto himself, but he looked. The bullets were so slow, and they hit him like rain drops. There was no pain. His gaze turned toward the masked faces, their eyes wild and they reeked of sweat and piss and fear. No longer the apex predators, them. All rabbits beneath their donned hide. His lips curled, revealing teeth that stained wine-red.

Thin wires twined around his arm and leg just as the heady aroma of coffee hit him. He grimaced, but it wasn’t because of pain. There was none; the sharp wires just tore at the fabric of his clothes, leaving an odd pressure on his skin. His eyes found a flash of red as Christmas was dragged through the dirt, the blond boy’s scream cut through the ding of battle. He moved first, a few quick steps took him closer to the doll’s sprawling left arm, toward that intoxicating scent. Then his mind caught up, struggling to put a name to his course of action. He was saving their healer. The blond boy was in danger. He was going to break the doll’s arm off, freeing Christmas. Nothing more.

And he attempted to do just that. The doll struggled and pulled on its wires, but he held fast. With a final leap, he was standing right before the creature’s left arm. Immediately, he grabbed the offending limb, fingers of his right hand digging into the crevice of its joint. The doll didn’t cease its squirming, but it was for naught. The pull of the wires could only serve as a mild annoyance to Sander as he lifted his left arm and started to pound his fist against the smooth porcelain surface of the doll’s arm.

Blue eyes, bloodshot and glittered with tears. Like marbles.

He brought his fist down again.

His lips against soft flesh. Heaven, compared to dull plastic and cold metal.

Again.

The irregular rise and fall of frenzied breaths beneath him. Whimpers of a cornered prey.

And again.

Blood splattered on his face and body, but it was lukewarm and off-color. It was not what he wanted. Not at all. These things didn’t even have the decency to carry proper blood within them.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Sander Lorraine

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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 ‘focused’, 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 Christmas’ bloody form and turned toward where the battle raged. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Someone somewhere was bleeding, but Sander didn’t 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 shouldn’t be too hard. Big things didn’t 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 doll’s legs. Just as he was behind the creature, he twisted, launching a kick aimed at the crook of its grounded leg.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

@Diggerton I applaud your dedication Dig man. I might even give you some flowers.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Sander Lorraine

Sander let himself immerse in thoughts the entire ride. The conversation went on around him, his teammates exchanging information and strategies. He didn’t chime in though, and only spoke unless spoken to. The importance of sharing information was clear to him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak frankly about his particular power. He was still ready to answer if asked, but thankfully, no one in the small group did. Maybe it was because they didn’t care to know. Or maybe they believed the Director’s explanation was sufficient. Either way, he felt somewhat relieved. They would find out, eventually, but at least let them do that in the heat of battle, when the blood blurred his shame and fear.

The prospect of battle unnerved him quite a bit, despite the fact that unlike many, he did have the opportunity to explore various applications of his power in practical fights before. Sander was no stranger to violence and combat; he was not allowed to be. But battles with clear objectives were new to him. He had never fought officially before, the line between enemies and allies had never been so clear. One slip up, and he could end up killing the wrong person. Or he could snap. They would no doubt put him out of his misery like the rabid dog he became. The gloomy scenes played on repeat in his head, and he fought to rein in the urge to slam his fists against the closest surface. He knew enough not to break his hands before a fight. Or during said fight, for that matter.

By the time their ride skidded to a stop, the sounds of combat were no longer just a distant hum. His throat felt dry as he shallowed, but he knew it was not fear that picked up the pace of his heart. The addict in him stirred at the promise of upcoming conflict. Violence was his freedom; only in the midst of it did he feel truly liberated. It disgusted him, to be reduced to just a weapon in the arsenal, but what could he really do? He had never been brave or strong enough. He probably never will.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he heard screaming. His brows furrowed, but he chose to instead look straight forward, eyes locked on their assigned targets. Someone could be hurt in that direction, and he didn’t want to risk a glimpse. He had already seen enough gore to last a life time. Or maybe several. However, he couldn’t really say he was prepared for the monstrosities that lumbered across the field. They were nightmarish things, either body parts crudely cobbled together or twisted creatures borrowed from fairy tales. He had seen similar things on the TV in his younger years, but that couldn’t even compare to the live experience. The first thing he did was turn to his teammates. Unlike him, it seemed most of them didn’t need peculiar requirements to active their powers. They sprung into actions, while he stayed behind with Kusari, both of them situated near the truck.

Sander pondered his words. Asking for blood was not something he was terribly comfortable with, even with the threats of violent deaths looming. Fortunately, Kusari made it easy. He barely saw the flash of metal before the alluring scent filled his nostrils and her arm was dripping red. Instinctively, he held back, just for a fraction of a second. Just because he could. Just because he always had. Then he nudged himself forward, plunging willingly into the depth. No return now.

Contrary to popular beliefs, he didn’t like the taste of blood. It was not too different from what most people would expect: wet, tangy and metallic. It was far from appetizing. What he found irresistible though, was the aftereffect. First, there were the thuds of his heart. Warmth spread outward; the sensation akin to taking a dip in hot water. His mind cleared, his thoughts crisp and his senses sharpened. It was as if he had been sleeping all his life. The sensation only strengthened over time, and he found it difficult to let go. He didn’t have to, really. Kusari couldn’t die. She told him. So it was fine if he pushed the limit, just a little bit. It was alright. Somewhere, a gun went off. Minutes later, something nicked his arms and back. It ached, but he didn’t care. He was sinking.

Sharp pain flared up on his right arm. Sander staggered backward, his jaws went slack to let a cry of pain escaped. Kusari stabbed him. It hurt. But she didn’t plug the blade anywhere important. He didn’t need to worry. She was weakened, if he just pressed his fingers into that spot, right there, on her neck, she shouldn’t resist much longer. But…he couldn’t. No. Sander blinked dumbly, stepping away from the girl immediately. Wrong target. Wrong. Move.

Sander turned and dashed. It didn’t take long for him to reach the front line. He didn’t have long anyway. Moments ago, the blood was warming him up. Now it burnt star bright and white hot, and he needed to move, to tear into something before the fire turned him into ashes. Allies stood before him, their backs turned, their scent wafted toward him. He would have little problem.

Sander turned his gaze toward the large targets. He focused on them and waited. The fire was building and so was his strength. It wouldn’t be long. He saw the girl with transparent arms move first. Blood splattered. None of it his. He held on just for a few moments afterward, then launched himself at the biggest thing. It wasn’t hard, with the new strength in his limbs. As he approached his target, he leapt and pulled his right arm back, ready to deliver a crushing blow. There was no finesse in his movements, just violence propelled by brute strength. One monster against another.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Sander Lorraine

Sander was still in the computer lab when the alarm began to blare across campus. He was on his feet in an instant, knocking the paper cup of coffee over. The scalding beverage pooled at his feet, forgotten, while he stood in silence, listening intently for the message that was meant for them. He knew he should probably do something. They were being sent into a warzone; the least he could do was find a weapon or something. Then again, that was a moot point. The Director made her intentions clear; he would have to use his power in this fight by using the blood of his teammates. They didn’t even have the courtesy to provide him with blood bags. It was an emergency, but surely a facility of this size must have some medical equipment ready at all times. Or was this another test? For what reason? Why must they keep doing this again and again, keep testing the control that he did not have?

It was not long after that before guards started coming over and herded him toward his designated vehicle. He complied quietly, but his head was elsewhere at that moment. Looking at his red-tinted cuff, he pondered about his teammates. Two of those names he was already familiar with. Christmas and Kusari were his roommates after all, though the revelation regarding Christmas’ power did surprise him. Which meant that if he got injured…

Soft flesh gave beneath his fingers, precious red gushing out.

He let out a sharp breath, recalling other names from his group. There was Emma, Lawrence and Hazel. He thought he knew Lawrence from before. Indeed, there was someone introduced with that name at their welcome ‘ceremony’. The other two were unknown to him, but he figured they would meet soon enough. Not that he was looking forward to it. There was nothing wrong with meeting new people, as long as they didn’t test the limit of his self-restrain like a certain blond boy. What he had a problem with was their destination. He expected combat to be an integral part of his new life here in USARILN East; he just didn’t expect there would be teammates involved. Much like his issues with roommates, Sander feared he would lose control. And he definitely would. It was a crucial part of his power, making him a weapon to be unleashed upon monsters. No one else should be caught in the crossfire.

It was his fault. He played the part too well; they mistook him for something he was not. They thought too highly of his control.

All his fault.

The truck loomed over him. The scent of coffee was unmistakable. Sander grimaced and focused on his breathing, but the aroma remained.

This was going to be a long ride.