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Fenris
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 Posted: Mon Sep 14, 2009 11:39 pm Post subject: Dog-CYCLE 4 |
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WARNING: CONTAINS LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE.
Prelude
Scented Room
by Fenris
This isn't home.
The walls are strange. Bare. Scarred. And the light? The light comes from nowhere but everywhere at the same time. As if the walls, floor and ceiling themselves are the source of illumination.
You stand up and the world turns upside down. Bile rises in your throat and the pressure in your skull that woke you up before now threatens to consume you. Whatever you last ate spills onto the floor, covers your bare feet.
Your stomach. Your chest. Your throat. Everything burns. More bile comes, mixed with red. Your throat's on fire.
As you stare at your vomit covered feet, you notice scarlet drops falling onto your toes. Shaky fingers touch your nose and comes back tipped with red liquid.
"It's awake!!!"
The voice. It's metallic. Fake. Bitter.
A standing black rectangle appears in the wall in front of you. Creatures in white come through the door. They have horrible masks. They have one clear eye with two dots underneath it. They're coming for you. Gloved hands cautiously reach towards you.
Bile. More vomit. Your chest inflates and breath rushes out of your mouth. The inside of it tastes nasty. Where are you? What's happening?
"Alright, he's pretty shaky. Be careful."
"Fuck that," snarls a second being.
There are four of them. All big. Brutish. Towering above your shaking frame.
The one who spoke last steps forward. Its gloved hands are balled up in trembling fists. Its angry. Why is it angry? You back away. You didn't mean to vomit. It just came out. Somethings wrong. Try to tell them. You try to tell them.
Animal sounds. Incoherent. Snarling and gasping. They don't understand you.
The Angry One takes another step, its whole frame shaking. "Get the fuck over here you piece of shit."
"Miles!" The remark comes from the tallest. His huge form lumbers over to stand next to the one who spoke first. The Calm One.
"Don't! Just. Don't," hisses the Angry One. "I'm not treating this...thing like a damn guest. Richard is dead because of him!"
"Richard was an idiot! He knew better then to approach it! Just restrain him GENTLY and bring him to the doc."
The doc? No. No, you will not go. This is not your home. This doc will not take you there. They need to go away. You don't feel well. This isn't right. Go away. Go.
"Ah its mumbling again," says the Last One. "God, it looks like Rich."
"You little fucker," Angry One snarls.
He lunges at you. Lurches. Moves like a ferocious animal. But slow. So slow. Go away. He needs to go away. You take a step back and Its clawing hands miss your forearm. What is he trying to do.
"Stop moving!" He dashes towards you and strikes you.
The blow? You barely register it. A small tap on the chin. The fear that pulses in your chest? Oh yes. You register that.
The Angry One is screaming. His glove is now ruined. Torn and twisted into something unnatural. Red fluid leaks out and dribbles onto the floor like saliva. And the smell. Its intoxicating. Metallic. Fresh. Clean. Oh the smell.
"Shit! Shit! Get Max out of here! Its smelled it!" The Calm One is panicking and the Tall One is dragging the Angry One out of the room.
No. No. He smells so good. There's not enough of it though. You can barely scent it now. The wonderful aroma. More. You must have more.
The Last One doesn't have time to cry out. These thin and pink of arms of yours? They must do something. You grab its horrible head and shake it. Its screaming something. You can't understand it anymore, there's a roaring in your ears that drown out everything.
Make the smell come back.
Shake him more. He'll bring the smell, the scent.
He's still screaming. He's not stopping. The others? They just stop and stare. The Angry One is gone. Only the Tall One and Calm One are there. Oh yes. The Last One. He's here but screaming. He won't shut up.
Make him shut up.
Shut up. Shut up. Stop. Shut. Up. QUIET!
There's a wet cracking sound and your hands are suddenly warm and moist.
"Oh God," the Tall One whispers.
Yes. There is again. The scent.
It smells like home.
Last edited by Fenris on Tue Nov 17, 2009 11:20 pm; edited 7 times in total
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Traveller
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| Posted: Tue Sep 15, 2009 6:32 am Post subject: |
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um...wow...wasn't what I was expecting first thing in the morning as I tried to wake up with a cup of coffee...
But good...very descriptive and I look forward to seeing what comes next...
I think we are some sort of werewolf type creature that they (the doctors) are trying to reverse back to human form. They have partially succeeded (hence the little pink arms) but the were-creature is still locked inside...Man, I hope we escape...T.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Tue Sep 15, 2009 2:28 pm Post subject: |
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It sounds as if maybe we're a dog, or more likely a wolf, that has somehow been put in a human body... or was it? The pink arms did throw me for a moment... something more is at work here. The mind was too aware really to have been an animal's. It recognized the language, but then again, it had a primal nature as well... hmmm...
My only little niggly point:
What is he trying to do?
I saw some others as I was reading it the first time, but when I tried to find them again I couldn't.
This was an interesting introduction. I'm on board to see where it goes.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 1:16 pm Post subject: |
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Whhooooa! *shudders*
I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
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snow tiger
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| Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 1:34 pm Post subject: |
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Dude!!! Awesome!
The whole time i was reading this, i wasn't just reading it, i was in it.
I was it.
You're very descriptive and i like that. I also like the way you seem to dangle the information needed to complete the understanding of this Chapter right in front of us, baiting us.
Awesome beginning.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 10:49 pm Post subject: |
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Ha thanks guys. This will be a good thing to work as i get PT and GMS.
Next chapo with a decision point is coming soon.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 12:38 pm Post subject: |
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Ah I'm sorry i'm sorry but no DP for this one either  couldn't think of one. But next one for sure!
Cycle 1
Dog Tired
by Fenris
There’s a dripping sound. Like the last drops of rain after a storm. Each clear wet sound makes your ears ring. You lift your head up, eyes closed. The scent wafts through you like expensive perfume and you bathe in it. Longing for more. Never wanting it to go away. Oh God. It’s been forever.
Suddenly, something interrupts your euphoria. The violent sounds rip you away from harmony and send you back. Back into chaos and noise. Why must there always be noise?
And then? You feel pain.
Pain like you has never felt before. But that’s because you’ve never felt it. Or have you? Its glow is familiar, almost like an old friend. Or a bitter rival. Pain, an ancient acquaintance.
With that final interruption, your euphoria is completely gone and the room spins back into view. This white room.
“Let him go! Now! Let him go!” screams the Tall One.
He’s pointing an object at you. It’s a tool with a silver sheen. Its metallic glow is menacing and inviting. Smoke comes from the hollow end and you glance down at the sizeable hole in your chest.
“Now!”
You comply. The scent has grown stale. Along with the limp form in your hands.
You watch the body fall and cock your head to the side. Did you do that? The man’s horrible face is no longer distinguishable with the red, pink and white hues that blend together to form a grotesque art. Art. You’re an artist. And apparently, a hated one.
“Ah fuck! Fuck!” moans the Calm One. “Allister, what the hell are we gonna do??”
Allister, the tall one.
Allister snaps his head back towards his companion. Scared. Angry. Scared. “We’re going to contain the situation! It’s not complete yet. Look at it! We’ll be fine!”
Contain? No. You will not be staying here any longer. You walk forward, shaky on these new legs that carry you. You snarl in frustration. You have no grace, no simplicity. These jerky movements are disgusting.
“Stop right there! In the name of-of Jesus Christ!”
Allister grits his teeth. You can hear his molars grinding in that fragile jaw of his.
His jaw is hidden somewhere. “Jason do shut up,” he growls.
They are wearing masks! Of course! No wonder their faces are so unnatural. So incomplete. You laugh. How silly. Why would one try to hide his face?
“Why the hell is it laughing!?” screams Jason. “Where the hell is the Father!?”
Time to go. This is tiresome. Everything here makes you so tired.
You start for the black gate but Allister moves to stop you. The burly monster that towers over you like an elder is trembling as he stations himself in front of the door.
No. No.
You rush forward. He doesn’t seem to notice; his eyes barely move to track your procession. Or maybe you’re just too fast. Either way, his body goes rigid as your hand punches through his barrel chest.
The scent wafts into the air like a new morning. But you are not deluded. You know this is not home. But you will find it.
As your hand searches his chest cavity you make note of the fragile wet things inside. The red liquid leaks through the wound like a beautiful waterfall. Water pouring from a fleshy pitcher. His body jerks and twitches as you wrap your thin hands around something straight and hard.
His spine.
Yes, it’s all coming back now. The water is blood, the fragile items are what’s left of his organs. And now you have what makes him stand tall.
With a jerk you tug at it and he screams.
The noise stops as soon as you rip the vertebrae through the hole you made in his chest.
The smell of vomit pollutes the heady perfume and in the corner of your eye you see Jason double over.
Leave. You need to leave this dirty place. The body flies through the air as you toss it aside. Just as you’re about to step through the gate, a force slams into your chest.
The breath leaves you and your throat works to retrieve it. The room spins once again and the back of your head slams into the wall behind you. Something cracks.
You or the wall.
A slight figure steps from the blackness. Dark mirrors framing his face and long hair spilling past his shoulders.
“Never fear boys. Daddy’s here.”
The white room goes black.
++
“Shit.”
Father Clark kneels over the mutilated bodies of Frank and Allister. With swift motions he closes the wide eyes of Allister and repeats the motion over the remains of Frank’s face. Muttering, he examines the room from his lowered position.
Jason is a blubbering mess in the corner. Rocking himself back and forth. His white hands clutch the prayer beads and cross that Father Clark had wordlessly handed to him.
The holding cell is no longer empty. Men in lab coats and gas masks have flooded the place. The bed is gone and the only thing remaining of the incident is the indenture in the wall opposite of the door.
“So, what do you make of it dear Father.” The voice is old and whispered. Like old parchment rolling into a scroll.
“What I make of it? Stupidest thing you’ve done yet, Samuel.”
Dr. Samuel Jenkins laughs. His cracked voice becomes for a moment, lively and young. “Yes, well, we both knew what we were getting into.”
Father Clark glances at the two bodies. “Yeah well, most of us did.”
Dr. Samuel sighs and crosses his arms. The suit he wears wrinkles with the action. “When will it wake?”
“It? You mean that forsaken child of God that killed your two employees? Oh, I’d say in an hour or so.”
Samuel coughs. “Yes, well. We’ve now taken the precautionary measures.”
Clark frowns as he stands. He overshadows the good doctor by a good two feet.
“You should have listened to me in the first place.”
Samuel waves his hand dismissively. “Well, we were mistaken.”
“A stupid mistake.”
The doctor sighs and watches his men pick up the sagging bodies and slip them into black bags. His gray eyes track them as they exit the room. For a moment he looks mournful but then his resolve steels his eyes.
“Well?”
“I assumed that when we transferred it into a corporeal form, that it would be just as weak as one of us…mere mortals.”
Clark snorts and walks over to the hole in the wall. His fingers lightly caress the indenture. “It was trying to leave.”
“Impossible. It was clearly Written that it would stay put unless ordered otherwise. It knows the Rules. It’s been around long enough damn it.”
Clark shook his head, his long hair shifting as he did so. “No, good doctor. I think we’re dealing with a case of amnesia.”
“Excuse me?” says the doctor incredulously.
“I can barely believe it too. And even with a case of forgetting the Rules, it should still be bound by them.”
“But it was not.”
Clark nods his confirmation. “This could get complicated.”
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 12:49 pm Post subject: |
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Wow.  Hurry up with the next one!
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 1:24 pm Post subject: |
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| It would be difficult to have a DP at this juncture because we still have no friggin' idea what's really happening here. This captures the feel of form emerging from chaos and is really quite excellently written. It gives us just enough information to make us ask twice as many questions. Nice. Keep it up Fenris!
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Klafarius
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 5:26 pm Post subject: |
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Interesting. Very Interesting. Can't wait for the next Chappy!
_________________
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Fenris
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| Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 10:07 pm Post subject: |
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Cycle 2
Azazel
by Fenris
“Clear!”
Alex’s spine arches into the air. His sweat and blood covered chest pushes itself up, swelling as if full of life. It was quite the opposite. The doctor curses as his eyes take in the same information as it had several minutes ago. Flat lining.
The young boy’s limp body sinks back into the hospital bed. Blood leaks from his forehead like a broken faucet and it pools around his head in a disturbing halo. A broken arm rests distorted across his stomach and his second arm is missing layers of skin. It looks like he had been flayed alive.
The doctor puts away the pads in a resigned fashion.
-+-+
You wake up in complete darkness. Sage black is all around you, hiding the world from view. You’re standing in a large circle of light, illuminating the marble floor underneath your feet. There is no breath of air, no whisper of the wind. Nothing at all.
“Azazel.”
The voice comes from nothing. It comes from everything.
“Azazel, God of War. Why have you stooped so low?”
The voice is sad. Sympathetic. The voice of a mother.
“Who are you?” Your mouth forms the words, but your tongue does not lift them
into the air.
“Have you forgotten us?” The voice is many. They are angry, Sad. Happy. Everything at once.
“Have you forgotten us, Beast of Fourteen Faces?”
“What are these names you call me?” Low and high hisses. But no words. But They understand you all the same.
“Names. Titles. We could call you high angel. General of God.”
Suddenly, a form rushes from the darkness. The black edge of the world clings to his shoulders like a trail of smoke. His face arrives inches from your own. But he has no face. Instead all it has is a smooth mass of flesh. Like the marble at your feet.
“But that was a long time ago, oh Goat Keeper.” The voices are still all around you. “Why do you bow to those who bind you to their will? A tool and a dog to their whim.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please! Explain!”
“Do not feign ignorance with us, bastard dog of God! Stupid hound of Hell!” The voices sound like explosions of sound. Roars and screams howl in your air like a desperate symphony of suffering. Then silence.
The being moves so fast you cannot avoid it. Long nailed hands grip your jaw and squeeze. Pain like never before crackles through your body like lightning. You gasp for air. For life.
“He does not lie,” whispers a single voice.
“A knowledge giver never lies,” says another.
“He simply does not remember,” goes a third.
The voices go silent and the Faceless One cocks its head at me.
“Oh Azazel how we envy you.”
“You never will miss the light of Heaven.”
“The feel of the clouds.”
“The love of God.”
They all sigh as one and several come to wracking sobs. Then, hisses of rage.
“No. No god now. Only man.”
“Pitiful.”
“Hypocritical.”
“Deceitful.”
“Lustful.”
“Man.”
“Then again, so are we.” The dark space is filled with raucous laughter. The sound of metal on metal.
“Why are they like that? I only remember little things. Like what is what. I know what a man is. I know what a demon is. An angel. I know of a god.” You pound your chest. “But I know not of me!”
The Faceless One leans in close. You would smell his breath, if he had one. Suddenly, the gray mass of flesh staring at you starts to twist and writhe like serpents wrapped in a pale cowl. And then a face appears. It is of a woman.
A beautiful woman. Luscious lips are complimented by startling blue eyes, a pert nose and best of all, a long tongue. It flicks from her lips and tastes the air. It reaches out and slides across your cheek, sending shivers of revulsion and desire down your thin frame.
“Oh Azazel. How can you forget humans?”
“Irony at its best. The one who teaches,” the being rushes into your face again, once again faceless. “now forgets.”
“I don’t understand! What are you!? Who are you!?”
The Faceless One shrugs. “We can hold you here no longer. But, we’ve made a way for you to escape.”
“Escape?” You remember the tall man with the long hair. “Ah.”
They all chuckle. “You cannot traverse in your state. So, we’ve provided you with a…”
“Vessel,” says the Faceless One. The pale flesh where his mouth would be has split open. Blood runs from the makeshift mouth. Tatters of skin cling to the flat gray lips like dead worms.
“You are to stop them.”
You shake your head. “Stop who?”
“The ones who would bring down God.”
The Faceless One forces his mouth onto yours and you taste wet iron.
++
You wake up in the dark. You’re getting tired of this. Tired of the black always greeting you like an unwanted friend.
It seems you’re in some type of box. Your hands feel the small world around you. Cold and metallic.
Abruptly, you’re pulled forward but the cold steel underneath you doesn’t move against your skin. With a breath of air you’re plunged into a world of light.
“Shit!” So that’s what you sound like.
“What the fuck!?” exclaims a second voice.
There’s screaming and something is knocked over onto the floor. The crash jolts you out of your nausea and you blink back into focus. You sit up and feel the cold gust of air hit your face. Your eyes adjust to the light. You’re in a morgue. How you know that is beyond you. You had just been pulled out of a drawer.
You peer down. There’s a woman lying on the floor. Unconscious as far as you can tell.
You slide off your cold bed and settle onto the ground. You’re on sturdy legs. No vomiting either. This is good.
It takes a few moments for you to come into terms of walking again. You work your arms and neck, lifting them high into the air and twisting them to and fro. This vessel. It’s nice. You feel so much better than before. Now, to see what you look like.
Ignoring the form sleeping on the floor, you step over her and proceed to the next mirror lying above a sink and a set of tools.
Black hair compliments dark eyes. Very pale though. Your hands graze the five o clock shadow that plagues your skin. Your eyes travel down south, taking in the well formed chest, the smooth abs. You raise an eyebrow at the appendage between your muscled legs. Male. You’re a male. You glance back at your face.
Quite handsome too by the looks of it.
You glance back at the woman on the floor. She’s a doctor or at least tries to appear the part. Probably the director of the morgue.
“Who the fuck are you!?”
You slowly turn to take in a shocked young man about your height. Small glasses frame his face, contradicting his burly form. He’s dressed in a blue nurse’s outfit and plastic gloves cover each hand. Your eyes narrow at the gloves.
“I said what the hell are you doing man!? Why are you naked?!”
His eyes travel to the still slumped form of the doctor. They widen. “You son of a bitch!”
He starts towards you. Prepared for conflict.
“Wait!” you say. “I haven’t done anything.”
He doesn’t stop.
“My name is!” Wait, what is your name? Your mouth opens to say “Azazel” but what comes out is, “Alex!”
“I don’t give a shit!” and a large fist swing into your line of vision.
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Yaaaay, I finally finished it. Lol, but ya this one will have a DP! Speaking of which,
What does Alex/Azazel do?
Fight back?
Try to reason?
Run away?
Kill him?
Etc.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 12:16 am Post subject: |
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Pin him down and demand information!
Very good chapter. 
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 1:22 am Post subject: |
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Well this was a little gem to discover this morning! As others have already said, this is very well told so far. Layer upon layer of intriguing details mostly devoid of explanation, but teasers dropped to keep us hooked.
My mythology education is very patchwork, but it seems we are an embodied form of some devine entity. Cerberus (sp) springs to mind at mention of some kind of hell hound, although I would have thought we'd have found the lack of heads odd as our memory returns. How limiting 1 head must feel if we'd come from 3. Something we, as of yet, haven't mentioned.
A quick google of 'Azazel' gives the quote : ..."is the chief of the Se'irim, or goat-demons".
Now Goat demon is sounding closer.
The essence of a demon chief in the body of man... sounds risky. Not sure what these religious folks hope to achieve by it. Whatever organisation they belong to, to cope with the deaths so far with such little concern clearly this is a large but secret project with significant funding. Perhaps high ranking religious leaders hope the demonstration of a demonic being in existence might prove that a god must therefore exist and drive people back to religion. Not the wisest plan maybe, given the deaths so far, but arguably no better or worse than the 'Jesus shops at Aldi' quote I saw in my morning paper.
Anyhoo, back to the current situation and the decision in hand.
Clearly a fight is only going to end badly for our attacker. For now simply restrain him and try reason. We can always refresh our memmory of the scent if he persists his futile attack. I would say simply let him attack, as it sounds like we are more than capable of taking a punch with little concern. But should that happen then the man's anger is likely to very quickly evaporate into fear when the impacts make no dent. If he runs off we lose the opportunity to learn what he might know.
Restrain him and 'borrow' his clothes Terminator-style (the chapter mentions we're about the right height, and he's a little stockier, which should mean the clothes will fit ok). If he proves troublesome, putting him in one of the morgue drawers should keep him out the way.
Happy Writing
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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Head Eater
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 2:29 am Post subject: |
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Thisssss Sssstorygame isssss mossssst worthy
Congratulationssssss!
_________________
Heads.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 4:31 am Post subject: |
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| I say he takes the hit at first... then cowers on the floor in confusion. This may open up dialogue with the 'doctor'?
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Fenris
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 2:39 pm Post subject: |
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| Smee wrote: |
A quick google of 'Azazel' gives the quote : ..."is the chief of the Se'irim, or goat-demons".
Now Goat demon is sounding closer.
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Alright Smee! Ha, I had a hard time deciding what demon I wanted, I was aiming for one of the Grigori (Watchers) and so I chose Azazel rather than Sêmîazâz who I didn't prefer.
Indeed, Azazel is one of the top Watchmen and a leader of the goat demons in the desert. I'll be throwing more mythos of Azazel along with demon and angelic counterparts throughout.
| Quote: | | “But that was a long time ago, oh Goat Keeper.” |
See, i try to keep to the bone lol
As for the goat demon vs. dog that will (hopefully) be revealed in time. I like blending demon fact with my own weird demon ideas. Thanks for reading Smee, Thunderbird, Crunchyfrog!
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 5:47 pm Post subject: |
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| There's so few of us on IF these days... we all need to stick together and read each other's stuff as much as possible. If we don't, we'll all lose heart, I'd say.
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DeadManWalking
Duke of the Mostly Dead
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| Posted: Wed Sep 23, 2009 8:26 am Post subject: |
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My my, this IS good.
I agree with Thunderbird. Let the nurse feel like he's in power. You might learn something if he only sees you as a whining, sniveling coward who has no idea what's going on. (which could sum you up quite nicely at this point, for all we know)
on a total side note, this reminds me strongly of a movie called Fallen, about a police officer trying to take down a criminal. Turns out the real criminal is a demon named Azazel, who travels through human hosts by touch. Creepy ass movie.
But yeah, superb description and what looks to be an interesting premise. Keep it up!
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Fri Sep 25, 2009 11:37 am Post subject: |
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You snuck that poll in there very quietly Fenny!
...And voted.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Fri Sep 25, 2009 11:46 pm Post subject: |
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Ha ha my bad. Looks like everyone's decided! I'll let the poll run for another day.
Meanwhile, did I bribe someone in my sleep to sticky my story O.o
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Sat Sep 26, 2009 1:29 am Post subject: |
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No you didn't 
Storygames that pass the basic standards (chapter length, spelling, grammar, punctuation, formatting paragraphs) that were used for promotion from NSG, AND the chapters are coming on a frequent and regular basis are being stickied at the moment.
This idea is being tried out as part of the City reorganisation. So until the details have been finalised, enjoy your stay at the top of the forum!
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Fenris
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| Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2009 3:58 pm Post subject: |
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| Poll is now officially CLOSED. I'll start writing out Cycle 3, I'll be make sure to let the readers know more about what's going along, and maybe even a (sexy) new character introduce. Depnds if I want to introduce the main antagonist first or not.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 11:27 pm Post subject: |
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Sorry gonna be a looong chapter! Split into 3 Parts!
Cycle 3(a)
Sheep's Clothing
by Fenris
The fist connects with your chin. It’s an iron hammer banging brittle bone. Your head rolls with the blow in spite of your efforts to stay still and you take a step back. Your legs give out under the onslaught of dizziness; they cave in like old stone pillars. The landing in a heap onto the cold floor is less than artful.
The pain wasn’t there. It should be, it should have accompanied the nausea that swims inside your skull. This is impossible. Taken down by a mere human.
Something is wrong.
The nurse stands over you, hands still balled into fists and a look of shock and pride mixes in his features. You let out a moan.
“W-Who are you,” he demands. His voice is deeper than his features let out. The glasses twitch on his nose. “What are you doing here?”
You sit up into a kneeling position, massaging your “hurting” jaw. “I don’t know. My name is. Alex.” The words are difficult to form at first, but they come to you slowly. It’s like skinning an animal, you never forget.
The nurse’s eyes narrow behind the lenses. “I recognize you.”
“You do?”
The air in the morgue is getting colder. The chill from the vents above seep inside the room like invisible vapors. You shiver. This cold. This chilling sensation. It’s all so new. All so familiar.
Your shivering seems to spark his memory. “You’re from the ER! I carted you here!”
His voice has risen to a higher pitch. It reveals his panic and he takes a step back.
“You’re dead, bro! Dead!”
ER? You cycle through the vessel’s memories. Looting through information as if you’re looking into a filing cabinet. Information about hospitals, IVs, nurses, morphine. These things you don’t recognize at all. It’s been so long.
ER. Emergency Room. A laugh escapes your lips as you rock back. So simple. This world has changed.
“You all right man?” He shakes his head. “Course your not all right. You just woke from the frickin’ dead. Goddamn “Thriller” up in here.” He keeps shaking the blond topped skull. “This isn’t happening. No. No. You just look like ‘im. That’s it.”
You don’t get his slang references. There’s still much to learn. Much to focus on. You still aren’t even clear on why your even here. Ridiculous. This whole scenario is absurd. And this room. It smells like death, but so stale.
“Please, could you tell me where I am?” The tremors in your voice do wonders.
“You mean you don’t remember? You’re in Mercy General. Downtown.” The nurse takes off his glasses and wipes them clean on his shirt. You can see dried blood near the collar. He’s muttering to himself. His voice goes in and out as you try to pick up what he’s saying.
This human’s particularly resilient. Most men and women of Earth would have screamed in panic now. But you notice the toes of his feet are pointed away from you. You follow his gaze. The red telephone.
“Look, I’m going to get Doctor Collins on the phone and then get security. We’re gonna get this all sorted out,” he says in what he thinks is a reassuring tone.
His hand reaches out to pat your pale shoulder. He can’t be allowed to call anyone. Not right now. You can already hear the female doctor on the floor stirring. She’ll cause trouble too.
The nurse gasps as you seal your cold fingers around his wrist. He tries to tug away, your forearm doesn’t even move. He’s not going anywhere.
His breathing accelerates. His heart. It’s so loud now. Thumping against his ribcage like a wild animal that needs to be free. The man’s too scared to even strike you.
“Let me go,” he hisses. Panic layers his voice in sharp layers.
“Wait, you have to tell me things,” you say mournfully. You’re scared tone is almost comical in this situation. “What city am I in? State?”
“Um-um,” he’s almost shrill now. “Sacramento! Sacramento, California! Let me go!”
“You must be sympathetic,” says your voice. “I’ve just woken up in a cold coffin, naked, alone, and barely knowing my own name.”
“I don’t care!” he squeaks. His fist finds itself back into labor. The knuckles pound again and again against the side of your face. You can feel pressure on your temples and cheek. Pushing down, and then giving up. A frightened percussion of blows.
“What condition was I in when I came into this ER?”
“I can’t remember!” He’s starting to sound like a prepubescent girl. You let go of his wrist and falls back, clutching at it.
“Please be sympathetic,” you whisper. The muscles making up your face try to contract into a smile. It comes back twisted. A grimace if anything.
Either he’s too scared to go for the phone or he really does feel remorse. Either way, he stands to his full height. Trying to bear over you like a stone tower over dead grass. His heart’s still pounding. You can feel it pumping blood to fuel his adrenaline.
He opens his mouth to speak.
“Uhhhhh,” goes a third voice.
“Mary?” He rushes past you. Completely forgetting you in the wake of a being with breasts and shaved thighs.
Mary is just waking up. Her head is probably aching, throbbing with pressure. You don’t turn to look but you can hear him helping her to her feet. There’s a rustle of cloth, her jacket. You feel eyes staring at each you. Then she screams. Again.
The urge to silence her is enormous. It’s so agonizing. The sound echoes inside your head like it’s an empty cavern. Forever bouncing off the walls of your new skull to flush out any coherent thought. All it would take is a quick tug at her neck. The vertebrae would snap the spine would mangle as the sharp bone cut into it.
“He’s supposed to be dead!”
“I know I know,” consoles the nurse.
“No, he’s dead! He came out of the freakin’ drawer, Conner!”
The time for curling on the slabs of tile has long passed. You make a show of shakily getting to your feet.
“Please help me,” you ask. “I don’t know what’s happening!”
The doctor settles down. She’s confident with the tall male by her side. “You’re not dead?”
You expel a large amount of oxygen against your hand. You smile. “See?”
“Alright, alright.” This doctor is coping well. You can’t help notice her sizeable bosom straining against the buttons of her shirt. Something about those.
“We should call security,” whispers Conner. “Just in case his dangerous.”
“His lips bleeding, did you do that?”
What? Bleeding? You hadn’t noticed that. Your fingers lightly touch your lip and they come away with small stains of red. Strange. You wouldn’t have known unless you saw yourself. This body can be injured. Interesting.
“Did you?”
“Ya, knocked him flat out,” Conner states proudly. The need to wipe the pleased smile off his face tempts you.
“Then you can handle him,” Mary says firmly. “I can’t have security come in and cart him off. This is a major discovery! He was dead when I first opened the drawer. Dead and mutilated! Now look at him!”
They stare at you like a cage animal. An unwilling specimen in their studies.
“I need information,” you say slowly. “About me. I’ve seem to have…forgotten.”
They confer with each other for a moment. A phase of fleeting glances, biting lips, and sweating brows.
“Fine,” Mary says, breaking the heavy silence. “I had your file somewhere. But you can’t go anywhere. Or Conner here,” she waves at her friend, “Will have to knock you down again. Understand?”
You blink. “I’m not an idiot. Get the medical files.”
She pauses, not sure what to say. It’s like she’s discovered a talking monkey. It’s amazing how humans can so easily alienate one another. You watch her make way to an old filing cabinet made of rusting iron. Conner watches her too, but less in a studious manner and more in an infatuated gaze. Poor fool.
Mary comes back, her long legs and heels clicking against the stonework underneath. A doctor wearing heels. Unusual, but not uncommon. Wait. You’re confusing the real world with this vessel’s memories of pornography. Real doctors don’t wear heels. Not serious one’s anyways.
You come back into focus, just in time to catch her reading off your file.
“Alex Tesh. Age: 19. You’re Caucasian, ummm,” she scans the rest of the file. “You live on 1324 Hartwood Drive, Roseville.”
She nods. “Yes, you came here with multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdominal area. One arm had been broken, the other skinned.” She glances at you, as if the last piece of information should have sparked a reaction. Your face shows nothing. Her eyes narrow and she goes back to reading.
“It’s a rather new gang thing, apparently. Anyways, after three tries of failed resuscitation, the doctor pronounced you dead. They carted you here since your family was unable to be contacted. There was no wallet, keys, or cell phone in any of your articles of clothing.”
“Sounds about right,” Conner confirms. He’s not looking at you anymore. Instead, his attention is focused on an object down Mary’s shirt.
Something’s bothering you though. This doctor. This Mary. Something’s not fitting here. A sense of “wrong” just emanates from her, like a tangible cloud of volatile perfume. Only you seem to feel it, Conner certainly doesn’t.
She closes the file with a snapping sound. Uncharacteristic of a thickened fold of paper.
“So your name is Alex?”
“Yes,” you say warily. Something is off. Very off.
Her voice takes on a teasing tone. She leers at you with a sardonic smile blessing her smooth features. “Sure about that? Sure you not called something else?”
“Positive.”
Conner is in another world. His eyes are glazed and a spot of drool speckles the corner of his lips. His eyes are gazing at nothing and whenever Mary speaks, he seems to smile like a drunken fool.
“Come now. We both know that the body is just a vessel.”
Shit.
End Part 1
Last edited by Fenris on Wed Sep 30, 2009 11:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 11:32 pm Post subject: |
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Part 2!
Cycle 3(b)
Lobby Rumble
by Fenris
The soft soles of your feet grip the tiled floor as you back away. She’s still leering at you; her blue eyes have now gone dark. There should be a sparkle there, a twinkle of life. But all that’s left is an empty darkness, a hollow end. Is that what you look like?
“Tell me, love. Angel or demon?” her voice is a sing song quality. Very pleasant. Very dangerous.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say. Playing dumb is all you’ve got right now. You don’t know how strong she is.
“Don’t fuck with me,” she snarls. Her calm demeanor is gone. “We came and took vessels at the exact same time, at the exact same room. I just couldn’t get a good look at you before I took Mary here.”
You watch the option of “ignorance” flit away on an invisible wind. “If you don’t know, I’m reasonably sure you’re not supposed to.”
A long tongue slips through her thick lips like a snake coming from its burrow. It slowly licks at her upper lip. You feel a stirring in your loins. Her dark eyes flick downward and a truly amused smile brightens her face.
“How nice,” she whispers. “Well, I suppose in the end it doesn’t really matter. You’re either for the purpose, or your not.”
The what?
She becomes a blur and she’s gone. Conner just stands there, his drunken look still very much there. You watch him closely, anything to give away he’s about to change for the worse.
“Boo.”
A familiar sensation spreads across your chest and you look down. It seems a hand has sprouted from the center of your chest. You stare at the bloody appendage. What is it doing there? That’s not right. It feels like there’s warm water running down your stomach. It feels nice.
Then the sensation, the pain, brings you back into focus. It’s not a lot. Nothing to make you tilt back and roar. But you do anyways. You’re back arches and the veins of your neck strain against the prison of your skin. The breath rushes out of you along with the terrible cry. Your scream invigorates you. You can hear them now. The clashing of spears, the hollow announcing of maces against shields. Your real child. Your genius. Your war.
“A screamer, eh?” hisses Mary.
She pulls out her hand kicks your lower back. Your spine should snap but it doesn’t. The wind seems to whistle a tune as you sail through the air and slam into the steel wall of the dead. It crumples under the impact. The bodies inside are bent and twisted back out of proportion. A few topple out as their coffins slide out.
You stand. There’s a kink in your neck. You crack it and step out of the ruined city of wall and metal.
Mary stands facing you, her back to the exit. Her right arm is covered in blood. Your blood. Rather, your vessel’s blood. You try to peer down at the hole she made, but it isn’t there anymore. The hollow place is gone.
She rushes at you again. But poor Mary is no longer a blur. You can see her coming, a wicked smile marring her pretty face. Poor Mary. She reaches out, towards your neck. She intends to rip your throat open. She intends to watch you kneel before her, clutching at the escaping air as you cease to breathe. She wants you to kneel down in a pool of blood.
No. You do not kneel.
Just as she reaches you, you strike her across the temple. You can see the ripple it sends across her face as her head partially caves in under the force. Her neck bends at an awkward angle and you can see a bit of white and pink under the new opening in the side of her neck.
She flies to the side, swatted to your right like an annoying fly. Power courses through your frame, charging your body with a new kind of electricity. The wall where you sent her explodes in a shower of dust and concrete. The crumbled pieces pepper the floor like hail and a cloud of smoke hides her from view.
You wait. Mary isn’t dead. You hope she isn’t. It’s been so long since you’ve played. Since you’ve had the least bit of fun.
She steps from the curtain of smoke. Her neck has been twisted a 180 degrees. She’s now looking at the crater she made in the wall while her body faces you. Is it in the shape of her form? You should go and see later. When this is over.
Her clothes are barely hanging onto her curvy form. Her business pants barely cling onto her wide hips the lab coat is gone, leaving only a shirt that’s hardly even there. A red bra. Fashionable.
You watch as she reaches up and twists her head back into position. The bones crack. And snap. And pop. Just like the cereal. You laugh.
“You think this is funny, bitch?” she snarls. Her face isn’t pretty anymore. Most of the skin in her left side has been shorn away, leaving only the bleeding muscle and bone underneath. It’s caved in slightly. “I’ll rip you to pieces! No fucking angel is getting the best of me!”
Angel? Hardly.
She launches herself at you. Abandoning caution into the wind like she’s leaping into the arms of a lover. You embrace her. And she knocks you both through the left wall. Bricks and cement shower over you. You tussle. And bite. And twist. It’s like passionate sex.
You punch her in the stomach and her organs inside liquefy. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her teeth commence surgery of your jaw and she throws you off of her. An explosion of force shoves you upward so fast you barely have time to register the ceiling breaking off across your back.
Azazel has reached the lobby. There’s screams of confusion. Screams of fear. The screams of pain come from the floors above. The cloud spilling from the hole you made covers the lobby, sending the elderly coughing to the floor and the healthy running for cover. Humans always abandon each other in times of panic. Then mourn after. Curious.
Why did God ever love them?
Selfless little beings. Always running about, thinking nothing of their fellow man. And the few that do, they tend to die horrible deaths. The eternity of the comedy of God.
You stand and debris falls off of you like water from a shower. This is fun. This is what you were made for.
The lobby is a lot bigger than the morgue. Chairs decorate the far walls that smoothly turn into several hallways. The reception desk is in the center of the room, a small staircase leading up to it like the entrance of heaven. Did heaven ever have stairs? You can’t even remember. It saddens you. It’s been too long.
Mary announces her arrival with a shriek. Stupid thing to do. She flies out of the column of smoke like a bat out of hell. So appropriate for her. She comes at you with the force of a wrecking ball, a tiny avatar of pure destruction. You snatch her from the air by the neck and slam her into the carpeted floor.
The breath leaves her. And Mary trembles just as the thick slab underneath groans from the blow. Good. She should tremble. All should tremble.
A song comes to mind. It’s a strange thing to come like this. Perhaps her name inspired it.
She struggles but your foot crushes her trachea and shreds her larynx against the long connected trail of bone behind it.
What was the song? Oh yes.
Mary had a little lamb.
Her arms don’t come off as quickly as they should. You’re not as strong as you used to be. She tries to scream but there’s nothing there for the air to travel to.
Her left arm comes off.
Little lamb.
The red paint splatters like a broken pipe.
Little lamb.
The poor receptionist had stood up to get a clear view of what is happening. She winces as a tide of blood bathes her with a fresh scarlet afterglow.
Mary had a little lamb.
Her right arm comes off with a similar effect. Next her legs. She shouldn’t have given you the idea in the first place. “Rip you apart,” was a poor choice of words.
It’s fleece as white as snow.
eND OF pART 2
Sorry, these two parts were on my comp where the the third part is in my USB drive at my grandparents house  so I'll post the third part as soon as I get it :p
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DeadManWalking
Duke of the Mostly Dead
Joined: 24 May 2006
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| Posted: Thu Oct 01, 2009 3:54 pm Post subject: |
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O.o
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Thu Oct 01, 2009 4:17 pm Post subject: |
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Heh, heh, awesome so far! But watch out for some of those typos!
| Quote: | | You still aren’t even clear on why your even here. |
you're
| Quote: | | Her neck has been twisted a 180 degrees. |
Remove 'a'.
I mean, they weren't plentiful but where they were, they were distracting. There were a few moments I got confused, particularly where he had a grip on the 'doctor' and what happened to transition from there. But all in all, this is great! Mixes action with the slow revealing of plot information... Well done! Looking forward to more.
_________________
      
 CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...  
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Klafarius
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| Posted: Fri Oct 02, 2009 8:54 pm Post subject: |
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Awesome Chapter so far Fenris! Kudos to you!
_________________
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Sun Oct 04, 2009 4:21 am Post subject: |
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*Waits eagerly for the last bit*
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Amichan
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| Posted: Sat Oct 10, 2009 4:53 am Post subject: |
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so far so good can't wait till the next part
_________________
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Fenris
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 8:20 pm Post subject: |
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Cycle 3-3
Man in a Suit
by Fenris
There's total silence. You stand over the twitching body, gazing at your work with a mixture of admiration, disgust, and horror. You back away, upturning the piles of rubble that you had fought upon.
You wonder if you should feel something. Remorse? Satisfaction? Or maybe this was how you were supposed to react. Embrace the nothing. Embrace the soothing calm that came with destruction. It is your way. And you know it.
There's clapping. It echoes in the silent hospital, bouncing off the marble walls into a symphony of sharp sounds that grate against your ear.
"My my. That was quite a show!"
You turn. The voice is familiar. It tugs at your memories, but its not all back yet. It bangs against the gate of your mind but you aren't able to let it in.
A man is standing by the entrance way. The pouring rain outside drenching the night air makes a perfect backdrop to his sardonic smile and glinting eyes. It's a man in a suit, complete with the cane and bowler hat. Gray. Lifeless. Dull. The suit doesn't match him.
"Azazel," he tuts. "I'm disappointed. I would have thought a cry of 'hello!' or a sudden rush of violence would have...accompanied...that stare of yours."
You don't have time for this. A sense of urgency has gripped you. You've always hated word games. Always been straight to the point. That's never changed, not in these thousands of years.
"Who are you?"
The man sniffs and shuffles forward. His cane lazily glances against the dust covered floor, making sharp tacking sounds that signal his approach.
He stops just ahead of you and he leans forward against his cane. "Memory loss?"
"Everyone seems to know who I am, but me."
"You don't know who you are?"
You pause. "I am Azazel. The elite of The Watchers. God of war. God of rams and goats."
The man sniffs and waves a hand. "All just titles to you."
"Memories cling to them," you say. Why are you explaining yourself to him? Something in you wants to. Wants to lay your deeds bare. Wants to listen and sit at his feet. Careful.
"Who are you?"
The man smiles. "Straight to the point." He leans back, straightening himself. "You were always the blunt one, Az."
You step forward, threatening. He smirks.
"I am...a messenger."
Your eyes narrow. Who is this fool to come up to you and play games? He's seen what you've done. Seen what you can do. A lesson is in order, and your just the being to teach it.
You lunge, knowing that you're no more than a blur in motion. But your hands, seeking his pale neck, end up only clenching air.
Impossible.
"That's very rude of you," he whispers.
He's behind you.
Before you can turn, you feel a sharp pain in your lower back. Your spine arches and the breath rushes out of your body. The opposite wall, yards away from you, rushes to meet you. Your frame shatters the shale covering and crumbles the cement underneath.
Gasping, you quickly get to your feet. In a moment the pain is gone.
The man stands before you, not inches away from your face. He's smiling. Sharp white teeth crowd his mouth unnaturally so, pushing and shoving for a place at the front. His eyes are a dull gray but menace and mirth makes them glint.
"Don't make this difficult, Azazel."
You relax. It's always been best to strike unexpectedly.
"Who are you?" you snarl.
He leans forward. "Ask nicely."
You remain silent and consider which eye to take out first. He see's your intent as if he's reading a book, as if all your thoughts are being spelled out across your forehead. He laughs at them.
"I am Abaddon."
The name strikes fear. You don't know why but the root is somewhere deep in your chest. It squirms and writhes, shrieking in terror at the name. An uncontrollable shudder passes through your body.
Abaddon smiles. "Yes, now you remember. Or at least part of you does. Everyone knows The Destroyer." He flourishes his hands and twists around extravagantly. "Everyone."
Your head is starting to hurt. This is too much. You need rest. This is what they call a headache.
Abaddon stops spinning and fiddles with his cane. "All your memories will return. Eventually. But that's not important, Azazel. What is important, is who's side you're on."
You consider this. Of course. The purpose that Mary had babbled on about. Perhaps this was your chance to learn more.
"Is there a war going on?" you ask.
The demon blinks in surprise. "My, you truly are in the dark. And so calm about it!"
He laughs and spins his cane between thin fingers. He motions for you to follow him. And the two of you tread an invisible path in the ruins of Mercy General.
"It's not really a war as of yet. More like a," he searches for the word. "Domestic dispute."
You stay silent.
"Its between two factions, my boy. Well, three really. Those who serve The Purpose, those who Oppose, and those who don't give a fuck." He emits a bark of laughter. We pass two orderlies, stock still, in the middle of trading papers.
He glances at them. "Freezing time. Wonderful perk."
"How can you do this?"
He shrugs. "You can do it to. We can't hold it for long. I just need to get us up to the roof." He nods towards the stairs.
<> <> <> <>
You can hear the sirens below. There's a mass of people surrounding the hospital. Ambulances, white and black vans, police cars of all sizes, and curious onlookers.
You and Abaddon stand on the very edge, staring down at the milling insects far below. The rain makes a pleasant sound. It soothes you, relaxes your itching nerves and growing tension. It's so peaceful. It reminds you of something yet again. It's comforting, familiar.
You blink.
Yet it brings a sadness you don't want to accept.
"I miss the rain," Abaddon whispers. "I mean, it rained in hell. Acid though. Not pleasant."
The demon chuckles and looks up to bare his face against the downpour. "Reminds you of Home."
Ah. Yes. Home.
"Abaddon, please explain more."
He's silent. You understand and you wait. The both of you just stare into the entanglement of glass, stone, and steel that make up this city. The rain makes everything more bearable.
"The Purpose is simple. Bring down our Father."
You nod. This seems normal.
"The Opposition of course is, protecting the Father on his sprawling throne."
"So, its fight against our feathered brothers then."
Abaddon sniffs and eyes a low flying bird coming in your direction. "Not quite."
"Then what?"
"It's a mix now," he says. "There's been another major rebellion. Now it's abominations and the blessed fighting, well, abominations and the blessed," he sighs and examines his pristine nails. "Apparently, some unknown angel decided he could do what Lucifer couldn't.
More collected to his cause. To his story. And he slowly rose in power. Hell, he wasn't even a seraphim. An arch. Just a lowly cherub or something. But it's changed. So now, angels and demons fight against more angels and demons."
"Something out of a comic book," you remark.
"I suppose God thinks its amusing."
"Who's side are you on?"
Abaddon shrugs and a good sized waterfall spills off both shoulders. "I just don't give a fuck."
You frown. "Then why did you come to retrieve me?"
Abaddon smiles, his brilliantly white teeth almost sparkle. "Whether you remember it or not, I owe you a large favor. And I plan to make it up to you by letting you on a little secret."
"Which is?"
"Which is you are all going to die. Like, right now," says a female voice.
The man in the gray suit stiffens and then snarls in frustration. You both turn, swiveling on your heels smoothly despite being balanced on a thin ledge.
A group of men and women glare at you. Six to be exact. They're vessels of all races. A black men, two Asians who look like a couple, two white old men, and a Mexican businessman in a shredded suit and tie.
"Yo! Down here, bitch!"
Your eyes travel downwards, well past your adversaries waists to rest upon the leader. Who happens to be a rather tiny girl in a ballerina uniform.
The little girl glances down and leers. "Nice dick."
She smiles. She has teeth that would make wolves proud.
Last edited by Fenris on Tue Nov 17, 2009 10:07 pm; edited 3 times in total
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Fenris
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 8:24 pm Post subject: |
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IM SORRY ITS OVERDUE!!!!
So, DP is generic, kinda the same as the last one and well, ya. I know, I know. Lame right? Well as the story moves forward you"ll get to the more story defining descions! Including which side you want.
Yay
So, DP!
What our, or rather you and Abaddon to do? React hostily? Try to reason peacefully? Leap the fuck off the building and hope you sprout some leathery wings and fly?
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 10:00 pm Post subject: |
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Ouch.
My best advice it to simply follow Abbadon's lead. He actually KNOWS what's going on. You don't want to attack in a situation that could be negotiated, or try to negotiate in a situation where doing so would only give the other side a head start.
Abbadon is more likely to know who these people are, and their position in relation to the two of you. So just copy what he does.
Interesting plot as well. Though i have to ask, why would any demons fight for the Father against a rebellion? What motivation do they have?
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Amichan
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 10:28 pm Post subject: |
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not bad but it seems like that you left us at a cliff hanger but with no real dp but that is my opinion
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Smee
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 10:52 pm Post subject: |
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Another fun read this morning. There's some odd parts in there, I would recommend another read through and edit.
I think Deady has made a very good point... Abaddon knows the situation.
But given the little girl's opening line... 'you're all going to die'... I think we can infer enough to know these guys ain't friendly.
Knee to the face seems like a good opener 
Happy Writing
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 10:21 am Post subject: |
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I think it's fairly obvious why some demons might fight with God. Chance of promotion - chance to show they've changed, and that he should really forgive them. And because God's probably pretty hard to beat, so they don't think it's worth the effort.
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Klafarius
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 12:26 pm Post subject: |
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I can sum up my opinon into 4 words.
It's ass kicking time!
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Fenris
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 2:26 pm Post subject: |
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Lol, catchy line.
lo siento if this final piece had seemed a bit rush. Because it totally was. I had to retype everything but when I had finished it, I was unhappy with it. Originally, Azazel was supposed to meet Gabriel, not Abaddon. But I changed it.
EDIT: Fixed all the grammar mistakes and sentence confusions 
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 3:00 pm Post subject: |
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Well, I don't think he's going to find out what Abaddon's secret is or what the favour was that Abaddon wants to return, right at that very moment.
Kick Ass time just about sums it up, I can't see what else they can do. Not sure they're going to be able to reason with them!
I guess the little girl's physique will be very deceptive. Probably not best to go for her first. Tackle the six first.
Alternative suggestion:
I don't know much about these creatures and I don't know whether they can dump their vessels and go find another. If it is not too crazy an option, can they just... um... jump off the ledge?
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 8:33 pm Post subject: |
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Well, role-playing wise, he'd attack. I still wonder why he struck at Abaddon before even having a clue who Abaddon was. So, in staying in character, he'd welcome the fight.
BUT, I agree he should follow Abaddon's lead here... more as a tactical decision.
Your writing is so good in parts that some of the missed edit points I find really striking. Look out for those 'Your, You're and To, Too"s. They screamed out at me quite loudly, though there's a lot of things I could equally point out that you're doing brilliantly. Keep up the good stuff. I like the theme so far... right up my alley! That said, it definately needs more expanding on, though you seem to be pacing the revealing of information just right to maintain a heck of a lot of interest... well done there.
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CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Nov 17, 2009 5:15 am Post subject: |
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*Stamps feet awaiting a new chapter*
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Fenris
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| Posted: Tue Nov 17, 2009 11:20 pm Post subject: |
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Cycle 4
Blood is Thicker than Water
by Fenris
The rain. It’s such a contrast for what is about to happen. The gentle puddles that form at your feet and far below are about to be soaked anew. A new baptism of blood and brimstone.
Abaddon teeters on the edge as he leans back casually. His gray eyes scan the situation with a calmness that’s almost as chilling as it is comforting. The seven leer at your new companion and you. Their eyes are covered in darkness as if someone had poured black ink into their sockets and let it fester there.
It’s silent but for the shower. Finally, the little girl saunters forward. She’s light on her feet, moving swiftly and with grace. It reminds you of a feline. Maybe a tiger. Perhaps a lion. You stare into her eyes hoping to find some way of knowing her next move but she just stares at you with that grin of hers. The fangs poke out of her mouth like unwilling passengers in a crowded train.
It’s almost comical.
You smell nicotine. You smell the death that lingers in it. Abaddon is smoking next to you. Somehow between the few seconds of staring, he had managed to pull out a stick and light it. You watch his pale nostrils flare as white smoke billows from them. Disgusting yet appealing.
“So, Lilith. You’re back.”
“Better then ever,” snaps the girl. The six behind her move closer.
“Really? The tutu suits you, I suppose,” Abaddon says. “I like the pink. Very nice touch.”
You see the twitch in her neck, the tightening of various muscle cords, that tells of what she intends to do. You lower your center of gravity, letting your instincts guide you. God would not admit it, but all angels were bred for war. And with the fall, they lived for it.
“Watch your tongue, boy,” Lilith hisses. “Lest I rip it out of that pretty mouth.”
Abaddon winks at her. “Feisty.”
She lunges. In the milliseconds that pass, you see Abaddon’s head tilt towards the others. An order? A suggestion? Who cares? There is blood to be split.
You leap past Lilith and she automatically dodges out of the way, right into the oncoming path off Abaddon. There’s a wet smacking sound, and a six year old girl smashes into the pair of air vents, ripping through one and crumpling the other.
Through the shrieks of bending metal, you dive low. The tall black one barely has time to take a step back before you bury your fist inside his abdomen, missing his heart. He hisses, whether in pain or frustration you don’t know. He lands a blow on your head, sending you stumbling back but not without a string of innards as a prize.
At the corner of your eye, you see the Asian couple leap at you. Your back scrapes the ground as you lean back as far as you can. They fly over you. A pale fist that belongs to you shoots out and collapses the husband’s trachea. His black eyes bulge and before his partner can react, you spin like a dancer, and cave in his sternum. There’s a hissing sound and the female breaks three of your ribs.
Something slams into your spine and the world spins, another blow to your forehead and the skies turn red. You gasp as the two white men exchange flurry of blows against you. They’re movements are barely perceptible, but you’re just as fast.
They snarl as they lunge and twist. Their wrinkled throats let out deep brutish sounds that remind you of a boar readying for a charge. Or a lion in the middle of mating. It’s disgusting. You can see their Elegance. Their horns curve and spiral from the top and sides of their heads, replacing the halo of light they probably once wore proudly. In a flash they’re gone as you narrowly avoid a blow meant for your jaw. The horns reappear as soon as you break one of the old man’s legs at the knee.
You knock away the crippled assailant and move your head to the side to avoid a pointed palm that was supposed to separate your head from your neck. Your fist lands a solid blow into the remaining white elder. The elderly man gasps as his face contorts with the impact of your knuckles. He flies back.
The wind seems to whisper as you spin. A silent song that plays like an orchestra meant to intensify this dance. Your knee crushes its way through the weak ribs of the choking Asian and proceeds to shove them into his lungs. Blood leaks from his lips in small fountains. His female partner screams and rushes you, along with the black man.
You sense the movement behind you and duck, letting the black demon’s clutching hand rip through his companion’s chest and crush his heart. There’s an explosion of blood, a geyser of scarlet, and the first demon falls. His jaw stretches unnaturally wide as if unhinged, and ichors seep out like cursed smoke.
Before the man can pull his wrecked hand out of his fellow’s chest, you plunge your elbow back and shove his sternum through his spinal cord. You turn just in time to see your brother’s vessel seize up and spasm. A high pitches shriek escapes from his lips as he tries to regain control. Before he can, you rip out his heart and make the beating organ pop like a wet balloon.
The remaining Asian slides against the wet ground, grinding up her knees she avoids a kick meant for her throat. Her fist punches in your chest and the breath leaves. Darkness spins at the edge of your vision. A clutching dark thing that lingers at the edge of your vision. Silent. Waiting.
But you push back. You fight it. It's not time to go. Your fingers wrap around the neck of her shirt before she can get to her feet behind you. Your hurl her through the air and watch as her vessel's fragile body makes a deep imprint against the stair house.
The commotion near the ledge grabs your attention.
You hear Abaddon grunting as he crosses his arms to deflect Lilith’s vicious jabs. Her fingernails slice through his blazer, shirt, and skin. You can hear the calcium formed tips sever flesh and grate against bone. Your companion responds by head butting the small girl in the face, permanently crushing her noses and breaking the front of her mandible.
Blood pollutes the wet air.
Lord. The Scent is all around you. It wafts up through the deadening rain and makes its way into your senses. You get the heady feeling again. The pleasant euphoria of intoxication. It’s like being Home again. You can smell the blood on the altar. You can hear the trumpet sound and you feel the whisper of His feet gracing the marble steps as he makes his way towards the sacrifice.
You’re almost there now. You’re invincible. You’re a god among men. All that stands in your way of the Gates are these bastards. These Fatherless crows.
You watch as the two old men leap your way along with a screeching woman. Who are these fools? Who are these worms that they dare challenge you? Pitiful imps scouring for scraps and titles in a battle they can’t hope survive in.
No. You will not go back into the darkness. Away from the sun. The moon. The rain. The sky. No.
The look of surprise plays across the first white man’s features just before you make the building shudder with impact. His body goes limp and twists with a cracking sound as he sails through the air. He looks like a ragdoll. A plaything.
That’s all they are. Toys. Child’s play.
You’re making your way through the air before the others can react. You grab the demon’s bald head in mid-air and smash down against the wet stone. His skull explodes into a fireworks display of pink, red and gray matter. His eyeballs are obliterated by the impact and you see the cerebral fluid splatter against the small rain puddles.
The demon leaves without a chance to scream.
Nails rake your naked back and you feel them nip your vertebrae. Your vessel seizes up and your muscles stiffen then go slack. You recover quickly, but not before the whore buries her hand inside your lung. Your breath becomes blood and your vision melts into hazy images. It straightens itself out as you cave in her face with an elbow.
How dare they? These fucking animals dare to touch you. You’re higher then them. Better. More worthy to be in His light then anything. More worthy to reject His hands. They have no place at all.
You grab the wriggling bitch by the neck and punch your fist through her left chest cavity. You can feel the heart, lungs, and tissues unravel and detonate out her back as your fist comes clean through the other side. She screeches and you see black wisps of smoke curl from her eyes.
You knock aside the remaining bastard as he flies at you. He sails off the edge of the building but his scrawny arms reach out and snag the edge with withered hands. You walk over to where he hangs and smirk as he bounds up onto the flat battleground again. Your pitiful brother should have escaped while he had the chance.
You watch as the sunken in part of his skull ever so slowly starts to fill out. You wait until your lungs stitch themselves back together. You’re so much faster then them. They can barely maintain their vessels.
The fool feints to the right but you see through it. You’re waiting for him at his left and before he can lift his arms to block, his heart is in your hands. You watch the pitch black pupils grow bigger as he stares at the beating organ resting in your palm. He opens his mouth to say something.
He has nothing to say that’s worth hearing.
The heart turns to putty in your fingers as you make a fist. The blood runs down your wrist and drips onto the wet slab of cement.
Victory is sweet.
“Azazel! Run!”
You turn. The sight captivates you and even surprises you. Lilith is standing over your fallen companion. Her small foot is gently pressed against his temple, making him stay in his crumpled position. Her face is a bloody mess, but Abaddon seems to be missing an arm. His remaining limb is wrapped around Lilith’s ankle.
His grip has crushed the bone and joint and shredded the skin so much that it looks unrealistic. Neither can move.
Lilith smiles at you and her disgusting teeth show themselves again. “You zone out when you fight, naked man.”
Abaddon tries to say something but Lilith applies more pressure; in turn he breaks her tibia.
“You two have gotten weak in your old age. Too much time either peddling for humans or crying in your pits, I think.”
She spits onto the ground, ruining a perfectly good rain puddle.
“Flee if you want, bitch,” she snarls. “But I’ll find you eventually. After I crush your boyfriend’s head here and untangle myself, I’m gonna be coming after you.”
You stare first at her then at him. He mouths, “Run.”
Then mouths, “New York. Samuel.”
“Saying your final good bye’s then?” Lilith lifts her foot up slightly so she can bring it down on Abaddon’s head. Your brother is faster. He yanks Lilith’s leg, toppling her and smacking her fragile skull into the cement. His hand destroys her heart just as her nails separate his head from his neck. You watch as twin black spirals of smoke disappear into the rain. Alone. Again.
You watch the ichors drift away and leak into the rivers made by rain.
<> <> <> <> <>
Alright! Ha took me long enough. Just wrote this up today when I finally had the time. So, kind of a big DP here.
Should you stay or should you go? And if you decide to follow Abaddon's instructions, how do you get there?
Or should you stay and look more into things? Maybe try and find out by yourself what secret your dead brother's been trying to tell you? Or maybe a completely different option!
Choice, choice
Last edited by Fenris on Wed Nov 18, 2009 1:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Amichan
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| Posted: Tue Nov 17, 2009 11:44 pm Post subject: |
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After all of that i would get the hell out of there try to regroup then go from there and since your fight scene is so good with the description be proud to get this from me
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 1:14 am Post subject: |
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Okay. Forgive me if I'm missing something obvious here. I've just caught up on this rather excellent story in one go and sometimes when you do that, the details get a bit hazy. Does Azazel actually know where he is yet?
I mean, New York might not be such a far stretch if you're in, say, New Jersey to start with. It might be a bit more of a big deal if you're in... Paris? Not that I don't think he could get there anyway, but the first step would seem to be, find out where you are and go from there.
Having said all that, I don't think Azazel has any more real reason to trust Abaddon than Lilith and her cronies. Sure, they ended up fighting on the same side for one fight, but what does he really know about them, or the war, or any of that? Even doing something as simple as following one instruction at the moment could lead to him being forced into a choice he never intended to make.
If in doubt, the only side to be on is your own. And the best way to remedy ignorance is to find the truth out for yourself. I would say he'd be best off doing his own investigating, in a city known for its history of good or evil, or holy wars. Palestine, Rome and Bangkok spring to mind as great centres of activity on these fronts. He's bound to find something - or someone - lurking around those places.
Better than being led by the nose anyway.
Oh, and hi again everyone btw
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Smee
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 1:15 am Post subject: |
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*Gasp!*
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Chinaren
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 9:03 am Post subject: |
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O.o I sees a stoat.
F5ing the F5
Anyways while I agree with the location component of Shady's statement, I have to disagree on the part about not having any reason to trust Abbadon. While it is true that his actions, while seen in isolation, haven't given us any real reason to trust him, he's pretty much been the only person not to try and kill us so far. And while he may be using us, it is infinitely preferable being used than being dead. Since we don't seem to have a moral or ethical preference towards either side yet, it would make sense just to side with the faction that hasn't yet tried to kill us.
Plus, he's another fallen angel. That's gotta count for something. And so far, what we've seen is demons against fallen angels. I say go to New York, and meet this Samuel (btw, total speculation, but since I know no Biblical Samuel, he might perhaps be Samael, another fallen angel?).
(Total side note @ Shady: Why Bangkok? I understand Rome and Palestine, but I can't figure out Bangkok. Perhaps just my faulty American history lessons.)
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 11:13 am Post subject: |
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Wow... saying its nice to see you again Stoat seems, well... a major understatement! Welcome back! Hope ya stick around for a while! 
As for the dp... I'm finding myself further confused than before. He does seem to be suddenly remembering himself through all this battle. Trust for Abaddon does seem to be an issue. But from the way it seems, the battle is over now, right? Doesn't he have some time to discuss this out with Abaddon? Can't he get some details as to why he's supposed to go to New York? What is a New York anyhow?
I loved the descriptive detail of the fight scene! Some of the wordsmithing going on was some of the finest I've ever seen. However, I usually got lost trying to understand whom was fighting whom and for what motive. There was a little too much pronoun usage when referring to combatants and a little too little introducing those combatants at all. They were suddenly there in most cases, leaving me wondering who the heck he was fighting.
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CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 1:23 pm Post subject: |
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First, SHADY STOAT!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!! and mucho gracias Kang
Secondly, to be honest, I don't know where the hell we are either I hadn't exact;ly planned that out, so I figure, hey, why don;'t the readers decide
So, where are we? It has to be in the United States, we'll get to foreign territory later
Thirdly, Abaddon is deady dead. His head was ripped off at the same time he destroyed Lilith's heart, so back to Hell with both of them or perhaps something much darker. Where do demons and fallen angels go when their vessel's die? Back to hell? Oblivion? We'll find out
And yes, why Bangcok ?
EDIT;
Alright I added some to the story to help try and clear the confusion of the fight scene and clarify Abaddon's and Lilith's death.
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2009 1:18 am Post subject: |
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F5 *FLASHBACK!!!!*
If memory serves, didn't F5 originally mean 'I agree with Stoat'? 
As for Bangkok, it has a certain Sodom-and-Gomorrah reputation with its nightlife. And where there's sex, there's usually the opportunity for exaltation and degradation in equal measures. Angels and demons would be likely to hang around, manipulating the highs and the lows to suit their own ends. Makes sense to me - but I am a bit twisty
I'm still a bit skeptical about New York. First off, Azazel and Samael are two names for the same being, as far as I can tell (the original corrupter of Eve in Eden). So rather than finding Samael in New York, he was being directed to the city itself. I'm not worried that Abaddon was trying to get him killed or anything like that. I'm more worried about other angels and demons that may be standing on the sidelines, trying to work out what side we're on before they launch their attacks. After all, with humans there are people who rush headlong in with the frontal attack, and those who stand by planning their strategies and seeing what the strengths and weaknesses of the enemy are, by how they deal with those frontal attacks. Why shouldn't the angel-demon world be the same? And if we go to New York, we could be walking straight into the base camp of one side or the other, committing ourselves to that camp before we even know what we're doing.
Plus, when any storygame gives you one option and tells you that you can think of others if you want to, I feel duty-bound to open it up as far as possible. Fighting for the rights of the downtrodden readers and all that
On a more roleplay front, Azazel seems to love the conflict, relish the violence. He has very little memory of what he was before, but I can't see him being scared of walking into a war zone. On the other hand, he's existed a very long time, and got to the top of his peer-group. (Wow, talking about demons as if they were advertising execs, that has to be a new low for me) He's bound to have developed a strong sense of self preservation, which would be more instinct than memory driven by now. Is the original corrupter likely to trust and believe in someone's death-bed instructions? At the very least, he'd want to know what he was walking into before he walked into it. Newspapers, TV news, the internet... turning some poor human upside down and shaking him until he gets the information... yeah, the last one sounds more his style If the demons and angels have come out to play in New York, one thing's for certain. It will be headline news.
Oh, and he wouldn't know that he was Samael either. Nor do we for that matter, it's just a weaselly guess.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2009 1:43 am Post subject: |
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| Shady Stoat wrote: | F5 *FLASHBACK!!!!*
Oh, and he wouldn't know that he was Samael either. Nor do we for that matter |
No...no...i was totally planning to um, make them different people...they're no the same...you're totally wrong....like totally....goddammit.
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Mattheus
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| Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2009 1:50 am Post subject: |
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| head to New York to find out who or what is there, whether Azrael makes it there or not is another question entirely. Very goog read, really enjoying it
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2009 1:43 pm Post subject: |
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@ Stoat
In all biblical matters, there is no definite truth. Samael and Azazel are mostly seen as two different angels, though both are sometimes thought to have been the snake (not at the same time ).
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sat Nov 21, 2009 11:17 am Post subject: |
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*stoatthwack*
Isn't that what you're meant to do?
I would agree with Bangkok, actually, but for a different reason. Normal humans aren't going to know anything about this, but he needs his information from somewhere. He can't ask anyone from the Christian faith, as they will be biased into telling him which side to support. That logic also rules out Judaism and (I think - correct me if I'm wrong) Islam, as they believe in the same God, but with different prophets and conceptions around him. That leaves Hinduism and Buddhism for sources of information. He could ask a Hindu god, I suppose, but Buddhism is pretty much the ultimate in impartiality. So why not go to Bangkok, a massive city full to the brim of Buddhists.
He could also try Lumbini, for the historical side, but that's not nearly so big.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Sat Nov 21, 2009 11:43 am Post subject: |
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The problem though is that I'm not actually sure people of other religions would know anything about this war. I mean, this is a war of Christian angels vs. God, and people of other religions would know nothing of the war. Or would intentionally disbelieve any evidence of any other God but their own.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Sun Nov 22, 2009 2:44 am Post subject: |
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I would not trust Abbadon yet, as Shady Stoat says, we know nothing of his motives, and he may be using their brief alliance as a last ditch attempt to persuade Azazel to continue his cause.
I would say stay and learn a little more about his situation. He doesn't know where he is, or even why he is here.
I am still fascinated by the first chapter, and this scientific environment the story opened with. I believe there may be a clue there. Was he conjured into this vessel by somebody? If so who, and why?
My instinct would be to go back and locate the place where the story started. Maybe then we can discover whether Abbadon's plea is genuine or not.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sun Nov 22, 2009 2:52 am Post subject: |
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| DeadManWalking wrote: | | The problem though is that I'm not actually sure people of other religions would know anything about this war. |
I think perhaps the people might not know, but the gods/saints and equivalents would certainly know - they would be idiots to ignore everyone else, after all. Even if they're only watching it to see if they can snatch any believers from under God's nose, they will be watching.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Sun Nov 22, 2009 2:05 pm Post subject: |
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But would their saints/equivalents be present? I think that would depend on Fenris's world. We don't actually know if any of the other religion's also have their figures alive, or if it's only the Christian theology that is working. So I'd have to say that it would depend on which of those two options Fenris chooses for his setting.
Just Christianity or all religions?
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Fenris
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| Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2009 2:44 am Post subject: |
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It's based on the Christian faith. I would love to be able to incorporate various other religions but I'm not sure how and have no knowledge whatsoever of them either. Christianity is my strong point it seems.
BUT, its not unheard of for demons, fallen angels, and angels to "impersonate" gods of various religions, say a demon posing as Allah or Muhammad, a fallen angel a Hindu priest or Catholic saint, or a demon as Buddah or Indian god of death etc. Not written in stone or anything.
And to Crunchyfrog, Yes! I was worried some people had forgotten our resident long haired priest and the shady summoning! We'll be seeing more of them.
But for orginization's sake, we'll have two votes. The first will be WHERE THE HELL ARE WE???
Bangkok, Rome, Palestine, Ireland etc?
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2009 7:48 am Post subject: |
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Well these people appear to be speaking american english, so just for that I'd say Seattle. Maybe San Francisco. (Since those would both work for the current accent, yet would allow an interesting cross-country trip (If we end up going to New York). New Jersey just makes things too easy.)
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Amichan
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| Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2009 4:50 pm Post subject: |
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Well Fenny Based on the last chappy that i just re read over i would say Chicago seems very suitable due to the rain and dialogue. Chicago is considered a very rough city and your aggressive and rough dialogue really supports the pluasibility of it being in Chicago and then going to New York would make perfectly good sense
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| Posted: Wed May 11, 2011 10:04 am Post subject: |
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| You continueing with this story? I did enjoy the unique way you wrote it.
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