Era 7 Ep. 4: The Blood Moon Rises

[Steel Speedster ♂]

7 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

 

Quote

Yeah, I don’t mind waiting. I think that makes the most sense.

 

[Stormlightsong]

On 8/22/2024 at 1:29 AM, Longshot97 said:

"I did what I had to." The voice came to Eighth of the Eve as though down a long tunnel. Faint, distant, empty. Those eyes. Why do I yet see them? "I did what made sense." A stirring of emotion within, raw and ugly. Eighth shivered. “You think the guy is more important than your life?" No malice tainted Asylum's words. Only hurt, only confusion. "Would you die in his place? Why? What reason is there?” Those final words were practically shouted. And for a moment, silence reigned.

And then...

"You think you're better than me." The quiet fury, the profound vitriol in that voice roused him. Eighth slowly raised his head, eyes streaming soundlessly. "You think I am evil and selfish!”

Through a haze of tears, Eza sat, still on the table, across a withered husk of a man. The man's eyes stared hollowly his way. Hastily, he tore his eyes from it, back to Eza. She didn't even move, staring unblinkingly at the wall. 

“Which is fair." Eighth started at that, looking at Asylum. His face matched his voice. Calm, earnest, and deadly serious. "But what makes you any better?” The skinwalker stepped deliberately, circling them. Like a predator, readying itself to pounce. 

“You steal." Eighth stiffened, glancing at Eza. She what? She continued to stare sightlessly, not reacting - to the insult, nor to Asylum walking before her. "You might say that you need to, or that you need it more than them, but what do you know? Do you care? Do you think about the people that could be harmed by your actions? No!" The demon leaned closer. "You are selfish and vain. but that’s ok! No one will care for you but yourself.”

Rage, sudden and searing, burned through Eighth of the Eve. His blood boiled, and the roar of the ocean filled his ears. His jaw clenched, hard enough that he swore he heard teeth crack. His hands curled into fists, knuckles popping. Some part of him was lost. Where had his grief, his pain gone? But the pain was gone, burned away, reduced to sullen, simmering hatred. 

How dare they? How dare this fiend from far below rise, only to make others fall? How dare it murder and maim and mangle all that was good and walk along, uncaring for the shattered lives in its wake?

“It’s kind of funny when you think about it." Eighth felt his eye twitch. His left hand had fallen within his coat. He inched it towards his belt, shifting imperceptibly. One word more... "The moment you lost me-" Eighth gripped Eza's knife firmly, tensing himself to lunge. "-you went straight to the next Smedry you could find.”

Eighth froze.

The demon looked at him, and the hatred in that gaze would have frozen lakes. “Oh, you think I wouldn’t notice?” They sneered and spat out the last word. “Cousin.”

It dared? It dared insinuate familiarity? It dared insult his family, the last thing he had left to his name? It dared?

The roar in his ears became deafening. Eza's mouth moved at last, but no words reached Eighth. All fear had vanished. Terror had come and gone. Hope had died at his hands, and so had his humanity. He was condemned. He was lost.

He was alone. And it was all. Because. Of it.

"...it's alright. If Asylum wanted us to come, there wasn't anything you could've done to stop it."

Eighth of the Eve looked at Eza, and his heart all but broke. She believed this demon. She thought she truly was at fault.

His fury mounted, burning higher and higher still. Yet his hands remained perfectly still. His muscles strained, lusting for action, yet he trembled not an inch.

"Perhaps," Eighth said quietly. Slowly, he stood. The searing pain of his injuries was fuel to his anger, stoking it, flaring it like oil in fire. He rose to his full height. His cheeks felt wet. His knuckles tightened about the knife's hilt. His shoulders were bowed. For once, Seiju remained silent, a heavy weight on his shoulder. But before him, countless paths unfolded. An open door, with few obstacles. A kitchen, sure to have ventilation leading outside. A section of loose planking at the roof.

Almost unconsciously, Eighth reached up, past his open coat and shirt collar. There, looped on a cord about his neck, rested an ornate ring. He gripped it, feeling the familiar contours digging into his palm. Oh, how it hurt to touch. But he held tight, remembering the soft hands of a dear woman sliding that ring onto his finger.

"Goodbye, El," he whispered softly.

The building shook with sudden thunder, floors quaking, walls shaking, ceiling trembling. The Soulless were brought to their knees, and even the Bloodless staggered. The Mindless were scattered, like foam before the crashing tide.

Of them, only Eighth stood firm, riding the quake. He looked across at Asylum Smedry. A distant part of him noted that they were not the cause of the tremors. So be it. Firmly, he met the demon's gaze.

"You," Eighth of the Eve said, voice somehow carrying through the chaos, "Are no kin of mine."

And Eighth struck.

* * *

Eighth flung the dagger directly towards Asylum Smedry. For a moment, the blade seemed frozen mid-spin, gem-encrusted pommel scattering the light.

Eighth did not wait for it to land. He whirled, raising his arm and shooting by instinct. The first dart took Famine directly in the skull, knocking the Soulless bodily into his companions. Then razor-tipped darts landed, piercing cloth and flesh with ease.

A wailing, undulating screech reached him. Not pausing for even a second, Eighth continued his spin. Ripping the waterskin from his belt, he pivoted, hurling it forwards. Right at the charging Bloodless, mere feet from him.

The massive weight struck the abomination in the chest, and the sound of breaking ribs reached Eighth. The force threw the Bloodless from its feet, directly into the wall. Eighth reached with outspread fingers, quicksilver glove flaring to life.

The waterskin burst like an overripe fruit, coating the creature in solvent silver even as it struck the wall. Eighth thrust his hand forth, and with a resounding crack, the Bloodless flew through the wall, momentum carrying it on. An enormous impact sounded from beyond the crater.

The force of his throw launched Seiju from his shoulder. She cried out as she flapped, alighting painfully next to Eza. Eighth's lips compressed, but in his mind's eye, the paths remained as strong as ever.

All this Eighth did in the span of mere heartbeats. His steps were sure, unhurried and implacable. His aim was true, his will unbreakable. Fury lent him speed. Anguish spurred him on.

Loss filled him.

The tremors finally ceased, the world righting itself about them. Eighth of the Eve turned on too-light feet, deliberately ripping his blade from its sheath. Facing the demon.

@Lunamor @Stormlightsong

As the knife neared their face, Asylum brought their hand into its path. Blood sprayed outward as the knife went straight through their hand, mere inches away from their nose. Asylum looked around to see Famine pulling a dart out from between their eyes and War helping them back up. They also looked to see that their vampire was very dead. 

A shame really, Asylum thought, pulling the knife out of their hand, I kind of liked that one.

Asylum thought before reacting. Nothing good came out of being rash. This man had potential, it would be a waste to kill him. Also it was too risky, Eza had forgiven their killing of strangers but would definitely not forgive this.

Asylum looked around, looking for a target. They smiled when they found it. 

How could they have not noticed it! Asylum looked towards a bright bird situated near the hunter. Asylum could see its power. They saw its importance. It was the domino that just needed a sturdy push. 

“are you done now?” Asylum asked. “Good.” Then they threw the knife straight at the bird’s neck.

@Koloss17

[Koloss17 She/They]

52 minutes ago, Stormlightsong said:

As the knife neared their face, Asylum brought their hand into its path. Blood sprayed outward as the knife went straight through their hand, mere inches away from their nose. Asylum looked around to see Famine pulling a dart out from between their eyes and War helping them back up. They also looked to see that their vampire was very dead. 

A shame really, Asylum thought, pulling the knife out of their hand, I kind of liked that one.

Asylum thought before reacting. Nothing good came out of being rash. This man had potential, it would be a waste to kill him. Also it was too risky, Eza had forgiven their killing of strangers but would definitely not forgive this.

Asylum looked around, looking for a target. They smiled when they found it. 

How could they have not noticed it! Asylum looked towards a bright bird situated near the hunter. Asylum could see its power. They saw its importance. It was the domino that just needed a sturdy push. 

“are you done now?” Asylum asked. “Good.” Then they threw the knife straight at the bird’s neck.

@Koloss17

Perses, Smokestack Constabulary.

Perses was waiting. There was a hive of bronzesense energy coming from the room, ranging from the mundane to the extraordinary. What did Asylum do? 
 

Bursting through the door, Perses marched up to Asylum. “What the hell is all of this? Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” He had envisioned confronting Asylum, but the true ridiculousness of the situation got to him. 

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?” The signatures of some of these people was nothing Perses had ever seen. They didn’t feel of this realm. “And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” Perses gestured wildly at the whole room and beyond, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

Anger rose inside Perses. Asylum was a loose cannon. He knew this when he met them, and he knew this when he decided to let Asylum work for him. He knew that one day, Asylum would go too far, and they would burst out of his control.

Yet Perses didn’t expect Asylum to turn the bloody moon red. Of course he couldn’t see that, but he didn’t need eyes to know that that wasn’t something to do on a whim.

”Well? Answer me!”

Quote

I fully understand this is a bit out of the blue and a big mood shift. It’s fully intentional, and Perses doesn’t have eyes to read the room . Obviously he has other senses to do that, but the only sense he’s following right now is his emotions.

 

[Lunamor she/her]

On 8/21/2024 at 10:29 PM, Longshot97 said:

"I did what I had to." The voice came to Eighth of the Eve as though down a long tunnel. Faint, distant, empty. Those eyes. Why do I yet see them? "I did what made sense." A stirring of emotion within, raw and ugly. Eighth shivered. “You think the guy is more important than your life?" No malice tainted Asylum's words. Only hurt, only confusion. "Would you die in his place? Why? What reason is there?” Those final words were practically shouted. And for a moment, silence reigned.

And then...

"You think you're better than me." The quiet fury, the profound vitriol in that voice roused him. Eighth slowly raised his head, eyes streaming soundlessly. "You think I am evil and selfish!”

Through a haze of tears, Eza sat, still on the table, across a withered husk of a man. The man's eyes stared hollowly his way. Hastily, he tore his eyes from it, back to Eza. She didn't even move, staring unblinkingly at the wall. 

“Which is fair." Eighth started at that, looking at Asylum. His face matched his voice. Calm, earnest, and deadly serious. "But what makes you any better?” The skinwalker stepped deliberately, circling them. Like a predator, readying itself to pounce. 

“You steal." Eighth stiffened, glancing at Eza. She what? She continued to stare sightlessly, not reacting - to the insult, nor to Asylum walking before her. "You might say that you need to, or that you need it more than them, but what do you know? Do you care? Do you think about the people that could be harmed by your actions? No!" The demon leaned closer. "You are selfish and vain. but that’s ok! No one will care for you but yourself.”

Rage, sudden and searing, burned through Eighth of the Eve. His blood boiled, and the roar of the ocean filled his ears. His jaw clenched, hard enough that he swore he heard teeth crack. His hands curled into fists, knuckles popping. Some part of him was lost. Where had his grief, his pain gone? But the pain was gone, burned away, reduced to sullen, simmering hatred. 

How dare they? How dare this fiend from far below rise, only to make others fall? How dare it murder and maim and mangle all that was good and walk along, uncaring for the shattered lives in its wake?

“It’s kind of funny when you think about it." Eighth felt his eye twitch. His left hand had fallen within his coat. He inched it towards his belt, shifting imperceptibly. One word more... "The moment you lost me-" Eighth gripped Eza's knife firmly, tensing himself to lunge. "-you went straight to the next Smedry you could find.”

Eighth froze.

The demon looked at him, and the hatred in that gaze would have frozen lakes. “Oh, you think I wouldn’t notice?” They sneered and spat out the last word. “Cousin.”

It dared? It dared insinuate familiarity? It dared insult his family, the last thing he had left to his name? It dared?

The roar in his ears became deafening. Eza's mouth moved at last, but no words reached Eighth. All fear had vanished. Terror had come and gone. Hope had died at his hands, and so had his humanity. He was condemned. He was lost.

He was alone. And it was all. Because. Of it.

"...it's alright. If Asylum wanted us to come, there wasn't anything you could've done to stop it."

Eighth of the Eve looked at Eza, and his heart all but broke. She believed this demon. She thought she truly was at fault.

His fury mounted, burning higher and higher still. Yet his hands remained perfectly still. His muscles strained, lusting for action, yet he trembled not an inch.

"Perhaps," Eighth said quietly. Slowly, he stood. The searing pain of his injuries was fuel to his anger, stoking it, flaring it like oil in fire. He rose to his full height. His cheeks felt wet. His knuckles tightened about the knife's hilt. His shoulders were bowed. For once, Seiju remained silent, a heavy weight on his shoulder. But before him, countless paths unfolded. An open door, with few obstacles. A kitchen, sure to have ventilation leading outside. A section of loose planking at the roof.

Almost unconsciously, Eighth reached up, past his open coat and shirt collar. There, looped on a cord about his neck, rested an ornate ring. He gripped it, feeling the familiar contours digging into his palm. Oh, how it hurt to touch. But he held tight, remembering the soft hands of a dear woman sliding that ring onto his finger.

"Goodbye, El," he whispered softly.

The building shook with sudden thunder, floors quaking, walls shaking, ceiling trembling. The Soulless were brought to their knees, and even the Bloodless staggered. The Mindless were scattered, like foam before the crashing tide.

Of them, only Eighth stood firm, riding the quake. He looked across at Asylum Smedry. A distant part of him noted that they were not the cause of the tremors. So be it. Firmly, he met the demon's gaze.

"You," Eighth of the Eve said, voice somehow carrying through the chaos, "Are no kin of mine."

And Eighth struck.

* * *

Eighth flung the dagger directly towards Asylum Smedry. For a moment, the blade seemed frozen mid-spin, gem-encrusted pommel scattering the light.

Eighth did not wait for it to land. He whirled, raising his arm and shooting by instinct. The first dart took Famine directly in the skull, knocking the Soulless bodily into his companions. Then razor-tipped darts landed, piercing cloth and flesh with ease.

A wailing, undulating screech reached him. Not pausing for even a second, Eighth continued his spin. Ripping the waterskin from his belt, he pivoted, hurling it forwards. Right at the charging Bloodless, mere feet from him.

The massive weight struck the abomination in the chest, and the sound of breaking ribs reached Eighth. The force threw the Bloodless from its feet, directly into the wall. Eighth reached with outspread fingers, quicksilver glove flaring to life.

The waterskin burst like an overripe fruit, coating the creature in solvent silver even as it struck the wall. Eighth thrust his hand forth, and with a resounding crack, the Bloodless flew through the wall, momentum carrying it on. An enormous impact sounded from beyond the crater.

The force of his throw launched Seiju from his shoulder. She cried out as she flapped, alighting painfully next to Eza. Eighth's lips compressed, but in his mind's eye, the paths remained as strong as ever.

All this Eighth did in the span of mere heartbeats. His steps were sure, unhurried and implacable. His aim was true, his will unbreakable. Fury lent him speed. Anguish spurred him on.

Loss filled him.

The tremors finally ceased, the world righting itself about them. Eighth of the Eve turned on too-light feet, deliberately ripping his blade from its sheath. Facing the demon.

@Lunamor @Stormlightsong

As Eza watched her glittering, beautiful knife soar through the air, her forced calm all but shattered. Her new friend had no chance against Asylum. The room was filled with abominations they controlled and they could completely drain the life from a body. Their luck would take care of anything those powers couldn't. Eighth knew that he had no chance, too; a single one of the fanged monsters had nearly killed them both, and they'd only survived by trapping it rather than destroying it. What Eighth was doing was nothing short of suicide.

Even as she saw the dart pierce that starved-looking demon's forehead and the vampire crash through a wall, she knew that it was all useless. They'd already seen that there was no killing these things. Her friend was probably going to die. The adrenaline coursing through her system was the only thing that allowed her to ignore the overwhelming dread overtaking her.

Eza hopped off of the table and was joined shortly after by Seiju. Grateful that she had had enough sense to down another vial of metal before she passed out, she burned the iron in her stomach. She took note of all lines leading to anything that seemed like it could be a metallic weapon. There might be some small sliver of a chance that she could stop this left.

On 8/27/2024 at 5:30 PM, Stormlightsong said:

As the knife neared their face, Asylum brought their hand into its path. Blood sprayed outward as the knife went straight through their hand, mere inches away from their nose. Asylum looked around to see Famine pulling a dart out from between their eyes and War helping them back up. They also looked to see that their vampire was very dead. 

A shame really, Asylum thought, pulling the knife out of their hand, I kind of liked that one.

Asylum thought before reacting. Nothing good came out of being rash. This man had potential, it would be a waste to kill him. Also it was too risky, Eza had forgiven their killing of strangers but would definitely not forgive this.

Asylum looked around, looking for a target. They smiled when they found it. 

How could they have not noticed it! Asylum looked towards a bright bird situated near the hunter. Asylum could see its power. They saw its importance. It was the domino that just needed a sturdy push. 

“are you done now?” Asylum asked. “Good.” Then they threw the knife straight at the bird’s neck.

@Koloss17

She winced when she heard the squelch of her dagger piercing Asylum's hand. It was rather concerning that they didn't seem to react to the pain that had caused in the slightest. Could they even feel pain?

She wanted them to.

Eza followed their eye line to the motionless form of the monster Eighth had encased in that liquidy metal. It wasn't moving. Maybe he'd actually managed to kill it.

Asylum hadn't killed Eighth yet, though. Why? He was a threat, wasn't he? Perhaps he wasn't dangerous enough to be worth eliminating urgently. Still, this was oddly... merciful.

They then proceeded to destroy any illusions of mercy by doing something incredibly cruel; they tried to kill Seiju. Eza immediately flared her iron and yanked the dagger as it flew forwards so that it was on a trajectory that wouldn't collide with Seiju. Unfortunately, due to her close proximity to the bird and a sudden, suspiciously strong draft, the knife was now flying directly towards Eza instead.

She frantically extinguished her iron and threw herself to the side, ducking. This meant that, rather than stabbing her through the middle of her chest, the blade instead made a small slice on the side of her face. The right one, directly across from her old scar on the left. The new cut was almost precisely in the same spot, exactly between her chin and temple. A random thought invaded her mind which contrasted so sharply against her dire situation that she almost laughed.

Matchy matchy.

After leaving a painful reminder of its presence on Eza, the dagger continued to shoot forwards until it embedded itself in the wall. She quickly straightened and awkwardly snatched up Seiju, holding the bird behind her back and facing Asylum so that she was blocking it from them. She then spoke to Asylum, her words tumbling forwards at a rapid pace. She felt weirdly silly, the discordantly lighthearted thought still lingering in her mind.

"Lum, I'm going to be very upset if this bird dies. Please don't kill it. Also please don't kill Eighth."

Eza switched to addressing Eighth, still keeping Seiju out of Asylum's sight.

"Eighth, I'm going to be very upset if you die. Please don't kill yourself."

That brief moment of whimsy somehow caused by getting sliced by a knife fully faded and she realized that it had made her appeal to Eighth in the entirely wrong way. Her tone morphed from politely asking to desperately pleading.

"You can't kill Asylum, you need to stand down before you inevitably lose this fight. Please don't abandon me."

Maybe her plea was useless, maybe Asylum had been planning on murdering Eighth after he finished off the bird. She still had to try, though. She couldn't run away again. She wouldn't run away again.

On 8/27/2024 at 6:48 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses, Smokestack Constabulary.

Perses was waiting. There was a hive of bronzesense energy coming from the room, ranging from the mundane to the extraordinary. What did Asylum do? 
 

Bursting through the door, Perses marched up to Asylum. “What the hell is all of this? Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” He had envisioned confronting Asylum, but the true ridiculousness of the situation got to him. 

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?” The signatures of some of these people was nothing Perses had ever seen. They didn’t feel of this realm. “And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” Perses gestured wildly at the whole room and beyond, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

Anger rose inside Perses. Asylum was a loose cannon. He knew this when he met them, and he knew this when he decided to let Asylum work for him. He knew that one day, Asylum would go too far, and they would burst out of his control.

Yet Perses didn’t expect Asylum to turn the bloody moon red. Of course he couldn’t see that, but he didn’t need eyes to know that that wasn’t something to do on a whim.

”Well? Answer me!”

 

A man with spikes through his eyes burst into the room. Eza took a step backwards in terror, then realized that she recognized this monster. Perses. This was strangely comforting. People like the Strangers were her greatest fear, but while he was definitely an incredibly evil person, he seemed to be angry about what Asylum had done. Maybe he could put a stop to this- he was also an incredibly powerful person, considering that Asylum had been working for him.

He hadn't killed her when they'd met before even though he probably could've, and she had no plans of coming to Asylum's defense. Her and Eighth's odds of being spared by the newly arrived monster were higher than those of being spared by the already settled in monster.

She took another step backwards anyways. It was common sense to stay away from angry people who could spray coins like bullets in all directions. She snatched a thick wooden chopping board from the counter in case Perses chose to do that, holding it in front of her chest.

Quote

The suspicious draft and Eza's weird whimsy were my attempts at including a bit of the influence of Asylum's luck, please lemme know if I should alter them.

@Speeding Steelrunner

Edited August 30, 2024 by Lunamor
Fixed continuity error pointed out by Longshot

[Longshot97 he/him]

Quote

Thank you all for your patience, and creativity in writing. I was genuinely stuck on how to respond well. I think I have a suitable response, at least.

On 8/27/2024 at 5:30 PM, Stormlightsong said:

As the knife neared their face, Asylum brought their hand into its path. Blood sprayed outward as the knife went straight through their hand, mere inches away from their nose. Asylum looked around to see Famine pulling a dart out from between their eyes and War helping them back up. They also looked to see that their vampire was very dead. 

A shame really, Asylum thought, pulling the knife out of their hand, I kind of liked that one.

Asylum thought before reacting. Nothing good came out of being rash. This man had potential, it would be a waste to kill him. Also it was too risky, Eza had forgiven their killing of strangers but would definitely not forgive this.

Asylum looked around, looking for a target. They smiled when they found it. 

How could they have not noticed it! Asylum looked towards a bright bird situated near the hunter. Asylum could see its power. They saw its importance. It was the domino that just needed a sturdy push. 

“are you done now?” Asylum asked. “Good.” Then they threw the knife straight at the bird’s neck.

Eighth of the Eve charged.

The demon stood, dagger piercing its hand. It didn't flinch, not even as it yanked the blade out. It merely stood there, blood dripping to the floor, knife in hand.

Eighth jumped, vaulting a stray bench between him and Asylum. His blade gleamed black in the even light. Only a few steps more. The demon held the dagger distractedly, glancing about the room.

It would die. It might take Eighth with it, but it would die. No more would fall, only to rise twisted and mangled. No more would quail before the nightmares of down below. No. More.

“Are you done now?” Asylum asked. “Good.” And, almost too fast to follow, it threw the knife.

But not at Eighth. Slightly to his left. Towards Eza. No. That wasn't it either.

Towards Seiju.

Eighth didn't speak, didn't waste his breath. He planted his feet, released his weightloss - bringing himself to a complete stop - and hurled himself to the side. Arm outstretched, body parallel to the ground. Desperate.

The whirling blade glinted, reflecting the light. He had just timed it correctly. The blade lay nearly straight ahead. Eighth reached, straining tendon and tissue to stretch just. A bit. Farther. The blade came into view, directly before him.

A mere hairsbreadth from his grasping fingers.

Breath exploded from his chest as he came down on another bench. The wood collapsed beneath him with a CRASH, sending him to the floorboards. A stray leg knocked his head to the ground. He didn't care. Rolling, he surged to his feet, stumbling towards the table.

No. No!

On 8/28/2024 at 12:46 AM, Lunamor said:

As Eza watched her glittering, beautiful knife soar through the air, her forced calm all but shattered. Her new friend had no chance against Asylum. The room was filled with abominations they controlled and they could completely drain the life from a body. Their luck would take care of anything those powers couldn't. Eighth knew that he had no chance, too; a single one of the fanged monsters had nearly killed them both, and they'd only survived by trapping it rather than destroying it. What Eighth was doing was nothing short of suicide.

Even as she saw the dart pierce that starved-looking demon's forehead and the vampire crash through a wall, she knew that it was all useless. They'd already seen that there was no killing these things. Her friend was probably going to die. The adrenaline coursing through her system was the only thing that allowed her to ignore the overwhelming dread overtaking her.

Eza hopped off of the table and was joined shortly after by Seiju. Grateful that she had had enough sense to down another vial of metal before she passed out, she burned the iron in her stomach. She took note of all lines leading to anything that seemed like it could be a weapon, including Eighth's machete. There might be some small sliver of a chance that she could stop this left.

She winced when she heard the squelch of her dagger piercing Asylum's hand. It was rather concerning that they didn't seem to react to the pain that had caused in the slightest. Could they even feel pain?

She wanted them to.

Eza followed their eye line to the motionless form of the monster Eighth had encased in that liquidy metal. It wasn't moving. Maybe he'd actually managed to kill it.

Asylum hadn't killed Eighth yet, though. Why? He was a threat, wasn't he? Perhaps he wasn't dangerous enough to be worth eliminating urgently. Still, this was oddly... merciful.

They then proceeded to destroy any illusions of mercy by doing something incredibly cruel; they tried to kill Seiju. Eza immediately flared her iron and yanked the dagger as it flew forwards so that it was on a trajectory that wouldn't collide with Seiju. Unfortunately, due to her close proximity to the bird and a sudden, suspiciously strong draft, the knife was now flying directly towards Eza instead.

She frantically extinguished her iron and threw herself to the side, ducking. This meant that, rather than stabbing her through the middle of her chest, the blade instead made a small slice on the side of her face. The right one, directly across from her old scar on the left. The new cut was almost precisely in the same spot, exactly between her chin and temple. A random thought invaded her mind which contrasted so sharply against her dire situation that she almost laughed.

Matchy matchy.

After leaving a painful reminder of its presence on Eza, the dagger continued to shoot forwards until it embedded itself in the wall. She quickly straightened and awkwardly snatched up Seiju, holding the bird behind her back and facing Asylum so that she was blocking it from them. She then spoke to Asylum, her words tumbling forwards at a rapid pace. She felt weirdly silly, the discordantly lighthearted thought still lingering in her mind.

"Lum, I'm going to be very upset if this bird dies. Please don't kill it. Also please don't kill Eighth."

Eza switched to addressing Eighth, still keeping Seiju out of Asylum's sight.

"Eighth, I'm going to be very upset if you die. Please don't kill yourself."

That brief moment of whimsy somehow caused by getting sliced by a knife fully faded and she realized that it had made her appeal to Eighth in the entirely wrong way. Her tone morphed from politely asking to desperately pleading.

"You can't kill Asylum, you need to stand down before you inevitably lose this fight. Please don't abandon me."

Maybe her plea was useless, maybe Asylum had been planning on murdering Eighth after he finished off the bird. She still had to try, though. She couldn't run away again. She wouldn't run away again.

The whirling knife flew straight towards Seiju, who opened her wings. Too slow. They were both too slow. Not her. Please, not her!

Mere inches from her throat, the projectile curved violently to the side. Eighth stood, disbelieving, as Eza dropped, just avoiding the blade. Scarlet drops trailed from the dagger is it flew, embedding itself to the hilt in the heavy plaster with a THUNK.

Silence.

Eighth sagged against a table, fighting for breath. His ears rang loudly, persistently. Eza's lips moved, but no sound reached him. She stood protectively before the Aviar. Fresh blood welled from her cheek. At the sight, he reflexively stepped forward, reaching for his salve. The moment his arm left the table, however, his knees buckled, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Eighth crouched there, chest heaving. It hurt to breathe. His head rang like stormbell. Slowly, painful, he pulled himself to his feet. The glove on his hand flared weakly, and silver liquid flowed from the crater in the far wall, pooling about his feet. He took a single, shaking step towards the demon. Then another.

Then stopped.

His blade finally fell, clattering down from numb fingers. The violet light about his hand faded away, the quicksilver settling about him. He found himself leaning against a table, unable to move.

One stroke. One attack had been enough to defeat him. One blade not even aimed for him, and he could barely move for the pain. He was finished. They were done. Asylum had won.

"...don't kill yourself...can't kill Asylum...need to stand down before...please don't abandon me."

Eighth of the Eve bowed his head. His back struck the wall with a thump, and pain spiked through him anew. But he could not stand.

What was I thinking?

On 8/27/2024 at 6:48 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses, Smokestack Constabulary.

Perses was waiting. There was a hive of bronzesense energy coming from the room, ranging from the mundane to the extraordinary. What did Asylum do? 

Bursting through the door, Perses marched up to Asylum. “What the hell is all of this? Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” He had envisioned confronting Asylum, but the true ridiculousness of the situation got to him. 

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?” The signatures of some of these people was nothing Perses had ever seen. They didn’t feel of this realm. “And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” Perses gestured wildly at the whole room and beyond, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

Anger rose inside Perses. Asylum was a loose cannon. He knew this when he met them, and he knew this when he decided to let Asylum work for him. He knew that one day, Asylum would go too far, and they would burst out of his control.

Yet Perses didn’t expect Asylum to turn the bloody moon red. Of course he couldn’t see that, but he didn’t need eyes to know that that wasn’t something to do on a whim.

”Well? Answer me!”

On 8/28/2024 at 12:46 AM, Lunamor said:

A man with spikes through his eyes burst into the room. Eza took a step backwards in terror, then realized that she recognized this monster. Perses. This was strangely comforting. People like the Strangers were her greatest fear, but while he was definitely an incredibly evil person, he seemed to be angry about what Asylum had done. Maybe he could put a stop to this- he was also an incredibly powerful person, considering that Asylum had been working for him.

He hadn't killed her when they'd met before even though he probably could've, and she had no plans of coming to Asylum's defense. Her and Eighth's odds of being spared by the newly arrived monster were higher than those of being spared by the already settled in monster.

She took another step backwards anyways. It was common sense to stay away from angry people who could spray coins like bullets in all directions. She snatched a thick wooden chopping board from the counter in case Perses chose to do that, holding it in front of her chest.

A chill washed over Eighth.

The air felt suddenly cold. Very, very cold. Within the room, lights flickered. The Bloodless's flight through the wall had destroyed... something. Something important. The room darkened, and his vision swam.

Unbidden, his mind drifted to a similar time. A similar place. Huddled near a fire on a distant god, a mere stripling of a boy. His uncle stood nearby, keeping watch against the night.

The boy was shivering, wet and bedraggled from his swim to shore. His outrigger was gone, destroyed. That hurt, almost more than his lungs. He coughed wretchedly, and phlegmy water sprayed the forest floor.

The trapper's eyes were bleak, distant. All that needed be said had been said. The lesson was leafrned. Yet his mouth moved, words somehow carrying through the din of forest night. And distantly, Eighth felt his own lips, moving in kind.

Beware the depths of darkness

From somewhere far away, footsteps sounded.

That wait with chill embrace,

The trapper turned at a sudden sound. And to Eighth, it seemed, impossibly, as though his uncle looked directly towards the open door.

For those doomed to dwell within the Depths
Can never leave that place.

A shadow loomed large in the doorway. Inhuman, with the writhing arms of a deepwalker. The silhouette swirled menacingly, growing larger still. Something approached. No, not something. Not even someone.

He approached.

No one will know your fate

The lights went out, and no illumination spilled in from the hallway. A figure stood there, filling the doorframe. Light returned, flickering violently. Eighth felt his breathing rise, labored and frantic. He found himself shrinking against the wall. He couldn't move. He dared not move.

If taken by the shadowed sea,

In the doorway stood him. Wreathed in shadow, bathed in cold. The dimness seemed to trace eldritch sigils about iron eyes. Two metal stakes, long and lifeless, filling gaping eyesockets. Just as the stories told. The only thing keeping his soul chained. The sole thing protecting his life...from himself.

"Only whispers of the waves shall say," Eighth of the Eve whispered, "Death has at last claimed thee."

Quote

In case it's not clear, Eighth is mistaking Perses for Death. Or, rather, the Cosmeric figure of Ironeyes, proliferated across planets, as spelled out by Tress of the Emerald Sea and the Ars Arcanum of The Lost Metal. I was aiming for a really ominous scene...hopefully it lands.

Oh, and the poem is most assuredly not mine. It's a slightly altered version of a poem from book five of Bionicle Legends, titled Inferno, written by George Farshtey. I can still recite it from memory. The original goes:

Beware the depths of darkness
That wait with chill embrace,
For those doomed to dwell within the pit
Can never leave that place.

No one will know your fate
If taken by the shadowed sea,
Only whispers of the waves will say
Death has at last claimed thee.

I just thought it aligned pretty well with my take on Eelakin mythology, and really wanted to use it. We'll see how I feel about it a week from now, it might be the height of cringe lol. In my head, this is either a traditional song of some kind, or a spontaneous composition by Eighth. Not sure which one to go with. Maybe both.

Sorry for the wait. I have now entered my full year of college, and the workload is everything I expected it to be. I think the most I can realistically write will be on the weekends (this is an exception: one class was canceled last-minute). So, consider this a formal statement: I will most likely only post on Saturdays, though I'll be popping in to keep up-to-date.

Sadly, my inspiration did not extend to a response from Eighth. He is now fully terrified. And possibly concussed. Or else battered beyond belief. Hey, at least he killed a vampire. That's something, right?

His injuries are my rationale for having him view Perses's entrance in such an ominous way. I doubt the room actually became cold, or that the lights flickered that much (feel free to interpret as you wish). Another possibility is that he feels Belias's presence behind Perses, for...reasons . I think I prefer that rationale. If that's pushing things too far, I'd be happy to edit.

@Lunamor I noticed the following bit of text:

On 8/28/2024 at 12:46 AM, Lunamor said:

She took note of all lines leading to anything that seemed like it could be a weapon, including Eighth's machete.

I should have said mentioned this earlier. Eighth's blade is from Taldain, meaning it's actually made entirely of sandling carapace. My bad.

"But Longshot," I hear you cry, "why would a desert-dwelling Taldaini make a machete?" I'm so glad you asked, anonymous voice from the aether. In my head, he took a standard-issue sword from Taldain, then shaped it with moisture into a heavier, broader-beveled, single-edged blade, better suited to cutting through foliage and underbrush. In other words, a machete. Hey, he worldhopped out of the Drominad System with practically nothing but his coat and his Aviar. Pretty much everything he has is from other planets.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Stormlightsong

Edited September 2, 2024 by Longshot97
Tightening up dialogue.

[Stormlightsong]

On 8/27/2024 at 9:48 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses, Smokestack Constabulary.

Perses was waiting. There was a hive of bronzesense energy coming from the room, ranging from the mundane to the extraordinary. What did Asylum do? 
 

Bursting through the door, Perses marched up to Asylum. “What the hell is all of this? Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” He had envisioned confronting Asylum, but the true ridiculousness of the situation got to him. 

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?” The signatures of some of these people was nothing Perses had ever seen. They didn’t feel of this realm. “And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” Perses gestured wildly at the whole room and beyond, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

Anger rose inside Perses. Asylum was a loose cannon. He knew this when he met them, and he knew this when he decided to let Asylum work for him. He knew that one day, Asylum would go too far, and they would burst out of his control.

Yet Perses didn’t expect Asylum to turn the bloody moon red. Of course he couldn’t see that, but he didn’t need eyes to know that that wasn’t something to do on a whim.

”Well? Answer me!”

 

On 8/28/2024 at 3:46 AM, Lunamor said:

As Eza watched her glittering, beautiful knife soar through the air, her forced calm all but shattered. Her new friend had no chance against Asylum. The room was filled with abominations they controlled and they could completely drain the life from a body. Their luck would take care of anything those powers couldn't. Eighth knew that he had no chance, too; a single one of the fanged monsters had nearly killed them both, and they'd only survived by trapping it rather than destroying it. What Eighth was doing was nothing short of suicide.

Even as she saw the dart pierce that starved-looking demon's forehead and the vampire crash through a wall, she knew that it was all useless. They'd already seen that there was no killing these things. Her friend was probably going to die. The adrenaline coursing through her system was the only thing that allowed her to ignore the overwhelming dread overtaking her.

Eza hopped off of the table and was joined shortly after by Seiju. Grateful that she had had enough sense to down another vial of metal before she passed out, she burned the iron in her stomach. She took note of all lines leading to anything that seemed like it could be a metallic weapon. There might be some small sliver of a chance that she could stop this left.

She winced when she heard the squelch of her dagger piercing Asylum's hand. It was rather concerning that they didn't seem to react to the pain that had caused in the slightest. Could they even feel pain?

She wanted them to.

Eza followed their eye line to the motionless form of the monster Eighth had encased in that liquidy metal. It wasn't moving. Maybe he'd actually managed to kill it.

Asylum hadn't killed Eighth yet, though. Why? He was a threat, wasn't he? Perhaps he wasn't dangerous enough to be worth eliminating urgently. Still, this was oddly... merciful.

They then proceeded to destroy any illusions of mercy by doing something incredibly cruel; they tried to kill Seiju. Eza immediately flared her iron and yanked the dagger as it flew forwards so that it was on a trajectory that wouldn't collide with Seiju. Unfortunately, due to her close proximity to the bird and a sudden, suspiciously strong draft, the knife was now flying directly towards Eza instead.

She frantically extinguished her iron and threw herself to the side, ducking. This meant that, rather than stabbing her through the middle of her chest, the blade instead made a small slice on the side of her face. The right one, directly across from her old scar on the left. The new cut was almost precisely in the same spot, exactly between her chin and temple. A random thought invaded her mind which contrasted so sharply against her dire situation that she almost laughed.

Matchy matchy.

After leaving a painful reminder of its presence on Eza, the dagger continued to shoot forwards until it embedded itself in the wall. She quickly straightened and awkwardly snatched up Seiju, holding the bird behind her back and facing Asylum so that she was blocking it from them. She then spoke to Asylum, her words tumbling forwards at a rapid pace. She felt weirdly silly, the discordantly lighthearted thought still lingering in her mind.

"Lum, I'm going to be very upset if this bird dies. Please don't kill it. Also please don't kill Eighth."

Eza switched to addressing Eighth, still keeping Seiju out of Asylum's sight.

"Eighth, I'm going to be very upset if you die. Please don't kill yourself."

That brief moment of whimsy somehow caused by getting sliced by a knife fully faded and she realized that it had made her appeal to Eighth in the entirely wrong way. Her tone morphed from politely asking to desperately pleading.

"You can't kill Asylum, you need to stand down before you inevitably lose this fight. Please don't abandon me."

Maybe her plea was useless, maybe Asylum had been planning on murdering Eighth after he finished off the bird. She still had to try, though. She couldn't run away again. She wouldn't run away again.

A man with spikes through his eyes burst into the room. Eza took a step backwards in terror, then realized that she recognized this monster. Perses. This was strangely comforting. People like the Strangers were her greatest fear, but while he was definitely an incredibly evil person, he seemed to be angry about what Asylum had done. Maybe he could put a stop to this- he was also an incredibly powerful person, considering that Asylum had been working for him.

He hadn't killed her when they'd met before even though he probably could've, and she had no plans of coming to Asylum's defense. Her and Eighth's odds of being spared by the newly arrived monster were higher than those of being spared by the already settled in monster.

She took another step backwards anyways. It was common sense to stay away from angry people who could spray coins like bullets in all directions. She snatched a thick wooden chopping board from the counter in case Perses chose to do that, holding it in front of her chest.

@Speeding Steelrunner

On 8/29/2024 at 7:21 PM, Longshot97 said:

Eighth of the Eve charged.

The demon stood, dagger piercing its hand. It didn't flinch, not even as it yanked the blade out. It merely stood there, blood dripping to the floor, knife in hand.

Eighth jumped, vaulting a stray bench between him and Asylum. His blade gleamed black in the even light. Only a few steps more. The demon held the dagger distractedly, glancing about the room.

It would die. It might take Eighth with it, but it would die. No more would fall, only to rise twisted and mangled. No more would quail before the nightmares of down below. No. More.

“Are you done now?” Asylum asked. “Good.” And, almost too fast to follow, it threw the knife.

But not at Eighth. Slightly to his left. Towards Eza. No. That wasn't it either.

Towards Seiju.

Eighth didn't speak, didn't waste his breath. He planted his feet, released his weightloss - bringing himself to a complete stop - and hurled himself to the side. Arm outstretched, body parallel to the ground. Desperate.

The whirling blade glinted, reflecting the light. He had just timed it correctly. The blade lay nearly straight ahead. Eighth reached, straining tendon and tissue to stretch just. A bit. Farther. The blade came into view, directly before him.

A mere hairsbreadth from his grasping fingers.

Breath exploded from his chest as he came down on another bench. The wood collapsed beneath him with a CRASH, sending him to the floorboards. A stray leg knocked his head to the ground. He didn't care. Rolling, he surged to his feet, stumbling towards the table.

No. No!

The whirling knife flew straight towards Seiju, who opened her wings. Too slow. They were both too slow. Not her. Please, not her!

Mere inches from her throat, the projectile curved violently to the side. Eighth stood, disbelieving, as Eza dropped, just avoiding the blade. Scarlet drops trailed from the dagger is it flew, embedding itself to the hilt in the heavy plaster with a THUNK.

Silence.

Eighth sagged against a table, fighting for breath. His ears rang loudly, persistently. Eza's lips moved, but no sound reached him. She stood protectively before the Aviar. Fresh blood welled from her cheek. At the sight, he reflexively stepped forward, reaching for his salve. The moment his arm left the table, however, his knees buckled, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Eighth crouched there, chest heaving. It hurt to breathe. His head rang like stormbell. Slowly, painful, he pulled himself to his feet. The glove on his hand flared weakly, and silver liquid flowed from the crater in the far wall, pooling about his feet. He took a single, shaking step towards the demon. Then another.

Then stopped.

His blade finally fell, clattering down from numb fingers. The violet light about his hand faded away, the quicksilver settling about him. He found himself leaning against a table, unable to move.

One stroke. One attack had been enough to defeat him. One blade not even aimed for him, and he could barely move for the pain. He was finished. They were done. Asylum had won.

"...don't kill yourself...can't kill Asylum...need to stand down before...please don't abandon me."

Eighth of the Eve bowed his head. His back struck the wall with a thump, and pain spiked through him anew. But he could not stand.

What was I thinking?

A chill washed over Eighth.

The air felt suddenly cold. Very, very cold. Within the room, lights flickered. The Bloodless's flight through the wall had destroyed... something. Something important. The room darkened, and his vision swam.

Unbidden, his mind drifted to a similar time. A similar place. Huddled near a fire on a distant god, a mere stripling of a boy. His uncle stood nearby, keeping watch against the night.

The boy was shivering, wet and bedraggled from his swim to shore. His outrigger was gone, destroyed. That hurt, almost more than his lungs. He coughed wretchedly, and phlegmy water sprayed the forest floor.

The trapper's eyes were bleak, distant. All that needed be said had been said. The lesson was leafrned. Yet his mouth moved, words somehow carrying through the din of forest night. And distantly, Eighth felt his own lips, moving in kind.

Beware the depths of darkness

From somewhere far away, footsteps sounded.

That wait with chill embrace,

The trapper turned at a sudden sound. And to Eighth, it seemed, impossibly, as though his uncle looked directly towards the open door.

For those doomed to dwell within the Depths
Can never leave that place.

A shadow loomed large in the doorway. Inhuman, with the writhing arms of a deepwalker. The silhouette swirled menacingly, growing larger still. Something approached. No, not something. Not even someone.

He approached.

No one will know your fate

The lights went out, and no illumination spilled in from the hallway. A figure stood there, filling the doorframe. Light returned, flickering violently. Eighth felt his breathing rise, labored and frantic. He found himself shrinking against the wall. He couldn't move. He dared not move.

If taken by the shadowed sea,

In the doorway stood him. Wreathed in shadow, bathed in cold. The dimness seemed to trace eldritch sigils about iron eyes. Two metal stakes, long and lifeless, filling gaping eyesockets. Just as the stories told. The only thing keeping his soul chained. The sole thing protecting his life...from himself.

"Only whispers of the waves shall say," Eighth of the Eve whispered, "Death has at last claimed thee."

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Stormlightsong

It took a solid five seconds for Asylum to process what had just occurred. They looked towards the hunter. On the ground, that’s good. Next they looked towards Eza, doesn’t seem too mad, so won’t be a problem. Finally they looked towards their boss, the self proclaimed prince of the Alleys, somehow more menacing than ever before. “I am in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind, GET OUT! Thank you!” Asylum turned sharply towards the other horsemen; they each flinched as Asylum drew closer. “If that radiant takes any longer, we march on the streets, ok? I will make my presence known to this entire planet if necessary. Is that clear?” 

The demons nodded as Asylum stalked away. “All I wanted was freedom! Yes, that’s what it was. Freedom to live and play. I make all this to kill some pesky radiants, but instead I’m left here with children, birds, and cowards!” 

Kill them.

”What would that solve?”

They will be out of the way, and you can rain blood upon the world. 

“Fair point, but only the hunter. He’s really getting on my nerves.”

With a flick of their wrist, a serrated card was in their hand. It wasn’t a standard playing card though, it was a card of divination, Tarot. A silvery skull glimmered off its face. With a fluid motion, Asylum threw Death at the praying hunter.

@Scars of Hathsin

Quote

Sorry for taking so long. This post is primarily for speeding up the finale. If you couldn’t tell the italicized voice at the end was Asylum’s talent taking advantage of their weakened state. Now would be a perfect time for Aranis to pop in by the way.

 

Edited September 6, 2024 by Stormlightsong

[Longshot97 he/him]

On 8/27/2024 at 6:48 PM, Koloss17 said:

Bursting through the door, Perses marched up to Asylum. “What the hell is all of this? Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” He had envisioned confronting Asylum, but the true ridiculousness of the situation got to him. 

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?” The signatures of some of these people was nothing Perses had ever seen. They didn’t feel of this realm. “And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” Perses gestured wildly at the whole room and beyond, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

Anger rose inside Perses. Asylum was a loose cannon. He knew this when he met them, and he knew this when he decided to let Asylum work for him. He knew that one day, Asylum would go too far, and they would burst out of his control.

Yet Perses didn’t expect Asylum to turn the bloody moon red. Of course he couldn’t see that, but he didn’t need eyes to know that that wasn’t something to do on a whim.

”Well? Answer me!”

On 8/28/2024 at 12:46 AM, Lunamor said:

A man with spikes through his eyes burst into the room. Eza took a step backwards in terror, then realized that she recognized this monster. Perses. This was strangely comforting. People like the Strangers were her greatest fear, but while he was definitely an incredibly evil person, he seemed to be angry about what Asylum had done. Maybe he could put a stop to this- he was also an incredibly powerful person, considering that Asylum had been working for him.

He hadn't killed her when they'd met before even though he probably could've, and she had no plans of coming to Asylum's defense. Her and Eighth's odds of being spared by the newly arrived monster were higher than those of being spared by the already settled in monster.

She took another step backwards anyways. It was common sense to stay away from angry people who could spray coins like bullets in all directions. She snatched a thick wooden chopping board from the counter in case Perses chose to do that, holding it in front of her chest.

Eighth of the Eve quailed. His mind felt frozen with fear. Around him, the paths to safety beckoned him. However, all guided him between death and demon. Yet even had a gaping hole opened for his escape, he would not have moved.

This was the being feared across the Cosmere. The one constant in a tumultuous, turbulent universe. The inevitable, inescapable end. The close of all trails. That which waited, forbearing and formidable, for all that lived. That which consumed, ever hungry, never satisfied.

“What the hell is all of this?"

Eighth blinked.

It had stepped forward in the uncertain light. Shadows fell from its face. A...strangely normal face, for all that where eyes once were, metal stakes stood driven through flesh and bone. It strode fearlessly into the room, standing before the demon. 

"Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” For a moment, the figure seemed at a loss for words. Anger suffused those features. Graceless, earnest, human anger.

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?" The man gestured wildly, voice rising steadily "And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” he stepped forward, face-to-face with Asylum Smedry, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

This...wasn't Him. It wasn't Ironeyes.

Eighth slumped back. His muscles, straining fit to snap, finally loosened. The relief was surreal. His mind spun with the day's strain. Had Death Himself arisen to claim them...

”Well? Answer me!”

On 9/6/2024 at 4:44 PM, Stormlightsong said:

It took a solid five seconds for Asylum to process what had just occurred. They looked towards the hunter. On the ground, that’s good. Next they looked towards Eza, doesn’t seem too mad, so won’t be a problem. Finally they looked towards their boss, the self proclaimed prince of the Alleys, somehow more menacing than ever before.

“I am in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind, GET OUT! Thank you!” Asylum turned sharply towards the other horsemen; they each flinched as Asylum drew closer. “If that radiant takes any longer, we march on the streets, ok? I will make my presence known to this entire planet if necessary. Is that clear?” 

The demons nodded as Asylum stalked away. “All I wanted was freedom! Yes, that’s what it was. Freedom to live and play. I make all this to kill some pesky radiants, but instead I’m left here with children, birds, and cowards!” 

Kill them.

”What would that solve?”

They will be out of the way, and you can rain blood upon the world. 

“Fair point, but only the hunter. He’s really getting on my nerves.”

With a flick of their wrist, a serrated card was in their hand. It wasn’t a standard playing card though, it was a card of divination, Tarot. A silvery skull glimmered off its face. With a fluid motion, Asylum threw Death at the praying hunter.

The demon whirled on the man.

“I am in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind, GET OUT! Thank you!” The demon turned sharply from the newcomer, towards the Soulless. No trace of harm lingered on them. “If that Radiant takes any longer, we march on the streets, okay? I will make my presence known to this entire planet if necessary. Is that clear?” 

The demons nodded as one as Asylum stalked away. “All I wanted was freedom!" it spat. "Yes, that’s what it was. Freedom to live and play. I make all this to kill some pesky radiants, but instead I’m left here with children, birds, and cowards!” 

The demon froze suddenly, in mid-stride. Its eyes seemed suddenly distant.

”What would that solve?” It spoke to thin air. Eighth frowned. Who-

“Fair point...but only the hunter. He’s really getting on my nerves.”

Only the hunter? Why would-

Oh no.

A flash of silver appeared in Asylum's fingers. They held it aloft, almost admiringly. The tiny object reflected in their eyes, piercing the gloom with ease. Then with barely a sideways glance, they flicked the object to the side.

Directly at Eighth.

He lurched, shoving himself from the wall, stumbling painfully. The world spun about him, and he fell. His hands landed behind him in the puddle of quicksilver, and it was all he could do not to slip to the floor.

He lifted his head, seeing a small, silver comet streaking towards the wall. Exactly where he had cowered.

Even as he watched, the object curved impossibly through the air, flying at him with unerring precision. It was a mere blur. He could not hope to evade it again. Helplessly, he flung one hand out to shield his face. Droplets of metal trailed from his fingers.

Even as his heart raced, threatening to burst from his chest, he felt...dull. Part of him wanted to simply...stop. That wretched part of him, bloodied and beaten and broken so soundly. Not merely these past months, but this day alone. He hurt so badly. Visions of victims lingered on in his mind.

He saw men, criminals and lawbringers alike, desecrated by a demon.

He saw corpses, twisted beyond imagining, rising again to fill insatiable hunger.

He saw an innocent man, a mere child, sacrificed. For good reason, but for no real cause.

And he saw Eza.

He saw her face, slack with terror, huddled and helpless before a monster. He saw her on the table, horror suffusing her face, destroying any traces of innocence to her name. Such pain she endured.

His eyes flicked to the girl, standing far from the newcomer. She hefted a slab of wood before her. As a shield? Her stance was crouched, low and ready for flight. Her eyes darted wildly.

And her face...

Eighth paused.

That was no face of a broken girl.

Her features were calm, her mouth set in a thin line. And though her eyes never ceased moving, they were alight with the fire of pure determination. Hers was no child's face, but a woman's. Ready to fight, ready to live.

Why bother?

Because...she has something to live for. And she will fight. She may lose...but she will fight.

Then so do I. And so shall I.

With a roaring hum, his outstretched hand flared with light. Those silver veins about his gloved were suddenly alight with a fire to make their prior glow dim by comparison. By its light, the entire room came into focus. Shadows seemed to pull away. Eighth suddenly saw so clearly.

The quicksilver rose from the floor in a sudden stream. Whipcord-thin it flew, in a long, seamless line, rising with his hand.

The stream sliced through the air, and the missile fell, struck clean in two from its flight. The severed ends fluttered gently to the ground.

By the light about his hand, he saw the demon's expression. Not passionate, not hateful. Not even angry. Merely...flat. Uncaring. Bored, almost. He wanted blood, he desired death. And so he would bring it. And so Eighth would die. That was all there would be to it.

But I will fight.

His fingers curled, clenching into a fist, and he slashed to the side. The stream of liquid solidified, and the length doubled and cracked like a whip, ringing out like iron in a forge. The end blurred, razor-sharp and gleaming, towards the demon's face.

Quote

This footnote isn't strictly necessary to read, unless you take issue with the internal motivations/monologues at play.

In terms of motivation, I'm not sure how this lands. Partly, Eighth needs a reason to keep...protagging, I suppose. He can't fight if he doesn't want to fight. But I also wanted reflect the mentality of a man who faced social isolation even before being banished from his planet. He found exactly one person in his adult life he could call close. Since then, he's been flailing to make sense of the world(s) he finds himself in. This is not a set of conditions conducive to making friends, a very essential human need often under-appreciated. He might think he's fine, but he has been alone for some time.

Then Eza comes along.

And I was not expecting things to play out in any way resembling this. But events happily conspired to allow Eighth to both place trust in Eza - and see it reciprocated - and to feel that Eza trusts him in some way. This is important. And we see that realized here more consciously.

@Stormlightsong @Lunamor @Koloss17 @Scars of Hathsin

Edited September 19, 2024 by Longshot97
Tightening up prose. Also added a footnote.

[Stormlightsong]

On 9/8/2024 at 3:24 PM, Longshot97 said:

Eighth of the Eve quailed. His mind felt frozen with fear. Around him, the paths to safety beckoned him. However, all guided him between death and demon. Yet even had a gaping hole opened for his escape, he would not have moved.

This was the being feared across the Cosmere. The one constant in a tumultuous, turbulent universe. The inevitable, inescapable end. The close of all trails. That which waited, forbearing and formidable, for all that lived. That which consumed, ever hungry, never satisfied.

“What the hell is all of this?"

Eighth blinked.

It had stepped forward in the uncertain light. Shadows fell from its face. A...strangely normal face, for all that where eyes once were, metal stakes stood driven through flesh and bone. It strode fearlessly into the room, standing before the demon. 

"Are you a rusting idiot? Why? …How?” For a moment, the figure seemed at a loss for words. Anger suffused those features. Graceless, earnest, human anger.

“Who are any of these people? What are any of these people?" The man gestured wildly, voice rising steadily "And why, before deciding to do all of…this,” he stepped forward, face-to-face with Asylum Smedry, “did you not at the very least let me know?”

This...wasn't Him. It wasn't Ironeyes.

Eighth slumped back. His muscles, straining fit to snap, finally loosened. The relief was surreal. His mind spun with the day's strain. Had Death Himself arisen to claim them...

”Well? Answer me!”

The demon whirled on the man.

“I am in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind, GET OUT! Thank you!” The demon turned sharply from the newcomer, towards the Soulless. No trace of harm lingered on them. “If that Radiant takes any longer, we march on the streets, okay? I will make my presence known to this entire planet if necessary. Is that clear?” 

The demons nodded as one as Asylum stalked away. “All I wanted was freedom!" it spat. "Yes, that’s what it was. Freedom to live and play. I make all this to kill some pesky radiants, but instead I’m left here with children, birds, and cowards!” 

The demon froze suddenly, in mid-stride. Its eyes seemed suddenly distant.

”What would that solve?” It spoke to thin air. Eighth frowned. Who-

“Fair point...but only the hunter. He’s really getting on my nerves.”

Only the hunter? Why would-

Oh no.

A flash of silver appeared in Asylum's fingers. They held it aloft, almost admiringly. The tiny object reflected in their eyes, piercing the gloom with ease. Then with barely a sideways glance, they flicked the object to the side.

Directly at Eighth.

He lurched, shoving himself from the wall, stumbling painfully. The world spun about him, and he fell. His hands landed behind him in the puddle of quicksilver, and it was all he could do not to slip to the floor.

He lifted his head, seeing a small, silver comet streaking towards the wall. Exactly where he had cowered.

Even as he watched, the object curved impossibly through the air, flying at him with unerring precision. It was a mere blur. He could not hope to evade it again. Helplessly, he flung one hand out to shield his face. Droplets of metal trailed from his fingers.

Even as his heart raced, threatening to burst from his chest, he felt...dull. Part of him wanted to simply...stop. That wretched part of him, bloodied and beaten and broken so soundly. Not merely these past months, but this day alone. He hurt so badly. Visions of victims lingered on in his mind.

He saw men, criminals and lawbringers alike, desecrated by a demon.

He saw corpses, twisted beyond imagining, rising again to fill insatiable hunger.

He saw an innocent man, a mere child, sacrificed. For good reason, but for no real cause.

And he saw Eza.

He saw her face, slack with terror, huddled and helpless before a monster. He saw her on the table, horror suffusing her face, destroying any traces of innocence to her name. Such pain she endured.

His eyes flicked to the girl, standing far from the newcomer. She hefted a slab of wood before her. As a shield? Her stance was crouched, low and ready for flight. Her eyes darted wildly.

And her face...

Eighth paused.

That was no face of a broken girl.

Her features were calm, her mouth set in a thin line. And though her eyes never ceased moving, they were alight with the fire of pure determination. Hers was no child's face, but a woman's. Ready to fight, ready to live.

Why bother?

Because...she has something to live for. And she will fight. She may lose...but she will fight.

Then so do I. And so shall I.

With a roaring hum, his outstretched hand flared with light. Those silver veins about his gloved were suddenly alight with a fire to make their prior glow dim by comparison. By its light, the entire room came into focus. Shadows seemed to pull away. Eighth suddenly saw so clearly.

The quicksilver rose from the floor in a sudden stream. Whipcord-thin it flew, in a long, seamless line, rising with his hand.

The stream sliced through the air, and the missile fell, struck clean in two from its flight. The severed ends fluttered gently to the ground.

By the light about his hand, he saw the demon's expression. Not passionate, not hateful. Not even angry. Merely...flat. Uncaring. Bored, almost. He wanted blood, he desired death. And so he would bring it. And so Eighth would die. That was all there would be to it.

But I will fight.

His fingers curled, clenching into a fist, and he slashed to the side. The stream of liquid solidified, and the length doubled and cracked like a whip, ringing out like iron in a forge. The end blurred, razor-sharp and gleaming, towards the demon's face.

@Stormlightsong @Lunamor @Koloss17 @Scars of Hathsin

Asylum smiled as the hunter sped across the room. Channeling their luck, they grabbed for the nearest weapon. This happened to be a double edged steel dualing sword that was probably not there beforehand. Now, this is a proper fight!

Asylum danced in pure luck. Parrying and striking, they dance in the center of the room. As pure fortune leaked out of them, they found themself dodging onto ground that wasn’t even there. Their peripherals faded until all was steel and blood and CHAOS.

It was beautiful. Asylum and… they didn’t care who it was they were fighting, or why. They could fight and dance for an eternity without getting bored. 

“Isn’t this fun?” they said to the blur on the other side. Their luck drains fast but it felt like there was always just enough. One last dance. One last joy. 
 

@Lunamor @Koloss17

Quote

Sorry for the delay.

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

Just now, Stormlightsong said:

Asylum smiled as the hunter sped across the room. Channeling their luck, they grabbed for the nearest weapon. This happened to be a double edged steel dualing sword that was probably not there beforehand. Now, this is a proper fight!

Asylum danced in pure luck. Parrying and striking, they dance in the center of the room. As pure fortune leaked out of them, they found themself dodging onto ground that wasn’t even there. Their peripherals faded until all was steel and blood and CHAOS.

It was beautiful. Asylum and… they didn’t care who it was they were fighting, or why. They could fight and dance for an eternity without getting bored. 

“Isn’t this fun?” they said to the blur on the other side. Their luck drains fast but it felt like there was always just enough. One last dance. One last joy. 
 

@Lunamor @Koloss17

 

Perses’ rage simmered. Asylum is out of control. He had been a valuable ally, and they had power Perses wanted to use, but this was too much. 
 

Perses rested his hand on his gun, then hesitated. Did he really want to do this? He didn’t even know what was going on. 
Do it. I will handle the rest.

Perses raised his pistol, choosing the tungsten rounds. With a fire and a steelpush, he shot a bullet into Asylum’s chest. And then, in quick succession, an aluminum round to his head.

[Stormlightsong]

9 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

Perses’ rage simmered. Asylum is out of control. He had been a valuable ally, and they had power Perses wanted to use, but this was too much. 
 

Perses rested his hand on his gun, then hesitated. Did he really want to do this? He didn’t even know what was going on. 
Do it. I will handle the rest.

Perses raised his pistol, choosing the tungsten rounds. With a fire and a steelpush, he shot a bullet into Asylum’s chest. And then, in quick succession, an aluminum round to his head.

Asylum stopped mid swing as their chest burst open. They weakly turned towards Perses, who was now holding a smoking gun.

”Et tu Perses?” Asylum stammered before the second bullet when through their skull.

—————————————————-

The shadowy figure stood next to Asylum as they stared at their very dead body. “Whelp,” it said passively. “Looks like our luck ran out.” 

Asylum quietly watched their withered form before looking at the demon, their talent, and said, “was I a bad person?”

the shadow rested a hand on their shoulder. “No,” it said, “I heard you were the worst.”

Asylum smiled, and finally faded.

@Lunamor @Longshot97 @Scars of Hathsin @Speeding Steelrunner

Quote

If this felt abrupt, that’s because I felt too much pressure from being the center of all the attention. The beginning of the school year has been hard and, since I was planning on killing off Asylum any way, I thought I would pass the reins back to @Koloss17. See you next Era (I got big plans) and I might post an epilogue as well.

 

[Steel Speedster ♂]

@Koloss17

Quote

Do you think this would be a good place for the constables to arrive?

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

44 minutes ago, Speeding Steelrunner said:

@Koloss17

 

Quote

Hm. If you can manage to wait just a little bit longer, I want to give others time to react and for me to get a sense of how I want to show Belias controlling the other Alleybeings.

 

[Lunamor she/her]

On 9/23/2024 at 5:39 PM, Stormlightsong said:

Asylum stopped mid swing as their chest burst open. They weakly turned towards Perses, who was now holding a smoking gun.

”Et tu Perses?” Asylum stammered before the second bullet when through their skull.

—————————————————-

The shadowy figure stood next to Asylum as they stared at their very dead body. “Whelp,” it said passively. “Looks like our luck ran out.” 

Asylum quietly watched their withered form before looking at the demon, their talent, and said, “was I a bad person?”

the shadow rested a hand on their shoulder. “No,” it said, “I heard you were the worst.”

Asylum smiled, and finally faded.

@Lunamor @Longshot97 @Scars of Hathsin @Speeding Steelrunner

 

Eza's grip on the cutting board faltered as she watched Asylum's body crumple to the ground. The dull thud of it hitting the floor seemed louder than the gunshots. She'd expected more of a fight; this was a startlingly mundane end to a series of insane events. There was no dramatic dodging of coins, no throwing of knives. It had taken mere seconds for Perses to kill them. Simply two gunshots and it was all over.

Over. It was over. That was a good thing, a really good thing. It meant that Eza and Eighth were safe, assuming Perses didn't snap and kill them both too. They'd survived despite death doing its very best to snatch them away. She should've been smiling or even laughing with relief. It was finally over.

So why wasn't she smiling?

Eza quietly crept up to the now nigh-unrecognizable corpse. A tempest of warring emotions raged within her as the reality of what had happened fully sunk in. None of what she felt was right.

She was sorry. Sorry for Lum, the person she'd grown to trust. The first person who'd seemed to give a damn about her after years of wandering alone. They'd understood what it was like to be a danger to those you cared about, how it felt to lose everyone you held dear. They were a thief, an outcast, someone who'd royally screwed things up. They were the same as Eza in so many ways. She'd failed them. She couldn't save them.

But she was also glad. This wasn't happiness, not in the slightest. It didn't come from a place of joy, it came from a place of hatred. Hatred for Asylum, the monster who had killed so many innocent people. The monster who'd nearly killed Eighth and herself. The monster who'd willingly abandoned any chance at redemption. Eza was glad to see the gory display before her, sickeningly so. She hoped their death had hurt. She regretted not taking the chance to inflict any pain on them herself.

If only she'd been able to help her friend. If only she'd been able to slam her dagger through the heart of her enemy. If only she'd been better than the wretch she was.

After her dry eyes stared at Asylum a moment longer, conflicting emotions rendering her expressionless, Eza looked up at Perses.

"Thank you."

There was nothing else to say. She glanced over at Eighth. He looked awful. Not a single part of him seemed to be free of injury and his clothes were soaked with his own blood. It was a miracle he could stand upright. Eza began to walk over to him as Seiju fluttered out from behind her to settle on her master's shoulder. Her brows furrowed slightly with concern as she wondered if he would be able to make it out of the building without aid. She certainly wouldn't be able to support him.

@Koloss17

@Longshot97
 

Quote

Editing to add that she’ll stop walking away if Perses wants to say something to her, she just has a very negative view of him and would prefer not to initiate further conversation.

 

Edited September 25, 2024 by Lunamor

[Steel Speedster ♂]

9 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

 

Quote

Yep, sure thing!

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

On 9/24/2024 at 3:51 AM, Lunamor said:

After her dry eyes stared at Asylum a moment longer, conflicting emotions rendering her expressionless, Eza looked up at Perses.

"Thank you."

@Longshot97

 

Perses paused, his jaw slackening. He…was thanked? Perses remembered where he started. Fighting, desperately crawling to be wanted. To be valued. Yet here it was. Thanks. 
 

And all it took was to kill someone that someone didn’t like.

What had life come to? When did he let go of his morals that he once valued so dearly? When did he value power so much that he would disfigure himself so gruesomely?

A pain went to his side. The stitches. Rusts. 

Perses, falling backward, passed out. And with him, the three horsemen crumpled to the ground.

. . .

 

Perses woke, body aching. Yet when he got his bearings, he noticed something was wrong. The place was quiet. Eerily quiet. Perses felt for his metalminds, realizing with a panic that they were gone.

”Hey, where are we?” A voice said.

”The Alleys, you moron. We got sent back.” Another replied, their voice concerningly lacking echo.

”Aww. I was getting attatched to my body. Death dying really hurt the mood though.”

Before Perses could speak, a voice shook his ears, its voice reverberating through the vast space.

“SILENCE”

Suddenly, Perses’ body locked up, moving on its own volition. He was being controlled, like a puppet. His body moved towards the other figures, turning to address them.

“Welcome to my realm.” The words were coming out of Perses’ mouth, but the voice was not his. “Don’t worry, your bodies are still yours. I have simply moved your minds here for the time being.”

Before others could interject, the voice spake further. 
“Your previous master is dead, slain by my hand. And for as long as I say, you will obey.”

”and what if we don’t?” One of the figures asked rebelliously.

”Then when you return to the Alleys, I will make sure to make your lives a living hell.”

As if to emphasize this, the air was suddenly filled with deafening noise. An incessant buzzing, coming from everywhere at once. Perses wanted to scream, but couldn’t. The others, however, crumpled to the ground.

”Alright! Alright! We get it.”

”What do you want us to do, boss?”

Perses’ mouth curled into a smile. “While your previous owner wanted chaos, I want something more controlled. I want to send a message.”

”Do we get horses?” One said excitedly.

The voice ignored this comment. “I want you three,” Perses’ arm lifted, pointing at each of them in turn, “to clean up the mess your previous master left. Kill every last one of the remaining constables. Or frankly, anyone who gets in your way. I want everyone that witnessed this event dealt with.”

”Why?”

”Whatever you say, boss”

”At least a camel?”

Without answering any of them, Perses’ fingers  snapped, and as suddenly as they appeared, the figures vanished from Perses’ lifesense.

Yet Perses remained.

And, he discovered, he could move again. “Who are you?” He asked, pleased to hear his own voice reverberating in his head.

Hello, Perses. 
 

Perses felt a shiver of recognition at the voice saying his name. “What do you want from me?”

A better question. But both shall come in time. For now, all you need to know is that our interests are aligned. I want what’s best for you.

”How can I believe that?” A flash of anger erupted from inside him. “You can’t even tell me who you are!”

I made you Perses. It is not your place to question why. We will meet again. 

Soon.

. . .

Perses jolted awake, gasping for air. How long had he been out? Reflexively, he stored pain, to find that he didn’t feel any to begin with. Reaching for his wounds, he discovered they had healed over. People. Perses grabbed his pistol, raising it to the life signatures around him.

”Woah there, boss. No need to get trigger happy. We’ll follow your orders.”

”Speaking of, What about these guys? Should we kill them too?” The man gestured to the other two figures in the room.

Perses hesitated. “Spare them. We need some people alive to spread the word.”

Perses turned, feeling something at the edge of his lifesense. Tapping it, he took in what he saw. “Constables incoming. You know your orders,” he uttered, with a voice calmer than he actually was. “Dispose of them.”

@Lunamor, @Longshot97, @Scars of Hathsin, @Speeding Steelrunner

Quote

@Speeding Steelrunner, I plan on controlling Perses and the three horsemen. I’m giving you, and frankly anyone who wants to control their actions to push forward their narrative, free reign over any of the constables’ actions. 
 

That is, except for Phemus. I don’t plan on mentioning him for the rest of the episode, but he needs to survive this encounter through a stroke of luck. I have plans for him in the Era 7 Epilogue.

 

Edited September 25, 2024 by Koloss17

[Steel Speedster ♂]

Quote

@Koloss17 Alright!

What about Asylum's zombies and vampires? Are they also under Perses' control now, or did they all die when Asylum died? Or are they still out there but not under anyone's control?

Fenna, Smokestack Constabulary

Fenna and the foremost constables burst into the room and stopped short, the people behind bumping into them. The scene before them was not the one Fenna had expected.

But it was still terrifying.

In the middle of the room stood three disgusting creatures, all variously deformed and hideous. And between them was the cloaked man she had seen at the entrance. She now realized that he had metal spikes through his eyes. At his feet was the withered husk of another person. Fenna barely registered the other two people on the other side of the room.

There was a moment of deadly silence.

Then the constables surrounding her charged into the room with a shout. Fenna hesitated a moment, then leapt after them.

One last stand...before death claimed them all.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Longshot97 @Scars of Hathsin

Edited September 25, 2024 by Speeding Steelrunner
Added tags

[Koloss17 She/They]

2 hours ago, Speeding Steelrunner said:

Fenna, Smokestack Constabulary

Fenna and the foremost constables burst into the room and stopped short, the people behind bumping into them. The scene before them was not the one Fenna had expected.

But it was still terrifying.

In the middle of the room stood three disgusting creatures, all variously deformed and hideous. And between them was the cloaked man she had seen at the entrance. She now realized that he had metal spikes through his eyes. At his feet was the withered husk of another person. Fenna barely registered the other two people on the other side of the room.

There was a moment of deadly silence.

Then the constables surrounding her charged into the room with a shout. Fenna hesitated a moment, then leapt after them.

One last stand...before death claimed them all.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Longshot97 @Scars of Hathsin

Quote

The Vamps and Zombies (the few that remain) all properly died when Asylum did. Since the Alleybeings were physically plopped into their bodies as opposed to normal humans being twisted into monsters, they stick around.

 

Also note that when I say three horsemen, it is slightly out of character. Though Perses doesn’t really know what to call them, to make it easier on y’all I’m simplifying it to three horsemen.

The three horsemen all relished in the opportunity to make a mess of things. The big one knocked officers around like ragdolls, taking bullets and weapons unfazed.

The sickly one breathed their noxious fumes onto others, turning the cobstables into disease ridden corpses.

The skinny one seemed to be having the most fun. He strode through the horde of officers, grasping them one by one. Whoever he touched shriveled into a husk, invigorating him further.

As Perses picked off a few constables that attempted to attack him, emotions raged within him. These constables, though they would undoubtedly get in Perses’ way, had done nothing thus far. Why should he even care about them?

Then it clicked. This isn’t about the people. It’s about the district. About sending a message.

Well, Perses thought. I suppose destroying a police force would do that.

[Steel Speedster ♂]

2 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

The three horsemen all relished in the opportunity to make a mess of things. The big one knocked officers around like ragdolls, taking bullets and weapons unfazed.

The sickly one breathed their noxious fumes onto others, turning the cobstables into disease ridden corpses.

The skinny one seemed to be having the most fun. He strode through the horde of officers, grasping them one by one. Whoever he touched shriveled into a husk, invigorating him further.

As Perses picked off a few constables that attempted to attack him, emotions raged within him. These constables, though they would undoubtedly get in Perses’ way, had done nothing thus far. Why should he even care about them?

Then it clicked. This isn’t about the people. It’s about the district. About sending a message.

Well, Perses thought. I suppose destroying a police force would do that.

Fenna glanced around as the chaos unfurled. Things were going badly from the start. The constables were dying like insects before these four monsters.

Fenna's gaze settled on the skinny creature as it withered its enemies to husks. It was clearly deadly, but it didn't look too tough. She stored weight and leapt high into the air towards it. At the apex of her leap, she tapped weight and descended towards it, legs extended for a hefty kick.

[Koloss17 She/They]

Famine.

A grin plastered Famine’s face as he sucked the life from the mortals. Some withered immediately, others took longer. The more power they had, the more he had to leech. However, he didn’t mind. The absorption of life and power was what fueled him, giving him a shot of power. He was addicted to it.

Famine was a nice name. He never had a name, but famine felt right. Famine. He grinned even wider.

Suddenly a massive weight crashed into him, crumpling his body. Aw, pancakes.

He was thrown across the room, hitting the wall with a smack. He heard bones snapping. “Come on!”

He looked to see the source of the inconvenience. A woman, who really didn’t look like she had delivered that hit, got up from the ground.

Peeling his body off of the drywall, he held himself up, notably thinner than he was a moment ago. At a decent rate, his body began healing. All the lifeforce that he had taken from those cops had provided his body with multiple body’s worth of life. Bones snapped back into place, and bruises began fading.

A smile returned to his face. “That all you got, sweet pea?”

Quote

Past their deadly methods of attack, each of the horsemen have their own methods of healing. Obviously Famine feeds directly off of lifeforce of others, Pestilence feeds off of the death and decay of cells, and War feeds off of anger and strong emotions from others, which he can enhance. 
 

I notice we have 3 different good guys in this fight, with three different horsemen. A potential route of this fight could be to have each person fight one of the horsemen . However, that’s just a potential route. Perses is mostly hanging back and watching things unfold, but will of course get involved if provoked. I’m just brainstorming ideas on how @Longshot97 and @Lunamor could still be engaged in things.

and @Scars of Hathsin, you are always welcome to join the fray.

@Speeding Steelrunner

Edited September 27, 2024 by Koloss17

[Steel Speedster ♂]

2 hours ago, Koloss17 said:

Famine.

A grin plastered Famine’s face as he sucked the life from the mortals. Some withered immediately, others took longer. The more power they had, the more he had to leech. However, he didn’t mind. The absorption of life and power was what fueled him, giving him a shot of power. He was addicted to it.

Famine was a nice name. He never had a name, but famine felt right. Famine. He grinned even wider.

Suddenly a massive weight crashed into him, crumpling his body. Aw, pancakes.

He was thrown across the room, hitting the wall with a smack. He heard bones snapping. “Come on!”

He looked to see the source of the inconvenience. A woman, who really didn’t look like she had delivered that hit, got up from the ground.

Peeling his body off of the drywall, he held himself up, notably thinner than he was a moment ago. At a decent rate, his body began healing. All the lifeforce that he had taken from those cops had provided his body with multiple body’s worth of life. Bones snapped back into place, and bruises began fading.

A smile returned to his face. “That all you got, sweet pea?”

@Speeding Steelrunner

Fenna frowned as the creature un-flattened itself with sickening popping sounds, a smile of deranged glee stretching across its face.

Okay... That wasn't terribly effective. Maybe something more straightforward would work better.

Fenna stored weight, and pushed off the floor, launching towards the creature. She tapped weight as she touched down in front of it and shot out a hand to slam it bodily into the wall, swinging her other fist towards its head.

 

[Koloss17 She/They]

On 9/27/2024 at 1:00 PM, Speeding Steelrunner said:

Fenna frowned as the creature un-flattened itself with sickening popping sounds, a smile of deranged glee stretching across its face.

Okay... That wasn't terribly effective. Maybe something more straightforward would work better.

Fenna stored weight, and pushed off the floor, launching towards the creature. She tapped weight as she touched down in front of it and shot out a hand to slam it bodily into the wall, swinging her other fist towards its head.

 

A succession of blows pummeled Famine. He heard a jaw snap, some teeth falling out. That’d definitely kill a mortal.

However, he was no mortal. And the woman went for the wrong place.

He reached a hand out to grab the woman’s arm.

Edited September 28, 2024 by Koloss17

[Steel Speedster ♂]

18 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

A succession of blows pummeled Pertilence. He heard a jaw snap, some teeth falling out. That’d definitely kill a mortal.

However, he was no mortal. And the woman went for the wrong place.

He reached a hand out to grab the woman’s arm.

The creature began to break under Fenna's blows, but no matter how much she hit it, it refused to die.

Its hand latched onto her arm.

Immediately, she felt a draining sensation. She could feel her pewter working against it, but that would soon be gone. Panicking, she tried to yank her arm away, but her strength was weakened by the thing's sapping grip, and it managed to hang on. Pewter's numbness was ripped away, and she was hit by a crippling wave of pain all over her body, emanating from a multitude of injuries she hadn't even noticed.

Thinking quickly, Fenna tapped weight and let herself fall backwards, dragging her attacker down with her. She hit the floor hard and slipped her wrist free of the creature's hand as it was thrown over her head. Pain faded and strength returned as her pewter recovered from the attack. But that didn't change the fact that she was in bad shape. Without any metal to burn, she would be dead.

She scrambled to her feet, but at that moment, the last of her pewter burned up. She staggered backwards into the wall and slid to the floor. Immediately, her vision fuzzed, and darkness threatened to take her. Fighting back the agony that pressed upon her, Fenna seized her last metal vial and downed it.

She couldn't keep this up. This last vial would keep her alive a bit longer, but when that ran out... That would be it.

[Longshot97 he/him]

Quote

Warning (please read initially): I am covering a lot of ground in this post. This will be a hefty one. This might be the longest post of Era 7 (it certainly is for me lol). For the sake of the time of those reading this, I will index here the events this post corresponds to, in sequential order. Ctrl+F numbers #1 through #8 to skip accordingly (hashtag is important for this function).

1. Asylum's fight.
2. Flashback (and subsequent realization).
3. Asylum's death.
4. Eza's reaction.
5. Perses's vision.
6. Constable's arrival.
7. Battle description.
8. Eighth's decision.

Only the bolded items contain new information. Everything else is a retelling of events, from a character-oriented perspective. No judgement about skipping ahead (not that the judgement of I, a random Internet wanderer, should particularly matter).

I'll probably be editing this for a good while, until I'm satisfied with pacing and character motivations and such. Rest assured that I will not stray from this outline of events.

Semi-pertinent reminder: Eighth calls the Three Horsemen "Soulless" in his head. For further specificity, War is the Redeye, Pestilence the Greeneye, and Famine the Yelloweye.

On 9/27/2024 at 7:12 AM, Koloss17 said:

I notice we have 3 different good guys in this fight, with three different horsemen. A potential route of this fight could be to have each person fight one of the horsemen . However, that’s just a potential route. Perses is mostly hanging back and watching things unfold, but will of course get involved if provoked. I’m just brainstorming ideas on how @Longshot97 and @Lunamor could still be engaged in things.

I am all for this @Koloss17. At least on my end of things. I do not want to pressure @Lunamor any given way.

On 9/23/2024 at 5:09 PM, Stormlightsong said:

Asylum smiled as the hunter sped across the room. Channeling their luck, they grabbed for the nearest weapon. This happened to be a double edged steel dualing sword that was probably not there beforehand. Now, this is a proper fight!

Asylum danced in pure luck. Parrying and striking, they dance in the center of the room. As pure fortune leaked out of them, they found themself dodging onto ground that wasn’t even there. Their peripherals faded until all was steel and blood and CHAOS.

It was beautiful. Asylum and… they didn’t care who it was they were fighting, or why. They could fight and dance for an eternity without getting bored. 

“Isn’t this fun?” they said to the blur on the other side. Their luck drains fast but it felt like there was always just enough. One last dance. One last joy.

Quote

#1

The demon dodged, of course. With barely a thought.

The lariat of liquid metal whipped past its face, slicing deeply into the wall. Eighth braced himself, then hauled on the line.

He fairly flew off his feet, moving swifter than mere muscle should have managed. He raised his other hand, ready to strike the skinwalker barehanded. The demon was unarmed. Now was his chance.

The inhuman apathy at last slid from Asylum's face. But not in surprise. Not in fear. Not even in anger.

A smile of purest delight split those features, even as it stepped smoothly to the side. Eighth struck hard against the wall, and spun to face his quarry.

From the wall, a door swung. A door Eighth hadn't noticed. A selection of old weapons fell from a...closet? Storage room? Rusted and pitted, they clanged dully against hardwood floor.

One, however, shone bright in the dim, casting aside a protective wrapping. The weapon landed, flexed, and spun gracefully through the air, rotating hilt-down. Just as the demon reached to the side. The blade landed smoothly in his hand.

And the demon struck.

Eighth flung himself to the side, blade biting against the wall. The demon turned, tracking him. The sword emerged from the wall with no trouble, flicking a razor of wood straight at Eighth's skull. He hit the floor hard, and found himself staring at the black carapace of his own blade.

Eighth snatched the weapon up, rolling just in time to avoid the demon's downstroke. He stumbled to his feet. Too slowly. The sword flashed towards him, carving a chunk from his shoulder. Eighth hissed, swinging wildly in turn.

Asylum didn't move. But beneath their feet, floorboards gave way suddenly, nudging them just shy of Eight's blade. Eighth stabbed, and Asylum danced fluidly around him. This time, Eighth grunted, a line of fire tracing its way across his ribs.

Their fight seemed to stretch on endlessly. Whenever Eighth seemed close to striking, something always went wrong. And luck always seemed on Asylum's side. Again and again, their blade found Eighth's flesh. Blood now soaked his coat, which did nothing to turn aside their blade.

And Eighth could not touch Asylum.

His breath came in heaving gasps, his steps heavy and slow. His entire body seemed afire with pain. His quicksilver flowed with him, deflecting blows, clearing debris, lashing out. Yet it was all he could do to stay alive.

Eighth found himself face-to-face with Asylum, the dulledge of his own blade pressed against his throat by their inhuman strength. He struggled helplessly. Asylum, on the other hand, seemed in throes of ecstasy, a mad grin stretching his lips.

"Isn't this fun?" they said, not even winded. Then, in a brilliant twist, they threw Eighth to the side. A twist left Eighth's blade buried in the floorboards. He pulled helplessly, but the blade would not give.

Asylum bounded forth, grin still fixed on their face. Their blade swung, ready to cleave Eighth's head from his shoulders.

Eighth threw up his hand, willing the quicksilver along his arm. But not to strike. He bore down with his will, imagining it forming around his arm, flattening mid-air to shield him.

The metal ran up his arm and leapt into the air. Then, losing momentum, it fell to the floor, splashing uselessly against Eighth's legs.

Asylum's blade flew, seeking his throat.

On 9/23/2024 at 5:39 PM, Stormlightsong said:

Asylum stopped mid swing as their chest burst open. They weakly turned towards Perses, who was now holding a smoking gun.

”Et tu Perses?” Asylum stammered before the second bullet when through their skull.

The demon's chest burst asunder.

Thunder split the air. Blood and bone fountained from Asylum's torso, spraying their face and hair. The demon froze. Their sword slipped from bloody fingers.

Wet with the demon's blood, Eighth stepped back. His ears rang. His legs quivered. His mouth hung open. His eyes felt wide.

Somehow still on its feet, the demon turned towards the cloaked man. Smoke rose gently from the man's hand. A resounding click sounded menacingly.

At long last, true surprise showed in the demon's eyes. Their lips moved soundlessly. Chest a bloody mess, it coughed, spluttered, and finally spoke.

"Et tu, Perses?"

Eighth froze.

Those words...

* * *

Quote

#2

The calming hum of Lokui filled Eighth's ears. The trees rustled in the wind, the ever-present crash of surf and sea just audible.

Here it was calm. Here, far from the rest of the world, was peace.

A loud thud reached him.

Without even looking, he reached out one hand. And Elmina fell heavily onto it, clutching his arm heavily for support.

A branch, this time. He waited patiently as she kicked her way free from the grasping fork. She finally straightened up, releasing his arm.

"Don't look at me that way!" she said, defensive. He merely raised an eyebrow.

"Look," she said, flushing a brighter pink, "It was this, or sitting around doing nothing. And I'm already healed! See?" She strode firmly from him, moving gracefully.

Until a branch turned underfoot.

She staggered, stepping wildly to the side. Then her leg buckled, and she began to fall in earnest. Her foot caught another branch, and her eyes widened at the sight of the stream to the side of the trail. She cried out, flinging her hands helplessly before her.

Eventually, she cracked her eyes open. And found Eighth of the Eve, calmly holding her by the collar, nose inches from the water. He carefully pulled her upright, then released her, stepping back.

Her cheeks were truly pink now, spilling over her ears and down her neck. Eighth carefully kept the laughter from his voice.

"You wished to...walk about the woods, yes?"

The pink deepened to red.

Eighth turned away, withholding a chuckle.. He whistled, high and sharp, and both his Aviar glided down from the canopy.

"Step where I step," he said, starting down one of the safer trail. Then stopped as she shoved past him, nose high.

She crossed the opening, hopping over exposed roots, brushing aside a few vines. He waited until she had pulled ahead, then whispered a few commands to Seiju. The Aviar bobbed her head and took flight. Eighth walked on.

The two walked in silence. Him in the comfortable lope of a Pantheon trapper, Elmina with deliberate care and precision. Yet still she pulled ahead, far outstripping his casual stride. He remained quiet, but she noticed, shooting satisfied grins in his direction.

They eventually reached the falls, and she turned, triumph radiating from her.

"See?" she said brightly. "All better..." She trailed off, noticing the Aviar on his shoulder.

The single Aviar.

From above, a shrill call sounded, and Seiju came fluttering down from the trees. She settled on Eighth's shoulder, preening in a most self-satisfied way.

Not a moment after the Aviar landed, a tussock of grass seemed to coil about Elmina’s ankle. She fell to the ground. Hard.

She remained still limp as Eighth helped her up. Her shoulders shook silently. Eighth paused. Oh no. Was that too much?

She is not weeping. Is she?

She looked up, tears streaking her cheeks. And laughter bubbling from her lips.

“Et tu, Seiju?” she said in tones of mock betrayal. Then she burst out in loud, genuine laughter.

Eighth did not laugh. But a quiet smile stretched across his face.

* * *

Quote

#3

He saw it now. He finally saw it. That chin, that mouth. The same eyes. Blood spattered like freckles across his face. Hair now red with gore.

And the surprise. The shock that anything could happen to them. The shock of mortality.

Cousin.

The word rang loudly in his ears. It couldn't be...but it so obviously was. Asylum Smedry was...

Smedry. Oh no. No, no, no.

Eighth reached out a single, trembling hand.

And his cousin's face was torn apart.

On 9/24/2024 at 12:51 AM, Lunamor said:

Eza's grip on the cutting board faltered as she watched Asylum's body crumple to the ground. The dull thud of it hitting the floor seemed louder than the gunshots. She'd expected more of a fight; this was a startlingly mundane end to a series of insane events. There was no dramatic dodging of coins, no throwing of knives. It had taken mere seconds for Perses to kill them. Simply two gunshots and it was all over.

Over. It was over. That was a good thing, a really good thing. It meant that Eza and Eighth were safe, assuming Perses didn't snap and kill them both too. They'd survived despite death doing its very best to snatch them away. She should've been smiling or even laughing with relief. It was finally over.

So why wasn't she smiling?

Eza quietly crept up to the now nigh-unrecognizable corpse. A tempest of warring emotions raged within her as the reality of what had happened fully sunk in. None of what she felt was right.

She was sorry. Sorry for Lum, the person she'd grown to trust. The first person who'd seemed to give a damn about her after years of wandering alone. They'd understood what it was like to be a danger to those you cared about, how it felt to lose everyone you held dear. They were a thief, an outcast, someone who'd royally screwed things up. They were the same as Eza in so many ways. She'd failed them. She couldn't save them.

But she was also glad. This wasn't happiness, not in the slightest. It didn't come from a place of joy, it came from a place of hatred. Hatred for Asylum, the monster who had killed so many innocent people. The monster who'd nearly killed Eighth and herself. The monster who'd willingly abandoned any chance at redemption. Eza was glad to see the gory display before her, sickeningly so. She hoped their death had hurt. She regretted not taking the chance to inflict any pain on them herself.

If only she'd been able to help her friend. If only she'd been able to slam her dagger through the heart of her enemy. If only she'd been better than the wretch she was.

After her dry eyes stared at Asylum a moment longer, conflicting emotions rendering her expressionless, Eza looked up at Perses.

"Thank you."

There was nothing else to say. She glanced over at Eighth. He looked awful. Not a single part of him seemed to be free of injury and his clothes were soaked with his own blood. It was a miracle he could stand upright. Eza began to walk over to him as Seiju fluttered out from behind her to settle on her master's shoulder. Her brows furrowed slightly with concern as she wondered if he would be able to make it out of the building without aid. She certainly wouldn't be able to support him.

On 9/24/2024 at 7:00 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses paused, his jaw slackening. He…was thanked? Perses remembered where he started. Fighting, desperately crawling to be wanted. To be valued. Yet here it was. Thanks. 

And all it took was to kill someone that someone didn’t like.

What had life come to? When did he let go of his morals that he once valued so dearly? When did he value power so much that he would disfigure himself so gruesomely?

A pain went to his side. The stitches. Rusts. 

Perses, falling backward, passed out. And with him, the three horsemen crumpled to the ground.

Quote

#4

Eighth of the Eve stood, the remains of family at his feet. He did not kneel, did not probe for signs of life. He did not retreat, did not back from the withered husk that had been his cousin. He did not even close what remained of their eyes.

He merely stood there.

Around them, the remaining Mindless collapsed to the floor. He heard the distant thuds of bodies striking wood. It was over.

Seiju alighted painfully on his shoulder, hunching her back and folding her wings. Eighth stroked her neck softly, and she leaned against his neck.

From across the room, Eza crept silently to stand over the corpse. Blood ran from her cheek, but her face was still. Stony. As expressionless as his should have been.

They had been a monster. They had hurt and twisted and killed. They deserved this. They deserved this and more.

But...they were family. Her family. Maybe...maybe they could have helped me.

It was done. His last chance at reunion, at redemption...gone. Just like that.

And he would have killed it.

"Thank you," he heard distantly. He glanced up. Eza, looking over at the cloaked man. His face was inscrutable, overshadowed by spikes as thick around as a man's wrist. Eighth shuddered.

Quote

#5

The man's face suddenly contorted in a rictus of pain. He shuddered, clutching at his side. Then collapsed.

Eighth stepped back. Around them, the Soulless fell soundlessly to the ground. Yet their mouths still moved, even as no sound left their lips.

Clutching his blade, Eighth looked at Eza.

"What is happening?"

On 9/24/2024 at 7:00 PM, Koloss17 said:

Perses jolted awake, gasping for air. How long had he been out? Reflexively, he stored pain, to find that he didn’t feel any to begin with. Reaching for his wounds, he discovered they had healed over. People. Perses grabbed his pistol, raising it to the life signatures around him.

”Woah there, boss. No need to get trigger happy. We’ll follow your orders.”

”Speaking of, What about these guys? Should we kill them too?” The man gestured to the other two figures in the room.

Perses hesitated. “Spare them. We need some people alive to spread the word.”

Perses turned, feeling something at the edge of his lifesense. Tapping it, he took in what he saw. “Constables incoming. You know your orders,” he uttered, with a voice calmer than he actually was. “Dispose of them.”

A gasp reached them. The cloaked man. The Soulless's eyes flew open, and as one, they rose and stepped to the fallen man, speaking quietly. One gestured at Eza and himself. Eighth stiffened. Danger. Slowly, he retrieved more darts from his cloak, discreetly sliding them into his blowpipes.

"Spare them." Eighth's ears cleared enough to hear that. The cloaked man rose to his feet. "We need some people alive to spread the word."

Eighth frowned. Where the man's voice had been passionate, it now felt...flat. Emotionless. Almost...

Dead.

The man's head whipped up, and he turned to sightlessly stare at the door. Eighth strained his ears, but heard nothing.

"Constables incoming," the man said. Where had the warmth gone? That voice was cold, cold as the darkest Depths. Eighth shivered just to hear it.

"You know your orders," he continued in that same tone. "Dispose of them."

The door to the room flew open, and men poured in like a flood. 

* * *

On 9/25/2024 at 5:38 AM, Speeding Steelrunner said:

Fenna, Smokestack Constabulary

Fenna and the foremost constables burst into the room and stopped short, the people behind bumping into them. The scene before them was not the one Fenna had expected.

But it was still terrifying.

In the middle of the room stood three disgusting creatures, all variously deformed and hideous. And between them was the cloaked man she had seen at the entrance. She now realized that he had metal spikes through his eyes. At his feet was the withered husk of another person. Fenna barely registered the other two people on the other side of the room.

There was a moment of deadly silence.

Then the constables surrounding her charged into the room with a shout. Fenna hesitated a moment, then leapt after them.

One last stand...before death claimed them all.

Quote

#6

For a single, timeless moment, nobody moved.

Men and women, dressed in constabulary garb, stared at the sight of the Soulless. One man, a portly graybeard, looked awhile at Asylum's withered corpse before scrutinizing the cloaked man.

The Soulless, in turn, regarded the newcomers. But not with horror. No...

They looked with hunger.

The constables hesitated a moment longer. Then a roar filled the room, and the small army charged.

On 9/25/2024 at 8:06 AM, Koloss17 said:

The three horsemen all relished in the opportunity to make a mess of things. The big one knocked officers around like ragdolls, taking bullets and weapons unfazed.

The sickly one breathed their noxious fumes onto others, turning the cobstables into disease ridden corpses.

The skinny one seemed to be having the most fun. He strode through the horde of officers, grasping them one by one. Whoever he touched shriveled into a husk, invigorating him further.

As Perses picked off a few constables that attempted to attack him, emotions raged within him. These constables, though they would undoubtedly get in Perses’ way, had done nothing thus far. Why should he even care about them?

Then it clicked. This isn’t about the people. It’s about the district. About sending a message.

Well, Perses thought. I suppose destroying a police force would do that.

Quote

#7

The Soulless leapt into action.

Eighth watched in horror. The constables divided their force among the three abominations, moving with practiced efficiency. They closed in, multiple people reaching the Soulless simultaneously, striking at once, to overwhelm and overrun.

And the Soulless tore them apart.

A man's skull exploded beneath the Redeye's fist. Two others stood back with weapons like the cloaked man's, holding them aloft and filling the room with thunder. But as bits of flesh flew from the Redeye, his skin closed up, with not even scars to show for them. He moved implacably, crushing men and women alike with impunity.

The Greeneye simply looked at the approaching officers. Then, inhaling deeply, it cupped a hand before its face and blew, almost gently.

A noxious cloud of gas expanded before it. The constables, already running, sped straight into the fume. They immediately stopped, clawing at their mouths and throats. One man opened his mouth to scream, and blood fountained from his parted lips. The other two fell, skin a ghastly white, one covered in cysts.

The Yelloweye strolled, arms held wide, as though in welcome. One man stepped forward, blade in hand, to cleave the monster's head from his shoulders. The Soulless simply touched the man's arm, and the officer froze. His weapon fell from now-limp fingers, and fell, knees buckling. His skin darkened in a wave, going from a healthy tan to a shriveled, starved husk in mere moments. The Yelloweye strolled on, ignoring the corpse, a smile splitting its features.

Quote

#8

Eighth watched as the room dissolved into chaos. Blood flew through the air. One man flew past him, a fist-sized hole in his ribs. He struck the wall, and the sickening crack of a broken neck reached Eighth.

They were yet ignored. Seiju gripped his shoulder tightly enough to draw blood. To his eyes, the ways out of the room were clear. Through the roof. Out the door. Into the kitchens, up the stovepipe. Through the wall. Visible only to him, beckoning. Calling.

And yet...

Eighth watched an officer fall to his knees, cradling a young woman. Her skin now had an unhealthy tinge, her sight clouding before his very eyes. She reached a trembling hand towards his face, and he gripped it, tears streaking his cheeks.

The woman's hand fell.

The man bowed his head. Then, without looking, he tore the woman's weapon from her body. He lifted his head, and rage reflected in those tear-stricken eyes. He raised it, screaming his fury to the heavens as fire erupted from his hands.

Eighth looked at Eza beside him. She watched the unfolding massacre beside him. He looked at her. Then at the constables. Then back again.

He set his teeth grimly, then whistled, high and sharp. Seiju looked at him in disbelief. Eighth firmly whistled the same command. She looked at him steadily, gripping his shoulder even more firmly.

Gently, ever so gently, Eighth set his fingers beneath Seiju, and lifted. He forced his hands up with steady, inexorable force. Pain flooded his shoulder as her talons ripped free, blood welling up beneath the coat. He held her before him, meeting her now-stricken eyes sternly.

"Go," he said with finality. Then he set her on Eza's shoulder.

"She will help you escape," he said hurriedly, meeting her eyes. "Heed your instinct. She will do the rest."

He turned. His eyes fell on the Greeneye, felling constables with mere breath. His hand flared with light, and he watched as the creature inhaled, mouth gaping grotesquely.

Eighth raised his blowpipes, sighting carefully. The weapon hissed, and two darts flew, aimed directly at the monster's plague-green eyes.

No sooner had the missiles flown than Eighth flung his hand forward. A wave of quicksilver rose, streaming unerringly towards the Soulless's maw. He charged in after the molten silver, blade in hand. He sprinted past a few shocked officers, machete parallel to the ground. A single strike was all he needed.

He would have but one chance.

Quote

In case it's unclear, Eighth's goals are

1. To at least partially blind Pestilence, to make its breath weapon less effective
2. Fill its mouth with the mercury, to try and stop the breath weapon outright
3. To try and behead Pestilence, again to try and stop the breath weapon, if not kill it.

How effective these modes of attack are, I leave up to you @Koloss17

Quote

Sorry for the slight godmod of setting Seiju upon Eza @Lunamor. Obviously, your character can just brush the bird off. Seiju's not too happy about this either, but she will obey until given a reason otherwise (like outright refusal).

In case it's not clear, this is to allow the Aviar to grant Eza her talent - that is, to show her the best route towards a given point. Or, in this context, the best route of escape.

However, the fact that the ability is given does not mean Eza needs to use it to escape. Depending on how Eza decides to move forwards, it could prove useful. I've left this ability purposefully vague. It takes into account the tools at hand - in Eza's case, Ironpulling - to get to a given place in the quickest and safest way possible. It doesn't guarantee safety, but it comes pretty close.

In case it's a concern, feel free to describe Seiju doing whatever feels genuine to her (admittedly limited) character.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Speeding Steelrunner @Scars of Hathsin

Edited September 28, 2024 by Longshot97
Ongoing edits. Debating making this a changelog lol.

[Koloss17 She/They]

On 9/27/2024 at 6:44 PM, Speeding Steelrunner said:

The creature began to break under Fenna's blows, but no matter how much she hit it, it refused to die.

Its hand latched onto her arm.

Immediately, she felt a draining sensation. She could feel her pewter working against it, but that would soon be gone. Panicking, she tried to yank her arm away, but her strength was weakened by the thing's sapping grip, and it managed to hang on. Pewter's numbness was ripped away, and she was hit by a crippling wave of pain all over her body, emanating from a multitude of injuries she hadn't even noticed.

Thinking quickly, Fenna tapped weight and let herself fall backwards, dragging her attacker down with her. She hit the floor hard and slipped her wrist free of the creature's hand as it was thrown over her head. Pain faded and strength returned as her pewter recovered from the attack. But that didn't change the fact that she was in bad shape. Without any metal to burn, she would be dead.

She scrambled to her feet, but at that moment, the last of her pewter burned up. She staggered backwards into the wall and slid to the floor. Immediately, her vision fuzzed, and darkness threatened to take her. Fighting back the agony that pressed upon her, Fenna seized her last metal vial and downed it.

She couldn't keep this up. This last vial would keep her alive a bit longer, but when that ran out... That would be it.

Famine.

Famine grinned. “That all you got, little lady?” His body surged with renewed life. His teeth, however, stayed broken. I suppose there are limits to these regeneration powers, huh? He wasn’t used to this type of body yet, but most things felt natural. There was so much to learn about human bodies.

With his now repaired legs, he ran at his prey, hands outstretched. “C’mere!”

5 hours ago, Longshot97 said:

 

He turned. His eyes fell on the Greeneye, felling constables with mere breath. His hand flared with light, and he watched as the creature inhaled, mouth gaping grotesquely.

Eighth raised his blowpipes, sighting carefully. The weapon hissed, and two darts flew, aimed directly at the monster's plague-green eyes.

No sooner had the middles flown than Eighth flung his hand forward. A wave of quicksilver rose, streaming unerringly towards the Soulless's maw. He charged in after the molten silver, blade in hand. He sprained past a few shocked officers, machete parallel to the ground. A single strike was all he needed.

He would have but one chance.

@Koloss17 @Lunamor @Speeding Steelrunner @Scars of Hathsin

Pestilence.

Ah, the sweet stench of death. He had missed it. This new body thing was quite nice, he decided. Nothing as cool as his old body, but being able to actually cross into the mortal realm had its perks. 
 

Suddenly, he lost sight to both of his eyes. “Ow—!” His mouth was filled up too. What now? He reflexively stepped back, narrowly dodging a whoosh. He swiftly pulled out the objects lodged in his eyes. His vision quickly returned, followed by a scream as one of the dying mortals had their eyes consumed by plague.

”hfhfff!” Pestilence said angrily, pointing at the new attacker. He then proceeded to run, searching for something to defend himself with.

[Longshot97 he/him]

43 minutes ago, Koloss17 said:

Pestilence.

Ah, the sweet stench of death. He had missed it. This new body thing was quite nice, he decided. Nothing as cool as his old body, but being able to actually cross into the mortal realm had its perks. 
 

Suddenly, he lost sight to both of his eyes. “Ow—!” His mouth was filled up too. What now? He reflexively stepped back, narrowly dodging a whoosh. He swiftly pulled out the objects lodged in his eyes. His vision quickly returned, followed by a scream as one of the dying mortals had their eyes consumed by plague.

”hfhfff!” Pestilence said angrily, pointing at the new attacker. He then proceeded to run, searching for something to defend himself with.

The Soulless's head jerked back as both darts buried themselves deep into it's eye sockets. It gave a startled grunt, swiftly muffled by the stream of solvent silver that rushed to fill its mouth. It stumbled back, clawing at its eyes.

And Eighth's swing just missed the monster's neck.

Gripping his darts by the fletching, the creature pulled them both out in a single fluid motion. Ichor swirled in those gaping holes, and a fresh scream sounded from one of the plague-stricken. Eighth whirled to see an officer writhing on the floor, skin a ghoulish tinge, hands clasped over his eyes.

One of the victims. They lost their eyes, and the Soulless regained theirs. That means-

”hfhfff!” the sound reached Eighth. He turned to see the Soulless, pointing accusingly in his direction. Its gaping maw now brimmed with the quicksilver. The creature glared one last time before turning and running away.

Eighth swore, sprinting after the abomination. It was markedly difficult, without Seiju. He shouldered aside combatants, jumped a withered corpse, and ducked an airborne officer, blood trailing from their nose. The constables gave the Soulless a wide berth, and it gained distance swiftly.

Even as he ran, Eighth's mind raced. The thrill of the hunt thrummed through his veins.

It can't breathe. But that won't kill it. It drains the life from its victims. Nothing will kill it.

Just like the Bloodless.

And in a flash, Eighth knew how to beat the creature.

Skidding to a halt, he turned and - making firm his grip - drove his blade into the wall.

Any other blade would have snapped against the planks, or else faced unspeakable damage. But this was no sword. This was a tool of his making, specifically shaped to split brush and sever wood. The blade tore through the thin planking and flimsy plaster like a knife through water.

Eighth slashed and cut, and a triangular section of material fell to the floor at his feet. He slapped his wrist against the edge of the gap, spooling a lightline around the perimeter. A tap signaled it to release.

No weapon could kill this beast. They had no chance of beating it, not when it's opponents gave it life. No.

They needed to trap it.

They needed a trapper.

They need me.

Eighth knelt, spooling another line onto the discarded section of wall. He tapped, signaling the line to cease extending, then pulled, swinging the chunk of wood through the air. It whirled about in a circle with a satisfying thrum.

It would have to do.

Eighth drove his blade into the floor and reached out, the veins about his glove flaring to light. He felt at the quicksilver, still in the Soulless's mouth, and felt its eager response.

He clenched his hand into a fist, and yanked, pulling the quicksilver -and hopefully, the Soulless - back his way.

Quote

For the purposes of dramatic effect, I'm going to leave his plan purposefully vague. For now, the above passage suggests that Pestilence turned and ran from Eighth. Eighth is going to drag him back by the quicksilver in his head, and then do his thing.

By the way, I'm fairly free this weekend. So please feel free to take your time in responding, if that's a concern. I managed to get much of my homework out of the way.

@Koloss17

Edited September 29, 2024 by Longshot97