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NeoEschaton [M]
That strife was not inglorious.... The bloody light of the sun blazes through the ancient stained-glass windows of Lord Zaccheus' chamber of audience, defracting into eerie hues of mottled gold and deep azure, casting the Celestrine in baleful shadows. He sits impassive on a graven throne, watching the entrance to the hall and awaiting the arrival of those he has summoned. He wears a simple white cassock and clutches in his hand the Iron Scepter of Morning, its gunmetal luster clashing with the bedazzling pearl set in its crown. Troubling news has reached the Celestrine, and he has called on mercenaries and allies from throughout Thyat'ria to investigate the disturbance, unwilling yet to commit his own armed forces to what could very well be a mission of suicide. Diogenes stands in the shadows behind his lord's throne, breathing perhaps once a minute as he awaits his latest orders. It has been some time since he has joined one of Zaccheus' strike teams, and that the Lord Celestrine feels his services will be required speaks profoundly of the opposition the group may encounter. His cybernetic eyes remained focused on the doorway, ready to analyze the capabilities of any who emerge to answer the call. He is fully prepared for the mission, whatever it is, armed and armored, his mind rested and alert. He has not spoken since arriving at his master's side. |
The black-clad man glared through unseeing eyes at the sun and its agonizing sunlight, mentally willing it to give way to the moonlight. Light which, at the very least, wouldn't be doing its best to singe the skin off-- |
Lev Gurevich strode arrogantly through the foyer of Zaccheus' Synod. After the outside, it felt good to be indoors. The heat was something he was used to, but comforts were still comforts. He wore several layers, and the weight of his many possessions did nothing to ease the warmth and sweat. He wore a rather thick duster to keep himself protected from the elements, but layers of dirt and bullet holes had found their way in to the tattered flight suit he wore underneath. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in the slightly cooler air, pressing against the ragged kevlar vest he wore underneath it all. The vest was rather new, something he had stolen away from a very recent victim he had caught unaware. Using the nail of his finger, he picked a bit of skin from between his teeth. He wiped what was left of that person on his leg, and continued inward.
Each step he took caused a faint clinking sound of metal brushing metal, due to the sheer amount of armaments on his person. Various belts, straps, and holsters draped across his body, each tucking a sidearm or packet of ammunition away on his person. They continued on down to his legs, where the pockets on his tattered flight suit bulged with various objects. A large bolt-action rifle strapped to his back hung at a slight angle, the butt of the gun knocking against the more compact sub-machine gun at his waist. To put it short, the man was a walking arsenal. Lev ran a calloused hand through his shaggy brown hair. It had been a while since he had found a way to cut it, and it was starting to grow to a length longer than he was okay with. Hard eyes looked up and down the foyer, searching for the appropriate chamber that he had been told to come to. Finding the audience chamber, he casually entered. He paused for a moment after he entered, taking the scene in. He was not familiar with this 'Lord Zaccheus' that had issued the call to all hired hands, and the man that sat before him in odd clothing was not what he had expected. He cleared his throat, listening to the odd sound of his voice as he spoke. It had been some time since he used his voice. "Nasikia kuna kazi? Er...I hear there is work? Um, Ya slyshal, chto yest rabota?" He spat out the question in the languages he knew, just to be safe. The words felt odd coming out of his mouth, as if he knew what they meant out of memory instead of 'knowing' them so quickly, like everyone else did. Language had always been odd to him. In his mind it was simpler, he could think to himself, and it was easier to communicate there with who he did know. He chuckled quietly to himself, as if he had just heard someone say something funny. He showed the slightest of a smile, and then it was gone. |
The Celestrine eyes this newcomer impassively for a long moment that would become rather awkward were not everyone in the room a hardened killer trying to take the other's measure.
At last, he bows his head and addresses Lev. His words are grave, fraught with obvious trepidation. "There has been... an incident. I will speak more when the others have arrived." |
Dante stepped through the massive doors as he finished tying his tattered scarf around him waist, to some degree hiding the weaponry length of silver chain stashed in his belt. |
Ei’lycia sat in an alcove high above everyone else within the chamber, restlessness creasing her face as she watched a pair of unfamiliar characters enter the vast room one after the other. As she peered through her sunglasses at each individual, instinctively activating her x-ray-like vision, she fought back a gasp as she noticed how the first person was covered from head to toe with various weapons and armour. Biting her lip, the trepidation coursing through her body temporarily stifled, for the most part. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all, everyone here’s so strong.
Behind her sunglasses, her crystal blue orbs flickered across the room scanning the rest of its inhabitants. Gripping her surroundings tighter, her palms sweating up as she briskly wiped them on the hem of her shirt. Her heart was racing, her mind whirling and her face pale. She took several deep breaths before raising her head once more and looking for the quickest way down. If she were to chicken out, it’s not like anyone would be able to catch her anyways. Extending her metal claws, she latched onto the walls, keeping as silent as possible while slowly making her way down. Within ten minutes, she had scaled down the wall and was walking toward the centre of the room. Maybe I could get some training out of this... |
Still utterly still, Diogenes noted the odd presence of mind descending from above. It was of little matter; surely his lord was aware as well, and if it presented any threat, well, Zaccheus hardly required protecting. He had felt the unearthly might of the Iron Scepter many times before, and there were none here who could hope to resist its dominance if the Celestrine chose to employ it.
The other figure to enter the chamber elicited slightly more of a reaction from the assassin. The man literally blazed with aggression and murderous impulse. Diogenes had met many veteran killers in his tenure as Zaccheus' prize slayer, but none could match the sheer ferocity emanating from the Russian man who was now addressing his master. As Zaccheus began to give answer to the man's demand, Diogenes turned all of his attention to the Celestrine, intent to learn the details of this assignment. "I have received word that the church at Smyrna, overseen by the prelate Jethro, my brother in God, has been... desecrated. Jethro was given Eternity's Crown by our LORD and sleeps in endless rapture. I fear... I fear a demon has infiltrated his dreams. It may be that Hell itself, and all its infernal powers, has established a foothold in our world. I do not know what you will discover there, but if there is any demonic presence to be found, it must be eradicated. Utterly. I place my trust in the divers skills you all possess, and will reward your service with anything that is within my power to provide. My chaplain Thomas will head the expedition, and a squadron of seven of my finest soldiers will accompany you. Are there any questions?" |
Lev raised his hand in to the air, balling it in to a relaxed fist to call Zaccheus' attention.
"One. Do you have an estimate on what is to be encountered, and if so called 'demons' can be dealt with by conventional means. And two..." He stopped, looking around the room again to see the motley sort of crew that had gathered. He frowned as he sized each one up, pausing as he eyed Dante. After a while he looked back towards Zaccheus, addressing him once again. "Nevermind. I am told this is no matter. I am ready, if these...others, are." |
"I cannot even begin to speculate what terrors of Hell have crawled forth, if indeed some sort of rift is present. The infernal pit is deep, and filled with myriads of horrors beyond count. If it is merely some band of renegade angels, count yourselves lucky. For with the rending of the planes, no longer is Hell sequestered from Ancient Night, and abominations beyond the ken of mortal minds have made new dominion in the blasted realms. My people... have engaged such creatures. Many were driven mad by merely the sight of them, and powers they commanded.... good luck to you, truly. I hope only you can save my brother from whatever it is that haunts him."
|
The Chaplain, Thomas, speaks up as his master falls silent.
"A company of ten, then?" he asks, nodding to indicate Diogenes in the recess of the hall. "I had thought we'd be greater. Will no one else lend us their aid? A mechanized armor-transport has been provided for this mission, easily capable of holding thrice our number." He neglects to add, and if need be, we shall raze Smyrna to the ground with steel and flame. If this is to be my final crusade, I shall see it won. "Regardless," he continues, "we depart at dawn tomorrow. Bring with you every weapon that you can, we cannot possibly over-prepare for the peril we will face. All other provisions, and additional, armaments, will be stocked in the vehicle. May God help anything that chooses to stand in our way." The priest catches himself, and corrects, "No. God cannot help anyone any longer. As such, we will PERSONALLY damn them all, with the sword, the cannon, and with atomizing rain if they choose to test our conviction. We are mankind's devils for salvation. Let them fear us." With that, the aging, unassuming man falls quiet once more, giving no outward sign of the zealous fury that burns within him. If any of them think him a burden to the mission, they will quickly learn why the lord has left him in charge. |
As she listened to the Celestrine speak, Ei’lycia’s face contorted with confusion before shifting to a blank stare, followed by twisting to rage. Something isn’t right. I can feel it, but what is this feeling?
Of course you do, you don’t belong here. You’re weak and you know it. You should just leave while you’re ahead. The voices were ba–Besides you felt it, that man’s probably hiding something from you. It’s likely he’ll even tell the others once you’ve left the room. She clenched her fists and bit down hard on her lips, drawing blood, desperately trying to stifle the screams that fought to fly out of her mouth. She battled to regain control of her head as a partial stream of sight seeped into her mind with the scene that some sort of final orders had been given. Everyone was preparing to leave the hall, or so it seemed. With a strangled cry, she shout out, “Wait!” |
Oh. There's someone I didn't notice...? Dante glanced around, trying to find the apparently-overlooked source of the voice that had cut through the whispering crowd in front of him. He must have missed her from focusing too much on Lev. |
At the sound of the intruding voice, Thomas the Chaplain whirls around, reaching within the breast of his robe to draw out a concealed sub-machinegun, aiming it squarely on the girl approaching.
"Who are you to command the obedience of this council?" he demands. Taking a single step to the left to clear his avenue of fire around the mercenary dominating the center of the room, Diogenes too draws one of his guns, aiming with his psychic sight and ready to send a .45-caliber high-explosive round through the girl's brainpan if he senses even the slightest hostile intent from her. The turmoil radiating from her thoughts is troubling, a palpable wave of chaos crashing telepathically against his own stilled mind again and again, but it seems more of pain and confusion, than malice. He has not yet decided she is a threat. Evidently, Zaccheus agrees with his assessment as his voice cracks over them like a thunderhead. "Stand down, both of you, Thomas, Diogenes. The devil himself could not assay me in this chamber, this, the heart of my earthly power. Your protection is appreciated, but needless." He fixes his gaze on the intruder, and asks, "For what would you have us hold, child? Hell-fires burn against a near horizon, and we can ill-afford delay. Speak." His command is absolute. |
You’ll never be good enough. Just leave. Now. It’s true, you don’t belong here. Heck, everyone’s already thinking it. The voices persisted as she struggled to push through the voices and maintain her grip upon reality. She clutched and clawed at her head in hopes of scraping the voices away as she sensed the movement of others, whirling her head around and noticing the weapons pointed toward her. An eddy of fire swirled around Ei’lycia surrounding her small frame in a frantic fury; her psychic powers rising of its own accord in response to the potential danger before her. No one truly wants you here. It’s all just a ploy to get rid of you for good. Besides, what can you do? You’re a mere seventeen-year-old child.
Once the leader’s voice commanded a retreat of sorts from the others, she felt the fire — her powers — recede in return. Upon hearing the question asked by the one in charge, she said calmly, “I was wondering if I could get some training throughout this mission. I know, if properly trained, I’m sure I can be stro—” She stopped suddenly, spun to her right, her narrowed eyes shifting across every individual in the room as she shrieked out, “Stop talking about me!” Just as she barely finished yelling, her eyes clenched shut as she dropped to the ground and tightly curled up in fetal position, rocking herself gently. Her hands were pounding the floor, the air, even her head — everywhere — as she desperately sought to get rid of the voices that lingered still. Her lips trembling as words fell out quickly and in a barely audible mumble. “No. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. Just please stop. I don’t want you here anymore. Just go away.” |
Lev eyed the newcomer in a way that a dog might eye an untrustworthy animal. He silently made notes on her appearance, face remaining unchanged as she melted in to a mental wreck upon the floor. He whispered under his breath, as if debating with someone yet again.
"The mind is gone but the meat can be re purposed." He bent down, grabbing the crazed woman by the back of her neck. He lifted her up to his level, letting her dangle while he spoke to her. "Stop. He speaks to me, not you." He turned her around, holding her in front of Zaccheus as if she was some prize he had won at a fair. He spoke in a casual manner to the man, as if what he said was simple fact. "I am taking this with me. It could prove...useful." |
In the sudden silence, Dante felt the shock and greed that rippled through the girl and Lev respectively. Half of him wanted to march up to Lev and demand that he let her go, but the other more rational half refused to walk straight into trouble. |
The voices were finally fading. For now. Ei’lycia knew not why they were suddenly leaving, perhaps the individual currently hoisting her up like a flag intimidated them? It can’t be. They fear nothing, at least I don’t think they do.
Her eyes quickly focused as she glanced around, noticing everyone accepting of the words from the person still holding her up. So she locked eyes with him and despite noticing something peculiar about them, she stated with a voice now devoid of emotion, “Please release me now. My latest...episode should be over.” |
The three men look to each other, pondering this unforeseen disturbance.
A wild talent, Diogenes conveys to them. Broken by the horrors her mind can command. Powerful? Zaccheus inquires, maintaining a stoic reserve to the spectacle unfolding in front of him. As she is... I could crush her utterly. Refrain, pray. As you wish. She presents little threat. A chirugeon could drive the madness from her, and with proper tutelage, she could be of use, one day. I am loath to have her along for the expedition, though. Crossing his arms, Thomas interjects his own thoughts. We've need of bodies, if nothing else. Demons may be drawn to her insanity over sounder minds. Cold of you, priest, Diogenes snipes, fully aware of the hypocrisy in the statement. And she could just as easily be a beacon for our foes. They must be eradicated, regardless. Let them come. You will bring her, and Diogenes, do what you may for her. Very well, though precious little, I fear. I am inept to healing. Even still. Zaccheus then rises from his throne, arms sweeping over the group. "We deny none to the cause of our kind. And valor takes many forms. Godspeed," he ends with a sardonic smile. "As I said, we leave at dawn!" Thomas intones. "You are all dismissed." |
The morning arrives under a crimson-cast sky, the golden balm of dawn so utterly consumed by the hungering radiance of the ruined sun. Outside Thyat'ira's towering walls, Thomas and his seven soldiers have begun preparations to depart, hauling crates of rations, munitions, and purified water on-board the IFV, loading belts of sanctified bullets into the gun stations, feeding missiles and rockets into the steel maws of the various cannons mounted to the transport. For the seventieth time since Zaccheus had put it in his hand, Thomas checks the hallowed Ordinance Transceiver secured in a holster against his chest, wary and in awe of the unfathomable destruction he has been honored to command.
Diogenes arrives not long after, offering the briefest of acknowledging nods to his ecclesiastical compeer before ascending the steps up into the vehicle. He takes a seat in the rear, legs folded under his heavy, armored robes, and awaits the time of their leaving. During the night, forgoing sleep as is his wont, he made a special sojourn to Zaccheus' sanctuary to request blessing over the journey to come – and for the course of the moon's lustful hunt across the shattered heavens, the Celestrine engraved each bullet in Diogenes' arsenal with words of exorcism, sanctifying each, one by one. Ite ad infernos, repeated as a mantra. Go. To. Hell. |
Lev Gurevich stepped inside the personnel carrier, his heavy footfalls announcing his presence. He paused as he saw Diogenes, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before sitting down on the floor. He unslung the ancient rifle from behind him and lay it across his lap, removing the cleaning rod from the front. From one of his many pockets he produced a beaten rag and oil, and began to clean the gun. He went on for some time, using strips of smaller cloth and forcing it down the barrel to remove any dirt or corrosive powder. He broke the silence after a while, not bothering to look up as he spoke.
"I expect lots die here. The information provided is...vague. I..." He trailed off, pausing as if he had heard a sound. He continued to listen to nothing, his mouth forming a wicked grin. After a while he laughed, nodding his head in approval to whatever it had been. "Perhaps." Looking up, he continued as if he had never stopped talking to Diogenes. "I want you to understand that I will execute any means necessary to see this task through. Any means. I live when others die. I do not intend to change that." |
Diogenes slowly turns his head toward the mercenary, raising his heavy goggles to fix the lidless diamond artifice of his gaze upon him.
"Whereas I kill, and shirk not to perish." He clears his throat, unused to vocalizing his thoughts. "Even still, if there are demons for true, death is a mercy to the many alternatives of torment they can inflict. They must... be shown no mercy, in turn." He assesses the man for a moment, the only one of these ragged mercenaries he truly considers worthy to join them. This... Lev's overt menace bothers him not at all. To stand against the terrors of Hell and the pitiless Night, Man must become as the Devil himself. With a sudden, horrifically-fast motion, Diogenes pulls free one of his spare magazines and tosses it toward Lev. "Each of these munitions is individually consecrated and wrapped with a binding of Theurgic power. They will not only pierce the numinous flesh of fiends, but you can count on them reaching their target -- I've seen far too many storms of automatic fire disintegrated to dust with a single look from higher demons." He raises his head a fraction, the closest to an acknowledging smile he is willing to offer. "I trust you've something in that arsenal to fit them." |
Ei’lycia was excited to get moving for although Thyatira had been friendly for the most part, she’d been getting rather anxious with staying in one city for so long. As soon as the meeting had officially adjourned, she sped to a spacious barren land a great distance away. Standing still, she let loose a long breath as she tried with all her might to will her powers to the surface.
Nothing. She couldn’t muster a single scrap of power, not a flicker of light, an eerie darkness, there was nothing. A fierce scowl took over her face before she grabbed her sword and brought it forward, slashing toward a tree in the distance in rage at her inability to access her powers at will. Ready to unleash her anger toward everything within her vicinity as a means to practice her sword techniques, she had finally noticed the damage upon the tree she’d caused just prior. The gash she’d made was wrapped in a chunk of ice. Well, that’s new. It appears progression is slowly imminent. For the time being, I best keep this quiet. With a feral smirk and empowered by this slight sign of skill deep within her, Ei’lycia decided it’d be best to put it aside for the moment as she got into a defensive stance, her body settling into sword fighting movements as she began her training drills. Her feet fleet as she went through every move she knew of and then some; her blade whipping around her, its metal surface barely visible other than quick flashes of silver every now and then. Her mind imagining those which she’d fought of years prior as she continued her deft movements as if she were defeating them all over again. After an hour and a quick glance at the blackened night sky glittering with stars, she sheathed her sword and headed toward the ice covered tree for a short nap before it was time to depart. When several more hours past, she woke up to dawn breaking across the sky; its light filtering through the sky as he slowly began to illuminate the nearly barren land surrounding her. Not wishing to be late, she took off for the transport at a speed double that which brought her to the terrain she’d just occupied. With quick and nimble feet as ever they were, she raced through the field and city fast approaching the vehicle that was to be used for the upcoming mission. When she was half a kilometre away, she leapt high into the air, her supple body curled up as she made a few somersaults before landing soundlessly on all fours. Ei’lycia’s eyes glanced up, instantly noticing the old and middle aged men.She shifted about, scanning the interior of the conveyance, analyzing its every component before settling near the front by a host of wires and mechanics, eager eyes gleaming with joy as she inspected the machinery facing her. |
Trying unsuccessfully to hide a mouth-splitting yawn behind one gloved hand, Dante carelessly dumped his meager belongings into the back of the vehicle, already missing the speed and mobility of his battered motorcycle. Early mornings, or even mornings in general, were not his thing. |
The lands around Thyati'ra are well-patrolled -- the group runs into no resistance as they make their way south and seaward. The journey lasts just under four-hours, the IFV following the old highways of Anatolia that Zaccheus has waged dearly to restore and maintain.
They arrive outside the monastery of Smyrna, its couryard lined with a long succession of marble columns, most of them broken, their crowns buried in sand and decaying to dust. The arched entranceway goes on for fifty feet and more, utterly dark in its confines and looking like nothing so much as the cave of some terrible slumbering beast. The soldiers exit first, towering in their powered armor, hoisting auto-cannons and drum-loaded repeating grenade launchers. Each carries a 20-inch combat knife, an assortment of grenades, and several high-caliber pistols as back-up. Thomas busies himself in the rear, readying his own armaments -- a hypersonic rifle which he slings over his shoulder, the submachinegun he displayed before, which is slung in a holster over his chest, and a sawn-off automatic shotgun loaded with psycho-active slugs. The Ordinance Transceiver remains secured within vestment. He orders two of the soldiers to remain behind and man the IFV's turrets, looking out for any sign of attack and to provide them cover either entering or exiting, should they need it. Nothing can be detected either psychically or spiritually from within the monastery, by any members of the group, nor by the various sensors Zaccheus' troops have brought. Silence greets them, and something -- he is sure of it -- something awaits them within. |
Lev stepped out of the IFV, clutching the ancient rifle in his hands. reaching down, he slapped the bolt upwards and quickly chambered a round by pulling it back then slamming it back home. The silence was pressing in, and even the dust whipping around his boots seemed to be fleeing the area. It was impossible to feel safe.
He tilted his head to the side, speaking over his shoulder to the rest of the group. "We should fan out. We have a better chance supporting each other than we do getting pinned as a group. We do not know what we face. Better to do so from multiple angles. Minimizes our chances of all being picked off." Lev attempted to suppress a laugh, as if a joke had been told at an inappropriate time. He turned back again, actually eyeing Ei’lycia this time as he spoke. "This is a feast for monsters. Wasted flesh will spoil under the wretched sun." |
"All flesh is wasted," Thomas mutters, taking point without the slightest hesitation, showing no sign of the infirmity of age."He's right, though. No sense in all of us perishing where one will serve." He, too, casts a dispassionate glance toward Ei'lycia. He fully intends to use the girl as disposable fodder if the need arises, at least until she proves to be of some other use.
Diogenes comes to stand next to the old priest; something passes wordlessly between them, to which Thomas nods. Diogenes sets off toward the monastery, advancing in a circuitous route, probing in every direction with his psychic eyes for the slightest sign of other life-forms. Or death-forms. He detects nothing. "It appears to be clear, at least the exterior," Thomas says. "Let's get moving. We have one objective. Retrieve the priest, and kill anything else on sight. He is our only priority. Him, and the crown upon his brow. Move out!" |
The unsettling nothingness hung thick in the air as Dante unconsciously shoved tightly clenched fists into his pockets. It's too...quiet. If there's anything in there at all, I guess the others can take the damage. Content to skulk around in the back of the group, he pulled the front of his scarf over his nose. This dust is...annoying. |
The advance toward the entranceway is a study in caution, the soldiers checking every angle ahead, behind, and above as they make their slow way into Smyrna. The arched tunnel is utterly dark, the ancient torches held in its brass cressets long ago burned away. Flashlights are affixed to rifles, and Thomas incants a simple prayer, bringing forth a balm of light that shines from his eyes. Golden fire becomes his gaze.
At the end of the corridor stands the door to the monastery proper, heavy and carved with the stories of martyrs and saints. Nothing can be heard from beyond. As the group forms up -- nervous in the close confines, Thomas casts them open. They are unbarred. Utter darkness looms beyond, through which their light cannot penetrate. A pall of dread settles over the company, an unsettling silence before, tight-lipped, Thomas signals Diogenes to lead the way. The assassin steps through, his pistols drawn.... ...and gasps. Coming from the taciturn man, the sound is one of shock and sudden fright. It echoes from the others as they each arrive in turn. Gleaming daylight greets them, unclouded, glaring and oppressive. They stand once more outside the monastery, Smyrna looming a hundred feet distant. The way back has vanished to every sense, along with the IFV and the other soldiers. And there are... shapes. Writhing forms upon the dunes, hundreds upon hundreds, laying a scattered trail once more into Smyrna's dark ingress. It does not take long to see them for what they are: Children. Dead children. Slaughtered children, eviscerated, decapitated, dismembered, impaled, quartered, hanged, burned. They all wear robes of blackspun cloth, splotched and drenched with sheening white blood from their myriad wounds. There are no screams, though their mouths twist in expressions of uttermost agony. Dead, and animate. Possessed. On their knees, beseeching Heaven. And no time is wasted. Ordering his men to conserve their ammunition, Thomas steps forth, beckoning Diogenes to his side. They split off in opposite directions, east and west. Casting back the sleeves of his robe, Diogenes curls back his palms and sends an impulse to the psycho-active weapons buried in the flesh of his wrists. There is a hiss, and then fire. Endless fire, reaching fifty, a hundred feet, devouring grotesque flesh, searing bone to ash, burning away the sight of the ungodly children. Across from him, on the other side of the yard, Thomas merely surveys the scene with his pulsing eyes. A moment passes, another, then his spirit flares with zeal and fury. Everything he surveys becomes an inferno. Facing away from each other, the two servants of the Celestrine begin the cleansing. |
Heat raced toward its daily goal beneath a vicious sun, the toxic state of the world evident in every clump of dirt and rot and stone, every sear of wind. Neither beast nor bird nor buzzing bite could be heard. Unnatural. Unimportant. It was already forgotten. Crouched low to the ground, an unkempt man raked his fingers through the soil, hunks of it swallowed down or tossed aside without care. Hunger nagged, but this would hold it for a time. Time enough to find something worth enjoying.
The moaning of his innards quieted, he stood, the dull land scanned by even duller eyes. A structure loomed in the distance, yet there were no swarming somethings, or any signs they might be hidden. Strange, though he knew the beasts and somethings rarely strayed near, that they would leave such a place so silent. Or had they all already been killed? Bodies left there to be picked off or go to waste? There were no marks of the bottom feeders, but perhaps that just meant more left to be claimed. More of the somethings than bones or ruins. He could only hope. The sun had hardly moved when he drew near the structure, more certain than ever of its abandonment. He took a moment to look upon its entrance, a darkened cave that should have swarmed with those small, cowardly things. But all remained still. He headed inside. Yet inside was not where he ended up. He turned, but there was no entry behind him, and turned again, where sure enough the somethings he'd been expecting filled the grounds. They were small and strange, though, not like the ones he'd seen in the past, and certainly not as young should appear. The air was tainted by their rot, yet they neither seemed to perish nor to attack. Hesitant, curious, he took a step, then another, but still they didn't move. So, he did. Unbothered by the horrors of the scene, the man walked through the masses like they were little more than a maze, his path twisting whenever another another child's form drew his attention. Inch by inch, corpse by corpse, he made his way back to the hollow that had brought him here. Knelt beside one of the damaged young, he tugged at its disjointed intestine when the cavity of its body was illuminated by a sudden light, cast from somewhere behind him. He looked up at the child's face, immune to anything but its own pain, then back over his shoulder. Fire. Everywhere. The organ slipping from his grasp, he stood and turned to watch. |
The light hit Dante's skin with a harsh warmth, and his eyes widened under the ragged blindfold as the dim auras ahead of him blinked out. He swiveled around, staring at where they had apparently just come from.
Nothing. What...?! He turned back around, and realized that in his shock, he had missed the most obvious problem in this "new" setting. To his credit, it hadn't been particularly discernible. It felt close to a mob of Dybbuk, but...different...? No, not just a mob...A whole sea. A whole sea of dead. And the figures seemed to be...Children. The thought had barely registered as Dante took several panicked steps backwards. Where is this place? Where are we? Are we still--? Wait, where are they...?! Then, sudden flame poured out from up ahead, as Diogenes and Thomas commenced what they seemed to have been trained for, for years on end. Still not entirely sure of what was happening, part of him wanted to race towards Diogenes and convince him to stop -- these were children, after all, but another more rational part succeeded in dredging up memories of the Dybbuk he had fought months ago. ...Dybbuk. If he had remembered correctly, the same had happened after Dybbuk and soldiers had gotten killed by him and his traveling group. There should have been souls. There should have been souls, or what was left of souls, flying out in wisps from the bodies, soon to be banished by Shealtiel. Should have been...but this time around, there weren't. Dante paled. Burying the urge to flee, he inhaled sharply as he ran towards Thomas, who he hoped would be the more reasonable of the two, the slight hesitation bringing a moment of clarity -- and in that moment, he noticed a strange presence several hundred feet in front of them, dim as the soldiers had been, but different from the writhing masses ahead. |
Lev gazed on in what could almost be described as bewilderment. Sweet tender flesh lay before him like cattle. Succulent tiny forms, all begging to be stripped of flesh and bone, to be consumed. To...to be...
He brought himself back to his senses in time to shield his eyes from the flame. Fire blanketed defiled flesh and sent a wall of acrid stench in his direction. He breathed it in deeply, inhaling the smell of the charred children. What amounted to a cooked meal spread before him caused him to salivate, to hunger. Take it. Lev shouldered his rifle. He took several steps in to the field of writhing undead, not bothering to watch where he stepped as he crushed burnt limbs grasping for salvation. Never mind the walls of fire. Never mind the danger. He was searching. Searching for one that was more...intact. Take it! Consume it! With what could only be described as joy, he found a corpse that still had the meat he searched for. With a solid stomp he pinned the body to the ground, boot grinding against its small skull. As a small and rancid hand reached up in protest, he grasped it firmly in his...and used it to rip the arm free from its socket. Bones groaned, tendons ripped and popped free, and finally the muscle itself parted as the limb was torn away. Skin and tissue dangled limply from the appendage that Lev now held. It was beautiful. It was delectable. The odor filled his nostrils, compelled him to feast. His jaws opened wide, gaping at this wonderful meal that he had stumbled on to. CONSUME "Ne zdes'!" With a furious might he hurled the torched limb, watching the skin slide off as it bounced along the ground. He panted hard, fighting himself internally to resist this buffet of morsels that quite literally lay before him. After a moment he turned to the rest of the group, barking orders to them. "These are children! Conserve your ammunition. Rip them apart." |
He returns to you your own words, Diogenes conveys to Thomas, the pair spewing flame unabated. Already, they have cast hundreds of the mutilated children to ash.
And he is not wrong. These are no threat -- they are more consumed by their own suffering than by any hunger for the living. Suddenly ceasing his apocalyptic conjuring, the priest looks over to his comrade, meets his goggled gaze. I have never seen the like. Following Thomas' lead, Diogenes stems the flow of fire from his wrists. Together, they watch those children that remain continue to writhe, seemingly heedless of the carnage that just befell the courtyard. Something is amiss here. I can feel it. They have no souls. I think it goes beyond merely that. I am not yet certain, though. Regardless, we waste our time out here. There is a throng of them ahead, near the door. It seems our way is laid before us. Whatever happens here, we must be vigilant. The mercenary is right: conserve yourself, priest. My wrath is quite endless, I assure you. Even still. Drawing his kukri, Diogenes makes his way over to the one named Lev, pausing to dispatch any of the damned children he crosses on his way. "Wise words," he grunts at the mercenary, coming to stand beside him. "These are... as they seem, children. Whatever brought us to this place, they are only its victims, not our foes." He can sense swirls of blind rage and insatiable hunger in the other man, reaffirming his intuition that there is something quite mad about him. There are worse things than madness. |
Despite her eagerness to join this expedition, the moment the IFV halted its movements Ei’lycia stiffened as she robotically activated her x-ray-like vision on instinct. She began to analyse the monastery before them, seeking out any threats that lurk ahead and figure out just what was going here. Mechanically following behind the others as she sought to decipher the mass of darkness and limbs before her eyes.
I’m not sure of what I’m picking up, but it certainly reeks of something massive. I wonder if it would be a good idea to shed some light on this situation. Realizing the limbs were belonging to young children, she delved deeper within the hallowed hall as she sent her senses as far as they’d go to aid in her search. The voices of those also in the party barely registering in her mind as she unthinkingly spoke in a monotonous whisper, “Ahead... I see...” |
Nodding to each other, and beckoning the others, Diogenes and Thomas begin once more the measured advance into the monastery. The priest is ready to call down utter holocaust at the first sight of an enemy.
They pass into the covered entranceway for a second time, now lit by strange pale torchlight. The dead are in here as well, but not scattered as they were without. Rather, they are gathered in a circle, all these mutilated children, heads cast back and eyes clenched closed. Their mouths move in silent, indecipherable prayers. And within their small circle is the corpse of a woman, gowned in white and her face concealed by a heavy veil. A red-bladed knife juts from the center of her chest, and the blood soaking her raiment is old. Dry and colorless. Lips tight, Thomas calls the group to a halt and passes around the circle, making an attempt at the door. It does not open. He tries once more, shouldering it with strength that defies his slight frame. The entire frame shudders and vibrates, but the heavy, iron-bound portals refuse him entrance. He signals for Diogenes to try, and the psychic is at his side in seconds. Motioning for the priest to back away, he places his palm against the door, and focuses. A resonance begins to build, the accumulation of psionic potential, until his hand begins to blur, quivering with restrained power. There is a barely-audible drone in the air as he prepares. All at once, his arm flashes in a single, precise strike, a concussive punch into the steel and heartwood. There is a tremendous crack, almost as if the entire marble structure above them is about collapse, and then... Nothing. Neither of them can force it. "Some power of Hell seals the way against us," comes his muffled voice. "I fear force will avail us little here." Behind his goggles, the man's diamond eyes study the strange, rectangular keyhole forbidding their entrance.... |
Ei’lycia observed the leaders of this party struggling to open the door. It was fairly obvious to her that brute force wouldn’t work and she had her doubts that the keyhole would as well. Whoever lives...or lived here, I have this feeling in my gut that wouldn’t be the type to use force or keys. No, there has to be something more. She examined the door closer, noticing that the door was formed from three layers of wood. The two outer layers were both solid, heavy and by the looks of it, made from aged maple. But it was the middle one that caught her attention; unlike those which sandwiched it, it was littered with many tiny, oddly shaped holes.
What...what is this gibberish? Runes, perhaps? Letting out a slow breath, she moved to the front of the group as her arm absentmindedly reached out toward the door, her hand moving quickly in the air as it traced the runes. At the same time, her mind was frantically searching through the many archives of information from books she’d seen for any recognition that she’d seen those runes before. |
You waste sustenance...
"I know!" Lev shouted, panting for a moment while he calmed down. He ignored anyone questioning him. There was nothing to explain. There was...oh, there was more. More children. More flesh. Spoiled by corruption, but it called to him. It begged him to strip it away and devour it. It was all he could do to maintain composure. "We...we could penetrate the door. Seven sixy-two millimeter could eat enough away. Wasted ammunition though. And who is to say it is not barred from other side?" His eyes drifted away again, settling on the circle of meat calling towards him. They would not last for much longer if he was kept so close to them. "You could try knocking." |
Scoffing in near disbelief, Diogenes slams his fast against the door once more, twice more, yet only resounding silence gives answer.
His gaze swivels to Lev. "Hell's hospitality seems lacking. Such a shame." Content to let Thomas work out a means of ingress -- no doubt, if their vehicle had not disappeared by some foul magic, the priest would have merely blown the side of the monastery open without a second thought -- Diogenes turns away from the door and sets his attention to the circle of children. His khukri flashes out once more, and ten small heads roll free, ten limp bodies sag to the filthy stone. When the slaughterous work is done, the assassin crossed his arms over his chest and looks to the white-gowned woman. The knife juts from her heart like an accusation, the iron a deep crimson darker than her dried blood upon the blade. Something is amiss about the weapon.... Diogenes gestures to the mercenary and the blind man. "We will not touch this thing," he says, indicating Thomas, who is still studying the door. "But it must be returned to the Celestrine for destruction. One of you take it and see that it isn't lost." Just then, a sudden crash draws their attention as the priest assails the door, his arm sheathed to the shoulder in ruinous golden flame, the blow falling like an earthquake. His fist smashes through the ancient wood, just above the lock. He reaches within, grimacing with some intangible strain, and at last manages to open their way. As he withdraws his hand, it is plain to all that it has been horribly damaged in whatever contest of power just ensued -- the flesh and sinew are gone, burned utterly away, leaving only dull hydraulic digits the color of gunmetal reflexively clenching in the aftermath. The priest quite obviously feels no pain. "Well done," Diogenes grunts. "I suppose if one merely knocks hard enough..." His voice trails away as he moves away from the group, back out toward the courtyard, his attention drawn by a silhouette lingering near the entrance to the arched tunnel, back-lit by the sun and cast in shadow. The other soldiers slowly turn, weapons trained. |
Well...hospitality doesn't seem to be a common trait around these areas anyhow, Dante thought to himself as he made his way clumsily over to the grotesque body. There was nothing strange about it that he could tell, but it still felt...intimidating. |
As soon as the blade slides free, the woman's veiled corpse sits immediately straight, staring into Dante with mania and terror. Her mouth twists and grinds, though the words that come forth seem to echo from deep within her, unfit to the articulation of her lips.
"You... FOOLS! Does sacrifice mean nothing to you? You have released her upon the world, and you shall be her first victims!" She begins to howl with deranged laughter, her spine arching at an impossible angle, and through her cackling shrieks, "WE DID ALL WE COULD! THE DOOM FALLS TO YOU, AND YOU SHALL BE DEVOURED BY THE ARROGANCE YOU HAVE SOWN! HEAVEN CANNOT HELP YOU, AND HELL ABIDES! HELL ABIDES--" Her tirade is cut short when her head suddenly detonates, spewing gore and steaming brain matter into Dante's face. An instant later, the deafening, thunderous report slams through the hallway, pale smoke wafting from the barrel of Thomas' hypersonic rifle. He slings the weapon back over his shoulder and turns to the entranceway. "Hell shall not abide for long," he says solemnly, head bowing. "We come." And he throws back his head, eyes glowing with fervid fury. "WE COME, AND WE SHALL TEAR THEM FROM THEIR NOXIOUS PITS! WE SHALL GORE THEM ON THE SWORD OF RETRIBUTION! WE SHALL BURN THEM WITH FIRES THEY HAVE NEVER CONCEIVED, AND RAIN THEIR RUIN FROM THE VERY SKIES!" He settles once more, and takes a step inward. "We have come to make this a place of death." Another step. "Let us be on with it." Hold, Diogenes conveys to him from the mouth of the tunnel. Something stirs in this dead land, and I do not appreciate being followed. He moves out back into the waste, his khukri in his hand. He can feel the mind hiding out their, but cannot descry its nature or intent. The other soldiers move to cover him, but he waves them off. Again, there is no hostile emanation to be found. Nonetheless. |
One moment, it seemed the odd somethings were bent on destroying all in their sight, lead by the ones weilding flames. Burnt to nothing. Useless. More dirt to grow stone and turn to ugly structures, just to rot and crumble all over again.
The next, they were as minnows, darting in hunger. Or fear. Or both. Each strange and unpredictable on their own, but together with an obvious goal. What that was, he hardly knew or cared. He remained still as they moved, back to the door that went back. Another useless thing. They, he realized, were as clueless as minnows as well. Perfectly good meat, destroyed just for being in their path. Too dense to leave him with what was left. Somethings were always troublesome. Sometimes behaving, often sticking themselves where they were unwanted. Damn loud minnows, as if being so dense wasn't enough! He tilted his head to listen, his lip curled. Banging. Shouts. The sound of one of their... What was it...? Around his forgotten meal he stepped, towards the group of useless somethings, hidden in their cavern. All except for one, and behind it, waiting and watching like he himself had done, more of the somethings with those... "Shots." Yes, of course. The shots were dangerous. So many would be unpleasant to face. Maybe the somethings would speak instead, closer still, what was it they said to one another? No, he remembered this. "What!" |
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