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imjeralee · 4 years ago

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Comfort in Despair: Chapter 6 - It’s You

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Warnings: Blood, also I think this chapter is quite dark

It's You

...

[Unused testimonial, submitted by Chief Inspector Chris Graves: She's used to dealing with death. It doesn't get easier, but it doesn't surprise her anymore.]

...

A droplet of icy cold water splashes over Leon's cheek, forcing him to stir.

Opening his eyes groggily, he lets his vision settle before he looks up and around, discovering that he has been brought to a cave and is lying on an incredibly chilly and hard surface. He doesn't see Charizard anywhere.

Surrounded by nothing but doom and gloom, Leon emits a groan as he attempts to sit up. He gathers as much strength as he can to his arms and eases his elbows backwards in order to push himself off the ground but discovers he cannot move; glancing down, he sees a sheet of ice covering his legs and feet, preventing means of escape. Although he's wearing clothing that would combat the cold to an extent, he finds himself shivering from the extreme frigidness of this cavern.

"Where am I...?" he mutters, before an eerie and ethereal wail shakes the cavern walls and Leon tosses a glimpse to the source of the sound.

A writhing, ghostly white figure bobs up and down over the cavern floor in the distance, bounding closer and closer to him.

It's a Froslass.

He's never seen a wild one in Galar before and unfortunately he makes eye contact with it and the Froslass trills happily when she sees that he is awake and floats over to him, reaching for him with her little cold and elongated white paws that are attached to the sides of her head. She proceeds to stroke his long hair and nuzzles her face over the top of his head and buries her cheeks over the scruff of his beard affectionately.

Overjoyed, Froslass releases him, turning away before quickly whirling round, revealing that she has brought a leppa berry for him and she leaves it on the ground near his right thigh. She continues to float around him daintily before heading to the far side of the cave to go through a collection of rucksacks and opening them happily one by one and emptying them of contents.

Froslass goes through them whilst singing unintelligibly, occasionally throwing away items that aren't of interest before she pulls out a packet of mixed mushrooms and holds them high in the air. She emits a loud squeal of glee and clutches the packet in her paws. Next, she finds a comb from one of the bags and returns to Leon's side. She nudges the packet for his taking.

With the comb, she settles beside him and begins brushing his hair, purring with affection.

She appears to be fond of him.

...

When Charizard brings you to the area where he had lost Leon, he lands in the middle of a lonely path hidden between a large cluster of trees and you hop off his back and onto the ground, the dirt scrunching under your shoes.

Charizard and Gengar watch you silently as you begin assessing your surroundings. You're aware Leon has a bad sense of direction and despite your warning, he's vanished in the Giant's Seat. They camped outside, but from what Charizard is attempting to tell you, Leon was lured in.

And the moment Charizard brought you here, you knew something was wrong immediately. The negative energy that lingers here is suffocating. To the untrained eye, it's a typical, clear day. However, you can sense that the atmosphere is heavy and thick as fog. There is a miasma that has taken ahold of the vicinity, filling it up with nothing but misery, fear and regret.

Gengar appears to sense it too for he shivers on his spot.

It's very late now and there is not a single soul in sight, allowing you to work quickly and silently with no disruption. It's too dark and dank here so you decide not to waste your time dressing up as a boy in order to get yourself captured or to look for tracks or footprints, granted if there are any. Finding Leon as quickly as possible is your priority here and you have a technique that would assist you here, therefore you hurriedly drop to your knees on the ground, grabbing your bag and zipping it open.

Charizard and Gengar move to your left and right respectively and observe as you pull out a small strip of clean bandages, a pouch containing a small blank piece of scritta paper and a swiss army knife with red handle.

"Don't look if you're squeamish," you warn them as you settle the piece of paper over the ground in front of you, using your knee to prevent it from flying away in the wind, but the Pokemon don't retreat in response to your words of caution and you swipe the blade over your left palm, drawing blood.

Charizard balks at your action but Gengar doesn't flinch at all and you dab your a finger into your bloodied palm and proceed to draw a symbol on the paper. When you're done, you quickly bandage your hand, pull your gloves back on, close your eyes and place the talisman over the middle of your forehead where it doesn't fall off.

You activate it with a murmured chant, re-open your eyes, and immediately the world around you has shifted; the woods are no longer empty but filled with several pale, humanoid figures that stand listlessly behind bushes and near the path. There is even one hanging motionless from a tree. There is also one standing on the cliff overlooking the horizon before it slowly shuffles away from sight.

The talisman helps weed out these weaker presences and you're able to focus on a stronger and sinister entity. Your eyes narrow once more as you hone in on the source of the overwhelming energy that plagues the entire area. It's a white and wispy trail that beckons you to follow the path before it disappears to the left, into the trees and towards the cliffs.

There.

That's where Leon was taken.

You get up to stand with Charizard and Gengar by your side.

"Let's go."

You use the talisman and the additional boon it has granted you to follow the trail that whisks you and the Pokemon far away from the gym challenger's normal path and towards the forest. Much like the haunted house case, no-one should be able to come across here unless they deliberately go off trail.

Your group continues to wade through the tall grass and through the undergrowth, trying to avoid disrupting the wild pokemon until you finally arrive at a steep and winding path that leads uphill. With a plethora of trees and bushes bordering everywhere you look, you realise you have no idea where you are. You've completely gone off track and you find yourself in a remote area devoid of anyone and anything. There are even no pokemon lurking about; you have no idea of how deep you are in the Giant's Seat.

The talisman's effect is beginning to wear off, the wispy white trail growing fainter and fainter, so you hasten your pace. The dwindling trail leads you to a powerful, rushing river and Charizard needs to help you out here. Once again, he allows you to ride on his back and carries you safely across whilst Gengar floats after you both.

On the other side of the river, a deteriorated path leads directly to the mountain that lines the border and once you reach this unknown new area, a familiar black cap sits lopsided near a berry tree. Eyes wide, Charizard zooms towards it and picks it up.

It's Leon's snapback.

"He's close," you tell him, and Charizard hugs the cap to his chest before handing you the cap which you keep safe in your bag. The talisman is showing you that the trail continues, leading further ahead into the mountain. "We need to go up."

Charizard nods and when you climb onto his back, he takes off to the sky with a huge flap of his wings. Once you're high enough in the air, Charizard lets you scan the horizon where you see a large gathering of the white wisp within one of the many small summits.

You ask Charizard to land and he does so; you hop off without much further ado once you're back on land and inspect your new surroundings.

It's a strange spectacle; the summit is covered entirely in snow and there are scattered remains of a campsite which have been completely frozen solid. The tent is still standing on its frames and zipped open, the flaps fluttering uselessly in the icy breeze. You're grateful you're wearing thermal clothes for the temperature here must be bordering sub zero.

Leon must be here.

"Leon!!" you call out, shivering somewhat, "Leon, can you hear me?"

Charizard roars and bellows for his friend, his fiery tail melting away some of the ice. You inspect the campsite but there are no footprints (aside from yours and Charizard's), it does not look like it has been subjected to a pokemon attack but it does appear someone was camping here and had left rather abruptly.

You see a plate on the ground near the tent, covered in snow and full of uneaten, rotten food which you suppose is curry. An opened metal flask stands beside it, full of frozen water. Then you check the firewood, picking up one of the pieces and you notice it is charred on one side, which indicates it had been burning for a while before eventually fizzing out. Whilst Charizard and Gengar look around, you step over to check the tent, pulling the flap down to see a pair of running shoes and rolled up socks stuffed inside, along with a sleeping bag and journal and a ballpoint pen lying near the pillow.

Gengar floats inside, picks the journal up and hands it to you; you thank him and read through the pages and discover it belongs to Maisy, the first missing victim and the latest diary entry is dated roughly three months ago as per below:

'Day 10. I'm still camping in the Wild Area, somewhere in the Giant's Seat. I found this neat spot in the mountain and I don't think anyone else has been here. It's awesome! It's like I have the whole place to myself! I've visited a few pokemon dens too but I kept getting tossed out. Can't stop thinking about that Watt Trader I met in the Rolling Fields either, he is so cute! Even Rookidee thinks so!'

The entry finishes there.

Closing the book, you gingerly place it down and move from the tent. Maisy was here but there is no sign of her anywhere.

"What happened to her...?" you murmur to yourself.

The effect of the talisman eventually wears off and your vision returns to normal. You pull it off your forehead and the little paper flutters limply in the wind and disappears down the cliff. You continue searching the campsite to look for clues until you drop to your knees, clutching your chest. A particularly oppressive force has wrapped itself around you and you struggle to breathe.

The negative energy appears to cloak the entire campsite. You move to stand, blindly take a step forward near the pile of firewood and the snowy ground underneath you completely gives way. You shriek as you fall, promptly dropping inside the small hole.

Gengar is quick to dive in, catching you in mid-air and he gently lets you down on the ground and onto your feet, the bottom of your shoes crunching under the snow.

"Thanks Gengar," you mutter and he grins wider.

Glancing left and right, jagged, sharp rocks surround you, covered in a slippery sheen of ice. You can no longer hear the howl of the icy wind outside and it is hauntingly quiet in this hole. Charizard arrives at the rounded entrance, resembling somewhat of a speck. He waves at you and you tell him you're fine, your voice echoing. It's a huge drop...a fall from this height would surely kill someone...

Gengar gestures if you want to be brought back up but you shake your head.

"I think this is it," you tell him whilst Charizard tries to squeeze himself in but he is too big, unable to fit into the hole. You're quite certain this is a Pokemon den.

Gengar tugs on your arm and you turn to where he is pointing to.

There is a medium-sized hollow to your left that indicates an entrance of some sort and it appears to be your next destination. Thanking Gengar for his vigilance, you are about to enter only to be halted immediately by the faint stench of putrefaction which hits you square in the nose. You and Gengar turn to look at each other before you both throw your glance to the uneven level of snow beneath your feet.

"....Do you think...?" you croak out, and Gengar nods.

Dread begins piling in your gut as you lower yourself to your knees and begin brushing and shovelling away the snow. Gengar assists, uncovering as much of the snow as he can with his paws until you unearth a pile of jagged rocks of all shapes and sizes. Gengar helps lift them up and moves them to the side, revealing a dull pea-green, flimsy material with a broken yellow, plastic zipper and the symbol 'LASS'. You curl your fist and gently rap your knuckles against it; there is something rock-solid underneath.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you continue to brush away more snow until you uncover an eye.

Charizard growls loudly as you pause, wondering what you have discovered, but you quickly sweep the remainder of the snow away using the sides of your palms and soon, you have uncovered a pale, white face.

Her head is bent to one side, her eyes open and staring endlessly at the sky. Ice crystals frame her face and eyelashes, her lips painted an eggshell blue.

"Oh..." you murmur under your breath, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

Gengar watches you silently, then averts his gaze to the dead body. There's one more rock to move and he inches it out of its spot, revealing a dirtied bag crushed underneath and pulls it out. Holding it upside down, a crushed pokeball drops out and Gengar holds it up to you for your taking.

You're reluctant, but you take it off him and push the button and a red light fizzes limply, revealing a Rookidee... though it is unmoving as it lies on the ground, eyes closed. You reach for the little bird and cradle it in your arms, stroking its cold and limp feathers. It doesn't respond.

You look at Gengar and he shakes his head sadly.

It is dead.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel their loneliness, fear and pain and emit a hoarse cry from the back of your throat before you murmur a prayer for them under your breath.

However, Charizard growls louder, forcing you to place the little Rookidee beside its trainer. Your legs feel heavy as you force yourself to stand up and rub your eyes with the back of your wrist, inhaling a deep and heavy breath.

Turning to Charizard, you yell, "Go to Wyndon Police Station and find Chief Inspector Graves! Bring him here."

Charizard nods, takes off, and the silence returns.

The hole to your left is your next destination now and so without further ado, Gengar hitches a ride in your shadow and you climb inside, lifting your left leg first then your right, and you shimmy in as carefully as you can and try not to lose balance or else you risk falling and dropping on a sharp rock. You squeeze yourself into the tight and narrow passageway which is covered in cobwebs and frost, ducking to avoid jagged rocks.

You grab your torch and shine the light in front of you only to be greeted with darkness.

It's a long trip. You cannot see anything else up ahead except pitch black. With one gloved on the wall and another gripping your trusty flashlight, you continue in your journey, using the rocks as support and taking baby steps so not to slip or fall, until the area around you becomes colder and colder, your breath escaping into the air in the form of thick puffs of smoke.

Throwing your glance over your shoulder, it's an equally long trip back to the way you came from.

You can't stop now. Emitting a grunt, you push yourself forwards, squeezing through the narrow passageway.

Eventually, it comes to an end when you see the small, glimmering flicker of light and you are hopeful you have made it into the pokemon den. The light grows brighter and brighter, shifting to a slightly blue tinge and you arrive at a large and empty cavern with rocky, uneven walls that are completely frozen over with ice. It's even colder here than it is outside.

You're bathed in blue and your jaw drops slightly as you make your way further inside where you are greeted with the sight of huge stalactites and stalagmites.

The stalagmites are a beautiful, crystalline azure in colour and you inch towards one to peer into it, you see a magnificent rainbow of colours within as the light from your torch reflects off. It is as tall as yourself, stretching from the ground and creeping towards the ceiling where an equally impressive-looking stalactite points dangerously above.

You shine the torch around, not quite sure what you will find here until you spot a large assortment of random bags and rucksacks piled up in one corner, including many empty phone cases.

Next, you shine the long beam of your torch to the wall where the bags are and a peaky face encased within the icy walls stares at you from across the expanse and you realise it is one of the missing gym challengers. His eyes are open, mouth agape with unheard terror, his body lodged deep within a thick case of ice.

Shining the torch to his right, he is not alone. There is another body... and another. In fact, the walls are embedded with the bodies of the missing people you were looking for. Some of them are displayed far apart and appear to have been forced into a strange, outlandish pose, with their arms and legs splayed in odd formation. Their faces are etched with horror and agony.

Resembling grotesque, stringless puppets that have been casually positioned in a canvas of ice, you struggle to breathe again as you are hit with their terror and grief which overwhelms you; the atmosphere is full of anguish and you squeeze your eyes shut with pain.

Gengar emerges from your shadow and floats into the air, looking around cautiously and on high alert.

You did it.

You found the missing people, but...

Where is Leon?

You shine the torch everywhere, calling out for the Champion until you see a familiar figure reflected off one of the stalactites. He is lying on the ground near a particularly large boulder which would've been missed.

"Leon!” you yell.

You rush over despite the icy ground and Gengar trails after you as you struggle to maintain your balance, your feet occasionally slipping or sliding over the glacial floor; when you reach the boulder, Leon is unmoving on the ground, his body covered in a thin sheet of ice. He appears paler than usual and his lips are turning a shade of blue. It appears he is in mid-process of being frozen alive but his woolly sweats are still keeping him warm to an extent.

"Leon!" you exclaim with relief, dropping to your knees beside him.

You lift up his arm, pulling his sleeve to his elbow and applying two fingers over his wrist. You find the thrum of his pulse before lowering his arm back down and you gently place your ear over his chest. When you sit up, you notice he doesn't seem to be breathing.

Being a Researcher means you have to be well-versed with at least some emergency procedures and CPR is included, though you didn't think you would ever have to carry out CPR on the Champion of Galar.

Without further ado, you move the heel of your hand over the centre of his chest, then place your other hand on top and begin to routinely press down.

Gengar floats over and watches as you administer the chest compressions before you lean down and tilt Leon's head gently, lifting his chin up to yours and pinch the bridge of his nose carefully.

You proceed to press your lips over Leon's and provide two rescue breaths before you retreat and check if his chest rises. Nothing happens and Leon is still unconscious so you repeat the process a second time until Leon's mouth opens on his own accord, he inhales a sharp breath and coughs and you release him.

He slowly opens his eyes, those deep honey pools landing on your form and the corner of his lips tugs upwards into a wide grin.

“Leon, you're okay! Thank Arceus!!” you exclaim with relief.

You want to be careful with him as much as you can as it looks like he's in a lot of pain but it doesn't stop you from hugging him tightly; you wrap your arms around his head, bringing him into your embrace and holding him tightly, resting your chin atop his head and smoothing your hand over his hair.

Leon blinks sluggishly at you as you let go of him briefly, inspect the rest of his features by placing a hand over his icy cold cheeks. He watches you as you continue to hug him and croaks out, "...It's you..."

"Yeah, it's me."

"...What're you doing here...?"

"We came to rescue you. You got taken by a Froslass...Geez, you're freezing," you utter, before you gently let go of him to pull your warm coat off. You proceed to drape it around him, pulling the lapels tightly together, followed by your scarf which you fish out from your bag and loop around his neck again and again. Leon's gaze is fixed on you the entire time, watching you tear your gloves off your hands and ease them over his own. "Is that better?"

He nods as you sneeze, your teeth beginning to chatter. "Aren't you..."

"It's fine. I'm fine," you say quickly, before you encircle your arms around his shoulders once more.

"...I read your blog...You're so brave..." he mutters and when he notices that your exposed fingers are shaking from the cold, he reaches for your hand and entwines your fingers together. His hand is so much larger than yours, his fingers curling around yours, and he grips you rather firmly. He's grateful for your warmth, brushing his thumb over the back of your palm.

However, he runs his fingers over your bandages and along the middle of your palm where you had cut yourself. He looks up and you throw your glance down; your gazes meet and he says, "What happened to your hand? You're hurt..."

"It's nothing."

"...Nothing?"

"Yeah."

He blinks slowly at you and murmurs your name. "I really admire you..."

"Save your strength. You're delirious from the cold," you say to the woozy Leon.

"And you're pretty..."

"Now you're just delusional."

"Where’s Charizard...?”

"I asked him to get help.”

"...How did you find me?”

"Charizard brought me to the area where you went missing and I followed this trail and...”

You can’t tell if he’s listening but he appears to be studying you carefully.

"......Charizard let you ride on his back?”

”Yeah."

Leon says nothing and you wonder why he’s fallen silent until he suddenly points at something in front of you.

You quickly look up to see an intense flurry of snow materialising in the middle of the cave before you, hovering in the air in a tight ball.

The cavern's temperature drops even further and Gengar hastily stands in front of you and Leon protectively, ready to battle.

An unearthly, mournful wail rips through the cave and sends numerous shivers down your spine and rattles your very core before the hail of snow unravels violently, revealing a ghostly white figure within, her blue eyes glowing brightly under the dim light.

It's Froslass, and she's enraged that you've trespassed her home and found her prey.

"Gengar, use Dark Pulse!" you yell, and Gengar immediately leaps towards her, summoning a bright ball of purple energy in his hands before he shoots it at the pokemon.

Froslass avoids the attack with a dainty twirl and hurls a glowing white ball at him in response. It's a Confuse Ray. He avoids by leaping to the side and you instruct him to use another Dark Pulse attack whilst Froslass counterattacks, unleashing a barrage of icicles towards your direction.

You protect Leon from the frost by throwing yourself in front of him, shielding him with your body though your back bears the brunt of the attack and you squeeze your eyes shut, biting down on your lip to blot out the pain. Leon's eyes grow wide at your action and a vicious snowstorm brews inside the cavern. As you start to shiver and twitch furiously, Leon drapes his arms around you and pulls you closer to you to him and you open your eyes in shock, whipping your head up to him.

He offers you a gentle smile and as the snowstorm rages, he moves one hand to the back of your head and the other around your shoulders as you huddle together on the ground.

Gengar darts left and right to avoid the harsh snow and Froslass' incoming attacks. His eyes glow a bright red before he soars into the air and holds his arms out, circular beams of energy shooting out.

The snow stops at once, the little round particles frozen in mid-air, and you and Leon avert your gazes to the beautiful but deadly sight. Froslass looks confused until Gengar waggles his finger and the sleet returns to her, shooting towards her direction.

You're not sure what kind of move that was but it appears to be a psychic move and Froslass is battered by her own technique.

"Way to go, Gengar!" you exclaim as you look up, still shivering, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Gengar returns to land in front of you and Leon, turns to you and nods, grinning wickedly.

As Froslass reels from the impact, it's then you see various shadowy tendrils emerging from her weakened body and Leon loosens his grip on you so you can stick your hand into your bag, pulling out the Odd Keystone and tossing it upwards where it lingers in mid-air and begins to shake rigorously.

"In nómine Pátris, et Fílii, et Spirítus Sancti." you say aloud, aware that Leon is staring at you.

Trembling violently, a loud crack emits from the Odd Keystone and the fissure begins to glow.

The dark shadow is forcibly pulled from Froslass and the pokemon drops to the floor, severely weakened. The shadow screams agonisingly, the sounds echoing off the walls of the cave but the Odd Keystone continues quaking furiously, effectively sucking the shadow inside. Shadows also begin to arise from the multiple corpses that are frozen in the walls, a mix of contorted horrifying screams following as a number of dark, shadowy outlines become sucked out from the ice and towards the stone.

The Odd Keystone glows brighter as the shadows resist. It is futile, the keystone drags them in with a power like no other, the screams grows fainter and fainter until the dreadful sounds stop entirely, and the cavern goes silent and all grows still. The Keystone drops to the ground but Gengar quickly catches it in his paws and brings it carefully to you.

"Thank you, Gengar," you say, and he grins in response as you return the keystone safely into your bag.

Leon has been watching the entire time, eyes wide.

Averting attention to the downed Froslass, you take out a Dusk Ball from your bag, tossing it at the pokemon and the capsule smacks into the pokemon and opens, sucking the critter inside. The ball drops to the ground and wiggles for a few seconds before it successfully clicks shut.

Emitting a huge sigh of relief, you turn and bury your face in Leon's chest.

It's over.

You glance at Gengar, teeth chattering. "Gengar....can you check if...if Charizard's come back?"

He nods and heads for the narrow passageway you had emerged from, disappearing into the darkness.

It's you and Leon all alone again, and the temperature of the den is not improving; having given Leon your coat and other warm gear, you pull yourself off his chest to sit beside him against the boulder, though you still slink your arms around him, hoping to keep him warm until help arrives.

He reaches for your hand again, glancing up as you shake and your teeth chatter. "....You're cold..."

"I-I-I'm fine...don't worry about me..."

"The coat's big enough for the two of us." he utters, but you shake your head and pull the coat properly over him and zip it up to his chin. You let go of him, retreating your hand away from his and choosing to roll and curl up in a fetal position, clutching your bag to your chest for warmth.

“You need it more than I do, Leon…” you utter as you close your eyes, hugging your bag firmly.

A silence settles between you both and you don’t know how long has passed but the cold is getting worse; your fingertips are growing numb and you cannot stop trembling. You’re wondering what is taking Charizard and Gengar so long until you hear Leon fumbling around in his spot; you throw a cautious glance over your shoulder to see that he has pulled the zip down, unwrapped the coat again and he reaches for you, slinking his arms around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

“…W-what are you doing…”

His lips tug upwards into a grin of reassurance. “It’s okay…”

You gawp at him but you are so cold, you cannot move, resist or protest, and so Leon attempts to sit up with you sitting limply in his lap. He also unravels the scarf from his neck and drapes it around you and you glimpse down at yourself. You're sharing the scarf now. The coat is not forgotten and he pulls and tugs the thick fabric to cover you before he settles his sturdy arms around your waist and you're instantly swept up by Leon's lingering warmth. He rests his chin atop your head, the scruff of his beard tickling your scalp as he emits a hum under his breath.

You're surprised by his bold actions but you feel at ease at once and you slump against him, your cheek smushed against his chest. “….If the press saw us, they'd have a field day…” you mumble under your breath.

He chuckles, his chest rumbling. "I know, but I wouldn't care and neither should you," he utters, "...Thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome, Leon."

"Is your back okay?"

You nod.

He gives you a tight squeeze and although you know it's to keep you warm, you can't help the frantic thudding of your heart as you consider how close you are and how tightly he's holding you to him. You wonder if he's feeling the same.

"So...so cold..." you croak out, your breathing laboured.

He glances at you in surprise, then rubs your arm up and down with his large palm soothingly. "Is that better?"

"...Yeah."

Leon throws his gaze to the ceiling as he continuously rubs your arm. It grows silent briefly until he utters, "Hey, I got a question..."

"What...?"

"Who’s Rosie?”

"...How...how do you know that name?"

"I thought I heard you say that name when we were camping."

"Oh..." you mutter, “Rosie is my little sister…”

“…Did something happen to her?”

You grow tense, squeezing your eyes shut and curling your fists. “……..You....wouldn't understand.” And you didn’t think you would tell Leon this, if at all. "...But if she was still here, she would've been Hop's age. She would've started her pokemon journey..."

There is a silence following your revelation, but Leon gives your waist a squeeze as he shifts his arms. You cannot tell if it was accidental or not but it makes your heartbeat soar.

“...I’m sorry," he murmurs.

You shake your head limply in response.

Before Leon can ask further questions, the cave begins to tremble and a muffled but loud noise is accompanied with a fierce roar; it must be Charizard. He is not alone, you can hear several voices echoing through the passageway.

"Mr Champion??" yells a familiar voice, "We have a team coming to get you, please sit tight!"

It's Graves.

You are saved.

...

Charizard has returned to the pokemon den with the Chief Inspector, who has brought a team with him.

Maisy's body and Froslass' victims have been recovered.

Leon is brought to the nearest hospital and so are you. You had spent the long wait in the Pokemon den huddling together until Graves arrived. The whole trip is a rather nerve-wracking one as you sit in the ambulance by Leon's side. He falls unconscious as he's wheeled in and fitted with a breathing mask but he holds onto your hand the entire time and refuses to let go, even when the paramedics attempts to split the two of you up.

Once you arrive at the hospital, you're forced to separate and Leon's fingers are pried off yours; you're extremely worried, watching as Leon is wheeled away by the medics out of the ambulance and into the hospital. He's taken to a private room away from the curious bystanders and journalists, whereas you're redirected to the main A&E area and forced to sit on a bed with the curtain pulled round, tended by a nurse on her nightshift.

Your shredded palm is properly dressed and she checks the rest of your body and back and then after that brief checkup, she tells you you're free to go. The coat is returned to you and so are the rest of your belongings.

When you return to the main waiting area, Chief Inspector Graves picks you up for questioning and to take some testimony off you which you do to your best ability.

You're dismissed a second time after a long and particularly gruelling session and you return to the waiting area again whilst he disappears to buy a coffee from the vending machines. You find the same seat again, sit down and spot a man in a white tracksuit, cap and sunglasses who passes you and realise it is Chairman Rose of Macro Cosmos when his stoic assistant Oleana strides beside him. Despite the late hour, they appear immaculate and they're heading towards the direction of Leon's room.

You attempt to follow them, albeit maintaining a safe and short distance away and they vanish further down the corridor and into the room, the door slamming shut. As you pass several rooms, you see numerous Lampents hanging outside, staring woefully at the patients through the windows.

It appears no-one is bothered by their presences but your priority is Leon. You want to see how Leon is doing, so you want to go with them but there is already a small crowd and the nurses are doing their best to disperse them.

It's not ideal to go see Leon right now; he needs time to rest so you return to the main waiting area where you find an empty seat and sit down, glancing at Froslass' capsule.

You're not sure what to do with her.

A short while later, a dark-skinned woman and little boy (with piercing golden eyes that resembles Leon's) enters the hospital and you hear them asking for Leon at the desk and you're well aware that this is his mother and his little brother, Hop. His mother's face is sagging with concern and fear whilst Hop hugs his Wooloo to himself tightly. You can't help but feel bad for them. You observe as they disappear down the same route Rose and Oleana had ventured to.

You still have Leon's snapback with you which you want to return to him, but you think it's best to return it to him the next morning when he's better and circumstances have cooled down.

The TV in the corner broadcasts a quick thirty second run of 'Breaking News' about eight bodies being found in the Giant's Seat that are believed to be the missing gym challengers. There are no news about Leon being part of the bunch and it shifts to a Turrfield Orchards commercial.

You sit in your seat, pondering to yourself.

You had found Leon in the nick of time. Froslass never froze him entirely because she became infatuated with him so she had spared his life. Also, his clothes were warm enough to a certain extent. He will recover but according to the Pokemon League's official website, his match has been postponed and Rose has to give him a week or so, maybe longer, to recuperate.

You can imagine what is most likely to happen.

The League will have to reassess the areas that can be explored in the Wild Area, due to the deaths of several gym challengers. You can already imagine the social media content that will emerge such as 'Galar's Gym Challenge and the Perils of the Wild Area: How Safe is Safe?' and 'The Reason Why I'm No Longer Going to Pursue The Gym Challenge, Read Full Article Here'.

The gym challenge won't be cancelled and will continue to exist but sections of the Wild Area considered dangerous for gym challengers such as the mountain summit and the pokemon den where you found Leon, will be sealed off for good and Macro Cosmos will introduce more Watt Traders to patrol so this wouldn't happen again.

You sit for an hour or so, waiting for further updates until you hear the sounds of footsteps approaching and you look up; it's Graves and another police officer, escorting one of your clients you had spoken to earlier on in the day.

She's ashen-faced and quiet until she spots you in your seat. "You liar! He's dead! My son is dead!" she roars accusingly at once, her eyes wild and full of hatred. She is quickly apprehended by Graves and the officer, blocking her from approaching you any further.

"Ma'am, calm down," Graves says and his stern looks and commanding tone serves to quell her anger in seconds.

The woman's furious expression crumbles and she begins sobbing loudly. Graves leaves the woman snivelling and wailing with the officer, heading towards your direction.

"Why're you still here?" he asks gruffly when he stops by your side. Despite the late hour, Graves doesn't look tired. He's used to pulling late night shifts just like you. "Leon's fine, if that's what you're worried about."

"...Are there any survivors?" you ask, "The Pokemon?"

Graves shakes his head. "Frozen to death."

You tense in your seat. "What about their Rotoms?"

"Gone."

...which means they're also dead. "Okay," you say quietly as you throw your glance to your lap.

"We can handle it from here, kiddo. I'm going to speak to Rose and we'll deal with the victim's families and the press. Thanks for your help; you did good. Real good. Your parents would be proud," he scrubs his face with his palm and says, "Go home, it's late. Magnolia will be worried."

You nod in response, Graves returns to the weeping woman and escorts her away with the officer. She's grieving so you don't blame her for her outburst. It's not the first time you have been called a liar anyway.

You let out a gentle sigh under your breath before you shift your gaze to the TV again where it's showing that Chairman Rose is supposed to release some formal statement first thing tomorrow morning. There's no further reason to linger anymore and even Graves is telling you to go home. Your work here is done so you should head back to Wedgehurst. You will try to visit Leon in the morning if you can.

You get up from the seat and Gengar suddenly appears from your shadow. You look at him with a smile and he grins in response. Together, you leave the hospital and emerge outside; it's foggy and cold as you step into the night.

A single light shines from the lamppost that stands near the exit, bathing you in a warm yellow glow.

You tug your coat firmly to yourself, glance up and around before you leave the light, disappearing into the darkness.

...

Instead of heading to Wedgehurst, you take a late night Corviknight taxi and ask if the cabbie can take you to Greyson's Cemetery which is close to the Meetup Spot but a mile or so past the Dappled Grove and Rolling Fields.

The cabbie wonders why you're wanting to go to such a spooky and desolate place at night but says nothing of it since you're paying for the ride after all. He and Corviknight carry you to the entrance of the cemetery where you hop out of the huge carriage and pay the fare.

Pained screams emit from within and the cabbie's face pales. "W-what was that?!"

"You don't want to know," is your reply.

He hurriedly hands you the change then flies off with Corviknight.

You watch them leave before you push open the huge steel gates and step inside, making your way down the worn path whilst the agonising howls increase steadily in volume.

The cemetery is hardly visited during daylight hours and even less during the night.

It's a gloomy and creepy place, covered in heavy mist and fog. Rows and rows of old, grungy gravestones poke out of the soil and up ahead, a single mausoleum stands silently in the middle with the door ajar. The light is on, indicating someone is inside.

As you venture further in, you glance at all the ghost pokemon ranging from Pumpkaboo and Sableyes who are hanging around and playing together. Gengar greets a few Ghastlys and Haunters who are lurking around the fountain that contains an old statue of an angel. Looks like they're having a party.

You leave Gengar to his own devices and stroll down the empty path, eventually arriving at the mausoleum and peer between the gap of the door. A dishevelled-looking man in a black duster, shirt, trousers and flip flops with an Absol beside him can be seen within, facing a woman who is tied to a chair made out of stone. She is drenched with water, hissing and spitting and snarling through gritted teeth, her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Absol is first to notice you, leaving the man's side to trot up to you and nudge the door open to a small extent. You smile as you squat down, patting her on the head whilst the man chants under his breath, holding a silver cross up in his withered hands.

"Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus," he mutters, stepping around the woman who responds with fierce gnashes of the teeth before she hurls colourful abuse at him in a deep voice.

He presses the cross against the woman's forehead and immediately, her skin sizzles and burns, smoke emitting. She begins shaking violently against the restraints, flailing in a frenzied manner, flinging her head side to side until her features resembles a blur.

The man is undeterred and continues, "Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei."

You decide not to intervene and find a nice spot by a random gravestone, waiting in silence and twiddling your fingers together. The noises from within become more and more animalistic, resembling feral growls and grunts before it grows silent and the door opens.

The man emerges, drenched in blood and what appears to be vomit.

Meanwhile, the ghost Pokemon behind you frolic and play, oblivious.

You stand up at once. "Ezra!"

He emits a wheezy cough, smacking a clenched fist over his chest repeatedly before he erupts into a violent coughing fit and turns to the side, spitting out some blood.

You immediately go over to help him stand, holding him up by the arm.

He says, "Hey kid."

"Take it easy..." you help him over the steps of the mausoleum and as Ezra plops himself down with a heavy sigh, Absol joins him and he pats her gently on the head. "What's going on? Do you need help?"

"It's fine, nothin' for you to concern yourself with."

You peek inside the mausoleum to see the woman is now sitting limply in the chair with her eyes closed. “She gonna be okay?"

"...Yeah."

"Who is she?"

"I dunno, she just ran inside screamin' and sayin' she been hearin' voices in her head....then she began speakin' in tongues." Ezra grunts, before he enters another harsh coughing fit. When he's finished wheezing, he grabs a cigarette from his pockets along with a lighter and lights it up, inhaling a deep drag and exhaling into the air with a deep but inaudible sigh. "Bring me a beer, kiddo. I left it behind that grave over there."

"Okay," you head over to where he's pointing to, pull out the aforementioned pack of six beers and return to his side.

"That's it, gimme."

Handing one to the old man, he flips the lid, brings the can to his lips and takes a messy swig before sighing with relief. You open your bag and pull out the Odd Keystone that pulses gently in your grip, "I think it's time I gave this back to you. Can you hold onto it for a while?"

He nods, you hand him the stone and he holds it in his limp hands. "Good job," he murmurs, and you know he's talking about the number of evil spirits you've collected, "...Looks like you got yourself a partner too."

"Yep. Gengar, this is my mentor, Ezra."

Gengar stops floating around the Haunters and hovers to your side, then glances at Ezra and Absol. Absol merely regards the shadow pokemon quietly but pays no attention and returns to lie down on her front paws. Gengar floats towards Ezra's direction and takes note of his rather bedraggled appearance, the blood and vomit, before he glances at the silver cross dangling off his neck. Then he notices the old man's pupils are dull, glazed and white. They don't react to anything in front of him, not even when Gengar waves a hand in front of his face.

Ezra doesn't respond, though his smirk widens and he inhales another deep drag, the lit end of his cigarette glowing brightly before the ashes flutter to his feet. "...Isn't that something," he utters, "You two play nice now."

"We get on really well. Right, Gengar?" you add, and Gengar nods as he returns to your side and floats behind you.

"So," Ezra begins, "Did you find the missing folk?"

"Yeah. It was a Froslass haunting the Giant's Seat. A gym challenger fell down a pokemon den during a snowstorm and died. She was crushed by rocks and so were her pokemon. She ended up kidnapping young men and using them as decorations in her cave. I guess she didn't want to be lonely," you emit a sigh and throw your glance to your shoes. "They were already dead. I was too late."

There is a brief silence following until he pats you on the shoulder. "...I'm sorry, kid. You know what it's like. You know what you signed up for. Most people walk in the light and then there's people like us, who tread in the darkness. This is the path you chose," he replies, "Don't be so hard on yourself. You did your best."

You don't reply to that but you gesture to the pack of beer, "Can I have one?"

"Help yourself."

"Thanks," you grab a can and pull the lid off, downing the booze in big gulps.

Ezra returns to the mausoleum, whistling loudly. "Absol, let's go." He mutters, and the dark pokemon stretches on her paws before she joins her trainer and Ezra closes the door behind them.

You're left on your own.

Throwing your glance up to the full moon, you think about Leon and how many worlds apart you are.

...

#jeralee #pokemon #pkmn #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword #leon x reader #Leon x you #leon #dande #fanfic #fic #reader #archive of our own #comfort in despair

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elstreem · 5 years ago

Text

LoZ FS: Tower of Dreams

6k words, one shot fanfiction with Akira Himekawa’s Four Swords manga characters. Red wakes up in a mysterious room and finds the disembodied voices of his other selves guiding him...

Red wasn't sure what woke him up - the distorted whispering in the air, the cold, hard, ground, or a sudden stab of fear that lanced his heart, making his eyes blink open and a broken sob spilling out of his mouth. Probably all of those combined, he thought as he pulled his limbs close to himself and shivered. Ohh, it was just like his nightmares of being alone -

"Red!"

The voice was loud and familiar, and in a moment Red was scrambling up to shout, "I'm here!" and looking for a green tunic, but -

But there was no one around in the weird space he found himself in. Red whirled around in confusion - he could have sworn Green had just called him from nearby, his voice was so close. He peered at the strange fog swirling around him, wondering if Green was maybe obscured by the green-tinged miasma -

"Red, are you okay!?"

"Where are you? Red?"

"Blue? Vio? I'm here!" Red called, looking around for the other parts of his self. Strange, Red could usually sense where they are if they were in close proximity, which should be the case if he could hear them so clearly…was this really a strange dream, after all?

"Red, watch out!"

Red instinctively ducked, following Green's warning as a Keese swooped from the murk. Red felt his heart hammering, felt the breeze stirred by the Keese's wings, heard the piercing shriek - there was no way his dream could be this detailed. Which could only mean he was indeed, awake and in danger.

"It's coming back! Defend yourself," Vio called out, and Red quickly reached for his wand and sword - but found neither of his trusty items at his back.

The Keese shrieked and dove down, its fangs scraping Red's cheek and leaving a scratch.

"Stop it, you stupid bat!" Blue's voice growled as Red stumbled away.

"Red! Find a rock or something, you gotta keep that thing away from you!" Blue advised.

"On it!" Red said, deciding to ask questions later and trust in his companions. Keeping his arms above his head for protection, Red dodged this way and that, followed by three voices of encouragement.

As always, whenever the four were in perfect accord, all differences were cast aside and their words and thoughts moved as if in sync. As it was, barely had Green said, "Left!" when Red already swerved, avoiding a pit in the ground. In this way, Red navigated the treacherous terrain, never seeing for himself what dangers lay in his path but always being forewarned by the other three.

"Red, there's something on the ground over there - a stick or something, you can probably use it to bat the Keese away," Blue directed, and without breaking stride, Red reached for the stick, whirled around, and smacked the oncoming Keese. The bat monster shrieked and hurtled away. Red sighed in relief, and noticed that the thing he was holding was actually a bone. "Ew!" Red groaned before letting his impromptu weapon go, hurriedly wiping his hands on his tunic afterwards for good measure.

"Oh, that was a little gross. But hey, it worked," Green said.

"Yeah. Thanks guys!" Red said, directing his words to the air. Speaking of which…Red frowned and peered around, even though he knew it was a futile effort.

"Where are you though? Can you see me? I can't see you…" Red said uncertainly.

"Yeah, I can see you and what's around you…"

"Same here."

"Yup."

"But I can't see you…" Red said, frowning in thought. A terrible thought then came to him, and he asked, "Y…you aren't ghosts, are you?"

"Of course not!…wait, I guess?" Blue said, starting with an indignant shout but ending the statement with a very uncertain question.

"Come to think of it, I'm not sure where we - our bodies are."

"Yeah, it's…I can see Red just fine, but I don't know where we are. But, Red, you can't see much where you are right now, right?"

"Right! There's this creepy mist around me…I can barely see my hand a distance my face," Red said, sticking his arm out for emphasis and shaking his hand a bit. True enough, he could barely make out of the outline of his hand even though it was just an arm's distance away.

"Okay…so until we figure out what happened, we have to be Red's eyes," Vio said.

"Why do we always have to be separated like this…" Red sighed despondently.

"Cheer up, we're still here!"

And so, Red started on his strange journey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Since you dropped that bone earlier -"

"Hey, I'm not gonna hold it any longer than I have to!"

"I'm not saying you should go back for it, but you have to have something to protect yourself with…"

"I see a light over there to Red's…left, yes, left. It's a few paces away."

"Be careful, it might be a trap."

Red followed the directions, and found that he could see a faint ball of light in the gloom. He eagerly quickened his steps and came to a wall bearing a torch. The torch was perhaps the first cheerful sight Red had seen in the place, with its bright red flames. "Well, it's no magical rod, but it's better than a bone!" Red chirped, taking the torch off its bracket on the wall. The torch seemed just as happy to see Red, as it gave a little shower of sparks as soon as the hero was holding it securely in his hand.

"Phew, now I can breathe a little easier…I don't like seeing you without a sword, especially after what happened last time!"

"Okay, Blue, I know," Red said. With a fond smile, Red placed a hand on the wall, and found an idea coming to him.

"If I keep my hand on the wall…"

"Maybe you'll have a better chance of getting around!"

"It's a good start."

Red nodded - though he couldn't see any of his companions, he felt their presence so strongly it didn't matter if he couldn't see them. He walked on, fingers brushing against the rough stone wall. Fortunately the monsters seemed to be staying away, giving the four space to continue talking.

"What was the last thing you guys remember? Did you just wake like this?" Red asked, waving to the air with his torch.

"Something like that…I remember we fell asleep…and then when I woke up, I was just hovering over you," Blue answered.

"Yup, same here…wait! I think I remembered dreaming about something…a tower?"

"You too? I wasn't sure, but I thought I remembered seeing a tower in the mist…"

Red gasped as the memory came back to him. "I remembered seeing a tower too!"

"How about you Blue?"

"Yeah, now that you mentioned it…and I think I went inside the tower, but I can remember anything past that."

"Maybe…we are inside that tower. Maybe this is a dream world?"

"It feels too real to me…" Red complained. Even with the warm flames of the torch he felt chilled, though whether it was because of the cold or the creepy atmosphere he wasn't sure.

"I see…a set of stairs ahead. Just go on!"

Gradually the wall curved off to the side, and like Green mentioned, there was a set of spiral stairs leading down. "If we're inside the tower, Red must be on the top floor," Vio noted.

"Ok, I guess I'll be going down," Red said. But before he could go down a step Blue shouted, "No, jump back!"

Startled by Blue's urgency, Red tripped and fell as he took a step back, but it was just enough to give him space to avoid a Skulltula that whizzed down. The giant spider blocked the stairway, waving its legs tauntingly in front of Red.

Red quickly scooted back, as the Skulltula was much too close for comfort.

"Are you okay, Red?" Blue asked.

"Yeah, it didn't get me…but oww…I fell on my backside…" Red winced. In a moment he was standing up, used to far rougher scrapes (it was a hazard of being a Link).

"Now what? I like this torch but I don't think it's as good as a sword…" Red said.

"Give it a good whack anyway," Blue suggested.

"Uh…maybe there's something else in this room -"

"Stupid spider!" Red shouted, jabbing the Skulltula before Vio could finish his words.

The Skulltula hissed, legs writhing, before shooting back up again.

"Or yeah, maybe we can just whack the spider," Vio muttered.

"Yaay!"

"Hey, whatever works, right?" Green said.

While the three voices reported that the stairs were free of any further spiders, monsters or otherwise, Red held his trusty torch higher up, hoping that the flames would deter any other monsters who would want to take a bite of a Hylian in a red tunic. Would his red tunic make him tastier to monsters? Red didn't want to know, and he let out a sigh of relief when he reached the next floor. Like the one he started out in, miasma obscured his vision.

"Still foggy in here," Red reported.

"Alright, go in carefully!"

"There's something here…oh, but my vision is darkening…weird…"

"Vio?"

Keeping his ears open for the sounds of beating wings or the quiet clicking of spider legs, Red proceeded carefully. It had become worryingly quiet, and after a while Red couldn't stand the silence and whispered "Guys?"

A minute passed until he heard Green's reassuring voice. "What is it Red?"

"Oh, I was just worried, I wasn't hearing anything! It's freaking me out," Red said.

"Something…ahead…"

"Vio?"

"I'm here. I was saying, I see…something violet in this room."

"Huh? I wasn't hearing any of you say anything," Red said in confusion.

"Oh? That's strange…"

"Well, where is the thing you saw Vio?"

"Red's left…few paces away…oh, but it feels like my eyes are closing…"

Red opened his mouth, then shut it, not wanting to voice his fear that their voices will fade away entirely. Instead, he went off walking.

"This way Vio?" Red asked.

"……"

"Vio?"

"He said, a little more to your left," Blue relayed the message.

"Weird, Vio's voice keeps getting softer. Are you okay?" Green asked, voicing Red's concern.

"I'm fi…ne…"

Red practically dashed ahead and almost tripped over a treasure chest on the floor. Quickly, he opened the chest, fumbling a little as his one hand was still clutching the torch.

"Oh! A violet key. Strange, it's shaped like the Four Sword," Red said upon seeing the contents.

He then got the key and put it in his pocket, then stood up as he heard something - something familiar. It was the sound of high-pitched jabbering.

Red whirled around and found several Chu Chus making their way towards him.

"They're around you in a circle!" Blue said.

"Quick, formation!…oh drat, we're not there…Red!" Green called.

Red, desperately hoping that the torch trick was going to work a second time, took a swing at the closest Chu Chu. The lit end of the torch passed through the Chu Chu's gloop-like body…and the fire was snuffed out. Red pulled the torch back, but it was too late - all he had now was a stick with a burnt end coated in jelly.

Red backed away, only to find another Chu Chu close by, and he realized too late that the monsters had closed the circle.

"Red!" Both Blue and Green cried out.

Not knowing what else to do, Red put his hand back into his pocket and clutched the key.

"Oh, Vio…please, help me!" Red said.

"Spin attack! Now!"

Red wasn't quite sure how it happened - but somehow, it felt like Vio was standing at his side and guiding his hand. He drew the key from his pocket, and holding it securely, spun around. A purple glow emanated from the key and took the shape of the Four Sword, the light slashing through the Chu Chus cleanly. The flash of light caused Red to shut his eyes, and in that brief moment he saw a round room with five doors.

"I'm sorry Red…it feels like something is pulling me away…but I'm waiting here!" Vio said, his voice fading.

Red opened his eyes and found little puddles of colored goop around him, the key once more back to being a small, nondescript key. But Red knew it would lead him to Vio.

"Whew, that was too close! Are you okay, Red?" Green asked.

"Yup! Vio helped me," Red said, showing the key before pocketing it once more.

"Oh, that's good to know. But…where is Vio? Even I can't hear him…"

"There's room in this tower with five doors! Vio is there, and I bet you two, too. I think he's okay," Red said in a rush. He wasn't sure where the feeling came from, but just knowing for sure that all four of them really were in the same place gave Red courage.

"Oh!"

"What is it Green?"

"I sense something in the next floor. It feels like there is a green light, somehow. I'm not sure how to explain it."

"Red, are you sure this is the right way?" Blue asked, still worried about Vio's absence.

Red touched the key in his pocket and nodded.

"Well, let's continue then. Don't keep us waiting," Blue said.

"I can see the stairs to your right, Red…oh, but it's strange, I suddenly feel sleepy…"

"Ok I'm on it Green!"

"Hey, watch your step on the stairs!"

Red clattered down the stairs, trying to hold onto that confident feeling of knowing his companions were in the area and trying not to feel worried about the loss of Vio's voice. So eager was his pace that it took Blue practically yelling to get his attention.

"Red! Slow DOWN!"

Red skidded to a halt, fortunately making it onto the next floor without tripping.

"Huh? What it is Blue?" Red asked, realizing he had to gasp for breath from his sprint.

"Geez, I'm all up for rushing in, but be careful! What if you had slipped on those stairs?" Blue growled, and Red knew he would have gotten a scolding slap if Blue had been there at that moment.

"Sorry…I guess I just don't want to let you guys down!" Red said.

"You're…doing just great…be careful…" Green said, trying to be reassuring, but his voice was starting to waver in and out of Red's hearing.

"Anyway, why are you still holding that torch, Red?" Blue asked.

"Oh? Oh yeah! It just makes me feel safer, I guess" Red said, waving the torch around.

"Well, you should relight it so it's at least useful, right?" Blue pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Red said, looking around. Noticing that a glob of Chu Chu jelly was still stuck to the end, Red tried to shake it off, but when the sticky wad didn't budge, he scraped the end of the torch against the floor. It did the trick - and in the strange way dungeon torches worked, the torch relit itself with a fwump! Red was a little startled, but he laughed on seeing the flames once more. "Hey, it worked!" Red cheered, waving the torch around, making the light dance and his shadow flicker.

"Hopefully you won't run into any more Chu Chus," Blue mused.

"Treasure chest…straight…"

"Oh, right! Sorry, Green," Red said, quickly getting back on track.

"No monsters, but they might spring out when you open the chest, so be careful!" Blue warned.

Red nearly tripped over the chest, but stopped himself in time to kneel in front of it. He opened it one-handed once more, and found a green key, also shaped like the Four Sword.

"Okay, you can rest easy now, Green," Red said.

He quickly pocketed the key and whirled around, expecting to see yet another ring of monsters. However, none materialized.

"Green? Are you gone too?" Blue asked in trepidation.

Both Blue and Red waited for a response, but it seemed like Green had also gone silent.

"Ugh, I really don't like this," Blue muttered.

"So Blue, can you see the next way?" Red asked.

"Hmm, no…but the stairs are to your right. There's a pit in the way, so step carefully."

Red inched forward, and sure enough a broken patch of floor was in the way.

"Don't worry, Blue, we can do this!" Red said, sensing Blue's quiet worry.

"Yeah…" Blue said.

"Oh, Blue, are you fading too? Can you see your key?" Red asked.

"Red…w…tch OUT!"

Just then the green key flared with light, and Red saw that cracks were snaking out from the edge of the pit, rapidly taking over the floor. Red took steps back, but it was too late - the floor was already starting to crumble beneath his boots. With a gasp, Red found himself falling into the darkness. But the darkness didn't stay, as the light from the key glowed brighter, until it had formed a sphere of light around Red. As what happened with Vio, it seemed like the lost Green was holding Red's hand and guiding his fall.

"I'm sorry I could only stay this long…hold on! I'll do what I can…"

While Green's light was guiding him, Red saw the vision of the round room again, only now he saw that a flight of stairs was leading down to it and he knew for sure then that the round room was at the bottom of the tower.

The light faded, and with it the vision, and Red found his feet settling back onto the ground

"Red!"

"I'm okay, Blue!" Red called out. "Thanks to Green," Red added, and took a look into his pocket - sure enough, the green key was there, though it had spent all its light. The two keys in Red's pocket poked into his side in an uncomfortable sensation, but it was a sure sign that they were there.

"Red…sorry…but I'm also…"

"It's okay, Blue. I'm nearly there," Red said.

"Okay. Go…left."

Red went ahead, the torch's flame crackling in the chill air but still working, as though it fed off Red's determination to see the quest through.

In a short while, Red saw the chest, and he quickly opened it up, to find a blue key.

"I got you, Blue!" Red said. He stood up and said, "Can you still hear me?"

The air was still, and Red could only hear his own words. "It's up to me, then," Red said, clutching the blue key to himself.

Red quickly brought his hand around to pocket the key - but not quickly enough. Something whizzed in the air, and something sharp flicked into Red's hand, causing the lad to cry out - in pain and anguish. The key was gone!

Red whirled around, ignoring the blood drops coming out of his cut. He saw something dark and slender disappear into the murk, and barely a beat later, a rush of cold air blew past Red. He raised his arms to shelter his face from the stinging wind. He could still see however, and he saw that the ominous fog had cleared - and hovering before him was a winged serpentine creature with glowing yellow eyes. The tip of the serpent's tail ended in a sharp point, still flecked with Red's blood - but more importantly, still curled around a glimmer of blue.

"Give that back!" Red said desperately. The snake showed its fangs and hissed mockingly, before giving another beat of its wings and lifting itself into the air. It whirled around the room, emitting the same fog which had covered it from sight, before diving into a set of stairs at one end of the room.

"No! No no no!" Red shouted, dropping the torch and reaching out with his wounded hand, but flinching as the wound began to sting with pain. Red clutched his hand and dropped to his knees, feeling some tears come on.

"Oh, Blue…I'm so sorry…" Red gasped. He disconsolately looked at his shaking hands, which were now smeared with blood. The shock of the moment got to Red, and he blankly stared at his hands as darkness wavered at the edges of his vision.

But it wasn't simply shock that was making the darkness move in Red's vision. The torch cast behind him still burned with a small flame, its glow stopped by Red's figure, resulting in a shadow stretching out before Red. And the shadow was not having any of this injustice done to his other selves.

"Snap out of it!"

Having another familiar voice jolted Red, and he wildly looked around. "Huh? Who…?" Red asked.

"You can't let this get to you. Come on, go!" the vaguely familiar voice said. So similar to the voices of the other Links, but different…which could only mean it was…

"Shadow!?" Red asked.

"What more do I need to tell you? That my key is with that snakey thing? And if anyone is going to help you whack that monster, that Blue guy is you best bet, so get to that key already!"

"R-right! Sorry," Red said. Seeing as his cut was still bleeding, Red tore a bit off the hem of his tunic and wrapped the strip of fabric around his hand. As Red wasn't looking directly at him, Shadow allowed himself a quick wince of discomfort at seeing Red's wound. Red quickly reached back to grab the torch, before standing up. This time, Shadow stretched out and pointed the way. "No more of the left right nonsense. Just follow my lead, and don't mess up, got it?"

"You're sure being nice today, Shadow," Red said with a shaky smile, making Shadow huff in mock exasperation.

With Shadow leading the way, Red navigated to the stairs and walked down as fast as he could, though his progress was slowed down by the pain in his hand.

"That doesn't look too good," Shadow noted the trail of crimson drops.

"It's ok, all I have to do…is to whack that snakey guy…or something…" Red said.

"Whack…a flying snake. With a torch?" Shadow asked in a skeptical tone.

"Well, do you have any suggestions?"

"I don't know, you could have picked up something a little more useful!…too late for that, he's in the room just a few steps ahead."

Shadow hesitated, and said," Hey, be careful, okay? I can see him in this fog, so I'll try my best to warn you, but you've seen how fast this guy is."

"Ugh…" Red groaned as his wound seemed to smart with renewed pain.

A sound like a shriek and a hiss greeted Red as soon as he set foot within the room, and in a moment Shadow said, "He's coming, move!"

Red jumped ahead, narrowly missing the serpent slamming its head at the floor where he had just been standing.

Red turned around, and found himself face to face with the serpent. The monster's red pupils glimmered with malevolent light, and Red backed up a step.

The serpent raised itself and took to the air again, the fog covering its form. The eyes glowed in the fog for a moment before the snake darted away, and Red lost sight of it.

"Why didn't you poke it in the eye at that moment!?" Shadow said.

"Ah, right!" Red said.

"Too late for that now, - tail coming in!' Shadow shouted.

Red raised his arms in front of his face instinctively at the feeling of something rushing at his body. The next thing Red knew something sharp ripped into his side, leaving yet another gash that stained his tunic a deeper color. Red gasped and flinched away, but the tail struck again, this time hitting his chest. Fortunately the sharp point did not strike Red this time, but the blow drove him onto his back. Red gasped as he fell, his hand losing its grip on the torch. The serpent then leaned its head over him, letting out a mocking hiss as a laugh. Caught up in a feeling of complete victory, the serpent failed to notice that its tail, rested tauntingly on Red's chest, also allowed the key to be within Red's grasp. But Red remembered, and more than that the feeling that Blue was near overrode his fear. Red's hands clapped over the tail, his fingers prying at the key.

"Give…back…Blue!" Red growled, and beneath his fingers the key shone in response.

"I'm here!"

The light took the form of Blue springing out at the serpent's neck, causing the monster to be flung back. The blue key slipped from the coil of its tail, straight into Red's hands.

"Took you long enough," Shadow muttered as Red sat up. Both Shadow and Red almost felt bad for the serpent in facing a very angry Blue. The monster thrashed around in pain as Blue's arms squeezed its neck. Red went over to pick up the torch, and as Blue pulled the serpent close, he was in perfect position to jab the lit end of the torch straight in the monster's fanged mouth when the head was flung close. Blue jumped off as the serpent reared, flames spilling from its mouth.

"Well, I guess it's time for my party trick…Red, pick up our pal's tail here, would you? You'll need it," Shadow said conversationally as the snake, flailing in agony, threw itself down and stopped there.

"Not the tail, it's hurt Red enough times already!" Blue said worriedly.

"Ah!" Red said, noticing that the tail's sharp point reminded him of a sword. The hero dashed forward and carefully caught hold of the tail, before pulling it with all his might. The end part of the tail ripped away in his hands, revealing it to be a key similar to the others, but colored black.

"Leave this one to me," Shadow said. He gathered himself up from where he was, and in answer, the key in Red's hand gave off dark-colored smoke. Shadow rose out of the floor, his substance rippling until he took shape, and the smoke rising off the key flew into Shadow's hand, forming a blade. Shadow leapt off and dove down, the point plunging into the side of the snake's skull and piercing both of its eyes.

"Oh, gross," Red winced at the gruesome sight.

"He deserved it," Shadow said, flowing back to Red's side. The snake turned its ruined head back towards the boy in a ripped and bloodied tunic, a figure made of blue light and a figure made darkness. It let out one last hissing scream, before slumping to the ground and going still. As if an enchantment had broken, the fog lifted. Both Blue and Shadow turned to Red, who was standing strong despite being battered and bruised.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to go," Red said, pocketing the two new keys.

"I'll see you in a bit," Blue said with a smile, and his form dissipated.

Red turned to Shadow, who was staying quite solid. This Link raised an eyebrow at Red, before saying, "What?"

"Oh…aren't you fading away?" Red asked.

"I'm a shadow. I'm quite at home in weird realms, and this magical dream is no different," Shadow said as if this was common knowledge.

"Oh! Wait…but then you still need me to unlock your door, right?" Red said.

Shadow winced in annoyance. "Well, yeah, I got caught up in this tower nonsense, but I'm not falling for the sleep spell going around," he growled. Despite his impressive words he found himself stumbling a moment later.

"Darn it."

"It's just one set of stairs! That's how long you'll have to wait for me," Red said reassuringly.

"Ughh…" Shadow groaned, before allowing his form to slip away.

Red walked carefully down the last set of stairs, trying to go as fast as he can with the cut at his side hurting with every step. Finally, he reached a door made of red-colored planks. He pushed through this and found himself in the round room, facing four other doors with familiar colors: violet, green, blue and black.

Red went on over to Vio's door, which was closest to his. He put the violet key into the lock and eagerly pushed the door open, a smile growing on his face as he expected to see Vio awaiting him with open arms. However, what he saw made Red worried - Vio was indeed inside, but he was lying on the floor, unmoving.

"Vio?" Red called, before coming close. Vio did not respond, and Red shook his companion and called his name again. Vio did not stir.

"Vio, please, wake up!" Red said, starting to panic now. But there was no response whatsoever.

"Ohh, what now? Should I wake the others?…wait here!" Red gabbled before dashing off.

He barged into Green's room, but found Green in the same comatose state. Hoping that maybe the spell would be broken once all doors opened, Red practically dashed into Blue's room, shouted his name just to make sure, but Blue did not wake up.

One last door then - Red got up and went outside Blue's door, only to find Green and Vio walking out of their rooms.

"Oh, thank goodness, you're awake!" Red cried out.

"You're too late."

The cold statement made Red freeze in place.

"Useless, pathetic fool. You only had one job and you failed," Green sneered.

"You couldn't have gotten this far without OUR help. You did nothing," and Red whirled around to find Blue smirking at him.

"N…no…" Red whispered.

"Oh, are you going to cry now?" Vio taunted.

Red looked desperately at their faces, but found only mocking smiles and hateful glares.

"I don't know what's going on but…this isn't you…this isn't like any of you!" Red said.

"Look, Red…we all think you're a burden."

"Weak."

"Dependent."

"Soft-hearted young fool."

"And we don't need to lie about that now, do we?" the three said in unison.

"Stop it! Whoever it is making you do this…stop it!" Red cried out. Each and every word cut him in a way more hurtful than his wounds, as they were his own doubts now spoken.

"Oh? I don't need to make your friends do anything. I'm pulling the words right out of their hearts. After all, it is in dreams that we say what we are too embarrassed to speak of," the voices said, growing more sinister with the edge of a hiss.

"You!" Red gasped, recognizing the sibilant sound of the snake monster.

"Let go of my friends!" Red shouted.

"Ah, but is that all you'll be doing? Shouting? I can do more with your friends than to simply speak with their voice," the monster said.

At this, all three of the other Links lurched away, pulled by the twisted magic of the Tower Serpent.

"Should I wring this one's neck by his own hands?" the voice mused, and to Red's horror Blue's hands rose to grasp his own neck.

"STOP!" Red screamed, running after Blue.

"Oh, but these other two - perhaps they should gouge the eyes out of the other, seeing as that other brat has destroyed my own," the Serpent said, making Green and Vio face each other, hands rising towards each other's faces.

The serpent's words made Red remember that Shadow's door was yet unopened - and so, he ran as fast as he could, hands reaching out for the black door.

"Not so fast now!"

Something - someone - tugged Red back and he found himself being restrained by Blue.

"Perhaps this is the best way to torment you - to be killed by the hands of your own companions," the Serpent laughed, and Red saw that Green and Vio were coming close. What they would do to him he had no idea, but going by the Serpent's threats it wouldn't be good.

Red closed his eyes and thought about how every one had helped save his life from every danger, and if they ever woke up and found out they had hurt him…it would break them more than any physical torture the sadistic snake had offered.

"Please…stop it…let them…GO!" Red shouted.

Light flared off Red, pushing back the other Links. Burning with a fierce desire to save his friends, Red willed the Four Sword to return to his hand - and form it did, in a blaze of red light. More importantly, Red saw the chains of the serpent's magic tangled around the Links, and with a yell he cut through all of them, severing the serpent's power. The last vestiges of the magical creature stared in shock at Red, unbelieving that this boy was just as strong as his companions. And Red, seeing the Serpent's ghostly form hanging above their heads, lifted his blade and jumped, cutting the monster's head off. With a final scream the creature was vanquished. Red knew this because the other three fell to the floor and uttered various groans of pain - but in their own voices.

"Guys!" Red said joyfully, and the three looked up to see Red still ablaze with his light.

"Red?…Red!"

The four came together in a joyous heap, reunited at last. Unfortunately, the moment did not last long as the tower began to shake, and stones from above began to rain down.

"The tower…it's collapsing!" Green gasped.

"Now that that monster is gone, this tower has lost its purpose. We have to go!" Vio said.

"But…but Shadow!" Red cried, lunging for the black door.

"Come on!" Blue said, and holding hands, the four ran to Shadow's door. Red held out the key, and with a final lunge he pushed the key into the lock and twisted it. The door flew open, and from within the room, Shadow reached out a hand. But before they could enter, the arch of stones above the door wobbled alarmingly, threatening to collapse into a pile of rubble.

Blue and Green both pulled Vio and Red back as the doorway crumbled. They all gasped in dismay, but the situation didn't leave time for crying - more piles of rubble were falling around them.

"Let's go!" Blue shouted, and reluctantly the four sprinted towards an opening where the wall had caved in. They jumped out of the crumbling tower and fell down, down…into darkness…

~~~~~~~

"Aghh!"

"Red? What is it?"

Red sat bolt-upright, convinced that he was still falling. However, the sight that greeted him was anything but a scary and dangerous dungeon - he was on his own bed, the sun was streaming through a window, and Blue was standing at the door holding two cups of hot chocolate.

"Ah! Blue…the Tower, our dream, I…" Red said, looking reflexively at his hand - but neither of them bore a bleeding gash. Red carefully patted his sides - no wounds there, as well.

"Our dream?" Blue asked.

"Shadow! We left Shadow behind!" Red said, standing up in a panic, causing his pillow and blankets to go flying.

"Shadow? What about him -"

"Ohhh it's all my fault! I was too slow and…and he must still be trapped in that horrible snake's dungeon! I'm USELESS!" Red said, bursting into hysterical tears.

"Red! What is wrong!? Blue yelled, spooked by Red's behavior.

Red was crying too hard to be able to process anything else, the snake's choice words coming back to circle his head like a demented tune. Some time later, Red was able to pull himself out of it enough to realize that Blue was standing over him, with Green beside him and Vio on the other side. Green's arm was slung around his shoulders, and Vio was patting his back.

"Red…it's okay…"

"We're here."

"Really, Red, you've been crying nonstop…what's wrong?"

Red blearily looked around, exhausted by the surge of emotions.

"I…you don't remember the dream?" Red sniffled.

"What dream?"

"Th-the Tower…but it felt so real…" Red said.

"Well, I don't know anything about a tower, but I want to get out of this dungeon of a room. What's with the doom and gloom?"

Red straightened up as he saw Shadow come in.

"Sh-shadow…"

"Yeah?"

"YOU'RE OKAY!"

The next thing Shadow knew, he was bowled over by a red cannonball who was now spewing tears all over his chest.

"Get off me you dumb -!"

"I'm so sorry!"

"You will be if you don't get off me right now!" Shadow bellowed, pushing Red off.

"Ha ha…I'm so glad everyone is alright!" Red said, fairly laughing in relief.

"Crazy," Shadow muttered as he dusted himself off.

"Well, I think we need to hear all about this dream. Let's have breakfast, okay?" Green said.

"Okay!" Red said with a smile. He let himself be led to the table by Green and Blue, reveling in the fact that everyone was alright. Maybe…it had all been a long, convoluted nightmare, everything really was alright.

In the chatter, Shadow watched Red carefully sit down and take a sip of the hot chocolate (which had grown cold from waiting). It will be a long story at the breakfast table today, Shadow thought. He slid over the best pancakes over to Red's plate as a silent thank-you, and listened as Red began, "Well, it began when I thought I woke up…"

------------

Heya, thanks for reading! Anyway, this story was inspired by a dream I had where I was watching Red navigate a misty room, and there was a part where there was a round room with doors colored like the FS Links - so here’s the result! Big thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write this and gave wonderful feedback - I hope the format works better now.

This is the most writing I’ve done since I graduated from a Creative Writing course in May of 2019. I actually wrote this around September of 2019, I think? Anyway, I’m really burnt out from writing and I still feel so emotionally constipated whenever I think about uploading any written stuff, which is why I hardly ever upload anything written...so I’m a liar when I said I’m a writer lol. Anyway, this is just what this piece means to me so I hope it’s ok.

#four swords #legend of zelda #zelda fanfiction #four swords manga #red link #blue link #green link #shadow link #vio

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katieskarlette · 4 years ago

Photo

Months of blood, sweat, tears, and psychological torture had led to this.

He had retraced his steps from Andorhal to Stratholme to Dragonblight to Icecrown, witnessing his reign of terror through the eyes of a common soldier of Lordaeron. He had looked into his victims’ eyes, shared their fear, heard their cries, healed their wounds when he could, and felt each senseless death like a knife in his chest. The true depth of the evil he had wrought was crystal clear. He had made amends where he could, said his apologies--and had meant them.

The frigid wind howled across the Frozen Throne’s spire, cutting through every chink in his armor, whipping his long, golden-blond hair around his face. How had he endured this cold for so long without discomfort?

He looked down, finding his answer in the shattered runeblade at his feet. His body had been as dead as any of his loyal Scourge while his soul had been trapped in that cursed blade.

He remembered dying.

As his liberated soul passed from Frostmourne into his broken shell, he could feel the sharp pain of ice crystals throughout his body, the gaping wrongness of his missing heart, and the burning of fresh wounds delivered by the Ashen Verdict’s forces.

Pain, fear, guilt and relief had swirled around him in a dizzying vortex of unfamiliarity. He hadn’t felt anything in so long...

He knew he didn’t have much time. Already an inexorable pull was calling his soul...somewhere else. Too weak to move, he was unable to look around for Jaina. She was near, somewhere. He could sense it.

But then his father was there, taking his hand and cradling his head as if he was a small boy again. He was only a spirit, of course; his body (which Arthas had run through with Frostmourne) had long ago been turned to ashes (which Arthas had unceremoniously dumped out of their urn to make room for Kel’thuzad’s remains.)

Yet there was no hatred on Terenas’ spectral face; only pity.

“Father! Is it...over?” He had almost forgotten the sound of his own voice.

“At long last, my son,” Terenas said calmly. “No king rules forever.”

Ebon shadows began to narrow Arthas’ vision, and he felt the feeble tether holding his soul in his body fraying. There was no glorious column of Light shining down from the sky, no winged figures coming to lift him up, nothing he had been taught to expect. Instead a jet black miasma closed in around him, hungry and inevitable.

His soul slipped from his body even as his last words issued from his pale lips: “I see...only darkness...before...me.”

And so it had been: the vast darkness of the Maw had swallowed him whole.

A particularly strong wind gust brought him rushing back to the present. Even the muted gloom of Icecrown felt uncomfortably bright on his eyes after the memory of that Stygian realm.

That was in the past. He had been given a second chance, an opportunity to atone for his misdeeds and prove his soul deserved a kinder fate.

Surely this was the end of his trial. What more could the Arbiter ask of him?

He looked up to the swirling gray clouds, expecting Kyrian heralds to swoop down and bring him back to Oribos for judgment. Yet there was no sign of anything or anyone crossing over from the Shadowlands.

Arthas frowned in confusion.

A melodious voice came from the aether: “There is someone else who must pass judgment on you before I do.”

“Arbiter!” he said aloud. “What...?” Then it clicked into place in his mind. “Jaina.”

A faint tinkling of chimes on the wind soon faded, leaving him standing alone on the icy platform. He knew what he had to do next.

#au arthas adventures #katieskarlette's screenshots #icecrown citadel #katieskarlette's fanfics

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proxylynn · 5 years ago

Text

Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #1

Chapter 1: Death is Not an Escape

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I DON'T OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, THAT BELONGS TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). WHAT I DO OWN IS MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND THE LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR A ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT, SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

Life can be a little unfair at times and very lonely. So seemed to be the case with a nutty woman named Lynsie. Her life was fairly typical, uneventful as most would say. Growing up poor? Check. Middle child issues? Check. Parents divorcing due to reasons they couldn't explain to a child but as an adult were simple/retarded in hindsight? Check. No friends because all the world is a bunch of scummy assholes so why even bother? Check again. That is probably what someone would say if you could find anyone that knew her. She kept to herself and that was her biggest flaw. Though to her credit, there wasn't a time when she needed anyone. If a problem came to her, she'd think up a way overcome it, whether it was the right way was up to interpretation. Being alone made her mind work in ways normal people didn't understand. This was only an issue when in social situations as, used to only fending for herself, she was not a team player. Her antisocial tendencies only pushed others away more, leading her to delve deeper inward and eventually crushing her under the weight of loneliness/depression. This would get her to seek ways to fill the void in her soul where companionship had shriveled to death, and that thing was getting lost. Now that isn't some cute clever thing. She would literally go out into God only knows where, stay there, and then only when the need to return home came would she find her way back with nothing more than knowledge/skill. This behavior was concerning at first. I mean, wouldn't you be worried too if a family member vanishes for days on end? Even when she left blatant clues and information behind, her family would still go nuts till she came home. She was never gone for more than a few days to a week. Something about being away in nature, places with no humans to remind her of the emptiness inside that others were able to avoid with ease, just brought a sense of peace to her wary soul. She could forget all the worries, cares, and pain even if only for a little while. Though perhaps this was one escape too many for her. For this time...she wouldn't be coming back.

Cold. Dread. Smoke. Something...unsettling. These odd senses start to come to me as I stir from the blackness of unconsciousness. There's an eerie grip on my heart that slowly crawls over my skin as it fades yet lingers while my eyes strain to open. I can hear muffled voices, some male and some female. But there is one more that I can't identify. This soft guttural groan of a voice that whispers in my skull like a fleeting memory. I swear it says something half-way between language and pure terror. He's dead? Something like that. Maybe? A blur moves into my line of sight, what I can only guess is a hand waving in my face. Recalling that I was alone in the middle of the woods only moments ago, I understandably slightly overreact and end up grabbing this blur's arm before punching their gut as hard as I can in this fogy state. The blur falls over and I see more move in to help the downed one. My dull senses try to process everything around me as definition resets sluggishly, such as making out a bonfire and the chill of the wind rustling the trees around this unfamiliar campsite. Suddenly I'm grabbed from behind, arms looping in my own to lock them behind my head, restraining me for their safety. I snarl, making the one holding me fidget in concerned confusion. My senses begin to get better enough as one brave more human-shaped blur moves to stand in front of me. It looks timid but they are at least trying.

"H-Hey...just calm down. We're not here to hurt you."

My snarling increases as I bare my teeth threateningly at this wimp of a man, judging by the voice.

"Please?"

"*annoyed groan* Let me give it a shot."

Another figure approaches and slaps me across the face.

"Hey, bitch, you're outnumbered. If we wanted to fuck with you we would've done it by now. So get your panties out of a bunch and stop being a huge cunt."

This woman pisses me off.

"I'm going to rip your throat out with my teeth!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Hey!"

Another woman, based on voice, comes over and shines a flashlight in my eyes, making me hiss in harsher blindness.

"You need to settle down. We aren't your enemies. And you...Your attitude isn't helping."

"*scoff* Whatever."

Their bickering allows the spots in my sight to clear and now I'm back to clarity. The pissy one was right, they do outnumber me. There are seventeen of them, ten guys and seven girls. Another thing I notice is the area. I have no clue where this place is, but it's not where I was before. This area of the woods seems to have no day or night, just a perpetual intolerable gloom in the form of a miasma that blankets the woods yet doesn't touch the campfire zone. What the fuck is this? My visible confusion makes the man holding me let go.

"I know, this is very weird. But we'll explain it as best we can. Just promise not to hit anyone, okay?"

I have no real choice here. I'm in an unknown location with random unknown people. Any explanation would do me wonders as the moment they ask if I remember how I got here I draw a complete blank. Once gathered around the fire they proceed to inform me that this is not Earth anymore, but a fake realm made by something dubbed the Entity. The Entity is a nameless being that lives in the space between our world and our imagination, the kind of place only revealed in dreams. To obtain its source of sustenance, The Entity reaches out into the hearts of susceptible victims and corrupts them into performing hideous acts of violence, because the only way for it to manifest itself in the real world is through an act of violence so extreme, that it results in fatalities. Once this event has taken place, The Entity has a handhold into our world, being able to pull people through this weak spot into its nightmarish construct, the Realms of The Entity. The first victims are the corrupted ones, those pushed to do the deeds that summoned this ancient evil in the first place...the Killers. Prey for The Entity comes in the form of uncorrupted victims...the Survivors. Normal people who stumble into these corrupted areas and are pulled through by The Entity with no memory of how it happened. Once they awaken by The Campfire in the nightmare, there is no escape for them anymore. The Entity builds a reflection of the real world in its construct to confuse the Survivors. Unable though to understand the true nature of the world it touches, it tries to replicate it as best it can, although it never quite gets it right. As a result, the world is an ever-changing nightmarish fusion of familiar and strange elements as The Entity makes up what it cannot comprehend. In its Realm, The Entity is everything that one sees except for the Killers and Survivors, meaning it is part of what it creates. In this bizarre world, there are several familiar parts. The areas and their Realms are based on the world it infects and there are strange mechanical Generators that the Survivors can power up to open two Exit Gates or a hatch that will open when only one remains. If they succeed they will escape, although only back to The Campfire that they started from. The Entity feeds on strong emotions, for example, the Killer's rage, the Survivors' desperation, hope, or even affection towards other Survivors. Sort of like an Emotion Vampire. The easiest way for it to procure those strong emotions is through the never-ending trials, invoking hope in Survivors towards an escape from the nightmarish construct. The actual process of feeding itself comes in the form of the sacrifices. It is through that bizarre ritual that The Entity can extract the nourishment it needs to increase its power and sustain itself. With each passing death, a little of the Survivor's soul is lost. Eventually, as all hope evaporates, the Survivor becomes less and less useful to the Entity, slowly devolving into a cold and emotionless shell. These lost Survivors, whose hope has long since left them, are eventually thrown into what is known as "The Void", a limbo full of such empty shells. A weird thing is that once a year, The Entity undergoes a purge, which infests it with blight. The blight manifests itself in the form of cankers spawning throughout the Realms, which bloom into pustules from which a mysterious nectar can be harvested. Escaping from the grounds always takes the survivors back to the campfire, and offerings can be created to be burnt at it and appeal for the Entity's favor. Since the Entity feeds off the hope of the survivors to escape, it helps them just as much as the killers, acting as an impartial observer of the hunt, stepping in only to claim those hung on its hooks.

Needless to say, I find this a bit much and call bullshit. I attempt to leave them by finding my way back into the woods to a more familiar place. They warn me not to do this. That to leave the fire means to put yourself in great danger, possibly even running into one of the killers that like to taunt and freak out the survivors. Again, I claim this as a massive steaming load and enter the foggy woods.

This does not end well.

I tried to march my way out of these forsaken woods to no avail. Aside from the fog being super thick and nearly impossible to see in, but the sounds are disorientating as hell. From the echoing caws of crows to indescribable growls, I regretted this choice quickly. Then I saw something I can't explain. Something was stalking in the darkness, a being in a human form, even though "human" is an exaggeration. No, this thing was a monster. A shadow of its former self, a horrid shadow. I just manage to escape by dropping to the ground and creepy crawling back following my footprint impressions. Back at camp, I am more willing to believe them and their odd information that they themselves got from a journal left by a man named Benedict Baker whom they've never seen. Yeah...They really make it hard to believe shit is real with things like that. They swear the guy is alive out there somewhere even though they told me the guy's been in this world since 1956 and I'm from 2019. They tell me that means nothing as the Entity can rip anyone from all across time which sounds like a lot of convenient bullshit. But what the fuck do I know? I'm no interdimensional god expert. I don't know of its powers.

Lame exposition aside, I introduce myself to the group and they do the same back. The timid mad from before is Dwight Fairfield, a nervous leader and possessing a purple soul. Dwight was geeky and scrawny through high school. He always wanted to be one of the cool kids, but somehow never had the charisma. He tried out for the football team but was cut, the basketball team didn't even take a look, and his grades were distinctly below average. One weekend, on a team-building exercise from his dead-end job, Dwight's boss led them deep into the woods before breaking out his family recipe moonshine. Dwight remembered taking the first sip before waking up late the next morning all alone. During the night, the others had abandoned him. Once again, the laughing stock of the community Dwight tried to hike his way out of the woods. That was the last anyone ever heard of Dwight Fairfield. Dwight isn't the typical guy you think of when someone says "Survivor". He lacks that certain pizzazz and without his glasses, he's more or less blind. But as the sun sets and the woods come alive, Dwight clasps to his rat race life, making sure that he'll live to see another day even though something unimaginable is after him. Dwight won't stop. He'll survive no matter what. As others spent hours being seen in high school. He spent hours becoming invisible and avoiding danger. And it doesn't matter if it's dangers in the hallway or dangers in the woods. Survival is key. As other employees panic when terror infects them, Dwight makes use of his disturbing teen experience. The tables have now turned and now others need to follow to Dwight's firm directions if they are to survive as he knows how to disappear.

The pissy cunt is Nea Karlsson, an urban artist and possesses an orange soul. Nea is of Swedish descent, a tagger and a bit of a troublemaker. She started rebelling when she was 16, she dyed her hair black and cut it in a way she liked it. In her early teens, her parents thought she lacked that thing that makes everyone else "normal". She may have gone too far when her friends, not thinking well, dared her to tag the old asylum. She was never seen again and now tries her best to survive the Entity's dangers. Nea grew up in the small town of Hjo in Sweden. She had a happy childhood even though her mom and dad worked hard. As the opportunity to move to the US became a reality she started acting out. Her parents didn't pick up on this as a reaction to their move. Nea was forced to leave her friends and life behind. Nea shied away from what her parents considered "normal". Instead, she took refuge in skate parks, and her tag "Mashtyx" was seen more or less all over her new hometown, and Nea made a sport out of tagging government buildings. Finally, Nea's parents became used to Nea disappearing for a few days on end. As she's nimble and almost catlike, she's able to evade deadly dangers. Years on skateboards have proven worthy training. And keeping her head down, avoiding the fuzz can be applied to all dangers. The only question is whether she has some interest in not giving up.

The woman of reasoning that blinded me is Laurie Strode, a determined survivor and possessing a red soul. You never know what matters in life until you've realized it might end soon. Laurie is one of those who just want a quiet life in the suburbs, hanging out with friends, family and maybe go on a date or two. Laurie is a typical teenager. You could pass her on the street and not think twice. She does her homework and is liked by her friends, teachers, and family. A simple night of babysitting turns into something that will forever change the course of her young life. A knife swooshing through the air. Screams from afar. Noises that plays tricks with her mind. But not Laurie, she's made of something stronger. Something that won't give up.

The man that held me back is William "Bill" Overbeck, an old soldier and possesses a blue soul. It took two tours in Vietnam, a handful of medals, a knee full of shrapnel, and an honorable discharge to get William "Bill" Overbeck to stop fighting and try to live a peaceful life. He hated it. After decades spent drifting aimlessly through dead-end jobs, Bill went in for a routine surgery and woke up to find the world he knew was gone. A plague was turning normal people into mindless killing machines. Naturally, the first thing he did was fight his way home and put on his uniform. Making his way through rural ghost towns and pitch-black forests, he found other Survivors, and together they fled from the infected hordes. In the end, Bill sacrificed himself to ensure their safety. Bill was left for dead. No one knows that he still has the only thing he ever wanted: an enemy to fight endlessly.

The tired-looking man is Quentin Smith, a resolute dreamwalker and possessing a red soul. When he heard that his friend Nancy's mother had disappeared, Quentin Smith knew instantly that their success had been short-lived. Although their plan had seemed to work flawlessly, Dream Killer had beaten death yet again. But Quentin wasn't about to give up. It may take many attempts, but he vowed that somehow they would find a way to beat it, once and for all. If he didn't, it would only be a matter of time before that thing would win and Nancy was lost. Someone like Quentin never attracted attention in a library, no matter how strange the texts he requested. He devoured all the information he could find, on shared dream worlds, lucid dreaming, and the methods to control the dream space. Forcing himself to stay awake, via a steady diet of pills and energy drinks, he searched through dusty volumes, finding myths about the demons that live in dreams, trapping their victims in limbo and feeding off their terror. He worked quickly as he knew that the killer would soon be coming for him. It wasn't long before that moment arrived and it began appearing in his dreams. He stayed at the periphery at first, taunting Quentin, seemingly hoping to tire him out. Using all that he had learned, Quentin was able to see flaws in the dream; cracks where escape routes could be formed. He tested this skill carefully, not wanting to show his hand, hoping that it would give him some kind of advantage that he could use to defeat that thing. Then, one night, he found himself in the familiar environment of Badham Preschool. the killer had tired of the taunting and had finally decided to gut him. Quentin ran through the school, his quick eyes scanning for something useful in the maze of rooms. He found a can of paint thinner and quickly formulated a plan. Once the trap was set, he waited, acting as the lure to draw the murderer into the right position. And there it was, claws scraping on metal as he closed in for the kill. Quentin allowed himself time to enjoy the surprise on that thing's face as the corridor ignited and then he was away, running through the building, heading for the exit that he knew existed. If he harried it, weakening it and then escaping the dream, surely that would defeat him over time? Before his eyes, the cracks in the dream closed and his escape route was blocked. He was in the killer's secret room again, and there was nowhere to run. As it closed in, a broad grin spreading across its ruined face, Quentin was consumed with a need to see this thing finally obliterated. He wished it had been him, not his father, who threw the gas can that ended it's life, that it had been him who cut its throat. Perhaps that desire would be enough? This was a realm of the mind after all. He let it consume him, concentrating all his thoughts on wishing it gone. His vision was obscured with roiling tendrils of fog and, when it cleared, he was somewhere else. In another dream? If so, it wasn't his; it felt cold and unfamiliar. A flickering drew his attention and he realized he was by a campfire, and he wasn't alone. Other people were trapped here too, and they needed his help.

The man in the police get up is Detective David Tapp, an obsessed detective and possesses a yellow soul. Detective David Tapp was one of the good guys. His determination to see Killers brought to justice and their victims avenged had led him through a long and respected career. When he first saw the details of the Jigsaw case, it seemed like many others. More grisly and macabre, sure, but just another lunatic with a penchant for the over-dramatic, who would soon be behind bars. A stroke of insight brought Tapp, and his partner Detective Stephen Sing, to an abandoned mannequin factory, where they discovered Jigsaw's lair. They apprehended the man but he managed to escape before being unmasked, slashing Tapp's throat as he did so. Leaving his partner, Sing went in pursuit but fell victim to a booby trap. Tapp had failed to go by the book on this one occasion, entering the lair without a warrant, and it had resulted in a Detective's death. He was discharged from the force and left with a ruined throat and crippling guilt. He channeled that guilt into an obsession: he would find the killer, stop the murders, vindicate himself, and avenge his friend and colleague. Following the evidence trail brought him to Dr. Lawrence Gordon and he staked out the doctor's apartment, sure that he would find some evidence of guilt. Then he saw a stranger at Gordon's window and heard gunshots. Tapp confronted him and the man fled, with the pursuit leading to an industrial building. Tapp's age caught up with him, a fight that he would easily have won in his younger days ended with Tapp taking a bullet to the chest. Slumping to the floor, he saw only failure. He had failed his partner and the other victims. Whoever the killer was, Tapp had been unable to stop him. More would die and it would be his fault. He let the rage and guilt consume him and closed his eyes for the final time. Beneath him, the concrete floor softened. He dug his fingers into the ground, feeling dirt and leaves. Where his chest had been wet with blood, the shirt was now dry and the pain had gone. His eyes opened onto a darkened sky and the jagged, searching fingers of branches. Screams echoed through the forest and a new determination filled him. His mind was clear for the first time in months. Victims needed to be avenged, killers thwarted. He didn't know what this place was, but he was still a cop, and he always would be. He had a job to do.

The brooding loner that isn't me for once is a man named Jake Park, a solitary survivalist and possessing a cyan soul. Growing up the son of a wealthy CEO was always going to put pressure on Jake Park. When his brother graduated with honors from Yale, the pressure on Jake intensified. Jake just wasn't the academic type, but his father never really understood his refusal to embrace the expensive education he lavished upon him. Eventually, Jake rebelled by dropping out of school entirely. Now, Jake lives off the grid on the edge of the woods. It's been years since he spoke to his father but his mother checks in once in a while. It was she, who eventually called the police. The cops said he got lost in the woods and a search party looked for days but gave up as bad weather rolled in. Despite passionate pleas from his mother, they never resumed the search and Jake went down in history as another casualty of the woods. Jake's destiny was set even inside his mother's womb. Heir to wealth, noble manners and caretaker of the family reputation and legacy. During torture it's not the pain that breaks a man, it's immense pressure. And Jake couldn't handle any more pressure. Instead, he sought the opposite of fine dining and maids. He left the grid and ended up with a forest as the closest neighbor. A self-made outsider, Jake understands nature. He's not there to tame something - rather him becoming feral. Remove the brutal Killers that seek out blood to drain and Jake would feel just at home. No Wi-Fi. No Fortune-500 companies. No father nor mother. Years away from modern life has given Jake a new feel for problems. Pain is just an obstacle that hinders you from getting fed. No matter what is hunting you, you need to stay one step ahead. Struggle, blend in, adapt. Just don't make it easy for others to erase you from the Earth's surface.

The red-headed girl making me want a Wendy's burger by just looking at her is Meg Thomas, an energetic athlete and possessing an orange soul. Perhaps it was her mother that had instilled the fierce streak in her or maybe it was her father that left them when she was a baby. Meg excelled at schoolwork but she was off the rails. Fortunately, an athletics coach encouraged her to channel her misspent energy on the track. She motivated herself into becoming a high school star and earned a scholarship to college. When her mother fell ill, Meg decided to give up her chance at college to care for the woman who had raised her. One summer's day, on a long run deep in the woods, Meg vanished. Search as they did, they never found her body. Meg is one of those who is just simply filled with energy. Unfocused and uncontrollable energy that had to come out. As a kid, it came through rowdiness and rebellion. Someone had to focus Meg before something went wrong. Fortunately, someone did. She started to run. Maybe from something undefined that fueled her energy. So to run equaled life. But to run now might attract those beings that crave the pain of others. But as she runs from something, instead of towards it, she understands something. She understands that speed is not of the essence. It's reaching that finish line. Rather last but still breathing. She deludes whatever is out there as she glides through obstacles and fear, thus managing to stay alive.

A man with an old flattop haircut is Adam Francis, a resourceful teacher and possessing a purple soul. Adam was born in Rollington Town in Kingston, Jamaica. His father died in a car accident when he was two, and his uncle took him in. His uncle was a strict, but fair man, who raised him to value education. At Kingston College, Adam discovered his father's published works, which triggered his passion for literature. His campus, however, was known for its focus on athletics. As a shy teenager with his nose stuck in books, he was the perfect prey for bullies. What he lacked in sports, he made up in grit. He learned to defend himself in the thick of it. It's during his years in college that he started to imagine his life elsewhere. While his close friends orbited the music industry, he followed a surer path. His grades granted him admission to higher education, and there was a demand for teachers abroad. After graduating from university, he taught extra classes to afford applying fees overseas. He had a steady diet of long commutes, grading piles, nightly lesson plans, and early classes. After a year, he managed to apply for a position abroad. His first plane ride took him to Southern Japan for a new start. His life in Kagoshima was hectic. There was little time to do everything he took for granted back home. His Japanese was elementary at best, which slowed him down. Buying groceries took hours, long commutes had to be planned, and lesson plans relied on Japanese notions, which he had to learn. But after a few months, he found his rhythm. He reflected on it one morning while riding the train to work. He no longer had to study the Kanji characters filling the map. He knew his way. His language skills had improved, he felt connected to his students, and he'd treat himself to luxurious restaurants on weekends. He even had his first vacation planned. Within seconds, Adam's world was brought down to slow motion. Rails hissed, bags came pouring down, and the floor trembled before the hit: Adam crashed forward as the train flipped upside down. He landed on a windowpane as an unhinged door came flying at a passenger. He rolled over so that the door would hit him instead of the girl. He shut his eyes as he braced for impact, but nothing happened. He squinted one eye open and he saw nothing but darkness. A heavy Fog had taken over the train. Ice seemed to flow through his body, reaching his lips first, then the tip of his fingers before spreading to his legs. Lulled by the warm hum of the dark whisper, he closed his eyes, drifting. No one truly knows what happened to Adam Francis. The school teachers imagined the worst when they watched the train derailment on the news and saw he was missing. Their fears seemed to be confirmed when Adam's bag was recovered from the crash site, but his body was never found. To this day, his uncle believes that Adam took off after the train crash, alive still, somewhere out there.

The quite gal staring off into the brush is Claudette Morel, a studious botanist and possesses a green soul. From the day that her parents gave Claudette her first science kit, she loved experiments. Her single-minded pursuit lead to an early scholarship at a great college. It was a huge decision to leave Montreal, but the chance was too good to pass up. Her introverted nature means that chat rooms and forums are now her best source of social interaction. Her new favorite activity is to answer botany questions for others under her new moniker of Science Girl. One evening, during a long bus ride back from the city, Claudette took a stroll that would change her life. It only took a minute for her to get completely disoriented in the thick woods. She never found her way back. Her forum only started to wonder where she was a week after she stopped posting. Claudette is not the outgoing type. Her brilliance provided her with a social handicap and she has fled the real world for chat rooms and forums. Botany and studies fill her life and even though she yearns for something else - it won't come via a modem. Being thrown into a real-life situation can feel awkward and forced. But as she is used to shutting out the world, she suddenly finds hope in this unexplained darkness that is slowly devouring her. A plant. A tree. A bush. Simple greenery that might save a life. She hides within and amongst them. Her knowledge and skills flourish as gruesomeness roams free around her.

The sleazy man that appears to be taken from a shitty casino is Ace Visconti, lucky gambler and possesses a cyan soul. Ace Visconti is one charming guy. With his sharp Italian looks, grey-streaked hair and silver tongue, he could pass for an aging 50's movies star. His heart has always belonged to the cards. From his roots as a poor boy in Argentina, he gambled, scammed, seduced and smooth-talked his way to a life of luxury as a high roller in the land of opportunity. Despite money always having a way of slipping through his fingers, Ace always figured he could win more. He never fulfilled that ambition; eventually, he racked up too many debts with the wrong kind of people. And when they finally came to collect, Ace was nowhere to be found. No one knew who tipped him off or where he fled to, but anyone who knew Ace Visconti can agree on one thing. He will survive: against all odds.

The ray of sunshine woman strumming softly on a guitar is Kate Denson, a hopeful songbird and possessing a green soul. One of Kate Denson's earliest memories was standing in front of her family, singing a song that she'd learned that morning at school, and watching smiles spread across their faces. Seeing how something as simple as a song could make people so happy was the moment when she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She practiced, learned the guitar as soon as she was big enough to reach over it, and was performing in front of crowds by the time she was eight years old. Her mother did everything she could to fulfill Kate's dreams, taking her all over their home state of Pennsylvania, then across the South, and even to Nashville itself. Kate won folk music competitions and talent shows whenever she participated, but for her to win others had to lose, and that wasn't in her nature. She only wanted an outlet, a way to touch people's lives. To make them forget the worries of the world and just enjoy themselves, if only for a while. With age came new-found freedom. She bought a battered old Chevy truck and was able to travel around by herself, meeting fans and making new friends wherever she stopped. Hers wasn't a story of rock excess though: just the road, her guitar and maybe a good bourbon to end the day. From sun-baked festivals to dark and cozy bars, people flocked to her voice and her self-penned songs of friendship, family, love, and home. These sentiments weren't just lip-service: she made sure to return home as often as she could, to help out in her community and entertain the local children with her tales of the wider world. She saw it as a way of giving back, of supporting others in the same way she had been. It was home where she found most of her inspiration as well. She had always loved to take long walks in the woods around her town, exploring off the beaten track, finding a quiet spot to play and write her songs. She had a favorite location she returned to time and time again, a natural hollow, encircled by trees, that looked almost as if it had been blasted out of the rocks thousands of years ago. Here she felt a strong connection to nature, and to the Earth itself. She let her mind be enveloped by the forest and it rewarded her with constant inspiration. She picked up her guitar and played, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. The music that she made this time was unlike her usual uplifting tunes, being much more melancholy, even dark. Still, something compelled her to continue, to finish the song. Around her, the leaves vibrated in unison with the guitar strings and the boughs of the trees lengthened, coalescing into a living form. Spider-like legs descended from the canopy above, grasping for her. Regaining her senses, she grabbed a rock and tried to beat them back, but their skin was as hard as iron and the rock simply bounced off and skittered away. The legs coiled like tendrils around her limbs and lifted her towards the darkness overhead. Fog rolled across the clearing, obscuring both Kate and the creature of nightmares that drew her up towards itself. When the fog cleared, there was no sign of any struggle, or life. Just an acoustic guitar, the scratchplate engraved with flowers; as well as the initials KD, inlaid in mother of pearl.

Another keeps to themselves type is Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen, a quiet artist and possessing a green soul. Jeff Johansen was born and raised in Ormond, Alberta. He grew up as a quiet, only child with an aversion for large crowds. During High School, his anxious nature was mislabeled as shyness, which he covered up with a tough, stoic persona that intimidated bullies and teachers alike. At home, he discovered an interest in heavy metal and started a vinyl collection. The evocative symbolism on the covers inspired him to make some art of his own, which helped him cope with his parents' constant fighting. To escape his parent's increasingly recurrent blow-ups, Jeff started working at a video store. Few customers passed by, so he had a lot of free time to draw. A late-night regular noticed his sketches and asked him to do some artwork for his gang at the abandoned lodge up Mount Ormond. Jeff accepted the challenge and painted a large mural depicting "The Legion" in runny, bloody letters. He was given a fifty-dollar bill and a 12-pack for his hard work. It was his first paid commission, a milestone to be proud of. After his parents' divorce, Jeff was forced to move with his mother to Winkler, Manitoba, which was miles away from his home town—and his dad. In Winkler, Jeff was more isolated than ever, except for art and music. His solace came shortly after graduating from High School when he started working at a local bar with live music performances. He found a roadie gig shortly after, leaving Winkler behind. A few years later, Jeff got injured after getting involved in a fight during a concert. He was told he could lose part of his eyesight, so his doctor asked him to stay in town to monitor him. It was a difficult time during which Jeff re-assessed his life choices. He went back to school—art school. His eyesight slowly returned, but he had to be careful. He took a few courses, experimenting with a wide range of mediums, ultimately choosing oil painting and digital art, the latter of which offered paid internships. He took up a desk job and found his calling in designing labels for microbreweries. He led a quiet, simple life: he brewed beer, took-in a rescue dog, designed tattoos, and freelanced album covers for bands he liked. All until one morning, when he got a phone call from Ormond saying that his father had passed, leaving a few things to sort out. Jeff drove back to Ormond. He felt a pang of nostalgia when he reached his late father's house. Inside, there was an old guitar case sitting in against the wall. It held a black, vintage model with a sticky note that said, "for my boy." He stayed in town longer than he planned to, reminiscing about his childhood. Driving by his former High School, he remembered the mural he painted up Mount Ormond. He bought a 12-pack and headed to the lodge. After weeks of not hearing back from Jeff, his colleagues assumed that grief had gotten the better of him. His neighbor got tired of sitting his dog, which became more and more agitated as days went by. The dog became a stray again, erring while seeking the familiar trail of Jeff's malty scent.

The on her guard woman in a team outfit is Feng Min, a focused competitor and possessing a red soul. Feng Min was a young girl when she first picked up computer games, and she was instantly hooked. The brand new worlds enchanted her with colors, sounds, and explosions – a chance to be somewhere else, or someone else. Her parents saw no wrong with a few minutes in front of the screen, but as minutes turned into hours and sometimes days, they finally decided to pull the plug and force Feng Min to put more efforts into her studies. She felt smothered by her parents who refused to see the potential of a future in games, so she left home and spent her time in internet cafés and LAN parties where the old rules didn't apply. She spent hours playing, streaming, competing to rise to the top. Her parents became what she called "holiday parents" as she never saw them outside the holidays, and she became the black sheep of a one-child-family. In the gaming world, however, she finally found respect. Nicknamed the "Shining Lion," she was invited to join a prestigious e-sports team and to live in their dorms, where she found a sanctuary free of the misconceptions and prejudice she had felt from her parents and the non-gaming world. Feng Min pushed her limits to prove she was the best. Sleep was less important to her than training. At the top of her game, she filled stadiums with fans who adored her. But it couldn't last forever; The pressure to be the best grew stronger and stronger. She pushed herself too far, slept too little, and her performance began to slip. She started to lose. At night, she would stay up, tormented by the thought of disappointing her parents...and her fans. She spiraled out of control and fell into a pattern of self-destruction. She started wandering the streets and visiting bars, where no one knew of e-sports, waking up in places she didn't remember. One day she woke up somewhere completely different...in a never-ending nightmare. Feng Min did not despair – as she learned more about the challenge she was up against, she realized this was what she had been training for her entire life. Now, she was going to win.

The man making flirty eyes at me is David King, a rugged scrapper and possessing an orange soul. The single child of a wealthy family, David King seemed destined for greatness. While growing up in Manchester, he demonstrated serious potential in both sports and academics, and with his family connections, all doors were open to him. He could have succeeded at anything if it weren't for his combative nature. David lived for the adrenaline rush of a good fight and would go out of his way to get into one. His robustness and athletic abilities led him to rugby, where he could cut loose and cause a ruckus. King excelled and gained a reputation as a promising, if somewhat reckless, rookie. His meteoric rise came to an abrupt end when he lost his temper and assaulted a referee, earning himself a lifetime ban from the league and cutting short what most people assumed was going to be a long, successful career. King was unconcerned; money was no issue, so he took it as early retirement and focused on other fun things to do. Free from the constraints of career and enabled by the wealth of his family, David King spent most of his time at the pub, drinking, watching games, and getting into fights. Some might say he was wasting his life away. Not many people knew that he was an occasional "debt collector" or that he fought in clandestine bare-knuckle fight clubs. When David King stopped showing up at the pub, the few friends he still had were not surprised. They figured he had finally picked a fight with someone stronger than he was. In a way, they were right.

The last of the women is Jane Romero, an influential celebrity and possesses a red soul. Jane Romero was the daughter of the famous actress, Loretta Lawrence, of whom she had no memory. Her parents had separated when she was still a baby, mainly since her mother was often away filming. Jane was raised by her father, a struggling visual artist. She grew up torn between resenting her mother's absence from her life and admiring her presence on screen. As a teenager, Jane secretly wished to emulate her mother's talent. She would direct and perform in plays, audition for TV commercials and help her father at his studio. During her senior year, she entered a national oratory contest and won first prize. Her performance attracted the attention of a radio station that contacted her for an interview. During the live show, her natural charm and repartee impressed the staff, who offered her a part-time job at the station. After graduating from college in Communication, she quit her job at the station to work for a trendy variety show. But her frank delivery and ad-libs were not appreciated by the show's executives, who fired her after five months. Desperate for another opportunity, Jane pitched a show at the radio station she used to work at, only to be turned down, her proposal being too risky. Four months later, she received a phone call from a producer who had seen reruns of the show. He was looking for a co-host to spark up the failing show Quick Talk. Live television meant long hours, a low salary, and no stability, but it also offered a platform to broadcast her views. She disputed the crude inflammatory tone of Quick Talk and pushed for a relate-able coverage of personal issues. Her honest delivery resonated with her audience and within weeks, the show's viewership was steadily growing. After two years, she launched a full-hour segment called The Jane Romero Show, which was broadcast nationally and covered tabooed topics, including her struggle with abandonment. Her show broke records and her initials J. R. became synonymous with products ranging from beauty creams to fashion accessories. But Jane needed more; she wanted others to follow her in her footsteps. She published a memoir that covered her childhood with an absent mother. Her book was an instant best-seller but was reviewed harshly. Critics called it "a serving of sad anecdotes seasoned with bland, generic self-help tips." Jane took this criticism to heart since, despite her success, a voice in the back of her mind was starting to doubt her achievements. Her success also generated an increasingly demanding schedule and a growing pressure to entertain constantly. During a particularly tense week, she canned an episode and instead launched a two-hour-long special on divorce. Her stress peaked when she learned that her mother had agreed to star in her show. Jane put on a brave face and began the show. Most of it went without a hitch, but her mother walked on set, smiling warmly at the audience, Jane's stomach lurched unpleasantly. She was consumed by violent envy that had been festering. Yet she carried on with a strained smile, until Loretta interrupted her, saying that they were not related. The interview went haywire after that. After the show, Jane was driving to her father's house in New Jersey. She needed to talk things over with him; she had not been feeling like herself lately. She turned on a free-way along the coast to avoid major congestion and popped some painkillers to numb the throbbing pain in her temples, which had been nagging her all day. Then she started to relax and turned on the radio; classical music was playing. The drive was slow. Black ice covered the highway, which was packed with cars on their way back home. Night fell. A darkness began to blur the corners of her vision and turned the headlights into swirls of red. Jane blinked to sharpen their outlines, but each time she closed her eyes, her eyelids became heavier and heavier until they remained shut for a moment too long. The following morning, authorities were fishing out Jane's car from the water. Despite leading a meticulous search for weeks, they were unable to retrieve her body. The airing and production of The Jane Romero Show was suspended until after her funeral, which both her father and mother attended. As the public grieved for Jane, there was a surge of orders for J. R. products and all her episodes were re-released a month later, with an opening credit that wished her eternal peace.

And lastly for the men is Ashley "Ash" Joanna Williams, an alone wolf and possesses a blue soul. During a weekend at a cabin with friends, Ash Williams uncovered the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis (The Book of the Dead) and awoke something dark in the woods. Evil possessed his friends, whom he was forced to kill, and his right hand, which he sawed off. For the next thirty years, Ash ran from his past, working at a Value Stop department store and seducing women in dive bars. But he screwed up one night while being high when he read from the Necronomicon to impress a woman. Evil found him once more, wrecking the life of those around him. But his co-workers, Pablo who was raised by a shaman and Kelly who was orphaned by the Deadites, helped him put up a fight. While battling Evil, Ash was reunited with his long-lost daughter Brandy, who encouraged him to embrace his role as savior of humanity. After a terrible fight with a fully formed demon, Ash, drawing his last breath, was taken by the Knights of Sumeria and transported into the future. Ash wakened to a voice, his head throbbing. Since defeating a gang of Deadites a weak ago, he had been in a perpetual state of hangover. He heard the voice once more; a woman singing, sensual and inviting. Stepping into the corridor in his boxers, he strode towards the voice, which lead to the public locker room. As Ash pushed open the door, the singing stopped. There was a rustling of curtains. He called out, entering the change room. His voice reverberated off the moldy tile walls. He pressed on, reaching a shower that was still dripping wet. Cold, humid fingers ran down his bareback. He turned around. A woman stood naked, her skin glistening in the morning light that streamed in from high windows. Ash recognized her instantly: Linda Emery, one of his former high school flings. They had gotten back together years later while saving their home town from Evil. He had ended their relationship soon afterward, preferring to indulge freely in his new-found popularity. Linda winked at Ash, who closed the distance between them. He caressed her cheek wistfully: What was she doing here? Did she know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter? And Pablo and Kelly? A sharp blade dug into his hand, making him jump back. Linda slid a finger across the edge of her blade, collecting Ash's blood on her fingertip. She smiled, and her skin shriveled, her hair faded, her shoulders stopped, and her curves sagged, aging decades older in a matter of seconds. She attacked Ash, who poorly managed to block, being half-naked. Every blow she delivered earned him a new wound. She slashed his bad knee and he fell to the floor. As she jumped on top of him, Ash shrieked in disgust, knocking the knife out of her grasp. Her varicose hands wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Gasping, he outstretched his arm, hand landing on a soap dispenser. He spurted out some liquid on his fingers and poked her in the eyes. The elderly woman winced, weakening her hold, and Ash elbowed her in the face, knocking her back. He rolled over and grabbed the knife on the floor. Just as he was about to plant it in her chest, he stopped. There was something else he wanted more. He pressed the blade against her throat. Let's make a deal, demon. In exchange for not killing you, you portal me back to my friends. The demon agreed. She began reciting the incantation, instructing Ash to repeat after her, which he failed to manage. When nothing happened, Ash threatened the demon, who argued back, blaming his poor pronunciation. Their combined exchange of Sumerian words triggered a hiss from the shower behind them. The wet tiled floor darkened, and the pipes burst. A whirlpool of dirty water, shower curtains, and used toilet paper swallowed the demon, while Ash held onto a locker door, which slowly slipped from his fingers. FFFUUUC- ...Ash landed flat on his chest in the Realm of The Entity, sputtering grass. He got up, brushing off the dry clothes he suddenly had on. Then he looked around and his grin fell. It was the kind of place that made two things obvious: one, there wasn't any bar for miles, and two, he was going to need his shotgun and chainsaw, both of which he lacked. As he started to walk towards a glinting light ahead, a scream rippled through the trees. Groovy.

As for me? By comparison, I feel a sense of relating to some and others I just can't get a feel for. Mostly because we nearly all come from different points in time that makes no sense to each other, aka Bill and Ash. Bill comes from a zombie-filled time and Ash a demonic one. So add alternate timelines to the fucked up mess of things. Other than that we all seem to have the unfortunate thing in common of going to areas where we shouldn't have to wind up here. My role and soul have yet to be determined due to just arriving. Only after a trial are these things discovered. Though they tell me there is some time before the next trial starts. Seems when the Entity drops in a new survivor, it gives them a chance to get their bearings before sending them off to die. Apparently, it doesn't do that with the killers which have lead to random encounters and sudden deaths of unsuspecting survivors. Though from what Jake tells me, even though the killers brought here have done terrible things, not all of them easily bow to the Entity's will. The Killers are made to do the Entity's bidding, which is to relentlessly hunt and kill the Survivors. Many Killers do not do so willingly, although some are happy to sate their Bloodlust. Some have to be tortured over endless years to be coerced into doing what The Entity wants. The Entity is ever patient and the torture ever more severe. Eventually, they all cave in and start the hunt for the Entity. To mold these unwilling ones even further and strengthen the willing, the Entity has embedded its power into them, changing them to beasts that are no longer human. The killers are monsters, both figuratively and literally. For successfully sacrificing to their master, the best Killers are granted the sweetest reward of being able to slaughter Survivors on the spot without hooks. Either way, everyone on both sides loses and only the Entity wins.

Suddenly there's a deathly chill in the air. The tops of the trees sway in the opposite direction. And the fog thickens to the point the glow of the fire reflects off of it. My puzzlement grows when four of the group (Nea, Jeff, Bill, and Feng) stand up and become engulfed in black smoke, disappearing from the camp without a trace.

"They've been called out to trial, Luv."

David voices as he plops himself down beside me.

"No worries though. They'll be back. Though if those soddin' monsters hook'em up, they'll be takin' a bit longer."

"Why?"

"Because they'll be fed on by the Entity."

Meg states.

"It takes its time to feed and restore our bodies. We take a lot of damage in trials. Stuff you shouldn't live through. Not even Claudette's healing skills can fix everything like the Entity."

"But don't let that bug ya, Luv. Even if we die, we never die. Think of it as a fucked-up version of immortality."

I look into the fire and smirk.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die."

My words make Ash flinch.

"Whoa...That sounds familiar. And by familiar, I mean, sounds like some Necronomicon type shit."

"It's a quote from an H. P. Lovecraft book. He wrote a lot about Elder Gods, demons, and messed up stuff from other dimensions. Heh...Kinda fitting considering this whole thing."

He shakes his head and waves off with his metal hand. The hell kind of prosthetic is that?

"If you have more questions, you don't have to hold back. It's best for all of us to have a full understanding."

Laurie interjects.

"Well...I know you said the killers sometimes roam the woods but is that a permanent thing? Like, is that where they live?"

David scoffs a laugh.

"Oh, that's fuckin' cute."

"Don't be such an asshole."

Meg moves over solely just to punch his shoulder.

"What? It was cute."

The guy is ridiculous. Though I'm a cliché for digging his English accent.

"What he means is, no. The Entity picks the killers before it chooses survivors, but it lets the killers roam around to mess with us, maybe even pick which of us they want like lobsters at a restaurant. Though they can't come into the campsite. It's off-limits and the Entity prevents them from coming in."

"We found that out thanks to that twat, Nea. Damn bird kept tauntin' the monster till it got fed up and charged for all of us. All these black throne riddled vines encased the camp like a dome. And when they came down, the monster was gone."

"But while the killers do sometimes come to our forest, they don't live here. There are sixteen killers that we know of right now. They have territories that relate to them and they often choose to stay there. Some even sharing the area because the Entity put it's belonging there. Though it's those territories that we get sent to for the trials and sometimes it's not even that territories killer that hunts us."

"Agh...So much info-dumping. It's making my head hurt."

"Easy, Luv. We just have a little bit more to share."

I groan and give into this.

"Fine."

"There are twelve territories we've seen so far. These territories are pockets within The Entity, who constructs everything from itself except for the Killers and the Survivors. The Realms do not co-exist at all times but are rather created whenever needed. The location of the Campfire is also located within such a pocket. The Woods and Fog beyond the Trial grounds represent the boundaries of the pocket and are just a façade. The MacMillan Estate is home to the Trapper. The Blood Lodge around Autohaven Wreckers is where we guess the Wraith to live. Coldwind Farm is home to the Hillbilly but is shared with the Cannibal. The Nurse shares her home turf of the Crotus Prenn Asylum area with the Clown who stay in a carny's caravan around Father Campbell's Chapel. The Shape lives on Lampkin Lane, Haddonfield. In the Backwater Swamp there is the Hag and a shack called the Grim Pantry is where she resides. The Doctor can be found at Léry's Memorial Institute. The Huntress resides in the Mother's Dwelling and the Plague in the Temple of Purgation, both are found in the Red Forest. The Nightmare lives on Elm Street, Springwood. The Pig hides out in the Gideon Meat Plant. The Spirit is at her Family Residence of the Yamaoka Estate. The Legion is found in the Mount Ormond Resort. And Ghost Face...doesn't really have a place as far as we know."

"The narcissistic fucker likes to roam apparently. No one place is ever good enough for long."

"But even with all these zones just for them, there is one place they all have control of. The Killer Shack and it's Basement. Down there is a room of pure hell, the closest point to the Entity itself, what with all the freaky unnatural lights and sounds found there. It's packed with memories of endless suffering and torture. The smell of dried blood and bowels stays with you even after death."

"Huh...Maybe it was him out there then."

"You saw one?"

"Why else do you think I came literally crawling back? I'll admit that sometimes I can be crazy, but I'm far from insane. If I see something weird, I don't stick around like a dumbass in a horror movie."

"Clever girl..."

David's arm rests over my shoulders.

"If you're smart, keep your 'ead down, and can move fast, you should 'ave no trouble avoidin' those creeps."

I give him a funny look which has him looking back at me in playful confusion.

"What? What's with that face?"

"...You're lucky I have to save my energy for not being killed or that arm would be up your arse."

I use the British word for ass hoping it would make it sink in. It has the opposite effect, as he smirks.

"You got spunk, Luv. I like it. Nothin' more attractive than a woman that can kick some arse."

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Dude, I'm giving you ten seconds to back off before you find out just how spunky I can be."

"Is that a promise?"

I can hear the bones in my right-hand pop as it clenches into a fist. Though this is made for nothing as a hand on my shoulder keeps me just levelheaded enough to not punch David's teeth in. It's Quentin, and a simple shake of his head is all he needs to do to say so much. I sigh and stand up, walking towards the outskirts of the camp.

"And people wonder why I don't socialize."

Leaning on a tree that just barely stands within the glow of the fire, I hear the petty squabbling of a few of them berating David on his actions. Honestly, they're wasting their time. I don't blame David. Dude's honestly got a nice cut of jib. I'm just not used to having attention. Especially THAT kind of attention. It makes me feel awkward.

"Are you okay?"

Adam comes close but not very, wanting to stay in the light and not be so close to the forest.

"Yeah, I'm okay. No harm, no foul."

"Are you sure? You looked pretty upset."

"Why is it that when someone says that they're fine, the questioning party always repeats the same question again but in a different format?"

"I'm just trying to make sure..."

"I said I'm fine! I don't need to be babied!"

I can't stand this. There's too much pressure. Bad enough I'm in a huge group. Bad enough this whole Entity and killers bullshit. But I don't need someone thinking I need help or pity.

"Okay...You don't have to snap."

I growl at him and myself.

"Don't do that."

"Huh?"

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy. I told you I was fine and you kept at it like somehow my answer would change. I don't need this. Fuck this shit! I'm out!"

Fuck the danger. Fuck these people. Fuck everything! Nothing matters! I storm off into the woods, ignoring the shouting of warning, I just want to be alone and away from all this fuckery. So what if I run into a killer? Big whoop! They claim to die all the time by these monsters and they're still kicking. Bet the only inconvenience will be the pain. To quote a famous movie killer doll..."Go ahead and shoot! I'll be back! I ALWAYS come back! ...But dying is such a bitch". Geez...How long have I been walking now? If I keep going would I end up in a loop or possibly wind up in one of those other areas they told me? Why is it that all the cool stuff always happens when you have no means of recording it? Then again, who would I be recording for anyway? Wait...Is this really the direction of thought I'm having while all of THIS is happening? What the hell is wrong with me? I mean...

*CRUNCH*

Uh oh. That wasn't me. Maybe? Just to be certain, I won't move.

*CRUNCH*

Yeah, that wasn't me. Did someone follow me out here? No, they're too fearful to do something like that. I'm the idiot with a death wish.

*CRUNCH*

It's getting closer. Whatever it is. Damn fog. Can't see a thing it's so thick. Okay, keep calm. Don't panic. Just stay low to the ground and scurry into some shrubbery till it goes away. Then run like hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Is that...Is that my heart beating in my ears? Wow, that is clear. Also creepy as hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, really don't like how that's getting louder.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

What the fuck has my heart going nuts?! There is nothing out here! What kind of crazy bull...

*CLANG-CLANG*

Shit?

The sound of a bell tolls and a figure materializes from the shadows. A tall imposing thing now stands not far from my little hiding bush. This thing is draped in a faded black hooded tattered cloak smeared with ash or dust traces, it's face obscured from sight with only the tiny glow of white coming from its eyes, and bandage wrappings around the mid to lower torso region along with parts of both arms. On its waist are two pouches, one large on it's right and a smaller one on it's left. I can't see its legs but going off on how it walked I'd say this thing is barefooted. There's strange scarring on what I can see of its right arm, this arm also holding a very macabre and deadly weapon. What looks almost like an ax but made from the skull and attached spine of a human that has three wickedly sharp blades coming down from the teeth. Its left arm seems to have wire or ring-like bangles along the wrist, and in this hand it holds the source of the ringing. A heavy-looking cast iron bell that is also made of a human skull. I'm seeing a theme here.

"Tra la la. Come on out, little one..."

That voice...like a quiet garbled growl, as if it has a congested throat.

"You can not hide forever."

The hell I can't.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Man, that is getting old. Am I only hearing this because it's so close? Gee, that would be useful knowledge to have. Thanks, teammates! You spam me with all sort of crap about your lives and you leave out the essentials. I hate people.

*CRUNCH*

It stomps harshly into the ground and it makes me flinch, which makes the blush rustle faintly. Too bad for me that this slight rustle is enough for the creature to notice. A sudden red glow coats the ground in its line of sight and it covers the bush I'm currently in.

"Found you. Tra la la."

My choices for moves at the moment are limited and time-based. I have to pick something. Instinct and pure randomness kick in. Making me pull one of the weirdest moves out of my zany bag of tricks.

"*sheep bleats*"

Arguably not the smartest sound to make but the effect is what I was praying for. This odd sound coming out of a bush confuses this killer. This momentary mind fuck is just the slight advantage I need, using its daze state to dash out of the shrub on all fours. This also adds a bit more confusion to the killer but not for long.

*CLANG-CLANG*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, still beating hard but not booming crazy like before. No doubt it's giving chase. Only things I don't know are how fast it can move, if it can flank me, and which way is camp. Best to serpentine as much as possible.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

It's settling down? Is it not following me? No! Don't be stupid. Don't slow down. Don't look back. Keep going forward and never stop.

*CLANG-CLANG*

The red glow suddenly flashes at my left side. I do my best to dodge out of the light's radius and I do manage to keep my vitals from harm. That, unfortunately, didn't mean I avoided the attack. No. While still in its reach, this creature took great aim and swung it's weapon down hard to stick its blades deep into my left leg's calf. The sound that escapes me becomes a haunting roar that makes the forest even more spooky than it already is. I skid across the ground into a tree, a trail of crimson highlighting my path, the weapon of my crippling still jammed in my flesh and possibly bone.

"Poor little lamb..."

Please don't rub salt in this wound by gloating.

"You should've stayed in the corral with the rest of the herd. Tra la la."

Don't do something stupid brain. For the love of God, do not do something stupid because you're distracted by that somewhat adorable speech tick it has.

"*wincing* I can't help...that I'm sheepish."

Okay, that wasn't doing something stupid. That was saying something stupid. Good job. You found a loophole. This stupidity puzzles the killer. I know I'd be questioning so much if I was in its place.

"You are a strange one. Tra la la."

I meekly shrug.

"*wincing* I prefer...quirky. *whimpering chuckle* Oooh...fuck that stings!"

That gets it to snicker lightly as it approaches.

"Quirky? Heh...I suppose that is more fitting for an oddity such as you."

I can't move. I mean, I probably can, I still have three working limbs. But I can't make myself move. Its aura is smothering enough to hold me down. So when it reaches for the ax handle I nearly bite my tongue off to keep under control for when those blades are yanked haphazardly out of me. Though my attempt is a failing one. Another eerie wail cries out of me and into the forest as more blood is spilled.

"Such odd sounds you make, little one. But a refreshing change none the less. Tra la la."

Thank you I guess? Honestly, I can't tell if it's complimenting me or dicking around. Either way I'm in too much pain to care and I'm fairly sure the bone in my calf is broken.

"Till we meet again."

For a moment I swear it was going to leave. To spare me this one freaky encounter since this wasn't a real hunt. But that is wishful thinking on the hopeful part of my soul. For these monsters aren't called KILLERS for no reason. In that fraction of a second where my hope had spiked, I fail to take note of the dark whispers in the wind and the violent swinging of the ax to my back. The first strike alone paralyzes me as it's a direct blow to the spine. Blood splattering in a vicious burst across me, the area, and it. The next three are just overkill and break my body's necessary connections to keep it going. Regrettably, I'm still alive. Bodily functions are coming to a slow stop and I'm bleeding out rabidly, yet I'm still very aware of all of it.

"Maybe next time you will remain in your pen like a good little lamb. There are wolves about. Tra la la. It would be a shame to see such innocence strewn about like a gutted corpse on a hook."

I want to say something. Anything. But all that leaves my mouth is blood that is flowing out of my deflated lungs.

"Tra la la. Let this be a lesson, little one. Learn it well."

My unblinking eyes lay their sight on that dripping ax once more as it's lifted high and comes crashing down like a merciful gift to my skull. Because all pain stopped the second darkness takes me.

[The Entity is pleased! The meat. It bleeds. Wiggle, little worm. Wiggle. Do not waste precious time! Find others! Quickly! Kill more meat! Catch meat. Sacrifice meat. Appease The Entity. Do not let the light in!]

I bolt upright with a sharp gasping breath. A cold sweat coats my skin and my heart is pounding a million miles a minute. I don't get the chance to question if any of that was real, for the first thing my eyes see is the campfire and then the people around it giving me weird looks. All seventeen are there now so I guess the trial ended. I instinctively feel around for damage I know happened but find none. There's no ripping of my clothing or even a drop of blood staining it. It's like...nothing happened. The only odd thing, the thing they're all looking at me funny for, is my exposed soul. It's not a single color like theirs. Hell, it's not double, triple, or even a handful of colors. This heart-shaped soul floating out of my chest is a fucking rainbow of ten, yes, ten colors all sloshing about in a torrent of colliding waves. Black, purple, blue, cyan, green, yellow, orange, red, pink, and white. Three of these colors I don't think they've ever seen before. Not liking their staring, plus this soul exposure makes me feel naked, I force the heart back inside my body and react as one might do in such a situation.

"The fuck are you looking at?!"

That bark gets a good chunk of them to turn away. Yet some don't and one has more balls than the rest to come near me...David.

"You don't look so good, Luv. Did one of the monsters moris ya?"

I'm sorry, Brit boy say what now?

"Come again?"

"Memento Moris. It's the killer's ability to kill Survivors while skippin' the whole stick you on a 'ook thin'. A neat little trick they don't often get to do."

"Oh...Yeah. That happened. Not sure if how far I got or if you lot heard me at all."

"We didn't 'ear any screams. But we did 'ear some messed up shit. Was that the killer doin' all that?"

Alright, that makes me laugh. They thought that was a killer? Can't blame them. I don't make human sounds when in pain. My amusement puzzles him and even more so when I pat the spot next to me, giving him the okay to join me. He does so but cautiously.

"What's so funny?"

"Those sounds you heard...*giggles* That was me."

The "what the fuck" look he gets is priceless.

"You? You made those monster noises?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit."

"Dude, why would I lie about that?"

"I...How?"

"I don't know how to scream."

"...Okay, now I know you're fuckin' with me."

"Dude, I literally woke up here growling and snarling like a beast. Are you sure I'm yanking your chain?"

He ponders this a moment.

"I guess not. Still a bit nuts though."

"And what isn't in this place?"

"Good point, Luv."

Maybe David isn't so bad in small doses. At least now he isn't being a flirty douche and I can take note of the two tattoos he has. One is behind his left ear of a Rose and the other is on his right forearm of a Lion. From what he spoke of in his past, that rose is from his Rugby Union Jerseys.

"So...Which of them freaks was it that did ya in?"

"The hell would I know? You were all so busy tell me your life's stories that you didn't give me info on the killers other than names and territories. Which, by the way, thanks for that. Real fucking helpful."

He chuckles as I glare. Though it doesn't hold much attitude when he pats my head apologetically.

"Sorry, Luv. But to be fair, we didn't expect ya to run off a second time."

"Yeah yeah. Excuses excuses."

"If it 'elps, I'll make it up to ya."

This shouldn't get to me but does get me curious.

"How?"

"If we get paired up on a team for a trial, 'ow about I watch your back?"

I shoot him a look.

"What?"

"You're just going to check out my ass the whole time."

That catches him off guard and he laughs loudly.

"Oh man...I fuckin' love it..."

"Come on, you know you totally would, Mr. English ball buster."

It takes him a bit to settle down. Though when he does, he pulls me into a playful headlock and nugies me.

"Not gonna lie, Luv, I would. The tail around 'ere ain't really fair game. I mean, all but one or two of you birds aren't of jail bait standards. Little Laurie is only seventeen. The oldest one is Jane but that duck ain't my type. Everyone else falls somewhere low but older than Laurie. It's a real minefield."

I feel like lying about my age would be a smart move on my part. Too bad I already gave that detail out when we did our whole "hi, my name is" thing. Curse being 32.

"You, on the other 'and, I like."

I'm starting to think I had it easier with the monster in the woods.

"Now spill it, Luv. What did this monster look like?"

He stops the nugies and I growl at the rat nest he made out of my head. That's going to be a bitch to fix.

"I couldn't see its face. Just the eyes. Though if it helps with knowing what it was, it had a bell."

He nods with recognition.

"Ah. The Wraith. Soddin' tosser can go invisible with that bell. Can't attack though till it's visible again. But it's much faster while 'idden."

"Again, really could've used that info before. Explains how it caught up to me so fast."

"And again, we didn't expect ya to leave."

"Well, now you know. And knowing is half the battle."

"G.I. Joe is still a thing in 2019?"

Laurie chirps.

"If you think that's weird, so is Cabbage Patch Kids dolls."

She gets this look that says "why" very clearly.

"How?"

"Some things just can't die no matter how much time passes."

That innocent yet ominous statement sets a chilling mood. The others keep away from me for now, only speaking to me if needed. David remains with me and aside from a few random blunt flirts here or there, his willingness to chat gives me a little more details on this bunch. Laurie and Quentin are the same age, making them the youngest ones here. Bill, even though he's been pulled from 2009, is the oldest here at the ripe age of 80. No clue how he's so damn spry for that age and managed through a freaking zombie apocalypse. In second place is Ace at 63, followed by Detective David at 58, and Ash at 57. David swears that Jane is in her 60s, yet she looks to be in her 30s, but it's always hard to tell how old a person is in the entertainment industry. They seem to defy aging...just like Madonna. Everyone else is all scattered between 19 and 40. It makes me think. I mean, I get why some of them are here. They went somewhere that was tied to a killer in some way or were with the killer when they too were picked by the Entity. But some of them...Why are they here? Were they pulled in because of crazy strong wills? Did the Entity taste something it liked and was like "sure I'll take that"? God, I have so many questions and I doubt I'll ever be able to even begin to scratch the surface for answers. There is however two questions I don't want answered...When will my first trial start and who'll be the killer?

[Elsewhere: Killer Shack]

*CLANG-CLANG*

"Tra la la. Meeting will come to order."

Wraith materializes and gets the other killers attention.

"Ah, so I was thinking...Tra la la...If we all stop wiping and griping and looking at our weapons after we hit one of those little squirts. We'd probably kill them a lot faster. What does everyone think? Tra la la."

The fifteen other monsters make sounds of agreement.

"Any questions?"

A hand is raised by the Huntress.

"Is it true that a new punk has been brought here?"

Wraith nods.

"Yes, dear. As some of you may have felt, the Entity has brought in a new Survivor. Tra la la. One that I have had the pleasure of finding in the woods outside of the campfire."

"A new human, you say?"

Ghost Face toys with his knife.

"Tell us, darling, what manner of prey are we getting to enjoy this time?"

"A new female has been added to the group. Tra la la."

"Heh...Another bitch that needs to be put down like the rest of the dogs."

Nightmare says with a menacing grin.

"I am not so sure she will be as easy as you think."

That gets some notice.

"AND WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

Trapper, understandably, questions.

"Do not toy around with riddles, friend."

The Nurse makes a good point.

"Just tell us what you know already, bellhop. Some of us have kills to be ready for."

However, Hillbilly is more blunt about it.

"Very well. Tra la la. While I did kill her, she was not without some odd tricks. She did not act like the other humans. Nor did she move like them either. Tra la la. If it weren't for her inexperience, I most likely wouldn't have caught her."

"Sounds more like you're losing your edge. *coughs*"

The Clown interjects between hacking fits.

"There is more. This human also is in possession of a very...how to put it...perplexing soul. Tra la la."

Interest is now at its maximum level.

"hag wants learn. hag learn ALL THINs!"

Hag, for the better part of it's effort, is eager to learn.

"Upon killing her, I managed to glimpse her soul before the Entity could take her away. This soul is unlike any I've seen before. Tra la la. It had multiple colors."

This gets some chuckling out of the Legion.

"heheheh...really trying to hype up this girl, aren't you?"

Wraith shrugs.

"I am merely informing you of what I know. Tra la la. Do with this knowledge what you will."

"then in that case, i choose to call dibs on the new meat."

The others voice out in disapproval.

"🕈☟✌❄ ☝✋✞☜💧 ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟☜ ☼✋☝☟❄ ❄⚐ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✡⚐🕆 👍✌☠ ☺🕆💧❄ 👍✌☹☹ 👎✋👌💧✍" (WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO THINK YOU CAN JUST CALL DIBS?)

The Doctor asserts his authority.

"..."

The Shape is very displeased.

"Deary, as much as that tough act is cute, there is a pecking order. Newer killers like us can't claim things willy nilly."

The Plague seems to know her place or just doesn't care.

"screw the rules. i have numbers."

"*snarls*"

Cannibal grips his chainsaw tightly, ready to have it's blade feed on the nearest flesh it can touch.

"I-If you think y-you're good enough to have a s-shot at the new meat. M-Maybe you should p-prove it."

The Pig isn't very menacing when she speaks.

"If anyone should call dibs IT'S ME! I need TENSION! CONFLICT!"

Spirit twitches violently, it's body trying to keep itself together.

"the way i see it, this bull your calling me on is moot. everyone here is gonna vote for themselves to go after the new meat, that is obvious. but what you dorks fail to remember is i don't have just one vote. there are four of me. and last i checked, four beats out any of your ones."

The dirty looks given to Legion would be worth their weight in killing potential if looks could kill. Yet he shrugs this off with a cocky grin and tucks his hands into his pants pockets while heading for the stairs leaving the basement.

"welp...catch you guys later. i'm gonna see what's so special about this human. wait...scratch that...my human."

He mockingly laughs as he ascends the stairs and the remaining fifteen are all glaring at where Legion once was.

"Can we end the meeting on agreeing that the Legion is an arrogant prick? Tra la la."

The resounding agreement is unanimous.

"Very well. Tra la la. Meeting adjourned."

*CLANG-CLANG*

With that, Wraith vanishes and takes its leave along with the other killers. Returning to their areas to prepare for the coming trials. For soon they will be unleashed upon those poor unfortunate souls. And there will be much bloodshed, for some Survivors more than others.

Let me know what you think. And I'm so sorry for all the info-dumping in the beginning. I personally hate it but there's no other way to describe the Survivors. Now...Some of the Killers aren't set in stone yet, but here's the idea for each killer and the monster they are.

Trapper = Fell Papyrus Wraith = River Person (AU determined later) Hillbilly = Flowey (AU determined later) Nurse = Horror Toriel Shape = Undertale Grillby Hag = Horror Temmie Doctor = HorrorFell Gaster Huntress = Fell Undyne Cannibal = Asriel (AU determined later) Nightmare = Napstablook (AU determined later) Pig = HorrorFell Alphys Clown = Asgore (AU determined later) Spirit = Mad Mew Mew (AU determined later) Legion = Sans (tale,fell,swap,horror) Plague = Undertale Muffet Ghost Face = Fell Mettaton (Yes, I'm aware of two more killers coming soon, I'll plan them out when they appear)

Also, you may have noticed I didn't say Freddy Kruger during Quentin's backstory even though his game bio dose. There's a reason for it and it fits with the lore. Nightmare is Freddy, no doubt...Now you're picturing Napstablook as Freddy and it's fucking cute...But, thanks to the Entity, he doesn't remember that. During a Q&A with game creators, they were asked this question..."CAN THE KILLERS REMEMBER THEIR PAST?". They answered..."It depends on the profile of the killer. Some of them do. Some of them don't. And remember might not be the right word. Have access to... maybe." This means that even the willing killers can be altered by the Entity to make it easier for them to be used and kill for their master. So if the Entity can mess with the killer's memories, why not the Survivors? So I'm making it that none of the Survivors that knew a Killer before the Entity got them remembers that Killer's past identity. This makes them true monsters. I'll also be editing the Killers lore to match the monsters a bit better, Legion for one in the game is comprised of 4 souls (2 male, 2 female), but in this story, the 4 souls are all male (4 different Sans). Needless to say more, that needs some tweaking. Thanks for reading all this. Have a good day or night. Laters. ^_^

#undertale #dead by daylight #Anomaly #Lynsie #lynchtale

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theshapeshifter100 · 3 years ago

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Wolf and Raven Chapter 13/Alternate Chapter 9

First

Chapter 9

Masterlist

A/N

This sequence is not canon to my story, this was just some fun

With the Warriors freed from the cell Raven continued through the fortress. They had found a key inside the cell which looked nothing like anything Nevar would make, although Raven did not it’s exact purpose.

Within the gloom she spotted movement up ahead. She pressed herself against the wall before carefully peeking around the corner.

A pair of demons left a room in the diverging corridor and walked away from Raven, moving eerily silent as demons do. Once they were out of sight Raven started to follow them, ducking her head into the room they had left.

Inside was a figure in white and grey furs.

“Wolf!” Raven entered the room, seeing Wolf standing on the far side. “Are you alright my friend?”

Wolf made no attempt to move, merely standing and staring as Raven got closer.

“We must leave this place, the Warriors are moving into position,” Raven held her hand to Wolf, but still she didn’t move.

Raven’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked harder at Wolf. Something was wrong here.

It was the eyes. They were glazed over, faded. The bright amber more of a watery yellow.

“Wolf?”

Finally Wolf moved, turning her head to look at Raven. The glazed gaze focused on her, but the expression did not change. Raven took a step back, remembering Raven of Old’s warning. It had seemed like a worst-case scenario, but here it was, right in front of her.

Wolf reached for the wall and drew a sword from it with a clatter. The tip immediately dragged on the stone floor, metal screeching as Wolf walked towards Raven.

“Wolf, stop this,” Raven backed away. “I am not your enemy.”

Wolf’s face remained blank as she made her way towards Raven. The squealing of metal stopped as Wolf raised the sword slightly.

Without a change in expression she lifted the sword with both hands and charged.

Raven blocked the incoming blow with the staff, holding it over her head. Both women were around the same height, so Raven could look right into Wolf’s eyes. There was still nothing behind them.

Wolf pulled back and swung again, striking for Raven’s sides, right, then swinging left. Both strikes were blocked by the staff, the impact shuddering up Raven’s arms.

Raven spun the staff over the blade and pushed, knocking Wolf off balance and sending the sword skittering across the stone.

Wolf’s hair fell over her face in a tangled curtain for a moment. Then, as though a switch had been flicked, a wolf stood in her place.

Wolf barrelled into Raven, knocking her to the ground. Raven threw up the staff, catching a glimpse of teeth before Wolf clamped her jaws on it.

The wood creaked under the bone crushing pressure, but held. Raven struggled to hold the staff up, the weight of a full-grown wolf keeping her pinned to the ground. The eyes remained the same even in this form, washed out yellow.

Yet there was no sound. There should have been. The room should have been echoing with snarls and growls. There was nothing. Her lips were only pulling back to grip the staff.

“Wolf, break free of this!” Raven pushed the staff up as far as she could. Wolf’s head was pushed back and her weight shifted just enough for Raven to kick her away.

Wolf stumbled on her paws as Raven stood up. Raven had an opening, she knew that. She could strike now with lightning from the staff.

“It is not me you should be fighting,” Raven spoke aloud, and Wolf’s head snapped towards her. Raven slammed the staff down and the Raven’s Eye gleamed.

Raven was taken into Wolf’s mind.

She was used to peering into the minds of her Warriors, and in turn the Warriors were used to her peering. Ready to offer their quick thoughts on challenges before Raven retreated. It was a quick, painless process.

Wolf’s mind was like a quagmire. Thick, black mud that Raven had to wade through. There was no representation of Wolf waiting, instead, ghosts of thoughts and memories ran past her.

A pack of wolves, a young Wolf loosing an arrow into a target, and even younger Wolf sitting by a fire. Further on two young adult figures sparred with quarterstaffs, one of them with a familiar plait.

A ghostly wolf trotted past, a raven sitting on her back. The figures then swirled and changed, and with a pang Raven watched a younger Wolf and Raven of Old walking by with their Staffs of Power, speaking intently. The figures changed again, and Raven of Old was replaced by an unfamiliar woman with long hair trailing down her back, carrying a Staff of Power topped with a crown.

“WOLF!” Raven called into the mindscape, walking past the ghosts and trying to ignore them.

Still wading through, she passed a ghost of an old man with a planet topped staff, speaking with a younger, staffless Wolf. Raven shouldn’t be seeing any of this. These were personal scraps of memory.

“WOLF! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” Raven’s voice echoed in the vast expense. That was when the ghosts all whipped out of existence. Raven immediately wished that they hadn’t gone; the mindscape felt much larger and emptier without them.

A howl echoed through the mindscape, sending shivers up Raven’s spine. There was movement opposite her, and Wolf appeared.

She struggled through the mire swamping her mind, which manifested as black tendrils wrapping around her arms and torso, each one clinging to her to hold her back.

The mind’s version of yourself is always a little different to how they were in person. This version of Wolf was a little shorter, with the furs she wore leaning more towards grey than white. Even her hair was dulled, more grey than silver.

Wolf looked up, spotting Raven, and her amber eyes widened.

“Why are you here?” Wolf asked, surprised more than resentful, which was what Raven was expecting.

“I am here to help you!” Raven waded through. “What do you need?”

Wolf laughed hollowly. “I wish I could tell you, but I do not know myself,” her eyes scrunched shut, and the grip on her pulled her back.

Raven marched forward and grabbed at Wolf’s arm. “I can see that at this moment, you need to be free of this, miasma,” Raven gestured with her free hand to the cloying gloom. “Is this Nevar’s work?”

Wolf looked around, as though seeing it all for the first time. “I am… I am uncertain. Some of it certainly is. Some of it is of my own creation I fear.”

“I am afraid that we do not have the time to deal with all of this,” Raven glanced around before looking back at Wolf. “Let us focus on freeing you for now.”

“Very well.”

Raven grabbed Wolf’s forearm and pulled as hard as she could. Wolf also strained against the darkness holding her. Her arm was the first to be pulled free, with the rest slowly following.

Deep laughter boomed in the space and Wolf ducked her head, whole face twisting. She looked up again to see a shadowy form of Nevar appear several metres behind Raven.

Her eyes went wide and she stopped struggling. The tendrils holding her increased their grip, and began to pull her back.

“Wolf!” Raven’s voice snapped Wolf back to her. “The only thing that is real in here is you and me.”

“He, Nevar… He is in my head…”

“And it is your head! You control your mind!”

Wolf shot her a disbelieving look. “That is not always true.”

“Then it is sometimes true. So make it true, right now!”

Wolf glanced back at the spectre of Nevar, and really, that was all he was. A spectre.

With a growl building in her throat, Wolf ripped free of the tendrils holding her. A staff formed in her hands, of pale wood topped with the head of snarling wolf.

“You. Are. Nothing,” she growled at Nevar, pointing her staff at him. A cold wind began to swirl from nowhere, billowing her cloak, and the darkness began to float away like smoke. “You are a spectre of my own creation, and I will unmake you! BEGONE!”

---

Raven lifted her staff up on reflex, taking a step back as she found herself back in the physical world.

Wolf was back in her human form and lying on the floor. Only the rapid rise and fall of her chest made it clear that she was alive.

“…Wolf?”

Wolf groaned from her position on the floor and her eyes shot open. Raven walked over and saw that her eyes were back to amber.

“How do you feel?” Raven asked cautiously.

“…As though a tree fell on me,” Wolf slowly turned her head to look at Raven. “How much of what transpired was in my head?”

“All of it, but that does not mean I was not there,” Raven held her hand to help Wolf up.

Wolf looked at it for several long seconds before taking it. Raven helped her to her feet and Wolf winced suddenly, a hand going to her ribs.

“You should leave this place,” Raven said. “The Warriors and I can continue from here.”

Wolf looked at her, at the door, at the sword on the floor. With a small huff she kicked it aside.

“I never was as skilled with a sword as I would have liked,” she mumbled. “I thank you Raven. I fancy that I could never thank you enough for all you have done for me.”

“You can thank me by removing yourself from here. Get to safety.”

Wolf did not immediately respond.

“The last time I ran from Nevar,” Wolf spoke slowly. “Many innocent people lost their lives. I have pushed out his spectre from my mind, I would like to repeat this in the physical world,” her fist opened and closed, and she looked down at it, appearing surprised that her staff wasn’t there.

“Are you certain of this?”

Wolf looked Raven in the eye. “Aye. That I am.”

A/N

So, this is a thing that happened. I had several people expect there to be a fight between Wolf and Raven after Raven of Old's comment at the end of Chapter 7. My intention with that was to make Raven of Old seem overly suspicious/cautious and not the most reliable voice in that situation. I am not sure that I succeeded in that.

Still, it gave rise to this scenario and I just shrugged and wrote it. Work on the sequel is still ongoing, I think I'm near the end of the first draft now.

#Wolf and Raven #Raven #New Raven #Raven of Old #Nevar #Princess Erina #Cyrus the Astromoner #demons #Raven CBBC #Raven 2002 #Raven: The Island #Raven: The Secret Temple #Raven: The Dragon's Eye #Raven fanfiction #TheShapeshifter100 writes

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kzbrandt · 4 years ago

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Mirror Mirror within the Walls

Staring at her own reflection, the Evil Queen seethed, emotionless and vile. The creator had no hand in this universe, for it was crafted by alien palms, kneaded by strange and darker fingertips.

“Snow White, how I yearn to filet her flesh and take a drink from within her moist, throbbing clavicle. Her bright light radiates and scorns me, her very existence bereaves me of any happiness!”

Naburu was a frozen realm harkened with cold days and colder nights, a bleak hollow emptiness stalked the land. The Nabu suffered under their ruler's heavy fists, there was barely enough room to breathe. Although, even swallowed by impervious tyranny they did not despair or abandon hope, they held true to their foretold princess who might one day fulfill the prophecy and summon the Golden one and finally overthrow the Evil Queen. Her reign was true and terrible, they were not even free of their matriarch in death, her cruelty pervaded within and without. Now let's see if I can find that dusty old scroll, ah here we are…

Sisters Thine: A Prophecy

Crafted from darkness and light they both scorn and delight

As one rises the other falls

Mirroring the Sisters of Father Time and the trumpets call

Day passes into night, through the spyglass of winter tide

A squall immortal will sucks in its breath, startled and struck down blind

The sun will shine as the Golden One approaches

Snow White and Krístarjsa will be reunited once more

Two doors swing open

Two destinies chaotically intertwined

Twice scarred, thrice denied

Only together can they heed the sign

They are the Sisters Thine

One black rose

One white

Only when The Lovers rise will they remember that which hides

Snow White was a renowned pillar of genuine beauty and innocence, she was everything the Evil Queen was not, but as each day dredged by, the trench within her aching heart grew deeper and harder to subdue. She didn’t deserve the Nabu’s love, she was an unworthy outlander who was right where she belonged. Still, with so much self doubt and self loathing at least the Ice-fauna hadn’t abandoned her, they hadn’t received the memo yet. They were all so beautiful, how would she survive such intrepid boredom without her frozen friends? Not even the debilitating cold could touch her fair blushed complexion, her flesh was always running unnaturally warm. She was as sightly as fresh snowy hills sparkling with permafrost abounding all around. With each night that came there were the dreams that followed, and they were always the same. A sister who is lost in the wind and finally makes her return. But there was something about it all that fell off, wrong even.

Will my dreams ever come to pass, or am I doomed to decompose in my hollowed, decayed abode? My days have always been numbered but soon my cord will be severed, what will I do then? How can I escape her villainous wrath?

A worry began to creep up a fragile web, each piece of silk more dangerous than the next, with nothing else to do but observe the gears spinning her darkest thoughts, anxiety prickled potent and consuming. A heavy whistling sang upon the air equally full of promise and despair. Darting to the barred window a hairless frosty bird could be found with news and a song.

“Oh, Hansel, how I’ve missed you! Where have you been all this time?”

“My sweet princess, it’s good to see those rosy cheeks. I’m afraid I am the bearer of the most terrible news.”

“What is it?”

“The Evil Queen has dispatched… The Huntsman.”

“Oh, I see.”

“How can you be so calm? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Han, I did. Should I quiver, curl up and beg that bitch to spare poor innocent ol’ me? What has helplessness ever gotten me? I’d rather meet her eyes and haunt her black soul into extinction.”

“No, this can't be the end!”

“Hansel, shush now, don’t fret. Hope isn’t gone until my blood has frozen with the rest of Naburu.”

“But, what are we going to do?”

“ I don’t know,” Snow shrugged a little defeatedly.

What can I do? I’m defenseless and locked away. She has me right where she wants me.

“Hold tight, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Hansel’s ceruleans irises glowed with a deep blue ember, igniting his consciousness, a crazy gander burned within his unmoving feathers, resembling hardened frigorific stone.

Watching Hansel fly away, she wondered if he would even make it back in time. Just then, an iron-clad door that was frozen over with petals of snowflakes dancing along the edge creaked open moaning painfully. Most of the castle had an overbite cached in gloom and miasma.

“The Queen demands your presence, princess. This way. Straight ahead, my lady.”

Continuing on, Snow White walked with grace, eyes sparkling violet-grey, somber and spectacular.

If these truly are my last moments, I won’t spend them being pitiful. I am going to greet death with a smile. I only regret leaving Hansel without a proper goodbye.

The throne room was luxurious, lined in black and grey, diamonds and rubies were embedded everywhere, even the floor, it was quite uncomfortable to walk across. It would’ve done the Russian’s proud, rivaling the St. Petersburg Palace herself. The reflection of the Evil Queen was almost omnipresent, there was no escaping it. The devil herself sat regally in a chair of chairs, long silver hair was braided back falling well past her tightly trimmed figure. Physically she had the likeness of the Ancient Norsemen of old, riding water dragons falling prey to no man, raiding the very fabric of life and time.

Haunting the steps below her feet was Rasputin, same waxy black hair, same sinister smile, just playing the game with a different deck of cards. The false queen didn’t even raise her eyes to Snow White, but was conversing with her most coveted servant.

“Mirror, mirror within the walls who is the fairest of them all?”

Rasputin’s face had spiraled and caved inward transforming into a supernatural speculum tinged with energy only found in the outer realms, beyond the Vale and the Abyss.

“To my grievous displeasure, it can only be Snow White, your majesty. While she lives your reign will never be true, she is the true leader of Naburu, her lost princess. Snow White must be eliminated.” Rasputin turned in her direction and howled something horribly inhuman. Soon cold, murderous eyes popped back into his face as it shifted back to its loosely natural features.

“You see what you do, your very presence defies me. You now bear witness to your crimes, what do you have to say? How can Snow White justify this blasphemous treachery?!

What was it about her words that brought it all back? She had been here so many times only wearing different faces of the flesh. The tide had risen, washing away all the falsities of this life and illuminating the others so vibrantly it couldn’t be ignored.

My sister… Our home, Valhalla the mother of Taboo, the land of possibilities, The Ancients birthplace… I can remember all of it. Neferet dragged us from our home using dark magick, the home of the wand-wed, the vessels of Ancient Energy. And the worst part of it all... She was our family, sister to our mother, she betrayed her own blood. A crime that would ban her eternally from ascension. The Evil Queen would never know peace. There is at least this one consolation this time around.

“I welcome death, you are not worthy of fear. I would stare into your soulless eyes as I slit your throat, you would only cower and stick me in the back, dishonorably. You are nothing but the scum off my shoe and I will be happy to never see your face again after this moment.”

“I will have The Huntsman eat your heart and defile your fresh corpse, you are a violation! Away with her!”

As the two soldiers of Naburu, slaves to the Wicked Witch took the princess away, such strong and virile men began to sob knowing what they must do...

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ceruszael · 7 years ago

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Reviled by the Living, Scorned by the Dead

((This is something I’ve been working on over the past couple weeks. It’s long, it’s a bit ranty and weird, scroll past it if you like. I considered a read more break or even dicing it into a couple posts but decided to keep it cohesive and accessible. Scroll past if you want.))

One of the interesting dualities of my existence is how the ambitions of the living so often drive me to seek time among the dead. Not that their desires directly send me, but that the inconsequentiality of it all spurs me to understand something greater. And yet, after each journey I take, I find my way back to a kingdom of men, of flesh and blood, seemingly to await the next moment I become disillusioned with those around me. It is also important to note that I don’t mean the denizens of Acherus when I refer to the dead. Those unquiet souls, who find kinship among the ruins of Lordaeron, the halls of Scholomance, and all manner of Northrend’s wastelands, are not truly dead. Nor am I. No, where I go to pursue meaning amidst the mire of simple ambitions and petty grievances is the very place which scorns me perhaps more than the most zealous of Light-worshiping conclaves.

The Shadowlands.

A realm with more names than I care to count, and a relevance which shifts depending on the culture which accesses it. To the undead of Acherus, those souls bound to the Lich King for service in war, it is a source of endless torment. That is where the Ebon Knights and those who came before them were dispatched to when life fled their forms, and where the Lich King tore them from. Although at the height of His power much of the Shadowlands fell under His sway, its wardens now forever hunt after the souls stolen from them. Perhaps at His behest, once, when the Ebon Hold first broke free. Now, I think, of their own volition. Still, it is a place I yearn to understand and often travel to when time among the living has soured me. Preparations are due before such ventures. I often speak to the Liches, Darkmasters, and others versed in the mysticisms of the Scourge to glean what they know. Salanar the Horseman has been of most use, though I strongly suspect he keeps a plethora of secrets to himself. In this, it is advantageous for me to be seen as naught but another Ebon Knight. Few suspect, when lecturing me in condescending tones, that I have heard all they have to say before and perhaps even seen and learned more first-hand. One cannot be too careful, however. I remain all to keenly aware that it takes but one mistake in the Shadowlands for its denizens to descend upon me in force and reclaim a soul since torn from their grasp.

Yet here I stand once again, on the threshold between life and death in more ways than one. As I step through from relative vibrance and an ever-present din of living beings so often gone unnoticed to stillness in a mire of misery. When everything turns to shades of black and grey, the wind ceases its breath, and all notion of temperature is replaced by unshakable discomfort one realizes they have entered a place where the stimuli of life hold no meaning. The Shadowlands, I have come to believe, are truly formless. They have appeared to me in so many ways I cannot begin to recall them all. Some days, a hollow shell of the world I walk in undeath. Others, an endless sea under whose tides dwelled nameless, ancient beings.

Today, a pathway through a dense forest. Dead leaves fell like snowflakes from a canopy either too darkened or too far up to see. The earth was matted with them. I crane my head, noticing a hood encompassing my head. Though I entered the realm armed and armored as per usual I was now cloaked in cascading darkness, at least the larger of my blades yet strapped across my back. Looking back down, I note the trail before me. It winds to and fro, barely distinguishable between the trunks and boughs. Formless things moved just beyond my vision, seeking to guide astray those taking the path. A road paved in familiarity for those not of this realm, intended for the living to navigate the paths of the dead. Or to lead them where the dead desired. My first steps, as such, take me off the trail to within the forest.

It took several forays before I realized this realm despised me equally, if not more, than that which I was born upon. My first endeavors were of escape. To flee the prejudices and scorn of life into a world more suited to former instruments of the Scourge. Instead the Shadowlands sought to lead me astray, through traps and pitfalls, to the dens of beasts beyond imagining or into the waiting claws of vengeful specters. I have learned since then. I am enshrouded in spellwork. My mind is guarded against ceaseless whispers and dark, probing intelligences. I walk with care, and ever watchful for threats. Such precautions have allowed me to glean much from this realm. The power dwelling within it, the nature of its denizens, the cost and benefits of having been removed from its sphere of influence. An appreciation for the immeasurable power required of the Lich King to shield his subjects from its wrath.

Such sights I have seen.

I have witnessed the Stormwind of old, prior to its destruction and rebirth, forever trapped in its final moments. Each man, woman, and child frozen in the instance of their demise and the entire city in a state when all who called it home knew their kingdom had fallen. I have seen Lordaeron, in all the glory of its height as a kingdom, immortalized in the realm of death with its denizens joined in a ceaseless chorus of torment as they wander its spectral paths. Whole fields of bone with great vortices of souls raking across them as flocks of wraiths patrolled overhead. Sections where it seemed, against all reason, that the Shadowlands had borders. Here the avatars of death stood vigil. Some intruders I recognized, the silhouettes of Val’kyr or the spellwork of necromancers. Others assailed sanity by their very being, shapeless things that were outside the cycle entirely, rather than bastardizations of it as I am.

On this journey, as I make my way among the gnarled grey trunks of this petrified forest, I emerge to a familiar landscape. Although now dwelling in eternal twilight in both realms, it was not always so for Silverpine. It once was a vibrant place. Rich in resources, nestled along the coast, sharing borders with two kingdoms while regularly accepting envoys from a third by ship. I recall it vividly from my life and even now, at times, struggle to see it as it is rather than what it was. Fields of green grass. Lordamere lake’s clear waters at which countless peasants, nobleman, and all in between gathered for fishing, merriment, or relaxation. Carriages and other travelers moving up and down the road about their business. Here, however, I recognize more. I know these hills more intimately. I can navigate these paths more easily. As I crest the nearest rise I lay my eyes upon the walls of my upbringing.

Tierwalde Keep.

Nestled along the southern mountains bordering Silverpine and Hillsbrad, it served as the seat of my family’s influence for generations. Not for the Harkon line was politicking or economic domination the objective, but military strength, honor, pride, and the security of our kingdom. My father upheld long standing traditions. His sons were spread about neighboring lands imparting tactical insights and instilling battlefield prowess among sworn allies. Such was the value of my family demonstrated, and the whole made stronger for our efforts. As I march through the gates I see my home for what it was when the Scourge came. Stones marred by fire, steel, and the claws of aberration. Death and decay settle as a miasma in every corner. Subconsciously, as I move between spectral memories of bannermen, soldiers, and workers, I find myself inexorably drawn to the great hall in the central tower.

I enter with no bated breath, for the sight before me is one played out a thousand times over in my waking nightmare. Three figures, clad in the worn echoes of once proud battleplate. They surround an altar upon which rests an elegant hand-and-a-half sword overtop a tapestry, which bears the crest of crossed poleaxes beneath the rearing head of a violet dragon. Each face rises to regard me as I take my place to complete the circle about the altar.

“You have been errant too long.”

“The line is ended.”

“The Drachenmoot will name no successor.”

Now, all in tandem, they speak.

“Return to the fold.”

It is not a request. I turn my back on the figures, scouring shadowed walls and the rolling mists obscuring the floor. Haunting shapes coalesce. Unnaturally long, taloned hands grasp toward me. I have tarried too long. The wardens have closed in, despite all precautions. My first instinct is to draw the runeblade slung across my back, but another thought strikes. I turn to regard the three again, inclining my head to each in turn.

“The line is ended. But I am not. And so we endure.”

Before any can act I reach to pluck the blade from its alter, turning to the spectres closing in.

“And in this place, in the world of the living or here, I will tolerate NO INTRUSIONS!”

Though faded in its former glory, the weapon I now hold twists and writhes in the grasp of one far deeper steeped in darkness. Shadows writhe from my grip upon its hilt, coursing along its length as a cold wind tears through the tower’s hall. The undulating gloom rises from blade tip, to hilt, to swiftly encompass my form. Cloak and hood are replaced with sectioned armored plating of deepest black, the skulls of past conquests seated upon my pauldrons with empty sockets ablaze in baleful amber. The weapon itself elongates and convulses, taking the appearance of a macabre hooked blade adorned in the same dark magics and the petrified skeletal visages of countless foes slain.

A veritable gale howls against the wraiths, tearing at their substance and forcing them back. As tendrils of mist are carried out beyond the struggling Shadowlands denizens, they at last falter and dissipate. Shortly thereafter the winds die down, my form and the sword in my hand diminishing to their former selves, I again turn to regard the figures gathered about the altar. They appear frozen in the murky purgatory of this realm, as if my actions were so jarring as to separate me from them even further than the bounds of life and death. I cannot help but feel a pang of regret and remorse. Even moving to replace the sword upon its altar, I note that it feels out of place. It no longer belongs there, yet neither should it follow me back to Azeroth. It is as I am, belonging to neither the dead nor the living. Even now it fades from my eyes and grasp, wispy tendrils of its existence clinging to my hand before it is gone entirely.

In time, I will dwell on the lessons taught to me here. I will take the time to reflect on the landscape shown to me, the twisted reflections of Azeroth and unimaginable visages revealed on this journey. The power to be tapped, which I have experienced only a fraction of today, will be fully understood. After all, I have an eternity to do so.

I know all of this to be true, even as I conjure a death gate to spirit me from the Shadowlands. It has been an eventful, and useful, foray. I must dwell upon its deeper meanings, but now turn my attention again to my charges among the living.

((Tag Lineup; @householt @adhelin for vague mentions))

#ceruszael #writing things #this one got rambly #sorrynotsorry

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rawbiredbest · 7 years ago

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The Lifeline of Tsukuyomi

Hello, and welcome to the first installment of Amrita Memories, a collection of crossover vignettes between the Yakuza (Ryu ga Gotoku) series and the game Nioh, re-imagining your favorite professional criminals as 17th Century samurai, ninjas, and mages, with a dash of demonic invasion and protective spirits.

IN THIS EPISODE: Saejima's found something precious, and could use some assistance.

WARNING: contains graphic, canon-typical depictions of violence, body horror, the supernatural, and war flashbacks.

Shoutouts to @taiga-saejima for putting up with me brainstorming this universe.

Read here or on AO3!

- - -

“You a magic man?”

Akiyama looks up from the pot of boiling broth. The new arrival almost fills the cave mouth entirely. Only the barest light, already filtered by the gloom of the storm raging outside, squeezes past his bulk. The ring of fur around his neck has long since drowned; rain drips from every channel of his armor plates.

“I prefer the term yamabushi,” Akiyama says, shifting to face the stranger, “But yes, I’ve been known to write the odd spell or two. That what you here for?” He suddenly chuckles, flashing a grin. “Sorry, sorry. I forget myself, it’s become so routine. Please, come in.”

The arrival stoops to fit inside the cave, tracking mud and wet behind him. Something nudges Akiyama’s hand. He looks down. It’s the white twin of his tonfa set. Hana, sitting nearby, pushes it closer. Shun gives her a comforting smile. He’s dealt with oni before.

The newcomer drops to the ground and Akiyama flinches, half-expecting the whole mountain to quake under his weight. By the campfire’s light, he can tell he’s a samurai. Was, at least. His garb is battered and broken in places, stained with the toils of a journey. What could be dirt is more likely blood. The enormous hammer on his back looks like it’s heavier than he is. Shun is glad it either hasn’t been used recently, or has been washed clean from the deluge. He doesn’t like the sight of brains.

“I have soup coming up in a second,” Akiyama says, “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

The stranger hesitates, grappling with his own thoughts. He climbed a mountain for this. Might as well trust the so-called yamabushi. “My name is Saejima Taiga,” he finally says, “I need your help.”

Akiyama glances at Hana. See? his look says, You were scared for nothing.

She shoots him a frown right back. The moment yokai know we’re up here, we're ruined, it replies.

“What kind of help? I have charms for money, luck, clarity of mind. I’ll tell you now, they’re not guaranteed to work. You can’t slap them on your head for an instant fix. You have to want them to work.”

Saejima shakes his head, spilling droplets across the cave. “Nothing like that. You can get crap like that from anybody.”

Akiyama’s eyebrow twitches. “I like to think they’re not cra--”

The samurai lifts his breastplate. Sitting inside, sheltered from the storm, is a spirit. The smallest one Akiyama’s ever seen, it could fit in his palm. Just a fuzzy ball of nigitama -- positive energy.

“How do I care for him?” Saejima asks.

Shun swallows his heart. “Put it back,” he says, nodding when Taiga tucks his armor back into place, “How long have you had it?”

“A day. Bad things were picking on him. That wasn’t right, so I stopped them.”

The yamabushi glances at the hammer.

“Couldn’t leave him behind,” Saejima continues, “He’s so little, you know? So I picked him up. Put him somewhere safe. Heard rumors you could help, so I came here. Can you?”

Akiyama touches his chest. “Did you know to put it there?”

“No. Seemed like a good idea.”

Shun thinks for a moment. Extracting three cups, he ladles soup into each. “Tell you what. Let’s sleep on this. I’ll have a better idea what to do in the morning.” He gives a cup to Hana and offers one to Saejima.

The samurai takes it, looks at the contents. Pieces of rabbit, plant roots, a few vegetables. He can’t be picky. Few people are willing to lend even wilted greens to a wandering disgrace.

“Cheers,” Akiyama exclaims. Everyone drinks. He spoons seconds and thirds for Taiga before he subjects himself to the shame of asking for more.

- - -

Hours later, when the storm has calmed and Saejima is twitching on a bed of straw, Akiyama goes to work. He feels a tad wretched for drugging his pilgrims, but how else can he judge them at their most sincere?

Tasogare bumps his fingers. Shun interprets it as comfort instead of the common sleepy wobble the baku calls a gait. He strokes down the pillars of stardust along its spine and feels the simultaneous sensation in the back of his mind. Touching his spirit is like putting his hand to a mirror and sinking into it like the surface of a pond. Touching himself and, at the same time, not.

Tasogare knows the drill. Despite the glow from its fur that paints the cave walls in shades of galactic violet, Saejima doesn’t stir as it approaches. It sniffs his skin, ox tail sashaying, and places the end of its trunk over his ear, mindful of its tusks.

Akiyama watches a bulge travel up its length. When Tasogare has collected enough, it slips its trunk into its mouth and swallows deeply. When it reaches for more, Shun kneels, extracting three talismans from inside his joi.

The first is for divination, for the wisdom and empathy. The second is for healing, for apologizing for what he has to do. The third is for protection, for a suit of armor around his mind. Just in case. They are far more potent than anything he gives his visitors, and he feels their effects the instant he casts them on himself. He is within and above his consciousness, watching it expand and drop roots, the cave and the mountain beyond coming into hyper-focus.

“Ready when you are,” he murmurs.

Tasogare turns to its host. Not a hint of a sway in its step this time. This is their duty, solemn and sacred. Akiyama gives the spirit’s paws a gentle squeeze. I’ll be fine.

The eye on the baku’s forehead opens and the cave is obliterated with consuming light.

- - -

It’s a battlefield. Akiyama has seen them before. A musket round sails past his face slow enough for him to spot the gases it trails from exploding gunpowder. He lets it pass, and wanders on.

Dreams are always slippery. A combination of his self-protective onmyo magic and the simple fact that the dream isn’t his makes them liquid and loose. This one is made worse from the smoke in the air, belched from cannons and untamed fires. Deep gouges made from stomping hoof and sprinting boot rake the earth into ash-topped waves. Men hide behind barricades, peeking out to raise their rifles. The bodies -- piles of corpses everywhere, thrown together to make way for soldiers soon to join the ranks of the dead.

Movement ahead. It’s Saejima.

He is fury incarnate. Swarmed by infantry, he pays no heed to the swords and spears clanging off his armor. Men fly with each swing of his hammer -- ribs crushed, limbs smashed, blood spilled. A soldier rushes in with his blade. Taiga knocks it up and brings the hammer down on his head. Red mud conceals the worst of the pulped skull.

Eighteen. Eighteen men destroyed for the sake of Lord Sakon, who doesn’t know he exists.

Saejima is on number nineteen when it happens, almost too fast for Akiyama to see. It comes from behind the yamabushi, the sound of flesh splitting open giving it away. He turns to face it. There’s no mistaking what it is. A snake the color of gore, tearing through the smog, whipping from one haggard soldier to another, bashing through their chests with jaws wide open, no hesitation, no remorse.

A spirit.

Akiyama raises his arms, braces himself, staring as the serpent barrels down on him with rows of fangs and a ravenous maw--

It blasts past him.

Shame flares hot in Shun’s chest. A novice mistake. This isn’t his dream. He isn’t here.

But Saejima--

The snake makes a lightning-fast revolution around Taiga, plowing through the men surrounding him, and it is out of sight, slashing over the battlefield for more prey. Ankle deep in the dead, Saejima tries to take hold of his thundering heart. He looks toward Sakon’s camp, toward some sign of order.

The ground jolts beneath their feet as huge crystalline spikes erupt from the earth. Akiyama stumbles to a knee and dirt grits against his palm. His breath catches in his throat -- if he can feel the dream, the protection talisman has worn off.

The sky turns crimson. From a crevasse in the earth the demon rises, bones from countless dead creeping together to form its six arms, its whip-like tail. Amrita lies caged in its chest and embedded in its skull. Two-thousand feet tall, born from hatred and magic blacker than midnight, the gasha-dokuro roars its rage.

Saejima flees.

Akiyama, shocked to his core, almost doesn’t notice. He turns and Saejima is gone. The pile of bodies shifts. It’s victim nineteen. Miasma pours from the ground, seeping into the gaping wound the snake spirit left in his chest. He looks at his fallen comrades even as aratama consumes him, swallowing his humanity in a thick case of orange hide, bristling horns, and jagged fangs. The newborn yokai bellows and lifts its blade.

Akiyama runs.

All around him, monsters are arriving. Soldiers rise to their feet, flesh sloughing off in thick, gray sheets until they are no more than skeletal wraiths. A one-eyed giant wrenches itself through a swirl of darkness. From the corner of his eye, Shun spots a heap of deceased mold themselves into an oni larger than a house. He tries to ignore the fire in his lungs. This isn’t really happening. He isn’t here.

Saejima--

He almost passes him. Taiga hasn’t found shelter -- the charred wood of a fallen tree is no barrier against devils. Still, he hides behind it as well as he can, curled into a ball. Akiyama kneels, reaching for him while around them the twilight of humankind looms.

Cannons blast from the Tokugawa camp. Saejima clasps his ears as four shots fly overhead. Three miss their target. The gasha-dokuro bats the fourth one out of the air. The round explodes uselessly against its hand. Shrieking, the demon counterattacks, spitting a volley of ghostly energy. Saejima bolts, scrambling as the air itself seems to harden around his feet.

Akiyama’s talismans splinter like twigs. He has no idea what will happen -- if the nightmare is so potent it will chew him up, if the underworld will rot him from the inside out. He bares his teeth, hands balling into fists. So be it, he thinks, If I die, I die helping my fellow man.

Golden eyes open as the the gasha-dokuro’s attack rains around him -- Tasogare’s eyes--

He’s in a forest. A dirt road. A decaying sign, nearly impossible to read in the mist that clings to his clothes and drips from the trees, points the way to the nearest towns.The only sound is wind through the leaves. It smells pungent with new, fresh growth.

Ten years have passed.

Shun breathes deep, reaching out with his mind for Tasogare’s presence. Cut it a bit closer next time, won’t you? he thinks. The baku stays hidden, but he feels it turn. He follows its gaze.

Saejima, walking through the undergrowth. Armor beaten and bashed, black hair slipping out from beneath his kabuto, the old soldier moves without destination, hammer leaving a furrow in the dirt as he drags it behind him. Anything to stay away from the aratama hounding him. Wriggling legs and a core of yellow energy propel them through the air. There are eighteen in total. One scurries ahead of Taiga, brushes against his cheek. Flinching with disgust, he slaps it away, and it joins the rest of the pack.

Lord Mitsunari is dead. Lord Sakon has vanished. Saejima is a ronin.

Akiyama follows him.

Emboldened, the aratama stage another offense. Weaving under and around each other, they nip at Taiga’s ankles, his fingers -- digging into gaps in iron plate and sinking needle teeth into his skin. “Enough,” he grunts, “Leave me be.”

We will never have enough, one of them whispers.

We had wives, another murmurs, We had children.

We became monsters, they say, So monsters we become.

Jaws find a tendon. Saejima chokes on a cry, crashing to the ground.

He imagines he will lie here forever. Perish and sink into the earth. He knows he is bound for the depths of the Sanzu River, for the cold waters to trap him for eternity. He deserves his fate, and so he stills, face in the mud, and waits.

Something growls.

Saejima knows he’s going to die, but he isn’t interested in being eaten alive. He lifts his head and sees a small shrine carved into a tree.

Within shines the prettiest light he’s ever seen.

A group of foxes circle the tree. The once holy creatures are shot through with amrita. The stones jut from their bodies like tumors. Their muzzles are coated in dry blood. Two of them are small, but the third is huge, easily the size of a bear. They snap their fangs and pant and whine, purple tongues swollen and hungry.

He reaches for his hammer. An aratama breaks a tooth through his fingernail.

Cringing, Saejima staggers to his feet. He’s already cursed. Nothing can worsen his situation. “Hey!”

The foxes turn toward him, hackles raised.

The ronin holds his hammer. “Pick on someone your own size!”

It’s over shockingly fast. Something activates in Saejima, a conduit wide open between his weapon and his soul, so blinding in its brutality that the foxes are defenseless. One catches a hammer to the back, spine broken backwards. Another is smashed upside the jaw, sending it crashing into a log. The third, the largest, spits an orb of foxfire.

Saejima reaches through it, oblivious to the heat splashing against his chest, grabs the fox’s throat, and slams the steel-hard horns of his kabuto onto its head, caving in its skull.

The corpses dissolve into shards of amrita and noxious gas.

Taiga slings the hammer onto his back. The little light in the shrine is unharmed. It’s truly beautiful, a pearlescent egg of a substance he can’t identify. Otherworldly and terrified.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he mutters, “That’s how it is.”

Realization hits him like a rock slide. He hasn’t felt this good in a decade. Even the blood dripping from his ruined nail isn’t painful. He looks over his shoulder. The eighteen aratama are staying away. Milling around each other in restless channels, and keeping their distance.

The light. They hate the light.

Saejima makes a decision before it even occurs to him to do so.

“Um,” he starts, unsure how exactly to speak to, quite frankly, the supernatural, “Listen. It ain’t safe here. You got lucky this time, but I have to keep moving. You want to come with me? If not, uh, smite me. Or something.”

He scoops the light into his palms. No bolts of lightning, no chasms opening beneath his feet. It weighs nothing and everything simultaneously. He slips it under his breastplate beside his heart.

If there’s a shrine out here, he thinks, there must be a village nearby. Somewhere to beg for a meal and pray no one recognizes an old enemy. He finds the dirt road, aratama trailing behind him.

“You have a name?”

No response.

“That’s fine. I don’t talk much either.”

Akiyama watches the reincarnated soldier until he fades into the murk of the dream. The forest comes undone. Trees and grass and ground meld into a hazy slime. Tasogare wraps its trunk around his hand, and as its third eye shuts, Shun knows what he has to do.

- - -

By morning, the rain has stopped. Saejima awakens to sunlight and clean air. He sits up and yawns, stretches his legs. Hana sits nearby, boiling water for tea.

“Mornin’,” he says. A hint of a smile twitches his lip. “Maybe there’s something to being a weird recluse. I haven’t slept that well in years.”

He turns deeper into the cave. Akiyama leans against a wall. The yamabushi’s face is pale, his eyes hang with shadows, and his clothes are covered in dust. His fingers are red and sore.

Taiga scowls. “What’s wrong with him? Get into some bad mushrooms?”

Hana purses her lips. “No, not this time. Must’ve been something he ate.”

The ronin stares at her, a hand touching his chest. Reacting to his heartbeat, the spirit pulses against his plate. “So now what? I came up here for noth--”

Akiyama startles awake with a cry. Hana nearly topples over. Saejima grabs for his hammer. They left it within my reach last night, it occurs to him.

Shun rubs his eyes, groaning. “Sorry, sorry. I...didn’t get much rest last night. Wanted to catch you before you left though.” He shifts to his knees, reaches into his joi.

The magatama is sunset orange. Though in the proper teardrop shape, its edges are rough and sharp. Freshly chiseled. There is a leather string through its hole.

“You don’t need my help,” Akiyama says, offering the charm with both hands, “You’re doing just fine. This is my gift to you. It’s a ward against evil, an enduring shield, and fuel for growth.” He bows his head. “And it will work, whether you believe me or not. Always. You have my word.”

Saejima hesitates. A purple thing sits behind Akiyama. Although it’s almost too sleepy to stand, tilting on its striped paws, the gleam in its eyes, open just a crack, is knowing. Taiga knows it’s a baku. And it’s been in his head.

He could kill them. They know who he is. If they squeal to Tokugawa’s forces, he’s as good as dead. He could kill them and throw the bodies to the crows and keep the cave as his lair.

Tiny mouths gnaw at his flesh.

He takes the magatama and slips it around his neck. It might be his imagination, but did the spirit kick against his chest? “Thanks.”

Shun looks up and smiles. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, you can always ask.”

“Yeah. How do I get out of here?”

The yamabushi explains. Turn right at that rock, make due west at that bush, mind the sheer cliffs and loose gravel. When he’s confident Saejima can make it off the mountain, he bows until the ronin leaves.

Then collapses face first to the ground.

A tug on his shoulder helps him sit up. “Nightmare?” Hana asks.

Akiyama sighs, pinching his brow. “The worst I’ve ever seen.” He stares at the ceiling. “I saw Sekigahara, Hana. The rumors are true. For a brief time, the yokai realm conquered ours. What does this mean about our shogunate? They’ve covered it up for years.”

“Is that a bad thing? Most people think yokai are just superstition.”

Until they turn up at their front door, he thinks. After a moment, he says, “Hana, would you hate me if I became a member of polite society again? Just for a while?”

Hana smiles, petting Tasogare’s trunk. The spirit leans into her touch. Akiyama feels it too, both as a comforting hand on his cheek, and a kind push to follow his dreams. “Only if you forget to bring me back a souvenir.”

#rawbi's writes #fic: amrita memories #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #nioh #saejima taiga #akiyama shun #hana #a purple tapir elephant tiger...thing

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