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 Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 1:50 am
It was a long fall. The kind that afforded her the time to think too much.
She wondered how long the Fear infection had been there, to have grown so bad. On her mission with Nevada, the abominations they'd fought were a mishmash, but not . . . coordinated. The large one seemed to have the ability to command them, either consciously or through animal dominance. This would be trouble.
She wondered if Abbi would pass her message on and get the group moving. She wasn't terribly worried, but . . . rank meant nothing in the field, not when it came down to it. Full hunters could scatter and be slaughtered, she had seen it before.
Don't think that.
She wondered if her hunch was right. Light and darkness, a crossroads. A pit and a bridge. Maybe it was important to be down there as much as it was to be up there. Maybe that too was a choice: who to keep and who to send below. Better her, then. Mists were supposed to be able to operate on their own. This was as good a test as any.
She wondered if they thought her useless nevertheless, though, if maybe--
Don't think that.
She wondered how deep this fall would take her. It was growing colder by the second, darker, louder--
Don't think about it.
--and she couldn't help but wonder if this was the maw of a great beast, the stench quickly overwhelming her--
Don't think about it.
Thane's growls prompted her. Stormy found her dagger in her pack and dug it into the wall nearest her. Abruptly she was jerked, slamming against the wall: stone didn't great her, however, but something else. Chitinous. A shell. She ached, and it oozed from the crack.
Her dagger slipped down several inches; it was tearing through the substance little by little, vomiting more of the foul liquid whose consistency was somewhere between blood and saliva. Stormy tried not to gag as she haphazardly forced herself down, eventually touching ground.
It, too, cracked under her boots. There were the shells of insects here, hundreds and hundreds, maybe thousands, she couldn't tell without a light. They formed an entire layer themselves. And as she lifted her weapon to try and shed its faint light, as the buzzing from above began to filter down louder and louder, she could see the ground shift. Pops were followed by gurgled, alien noises as yet unseen insects began to burst from their cocoons; the noise of her arrival must have alerted them. Mutated heads forced their way out, some birthed bleeding, some half-formed, some whose eyes glinted even without a light source--and they were all making their way towards her.
Her heart, which had never quite slowed, became a frantic march. The flight instinct flooded her nervous system, and blindly she threw herself into the darkness to get away.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 1:58 am
There was no discernible pattern to the way the path went. There were splits and she took whatever she happened to be leaning towards at the time. The Fear saturation was bearing down on her in place of the bugs, a radiation of invisible energy that, while her shield protected her, still made her skin itch. the insects were not far behind. They did not need light to navigate.
Sticky, now cold fingers fumbled at her pack, cursing her generosity for giving away her lighter. Where, where . . . there. She pulled the matchbox out and dragged a match out, striking it futiley against the wrong parts of the box until she struck gold: a small flicker of light brought instant, if slight, warmth to her fingers and heart. She had half a mind to toss it behind her and set her pursuers aflame--
--but the light was already beginning to die before her eyes, like the malveolent force trying to destroy her shield was smothering the fire as well. She slowed without thinking, trying to cup it to her chest, trying to whisper to it, "Stay, stay, God please, I need you, don't--" But it did leave.
She tossed it and tried another with similar results. "Please--" The third made her curse, the fourth fizzing out in midair when she did try her original plan to roast the damn bugs. "Please--" Stormy jerked to a faster pace, nearly dropping the matchbox entirely as something attempted to latch onto her leg, yelping as she scrambled forward.
< < They operate in the dark. So must we. > >
She whimpered inwardly as she tried to swipe the disgusting liquid off of her.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:05 am
She couldn't feel her extremities. It was almost unnaturally cold here. She ran on stumps and oriented herself through numb fingers, while not even an inch above her skin a searing energy pressed upon her, while behind her, upon her, the insects crawled. If they were on her, she no longer could tell.
Forward. She was just supposed to go forward and she could find the way, but what way was forward now? Left? Right? Center? Back at another juncture? Maybe it was the same crossroads over and over, Stormy thought as she tried to rub feeling back into her hands; doing so only seemed to remind them that they were supposed to hurt.
There were bites, however. That confirmed one theory.
Maybe it was better not to feel at all.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:08 am
The chittering became white noise. In time, she started to believe they were better than silence.
Silence just bred bad thoughts. Misdirection. In the darkness before sleep came the memories you couldn't help but relive, the mistakes that haunt, the words left unspoken.
They're waiting, she reminded herself, but it was getting hard to think with the noise in her ears. They're waiting.
(Aren't they?)
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:13 am
No, don't, don't think . . . She nearly collided with a wall shortly afterwards, tears of pain welling up in her eyes.
Bites. Stone. Cold. The rock here seemed grayer, the darkness less a state without light and more an active force, navigating the air like fog in the wind. Even Thane bristled under it, struggling to keep her shield up.
< < If you do not move, then we will die, > > he hissed.
They're waiting.
They should be.
But the more Stormy began to think about it, the more she started to feel the words ring hollow.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:18 am
How long had she been down there, anyway?
Maybe they were gone already. Maybe they had aborted the mission when they saw her get taken, expecting her to do the same, the sensible thing. Maybe they were making a new plan. Maybe they were crushing bugs.
Whatever it was they were doing, it wasn't coming to get her.
She didn't know what to think of that. The more she breathed in darkness, the more it needled at her.
Or maybe she was swallowing bugs and simply couldn't feel them anymore.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:31 am
The whispers came when it grew darker.
They began as niggling thoughts. What would she do in their position if someone else had gotten taken? If Abbi had been swallowed up by the wave, if Otto and the shield had been taken, if Sherry had been abducted, if Jake had been overwhelmed? They were not simply bodies for a mission, they were friends who wanted to help, family even given Stormy's definition of the word. She was supposed to be the leader, she couldn't simply let something or someone slide just because it was dangerous. She would have helped. She would have fallen into the pit for them.
Of course she would. She loved being the sacrificial lamb. It was an artificial purpose to give artificial satisfaction. Everyone loved a martyr. She had taken that step to push Gale away from the hole, falling instead. Always falling. Pulled into the sand because the bugs had chosen her as a meat puppet to use instead of someone else, falling from the staircase in the tower in her haste to serve her golden emperor, and now this pit to save Nevada.
Would they have done the same?
Her loneliness spoke for itself. While they sought the light, she would flounder in the darkness in a sea of things never meant to be created. All on the chance of hope, a guarentee-free mission with a supposed rumor.
It all seemed so stupid, in hindsight, and also so clear: Nevada was worth it, but she was not.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:43 am
Who was she to think she was, anyway? She wasn't the person she had been when she first woken up at Deus. She wasn't "too good to be true" as Gale had once put it. Maybe she wasn't even "good enough" at this point.
She had actively murdered in the trials, and that had been on only a slim hope that it would save others. She had nearly talked Lucky into suicide for the same hope, ready to pull the trigger herself in desperation. She had watched Jack wither on the inside and die, only to arise into something that clawed at her because she was the only good thing left--and she let him. She had let Nevada drag them off course for her petty vendetta and chosen to support her even when inside she cried out for her to stop. She had sat by and watched her mother waste away for years, knowing she should have done something but being too lost in her own heavy clouds to do more than share. She had spilled her secret about Aria and the binding to Gale on the sheer faith that he would understand how scared she was, that she wouldn't be judged like she did to herself every night, scrutinizing as a scientist investigated microorganisms under the microscope, and all of that had only helped reveal her leader's liaisons in the end.
By her passivity, she let them doom themselves. By her actions, she pushed them faster towards trouble or death. There was no lesser evil to choose: she simply existed as a catalyst for ruination either way.
A storm did not know how to create: it only knew how to destroy what was already there.
(And that was what she feared most for Gale.)
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:51 am
The bugs feasted. Their legs tickled what skin still had feeling (barely, barely). They caressed, even. Buzzed. Whispered.
Home.
She brushed her shoulder against the wall, feeling some of the hardened goop flake off her. A personal shell to break from.
Maybe that was the lesson. Maybe she too was only an insect in the grand scheme of the world.
Go home. Their bleeding, festering bodies nuzzled against her.
She smashed several with a fist for such mutinous thoughts; their putrid entrails splattered and dripped down her body, their gray shells stuck to her even in death. Her neck throbbed dully.
She prayed the others fared better.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 2:58 am
Right. They're waiting. They're friends.
They should be. It was her mission. Volunteers do not abandon the leader. Left. Who was left now? Who held the torches? The shield?
Who held the line? Who would want to at this point?
Left.
It was cold and it was better that way. Thane was an undead, he related.
Maybe she was too. A walking corpse living out their last thoughts. It was hard to hope for anything else down here. She swung and it didn't make so much as a dent in the population. The fear was absorbed, but there was no point to it. Nothing at all.
Right. Keep moving forward. She didn't matter, but Nevada did. The team did. For their sake, she would move.
Even if she was the only one
Left.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 3:03 am
She kept looking into the abyss by the faint purple light of her weapon, and it kept staring dead-eyed at her back. No matter where she moved, it was there. Eyes and eyes and eyes, invisible and all knowing.
Who are you?
It wasn't a question asked herself, and yet something had evoked it from her thoughts. The darkness was beginning to grow less like fog, more like jello, like something resisting. But the bugs did not become any less gray.
Who are you?
Can you tell me . . . ?
Who are you?
I'd like to find out.
And that was the last question she heard for a while.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 10:48 am
x
x
x
x
x
The white noise became silence. The whispers became an undercurrent at the back of her head.
Who are you? he asked.
She didn't need a light to know he was there, calm as ever but eying her seriously. He kept pace no matter if she sped up or slowed down, something that should have been reassuring, something warm. Something that burned her frigid body.
Was it worth it?
(Go home.)
Was it worth it? he asked again.
I don't know.
Were they worth it?
She made a noise in her throat, pleading for him to stop. He wasn't allowed down here, not after all of that. They weren't . . . He wasn't . . . None of it was real. It was a nightmare. A what if. Something in between.
You shouldn't be here.
She was close. She had to be close now, she had been moving for so long--
He brushed his fingers along her tear-stained cheek tenderly, and she was reminded of bugs and recoiled away. She could feel his hurt expression more than see it as she hastened forward, guilt just another shadow at her heels like he was. Blazing. Blackness. If he was the sun she so often tried to describe him as, then she did not want it. The light burned and revealed her for what she was.
Was it worth it, love? he asked gently, understanding even his eyes set upon her sadly.
< < You are real. > > Thane's voice seemed to filter through water. < < You are in control here. > >
(Home.)
Go home, she told him, struggling. Please go home, I'll be back soon.
And she couldn't help but be reminded of the only other time she had said those words, on Christmas Eve as Jack sought to ruin their night. The same pained, betrayed look he had given her then beset her now. She bit down on a sob as it weighed on her, clutching at her weapon like a security blanket. The Fear infection cut like knives.
Please. Please, please, please, I promise I'll come back, but you have to let me go.
The voice was cold. You promised you'd never send me away again. You promised you'd never leave.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I have to--
Your promises mean nothing.
And then she was alone again. The vacuum left behind seemed like freezerburn on her aching skin.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 11:28 am
However long she had been down there, she had been granted a modicum of sight that was a mixture of her eyes straining, her hyperactive senses, and the purple, dim light from Thane's runes. That was how she saw them on the ground seconds before she tripped over them.
The whole team was sprawled around the battle scene: Jake smeared half on the floor and half on the wall, his weapon too shattered to bother reforming into a tablet; Otto eviscerated in a pool of blood like a science experiment, what was left of his entrails like bloated snakes trying to escape his body; Sherry so completely deformed it would have been impossible to tell it was her had she not seen the bits of blond hair that hadn't been torn out; Abbi, devoured to the bone in some places and coated in goo the rest, like a little Barbie doll in the hands of a bored child. They all were, in a way, just thrown away toys.
She stared at them with a vague sense of horror that just didn't seem able to eclipse her. Like many things in the dark, it was grasping, reaching, looking for a hold to guide it--and met nothing but air.
It wasn't real. Her gut instinct told her that. But she wasn't a very logical creature to begin with. She ran on emotions and loyalty and faith, all things that couldn't be touched, couldn't be reinforced with a steel that people could see. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they had died, she had simply just chosen not to believe it could happen. It couldn't. It couldn't.
But when she crouched down and touched what remained of flesh, what remained of faces and hands, she could feel it beyond the cold. And with each touch, the skin and bone and muscle collapsed within itself as little maggots, the larvae of that which pursued (coated?) her burst out like weeds in soil. Each touch deflated her team until they were nothing but breeding and feeding grounds. The only mark left of them was the grime on her fingers. She had failed them. She had killed them too.
She was numb to it all because it wasn't possible, but several tears fell because it was.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 11:41 am
Home.
x
x
x
She didn't want to be alone anymore. She welcomed the insects crawling over her for company. Biting. Burrowing. Crooning.
She should go home. The pendant knew the way. But her arms seemed frosted stiff and gray. A moving statue to the aid of a dying sister.
She should go home. What did this prove?
< < That you endure. > >
What did that mean?
< < When the excess flesh is cut away, we are the bones that remain impervious to blades. > >
Bugs?
< < Everything. > >
For the breadth of a second she remembered something and swung, scraping the stony wall and cutting down several large insects. Again. Again.
She fought because
it is our duty.
She survived because
we demand it.
She was alone
but never truly.
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Posted: Sat Apr 12, 2014 12:38 pm
She nearly cut them in half.
They stood several feet apart, waiting for her to stagger into the small juncture--perhaps the final one. She didn't know anymore. She had gone through so many crossroads it didn't seem like it mattered anymore. But there they were, lit by some dream light she couldn't identify: him again, stiff in posture, and her, her one eye trained calmly, and herself even--the three unflinching as she checked her swordswing and let it bury in the ground instead, beheading more mutants.
No-one said anything for an age. No-one needed to. The question was clear.
The thoughts filtered in of their own accord, tear-stained and aching and heartfelt and bleeding. The two people closest to her, as well as herself, were vying one last time for her attention, for that final choice of who mattered most? The sister, who was waiting now, wasting away, who had shared her room and her joy and her sorrow together, who had squabbled like siblings and loved deeply like them, who had tried to protect one another in their own way and fallen apart because of their common weakness of emotion, who had only ever wanted the other to be happy and safe, who now both suffered from a personal madness because of fate's cruel design? The boyfriend, a term that barely applied to how she thought of him now as because it was so meager, so bland in comparison to her thoughts of him, who was not just a solid pillar in her life but one that let her draw pretty things upon in crayon to admire, who had seen her at her best and close to her worst and many shades between but still saw the same person, who was unafraid to love and need her even as she was afraid to admit just how deeply she reciprocated? Herself, the shell of a person who wavered wearily now? (But not the clone, no, that one stood still like the others, a look of sympathy in her eyes.) Both had opened up to her in a way that she cherished, just as she had in turn had given away parts of herself, crumbs, meaningless pieces to feed them while she starved. They were a part of her; all of her friends were. When they hurt, she felt it with them, just as she felt Gale's despondency, just as she felt Nevada's madness, just as she felt Otto's hopelessness, and to help them she gave of herself the only commodity she really had: hope. She thought she was empty inside, but there was always that little spark that kept her going even when she didn't want to, even when everything in the world told her it was futile.
All of them were necessary. But a choice was a choice.
I love you. But only two of them could possibly hear.
She strode straight down the middle towards herself, and she could hear the accusations. Only cowards looked out for themselves when it came down to it. It should have been expected from a person who helped just to ease her own pain inside. It was easy to choose yourself over others, it was expected from a false martyr in the dark--
Her clone reached out with understanding. The greatsword cut her down in one swing.
The voices quieted. She didn't stop. As she watched herself disintegrate into crawling vermin, she blindly reached for them both and pulled the pair along, never looking back.
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