Welcome to Gaia! ::

Like most office buildings, this one was cold and clinical.

Unlike most office buildings, this one was probably haunted. Or worse.

They entered from what was probably a side door rather than the front. They were met with a long hallway–pitch black and smothering, like the walls were closing in. Between them they had a few flashlights, and while they could chase away the darkness they couldn’t chase away the shadows. The air inside was stagnant, dense and smoky and thick with dust. Everywhere they moved seemed to kick it up, no matter how careful they were.

Strangely, this building was already so far in construction and development that it was still partly furnished. Chairs, rugs, tables, fake plants–perfectly in place, like the interior designer had set them up and no one else had been in since.

There were even flat screen televisions mounted to the walls, and boxy computers in the lobby and some of the offices they found. Cameras guarded nearly every corridor, installed but unmoving.

There must have been thousands of dollars of decor and equipment here–and no one had dared to take anything. No one dared to vandalize any of it.

It was like one day, collectively, everyone just forgot.

And something awful moved in instead.

For the most part, they were quiet–talking in hushed whispers or soft voices. It felt taboo to speak here, and worse than that it felt like someone was waiting behind every corner, ready to jump out at them.

They had a few scares–A tipped over chair that snagged on a cloak and scraped behind them. A tile that cracked when stepped on. A ceiling panel that fell into the center of the group after a sneeze.

And, through all of it, an intermittent whistle. Always from above them, like it traveled through the vents.

Like the foul odor.

Sometimes, there was a rumble from deep within the building–lower, always lower.

The first stairwell they found nearly ended in catastrophe; the door had stuck, not quite locked, but rusted over and unused. If it hadn’t given such resistance, they might have just kept walking through it–right into a bottomless pit.

The second stairwell shared no such incompletion and from there they descended the first of two flights. B1 was almost entirely empty and smelled of paint and plastic. It was an easy sweep; the rooms had no doors. Plastic tarps fluttered sometimes. Down here, there shouldn’t have been an airflow.

But, there was.

And it was there, on B1, that they first heard the generator kick on. The whir of air through ventilation shafts keened a low whistle, not quite what they had heard before, but not different enough that it didn’t feel like a clue.

They descended the last set of stairs and reached B2.

An electric current hung heavy in the air, like a low voltage ran through the walls around them.

Down the hallway and around the corner, dim–but bright in the darkness–was a light.

The air was thicker down here, musky and dank, like dirt and rotting leaves, and old earth.

An energy signature blipped, just out of sight.

There had been no other option but to approach. They hadn’t come all this way just to give up when they finally found something.

So, with careful steps, they rounded the corner.

Three half-dead fluorescent tubes flickered overhead, like they were struggling to breathe. The glow was dim and jaundiced, just enough to cast elongated shadows against the walls and reveal the shape of the room ahead.

It was massive.

Once, maybe, someone had intended for this space to be a bunker, or an archival wing, but now it was something else entirely. The walls, floor, and ceiling were smothered in thick, sinewy vines, black and glistening, like wet ropes soaked in tar. They pulsed faintly, as if alive. As if breathing. Wherever they lay, they secreted a slick, toxic sludge that oozed down the drywall and pooled in sticky puddles on the concrete.

There was no sign of the now-familiar white-grey walls of the office above. No clean, white tiles or ceiling.

Every surface crawled. Thin, spiderwebby strands stretched from corner to corner, shimmering faintly with moisture and reflected when their flashlights panned across the room. Mold bloomed in irregular, fuzzy patches, and spores floated lazily in the air like little bugs drawn to the new light. The whole room stank–earthy, sweet, and rotten all at once. It clung to the back of their throats and made it hard to breathe.

Only one desk in the entire room had been spared, though the slithering vines blanketed the file cabinet next to it, and had curled up the rolling chair to root it in place. The outdated computer was dark with mold, but the desk was otherwise clear.

At the center of the room, a thick cluster of fleshy, pollen-coated stalks jutted out from a bloated mass of vine and sludge, swaying slightly even though there was no breeze. Large, porous, puffballs grew in bunches, too ugly to be called a crop but too odd to be called anything else.

They wouldn’t have stood out so much if they weren’t growing in perfectly even, perfectly spaced lines.

Something was growing here. Something grew here.

Deliberately cultivated here.

And then, beyond that, something even more grotesque–a putrid pile of pulsing, fungal sacs and vine-wrapped carcasses of something uncomfortably human-shaped, still wet with decay.

The shadows were darker here, huddled together as if they had tucked themselves into the rot.

And then, the shadows moved.

Dozens of eyes reflected in the half-light.

An energy signature spiked–this time, distinctly youma.

Distinctly close.

And then another. And then another. And then another. And then another, and another, and another, and another–

They emerged slowly, from behind overturned desks, out of ventilation shafts, and from holes in the walls where the vines had split the building apart. They all were doglike in shape, but twisted–spindly limbs, split jaws, too many teeth. Some were no bigger than terriers, skittering and snarling. Others moved like wolves, low to the ground with arched backs and tails dragging. And one–

One was massive. Horse-sized. Six-legged. Its body bristled with sharp bone-like ridges that clicked loudly as it unfurled itself from the massive heap of smaller youma tucked into its bony limbs. They scattered, spreading throughout the room, on high alert.

The six-legged youma moved with a spideresque precision, long limbs unnaturally nimble for the mass they carried. It shifted forward, head lowered and eyes–such smart eyes–glowing a hungry, feral purple.

Its lips curled into a sneer, presenting two rows of sawlike teeth.

The youma didn’t attack yet.

But they were going to.

Yvoire’s gaze darted around the cavernous room, first to examine their surroundings—covered in pulsing vines which oozed glistening sludge like something out of a horror film—then to scan the wave of youma emerging from the shadows.

Fear rose, unbidden. Yvoire’s nervous swallow caught on the sweet, sticky scent of rot that seemed to coat the back of his throat. A cough tore free, hastily suppressed against the back of a gloved hand. He noted the human shapes trapped within vines but didn’t let his thoughts linger there. One thing at a time. There were so many youma. Too many, maybe. Yvoire tried to count but soon lost track as they shifted and skittered around.

“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” he said, voice so low those at the back of their group might not be able to hear him.

Yvoire passed his flashlight to Ephesus to free up his second hand, gripping tight to his parasol to stop his shaking. This was fine, he told himself. They were only youma. They could be dusted. If he and the others were systematic about it they might be able to avoid an overwhelming swarm.

“Don’t burn yourselves out too fast,” he told the others—an unnecessary warning, maybe, when most of them had been doing this long enough to know their limits. “Try to save your summons for the big one.”

“Where did they all come from?!” Cynthus said in a tone of voice that probably would have been a shriek if they hadn’t been trying to be quiet. (An almost impossible task for Cynthus, who had the kind of voice that carried no matter what she did to lower it. She’d spent most of their journey down into this pit of sludgy hell keeping her mouth shut and had a lot of pent up unease and disgust as a result.)

Vines pulsed. Sticky sludge pooled along the ground. Cynthus almost gagged but managed to overcome the impulse at the last second. The youma loped around like a pack of demented canines—the largest of them so big Cynthus almost took a step back.

Stubbornly, she kept her feet rooted to the ground, digging her heels in as she fell into what she thought a defensive position should look like, wielding her crook with the same intensity with which Reims wielded his sword. There were eleven of them versus a herd of youma. Those weren’t bad odds. They weren’t necessarily good either, but they could have been worse. They just had to be smart about this. As long as there weren’t more hiding somewhere…

Cynthus tried to peer further into the shadows. Visibility was s**t, the flickering lights more of an annoyance than any help. Their flashlights cut through the dark but still left plenty of spots shrouded in shadow.

One of the smaller youma drew too close, teeth bared in a wet snarl on a face uglier than the ugliest dog Cynthus had ever seen. She kicked it hard and sent it stumbling back, where it slid through a puddle of filth with a nasty squelch.

Rose, being less equipped to deal with any of this than the others, wondered if maybe they should retreat. The room was large. The youma were plentiful. There might be more elsewhere. If she and the others weren’t careful, they might not last long enough to make a retreat later.

But then the youma might follow them. They seemed concentrated here, like they’d made this place their home. Like it was some sort of… nest. Or a den, maybe, since they looked sort of dog-like. Wolf-like. Terrifying, if she were honest. If she and the others left now and inadvertently led an entire pack of youma out into the city, someone even more powerless than she was might end up getting hurt.

Rose clutched her spindle. She beamed one of the flashlights around, scanning each scowling face.

“That must be the six-legged dog someone said they saw,” Rose whispered, eyeing the largest of them with some concern.

She shifted closer to Lyon and in turn guided him closer to Dering.

“We’ll be alright,” she said, voice steady enough that she might have actually believed it. She knew Dering would protect them. Stirling and Halle would, too.

There was a series that Halle had always liked, about what would happen to some places when humans were gone and nature was left to take it all back. Even when the result looked kinda creepy, the ominously verdant result was lovely and in some ways, hopeful. On paper, this sort of place should be really cool to visit and explore. In person, it was not, in fact, really cool.

The first floors were almost worse for how untouched and intact they were. It turned what was expected, the abandoned and derelict, for something other, something more liminal. The obscured and forgotten nature of the district took on a distinctly more intentional vibe. Halle kind of hated that he was probably going to walk away from this full of conspiracy theories.

Generally, jumpscares that lead to nothing but being really startled by a loud noise were something he looked down on in horror games, but here Halle found a certain benefit. After having the spit scared out of him twice, he was definitely calmer the third time. And once they were faced with a room that felt like they’d stepped into a different world and the danger was staring at them with glowing eyes, moving with twisted bodies…Halle felt pretty calm.

Concerned. But no longer anxious about the unknowns.

Instead it was time to deal with a pack of knowns. The room was big, and he wanted a good vantage point. The only clear area though, was a single desk. Weird. Halle considered it for a moment, but for now turned to Amarynthos and the center group beyond him. “Divide and conquer? I can help separate and maybe herd them a little.” Sometimes what you needed wasn’t necessarily a shield, but a wall. Good thing he had a big one.

Or maybe, instead of a wall, a Cynthus would do. The girl had a pretty good kick!

Stirling wasn’t frozen, not in fear anyway. This…was a lot. More than a lot, this was indeed a youma ambush and she wasn’t completely sure what she should do to start. Lisse had shown off a bit and dusted one of the creatures which was great, and the others were working on their own things. There were talks of getting against a wall. Of splitting up. Dividing and conquering. Which was all fine. Everything was fine but…

Oh god. The smell. She gagged but tried to hide it, and as the youma started down on them, she summoned her shield, making sure that nobody would get a head on attack. “You can pass through the shield. Youma can’t. If your attacks are physical, use that to your advantage, please! I’ve got a while that I can hold this so use it how you want, I can move where you want just let me know!” Her voice was much calmer than she felt, and she was so pleased that she got the words out without throwing up, which…well. Nearly happened a moment later.

Reims didn’t think when he moved. It was instinct more than strategy. He swung his sword like a baseball bat, driving the flat side of the blade into the first lunging youma that got too close. The impact sounded a deafening crack through the room, and the youma hit the ground in a puff of dust.

“Stay close!” he called to Yvoire and Lisse. Stirling’s voice cut through the noise, and Reims used that as a deciding factor. “Make them come to us. Stirling’s shield is where we hold the line--”

He cut himself off in order to kick one of the smaller youma back, then slammed another to the side with the blunt edge of his sword, but there were too many.

“Yvoire, Lisse, hit whatever gets close, but if you get overwhelmed get behind the shield. We can trade off. Give Stirling some breathing room so she doesn’t use her magic all in one go.”

His swing connected again, sending another youma into a wall where it turned into dust. His knuckles throbbed from the vibration of the sword making contact with them, but he didn’t care.

He could see Rose’s group shifting toward a wall, Lyon’s flashlight flickering like a distress signal. He wanted to keep an eye on them, to make sure Dering wasn’t getting overwhelmed, but he couldn’t pull his focus away from the big youma, which looked ready to charge.

For a moment, he met Yvoire’s glance. It was quick and sharp -- an unspoken signal. He’d swing for openings and Yvoire would follow up.

He swung again, the blade knocking back a larger youma, but not quite doing enough damage to dust it--

He couldn’t stop shaking. His flashlight trembled in his hand as he tried to keep it steady, his heart pounding away in his chest. The sound of the big youma’s howl still rang in his ears.

Dering’s shield shimmered, perfect and impenetrable, protecting them from being torn apart. He nodded quickly in agreement with Rose, although he was afraid his voice would come out too small to be heard over the chaos.

The problem that he was quickly noticing was that Dering’s shield was too good. It was stopping the youma, but with no one able to knock them back or dust them, they kept attacking. And attacking.

He glanced over to Dering -- then to Lyon and Rose -- and knew they must have realized, too. Dering wouldn’t be able to keep his shield up forever.

A smaller youma lunged low, and Ephesus swung his scepter out of reflex, the heavy end colliding with the creature’s side, knocking it back into the shadows. “Sorry,” he winced, still shaking.

Another youma hit the barrier hard, snapping its jaws, and Ephesus stumbled backwards a step before catching himself. He swung again, hard enough to nearly knock the scepter from his hand, but managed to push it back away from the shield, hoping to give Dering at least some breathing room.

He knew the plan was to save their summons for the big youma, but with how many were gathering around them--

Ephesus grabbed the bauble of water at his chest and an ethereal golden tiger burst forth with a ferocious roar. With dinner plate sized paws, it swiped at several of the youma that wouldn’t back off the shield, turning them to dust, before disappearing back inside the bauble. It wasn’t enough to take them all out, but enough to hopefully give Dering a chance to back up towards the wall where the desk was with him, Rose, and Lyon.

He still had tears in his eyes. He was still shaking. But if he was going to fall apart, he’d do it later. For now, he had people to protect.

Seeing Amarynthos move closer, Halle gave a sharp nod, magic at the ready and his smaller, physical shield raised. Their center moved toward the wall, turning their line into a crescent. Easier to defend. Smart. “Looks like maybe we can box them in.”

It didn’t do anything to protect them from the big one’s cry, though.

Head ringing and jaw aching from clenched teeth, Halle barely recovered in time to notice a group of shadows split off toward their end. Suddenly, in the middle of them, a cheery unicorn head the size of a double door garage slammed into place. The sound of skittering and scrambling limbs sounded behind it as two forms still raced toward them.

Leaving the shield for a bit longer, Halle briefly let himself enjoy the sight of Cynthus putting one out of its misery in a way that pretty firmly cemented his impression of her as a fighter.

“Probably guarding something,” he commented, then let out an abrupt ack as something touched his leg. Halle never saw what it looked like, probably a messed up dog-ish thing like the rest, just sneakier maybe. One moment he was startled and the next the smaller shield in his hand was punching down with the strength of a Knight behind it. There was a sense of resistance, followed by a sense of something giving way, and then nothing but dust and a smear across the cheerful unicorn’s profile.

Righting himself, he dismissed the magic shield, ready to break up another wave.

Dering kept up as Rose guided the group towards the wall. He didn’t look at her directly and instead had to follow as she kept him in his peripheral. He was too afraid of missing something–of misjudging how fast one of the youma would be, or of his shield failing, or one of them rushing through–

The uneven ground kept him slow and he carefully took large, backwards steps to make sure he didn’t trip.

A thousand things were going on at once and he was trying to keep up with not just the three with him, but the others outside of his shield, and all the youma he could see–there were seventeen per his last count, but a few had been dusted, and with all the movement and unreliable lighting, he couldn’t quite be sure.

It didn’t feel like they were making a dent in their numbers.

Rose’s support meant more than he could say, mostly because it was taking all of his focus to keep strumming. In an ideal world, he’d have been able to drop the shield for a few seconds at a time to save energy but he couldn’t risk missing a split second and trapping a youma in the shield with them.

Dering managed a quick, “Thanks,” to her, but his face never relaxed and relief never came.

He passed Rose’s compliments on quickly, feeling undeserving of them–if only because at some point he’d lost track of how many seconds he’d spent. He was counting too many things at once. To Ephesus he repeated her words and said, “You’re doing great.”

Dering would have offered a hand if he didn’t need both for his lute but Ephesus didn’t fall so he didn’t have to worry about that, too.

With their backs to the wall it was already a huge relief; he cut out nearly fifty percent of the area he needed to focus on. It wasn’t quite enough to give him room to breathe but it gave his mind a few seconds to catch up.

Lyon was working quickly, though–but he had to, since he didn’t have magic, and his weapon was so small that he wasn’t planning on getting up to the shield’s edge just to try stabbing at any of the youma.

But why would he have to when there was a perfectly good chair right here?

If he’d been better–if he’d been whole–he might have tried flipping the desk just to see if he could throw that. Maybe he could have even chucked the file cabinet.

It was just that his arm, his stupid ******** arm, was unreliable, and how embarrassing it would be if he overextended and took himself out in the process. Just because he had fun, fancy super strength and whatever didn’t mean he was invulnerable.

But he’d thrown chairs before.

The only thing different about this one and those was that he didn’t have to wrestle a bunch of plants for it, but with one well placed kick into the back of it, he tore it free. The noise was sick, the same sound bone made when it pierced through skin–haha, gross, not now–and he grabbed the chair by the armrests and heaved it up.

It was lighter than he expected. He could probably get some good air if he threw it.

He found himself unwilling to part with it so soon, so he jumped to Plan B and stood close to the edge of the shield, swinging wildly. At some point–he couldn’t remember when–he’d put the flashlight between his teeth and bitten down on it, but he wasn’t going into this quite blind.

The fluorescent lighting above him illuminated the shuddering, twitching figure of a youma desperately trying to claw through Dering’ shield.

Lyon swung the chair down, hard, and crushed it instantly.

His reward was dust, but his punishment was a harsh, vibrating pain up both arms, and his hands went numb.

But he’d do it again, and again, until he broke the chair beyond use. And then he’d throw it.

When he withdrew, to give himself a second to catch his breath, he took the flashlight from his mouth instead of trying to speak around it. “Rose, you’re big and strong, aren’t you? How heavy’s that file cabinet? –We can tip the desk, too. If we need to. If you need a break,” he said to Dering, who looked like he’d tried to nod. Dering was visibly distracted, but in a way that seemed more like he was watching everything and couldn’t afford to socialize while he kept his eyes on the youma and their constant onslaught. Lyon thought he saw a shrug, but since Dering was focused on maintaining the shield, he looked to Ephesus for guidance.

Across the room, Amarynthos stabbed the tip of his staff into the head of a youma, glad–in part–that the deafening roar had dulled the sickening crunch that followed. It was dust, in the end.

Cynthus, again, had an admirable roar. Amarynthos was perpetually impressed by the set of lungs and rage in her. “That is a great question, and I am really looking forward to figuring that out!”

Amarynthos wasn’t used to being separated from Ephesus. He hated it, in fact–especially because the youma seemed to keep throwing themselves at Dering’s shield.

They were doing a good job defending–for now.

But he saw the flash of Ephesus’ summon, and Amarynthos hated that he wasn’t standing there next to him.

He trusted Dering’s shield would hold–it always did–but he hadn’t been able to keep an eye on it to see how much he was burning through. And he had both Lyon and Rose, but none of the four were particularly known for their combat skills–even if Ephesus had a tiger.

If he could have split himself in two, he’d have done it, but sending his summon over to help with the barrage of youma was the best he could do. He’d wanted to save it to deal with the big one like Yvoire suggested but he wasn’t confident Dering’s shield would last that long.

A large white bear with long claws suddenly manifested, hesitated for less than a second while Amarynthos gestured towards Ephesus–who his summon knew very well–and ushered, “Go, go!” It needed no other guidance and charged across the room with such force that it kicked up vines and slime along the way.

The air was dense with whatever filth kept shaking off of the stalks in the center of the room. The youma seemed to try to avoid it but it made little difference.

Amarynthos’ summon looked discolored and stained by the time it made it across the room. Black and purple specs dusted its pale fur and the light–what little of it there was–reflected a sickly sheen.

But the summon was no less effective. It shoved its full weight into one youma, slamming it into the wall and dusting it immediately. It kicked off of the wall and started swiping. At least one youma wound up thrashed and dangling between the bear’s maw until it too dusted.

The summon needed no guidance and no handholding; it was brutally effective and, with peace of mind, Amarynthos turned again to Halle. “You good?” He looked good, and he was doing a good job keeping the youma contained. They still had an open path out, and dividing and conquering seemed to be working out so far. “If you want to move, you say the word. I’ll follow you.” Halle had the shield; if he saw a good opening to box the youma in, Amarynthos was ready to trust his direction.

They might have been thinning out the smaller youma but there was still a larger–much larger–problem.

The six legged youma lurched through the air–right at Stirling’s shield. Its massive size, when unfurled, stretched nearly the full ten feet of her shield–and its claws dug into it with such strength that spider-white lines spread across the translucent shield at each impact point.

If it couldn’t crack her shield, it would climb over it–and it moved, fast. Its talons, easily six inches long, punctured her shield. It didn’t break–yet–but if the youma couldn’t shatter the shield, it would scale it instead.

Its belly was exposed, pressed flat against her shield and smearing tar-like slime as it ascended.

It climbed higher.

Alright, things were looking a little dire. The relief that came with the arrival of Amarynthos' bear was short-lived. Rose watched in horror as, further away, the six-legged youma got its talons through Stirling’s shield.

She almost froze—would have if she weren’t in the middle of something. Rose couldn’t afford to let fear get the best of her. Being one of the least powerful of the group meant she had to stay on her toes. That and someone had to stay calm. Dering looked stressed; he had every reason to be, of course, but Rose had no idea when it might be too much for him. Ephesus was in tears and missing a boot now, not to mention covered in filth. Lyon wielded the chair well, but it might not hold up for long against such sharp teeth and claws.

“Hang on, let me see what I can do!”

The file cabinet was almost completely covered in vines. Rose ripped them away without much thought for how they pulsed and oozed. (She’d allow herself some time to be grossed out later, once they all got out of here in one piece.) She was stronger as a Page, but the file cabinet was too unwieldy to lift and throw. Instead, Rose shoved it on top of another youma closing in on Ephesus’ position near the edge of the shield, crushing it into dust beneath.

She left the cabinet where it fell. It wouldn’t provide the best barrier against the bigger ones, but it might slow them down the second or so Ephesus or Lyon needed to do some damage.

“If we need to kick it at them, it should hit them pretty hard,” Rose said.

Then she turned toward the desk. Together, the desk and the cabinet might work more effectively. Maybe they could throw the computer. First, she intended to figure out why the desk was so conspicuously free of vines.

Yvoire hesitated. He had to cover Reims, he had to cover Lisse, and he had to make sure he did both without losing track of what the other was doing. Cries and shouts ripped through the hazy air from other areas of the room, joining the cacophony of snarls and roars from the countless youma weaving through the shadows. Yvoire could barely think through it all, much less formulate some sort of plan.

He relied on instinct. The big one was the most immediate threat. If it could break through Stirling’s shield, it could probably break through Dering’s and Halle’s shields, too.

Without their shields, they’d be vulnerable.

Yvoire didn’t want to leave Reims to whatever reckless, heroic endeavor he decided to undertake on his own, but if he could help Lisse pull the youma from the shield, maybe they could dust it now. Its roar had signalled the smaller youma to attack en masse. Without it to lead them, they might be left in disarray.

So Yvoire did as Reims requested and stuck near Lisse, guarding his side. He found as good of an angle as he could get and aimed short bursts of molten gold at various spots on the six-legged beast. Claws to dull their sharpness. Leg joints to slow its climb. Face to blind it. The gold would burn and harden, then disintegrate. They had to make ten seconds count.

“Reims! Your lion!”

“Oh my God, I need one of those!” Cynthus said as she watched Amarynthos’ bear absolutely demolish the first youma it came into contact with.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have long to celebrate. Even with the bear to protect him, Ephesus still cried out and hit the floor. Rose and Lyon would get swamped if he and Dering didn’t keep it together. And Stirling’s group was in major trouble.

“Hey, you a*****e!” Cynthus shouted at the six-legged youma. Even if shouting did nothing else, it made her feel better. More than likely, the youma would ignore it. “Get off of there, you piece of s**t! Sit! Bad dog!”

Cynthus already hated dogs. She was going to hate them even more after this.

With a particularly fierce shout of rage, Cynthus swung her crook at the next youma that came near enough and tried to launch it toward the six-legged one.