Hiroki and Viktoria, Zone 6, Egress Eternal
As far as Hiroki was concerned, going out and doing anything that wasn't just bashing the heads in of racist gang members seemed pretty fun right now.
"Mmm," Hiroki nodded to Irvine. "Yeah, I bet we'll find something."
Vikki (who may or may not be omnipresent or teleporting between tables Nightcrawler style given my previous posts, whatever it takes to make this make sense) finds her attention shift away from Hiroki and Irvine for a moment when she sees someone approaching.
"Hello Jakub," she gives him a polite nod. She recognized him due to how his friendship with Rodriguez and Witch would often put him in the Mantle's orbit whenever they'd go out for drinks and such.
"Don't let our cruel taskmaster get you down," she said with a wry smile. "She doesn't always know how to have fun."
Her eyes were then drawn to Ichiban, a peacekeeper, and apparently one that decided he could be a peacekeeper no longer. There was something very understandable about his lament. It wasn't easy to have the scales lifted from your eyes and realize that the path you had chosen doesn't fit your own moral values.
"If you feel as though you're putting band-aids on a sinking ship," Vikki said to the ex-yakuza. "Then perhaps the ship itself bears more of the blame than you do. It may be better - in my rather biased opinion, it is better - to find something you genuinely believe in, rather than trying to fight against the current and bring something good to a cause that you don't."
She tried to phrase her words a little more carefully than what she really felt like saying given that Jakub was present, but she still wanted to dispute the idea Ichiban had in his head that it was he who failed the Peacekeepers, rather than the other way around. While it was no doubt true that there were those among their member she respected, Witch being the chief among them, the cold truth was that all of them basically amounted to the token 'good cops' that the administrative apparatus got to tote out for good PR while the majority of them were still clownishly thuggish and idiotic and generally just unprepared to deal with the world without the use of excessive violence. Rodriguez and Ichiban left these people for a reason.
An Ordinary Oddball
Kayné Ainsel & Moloch "Moko" Kothys—Zone 7, Mirrorcatch Marshes
Kayne couldn't very well toss a freezing flask down, not when she herself had moisture on her lower half and the others might still be in the water, so she cursed and did the next best thing. She unhooked a sickle from her pack and scythed through the hair trying to tangle around her legs, unsheathing her prosthetic's claws and trying to stomp on the entangling mass. With her metal arm, she tried to drag whatever creature was on the other end closer, like Ayla had told the party to do, hopefully by inches as she hacked away at the hairs and shifted her grip forwards.
"Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" she shouted above the splashing and writhing of tentacular hair. "Steady! Somebody also please watch out for stray arrows!"
Edited by JumpingFruit on Jun 4th 2023 at 3:08:08 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
Breath of the Sun
Zone 7, Mirrorcatch Marshes
The flock descended, only for a chunk of its members to be torn out. Still, they did not relent, pecking and pecking and trying to dig their way into the beast's very soul and peck it out.
Swain would have assisted, but the tentacle hands reaching for him drew his attention first. Another beast, lurking in the water and hoping to drag them down. A poor man's Tahm Kench, he supposed.
He allowed the tendrils to grasp his demon claw, and when they pulled, he pulled back. Except he was not pulling on the body - the talon of Raum pulled at the secrets hidden within the creature. Swain's magic tugged on the creature's mind and soul with enough force that a normal human would have been killed instantly, their memories absorbed into Swain in an instant. Whether the creature was quite as vulnerable remained to be seen.
Lamb, meanwhile, made to dodge, only to realize the strands had grasped her hooves. So she was forced to awkwardly duck, the stolen arrow whizzing above her head, and the strands reached up to bind her further.
Without words, she'd called Wolf back to her side, and he vanished and reformed from her shadow in an instant. His wicked teeth bit into them as he played tug of war with the beast, while Lamb fired arrows into the water in hopes of driving the monster back.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
Mad Scientist
Zone 6, Behind the Egress Eternal; Alexi Vult
Here we are. A dumpster.
Damn. Locked.
"Hang on, let me try picking it." Grey said, having seen me try and open the dumpster.
He walked up to the lock, and pulled out a set of picks.
...
He didn't seem to be that good at picking locks. Should've known.
"Uh, hang on. Let me uh... I uh... I know what I'm doing!" Grey exclaimed, attempting to cover up his lacking skills in picking locks.
Wait, don't I still have those..?
I ruffled around my pockets. Good, I still have one.
I walked up to where Grey was.
Nathan Grey
I was slowly trying to pick the lock while also attempting to soothe my rattled nerves when Vult pushed me away from the lock, lockpicks in hand.
As in I was carrying the lockpicks, Vult was carrying some sort of small device of some kind.
...kind of looks like a lockpick on one end, actually.
I watched as she placed the lockpick end into the lock and pressed a button on the side of the mysterious device.
The device produced various mechanical sounds before suddenly...
Click. The lock unlocked, and Vult popped it open.
Huh. So that's how she got through all those doors so fast as the Fox.
"Yeah, the autopicks are pretty useful, aren't they?" Vult suddenly spoke. How did she-
Vult then said "You said the part about the doors out loud," Oh. That happened again. Whoops. "Now help me get Officer Bled into the dumpster like the trash he is."
I grabbed the legs and hoisted them up while Vult lifted his shoulders, before tossing him into the dumpster.
"You know, I'm pretty sure that he died from his heart stopping with the bullet in it, not bleeding out."
"I was joking, Grey."
"Oh," I paused to close the dumpster and relock it. That way they should look into the employees as suspects first, being the ones who had the keys. "Right so, let's get out of here."
"Good idea. Let's go." Vult replied, eager to leave.
"Wait, let me grab the gun first. We'll need to destroy it." I pointed out, wisely thinking ahead.
"Alright, alright." Vult responded, thankfully willing to wait.
I ran out and picked up the gun. Vult accompanied.
"So... how do you like Zone 4?" I inquired.
"Fine enough, I guess. Never been. We going there?" She answered and queried.
"Maybe. First, we should to Zone 5, get some plans together." I responded in turn.
"Can't we just hide out in Zone 7?" She questioned.
"No, they'll be ready for that. Everyone hides in Zone 7 if they have the chance." I countered.
"Fine. Let's go already before anyone comes by to see what the noise was." Vult spoke, urging us to leave.
So we left the area and began our trek to Zone 5, specifically to one of my hideouts the Peeks had never found.
Back on the run, I guess.
Edited by Mindris on Jun 11th 2023 at 11:53:52 AM
CT.113, days long past
The last four years had seen great success for the Outrider Knights: Even the first batch had shown themselves to outperform the average veteran Draughtsmen, and Knights with some tenure quickly proved even more effective at combating the horrors of the Incoherence. Just as Sulyvahn had told them, House Houraisan had seen its reputation further improved by the actions of their new soldiers, not that it had needed it. Both the Diet and the citizenry had no shortage of compliments for the latest innovations of Incoherence exploration or the great house credited for its patronage, but the Knights' would-be peers did not share in this joy.
The Draughtsmen had, after less than a year, found themselves derided by an admittedly-small portion of the Concordian populace, and while House Houraisan never publicly shared in this criticism – and neither did they privately hold such views – their failure to meaningfully oppose such talk had spoken volumes in the Draughtsmen's eyes. Even that had not been the worst of it, however. No, what had rankled the Draughtsmen more than anything had only happened recently: For some time, it had been suspected by some among the Draughtsmen than many Heuronauts notably preferred to be assigned Outrider Knight escort into the Incoherence, as opposed to the usual Draughtsmen contingent. Recently, those sentiments had actually made themselves heard, albeit in small number. Indeed, the Outrider Knights' success could at that time be measured in the Draughtsmen’s growing animosity. This was enough motivation for House Houraisan's savvier elements to realize something needed to be done.
The proposal to officially marry the Knights and Draughtsmen into a singular group seemed both logical and politically-convenient. On the surface, it appeared to handily solve every problem both groups had: A combined force of powerful, dedicated hero-explorers with the numbers to embark on more expeditions into the Incoherence than had ever been possible before. That’s why, when Sulyvahn himself politely objected to such an obviously-beneficial motion, Kaguya's suspicions grew exponentially.
While Kaguya had agreed to delay the integration for a short while, she also went to Myn in secret and asked him to conduct further investigation into the Knights and the specifics of their initiation rites. For his part, Myn had been wary of Sulyvahn's growing influence within the Houraisan court for years. The failure of his previous attempts to glean information about the Pontiff had only caused him to grow more suspicious. The Knights' sudden increase in physical strength, mysterious aptitude for magic even where there previously was none, and the propensity for face-concealing helmets among veteran members made it obvious to the both of them that some sort of transformation was taking place in new recruits. While neither objected to this by default, Sulyvahn's hesitation to merge with the Draughtsmen gave them pause. Myn was more than happy to see what more he could find out.
Tsuyahime, for her part, seemed to have given up on her dreams of Knighthood. Myn's tutelage had given her everything she'd wanted from it, save the celebrity status, but that was no longer important to her. No longer a rambunctious and endlessly-social child of nine, she was a serious and disciplined thirteen; Not A Child, as she would regularly insist, and Myn had no hope of proving otherwise. He hadn’t expected it would be quite like this, but this arrangement was more than he could have hoped for. Among Myn's lessons to her was the advice that being the center of attention often earned one nothing but the attention of those who wished to cause them harm. The same – and more – could be accomplished with a more private life, and she had taken that lesson to heart. Myn thought he had, as well.
_________________________
Zone 7 Hunting Grounds, Mirrorcatch Marshes
The man called Finch acknowledges Rebecca’s compliment with a curt nod. No time to dwell on it. Her small stature belies a great deal of firepower. He can use that if his quarry can be flushed from the treeline. Without his horse, he’s no less mobile, but if he’s injured or has to carry one of the others back, that will make it more difficult. Best not to get injured, then.
At that moment, he knows they are not safe in the water. He feels their presence before he sees them: Inky black tendrils just below the surface; a living spiderweb intent on pulling them under. In the next instant, his sword is already drawn from beneath his coat. A thin xian of grey, industrial metal. The flesh of his hand completes the circuit. The blade begins emitting a quiet but high-pitched whine. It vibrates with nearly imperceptible frequency, just a fraction of a millimeter, thousands of times a second. The moment the first tendril emerges from beneath the water, he is upon it, slicing into it with practiced speed and precision. At the instant of contact, the blade’s whine becomes a horrible screech, as loud as the bullets being sent into the trees, undercut by a wet hiss of something melting into slop. In addition to allowing for incredible cutting power, the build-up of speed causes the blade to heat up to a blistering temperature.
Should the tentacle not be immediately stymied, Finch would slice into again and again until satisfied it is no longer an immediate threat. Only then would he move on to the next one, and each in turn as quickly as he could manage.
"We need to get out of the water! We're not safe here!" he yells between slashes.
Should the others take his advice, he will begin making a fighting retreat in whichever direction they head. He knows very well that none of them will last long if separated from the group.
Edited by DoctorThunder on Jun 4th 2023 at 5:31:46 AM
Rebecca - Zone Seven - The Mirrorcatch Marshes
She didn't need tracking software to tell the target was moving away from the group, and it was too far away for her to get a clean shot. Long range had never been a strength of hers. She couldn't even see it, not really, just the implication of its location based on the movement of flailing limbs and shuddering trees. Fortunately there were others more suited to that immediate task, but it left her itching for something to do.
She didn't have to wait long. The cavewoman cosplayer shouted about the water, and she saw movement as her eyes snapped down. Tendrils of hair shot out to assault them, long and slick and very very gross, and a disgusted sneer crossed her face.
At least it looked like some of the others were better equipped to deal with the tendrils than she was. The definitely-a-cowboy had pulled out a sword and started hacking at the hair. It wasn't the sort of thing ninjas or samurai liked, but she'd never heard of a cowboy carrying a sword. The idiots in 6th Street stuck to guns, revolvers if they were trying to be nostalgic. But never swords. Not like it mattered right now. As long as it didn't end up in her back, she didn't care.
Patience also wasn't a strength of hers, and Rebecca quickly lowered her machinegun and began to unload into the water- aiming at the bases of the tendrils- all while carefully moving back away from the shore along with most of the rest of the group. An unpleasant realization had crept up on her as the creature had ambushed them; She wasn't used to working with this many people so close together. Most of the didn't have guns or look like they could stand up to a hit from what she was packing. She couldn't rely on any of them being smart enough or quick enough to stay clear of her firing lanes, except for maybe the ninja who fancied himself a cowboy. That meant she'd have to be careful, and it pissed her off. Hopefully she'd actually retained some of Maia's training.
She groaned, which quickly turned into a growl as she shouted "Come fuckin' get some, shithead! I got plenty to go around!"
Hairs pulled back from the water on Ayla's club don't seem to have much to anchor them to - in fact, the majority of the black mass around her club simply get torn out of whatever they were anchored to underneath. These things write in the air for a moment, seemingly disoriented by her mighty shakes, before they reorient. Seemingly, it doesn't matter what end of the strands attack. They're animate beings when on their own, and so, the ends that Ayla just pulled from the water start trying to attack her from her very own club.
Similarly, Kayne's dragging doesn't do much to each strand as an individual entity, beyond pulling them from whatever it was on the other end. Her slicing and dicing are more effective though, because they seem to have their own limits - once severed, each strand would rather retreat that continue fighting, slipping back into the water. There is hope in the fight yet! Rebecca's gunfire into the water in pursuit...looked cool, I guess.
The severed hairs, though, they seemingly had a mind of their own. Fallen into the water, they began to coalesce. With every severed member of their strange kind, these black worm-piles grew, until each of them (around three in number) made an entire body for themselves. Black hands, comprised entirely of this slick hair, writhed and wriggled until they reached out to grab at anyone and everyone within sight.
Lamb's return fire, more haphazard than the first shot, went into the thicket. Some went wide, others scraped against the trees and lost momentum, and others hit the beast but apparently not in the right places for as violent of a reaction as before. Inaudible between the constant crack of gunfire, everyone's hurried shouts and the torrential rain, one snap was made as the beast took an arrow from its arm and broke it in twain, seemingly in anger.
Swain's crows continued to peck, and flesh was torn, but the attrition they were facing started to outpace the damage they were inflicting. Despite the seemingly independent nature of the tendrils, though, they seemed to have a shard of their originating form contained within them...or, some kind of immaterial connection that lead back to its controller. A memory was taken, sole and fragmentary, for the mind that it was stolen from was just as shattered.
The Pontiff was a very tall man.
When I had first met him, I saw him standing at the head of the room, stock-still. I looked at him, his grey skin and the obscuring mask, and I thought to myself 'what a strange statue to have in a church'. It clearly looked like it was meant to be a religious ornament with its gold-trimmed robes, but I didn't imagine the Knights would build an idol like this - or that their leader could be as tall as a tree.
It was only when I heard him speak, and his head slightly turn - I could feel him looking at me though I couldn't see his eyes - that I jumped a little, and realized who I was talking to. He paid my startle no mind.
I was left without words for a little bit. I had set in mind a great plan for how I'd present myself before the Pontiff, to make him realize I was serious about my duties, and I seemed to have misplaced it shortly after arriving. I stuttered, and felt like a great fool...but the Pontiff raised a hand. A hand that also looked like a tree limb, but scabbed, scarred, weathered like wet bark. He said something like 'Do not worry yourself. This world of ours is a gentle one. Few are like me.' I paused, but I figured that he was talking about his looks - that must be something he dealt with often.
I held up my hand and I calmed myself. His voice was soothing, not like I'd imagined at all, and I was able to keep myself steady, perhaps because of it. Without a better plan to come to mind, I just looked up at him and said, 'I am Tsuyahime.'
'I know,' he replied.
I was expected. The elite, the ones who Mother and Father always spent their time with, they had a knack for knowing who was meant to be where. At least, in my experience. I wasn't thrown off, and I puffed out my chest, and in a clear voice I said 'I wish to become a...'
The rest of the memory, for better or worse, was yet to be pulled free by Swain.
There was a pause in the beast's running through the woods after he had done that. It came to a slow stop, and then it turned, only moving to swat away and kill birds that got close. Then, there was a little bit of yellow beyond the darkness of the swamp's trees. A single yellow eye turned to the group, and with it, an intelligence and a memory.
Then, MUCH faster than it had ran around the group, the beast broke through the thicket and made its real debut.
It was huge, at least as long as a bus, and the majority of its body was comprised of the many grey arms that radiated outward from some unseen central mass. Two massive ones ran at its sides, coated in a black something and both curtained by the long, slick black hair that ran down its entire body and into the mire below. At first it was hard to spot anything that might look like a head, but it was hidden among the matted hair - peeking out as it shook away its mane with fury, you can just catch glimpses of a conical, beastial snout rimmed with teeth, and many yellow eyes that lack pupils but still can be seen rolling madly in their sockets.
It bore down on the man wielding the xian, Finch, throwing its massive body through the water at breakneck speed. If it managed to reach him in time...well, you can imagine that it's probably best that you keep it from doing exactly that.
An Ordinary Oddball
Kayné Ainsel & Moloch "Moko" Kothys—Zone 7, Mirrorcatch Marshes
"Shit! Finch!" Kayne exclaimed above the din of violently sloshing mirror-water and squelching mud. She was one of the first to reach shore on the far side of the marsh, though she turned around to check the progress of the others. When she did so, she disengaged from fighting with the hair golems to run along the shallow bank of the marsh—she could always take care of them with her plasma pistol later, after all, now that she knew about how tough the hair could be when confronted with her sickle. "Look out!"
The angle was awkward and so was holding an eminently unaerodynamic vial. But the great big lumbering cryptid was thundering towards Myn-Finch from a position away from everyone else, who were being chased towards solid ground. That left scant time for Kayne to rear back with a faint whirring in her mechanical arm as she hauled it forwards in a picture-perfect pitching motion. The vial sailed, end-over-end, through the humid air, and landed—plop!—in the water between the quarry-turned-hunter and Myn-Finch, sending out jagged ripples reminiscent of broken glass—or a shattered mirror.
Kayne watched with bated breath. The fall had to have been long and forceful enough to let the vial shatter and release its payload of alchemical ice. The very same admixture that she had used in the battle at Founder's Park, in fact, had been in that vial. If it did not stop the frenzied beast entirely, it should at least slow it down on its way to its target.
Edited by JumpingFruit on Jun 11th 2023 at 3:15:59 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
Fear me
Ayla, Marsh
-Her club proving inefficient at taking out the hairs, Ayla proceeds to use the sharpest tool available to her.-
-Grabbing a handful of hairs in either fist and bringing them up to her mouth, she bites down hard, yanking, ripping and tearing like a Reptite into a fresh kill.-
V clenched his fists, as his mantis blades extended. He swung at the hairs, kereznikov boosting his reflexes forward, the amount of chrome in his body.
"That's right, slice em up! SHRED EM!" Johnny screamed in his brain.
V's goal at this point was to keep the hairs from reaching the others.
Breath of the Sun
Zone 7, Mirrorcatch Marshes
The ravens fled to regroup, not wanting to diminish their numbers and lose by attrition. Swain did not so much as blink as the memory flashed through his mind, realizing at once the implications.
Though he was not a First Farer, Swain had been around long enough to have met the Pontiff. He was not surprised that Sulyvahn had created such a beast.
Gathering his flock, and by extension his magic, Swain held out his demon claw and murmured, "Nevermore."
A large, ethereal talon emerged, flying rapidly towards the beast with the intent to latch on and pull it away from Finch. Ideally this would trip the creature, or at least stagger it long enough for the others to get licks in.
The Kindred turned their focus to the worm-monsters. Lamb riddled them with arrows, while Wolf lunged with sharp teeth. He made to chew and swallow them, as best he could. That which was eaten by the Wolf was consigned to nothingness, which would hopefully kill them.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
CT.114, days long past
"Absolutely not. I thought we were past this."
"You were past this, Father. You never listen"
"You told me yourself that you wished to continue my lessons..."
"I do! Father, I love you, and your lessons are wonderful, and I love the time we've spent together, but I want more than just this! There is no prestige to be found in the house, practicing my katas."
"Tsuyahime, you don't know what you’re asking."
"Because I’m a child, right? Because I couldn't possibly know what I want?"
"Yes. I know you think you know what you want, but you don't."
"......"
"Tsuyahime...it brings me no pleasure to deny you this."
"...When has that ever stopped you?"
"Watch your tone, child."
"......"
"Tsuyahime, you are my only daughter. I love you, and I want you to be safe. Your mother and I are in agreement that the Outrider Knights are not where you belong."
"And when will I be allowed to hold an opinion about my own life? When will that day come? When will I be permitted to live!?"
"We have our reasons, and that should be enough for you."
"How can they be if you and Mother will not even tell me what they are!?"
"I've told you before: The Knights are a punishment; a tool to serve Concordia and to do more good than they otherwise would have. You are better than that, Tsuyahime."
"That isn't the whole truth! I know what you think of the Pontiff, so why will you not tell me why you hate him so!?"
"Enough."
"Why, Father?"
"Because your mother and I say so."
"That's not a reason!"
"This conversation is over."
"No it is not! I am not a child, and I will not be talked down to!"
"Be silent! You are not to speak to Sulyvahn again!!"
"I hate you!!"
She did not, and Myn knew that. But as his daughter stormed from the room, he felt as if he’d been struck. Furious that she could hurt him in this way, he chose not to pursue her. He would talk to her later, when both their tempers had cooled, so as to maintain what he saw as the moral high ground.
Four decades later, this memory would catapult Myn from sleep time and time again; this, the culmination of his greatest regrets.
_____________________
Zone 7 Hunting Grounds, Mirrorcatch Marshes
The man called Finch hears her before he sees her, but her size ensures he sees her almost immediately. The thing whose shape she occupies is bigger than he'd remembered; quicker, too. Her largest limbs dwarf his entire body, and he guesses she could break him in two with the strength she clearly possesses.
Fleeing is not an option. If he does, she'll catch him before he can escape the water. He will have to stand and fight. He levels his handgun and fires twice. The bullets do nothing to slow her down. The hands that make up her body pluck them from the air before they can reach her. For a moment, his mask slips, and he's Myn again. Even the motions of the fingers are the same as he'd taught her. After all this time, it's like he was right back in the Houraisan manor, showing her how to move like he can. She's close enough that he can feel her chi now. Decades later, he still recognizes her. Behind Sulyvahn's corrupting influence, it's still unmistakable to him. He could never forget. He could never forget her.
This is wrong. This is wrong. He can't do this. She is so strong, and so beautiful, and so much better than what Sulyvahn turned her into. He is sure his sword will cut her, but if she reaches him now, he will not be able to raise a hand against her. She will not afford him that courtesy. He knows this. She will kill him. Maybe that's alright. He is so tired.
A spiderweb of alchemical ice plumes across the water's surface. Myn snaps out of his fugue, and again he is Jeremiah Finch. Even if it only lasted a second, he can't afford to waste any more of those. With any luck, Finch thinks, the ice will force her to slow down to maintain her balance. That’s his only hope of getting to a more advantageous position before she reaches him. He turns and breaks into a sprint, back towards the group.
His gun won't harm her. Even if he can bypass her myriad hands, he'll just injure some of the smaller limbs making up her body. He'll need to rely on his sword if he's going to deal actual damage. There is one other option, but to inflict the harmonies upon her must be a last resort.
Assuming he is caught, despite Kayne's efforts, he will defend himself. He knows his sword will cut her. This cannot continue. She must be allowed to die. He tells himself that she is suffering. He has no way of knowing this, but it is what he must believe.
Edited by DoctorThunder on Jun 12th 2023 at 12:55:26 PM
Rebecca - Zone Seven - The Mirrorcatch Marshes
Whether her shots were ineffective against the tendrils or simply failing to land made no difference to her. She was able to realize that her weaponry was ill-suited for the current task. And just as the hairdresser's nightmare took a more shootable form, those in the group more suited to dealing with them set to work and got in her line of sight.
"Tch."
She stopped firing and lowered her gun slightly. There was no way she was getting a clean shot on any of them now. At least rockerboy had some decent chrome to help get the job done, which meant she could probably afford to leave him to handle the hair.
Just then, she saw the creature lunge. "Oh, you're an ugly bastard, ain'tcha!" she yelled at it as it approached, breaking clear of the trees so she could get a good look at it for the first time. It'd looked big off in the distance, but it was still larger than she expected. That was good for her; It mean she wouldn't have to aim as hard.
Something was weird, though. It was rushing straight towards the cowboy, who hadn't done anything to it yet. Not the general or the weird creatures who'd been pestering it so far. It'd attacked him first in the ambush, too.
Pondering the deeper implications of this was above her pay grade, and thus tossed to the wind in favor of lighting the beast up. The creature was fast, and she was out of its immediate path, which gave her an opportunity to cause some carnage. She saw the vial of something burst, spreading ice onto the water. That gave her an idea, and as she saw Finch rush back she whipped around and hurled her shotgun towards him, shouting "Think fast, cowboy! Mind the punch!" It was a gamble that he'd even be able to shoot it without breaking his arm, but one shot of that would be better than his dinky six shooter ever could.
The overall available firepower of the group thus increased, she leveled the machine gun back on target and unleashed hell again, slowly backing away from the creature as she did so. With any luck, their combined firepower would be able to slow it down enough they could cripple it, if not outright kill it.
This was going to be one hell of a payday.
It would be said, some time later when the events of this hunt were under discussion by other parties, that there must have been some kind of hidden gambit in Ayla's attempt to eat hair. She didn't just see hair and think 'oh boy, that stuff looks yummy,' she had a plan. Of course she actually did, but the idea that a cavewoman would have such powerful teeth was lost on them.
The real issue there was, aside from having a mouthful of torn hair that had been dragged through a swamp for quite some time, her effort was only 99% effective. One hair, alone and defiant among its kin, had survived the thrashing and tried to take its revenge. With much more strength than a hair should have, it tried to force itself into a rigid, upright line with intent to keep her mouth open...no, to wrench apart her jaw! Would she let a hair best her this way?
Of the assembled hair-constructs, they had superior strength but overall less durability. Their forms, cut apart by scythe and teeth (and thankfully Wolf had a more robust digestion to succeed where Ayla had been caught), tried to reform but found it increasingly difficult each time - their structures were being cut up and couldn't reform, instead only trying to quickly knit their bonds back together. The arrows of Lamb were not as effective in dealing damage, but they did hinder by giving them something to get tangled around. As if to stop this, one with three bolts in its mass had succeeded in getting around Wolf's rampage, and it reached out to her - not to attack her fully, but to try and snap apart her bow of otherworldly make.
With their work done, the majority of the hair-constructs had been damaged to the point that they were considerably less of a threat, but several of them were reforming into one larger one: a lone tendril, at least 20 feet long, and with a pointed tip that seemed sharp enough to function as a spear! It had its target in this instance, if only because she was closest, being Rebecca. It snaked around the group with frightening speed, trying to sneak behind her and stab her through the torso.
The beast itself was torn and shot and blown apart, arms seen limp here and hanging on only by yellow sinew there, but overall the monster didn't seem to be that hampered. Far from it, as its screams reached fever pitch, the pain only seemed to invigorate it to attack more violently and with less self-preservation.
It would've had a terrible time if it was directly hit by the blast of freezing liquid, being soaked to the bone and with many fragile limbs to shatter, but it did not - it caught itself as the glass broke, pushing backwards and leaving a wave of water from its momentum, and the ice forming a floating and growing patch that continued to spread outward as it rose and fell along with the rest of the swamp's unnatural movement.
Instead, it wheeled around the patch to try and continue, but found a hook-claw embed deep into whatever meat lay beneath the limbs. The force Swain used to pull actually tore this flesh free of the body, sending several grasping limbs to try and grab at them with whatever reptilian vitality they had left, but more importantly it still pulled the beast itself - straight into the patch.
Immediately it was all-but rooted into place, and with a sickening crack multiple limbs already snapped under the weight of its totality. The beast wasn't done, though - it reached forward to grab Finch with one of its large locomotive arms, wrapping its ghastly fingers and holding him up like he was a doll. It could've ended it right there, squeezing him to death and giving him nothing more than a few seconds left in this world, but it didn't.
It attempted to eat him instead.
He could hack at the arm and the fingers around him as he pleased, and it'd leave deep cuts and dent bone, but it would be too quick to free himself. He faced certain death, staring into the hundred-toothed maw of the monster, only leaving the option he so wished to avoid...or to drop the sword and grab the shotgun that Rebecca just threw at him.
CT.100
On a day like any other, Myn remembers the Houraisan doctor, sworn to secrecy, had allowed him enter the Matriarch's chambers to hold his newborn daughter for just a few minutes. Kaguya, fatigued but no worse for wear than any other time she had borne a child, had reassured him that all babies looked a bit misshapen the moment they’re born. She'd obviously noticed he'd looked a bit confused. Myn remembers he had turned away to hide the tears in his eyes.
He'd missed the birth of his own child back home. Even if he'd returned safely back then, they'd have been a child of, what, thirteen, fourteen winters? He couldn't even remember anymore. If he woke up the next morning and he were back home, he would not be able to recognize his own flesh and blood if he saw them. He knew not if they were a man or a woman. He did not know if his wife had remarried, though he told himself that he hoped she did not suffer alone in his absence. This tiny child he'd held in his arms, divine in her nature, was the first child of his he'd ever had a chance to know. Back home, a girl of mixed blood would have never been given a chance to show how great she could become. What an injustice that had seemed to Myn. How shortsighted that they might not see her for what she was. Science must account for exceptions, and his daughter was an unmistakably one of them.
Myn remembers the room had been silent for a time. The doctor had cleared their throat and made up some excuse to be nearer to Kaguya, and Myn knew this was an attempt to help him save face. One of his tears fell onto the silk blanket in which his daughter was swaddled. She stirred for other reasons, her large, chocolate-brown eyes now quizzically regarding his face, but in that moment, Myn worried that he had somehow disturbed his infant daughter. Kaguya had asked him if he wanted to hand their daughter back.
"No, just...just a minute longer, please." Myn remembers saying.
Myn can remember hearing the smile in Kaguya's voice as she said she supposed that was alright. He dried his eyes on his sleeve, then smiled softly at his daughter. Such joy he had not felt in a long, long time. Kaguya had told him before that their child would be named Tsuyahime, and while it had seemed perfectly acceptable before, Myn now felt, with his tiny daughter staring up at him in his arms, that it was the most beautiful name he could imagine.
__________________
Zone 7 Hunting Grounds, Mirrorcatch Marshes
Just as Myn feared, he is unable to bring himself to harm Tsuyahime before she seizes him in her gargantuan hand. Any single strike of his would not have stopped her, but anything would have been more productive than this. Her fingers might have been weakened enough for him to make a quick escape; a cut tendon could have meant a more likely escape for him; her eyes, an obvious target on any foe whenever reaching them is possible, would have been perfect. Instead, Myn is paralyzed by the reality of what he has come here to do.
Myn has known she was out here, somewhere, for decades. He must have let a hundred chances to hunt her down pass him by. He knows she is untouched by natural causes, and what she has become is unlikely to be killed by anything else found out here. Death would not come for her unless he brought it to her. The image of what Sulyvahn had turned her into has haunted him for so long. He has seen his death at her hands thousands of times, but much more frightening were the times he’d seen himself succeed.
The harmonies will take too long. They truly are not an option now. Even someone known to him as she is will require at least a minute. He has to free himself. She's so much stronger than he is. Even if he were to hack away at her gnarled, horrible fingers, there is no guarantee he will be able to escape in time. He needs something immediate. Even a few seconds of freedom could be enough.
The girl, Rebecca, has tossed him her shotgun. Even sailing through the air, Myn can see it’s exactly what he needs. In less than a second, it will be in his hands. The xian he is still holding whines dangerously as the blade vibrates back and forth a thousand times a second. He can feel the heat coming off it once more. With all his strength, he throws it, blade-first, at one of the beast's enormous yellow eyes. Even they've been changed into something less than she deserves. If it should connect, Myn hopes it will deal some considerable damage, or at least distract her long enough for the rest of his desperate gambit.
Now that his hands are free, he snatches Rebecca's shotgun from the air. It's heavy; much heavier than a normal shotgun. Myn can only imagine what it must fire. It's exactly what he needs. Using his chi to brace his arms in preparation for the kickback he knows is coming, Myn takes aim at the beast's gaping maw and fires. He screams with fury and anguish. His heart breaks. Then he does it again; and again. Until he is either freed from the beast's grasp or his ammunition runs dry, he continues to tear himself apart inside to save himself. If given the chance, he’ll flee from Tsuyahime’s grasp, and he’ll do all he can for now to buy himself that chance. He’s made his choice.
Edited by DoctorThunder on Jun 12th 2023 at 3:23:10 AM
Fear me
Ayla, Marsh
-Distracted by the foul taste of the hair, even for someone accustomed to the taste of dinosaur carrion, Ayla fails to notice the hair until it is already inside and pushing up. She immediately bites down, but finds herself unable to close down on the invader. She tries to wrap her club around it, giving her a better grip to push it away, and sees Kay-ne out of the corner of her eye. Though her tongue and jaws are occupied, she managed to force most of the words out.-
ay-eeeeh! Gi Eya arp ing!
Mancunian Candidate
Zone Six; Industrial Atelier - Dio Brando
This was the man himself. It could have been the first time that I had ever laid my eyes upon him, in flesh and without nametag, and I would have known intuitively - there was a frail erectness to him, a certain threat of red-cheeked pomp, a steel-eyed boldness held aloft by wistful and sincerest ignorance. I knew this intimately. Old money had descended here to talk to me, or in its place, at least, some strange transitional nouveau-riche. His suit was well-cut, immaculate, and he reeked in turns of pomade and fine cologne.
In any case, I'd been anticipated. He knew a little, the generalities, roast beans and the holy cross. The specifics had eluded him. In each of his jacket-pockets he'd stockpiled little miracles, anonymous and thrumming, wonders the sort I could not under any circumstance allow him to retrieve, yet stood rod-straight within ten metres, within remote arms reach. Just enough to make himself a danger, then; just enough to get himself killed. I had been fortunate. At the moment he discovered the depth of his mistake, and this I knew with absolute immediacy, I would no longer be able to allow him to leave with his life.
I smiled and raised my hands, slowly, palms open. In that particular instant, I rather liked the man.
"You have me at quite a disadvantage, Mister Brand," I said. "There's no need to be coy. Think of it as a matter of principle. I'm sure you value Greed quite greatly. I'd greatly value removing him. This seems like a fine opportunity to do business, don't you think?
There was something else, between the pomade and the cologne and the sweat, something damp and odourless beading on his neck. I cocked my head and smiled all the wider.
"Is that holy water, Mister Brand?"
There was a sickening squelch as the sword was used as a pilum, and it sunk into the socket of one of the larger eyes of the thing. Its internal fluid rushed forth, actually having some kind of luminescence that didn't shine a bright yellow but instead the pale blue of the moon - it covered everything to the beast's right side, staining the swamp water with its glow and its stench that is fouler than everything around it. The sword, vibrating and cutting as it jostles around, sits into the socket and then downward. It creates a deep gash along its face, a canyon of black-red before it drops off the face and into the water below.
The creature was already in grave pain from this wound, and the screaming it made was loud enough to disorient and nauseate simply from its sheer volume. The pain that Myn must've underwent was not only emotional, as his torso was constricted further in its throes of agony, and then he was assaulted by the noise around him. There was about to be a final, forceful shove of the man into the waiting rows, but he made his choice.
First shot. One shot would've been enough to kill a man and send pieces of his body across the room. The sound of screaming stopped entirely, and the inside of the monster's mouth became far less recognizable.
Second shot. There was a gush of blood as one of the oversized pellets shot straight through the back end of its head, having torn right through the tender flesh of the roof.
Third shot. The upper half of the mouth split in half. Sinew, arteries draped across the gap like morbid decorations, and the mouth opened up further in a tripartite yawn. Myn was released from her grasp.
After a moment of...one could imagine shock, if it had the capacity for such, the beast turned around. With the damage inflicted upon it, and the agony it must've gone through, it tried to limp back into the woods from whence it came.
An Ordinary Oddball
Kayné Ainsel & Moloch "Moko" Kothys—Zone 7, Mirrorcatch Marshes
"Ayla! Here!" Kayne said, rushing over to cut Ayla free from the hairs with her sickle. As soon as Ayla had enough movement freed up to take the sickle entirely, Kayne passed it off to the cavewoman, and turned back to the hunt that was no longer a hunt, and more of a confluence of butchery as Finch was able to pull of an impressive series of point-blank shots. What was more worrying, however, was that the strains of the hunt were getting to him, as Kayne guessed, lacking context about the situation. "Finch, stop screaming and back up, dammit! Get clear!" she added, once he was also able to get free.
Whether he did get clear was of no consequence, as Kayne snapped a previously decorative bullet from the leather cord around her neck. In fact, it had been fashioned from one of Wolf's teeth, pulled from his maw when he had complained of a toothache once. She loaded it up into the old hunting rifle that she'd brought with her, unslinging it from her back and fumbling with it for a moment as she did so. Fortunately, the bullet had been carved into shape and would likely remain unbroken even after firing.
Then Kayne aimed for the back of the beast's neck as it limped away and pulled the trigger.
Edited by JumpingFruit on Jun 15th 2023 at 1:20:20 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
CT.114
Not twenty-four hours after forbidding Tsuyahime from speaking to Sulyvahn again, Myn suddenly found both his daughter and the Pontiff had vanished. The minute the news came in, Myn gathered what Peacekeepers and Houraisan enforcers he could find on short notice and led the search personally. All Myn could think of as he and his retinue threw open doors and tore through Tsuyahime's known haunts was the possibility of his daughter being spirited away from Concordia and into the non-euclidean wilderness beyond its borders.
Myn and the others searched for hours without rest. His daughter and the Pontiff were nowhere to be found. The first set of Peacekeepers were dismissed and thanked for their assistance, a second group took their place, and the search carried on. Myn stayed with them into the small hours of the morning, when he could no longer maintain enough focus to be of assistance. Tsuyahime and Sulyvahn remained unaccounted for. This search was repeated the next day, and the day after that. Myn was forced to accept that his health would fail him if he did not take at least a day to rest. That day was spent counting the hours until he was well enough to return to the search, drifting off into a fitful sleep, then waking up and realizing that an infuriatingly brief amount of time had passed.
CT.114 – four days after Sulyvahn's disappearance
An enormous beast with three pairs of eyes and a crocodile's maw had been spotted at the edge of the Incoherence. The report stated that a figure matching Pontiff Sulyvahn's description had been spotted nearby. A group of ten Draughtsmen led by Master Jengbish were sent to put the monster down. Myn insisted he accompany them. The battle with the creature lasted all of a minute, and in that time, three of their number were killed, and four others had required immediate medical attention. Jengbish's armor had prevented him from losing an arm to the beast's massive teeth. Myn’s family sword, carried with him since long before he'd arrived in Concordia, had been next to useless. The beast's great matted fur proved too tough to cut or stab through effectively, and he'd had to rely on other means to fight it. Myn resolved to be better prepared next time.
Though he hadn't thought to do so during the battle, Myn could still feel the slowly-dissipating chi from the deceased monster, and his breath caught in his throat. This thing was unmistakably a Houraisan; one of the failed children they'd given to Sulyvahn. Myn had suspected for years that some sort of transformation was taking place among the Knights, but to see it with his own eyes now was like an icy hand around his heart. If Tsuyahime was with Sulyvahn, was this to be her fate? How long did they have? The change could not be immediate. But how long?
"Councilor,” Jengbish's enormous hand now dwarfed Myn's shoulder, a consoling gesture Myn was not used to seeing from the Astartes. Myn could even see what looked to be genuine sympathy in the giant man’s face. "He will not escape us."
Myn's expression hardened. This monster – this thing in human skin – sought now to comfort him in this terrible hour? No, men were capable of this, but Jengbish was far more than a man, and was therefore far less. So removed was Jengbish from the imperfections of humanity that surely he could not understand a mortal's pain. He could feel a bullet or blade sink into his flesh, and that he could understand, but could an Astartes feel heartache? Could he even comprehend what might cause that? Of course Myn wanted Sulyvahn caught and killed. Of course he did. But he would have let a hundred Sulyvahns roam free if he could have his daughter back.
Jengbish could never understand that. How could he if Myn could hardly understand it himself?
"...I know. I know I can count on you for this." Myn finally replied, his voice hoarse.
CT.114 – eight days after Sulyvahn’s disappearance
Myn did not venture out into the Incoherence again. Jengbish could handle things. In the interim, Myn's investigation into Sulyvahn's greater plot concluded. The Pontiff had been planning to poison the members of House Houraisan. Myn's assumption was that this was some sort of power grab, and he was entirely too distracted to ponder other possibilities. Logic dictated that the immortal Houraisans had nothing to fear, but Sulyvahn's notes revealed he had believed it would have worked, though Myn could find nothing explaining this belief. Still, it was a frightening proposition if there ever was one.
Sulyvahn's flight from Concordia had, according to his notes, been due to Myn's investigation closing in on him. Myn thought he had obfuscated his actions carefully, but the Pontiff was an even more obstinately careful man. The notes also referenced meetings with prospective Knights, including Tsuyahime; nothing especially damning, but given how everything had transpired, Myn was not pleased to learn the Pontiff had had his eye on his daughter for some time.
On the eighth day of the search, the report came in: Sulyvahn was dead. Jengbish's party had surrounded him and, after a bloody and drawn-out skirmish, laid him low. There had been no sign of anyone with him at the time. Sulyvahn was dead, and Tsuyahime was still missing. Myn had nodded mutely throughout the report, given his thanks for service well-performed, then sequestered himself in his remote room in the Houraisan manor. Like so many things, he found it reminded him of his daughter, and that meant he could not stay there much longer. He would depart come the next morning. Until then, however, he wanted desperately to remember all he could about her.
''For nearly the next four decades, Myn would occasionally take it upon himself to expedition out into the Incoherence again. While he was by no means a trained Draughtsman, he was able to handle himself well in a fight, and he knew when to avoid trouble. His people's meditation principles were similar enough to those of a Heuronaut for him to be able to at least make a way for himself during short trips. Most days, he found nothing; such was the nature of that place.
Eventually, and after numerous false positives, he finally located her. Fully six years after her disappearance, Myn found his daughter. He could recognize her only by her chi, but she was unmistakably Tsuyahime. She'd spotted him as well. He'd had to flee. With a heavy heart and rekindled determination, he swore to himself that he would find some way to restore her human form.
At the time, he'd truly believed there might be a way.
__________________
Zone 7 Hunting Grounds, Mirrorcatch Marshes
Finch lands unsteadily with both feet atop the water. Remaining upright is painful. Breathing is painful. Several of his ribs are cracked, if not worse. But, he consoles himself, he's avoided the worst of it. He's this close to finally putting an end to this. Myn sees his sword lying in the water, having carved right through the monster's grotesque eye and part of its head. It had worked after all.
He won’t be able to get near it without moving closer to the retreating beast. Even with most of her head torn open, Tsuyahime would not need much effort to kill him as he is now. Even maintaining his position on top of the water is difficult. Finch takes his finger off the trigger of Rebecca's shotgun and, gingerly, takes the few steps backwards needed to reach a nearby islet in the swamp. He knows what he has to do.
"...If y'all can finish it off, do it!" Finch yells, keeping his eye on the beast and nothing else. "Or, if you'll gimme a minute, and can keep it from gettin' away...I'll end it myself."
Sixty seconds. That's all he needs. The Poisoned Harmonies, among the greatest of the Songsphere's chi control techniques: Control of ones personal chi is difficult enough to take a lifetime to master. Manipulating the chi of others is more difficult still, but by no means impossible; Myn had done so a month prior to prevent a Concordanite cultist from manifesting another Lorem Ipsum in front of the apartment complex in Zone 2. That had merely blocked the flow of chi to the man’s heart and lungs, however; debilitating in the short-term, to be sure, but not like this.
No, the most challenging manipulation of all is to remotely control all the chi in a person's body, and to force it to evacuate the body it inhabits via the path of least resistance: Directly through the skin. The subject is torn apart by their body's own internal energy. The subject dies quickly, and the pain is extremely brief. The subject generally goes into shock almost instantly, which is of some small comfort to Myn in this moment.
Crucially, the Harmonies can only affect those related to the user by blood. This makes its application in warfare almost entirely useless, but is the perfect method of quashing the ambitions of a treacherous brother or an upstart nephew. Filial piety enforced at gunpoint is still a kind of unity. Were Myn still in the Songsphere, his anguish would be understood instantly, and he would be lauded for his self-sacrifice: He must lose a child so that his family's honor might be preserved, although use on a daughter is all but unheard of, as women only rarely hold political office back home.
Myn tells himself this is the right thing to do. He tells himself that this is a selfless act, and that Tsuyahime will finally know peace. He tells himself that she will finally be allowed to pass into the arms of her ancestors as herself, and that she will be free of this dreadful place. Every justification he has told himself for thirty-eight years, and oh, there are many of them. None of them seem good enough. But they're the best he has, and he knows he's come too far not to listen to them now.
Myn inhales deeply, centering himself as best he can, and preparing to invisibly lash his chi out at his daughter's twisted body. He just needs sixty agonizingly-long seconds. He can only hope he will be allowed that time.
Edited by DoctorThunder on Jun 17th 2023 at 9:09:13 AM
Breath of the Sun
Zone 7, Mirrorcatch Marshes
Lamb twisted her body so as to deny her bow to the creature, and it grasped at her body instead. Even as it tried to entangle her and her weapon, Wolf flew back to her side, snapping and pulling at it to keep it away from his better half.
Swain maneuvered himself to cut off the escape of the limping beast, and raised his claw, which began to glow with crimson magic. His gaze was solemn as he stared down at Tsuyahime.
"Pitiful child." He murmured, quiet enough that few would hear him. "Sacrificing oneself for glory, hoping to attain the love you already had. How foolish."
He swung his claw, and louder he intoned: "Death's Hand."
Bolts of magic exploded from his hand like a shotgun blast.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
Rebecca - Zone Seven - The Mirrorcatch Marshes
As the hail of bullets tore through the creature, Rebecca didn't even spare the attention to visually recognize that Finch had in fact caught her proferred weapon, instead noticing by the concussive punctuation he added to her own symphony of explosions. She would've taken a certain amount of pride in it, if she weren't already thoroughly enjoying herself in the process of obliterating their shared target. Finally, she noticed the third shot, and the shit-eating grin on her face spread wider. The beast's head had been split wide open from multiple angles, and it began to limp away, like it thought it could escape. "Booyah motherfucker! That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about!"
She stopped shooting to re-evaluate the target, and heard the splash of water. The beast had dropped the cowboy, who was once again standing on the surface. He hobbled back towards land, and she groaned, equal parts annoyance at him and at herself. Someone had evidently been a good influence on her.
"Hold still, will ya?" she said, lowering her machine gun and waddling over to the injured man. His vitals were all over the place; It was a miracle he was still standing. Her free hand shuffled around in the pouch of her hoodie and pulled out a small roll of paper, which she quickly inspected and found to thankfully still be sufficiently dry. At least, based on the provided instructions, anyway. She'd never actually used them on herself before.
She bit the edge of the roll and pulled with her free hand, unraveling a thick piece of parchment heavily decorated with inscriptions, and tore at the perforations to separate a single piece before shoving the rest of the roll back into her pouch. There was a small adhesive strip at the top, which she used to affix the parchment carefully to the top of Finch's back. He was undoubtedly made of tougher stuff than most, having been able to fire her shotgun more than once and not lose his arm, but he was still heavily injured and fully organic. She didn't want to risk hurting him further.
Brand-Aid, the hawker had called it. A free sample handed out in front of a factory, guaranteed to rapidly mend most* wounds in a minute or less or your money back. She'd never been one to pass up free shit, and so she took a roll, even if she didn't put much stock in any of that magic nonsense. It never seemed to work very well on her, something she'd heard chalked up to her cybernetics, which was why she'd settled on using the healing gel a few doctors peddled. It didn't make her implants itch like the other stuff did, and worked better than anything else she'd ever tried.
"They say this shit works best on 'ganics like you, so cool your jets an' rest. I got it from here."
The machine gun fell to the ground, and she kicked her shotgun back into the air. She caught it, and in an instant ejected the remaining shells in in, then quickly loaded four slugs. Depleted uranium, high-yield smokeless powder. The kind of shit you could only find on a military convoy, or from the right channels in the right side alleys. Sometimes, you really, really needed to put something down, and they weren't quite in arm's reach. With how the beast was hobbling, it wouldn't take more than four. And with it being back out in the water, there was nothing behind it she had to worry about.
She took aim and fired, then again, and again, and again. If the recoil affected Rebecca at all, she didn't show it, her arms remaining perfectly level after every shot. Each shot delivered a deafening supersonic crack and a fireball out the barrel of the gun, ripples erupting into the water in front of her.
Mancunian Candidate
Zone Five; Kiryuin Residence - Asuka Langley Soryu
I like to watch Satsuki cook, sometimes. I don't know why. She's good at cutting things, I guess. She's good with a knife. There's not any other way she could be. She stands over the counter with her stupid milspec posture and she cranes her neck down and she bounces the knife up and down against the board, confident and precise, feeding it scallions like she's on the line in a factory somewhere. The daikon's dead and the tofu's been massacred. There's a pot boiling on the stove and a bowl of something next to it on the counter, so it's miso soup, I think. They had bonito flakes on sale at Donki last week and she's been desperate for the excuse.
I watch her over the top of yesterday's paper as she scoops the daikon into the broth (the scallions go in last, and then the miso, once it's off the heat - that's just the way you do it, she says). Rider's either out or she just can't be bothered having a body this morning, so it's just us. I keep catching her in the house like this. The headline says power's back on in most parts of Zone Five that aren't the Crescent or some place called the Dappled Passages, and last week I caught Sam standing around by the squid pool pretending to look busy, the way he used to, so I guess that makes it mission accomplished. Standby, operations suspended. If Susie wasn't busy cleaning the cisterns with a toothbrush she'd be bitching about the downtime.
It's the tofu, now, and some political cartoon of whoever. Some restaurant up in Zone Three got caught serving rats and failed a health inspection, they dredged a big bag of guns up out of the canal by one of Eggman's old factories, and the mark went down for the seventeenth day in a row. I don't know how they calculate that. It seems like it's probably important.
"Huh," I say. "The mark's gone down again."
Edited by OG-Sama on Jun 16th 2023 at 3:20:59 PM
A final effort from the former Runeterra denizens made death approach faster, but it was mostly Rebecca and her plainly egregious shots that did the bulk of the work - each one cut through the thicket of limbs many arms deep, breaking dozens of bones with each shot and denying it much locomotion. There seemed to be only one option left for the wounded beast. Straining to move under the weight of its own body, with its vitality all but gone and its many broken limbs dragging it down into the muck instead of giving it an easy escape, it had to cut its losses and its weight.
There was one more tearing noise on top of all the others that its flesh had made during the battle. Its working long arms had pushed onto its own body and, with great effort, had successfully torn itself free of the mass of limbs like a grotesque cocoon. The bestial, torn head, its mane of hair, and a central body hidden by said hair, were all that could escape from the rest of its doomed mass. It did so with alarming speed, managing to almost skate across the water in one final mad-dash toward the woods.
It was almost there. Something within what it had for a mind had been encased in terror since this began, and it had won over the feelings of anger, the want of sustenance, and the long-forgotten rage against a face and a scent it could only briefly recall. It recognized the severity of what had happened but couldn't rationalize the likelihood of death regardless of it escaping or not; with a broken jaw and severe wounds, it couldn't possibly last long regardless of where it expired. It simply ran, scared and lost. All it had to do was reach the woods...
...reach the comforting embrace of the trees, and the cold care of...
...
Myn's song, his magic, had worked. Just before it could vanish into the woods, the frenzied sprint of the beast had slowed down to a crawl and then a coasting, as its final living portion had its life taken from it, and its remains floated along the water. To approach it was to see its strange body. One last pair of arms that were all-white if not for the blood coating them, and an anterior trunk of a torso that looked like a warped human body, legless, trailing off in a spinal tail and smaller than the many-toothed head. Still, to turn it over was to recognize it as human, and distantly female, but so changed by whatever processes and still trailing the sinuous anchors of flesh that had kept it attached to its larger body, that it took time and effort to realize what it could have been in a prior life.
It was still. All of it was still, from its left-behind arms, to the hair that had given them so much trouble, to the lone strand that had managed to engage in a mock battle with Ayla and her sickle before simply becoming inanimate.
For what it was worth, they had succeeded, taking down a threat of this scale with no prior knowledge and minimal losses on their side. The violence had ended, and now all they were left with was a carcass whose value lay in its raw material, and the sound of the pounding rain that reverberated through all directions in the Incoherence.
Ayla, Marshes
"Look! In water!"
-As the hairs emerge from the marsh, Ayla sweeps her club towards them until they wrap around the wood, then yanking hard. If whatever is is attacking them is doing so from underwater, it must be weaker on land.-
"Drag hair-fish on shore!"