Post by TheLovecraftFactor on Nov 3, 2007 4:28:33 GMT -5
Ah, well, a Happy belated Halloween, and a Happy upcoming Thanksgiving. I was actually hoping to get this part up on Halloween night, but once again, I found myself stuck...
There was a sequence I had completely planned out in my head, and I thought I would be able to get it down in one night, but unfortunately...it ended up taking me four whole days to write (yes, today is the fourth day...God, it's 5:30 a.m. right now...I really need to sleep...).
Anyhoo, enjoy...
8:40 p.m.
‘Searle was right…this really is nothing more than a hiding place…’ Robert thought wearily as he sat in the control room of the Stellar Bomb. He was thin enough to barely fit comfortably between two large supply closets, and that’s where he was now, sitting between the closets, scattered papers and notebooks surrounding him. Leaning towards the notebook closest to him, he picked it up and started thumbing through it. However, he put it down again after finding that he couldn’t keep his attention focused on it. Leaning back against the wall, he stared blankly ahead of him as the earlier transmission from Earth replayed in his head. It had been a draining experience for him, both physically and mentally, and he had no wish to relive it. His mind, however, didn’t agree, and so the conversation was now firmly rooted in his head, much to his annoyance.
Frustrated, he banged his head against the wall, thinking that would help clear it, but a raging headache was all he got for his trouble. Sighing angrily, he crossed his arms and leaned his head against them. After a moment, he raised it again, as if remembering something. He looked down at his comm badge and picked it up. With practiced ease, he tapped the necessary buttons in their proper order. Once the sequence was complete, the tiny voice of Icarus piped through the badge: Tracer deactivated. Robert smiled, knowing that with his badge’s tracer disabled, Icarus would monitor his life-signs, but would not track his location until the tracer was enabled again. With the tracer off, he also could not send or receive any messages to and from the others. He only shut it off whenever he had absolutely no patience to deal with anybody…that’s what he kept telling himself, anyway. But, the real reason for turning it off (although he would never admit it…least of all to himself) was for him to hide from Cassie whenever he felt himself succumbing to her shameless flirting. Still smiling, he dropped the badge, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. Despite his headache, he managed to fall asleep.
8:50 p.m.
“You know, Robert, hide-and-seek is a pretty fun game to play, but only if you’re ten years old. Now, being the adults we are, there’s no more room for such childish games. I’m quite surprised that you of all people would resort to something this immature…forcing me to chase you around like this…eh, the things I have to go through just to give one simple apology…” Searle said out loud as he walked down the corridor leading away from the Oxygen Garden. Corazon, who was walking next to him, gave him a strange look, but said nothing. Reaching an intersection, she veered off in the direction of the Common Area to inquire about dinner, while Searle continued on his way back to his original location: Robert’s quarters. He had been waiting (somewhat) patiently for him to arrive there when Harvey rushed up to him, complaining about Cassie’s ‘PMS-induced attitude problem’. If he had known what awaited him in the Garden, he never would have listened to Harvey’s annoyed rant.
He walked slowly, clearly irritated because he had just spent the last thirty or so minutes enduring a pointless lecture by Corazon about why the plants of the Garden were far superior to a large, overly bloated and ultimately boring ball of gas. He had finally escaped after convincing her to make up her lost sessions, although he had to promise that he would spend at least an hour and a half each day in the Garden in order for her to do so.
As he walked down the corridor, it suddenly hit him. ‘…I just spent thirty unproductive minutes listening to Corrie ramble on and on about her precious Garden when I could have been out looking for you, and it actually annoyed the hell out of me. Heh…I can almost see your reaction now, Robert: staring at me with a smug expression on your face and saying ‘It’s poetic justice, Searle. Tell me, how did it feel, being on the receiving end for once?’ Indeed…’ He smiled wryly at the irony of the thought. ‘I would never have been stuck in this situation if it wasn’t for Harvey…he’s really going to hear it from me when I see him again…’ He shook his head slowly as he stopped walking and looked up, saying “Icarus?” Calmly, she replied Yes, Dr. Searle? “Where is Capa now?” Icarus didn’t speak for several long moments. When she finally did, Searle was far from pleased with her answer: … …I’m sorry, Dr. Searle, but Capa’s comm badge tracer has been deactivated. I cannot pinpoint his current location. 'Tch...not again, Robert...' he thought grouchily. Frowning at the words, he sighed deeply. “All right. Inform me the moment his tracer comes back on line.” Yes, Dr. Searle, she replied. “…And so the game continues… <sigh> Well, I can keep this up just as long as you can, Robert… It’s only a matter of time…” Searle murmured wearily as he started walking again.
8:55 p.m.
He walks down corridors that are familiar to him, yet completely different at the same time. The first thing he is aware of is the darkness. Poorly lit with patches of faint blue light, the empty halls are filled with lurking shadows that shift constantly, their movements seeping with malicious intent. The soft glowing of the blue lights only accentuated their strength. Next, he feels the cold. It is a piercing chill that penetrates deep inside him, causing an intense, persistent shudder that pervades his entire body. The last thing that enters his awareness is the silence. Like the shadows, it seems to have a powerful, oppressive presence all its own. The blood that pounds heavily in his ears is the only sound that he can hear within the shadowed, tomb-like corridors. He continues to walk, ignoring the cold, the silence, and the shadows, for they are only distractions from his true objective.
Turning a corner, he sees a dark shape lying slumped against the left wall of the corridor among a solid, glistening circle of red. He passes it without interest or concern, barely registering the fact that it once belonged to a living being. As he walks, he notices another patch of red in the center of the floor. He recognizes it as blood instantly. It glistens and sparkles in the feeble blue light, indicative of its frozen state. Without stopping, he veers off to one side, avoiding the icy patch as he continues on his way.
He picks up his step, knowing his destination is not too far off. At this point, the corridors begin showing signs of damage. The walls and ceiling are pockmarked with holes and gashes of all shapes and sizes, and splashes of now-frozen blood can be seen among the walls and floors. Scattered debris covers the floor, causing him to carefully make his way along these damaged spots to avoid hurting himself. The icy numbness that now affects his movements force him to go as slowly as possible across the debris.
It takes him a while, but he finally manages to escape from the hazardous objects choking the halls. The floors are clear after this, but the walls still display signs of heavy damage. Exhausted from the effort, he slowly trudges along, the deep cold causing his breaths to show up as white mist. Rounding another corner, he finally reaches his destination: a small, unassuming door in the middle of the hall. The door has suffered its fair share of damage, for deep gashes and punctures adorn its front. A simple plaque near the top is splattered with frozen blood, making identification of the words within impossible. All he can see is the following: ‘L.--ps--, P--ci--’.
As he reached for the door handle, a strange thing happened. It started first as an intense dizziness, then the world began spinning rapidly around him, and then he had the strong sense of being forcefully pulled… It lasted no longer than a second or two, but when it was done, he was suddenly watching himself pull the door open and go inside the room. He tried to get himself to follow, but found that he couldn’t move…it was if he had been frozen in place after being torn from his body. He couldn’t even look anywhere else except right at the door.
An indeterminate time later, the door opens again, and he’s seeing himself reemerge into the hall. He’s now staring into his own eyes, and unexpectedly finds himself completely enthralled by them. He had never once understood why others – especially those of the female persuasion – were always so attracted by his eyes…he thinks he understands now. The moment passes as he feels himself being pulled back into his body, but this time, the process works in reverse as the pulling happens first, then the spinning, and then the dizziness.
Thus restored, he starts walking again. That’s when he notices two things: The first, perhaps most unnerving thing is that although he’s back in his own body, it’s not obeying him. His eyes are focused straight ahead, despite all his attempts to move them around. He also can’t get himself to stop walking. It’s almost as if he’s now nothing more than a passenger inside his own body, and that disturbs him immensely. The second thing he notices is that he’s tightly clenching something in his right hand, but he can’t tell what it is because he can’t get his eyes to move towards it. He feels something heavy pressing against his chest, but he can’t see what that is, either. Eyes firmly staring forward, he continues to walk, curious as to where he’s going, and what’s going to happen once he gets there.
Time seems to grind to a halt as he strolls down the shadowed corridors. He begins to wonder if he’ll ever reach this unknown destination, or if he’ll ever regain control of his body. He soon finds out that he doesn’t have to wonder for too much longer. At the furthest end of the current hall, he notices a small sliver of light. It is different than the faint bluish glow that pervaded the rest of the area. It is a bright orange-yellow patch that holds the promise of warmth and comfort. He smiles, although it is an automatic reaction, not one voluntarily offered. As he focuses on the light, his vision blurs and for a split-second, everything goes black. Then, slowly, he opens his eyes. He rapidly blinks them in order to clear his vision…it takes several moments of this before he realizes that he’s actually moving them – he’s once again in full control of his body.
His first action is to see exactly what he was holding in his hand. He looks down and sees that his hand is wrapped around the handle of a sword. It’s a long double-edged blade made from a heavy, blue-tinted glass-like metal. The cutting edges of the blade were serrated, ascending on one side, and descending on the other. Etches of strange, indecipherable symbols and patterns adorned the flat part of the blade. Laying the blade across his arm to get a closer look, he was stunned to realize that he knew exactly what the images were and what they meant, although he couldn't exactly remember when he had learned such things. The hilt of the blade was also adorned by the strange etches. To his surprise, he found that the hilt was warm to the touch as he grasped it. Even more surprising, the handle seemed to fit his hand comfortably, as if it had been custom-made just for him. He took a few experimental swings, amazed to discover that even with the sword’s heavy weight, he was able to wield it with ease.
Now smiling widely, he takes the sword and lays the flat end against his shoulder as his other hand goes to his chest to see what’s lying there. His hand brushes against a cold, slick, stone-like mass with deep etches on it. He picks it up to get a closer look, but for some reason, he can't see it clearly. The stone itself seems so much darker than the nearby shadows, giving it a slightly blurred appearance…it’s almost as if it absorbs any and all light around it. He notices that the chain that holds the stone to his neck is almost as black as the shadows that surround him…or maybe it was just the effect of said shadows. Laying it down against his chest again, he heads towards the light, hoping it will allow him to see the object better.
As he started walking again, a strange feeling of disorientation swept over him. He watched, disbelieving, as the corridor seemed to lengthen in front of him, pushing the light patch even further down. He breaks out into a run, determined to reach the light, but for some reason, he’s not gaining any ground…it’s almost like he’s running on a treadmill… Without warning, the disorientation returned, and this time, the corridor shortened, giving him a burst of speed that nearly causes him to trip and fall. Within moments, he arrived at the patch. Looking around for its source, he sees a black door lying slightly ajar. The light is coming from within. Without hesitation, he pulls the door fully open and goes inside.
The blazing light engulfs the entire room, nearly blinding him. It prevents him from getting a good look at the room’s layout. He places his hand in front of his eyes in an attempt to block it, but it’s not very effective. He can’t see it, but his sword begins to glow with a deep violet light, and the stone seems to grow heavier against his chest. At the same time, it slowly grows hotter, until the stone burns a hole in his shirt and sears his skin. Ignoring the pain, he tries to adjust his eyes to the raging brightness. After a moment, he glimpses what looks like two dark shapes standing at one end of the room. Slowly moving towards them, he sees that the taller of the two shapes has a human-like appearance, while the other has no discernible form. It seems to ripple and shift constantly, keeping him from getting a clear fix on what it is.
It’s only as he approaches them that he notices that they’re speaking to each other. They take no notice of him as they speak, allowing him to get as close as he can and listen in. However, before he can hear anything, the human-like shape chooses that moment to turn his head and stare directly at him. Even at such close proximity, he can’t make out any specific features on its face. They stand like that for a long moment before the shape retreats, laughing. “Well, well, now this is really convenient…it saves us the trouble of seeking you out,” it says. Its voice is silky smooth, the inflections clearly hinting of cruelty and malice. The other form doesn’t speak, nor does it move from its position. He glares at the two forms as best he can. Then, he takes the stone from its resting place on his chest and thrusts it forward. As he does, strong laughter erupts from the human form, as well as from the Other, whose voice is deep, guttural, and disjointed.
Lowering the stone, he takes the sword and points it at them. The humanoid stops, murmuring nervously. “ – supposed to have been destroyed…” he can hear it saying. The Other stops laughing, its unclear form rippling and wavering in confusion. Encouraged, he moves forward, the blade now focused on the human shape. Before he can do anything else, the sword is violently wrenched from his hand. It skitters away, its dark form barely visible among the room’s intense brightness. Next, he feels a deep, numbing cold in his arms. He looks down and sees his arms and wrists bound by tendrils of deep blackness. Following their path, he sees that they are coming from the center of the Other’s ‘body’. He struggles wildly against his bonds, only to feel his legs encased in those icy tendrils.
Approaching him confidently, the human looks him over while saying, “Surprising, that you would willingly walk into our hands…I never thought that any of you would be that reckless…oh, well, it’s a moot point now…you being the last of your line and all…” Smiling widely, it reaches behind its back and pulls out a small, green dagger engraved with strange symbols. “Do you recognize this?” It replies, waving the blade in front of his face. “Of course you do…every one of you feared its presence, and for good reason: it feasted on your blood for centuries. The very mention of this blade buckled the knees of your bravest…” It trailed off, still waving the blade slowly.
As the shape talked, he fought to free himself from the Other’s icy bonds. The effort was failing, however, because every time he strained, the chill coming from the tendrils increased. It was only a matter of time before he slumped down in defeat, his body completely numbed to any feeling. Satisfied that he had been drained of any fight, the Other retracted its tendrils, causing him to collapse in a heap.
Kneeling down to his level, the shape reaches over to grab his hair and pull his head up, exposing his neck. Still smiling, it takes the dagger and places it against his neck, saying, “You were foolish to come here so unprepared…now, with this, our long fight will finally be over, and we’ll be the victors…as we were always meant to be…” Just as he feels the dagger slowly and painfully slice into his flesh --
There was a sequence I had completely planned out in my head, and I thought I would be able to get it down in one night, but unfortunately...it ended up taking me four whole days to write (yes, today is the fourth day...God, it's 5:30 a.m. right now...I really need to sleep...).
Anyhoo, enjoy...
8:40 p.m.
‘Searle was right…this really is nothing more than a hiding place…’ Robert thought wearily as he sat in the control room of the Stellar Bomb. He was thin enough to barely fit comfortably between two large supply closets, and that’s where he was now, sitting between the closets, scattered papers and notebooks surrounding him. Leaning towards the notebook closest to him, he picked it up and started thumbing through it. However, he put it down again after finding that he couldn’t keep his attention focused on it. Leaning back against the wall, he stared blankly ahead of him as the earlier transmission from Earth replayed in his head. It had been a draining experience for him, both physically and mentally, and he had no wish to relive it. His mind, however, didn’t agree, and so the conversation was now firmly rooted in his head, much to his annoyance.
Frustrated, he banged his head against the wall, thinking that would help clear it, but a raging headache was all he got for his trouble. Sighing angrily, he crossed his arms and leaned his head against them. After a moment, he raised it again, as if remembering something. He looked down at his comm badge and picked it up. With practiced ease, he tapped the necessary buttons in their proper order. Once the sequence was complete, the tiny voice of Icarus piped through the badge: Tracer deactivated. Robert smiled, knowing that with his badge’s tracer disabled, Icarus would monitor his life-signs, but would not track his location until the tracer was enabled again. With the tracer off, he also could not send or receive any messages to and from the others. He only shut it off whenever he had absolutely no patience to deal with anybody…that’s what he kept telling himself, anyway. But, the real reason for turning it off (although he would never admit it…least of all to himself) was for him to hide from Cassie whenever he felt himself succumbing to her shameless flirting. Still smiling, he dropped the badge, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. Despite his headache, he managed to fall asleep.
8:50 p.m.
“You know, Robert, hide-and-seek is a pretty fun game to play, but only if you’re ten years old. Now, being the adults we are, there’s no more room for such childish games. I’m quite surprised that you of all people would resort to something this immature…forcing me to chase you around like this…eh, the things I have to go through just to give one simple apology…” Searle said out loud as he walked down the corridor leading away from the Oxygen Garden. Corazon, who was walking next to him, gave him a strange look, but said nothing. Reaching an intersection, she veered off in the direction of the Common Area to inquire about dinner, while Searle continued on his way back to his original location: Robert’s quarters. He had been waiting (somewhat) patiently for him to arrive there when Harvey rushed up to him, complaining about Cassie’s ‘PMS-induced attitude problem’. If he had known what awaited him in the Garden, he never would have listened to Harvey’s annoyed rant.
He walked slowly, clearly irritated because he had just spent the last thirty or so minutes enduring a pointless lecture by Corazon about why the plants of the Garden were far superior to a large, overly bloated and ultimately boring ball of gas. He had finally escaped after convincing her to make up her lost sessions, although he had to promise that he would spend at least an hour and a half each day in the Garden in order for her to do so.
As he walked down the corridor, it suddenly hit him. ‘…I just spent thirty unproductive minutes listening to Corrie ramble on and on about her precious Garden when I could have been out looking for you, and it actually annoyed the hell out of me. Heh…I can almost see your reaction now, Robert: staring at me with a smug expression on your face and saying ‘It’s poetic justice, Searle. Tell me, how did it feel, being on the receiving end for once?’ Indeed…’ He smiled wryly at the irony of the thought. ‘I would never have been stuck in this situation if it wasn’t for Harvey…he’s really going to hear it from me when I see him again…’ He shook his head slowly as he stopped walking and looked up, saying “Icarus?” Calmly, she replied Yes, Dr. Searle? “Where is Capa now?” Icarus didn’t speak for several long moments. When she finally did, Searle was far from pleased with her answer: … …I’m sorry, Dr. Searle, but Capa’s comm badge tracer has been deactivated. I cannot pinpoint his current location. 'Tch...not again, Robert...' he thought grouchily. Frowning at the words, he sighed deeply. “All right. Inform me the moment his tracer comes back on line.” Yes, Dr. Searle, she replied. “…And so the game continues… <sigh> Well, I can keep this up just as long as you can, Robert… It’s only a matter of time…” Searle murmured wearily as he started walking again.
8:55 p.m.
He walks down corridors that are familiar to him, yet completely different at the same time. The first thing he is aware of is the darkness. Poorly lit with patches of faint blue light, the empty halls are filled with lurking shadows that shift constantly, their movements seeping with malicious intent. The soft glowing of the blue lights only accentuated their strength. Next, he feels the cold. It is a piercing chill that penetrates deep inside him, causing an intense, persistent shudder that pervades his entire body. The last thing that enters his awareness is the silence. Like the shadows, it seems to have a powerful, oppressive presence all its own. The blood that pounds heavily in his ears is the only sound that he can hear within the shadowed, tomb-like corridors. He continues to walk, ignoring the cold, the silence, and the shadows, for they are only distractions from his true objective.
Turning a corner, he sees a dark shape lying slumped against the left wall of the corridor among a solid, glistening circle of red. He passes it without interest or concern, barely registering the fact that it once belonged to a living being. As he walks, he notices another patch of red in the center of the floor. He recognizes it as blood instantly. It glistens and sparkles in the feeble blue light, indicative of its frozen state. Without stopping, he veers off to one side, avoiding the icy patch as he continues on his way.
He picks up his step, knowing his destination is not too far off. At this point, the corridors begin showing signs of damage. The walls and ceiling are pockmarked with holes and gashes of all shapes and sizes, and splashes of now-frozen blood can be seen among the walls and floors. Scattered debris covers the floor, causing him to carefully make his way along these damaged spots to avoid hurting himself. The icy numbness that now affects his movements force him to go as slowly as possible across the debris.
It takes him a while, but he finally manages to escape from the hazardous objects choking the halls. The floors are clear after this, but the walls still display signs of heavy damage. Exhausted from the effort, he slowly trudges along, the deep cold causing his breaths to show up as white mist. Rounding another corner, he finally reaches his destination: a small, unassuming door in the middle of the hall. The door has suffered its fair share of damage, for deep gashes and punctures adorn its front. A simple plaque near the top is splattered with frozen blood, making identification of the words within impossible. All he can see is the following: ‘L.--ps--, P--ci--’.
As he reached for the door handle, a strange thing happened. It started first as an intense dizziness, then the world began spinning rapidly around him, and then he had the strong sense of being forcefully pulled… It lasted no longer than a second or two, but when it was done, he was suddenly watching himself pull the door open and go inside the room. He tried to get himself to follow, but found that he couldn’t move…it was if he had been frozen in place after being torn from his body. He couldn’t even look anywhere else except right at the door.
An indeterminate time later, the door opens again, and he’s seeing himself reemerge into the hall. He’s now staring into his own eyes, and unexpectedly finds himself completely enthralled by them. He had never once understood why others – especially those of the female persuasion – were always so attracted by his eyes…he thinks he understands now. The moment passes as he feels himself being pulled back into his body, but this time, the process works in reverse as the pulling happens first, then the spinning, and then the dizziness.
Thus restored, he starts walking again. That’s when he notices two things: The first, perhaps most unnerving thing is that although he’s back in his own body, it’s not obeying him. His eyes are focused straight ahead, despite all his attempts to move them around. He also can’t get himself to stop walking. It’s almost as if he’s now nothing more than a passenger inside his own body, and that disturbs him immensely. The second thing he notices is that he’s tightly clenching something in his right hand, but he can’t tell what it is because he can’t get his eyes to move towards it. He feels something heavy pressing against his chest, but he can’t see what that is, either. Eyes firmly staring forward, he continues to walk, curious as to where he’s going, and what’s going to happen once he gets there.
Time seems to grind to a halt as he strolls down the shadowed corridors. He begins to wonder if he’ll ever reach this unknown destination, or if he’ll ever regain control of his body. He soon finds out that he doesn’t have to wonder for too much longer. At the furthest end of the current hall, he notices a small sliver of light. It is different than the faint bluish glow that pervaded the rest of the area. It is a bright orange-yellow patch that holds the promise of warmth and comfort. He smiles, although it is an automatic reaction, not one voluntarily offered. As he focuses on the light, his vision blurs and for a split-second, everything goes black. Then, slowly, he opens his eyes. He rapidly blinks them in order to clear his vision…it takes several moments of this before he realizes that he’s actually moving them – he’s once again in full control of his body.
His first action is to see exactly what he was holding in his hand. He looks down and sees that his hand is wrapped around the handle of a sword. It’s a long double-edged blade made from a heavy, blue-tinted glass-like metal. The cutting edges of the blade were serrated, ascending on one side, and descending on the other. Etches of strange, indecipherable symbols and patterns adorned the flat part of the blade. Laying the blade across his arm to get a closer look, he was stunned to realize that he knew exactly what the images were and what they meant, although he couldn't exactly remember when he had learned such things. The hilt of the blade was also adorned by the strange etches. To his surprise, he found that the hilt was warm to the touch as he grasped it. Even more surprising, the handle seemed to fit his hand comfortably, as if it had been custom-made just for him. He took a few experimental swings, amazed to discover that even with the sword’s heavy weight, he was able to wield it with ease.
Now smiling widely, he takes the sword and lays the flat end against his shoulder as his other hand goes to his chest to see what’s lying there. His hand brushes against a cold, slick, stone-like mass with deep etches on it. He picks it up to get a closer look, but for some reason, he can't see it clearly. The stone itself seems so much darker than the nearby shadows, giving it a slightly blurred appearance…it’s almost as if it absorbs any and all light around it. He notices that the chain that holds the stone to his neck is almost as black as the shadows that surround him…or maybe it was just the effect of said shadows. Laying it down against his chest again, he heads towards the light, hoping it will allow him to see the object better.
As he started walking again, a strange feeling of disorientation swept over him. He watched, disbelieving, as the corridor seemed to lengthen in front of him, pushing the light patch even further down. He breaks out into a run, determined to reach the light, but for some reason, he’s not gaining any ground…it’s almost like he’s running on a treadmill… Without warning, the disorientation returned, and this time, the corridor shortened, giving him a burst of speed that nearly causes him to trip and fall. Within moments, he arrived at the patch. Looking around for its source, he sees a black door lying slightly ajar. The light is coming from within. Without hesitation, he pulls the door fully open and goes inside.
The blazing light engulfs the entire room, nearly blinding him. It prevents him from getting a good look at the room’s layout. He places his hand in front of his eyes in an attempt to block it, but it’s not very effective. He can’t see it, but his sword begins to glow with a deep violet light, and the stone seems to grow heavier against his chest. At the same time, it slowly grows hotter, until the stone burns a hole in his shirt and sears his skin. Ignoring the pain, he tries to adjust his eyes to the raging brightness. After a moment, he glimpses what looks like two dark shapes standing at one end of the room. Slowly moving towards them, he sees that the taller of the two shapes has a human-like appearance, while the other has no discernible form. It seems to ripple and shift constantly, keeping him from getting a clear fix on what it is.
It’s only as he approaches them that he notices that they’re speaking to each other. They take no notice of him as they speak, allowing him to get as close as he can and listen in. However, before he can hear anything, the human-like shape chooses that moment to turn his head and stare directly at him. Even at such close proximity, he can’t make out any specific features on its face. They stand like that for a long moment before the shape retreats, laughing. “Well, well, now this is really convenient…it saves us the trouble of seeking you out,” it says. Its voice is silky smooth, the inflections clearly hinting of cruelty and malice. The other form doesn’t speak, nor does it move from its position. He glares at the two forms as best he can. Then, he takes the stone from its resting place on his chest and thrusts it forward. As he does, strong laughter erupts from the human form, as well as from the Other, whose voice is deep, guttural, and disjointed.
Lowering the stone, he takes the sword and points it at them. The humanoid stops, murmuring nervously. “ – supposed to have been destroyed…” he can hear it saying. The Other stops laughing, its unclear form rippling and wavering in confusion. Encouraged, he moves forward, the blade now focused on the human shape. Before he can do anything else, the sword is violently wrenched from his hand. It skitters away, its dark form barely visible among the room’s intense brightness. Next, he feels a deep, numbing cold in his arms. He looks down and sees his arms and wrists bound by tendrils of deep blackness. Following their path, he sees that they are coming from the center of the Other’s ‘body’. He struggles wildly against his bonds, only to feel his legs encased in those icy tendrils.
Approaching him confidently, the human looks him over while saying, “Surprising, that you would willingly walk into our hands…I never thought that any of you would be that reckless…oh, well, it’s a moot point now…you being the last of your line and all…” Smiling widely, it reaches behind its back and pulls out a small, green dagger engraved with strange symbols. “Do you recognize this?” It replies, waving the blade in front of his face. “Of course you do…every one of you feared its presence, and for good reason: it feasted on your blood for centuries. The very mention of this blade buckled the knees of your bravest…” It trailed off, still waving the blade slowly.
As the shape talked, he fought to free himself from the Other’s icy bonds. The effort was failing, however, because every time he strained, the chill coming from the tendrils increased. It was only a matter of time before he slumped down in defeat, his body completely numbed to any feeling. Satisfied that he had been drained of any fight, the Other retracted its tendrils, causing him to collapse in a heap.
Kneeling down to his level, the shape reaches over to grab his hair and pull his head up, exposing his neck. Still smiling, it takes the dagger and places it against his neck, saying, “You were foolish to come here so unprepared…now, with this, our long fight will finally be over, and we’ll be the victors…as we were always meant to be…” Just as he feels the dagger slowly and painfully slice into his flesh --