#their bones are blackened to look like obsidian and the most like Dread

[hauntingmiser]

MERMAY XXVI

( maybe this is the final piece of the puzzle ? we may never know the core of the fog awaits you friend )

Fun fact : ever since she helped kanji just getting rid of the crystals to protective gear she also however had the flu and next week she stayed at home

after getting better she was having a stroll until she was kidnapped and was thrown into the TV by someone

and when she got into the TV world she looked around for several hours locating a lab cave filled with test tubes and many equipment until she found the room and she went in it

when she was near the experimentation table, she heard crying then she hid and when she poked her head out to see they were sitting on a chair near the experiment table so she swam to the person that was crying and it looked like....her? but they had a lab coat with her hat still intact and they're wearing overalls with a sweater underneath

"that can't be me...right?" and then it looked at her with beaming gold-eyes staring at her and then, it gets up and gets closer to her while she backs off away from it

"hello there naoto....heheheahahaheha!...."

She screamed and swam away from it while it laughed in the background and then she was now at a dead end and her shadow self closing into her holding a comically large knife so she closed her eyes waiting for her doom

this is naoto's shadow self, and it was about to kill her and gut her like a fish

until it gets shocked and falls down to the ground getting paralyzed

when she opened her eyes, it was yu with his gang smiling at her knowing she's okay

shocked she didn't know help was going to arrive soon but it did after her shadow self was chasing her...."are you alright naoto?" said yosuke

and with him saying that question, she cried crocodile tears hugging him in the process until her shadow got up and started shit talking so yosuke had to shut it up by beating it with the mace without hurting naoto

shadow naoto got pissed off so bad that they straight up transformed into their final form and bonked yosuke then he was lightly unconscious for several minutes

and after fighting naoto's shadow she joined the investigation team and got a persona before that she had a power nap during the fight

( also she's a royal blue double tail betta and she used to be not afraid of dead bodies and now she is lol )

[kitsuneudon743]

DamiRae week 2020 Day 2: Royalty AU

Well this took longer than expected and I’m not super happy about it, I had planned on doing a second part of my last one but changed my mind last minute...

but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)  Let’s hope tomorrow’s prompt will go smoother!

-

Raven would be lying if she had said she was excited for her eighteenth birthday.

Luckily for her, she had never said such a thing.

“Ow!” she gasped, throwing her hands in front of her to take hold of the desk that was there. Hecate, her chambermaid, ignored her whimper of pain and pulled even tighter at the corset; making Raven feel as though she were about to break in two. “Is this...really necessary?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, princess.” She muttered her voice almost snakelike, which wasn’t surprising considering her appearance.  Pale, scaly skin. Jet black eyes with little to no sclera. Jagged, pointed teeth and not one trace of hair. If she hadn’t been with Raven since the day she was born, she might have been enough to evoke nightmares.

But this was the demon realm; there were plenty of nightmare worthy characters walking about.

“Your father expects you to look nothing less than perfect for today. This could be the most important event of your life, and for the realm.”

“I can’t imagine why...they’re just humans.” Raven spoke with discontent. Years of tradition were coming to an end; her father had made a truce with a powerful clan in the human world, and unfortunately she was an asset. Today wasn’t just her birthday; it was the day she was to meet the human she had been promised to as part of the alliance. She would be the first one in the realm to be married to an immortal, even her father who had courted a human to conceive Raven hadn’t followed through with matrimony.

Hecate finished tying the corset and gave Raven a rough slap on the back of the shoulder. “Don’t you do anything that will displease your father today, you hear me! These humans are necessary to his plan, and so is this wedding. For the good of our kind.”

Quickly rushing over to Raven’s bed, the chambermaid grabbed a large black lace dress and brought it over to the girl and placed it over her head. Raven brought her arms up and snaked them through the long sleeves, allowing the dress to fall down her body, giving Hecate better access to adjust it.

Raven looked up at the mirror that hung over the desk, her eyes meeting the gaze of a young woman she barely recognized. Lips painted the colour of dried blood, obsidian hair pulled up elegantly to match her feminine attire; a black Victorian-esque gown that showed off just a bit more chest than she was used to. She was a stranger to herself and it made her uncomfortable, especially because she was to introduce herself to her...possible, future groom.

How was she to introduce herself to someone if she didn’t feel herself?

Not that she cared about meeting the mortal. In fact, she was dreading it. She wanted no part in whatever plan her father of devising with his human accomplice, and she didn’t want to get married.

“There,” Hecate huffed with a nod, giving one final pat down to the bottom of Raven’s gown. “All ready.”

She took a step back and looked the teenager over once more before grabbing her arm, pulling her around and heading out of the room. Raven stumbled behind her as she pulled her swiftly down the stone hallway of her father’s palace. Her mind was beginning to reel with possibilities.

Would this human be like everything she had read about in novels or like what she had heard from fairytales?

Would he be weak? Unintelligent?

Why was her father so determined to band together with these humans when he was never interested in them before?

Nothing made sense.

When they reached the main hall, Hecate pulled Raven in front of her and slowed her pace, following the princess into the hall where hundreds of demons were sitting, waiting. The empath felt her heart spike.

Everyone turned their gaze to her, including her father who sat across from her on a large, thorn thrown. His red eyes shot daggers at her as she confidently walked over as quickly and carefully as she could.

“You’re late...”he growled as she took the slightly smaller throne beside him. “The humans arrived minutes ago.”

Quickly, her eyes jotted around the room, looking for them but from what she could see there were only demons and ghouls. Trigon watched her with a scowl before turning to face the aisle in front of him, giving his large horned head a single nod.

Two stumpy looking creatures at the opposite side of the aisle pulled open the doors, and in walked two humans, as confidently and as comfortable as someone who had lived their wholes lives amongst the dammed.

The older one, a dangerous looking man with silvering hair, a sharp nose and a well groomed goatee, walked a few steps ahead, his green eyes locked onto Trigon.

The younger one, who Raven assumed was her betrothed, walked slightly behind him but caught her eyes nonetheless.

He was a handsome man, much more than she had expected him to be. His eyes were the same as the old man’s in colour, but he held no other resemblance to him. His dark hair was parted neatly and combed back, showing off his perfectly structured features, though his expression held a strong resemblance to how Raven felt.

Uninterested in this arrangement.

When the two mortals reached Trigon and his daughter, they both bowed slightly.

“My liege.” The older one spoke first, his Cheshire cat grin causing Raven to feel uneasy. She already didn’t like this man, he reminded her far too much of her father. “I am Ra’s al Ghul. My grandson and I thank you for allowing us passage into your-” he looked around quickly. “-lovely underworld, and agreeing to meet with us for this arrangement. Coming to Hell has been a long time interest of mine...entirely for research purposes, so I thank you.”

Trigon grunted. “Research as much as you want once the nuptials is complete. As long as we still have a deal.”

The man nodded. “Certainly.” He turned for the first time to look at Raven, and once again she felt strange. Her father hadn’t told her anything about the deal, other than an alliance must be made, an alliance that included her getting married. She wanted to know what was going on. “A beauty.”

“This is my daughter, Raven. Her mother was born of blood and bone in your world. She is half mortal, half god. She has the power to destroy worlds, blacken hearts.”

Ra’s smiled wickedly and turned to motion to the boy. He stepped forward. “This is Damian, my prodigy. Trained since birth to be a cold hearted plague. Biologically modified to be the perfect weapon.”

This time, Trigon smiled as his eyes landed on the boy. Raven looked at him too; it was hard to believe that he was the perfect weapon. He looked so, fragile; he was mortal after all. And he was handsome. He looked too good to be so bad.

“I think we should let the children get acquainted.” Ra’s continued after a moment, and Trigon nodded.

After giving her permission to go, Raven stood from her throne and swallowed a lump that had been stuck in her throat. Damian looked at her before holding his arm out to her. Her eyes dropped down to it and her heart began to race, but she took it without hesitation.

The room remained quiet until the two of them had left and were halfway down the hallway, then she heard her father’s booming voice continue.

She had no idea what to do, what to talk about. She had never before spoken to a human, in fact, she barely every spoke to anyone. Raven enjoyed being alone for the most part, reading her books, taking a quiet stroll along the river Styx, meditating in the peace of her own room. Those were the kinds of things she would rather be doing than being social.

As they walked out into the courtyard, Raven looked at the man beside her through her peripherals. He was holding himself well for it being his first time to Hell; unfazed by the grotesque beings, rivers of molten lava, dusty air and lack of flora. His strong gaze was glued to the path ahead of them, though every once in a while his eyes dipped down to look at something, Raven assumed, he found unusual.

“You must find it strange here.” She said after a moment, her voice quiet.

“It’s a bit different than I expected, but not much.” Damain responded.

Another silence fell around them.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him about the human world, about their father’s alliance. Perhaps he knew something.

Raven stopped walking and allowed her arm to drop from his. He stopped immediately and looked around at her, his thick brows furrowed as though she had offended him. She stared at him; he really was handsome.

“Why did you agree to this?” she questioned suddenly. “You left your own world to come here and meet...me, a half demon, to talk about marriage. Why would you do that?”

Looking down for a moment, Damian stayed quiet. Raven could feel the cogs in his mind working, trying to think of a way to word his answer. Much like she did herself.

“I need to do my part for this alliance.” He said finally. “It’s important for my people.”

“But why?”

Raven was a bit annoyed at being stuck in the dark. Her father had told her nothing. Hecate had told her nothing. And now this man was telling her nothing.

“Why is it important? And how will we benefit from it?”

Damian looked at her, his green eyes bright. She hadn’t realized just how green they were until now, and she soon found herself lost in them a little. He gave her a look.

“Your father told you nothing.” It wasn’t a question, but a jested statement.  Raven’s eyebrows narrowed slightly.

“My father doesn’t exactly deem me as important enough to share the fine details with.” It almost hurt her to say it, but she was becoming numb at the thought. Raven wasn’t her father’s favourite child; she was a tool that he could use whenever it suited him.

And this wedding suited him.

Damian’s look softened but his eyes once again dropped to the ground. “I know the feeling.”

Another silence.

This boy was not what Raven had expected at all. Yes, he was a bit awkward and she could tell that he was slightly uncomfortable, as was she. But she could tell from his tone and feel his energy, his emotions. She could tell that he was indeed much deeper than she had thought humans to be.

Perhaps his grandfather was just as insufferable as Trigon and he too had the slightest bit of hope that something good would come from the relationship. Perhaps he too wanted someone to care, for once.

Raven looked over her shoulder at the bubbling pools of lava that sat behind them, watching as steam escaped with each pop.

She cleared her throat. “Do you like to read?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“I love reading books from the human world. I have a whole library of them...did you want to see it?”

Damian hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “That would be very nice.”

Raven took hold of his arm once again and began to walk back to the castle doors, leading him as she went. And as they went inside, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, something wonderful would come from them being together.

[stabbyarm]

He doesn't remember the time before his life was twisted by hate.

He was only a boy - green and supple and innocent, his stem unbent, when his mother sold him for a sliver of silk. To a Lord no less, rooted like vast oak in centuries of earth sewn with the bones of the hungry. He was a pretty boy - eyes of ocean, skin like snow - that had been his only failing. Used and beaten and held prisoner in a home that was never his. He dreaded every glimmer of sunlight. Ate each meal without tasting it. Clothed only in filth and his own sweat. Washed only when his master wanted him. But he was a child - he didn't know how not to endure it. his keeper made no promises and kept even fewer.

Five years  of pain, darkness and secrecy - the last golden glimmer of hope burned to embers in his heart. Those who had come before him and after - had all withered. His soul refused to extinguish itself. Gaunt, exhausted. he found a nail loose in the soft wood that lined his shuttered window. His fingers bled when he prized it free. The point barely gleamed but - he’d lived this long. He had determination. And the blackness, it called to him. Unending slumber. He’d forgotten heaven long ago but nothing, even nothing would be better than this.

He remembers the feeling of iron in his skull every time he closes his eyes. Through the soft pink of his eye. Crimson inked a ravine over his soft cheek. How it had scraped against his bone. Shattered porcelain rubbed together. Granite dragged along a guillotine’s edge. That sound had echoed around the chasm of his skull. And as he wept, shuddering, his hands soaked in scalding scarlet, he saw it.

The glimmer of a vast eye.

Wreathed in the colours of the night. Swirling and pulsing around him. Within and without. Occupying the tiniest crack in his consciousness. constricting his entire body. He almost expected it to sing - there was music, he could have sworn - but perhaps he imagined it. It watched him. unchanging. unblinking. No mouth to consume him. Even then he knew, he should have been gripped with fear;

but nothing had ever held him so gently.

He knew in that moment, as its obsidian tendrils bound his heart. as it lowered him to the ground, and slipped the metal from his eye. He had seen his future; and it was unending.

Fifteen years old - he’d behaved himself for two years. too old for his master’s tastes now, though they kept him clean shaven, his tousled hair short. He was the picture of grace and too precious not to show off. the gears of this particular hierarchy whirred, oiled and glistening in his head. He poured wine, held polite conversation - all the time, watching with hawk’s eyes, his master crumble into old age, impotence.

Silas and his son became fast friends - how could they not. Silas had watched the boy grow, knew every detail of his life - he coiled around his heart and smiled, as he watched his venom set in. He grew to distrust his father: as silas had planned. Confided in him every secret and desire of his soul. Every time he looked into the boy’s eyes - he saw the reflection of the life he knew he should have had. whether he knew or not, was hardly the point - the boy was oblivious at best, ignorant at worst. Though he was honest, wore his heart on his sleeve - not like his bastard father.

Still, Silas felt nothing when he cut his throat. dangling feet first from the tallest tree. 17 years old. Silas painted his face with his blood and swallowed the rest. It writhed in his stomach, swirling bitter rust - but he gritted his teeth through it. After all, he’d swallowed worse. The boy was clay cold when Silas cut him down, his eyes stung red. He’d watched the corpse for hours, impassive, as his blood blackened beneath the silver moon. Plastered Silas’ shirt to his lunar skin. Stood like ancient marble, until he no longer felt the cold.

Years melted into each other after that. The old man had wept when he saw Silas that night, drenched in gore. Silas’ voice hadn’t even shaken when he told him to name him as the sole heir - cool, and silken, like the garment that had bought him. Each time he filled his lungs, closed his eyes, he heard that silent music. Felt the balmy gaze of the leviathan’s eye. He was above most things - but not the twist of pleasure that came whenever the frail lord jumped at his shadow. He grew out his hair, tied it back with ebony silk. The beard he nurtured, soft as sin and raven black. He fucked and killed his way to the bluest blood, whetted his tongue with a vineyard of nobility. for the first time he was wanted - and it mattered nothing. not anymore.

When the old man died - pale, withered, covered in his own shit - Silas burned the castle and its coffers to ash. He stood in the grove he’d shed his soul, atop his white steed, and watched its inhabitants flee and scurry and scream, ants beneath a magnifying glass.

Tragedy chased him wherever he roamed, like a loyal hound. And as the dust of each settled he would kneel and stroke its terrible head. People clung to him, begged him, bargained with him for his blessing - tried to claw their way to his glass heart. But he pulled the wings off men’ ambitions and picked his teeth with their bones. He was no one - and could be anyone. The fearless leader to the broken hero. The soft soul cradling a mother’s weeping child. The broken man, desperate and weak.

There were few things he wanted he was ever denied; and nothing he wouldn’t do, to feel the touch of his god again.

[thegooiest-blog1]

Labyrinth

           Madness. True, unfiltered, horrifying madness. That fear which crawls up one's spine and leaves them numb. That fear that overthrows shock or panic, leaving one but a cold and hollow shell, vulnerable and helpless to the elements around them. True fear is what I have witnessed. What horrific things I had unleashed upon myself, I cannot say. What things I may have unleashed upon the world, I dare not think of. That horrifying, antediluvian evil that has stirred from my meddling now walks the earth.

             On April 12, 1893, I was assigned to a team of researchers to investigate an unknown and presumably untouched set of ruins outside Cairo. It was simple for an archaeologist like myself, and my colleagues were of high regard amongst the inner circles of my profession. Local men had been paid to work on the excavation, saving the trouble of bringing more labor along with us on the voyage, and the higher labor costs that would come with more civilized workers. And it was all for the better. The men worked hard the first few days, toiling in the sun for their pay and meals, while the research team confined ourselves to the blisteringly hot tents for inspection and appraisal of the artifacts that were slowly being recovered.

             The artifacts in question were queer things, and puzzled me and my colleagues to no end as to the nature of their origin. The make and architecture of the objects being brought in were unlike anything previously found in the region. The stones resembled the blackest obsidian, not even casting a reflection in the light. Intricate carvings were made along the pottery, depicting strange, phantasmal things that could not even be described. The sheer amount of detail made the carvings within the pottery almost seem alive, and the pattern held true for the other artifacts. Everything held an almost inhuman detail, as if a single, extremely precise machine had created everything. But the relics were dated back thousands of years, leaving no room for any sort of postulation regarding machinery. These had to have been made by only the most masterful of hands. The pottery was perfectly made and exquisitely detailed, the architecture was so geometrically precise that it almost boggled the mind to perceive such a thing being made by mortal hands. And the statues...my colleagues had nightmares about those statues as the days went by. They were horrifying to look at, with the amount of detail making them seem living and even more horrendous. They almost emanated an evil that infested the team, making them paranoid to be around the statues themselves. Within days of them being recovered, they were shortly deposited in a tend of their own and sealed off.

             As the days of grueling work drove on, the men working in the excavation had begun to grow paranoid. They grew restless, all of them seeming to work with a dread that couldn't be described. Talk of bad dreams, of befouled nightmares plagued the workers, and many began to quit. They were easily replaced with other local working men, but they too began to feel the same dread and paranoia that the others had succumbed to. With morale quickly dropping and even the research team feeling the effects, I felt that perhaps we should stop the digging. But I pushed those thoughts from my mind. This excavation was important. We were discovering something that, until now, had been completely unheard of. Nothing would deter me or the rest of the team from digging. But I too felt the effects. I was not special. I too had the dreams that plagued our men.

             Long, winding black corridors in an unknown city, a labyrinthine series of hallways and passages that made one dizzy to even be in. And the overwhelming sense of dread that latched onto me within my dreams was one that left me in cold sweats upon waking. That dreaded pull that made me go deeper into the labyrinth wouldn't end, that calling wouldn't cease. A dull, endless groaning, a constant buzz in my ears, telling me to go further towards the center of the labyrinth. I never could reach the center before I awoke, but sleep now proved no use to me. I suspected it was the same for everyone else. It only left you tired and shaken. I had begun to stick to drinking coffee, as well as the rest of the research team. We all blamed our dreams upon the heat and kept coffee on a boil at all times. Sleep was no longer an option for rest now.

             Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity here in the desert, the men had reached the entrance to a building buried beneath the sands. Excitement outweighed exhaustion as the research team buzzed with excitement. One fellow in particular was very passionate about it. His name was William Mathers. Mathers was a strange, eccentric fellow, with a penchant for being overly enthusiastic about our findings. I admired the boy's energy. He was fresh out of his schooling and this was his first actual excavation. The men at work, however, tried to stop us at the entrance of the excavation site. They shouted at us and pleaded that we go no further, and that there was something evil within the building that had been exposed. They were wholly determined to keep us from going near the doors to the blackened ruins. We'd prepared for this, should there be a rebellion of any sort amongst the uncivilized locals who were working on the dig. Mathers was the first to react, pulling out a revolver and firing it in the air. The men calmed down, shocked by the drawing of firearms. Orders were given out to either leave or get back to work. A few of the men dropped their tools and walked away from the excavation site, but most simply went back to work, although slowly and with much hesitation.

             Attempts to open the door were stranger than one would expect. They wouldn't pry nor move an inch. Brute force couldn't budge them, and the stone wouldn't chip when hit with pickaxes. While explosive charges had been brought, no one was brave enough to even suggest it. An explosion could very well cave in the entirety of the ruin, resulting in all the work being lost and what would have been salvaged being destroyed. With no further alternatives, work ground down to halt in the desperate search to find out how to open the door.

             And then the dreams happened, once again. I'd let myself doze off on my cot, and was now trapped within the confines of the labyrinth. I felt panicked and I couldn't bring myself out of the dream. I consciously knew it was, and yet still, that force at the center of the labyrinth pulled me onward. I felt more of a helpless marionette than a man as I was dragged along through the corridors, my feet moving regardless of my will. And just as I felt the power at it's strongest, that strange pull that I had unwillingly sought almost at my fingertips, I awoke.

             I had awoken to the sounds of panic and mayhem surrounding the camp, the men screaming in fear and orders barking out for calmness and control. Gunshots fired periodically but no one even listened. I scrambled from my cot, feeling dreary and weaker than when I'd fallen asleep. The grisly sight I took in made me wish I had stayed hidden at my cot. Several of the workers were dead, mutilated and with their corpses strewn at odd angles, angles that the bones should never bend to. Looks of twisted horror and terror were evident on the faces that were still on. And before the broken bodies of these poor men were the doors to the ruin, flung wide open into the yawning maw of the eldritch abyss. It felt as if though evil emanated from the very stone the ruin had been carved from, and the workers were all fleeing from the scene. The research team gave up, with Mathers resolving that we press forward, despite the tragic losses. The others, although more veteran in the field, were willing to follow the boy. I can't say I wasn't willing to myself, but I had to stop the team and persuade them to at least leave a party stationed outside of the ruin, should anything go awry. It was agreed upon, with me leading the “rear guard” of the group.

             Hours passed and the group with me was growing restless. No longer was the enthusiasm of going into the ruin blurring their minds from the grave reality. Several men had died at the gate of this foul place, and we sent a good portion of the research team, brilliant minds, deeper into it. A few of them wished to simply leave and say that they needed more funding or equipment for the excavation. I couldn't help but agree. Any excuse to leave this place and never return. But I couldn't simply leave them in there! I couldn't walk away from these ruins not knowing what fate had befallen Mathers and his party. I instructed the rest of the group to leave. To take their things and go. They were more than willing to oblige, fleeing the scene and leaving me alone to enter the foul chambers of the ruin. Taking an oil lantern, I pressed forward into the ruin. I needed to know what had happened to Mathers' group.

             Light couldn't help me in the slightest in the ruin. As I forged onward through the treacherous place, going through chamber after chamber, shouting for the lost group, I found that my light was almost repelled by the stone, making my field of vision small, despite my large echo. The ruin felt hot and dry, much like the desert above. But there was something more there. An oppressiveness, some sort of malevolence that gnawed at my mind as I went through the chambers. What little of the architecture I could see was irregular, inhuman even. It disturbed me to observe the structures in the light, so I eventually resolved to stare at the floor that was lit by my lantern.

             Minutes passed into hours as I felt eternities tick away. I could still find no sign of the missing party, and my oil was growing low. I continued on through the corridors, until I began to notice something queer. These halls turned like a labyrinth. Like some strange kind of intricate maze. No longer had I been forging through chamber after chamber, room after room, but it had been a long maze corridor for what I can only assume has been hours. Just like the dreams I had been having, the ones of the labyrinth. That accursed place and this ruin were both one and the same! The revelation hit me like a bullet, and I almost swooned at the thought. That oppressive force that had plagued me since I first ventured into this befouled maze, was it the same one that had pulled me towards the center of the labyrinth in my dreams? Were my dreams some sort of prophetic calling? I could not say, but now I could not leave. I hadn't taken notice of where I was. The stone was all exactly the same, all around. I could not tell where to go to go back, and with no sign of the group, I simply continued through the labyrinth, desperate for escape. I no longer cared to find Mathers or the lost group. My own life was now in very real danger.

             I groped along the walls continuously as horrors plagued my mind. What could have taken the group and those men outside? What beasts lurked within this confusion? Were they toying with me? I could not say, and I was driving myself mad thinking about it. I continued to mull over the thoughts as panic ran to me before I stopped dead cold. I could feel that force that had drawn me in my dreams all around me. I was nearing the center of the labyrinth. My feet no longer moved of my own volition as I simply went towards the center of the maze with a numbness filling my body. I turned corner after corner like I knew exactly where I was going. That dread fear from earlier was only replaced with a compliant calm. Moments later, I had arrived. I could feel the power emanating around the open area, and I knew that what had called me for so long was there. As I approached, however, I felt as though I was released from the spell of this accursed labyrinth. A stirring moved in the darkness, a large, foul, horrific stirring. It groaned and shifted as the sound of breaking bones and squelching gore was heard as it moved. And I ran. God did I run, I ran as fast as I could and refused to stop. I ran through the labyrinth, disregarding where I was going. I didn't care, as long as I got as far away as possible from that horrible entity. That ancient thing that had slumbered within the ruins for thousands of years. The thing that we had unleashed. That I had unleashed.

             I cannot remember how I escaped, if only through sheer luck. I was recovered a small ways outside of Cairo, catatonic and unable to respond to anything. No stimuli shook me for over a week as I simply lay curled up, as if awaiting my imminent death. I still don't know what brought me out of my state, but I do know one thing. That whatever had been released is now out there. It walks amongst us. And it is still calling back to it's labyrinth in my dreams. That foul labyrinth. Always the labyrinth.