Iwaku: Dark Reign

[Kitti]

[size=-2]
Kitti's expression hardened as a man from the shadows accosted them. Clearly, he could not tell who they were, he squinted at the shapes in the sprinkling of rain. Perhaps he was blind, but he seemed in agony also. Kitti nearly snorted, getting the vague impression that they were being halted by an old, crippled hobo. The necromancer, however, seemed to have other opinions and he was telling them to flee. Flee to where, she wondered, this was the direction to the apartment, was it not?

"Necromancer, I'm not spoken for and my name is not currently in high demand, they saw what they believed to be my end. I believe that I can be of some... assistance, if you would like it? I owe Asmodeus a little aid, after all he's done for me, anyway."

Kitti stepped closer to the necromancer, searching the ground quietly for a pipe or long weapon of some sort. It would be easiest to hold her own is she had something resembling her old blade in hand. It would take less of a toll on her battered body, at the very least, to be able to sink into slashing and dodging rather than having to focus with a mind already torn and strained. However, despite her misgivings about her condition, she was determined that she try in some way to protect the angel who had so confidently saved her life, albeit after earning a few scrapes for pointing a gun at her, but all the same...

The figure in front of them was hidden partially by the rain, but she could see and hear well enough, it was a man. A man she did not recognize, but the necromancer did and thus he was to her Purger. It would be satisfying, at least, to wreck this man's arrogant facade, though his body seemed to be doing most of the work for them.

"You sure you don't want a raincheck, Purger? To see whether it's worth our trouble to scuffle with you or whether your body will kindly oblige and you'll keel over dead before us?"
[/size]​

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

Cbox

"I think everyone's far enough away now, why don't we have some fun pup." I duck underneath his powerfist and shove him hard into a wall, sending him off balance.
"With the Thirty Seven Keys of Tzeentch, we open the way for our brothers," I spear a frightened onlooker in each claw and hold them with arms outstretched.
"With the Thousand Whispers of Slaanesh, We call to them," I feel myself lifted off the ground.
"With the Twelve Plagues of Nurgle, we fell their enemies," Unholy flames begin to cover my offerings.
"And with the Mighty Axe of Khorne, We cut the world open."
I slam the two corpses together before me, the resulting viscera explodes outward and creates a circle of gore, ten feet across. Unholy flames lept from the entrails and swirled within the circle.
"U'zuhl the Skulltaker, step forth and reap your bounty!"

A single Bloodletter wearing a cloak bedecked with skulls, stepped forth as the gateway closed behind him.

The two of us, Daemon and man gaze at the rabid animal that once was Warmaster Death. "I'll give you to the count of three...one"

 

[Asmodeus]

I wish I had an answer for the girl. I don't know this blind man or why the others call him Purger... and the steps that Grumpy and Kitti take towards him are ones I know too well - the steps of allies resigned to sacrifice. I feel a welling of grief, as if the rain has finally got inside and is filling me up.

"Wait... I..."

It's too late. The Necromancer has put darkness between us and the stranger and the alleycat's gone with him. Kitti... why... she seemed so lost and now she walks with purpose towards her own peril. I don't understand.

"This way!" The Neko's already moving, climbing a dumpster and tossing his suitcase over the alley wall. With feline grace he vaults to the top and turns, holding out his hand for me. I look again to Grumpy and Kitti, but there's a shove at my back.

"You heard the man-slash-woman," Archy shouts, "Now let's go!

I take Feral's hand, even as the sounds of violence erupt behind the shadows. Whoever this Purger is, he is relentless and he is sharp, the needle-strike to the Warmaster's bludgeon. As I clamber the wall I wonder how many has Paorou sent after me? Will he ever give up... will I ever have a moment's rest. Does anyone in this city...?

My cuts and bruises sing acapella as I roll across the top of the wall. Archy is already behind me, showing the same agility as Feral. I guess this is one place where Nekos aren't to be laughed at. We crash down the other side, into bushes of thorns and tangled briars. It's the wasteground around a city park, the foliage wet, pollution-charred. We're scrambling through a labyrinth of black.

Will I ever see them again? Or is this it - the one scene the Cycle will allow, a glimpse of the people I knew and, in my particular way, loved, before they are ground in the gears of archetypal deeds? Does my story with the Necromancer and the alleycat end here and leave me in the company of stray cats?

It's not fair.

But one thing keeps me going. Across the park I see the apartment block, the ridged stone that caught my eye as I fell. I pull myself up and sprint across the sodden grass after Feral and Archy. We leave the sounds of gunfire behind us, but not the evils of this city. There are already ISAF vehicles moving in convoy from the east streets. Sirens are flashing - it looks like a crime scene, over by one of the park benches on the far side. Luckily the investigation teams haven't circled this far.

We climb a railed fence at the other side of the park and tumble out onto the street. Archy has his gun drawn, scanning left and right. It seems quiet here, a part of the city where sound is lost between the high rise apartment blocks.

But it's not still. A few feet away, sitting in an alcove on the pavement opposite the apartment entrance, there's a man. He looks like he's collapsed, his back against the wall, his knees bent. But both arms are extended, wrapped around a gun that trembles as it covers the doorway of the building. He's soaked by rain and his face is the kind of pale that only mortal horror can evoke.

I leave Feral checking his suitcase and Archy watching the police cars around the park bench. Edging along the street, I close the distance between me and the man who would later introduce himself as Spammy.

"What is it? What's happened?" I call through the hammering rain, wondering if he'll even hear me.

 

[Spammy]

It took Spammy a few moments to respond, understanding the words slowly, taking his time to realize that someone was standing next to him. He lowered the gun a few inches, taking one hand and wiping his face off, before looking at the... person? Were... were those wings on his back? This city...

"There was a, uhm... a thing, a..." He stammered, trying to find words through the horror and stress, closing his eyes and concentrating, digging through the haze in his mind. "A... Medusa. Gorgon... it... got my roommate, I don't know about the rest of the building, it... nearly got me. I ran."

He finished with a slumping of his shoulders, realizing finally what he'd done in leaving the body there, leaving his roommate there, with... it. And the rest of the people in the building, he didn't even check on them. He'd simply ran all the way out here. Didn't even try to shoot it. "This city..." He whispered, his voice cracking as he shook his head, looking at his feet.

 

[Hydronine]

~MUSIC~

TK walked down the streets, her haggard eyes searching for anyone who could give her what she needed. She wanted her fix. She needed to get more money so she could get more.

And no one honestly wanted to work with her, unless she was naked and on the floor.

The symptoms had already started, she was twitching and shaking, her head was on a swivel. Her breathing came in rasps as she kept searching, kept looking. Usually at this point she knew who to go to... but at this time, she hadn't seen him yet. It worried her, but she kept going. She didn't care what she had to do.... just as long as she could charge money for it... Her eyes couldn't focus well, and without the drug in her system, she started realizing just how hungry she was again. How tight her skin felt against her ribcage, how her stomach almost didn't exist... her legs and arms were twigs..

And with every goddamned step, she felt that broken pencil on her necklace bouncing off of her chest, like a fucking heartbeat that wouldn't die. Reminding her. Reminding her. Reminding her with ever single step that she used to not be like this. With every moment growing longer, she felt like screaming in frustration. At this land.... at the people... at herself.... At Rory...

Thump thump thump thump thump

That incessant sound! The pencil was broken, and the gems on the necklace couldn't even be activated anymore! It was all worthless!

And for what point? Why did she even keep them!?

TK sudden looked around, surprised as she heard a high-pitched, in-human scream. She couldn't find the owner of the awful sound and it was starting to give her a headache...

That was when she realized she was the one screaming. It was the first sound she had made in what felt like forever.

She started crying with frustration. Her life was like a puzzle with all the pieces torn to pieces that couldn't fit back together. Nothing made sense anymore. What more could she do!? What else was wanted of her?! All she wanted was her fucking drugs.... all she wanted was an escape... anything.... Something to calm her head. Something to help the memories ease through her. Something to make this tolerable. That's all... couldn't this world at least allow her this small comfort?

Tears rolled down her cheeks, cutting clean paths through the smudged dirt on her cheeks, and finally, her knees gave out. She fell forward, using her hands to brace herself, and she took a moment to try and collect herself.

After a few moments, she got up and kept walking, like nothing was wrong. Save for the shakes and the spasms and her body getting racked with withdrawal.

She finally heard voices nearby and walked in that direction, hoping she'd get her fix soon...

But she was sorely disappointed when she only found a small group facing some winged man...

But then she thought she recognized the angel....

Kitti...?

She trembled more, as if seeing someone from the past was too much. But on the outside, aside from the shakes, she had a stern look on her face, angry.

She wanted to walk away, but she looked at the group again, and had no idea what to do...

She needed her fix.... but she didn't even know where to look right now.... she was too fried...

TK's mouth started opening and closing... and a concentrated look held on her face as a croak of a voice came out. For some reason... she felt like she had to try... Something... anything... She didn't even know why... but... she wanted Kitti to remember her...

She was in a dirty, torn set of bra and panties, practically naked , she was dirty, emaciated, her hair was a mess, and she was strung out and in withdrawal... and she wanted Kitti to remember her. It made no sense to her...

"Mmmuh....mmmmuh.....mmmuh." She tried... her voice cracking each time. Her mouth felt dry...

So she would have to add "thirsty" to the list...

"Muuu... murrrrrr." She rasped.

What was she going to be getting herself into this time?

Summary

TK walks the streets looking for a drug dealer when she starts getting frustrated with how she ended up to this point, withdrawal adding to her frantic behavior, she screams and starts crying, but brushes it off quickly, trying to continue her search, which leads her to Kitti, Grumpy, and JAck. She recognizes Kitti. She doesn't know what to do, but then finally speaks in the only way she knows how for the first time in a long time with a little effort, unable to understand why she wants Kitti to recognize her since she has fallen so far from what she once was.

 

[Cosmic Orion]

Down the street a figure walked with a trench coat that enveloped their body and a hood to hide their face in shadow. Around his neck and long enough to poke out hung necklace made up of the teeth taken from sea beasts long deceased. Resting on each shoulder of the trench coat was a row of three silver star-shaped studs unlike those of a general. All over the coat's exterior was nothing but the blackness of gloomy night. However the interior lining contained semi-intricate designs sewn in a thread of silvery hew that looked like dots. Reversible in fashion, perhaps sometime the world would witness again what was on the inside. But for now their meaning remained obscure due to being on the inside rather than the outside of the coat.

Closed up along the front, the coat was concealing a buttoned-up black silk Hawaiian shirt with the tropical designs printed only in silvery thread with tropical flowers in the shape of stars. The collar pertruded out at the top of the trenchcoat just enough to be seen. Lower was a belt, which had it not been hidden would have stood out beyond a mere fashion statement. Dark jeans ended in feet protected by mere ebony sandals held fastened by simple velcro.

Word around the city was that something had gone down at the Cbox. What a damn shame. Not really for him though. All it had been was another chance at employment for him. Private security willing to be hired as a doorman, a 'bouncer' rather over-qualified for the job. That was why he had been on his way there tonight. Orion had been ready to discuss the finer details of his contract including payment and when he would start working to moderate the C-box. But now as he witnessed all the destruction and chaos laid out in the streets ahead of him, he wondered if it was even worth it to get involved.

That was a when a teensy voice in his head urged him to act like a Guardian and not someone who functioned only after the wheels had been greased by money. Steps took him ever further down the concrete toward the fighting.

For all intents and purposes he appeared unarmed. Anyone who could recognize him from the past would catch on quickly to the fact his surfboard was missing. In that closet back at the apartment, Orion didn't even remember what it was for anymore and kept it merely because he could never bring himself to discard that old thing. An item ill-required with so much pollution infecting the waters that could have been for recreation. He certainly wasn't going to surf a glass of water. Perhaps that was why he seemed so depressed these days without fully realizing why nothing inspired him anymore.

ISAF troops were attacking civilians, or some type of presumed guilty suspects. Trespassing just a little ways closer to the bar a voice reciting some type of incantation reached his ears. Orion recognized that tone. It was a nut named Karsikan whose religious reputation preceded the zealous vocabulary on the loose now. Someone who needed no help fighting their battles and would likely resent the Guardian for butting in on the fight. Plus his opponent also looked rather formidable.

Slipping away from the Cbox quickly, it appeared all that was left was to make an uneventful walk back to his apartment.

 

[Jack Shade]

I do not see the shadows he raises between my quarry and I, but I sense the isolation. Mages does more than mask a line of sight, he cuts off the raindrops, breaths, contractions of muscles...everything.

And I am blind again.

Heroics are uncommon these days, like the hint of stars above the baker-smog. I can't say I hate the fellow for what he wants to do, but the only way to scrap a spell is to scrap the caster. Sorry fellow, you weren't on my list tonight...but you sure wrote yourself in. I evaluate my options then. I heard the voice of someone I didn't recognize first, spoke to me haughtily. An outsider, his questions indicated as such. I count one with my quarry when the shadows seal their shape. Followers already? I chuckle, mostly to myself. Angels seem to have a penchant for gaining wild support in minimal time. How many will step forward to protect him in another hour? In a day?

Now I think I know the Council's worry.

Necromancer. He speaks the word so casually and yet I sense no evil in him. Yes, darkness...there is an abundance in any who make the skulls dance in clotted back alleys. Unlike the robed processions, however, this man is neither stepped in hubris nor malignancy. Rare breed, no wonder he keeps such unquiet company. I hear the hiss of a name, too guttural to interpret, and rain drops hiss against metal now. Raising shadow and blade, an uncommon foe.

Maybe THE foe.

But I'm not optimistic.

It's when the second form steps from mute oblivion that I pause. Her form his small and the rain slides against her feminine shape even swaddled in rags. Does she mean to stand against me as well?

Of course I cannot falter. The Council waits with baited breath for hesitation in my punishment, my purgatory. Had even children raised their hands against me, I would be forced to move them.

Oft times by force.

Even then, I was not completely outmatched.

Until she spoke.

She spoke, and my failure was confirmed.

Kitti.

I'm swept away in brief reprieve from a dingy alley to a shining city. I'm sure it looks nothing like Paorou's nightmare now, but then it soared so brightly against the autumn morning. We all had gathered, united for once, to see Asmodeus off. I'm told the same was done for Gabriel long ago and the parallel structure is not lost on me. Asmodeus would have been disappointed if it was. I stand beside the current king...was it Rory or Zypher? Of course it didn't matter at the time. The angel who'd so strictly rigor'd structure on us all had at last been called away to someplace...other. Did we blame him then? No. Paorou had not come and the night had not yet usurped the sun. We only blamed Asmodeus post-departure, as though he'd known this was coming all along. Then, however, he was a vision in shining sammite and head angled skyward. Kitti stood near him and I remember her almost clearer.

Maybe it was because of what happened after.

But this will always be how I prefer to see her.

She stood beside the angel with wings of her own and smiled (Did I ever see her smile like that before?) before singing in no song or chorus, but pure joy.

When I visited her after...I tried to remember that face, that song, that strength rather than the limp creature attended to by prisoners. It's surprising she's come so far since the last emergency room visit, but maybe the angel helped.

I'm convinced angels are just floating sieves of confidence waiting to upend.

"You speak aright necromancer," I say (I hope the storm masks my tremble) "And wasting words of parlay with you only cheapens your resolve." I set my senses on him, memorizing his shape and poise. I bend the faculties of my every sense on only him...if only to mask who I know stands with him.

"I am not contracted to take your lives today," A lie...the Council has precious few who have lives worth preserving. I'm simply to assume that everyone will make my list one day. Even a law abiding citizen need not fear old age. "But I will not hesitate if you're resolved to perish." Bravado, a weak man's tool. I feel the twitch of pressure beneath my hairline and know my stalling has worn thin. My ulcer, threatened, tears into my gut with renewed tenacity.

No, not an ulcer...something else. It has to be something else.

I keep my voice low, haggard, so she will not recognize. I don't know if I've changed enough from what I was to what I am, but somehow the thought of Kitti remembering me is more frightening than losing my quarry.

Perhaps because I want at least someone to remember me how I wish I'd been...heroic.

But maybe Asmo was right. I'll shy away from the protagonist for lack of personal faith, and fall into company with Tricksters and Shadows. Always a bird to afraid of height to fly.

"Abandon fear, abandon regret, abandon past, abandon future. The only time is now." My mantra, as much for me as for them. I can't fight all clouded up like this. I breathe out my impurities and hold my breath.

It's the only way I can fight these days.

My target is the necromancer, my feet hit puddles like hooves and cast shock waves of noise. I'm fast, faster than the necromancer was expecting I think. His sword swings up in a desperate parry, but the effort is enough...there's more than human strength in that arm. I use the momentum to take a pivoted swing at his shoulder. The head might have been a better choice, but decapitations are reserved for finished battles. He ducks and spins, heels clattering against the stone. I pursue, he parries. Eyes are useful, sure, but my edge in speed is in hearing alone. I hear his muscles contract and move and though I can't hear a heartbeat, I can hear the tension of flesh.

Fool.

I'm a fool.

I turn my back on Kitti hoping her weak enough to run.

The impact across my shoulders proves she's more than game to fight. It staggers me, forces me to breathe. I keep forgetting how good with a blade she was...had that been a real sword, this battle would be over. I narrowly avoid the necromancer's hissing blade, catching myself near the alley mouth, sword out.

Another girl is there.

The scent of callous sex, drugs, and neglect is strong enough to knock my sinus infection on its ass.

Julez...or what she used to be.

I try not to think about it, knowing she'll be looking for a hit from me. Not my choice, new guidline for the purger. Keep the people on the dope, more drugs means more complacency, means less purging. Not accurate and I'm exasperated they still think they need to justify decisions to me. If she stays out of the alley, I'll hook her up.

If she intrudes...

Maybe she would be better off a casualty.

I hate myself for thinking it.

"Before I proceed, your names? Ranks? It feels hollow to fight someone I can neither see nor know." I use the words to tease out my breath, my regrets.

I'll begin again when they answer and this time I won't leave myself open. The angel is rapidly escaping and this already has the making of a Plot. I don't need to start the protocols required for a Plot. Not today. Not this week. Hell...not this life.

My ulcer-beetle agrees, painfully.

 

[Zypher]

[dash=#483d8b]Well it was nice to see someone still had their sense of humor. She couldn't help but give a half smile to the man. Her eyes returned to Torsty, the one she was more familiar with.

"I'm all for getting the hell out of here, right behind you." She said, almost having to make a conscious effort to keep her voice higher and more feminine. She crawled around the backside of the bar, closer to where Myrn was. The door seemed so far away, it could've been miles with the danger that seemingly blocked her from it. And when they got outside, what then? The ISAF were still there for all she knew. She decided she'd just have to trust the others that she was with to get her out safely.

"Well, I'm all for chivalry but this time I think the gentlemen can go first." She looked to Myrn and then to Torsty only to return her gaze to the door.[/dash]

 

[Hydronine]

He shouldn't have talked....

Maybe then she wouldn't have known it was him..... Maybe she still could have walked away....

But after knowing who he was, and that Kitti was there too.... all she could think about were the drugs.....

TK toddled forward, a little unsteady on her feet, her body shaking.... She made a soft, inhuman sound.... similar to a whine that a puppy will give for affection, and in some ways, it was no different.

She was shaking head to toe, aching for her next hit... she would do anything for it... and if she couldn't get it....

That wasn't an option.

She slowly uncurled her hand, the sound of paper crinkled as it shifted, holding it out... Her eyes were bloodshot and her lips were dry and cracked, there were scratches and bruises on her body from sex, and all she wanted was the payoff for it all. She had done her part. She had done what apparently Tricksters were now supposed to do... The drugs had her by the very soul.... Hurting her, but at the same time, cushioning her from the world, making her numb to the pain, the hunger and the thirst... making her numb to the humiliation, to the anger....

She didn't want to have to do this without the drugs... she couldn't do it without that haze.... Smoking was a small drop in the water, and didn't help her. Drinking made her sloppy... She had no intention of loosing what little money she had left to earn...

...But one tiny... little.... syringe.... and a belt or something to tie off her arm.... and everything was ok....

And she'd do anything for it.

She wobbled on her feet and took another couple steps forward, stumbling a bit.

She didn't understand the situation, and maybe it was better that she didn't...

A few more steps and she held out the money again, a desperate look on her face... It was almost heart-breaking, the way she clung to this addiction... Years ago she looked like a small child, and was gleeful, happily running around everyone.... singing in her own little way and dancing... jumping on Rory's back and demanding piggy-back rides...

Not to be confused, though, she WAS still a child... she had simple.... grown up.... but her mind remained stunted almost. An abused, neglected child at heart that had simply.... slipped through the cracks....

A few more steps and she was right next to Jack.... Kitti and the Necromancer were completely forgotten as she trembled, shifting her weight from one leg to another, biting her lip.... it was a wonder with how skinny she was that she was still able to even move like she did...

Her hand trembled as she offered the money again... With the look in her eye, it was easy to tell that she had been broken... at this point, nothing mattered but the drugs... She was a sick little girl.... and she hadn't the strength to break the habit that was tearing her apart...

Her mouth opened and closed, her breathing was ragged and it was a terribly painful sound when she gulped. Her eyes weren't focusing like they should have...

She didn't see the weapons, or the situation. She just saw the drugs. Just within reach....

TK made a stuttering sound as she tried to offer the money again... her hand shaking so much that a one of the bills of money floated to the ground... it was then that she realized she had less money than she thought. Her heart started to race with the implications that he might not give her the drugs, that he'd walk away. That scared her. Scared her badly enough that she started going into shakes and trembles so badly that she fell to her hands and knees, the money scattered around her as she tried to quickly pick it up, desperate as she suddenly latched onto Jack's leg.

She was a sick little girl... unable to handle the world anymore, and she didn't know what to do.

So she cried. She cried while trying to get the rest of the money. While she tried to pull herself to her feet, but she kept falling down.

It was an odd thing... She made not a single sound as the tears dripped down her face, even her breathing was hushed... She clung to Jack's leg with all the strength she had left in her body... using all the will she had left...

She didn't care what else happened... as long as she got the drugs.... She wouldn't even fight back if Jack tried to kick her off... but she'd keep coming until she got her fix.

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

"...Three...Skulltaker, have fun" I turn and leave the wreck of the CBox, leaving the rabid warmaster and Skulltaker to their fun, and i go back to the shadows, back to the darkness which suits my new self so well. You'd be surprised how well a nine foot tall power armored superhuman can conceal himself.

My thoughts are getting sidetracked, time to catch up to the humans, scurrying about like cockroaches. It is rather entertaining to see them go about trying to change their shithole of a world, and in eighteen years nobody has succeeded. everything from riots to assassinations has been attempted, but in the end, nobody could win. So humans do what they did best when faced with a hopeless situation, they gave up.

Fools.


Ah, there's a couple of them. Purger, that Necromancer, and it looks like some drug addict wearing barely more than her underwear...Slaanesh get out of my head, I'm just here to watch the show.

 

[Warmaster Death]

Blank eyes gazed into the daemon's, and in the Shadow's eyes something clicked, something registered before being washed away in a sea of mind control.

"Daemonic target sighted, releasing control to level 2 until the target is destroyed" he muttered, the powerfist falling away with a hissing thunk

"Karsikan" his voice wavered as the former grey knight left the room, his fall to chaos hitting the now slightly self aware warmaster hard, although it was at that moment that Khorne's favored Herald moved swiftly into action, disgust and contempt in its eyes as it swung its mighty hellblade.


the daemonic weapon cut through the terminator armor like nothing and split the skin beneath, even as the Warmaster dodged back, the contact with the blade caused a screaming pysichic blast that knocked the two combatants back, though the Bloodcrusher champion lowered its blade, and growled at the space marine, who instantly fell to his knee
"khorne. blood and skulls! FOR...THE MAAD KIIIIIIIIIING" he began, but his cry turned to a tortured scream as he barreled into the Daemon and tackled it through a swirling miasma, into the very Warp itself.

 

[Kitti]

[size=-2]
Kitti had found her object, the thing she needed to feel again like she could be useful, a pipe in her hand had delivered the blow to this Purger, whose frame seemed to absorb the blow, taking all the damage as though desiring it. This alone made her pause and then he was out of reach, his form visibly heaving. Something about his movements had softened her blow, had kept her from aiming for the visible globe of the head on his shoulders.

Kitti was about her answer, her eyes darting to the necromancer with faltering confidence. She had no title, she'd been tagging along, staying out of sight for so long, she'd never been classed and when they assumed she'd managed to end her life, they had not bothered to craft her one. She opened her mouth soundlessly, but before she could struggle for a reply, her eyes were caught by a small form crawling to Jack. She knew that sound, that sound had never left her. It brought out every maternal instinct the hardened angel could summon.

Confusion sprang to mind, why this mild servant of her old master would come to cling to this mechanism of death was beyond comprehension. Kitti assumed the worst, addiction was evident but who was a killer to dispense chemical escape? Her curiosity was too deep and she scampered to slip behind the necromancer in position before turning her mind outward.

Though her physical body had become weaker, less well-fed, Kitti's mind had only increased its capacities since her fall. The darkness she had contained in her plane of nightmares had been, in comparison, a dream. She knew now how to wreck a soul but this was not her intent. Right now, she was probing, though probing was too gentle a term for the piercing assault she'd launched on the machine's mind, forcing her way inside. She'd taken position in case of new attacks, the Purger should be too busy warding off her attack to hit her from so far away and if he lost focus on defending, well, she'd have an easy entrance. His mind was surprisingly strong, stronger than she'd expected of a simple killer for hire. Again, she felt a peculiar pang of familiarity which she quickly pushed aside. She was merciless in her battery, gaining slowly as he lost hold over his own fortress of memories and thoughts, despite his steely defense.

"Why fight me?" she hissed to the sky as she waged war against the man from the inside.
​

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[Tegan]

fuck this place! That's all she can think as she dashes through the wasteland. it just eats you up.



In the lead is the Neko Archy, her breathing is quick but deep. A little further back, Asmodeus is the slower of the three, but he's able to keep his pace. She can hear faint rattles of pain in his breathing. She's just relieved to be out of the gunfire and smoke.

She to wonders how far they will make it.

Suddenly, they're swaddled in the bleached glow of the streetlamps in a nest of high rises. There's a crumpled man on the doorsteps of one the apartments, but she doesn't pay him much attention. It's not her problem. Not until Asmodeus decides to rush over to him. Feral hisses, then chases after the angel, nearly catching her claws in his trench coat. "hey! in case you haven't noticed were kinda running for our-"

A tugging at her arm makes her stop dead.

It's coming from the suitcase. Slowly, she cracks the suitcase open and peers inside before immediately snapping it shut. By now, the color has drained from her face.

The head. It's moving.

"A... Medusa. Gorgon... it... got my roommate. . ."

There's thorns and glass in her feet, her stockings long torn away, and she hardly even notices. Right now, she's paralyzed with heart-seizing, primordial fear.

She clutches the suitcase tighter, her voice is trapped behind a heavy lump in her throat.

"we have to run" please not here "before" not now "she finds us."

Please, please don't let it be her.

Her legs are shaking now, the lean muscles of her calves tightening. She's ready to spring at any moment.

 

[Torsty]

"Fine by me! Stick behind me!" Torsty orders Zypher. He'd barely recognized her when she jumped into the battlezone. What the hell was she thinking coming here with this scenery? Maybe everybody do get their death-wish in Iwaku City?

"I'll lead us out from this dump! You take charge when we're out of the firing-range!" He says shifting back to Myrn and delivers a hand-gesture to one of his companions in the kitchen. A second later something of just about enough weight for him to grab it with his open hand returns. "Here's your gun..." Myrn grabs onto it "Let's move, spread out!"

Torsty gets up, fires one shot, two shots! The same amount of ISAF-soldiers falls down from the opposite building's roof, turning into ashes from the plasma shells, their remains don't even hit the ground. Zypher follows right behind him, then the vikings and the shapeshifter.

The ISAF returns fire, I hear bodies dropping behind me. I can't do anything about it, gotta keep on moving until we're out of direct sight from the enemy's view. Searchlights from far away reaches the ground just enough so I can spot a tiny alley between two brick-buildings just twenty metres away. The searchlights aren't pointed at us though, did we get lucky?

I catch my breath, regain my balance and quicken my escape as I'm about to stumble to the ground. One last moment of intense adrenaline pumping through my veins as I jump into the dark, silence. I continue a bit further before I stop to look back.

Zypher almost crashes into me as she is right behind, I see three more familiar faces behind her, all human. I stand on my toe-balls to see if anyone else is lurking behind there...then someone taps me on my back...

"Follow me!"

Thank god, Myrn is alive!
​

 

[Pirogeth]

A disoriented Pirogeth now was laying on what he could tell was a wooden floor. The overwhelming bitter taste in his mouth eventually gave way to the distinct smell of burning yeast. Trying to move his arms now he found they were cuffed together and were around a support to this building's structure. Eventually his mind was now fully alert to his position, he was sitting down against the pole in the custody of several gruff suit-wearing individuals. "Vikings." He whispered to himself remembering the last words Aragon said. Looking about there were no obvious windows but he could feel a draft being cast across the floor. He decided it was in his best interest to get up and get things over with. Looking toward his audience, who seemed to be playing a more savage version of poker, he began to speak. "I'd advise releasing me before the High Councilman and thus the ISAF know about my disappearance. I'd like to talk to Torsty."

-Pirogeth's Home

There were several knocks on the door before the knob was finally turned. Weavel walked in and shut the door quickly behind him. "Pirogeth?" He questioned to see if he was home. Walking around the place he quickly noticed that he was not there. He came across the wooden door, behind which were the numerous cameras and surveillance equipment. Weavel already knew about the room and he knew how Pirogeth kept it locked. He pulled on the door a couple times but it just would not budge. "Damn soul specific locks." He was about to leave when he spotted a wall of keys. Being the Advisor Pirogeth had numerous keys to each of the files passed over the Council. Everything from Aragon's referendums to the Purger's targets were locked up in the New Asylum. Looking over it once you would not notice the discrepancy but Weavel had two keys. Lifting the one he did not commonly see in Pirogeth's possession he fit it into the lock on the door. It clicked revealing to him a ton of video cameras, the journal, and the switch board. "Should be easy enough to find Pirogeth now."

 

[Neko Archy]

[DASH="blue"]I hate being behind.

There's a good bit more than just a tyrannical regime quashing all hope going on here. I'd really like to know what it is, but understanding will come with time.

Like now, for instance. Even without asking questions, I've learned that gorgons exist, and hold about the same standing in society as they would in ancient greece. Unfortunately, it seems we're short one Perseus here.

As the police cars drive by, I can't help but feel that my earlier gunfire interrupt was a bit too overt action for this stage in the game. Zatoichi back there's not going to help much either. He can't pick me out of a police lineup, but having someone in the evil government of evil who knows there's a new guy in town is bad luck, especially if he survives his fight with the angel and zombie.

The police cars do a pretty good job of taking my mind off the other catgirl in our merry band, who I have to resist strangling every time she opens her mouth. I can't quite remember why I hate her with a fiery burning passion, but it tells me that I've been to a world extremely similar to this one before-If I'd been to this exact one she'd recognize me, but if I'd interacted with a duplicate of her she'd never know about my hatred. The angel's a similar sign. If I can trigger my memories of that other world, it'll give me a good baseline to work with for this place...

Usually this sort of thing is a good sign that I need to get packin'. It's rare that I leave worlds I like (for obvious reasons), and this place has gone out of it's way to be horrible.

But...I want to see how this revolution turns out. And there's a mystery to solve.

"I'd be for the leaving. How was the Cbox holding up when you left?"

Being turned to stone? Not gonna help me figure out what's going on.

At all.
[/DASH]

 

[Hydronine]

Trance whimpered and mewled as she tightened her grip on Jack, her eyes were dull and foggy, and her small form seemed so small as it held onto him with all her remaining strength.

For some reason, a name came to her mind again, and she tried to shove it away. She didn't want to think about Rory. He was absolutely nothing to her! He didn't care! He had left her! Why should she care about him?

Still, the mangled word spilled from her cracked lips "Aaarawry..."

Tears slid down her cheeks, even though she didn't know where the liquid was coming from.. she had no water left in her....yet still these tears wouldn't stop. She let go of Jack, the money falling to the ground again as she scooted back away from him, looking up at Kitti and the other person before looking back at Jack, trying to figure out what to do. Her body trembled and she pulled herself to her feet as her stomach growled loudly as she bit her lip. She didn't know who to trust.... who to turn to...

"K.....kr.....Krit....Kritti?" She tried, her voice hoarse , then looked back at Jack... drugs... or someone who had been Rory's student.... Rory who had left her.... Jack, who gave her an escape from this world... Kitti who usually did the right things.... right?

She rubbed at her arms, starting to realize how cold it was when you only wore your bra and panties, then looking at the ground, perplexed.

"Aaaarawry.... Kritti....." She muttered before looking back at Jack. Unsure of what to do.

 

[Asmodeus]

She distracts me again, a little question that pulls me away from the matter at hand. It must be one of her talents - she doesn't belong here, she's not in synch. I glance at Archy then back at the trembling figure sat against the wall. "I think the Cbox is on last orders for a while."

There's dust around Spammy's left side, as if half of him has just been pulled out of the grave. The skin's pale, blotchy, and his left eye's turned to grey and lost its colour. His fear is reflected in the Neko with the suitcase, who even now is hovering at the edge of our group and trying desperately to rush away. They both seem to know the name... the word... spoken as if it's been ripped from the psyche of the populace...

Medusa...

The boy's still gripping his revolver - it would do his mind more harm to try and take it from him now. And Archy seems like the type who wouldn't want an angel's handprints on her gun. So I'm unarmed again, and I'll be damned if I'm going to turn away now.

Kitti and Grumpy sacrificed themselves to get me here. It's what the Cycle wants.

I reach towards Spammy's other hand, slowly easing from it the apartment key that he's been clutching. Then I glance at Feral. "Stay with him."

Without another word to Archy I'm moving across the street, running low and swiftly as if the building itself is a monster lain dormant. There's still police cars over by the park and their search patterns are getting wider. I won't have long.

Slipping through the main doors and into the lobby, I halt in the darkness, adjusting as best I can. The key says 303... the fourth floor.

Stairs. I hate stairs.

The silence is deadening in this place. It puts pressure on the ears and on the soul. Crushing silence... like the times when I died. But my footsteps echo sure enough, the sound of flesh on stone spiralling up the stairwell as I climb. The book in my chest is itching, but I dare not scratch. I press the coat against it and feel my hand vanish into the chasm. There's a hole in me... and the thing in this building is the key to filling it.

First floor. No lights on. I open the inner doors and stare down the corridor, my pulse keeping time with the dripping pipes. Moonlight comes from the window at the end and paints each door like a coffin lid.

"Hello...?"

Nothing.

"Can anyone hear me...?"

I wish I had a weapon... a pipe... a fire axe... anything. I try to keep my voice level as I shout. "Is anyone still alive?"

"YES! NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The door nearest me flies open and a big man in a vest gives me the kind of stare you give a dog who's taken a shit on your burger. "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

His arm's strapped. A Rant user... drug of choice for the lost souls of Iwaku. It's made his skin red-raw and his hair's already falling out. The smell of damp and heartache wafts from his room.

"I'm sorry... I... Is everyone okay? There's something in the buil--"

He comes towards me, eyes bloodshot and teeth barred. His vest has a picture of a Cookie Monster on it. Weird.

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT'S IN THE BUILDING, PAL. ONE FAG AND A SHITLOAD OF PEOPLE TRYIN'A GET SOME SLEEP!"

Part of me berates myself. Of course no one's gonna answer at this time of night. Stupid. I turn from the man and keep my wings folded. "Sorry for the trouble."

The door slams behind me and I return to the stairs. On the next floors I can hear TV sets and showers and more Rant-addicts. It's business as usual here. Whatever the kid saw... he saw it alone.

Five minutes later, I'm on the fourth floor, and there's already a little commotion building. In the main corridor some of the doors are open and people are standing, children and parents exchanging muted whispers and staring towards Room 303, which lies at the end of the corridor. No one's daring to come out of their rooms, but curiosity's got the better of them. Some of the furniture in the hallway is upended - probably from where Spammy made a run for it. There's more dust on the floor... which now I realise is layers of his own dead skin. The kid's lucky to have gotten out of this alive.

The other residents watch as I move down the hallway between them, silent children looking up at me before their mothers move them away. They've seen my wings and they know I'm not ISAF or Bread Cult. They know I'm something different... an angel come among them... and it gives them equal fear and wonder. More than a dozen eyes are on me by the time I reach Room 303.

The apartment's just as Spammy left it. Nothing's been touched. I guess that's the thing that strikes me the hardest - the lack of disturbance. It's like nothing's happened... everything's frozen.

I move past the bedrooms and glance into the bathroom, where the water in the pipes has frozen despite the humid night. Then, as I turn into the main room, the sadness hits me like a hammer.

Back in the old world, Glazer worked for me once... a bureaucrat in the ARC Corporation. I remember him - always clean-shaven, tidy, always a calm cheerfulness about him. He wasn't zealous like Chopsticks and the Warmaster - he was just... dependable.

Now he's a sitting statue, moonlight pale in the armchair, face and hair exquisitely carved. My hand comes to his and touches stone. It's like he never lived... like all his days were particles of dust whipped up in a fleeting breeze. And now he's settled. Now he's a part of the furniture and the walls, fading into the cracks.

Glazer. Spammy. Glazed spam. A joke of cruel and fickle gods.

A light from the window, brief, crimson. I look up, my hand coming away from Glazer, my chest suddenly aching. I cross to the window in two strides and look out.

She's there... in the rear courtyard of the building. A woman I have never seen before, lighting a cigarette, reclining as one slender leg breaks the slit of her dress. In shadow she's a profile, a silhouette of perfect shape, all that's feminine and intoxicating. The smoke escapes her lips and moves amid the strands of short, red-brown hair.

There's a trail of dust... dead skin... sprinkling the alleyway that leads to her.

I open the window, leaning out into the night, my blood racing. "HEY!" It's all I can think to shout - the only word that gets through the pool of conflicting emotion.

She drops the cigarette and she's gone.


Medusa...

 

[Cosmic Orion]

Upon arriving at the apartments, Orion found the ISAF there causing all sorts of trouble searching for some type of suspects. Rooms were no doubt getting ransacked or busted into depending on how quickly the occupants co-operated. Of course if the room were empty of any persons, the door would get broken down. Luckily he noticed them before getting completely onto the property or he might have ended up searched and detained. While he didn't exactly have anything to hide from them it still felt threatening to the point of not wanting to bump into the troops at all. He would rather his room get trashed than get interrogated in ways that might try getting him to confess about things which he had no idea.

Gunshots rang out.

Perhaps ISAF had found what it was looking for, but whether they or the resisting party had been the one gunned down remained a mystery to the blond. Eyes blue as the ocean yet tainted with the murk associated with fathoms of depth peered around a corner. Now the help fr hire was pressed up against a wall. Carelessness might catch him a stray bullet that his flesh didn't need to swallow up. Money made injuries worth it and even paid for the recovery. Still three blocks away from home sweet home, the unemployed Surfer doubled-back the way he had come.

But through his rather aimless trudging through the city, he continued to avoid other guardians unless it were necessary. Sometimes they didn't quite appreciate someone who's loyalty was bought and sold. As opposed to what he considered blindly following a mad king further into madness. Perhaps they were just jealous of how fierce that bought loyalty actually was given the Star Child's reputation with clients that could afford him.

ISAF and police sweeps had widened.

Just then an alley-cat came darting out of where else but an alleyway, stopping right in front of the Guardian. It was mostly black, but highlighted with streaks of brown and even a few streaks of a dirty red-orange. Big green eyes infused with both mischief and kindness stared up at him in a way that beckoned some type of affection. It walked right up to the hooded figure and brushed up against his leg a few times while a long fluffy tail twitched back and forth.

"Well hey there cat. . ."

Kneeling down one knee onto the sidewalk he petted the feline & scratched it's ears playfully. A soft smile darted across the face hidden within the shadows of a hood quickly followed with even more attention. Suddenly instead of the regular purring, the cat made an unbelievable expression that begged for some type of caption. Orion laughed. Then IT laughed. It laughed really, really hard. Practically human yet not, the cat laughed out loud before looking up at Orion innocently and then turning to start trotting off.

". . . The hell. . ."

Understandably curious, Orion followed the alley-cat down the sidewalk for a couple blocks until it entered into another alleyway. Even then he followed it just wanting to figure out what the deal was with this strange creature. Sure other bizarre creatures had existed before it but he still felt compelled to try and learn something more. Steam flowed up from grates in the street carrying the stench of mischief and madness while casting a gloomy distortion on the alley. Perhaps he would wind up walking through a portal to another dimension down here for all he knew. Following it down the musty, moldy, and moist trail the two came out onto another street which the cat then crossed before stopping at the doorway of a building. One which had a particularly odd feature the Guardian did not notice right away since he was focused more what could be referred to as an LOLcat.

The building had no windows.

"I take it this is your home?"

Meowing at the door, it then rubbed against it a few times before looking back at Orion. Shaking his head before crossing the street, a police siren wailed through the air about a block away. Those search areas had already doubled in their size at this point. Knocking on the building's back door, some gruff man wearing a suit came to answer it when the Guardian started pounding on the door. Just because it was an odd hour of the night didn't mean everyone was conked out. As the door opened a very faint smell of burning yeast wafted out that was only noticeable since it clashed with the dank air of outside.

"Whatdya want pal?"

"This cat. Does it belong to you?"

Looking down at the feline, the Gruff man stared at it with an arched eyebrow before the cat suddenly made another ridiculous face at him and then darted into the windowless building. The suit turned and quickly chased after it down the hallway. Apparently it wasn't the guy's cat after all. But it made the Guardian laugh a little as he got the feeling that there was a reason he had been led here as loud curses came from further inside the house. Something smelled fishy and it wasn't the burning yeast. Well actually that was just part of it.

Perhaps he could get work here?

Now trespassing further into the strange building, he could hear noises coming from an old steel grate. Something so shoddy the damn thing would probably get replaced if the owners didn't want it to just be an open hole in the wall. Perhaps if he listened in on those noises he could catch onto what the deal was with such a strange building that contained a suspicious man in a suit and the odor of yeast? These guys resembled Vikings but the Guardian didn't want to jump to conclusions yet. Especially when he had no client that he was contracted to which would absolve him of just about anything done in the course of their protection. Suddenly a voice rang out clearly as it echoed up through the ventilation shaft. It had the the most interesting thing to say.

"I'd advise releasing me before the High Councilman and thus the ISAF know about my disappearance. I'd like to talk to Torsty."

Given the sweeps going on in the City right now Orion might've assumed the ISAF already knew the guy had vanished. Perhaps this guy was what all the horsehockey at the C-box had been about? Some type of kidnapping? And who was Tortsy? That name sounded a teensy bit familiar today. Maybe this guy had been grabbed somewhere else while the ISAF were distracted by whatever it was going on at the C-box. He couldn't be sure what was going on but it definitely was illegal.

Upstairs there came the sound of crashing and then that same eerie feline laughter.

Placing his fingers through holes on the grate, Orion put his strength into tearing it right off the wall. He then crawled into the ventilation shaft which thankfully seemed sturdier than what had sealed it off. It felt strange inside the ventilation system, perhaps it was the burning yeast smell. . . but he could not quite tell whether he had gone higher or lower in the building at all since he began. Following the noises based on when they got louder he made his way to a spot in the ceiling a little to the right of the support beam Pirogeth was tied to in the room with the Vikings.

"Who are you?"

Orion asked in a whisper just loud enough that only Pirogeth would hear.

 

[Spammy]

Spammy didn't quite understand or resist as the angel slowly eased his key away. Honestly he had no idea he was still holding his key, had forgotten it and thought that he'd dropped it in his rush to escape. Apparently he didn't. Too late though, he realized what the angel was about to do, and he was already across the street before Spammy could could get to his feet, eyes wide, voice panicked as he yelled, "No don't do that don't do-"

But the angel was already gone.

A braver man would have followed him, or at least try to stop him, get him to understand the danger. But Spammy was not that man. The most he did was stand up, reach out after the angel... then lower his arm, and huddle back against the wall. Trying to go after him would mean going into the building, and that would mean going closer to... whatever it was.

So he bit his lips, shifting his gun to his left hand, awkwardly wrapping the right around his torso, scratching at the dry, dusty skin without realizing.