One Day With The Angels

[Automatic Acrimony]

(Closed to those who applied here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=263))

The cold air wrenched another shiver from his frame, shattering his concentration. He could feel it in his lungs; that cold, working its way deep into his insides, to his very heart and rocketing into his bloodstream with a reckless malice. It coiled through his intestines and buried itself deep within his stomach, making him feel sick, fatigued and far too weak to be doing this. Even his vision was all but lost to him. God, his poor eyes! They stung so badly, watered so profusely, that he would hardly be surprised if they started to bleed. He had half a mind just to end it and rake them out himself. The damned cold was everywhere and it was all too obvious that he was not used to such weather.

Lightning split the sky and Riptide exhaled sharply. Hromagh, he was soaked; his hair plastered against his skull and his clothes making the most valiant attempt at becoming one with his skin. He should have at least bought a coat, he’d thought them so overpriced in the last town but now the Soul Breaker could see- could feel that it would have been worth the money. Standing in the rain as the tempest shook the trees, with nothing to cover his arms and nothing he could use to protect himself, Riptide felt completely and utterly moronic, not to mention fucking freezing! He really should have listened to that innkeeper, he was too frail to stand up against the storm but no, Rip had taken the man’s words as a challenge, as a taunt. Against such provocation, he could never resist and had foolishly dashed into the woods. What a weakness, and to think, he’d shown everybody in that last town just how easily he was riled by their harmless teasing. He couldn’t go back there now

Rip pressed on, his body racked with shivers and shudders, only worsening as the storm grew, as the rolls of thunder drew closer together and the lightning almost crashed down upon the trees. Was he going to make it through? How could he when not even the ‘shelter’ of the largest of trees helped against the downpour, or the relentless winds that pushed beneath his skin, though his frigid muscles and deep into his very marrow. The Soul Breaker let out a pathetic whimper and drew in a shuddering breath. He wasn’t going to let himself cry- no, he wasn’t about to let himself die. Riptide wrapped his arms around his body and pressed onwards.

There were worse things, Rip reminded himself, though such a reminder only served to further his fears, bringing those nasty things he’d overheard in the tavern right back to the forefront of his mind. The Spider Magi, the sick servants of N’Jal, they lurked here, in the dark places but the Soul Breaker was pretty damned sure he hadn’t tripped any of their silk wires yet. Then again, he was far from the safe routes through this place, having left the footpath behind in favour of a shortcut. Now he considered it, there had to be a reason the safe path went all the way around this area…

Ugh, this wasn’t helping to ease his mind at all but just as fear struck its final talon into his heart, the Soul Breaker's gaze fell upon a clearing a few paces onwards. Perhaps it was the road? The safe path would surely ease his mind, if not the strain on his body. Gathering together the last dregs of energy that he had left in his body, Riptide the Soul Breaker sprinted for that gap of trees only to find that it wasn’t a secure trail at all.

It was just a clearing. No, wait, it wasn’t. Almost completely covered by climbing weeds were two thin, broken columns, the remnants of one lying to the side. It looked a little like a gate and caught by curiosity, Riptide couldn’t help but move closer.

The Soul Breaker’s eyes glimmered and as another blast of lightning shattered overhead, he let out a brief sigh of relief, his heart lifting with hope at the sight his eyes beheld. There, between the crumbled columns, was a steep staircase leading into a darkened arch. It was decorated lavishly, or would have been had the holes for the gemstones been full and the carvings not have suffered through years of weathering. It had to be a tomb. Out here in the middle of nowhere, with civilization so far away, there was so little else that it could be. The thought pleased Riptide for unlike thunderstorms, burial chambers didn’t scare the Soul Breaker and he swept down the stairs and into the waiting sanctuary.

Gods, it was dark. Riptide couldn’t see a thing and warily, he dragged his hand along the wall for guidance yet barely a hundred yards into the place the sound of a heavy door slamming echoed behind him and a sudden dread enveloped his heart. He wouldn’t go back though, not now. It was… chilled here but next to the storm, this place was a hot spring. He always had been a little paranoid; that’s all it was. The dead gave him headaches but they didn’t harm him.

Eventually the passage brightened, letting the bluenet see thousands of scrawls upon the stone; runes and writing that he would never be able to understand. Some glowed, providing the very light the Soul Breaker could see by. Gently, Riptide let his fingers drift over the edges of one.

“Don’t go back,” a tiny voice, female, young… a child? “He’s waiting at the door.”

“Who?” Riptide questioned but the spirit was gone.

“Keep’n comin’, keep’n comin’… y’ll git to me brother soon.”

Brother?

“Save her! Another yelled.

And then they all arrived.

There were so many… so many souls. They flooded too him, pressed against him, through him. A great swarm of death that with every breath he drew deeper into his system and every single one of them wanted the shaman’s attention. All of them, screaming and crying out to be heard over the rest. Riptide squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his head, trying to block them out but to no avail. There were so many… too many… how many graves did this place contain? Just how many spirits were trapped here?

Riptide’s confusion gave way to comprehension with a horrifying, maddening slowness; this place wasn’t a tomb. He had no doubt that it held many dead but now he could see from the light of the runes, Riptide realised that the doors lined up along the walls were far too numerous to lead to treasure chambers, or other passages. They were laid out in a manner that Riptide could only compare to a prison…

His eyes widened and he scrambled backwards to a shrieking chorus from the dead (“He finally gets it!”).

“What is this place?”

A crash from behind thrust Riptide back into his self-awareness and the dispersed the dead before any could answer. The sound was so real, so definitely non-ethereal that it was almost tangible. Danger sirens went off in his head. Sure, the noise might not have been physical but whatever had made it was here, with him, perhaps even drawing closer and so very, very not dead it was frightening.

It was frightening.

Sharply, Riptide plunged himself into the shadows and ran.

The dead do no harm but the living… the living make the dead.

[Solomon]

There was no light anymore. There was nothing to be seen or heard, just the feeling of a mild whispering wind that wove around him and brushed the hairs upon his head. He could see nothing before him, below him, or around him for that matter. He was the center of an endless night, and the wind would shrivel him to bones here. Here. In this place. Wherever this was.

Where am I? Solomon thought aloud. His conscienceness returned to him and his eyes opened to reality. His head ached as soon as he move, and he fell limp back against the stone he lay upon. With an unrested groan he rubbed the back of his neck where the pain coursed to his head. Why did it hurt so badly? How did he get into this place?

It was only a moment after that the memory came back to him. He had been walking through the forested road just after the noon hour. He had wandered so far off the trial... he hadn't known where he was any more. There were men wandering the forest grounds with him. Three of them, when he first met them. They asked him what on earth he was doing out here, all of them dressed in a cultic atire. They led him curtiously through the woods offering to help him find the road. Yet all the while he could hear the footsteps of something behind them. He looked back to see what it was, yet kept seeing nothing. Eventually he caught sight of the sounds that stalked him. There were more of them, following along in the shadows. Yet there was no time for reaction for as soon as Solomon realized what was going on there was a stinging in his neck and his vision swelled with blackness. He remembered nothing after that.

"Figures." Solomon shook his head in hopes of loosening the tightened muscles. He ran his hand along the side of it, his fingers finding the two swollen lumps where the darts had nicked him. He shouldn't be so trusting to strangers of a strange land. Espically those who would wander about in such a sketchy forest.

The word sketchy stuck in his mind a moment, and immediately he reached to his hip and searched his satchel. His suspition was right! His gold was taken, not a single piece left.

"lousy backstabbers!" Solomon muttered against them. Had they wanted a fight he would have given them someone to fight. Yet this was a cheap ambush, this was foul play! Then again, what could he really expect from rouges? They were kind enough not to take the medication he carried in his satchel, although, he was surprised they didn't swpie it on him just to spite him.

There was no use getting worked up about it now. It was over. He had been robbed and thrown into some cavern and left to die no doubt. They probably held some beast in here that they fed their victims too, it was a typical senerio to follow a hiest like that. Yet it seemed at the moment he was unknown to the cavern lurkers, if they was any. He needed to regroup with himself if he was to make it out of this place.

He pulled his body up along the stoney wall. He pushed himself up, against the headache, and slowly roated his head from shoulder to shoulder. His vision was normaly quite sharp, yet the darkness was a little thicker than usual. There was a bad feeling in his heart. The kind of tenseness one gets when they feel they are being watched from all sides and all directions.

I don't like the look of this!! His voice echoed inside his head. There is something more to this place than just darkness. Be careful! He walked along the stone ground, and the outlines of a corridor appeared bafore him and he passed through into a hallway just as dim. The memories of his few nights in the Red Forest haunted his mind once again. He had the same feeling here as he did back there. Spirits, Demons, and the dead owned these passageways. He could feel it chilling his blood.

The Walls!?! Solomon paused in his trail as the walls flickered timidly like matchsticks in the wind. He narrowed his eyes to see them better, the thin lights made markings on the walls on either side of him. It was scripture, writtings, all in languages he had not seen before. He stopped as the little lights flickered in the wall. As he stared they grew brighter and flashed with what seemed like desperation.

As if guided by an unheard voice Solomon held his hand up and reached for one of the ruins that flickered at him. Just as he felt the cold of the stone there was a thunder throughout the cavern and the light fled from the stone.
Solomon looked about the hallway as the cavern thundered once more.

What is this? Where is it coming from? He could not see a thing. Quickly he dashed off down the hall. He didn't quite know where he was going, nor did he know where the crashes were coming from, yet he'd find no answers merely standing here.

((Sidenote: Solomon carried 100gp at the time of the robbery))

[Gnosis]

The crashing sounds of metal meeting metal in a violent flurry echoed through the forest, intermittent and seemingly random. To accompany it, the sound of the harsh biting wind and heavy rain pushed all inhabitants of the woods into their hovels. It was insane to be bared to the elements in this sort of extreme weather, and yet the crashing continued, oftentimes accompanied by a roaring cheer. Near the ambiguous tomb in which two living people had already been captured, a wide field stretched out. Most did not know, but that very underground network of rooms ran under the field, which occupied such a large count of creatures. Another loud crash, followed by a monstrous thud which summoned forth a vast cry of anger from the mob. In that field, standing with his blade soaked in black blood, stood what most would call an angel at first glance. But in truth, it was a creature far from an angel, a Lor. With his wings stretched wide and bloody gashes in multiple spots on his body, any could see just from looking at the two opponents that the angelic Lor was losing, terribly.

The creature that the celestial fought was quite the opposite. With only one newly formed wound, still dripping a black blood that mixed with the heavy rain, it laughed in an inhuman distant voice. As if speaking from miles away, the sound that came from its mouth would still the nerves of most humans and bring fear into the minds of armies. Bringing the katana it wielded to its mouth, the black-skinned beast licked the blade dry of its blood, an overly long and agile tongue wrapping around the weapon. With a flick of its head, the tongue lashed off dramatically, pulling back into the darkness of its mouth. The weapon, held by a creature that would resemble human only in a silhouette, had an aura akin to a waterfall of blood. The series of blood red horns curving out of the head of the fur-coated demonic beast were only an icing on the cake, for the true horror of it was its eyes. Pitch black, as if looking into the void itself, one could easily fall into those eyes and be lost forever.

Not even panting, or showing any signs of wear, the creature spun his weapon artfully and began to take careful steps to the side, circling around the Lor. Behind him, in mass easily pushing thousands, were numerous creatures of indescribable ugliness, each formed in its own unique grotesque manner. These beasts were obviously not rooting for the Lor, there was no confusion there, but they were the source of the angry screams and roaring cheer. Without so much as a glance to his audience, the powerful demonic beast placed the tip of his blade in the ground and watched the panting, exhaust-ridden Lor with malicious intent. Finally its face contorted into an unseemly grin, baring long and broken fangs.

“Are you ready to give up yet, you pathetic excuse for an executioner? When you came here, you told me that when this day ended one of us would be dead, but I had gotten the distinct impression it was supposed to be me. Am I wrong? Do you have a death wish? Hahaha, I will be more then happy to fulfill that request!”

“You are just a mad Genm, jealous of our superiority and deciding to take it out on the weakest of us you can find. Dare not to challenge any stronger, not any of true power, for that would be too hard for the likes of you. Instead, you must show your weakness by having the capability to beat up a child that has only recently reached Adulthood. You, not I, are the only pathetic creature here.”

The grin on its face disappeared, replaced by a dark scowl. Having no control over its own emotions, the Genm swordsman twisted his katana into an offensive grip and leaped into the air. Black bat-like wings unfolded from its back after only a brief moment of airtime, flapping once with powerful force to drive it higher, then folding down again. That one lift sent the creature across the enclosed battle scene and gave it an aerial advantage of its grounded opponent. Bringing its blade down as it landed, a thunderous clash echoed out as the katana met broadsword. The force of the blow, however, sent the Lor skidding backwards, having to use his own sword to ground himself. Finally, resulting to spreading his wings, Uriel slowed to a halt with the broadsword thrust into the ground almost to the hilt. Ripping it free with a fluid motion, he stood and closed his wings once more, not daring to try the same trick the Genm attempted, for the wind was too powerful and he lacking experience.

“Why are you holding back? Is it that you fear I will draw the weapon? The Anathema? Are you truly afraid of it?”

Laughing, the arrogant Genm flicked rain off his sword and charged again, proving both his ignorance and pride with that single action. This time, however, when he approached Uriel, the Genm suddenly began to move faster, time slowing for him alone. Bringing the blade down, he sliced into Uriel’s stomach, then spin and slammed the butt of his blade between the Lor’s shoulder blades, and thus between his wings. Rolling forward with a grunt as bloody mist exploded from his mouth, Uriel hit the ground face-up, coughing and feeling as if he could never stand again. With patience and the same arrogance as before, the Genm slowly approached the fallen angel and raised his blade overhead for a stabbing strike. Bringing it down with all the force and strength granted by his nature and ancestors, the Genm watched in horror as the Lor rolled to the side at the last moment, making him shove the blade so deep into the ground that the blade disappeared all for its hilt.

With an angry roar, the demon ripped his body pulling on the blade, and finally got it free, but a load crack accompanied it. Seconds later, the muddy ground beneath both Lor and Genm broke, dropping the opposing creatures into darkness.

It took several moments for Uriel to regain consciousness, but when he did he was alone again and found himself in the oddest of chambers. With dimly glowing runes lining the walls and a psychic presence unmatched by any he had felt before, he knew himself to be in someplace he shouldn’t be. With the intent of flying out, he glanced around to find the hole only to find that a nearby wall had collapsed at the time and his exit had been reduced to rubble.

“Damn…How do I get out of here?”

Hoping the Genm was underneath that enormous pile of stone and rock, the Lor sat down, still panting heavily from the combat and the many still-bleeding wounds. If there were creatures in here like those outside, then he would be in deep trouble indeed.

[Automatic Acrimony]

(Bunnying approved)

Riptide ran; ran until he couldn’t run anymore and with a broken shriek, collapsed to his knees, his aching legs no longer able to support him. The pain was horrific, even more diligent than the tempest outside; it tore through his limbs, pulsed behind his eyes and coupled with his exhaustion, spawned streaked blurs in his vision. Yet even on the ground he felt unbalanced and hit by a sudden wave of nausea, Rip mewled and clutched his middle. It did him no good. His innards contracted, bile and vomit surged like liquid fire through his throat and spewed from his lips, splashing to curdle atop the stones beside him. The taste was vile and Riptide spat, coughed then grimaced, wrapping a hand around his tortured neck.

He never had paid any heed to his limitations and now, he was paying for that.

For several moments, Riptide sat, still and silent and unable to do anything else, let the sick stench of decomposing corpses sweep into his nostrils. To think, before today he’d considered that smell pleasant but now the dread of contributing to its cause was deeply rooted in his mind, it became as far removed from pleasant as it was possible to get. It was horrific and banishing it from his thoughts took much longer than Rip would have liked, though with its eventual loss, the steadiness of his stomach soon returned and the bluenet moved to stand. Pressing his right hand to the wall and his left to his temple, Riptide shakily staggered upright though immediately leant back against the side of the corridor, against one of the hard, heavy doors that there seemed to be far, far too many of.

Too much of this was familiar paranoia. The crashes had stopped now. In truth, there hadn’t been that many to begin with and the longer he thought about it, the closer Riptide got to believing that it had just been a cave-in somewhere near the entrance. But such a collapse would never have affected the swarm of terrified spirits like that. They’d scattered as if their lost lives depended it, as if their very existence would be threatened by merely laying eyes upon whatever beast had stalked him then. Did the thing still stalk him now? The Soul Breaker swallowed. God, he hoped not and through his harsh, unsteady breathing, Riptide managed to whisper a prayer to Hromagh, wishing for the strength to get through this.

“Calm down,” soothed a voice from his right but Riptide didn’t respond. His throat was too sore for that. “I made the same mistake,” oh goodie, he was reacting in a way that would make him dead, what a nice thing to know. Rip growled but the invisible spirit took no notice and continued; “if you want a chance at getting out of here – and some people have – you need to relax, keep your head clear. He’s a clever fucker-”

That Riptide had to respond to and in a harsh, rasping tone, the Soul Breaker interrupted: “he who?”

“Kas- Look out!”

Riptide barely had time to process the warning before a bony hand grabbed his neck from behind. Or rather; would have, had Riptide not still had held his own there but whatever it was adapted quickly and tightly curled its fingers around the shaman’s wrist. With a jarring tug, Riptide’s arm was yanked into the cell behind him, his body spun round from the momentum and he found himself face-to-face with something that threatened the newly established steadiness of his stomach. It was human, male and littered in half-healed lacerations. His entire left side covered in burns that seemed to act as glue to rags that would have otherwise fallen to the floor. They looked recent, those burns, sticky and swollen and raw, just like the pits of mangled muscle that had probably formed eyes once but blind or not, the creature’s bloody stare pieced the Soul Breaker’s core, pinning him to the spot.

“Help me.” It stated and Riptide could have laughed. The man was making demands, in that state. Though, his grip was shockingly strong and his voice far steadier than it had any right to be. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the creature had been saving himself for this, for the moment at which some terrified soul would walk, run or stop at his cell. This was his final chance, a last, desperate act but it was not pity or even admiration that motivated Riptide’s act of kindness; it was the selfish need to get away. Being trapped like this did not settle his nerves and a growing fear that his stalker would return spread through his mind like the deadliest of cancers. Riptide nodded, the man grinned, but he didn’t let go. With his free hand, Riptide pulled off his sunglasses (why hadn’t he done that anyway?) and slid one of the arms into the lock. He hadn’t done this in ages as the seconds passed, he began to think he couldn’t anymore but as the prisoner’s mantra of ‘c’mon, c’mon’ peaked in a sharp-toned panic, something finally clicked.

And to his right, the way from which Rip had come, the sound of heavy footsteps resonated through the corridor in a silence that even the persistent, eyeless bastard had the sense to allow.

Fuck. So that’s why the ghost had left him again.

Wrenching his arm out of the prisoner’s lax grasp, Riptide launched to his left, into a pitch blackness he hadn’t seen since he’d come in. The smell of decay was strong here but with a powerful shot of adrenaline rocketing round his system, the bluenet found the strength to ignore it and run on.

Then, in an unexpected twist Riptide could never have planned for, the passage before him came crashing down, feeding the terror that he remained unable to dispell. Plumbs of unseen dust spewed outwards, pushing up Riptide’s nasal cavity and into his mouth. He choked again, dry heaved but had the sense not to stop and rest. Not here. A sound like that would only attract whatever it was that hunted him. Reacting quickly, Rip reached for the wall’s guidance and finding it, he backed off hurriedly until the wall opened out into another passage. The shaman didn’t waste a second and still coughing, sped to his left and away from the smothering dust.

After a minute of sprinting (jogging really; he’d lost the energy to sprint) the passage lightened again, the flickering, glowing runes providing a paradox of comfort and fear. He could see again now but others could see him and it was his fears that were realised. There was another and unable to stop himself quickly enough, Riptide collided with the humanoid, the force sending both of them crashing to the floor.

He glanced over his shoulder at the shorter, stronger creature. Black hair, grey eyes and feathers; outlandish to be sure but not something that could have caused the thunderous footsteps: it was knowledge that pleased the Soul Breaker and stuck by a deep relief, he allowed himself a brief smile before pushing himself of the grimy floor. Gods, he was covered in filth now – as was the other – his hair and clothes heavy from the water and now covered in a wealth of mud and… other things Riptide would concern himself with later. It felt awful.

“Watch where y’going!” Riptide whispered harshly, pointing an accusing finger in the poor creature’s direction. No, it hadn’t been his fault but Riptide, in the end still a teenager, would happily shift the blame if he could. “And I wouldn’t go that way,” Riptide pointed out in a very ‘I-know-better’ tone, “Y’here that crash? Something caved in and this thing… that’s been chasing me, I don’t think it’s going to ignore that noise…” The shaman trailed off, much of his conviction gone. It still hurt to speak and to speak as loudly as he’d done to begin with was a mistake. He didn’t want his pursuer to turn his focus from the crash after all.

What he wouldn’t give to be back out in the rain.


(Sorry about the averageness guys. My brain died at some point yesterday because Media and Film essays are evil)

[Solomon]

Solomon ran along the passageways as the sounds of the crashing drummed on the other side. The smell had only grown since he furthered his pace into the strange temple, or whatever it was, and now became an irritation in his throat. It was the smell of rot and decay, a smell he had come across numerous times in his life, heralded that death did haunt this place.

Is this a tomb? He thought to himself. Or is this some place where many people had ventured but were killed?

The corridors came to a three way split. The glowing runes faded away as the chamber yielded to the new paths. Here were four torches lit, held aloft by the skeletons of men carved in stone and bearing crooked wings. They stood on either side of, and before him. They stood at the sides of the open archways, diagonal to his left and right, and one right before him.

I don't even know what this place is!?! Solomon grieved in his own mind. How am I supposed to find my way out if I don‘t even know what I‘m in? Just as he thought this another crash echoed from the area to his left. He stared down the dimming corridor, the small runes upon the hallway glowing mildly, as if they were afraid to be seen. It was then something captured Solomon's attention A figure, a silhouette, a shadow... or something was there, just at the end of his sight.

"You there!" Solomon called out. There was no answer. Solomon drew a little nearer and blinked the dust out of his eyes to verify he was not only seeing illusions. It seemed connected with the darkness, as though a shadow cast by something just out of sight, or something dark standing just in the verge of his sight. He couldn't tell if it was there or not.

"Please answer me, kind stranger." Solomon rebuked himself so he didn't sound threatening toward the figure. "Please tell me where I am? What is this place?" Solomon stepped into the corridor and approached with steady feet. The creature did not answer, nor did it even move for that matter. Now Solomon was certain he was merely seeing things in the darkness.

Suddenly the figure's head turned to the side and slowly faced the opposite direction. Solomon's breath escaped him as he watched it turn tail and dash off into the darkness where it all but vanished. Immediately Solomon chased after it, yet only wove himself deeper and deeper into the series of tunnels. He had lost it, and so he slowed to a halt.

"Blast!" Solomon's head dropped to his shoulders and he balled his fists together. He knew from the start he was in for something unfortunate. This place would lead him around in a circle until he died no doubt. It was all going to be a game, a death trap, all to entertain some devilish host. He had to keep his focus if he wanted to live through this. Using your head was the only way to conquer these challenges. Demons loved to see mortals kill themselves in panic.

There was the slightest of winds that blew on him. At first Solomon thought nothing of it, yet it coiled around his ear and chilled him like the feel of gentle fingertips. He twisted his head to the side as the feeling suddenly drifted away, only to see one of the strange symbols flickering steadily at him.

Once again guided by that strange inner voice, Solomon placed his hand upon the rune. Instantly his body tensed up and he heard a soft voice in his ears that could not be sourced.

"Solomon." She whispered.

"Who are you? How do you know me?" He questioned the glimmer.

"I can see you mind. Do not fear, I am not here to harm you. None of us are here to harm you. Do not run into the darkness, he will ensnare the paths before you. He is only now becoming aware of your presence here. You still have time."

"How do I escape." Solomon asked. For a time there was no answer.

"Help us Solomon. He is-" The sound faded away as though it were being choked of its wind.

"Help you? Who is he? What is going on?" Solomon hardly had time to finish the thought before the sudden sound of footsteps caught his attention. The moment he looked in front of him a daring figure collided with him and tackled him to the ground.

With a grunt Solomon hit the stone floor, the pain in his neck gave him a harsh reminder it was still with him. The being seemed relieved to see Solomon there, which gave Solomon the impression he was not of this cavern. Although, he did have a few accusations for Solomon after he rose to his feet. Closing with a warning toward him.

“Y’here that crash? Something caved in and this thing… that’s been chasing me, I don’t think it’s going to ignore that noise…” The man said to him as Solomon rose to his feet. His fame was thin and wiry for his height, and his eyes were flourished with irregular colours. Solomon didn't quite know what to make of the stranger, yet he could tell that it wasn't a threat. With his best guess this was someone else who was trapped down here and trying to find a way out.

"What is this place?" Solomon asked for his most desired answer. "And, who are you?"

[Gnosis]

Coughing up a small pile of bile, Uriel looked about this new place one more, assuring himself that the sense emotions flowing into him were just ludicrous. With a groan, he stood and turned towards a strange sound that had been present the entire time, but he had only just come to his sense enough to hear it. An enormous crashing, heading his way, steady beats as if by footsteps. Putting one arm on his wound, he looked again down the hall, then cursed and drew his sword. With blood as his trail, he turned tail and ran. Though it violated every fiber of his being, he could not stand against anything so large in his current condition.

Each step was accompanied by mortifying pain as he rushed down the labyrinth’s numerous halls. One either side, at each step, a new door awaited, some closed and others open. From inside quite a few he caught the sounds of moaning and pleas of help. Unable to stop, for fear of what followed him, he turned and began down another passage when the most unexpected thing Uriel could imagine took place. The ground disappeared beneath his feet. At least, that’s how it felt to him, as he nicked a large chunk of debris and went flying through the air, sword sprawling out before him. The blade clattered as it hit the floor, sliding into one of the open doors. His longing hand flung out, unable to catch it in time as the glint of steel disappeared into a devouring darkness. Deeper then his eyes could penetrate, and lacking the glowing runes of the halls, the chamber gave no hint of divulging his weapon.

Standing again with an even louder grimace, he rested a moment to regain both his breath and balance, before approaching the door. With one big breath, he stepped in side, his free hand groping in the air and ground to the blade. Suddenly, the hilt came into his hand, but something was odd about it. Finally, as he stood, he realized what it was…he wasn’t crawling on the floor. The hilt was chest-level, being handed to him. A loud yelp escaped his mouth before he leaped backwards, landing on his back with a thud and rolling out. Pain shot through every tendon in Uriel’s body with this stupid maneuver, but he managed to hold the blade steady, aiming deep into the darkness. A voice shot out, grim and dark, and choked with decay, his only answer.

“Run…it comes…”

Nodding to whatever the it was that was in there, most likely only one of the many sources of this abominable stench, he gained his footing and set out again. At a slower pace, Uriel dodged down hallways and corridors, always taking the opposite route that the thuds were coming from. It was not long before he came to two more corpses and with his sword still drawn he made an approach. Yet, to Uriel’s mute surprise, one of the corpses stood up, looking perfectly healthy, and started talking. After a few words that gave off a very bad impression of the man, the other responded, yet only with a question. Suddenly, before either were able to answer, Uriel was grasped with a fit of coughing, blood pouring out of wounds and mouth, and he fell to the support of a knee and his blade. If not the coughing, the loud clink of metal crunching stone would of gotten their attention. Definitely something he didn’t want.

“Why the hell are you two bickering when there is…something…in here, looking for food most likely. Or is that you are its accomplices and are going to kill me now, seeing as I am weak. If you must kill me, I will die fighting!”

Standing again, against the advice of his body, he pulled the sword from its sheath and once more swung it about, aiming the tip at them in a challenge.

“I hope your pathetic sense of honor belies you to fight a dieing warrior!”

[Automatic Acrimony]

(Bunnying approved)

Riptide caught a mocking laugh in his throat his eyes glimmered dangerously. A silent warning. How in the name of Hromagh was he supposed to know what this place was? If he had known of even a fraction of the vile horrors lurking here, he would never have entered. For now the voices of the malevolent dead bit at every corner of his aching mind, driving him insane; the pained, the desperate, the occasion helpful optimistic. And the silent Reapers too. Yes, it was their presence that pressed hardest into his mind; their presence that scared him the most. Oh, how they would surely love to sink their deadly, burning, marking talons deep into the flesh of the Sorrower’s lover. Riptide shivered and tried to pass it off as distain for the cold. Styx would never have launched himself into a place with so many waiting to die.

Why hadn’t he waited? Why did he have to push on?

Now he was stuck here.

Shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and casting a wary glance at the glowing runes, Riptide banished his doubts and answered the humanoid’s second question.

“I am Riptide the Soul Breaker.” His tone held such arrogance, as if the other was supposed to gasp in awe of his identity. It was his last ounce of pride. For after being covered in gore and grime, brought to his knees and terrified, Riptide had so little pride left to spend for the moment. He would savour what he could.

In the silence, the shaman turned from the male with his idiotic and irrelevant questions and found his gaze captured again by the luminous graffiti. Surely it had to bare some relevance, especially since there was so much of it. Though who would pause in their escape to scratch upon the walls? There were so many languages too, some Riptide recognised, others that he would never have presumed more than pictures in a different setting. He didn’t understand any of them. In a world of words, illiteracy was a curse he knew very well and though he was drawn to touch them again, to find a connection, he dared not disturb another foul monster, or provoke a future corpse.

One of the lights flickered, shone brightly, then went out.

In a whisper, without even turning to the other male, Riptide spoke: “We shouldn’t linger.”

The splintered snarl of metal on stone screeched in vibrant echoes through the cavern. The shaman’s head snapped to the side, twisting too quickly in long-lost zeal and overbalancing him. He stumbled but recovered quickly, slipping into a loose attack stance; fingers splayed, itching, ready.

What a picture the man presented. Battered and beaten and slick with wretched sweat and filth, he stood there, illuminated in his own, special, holy light, great wings crumpled within the restrictive confines of the corridor. His stance was so firm but he looked as if upon the edge of a precipice, as if one more step would send his sturdy posture crumbling. His face was stern, the expression a mixed grimace of tumbling rage and blinding pain. Riptide smiled. The blond was injured, many times over. A foolish creature indeed to provoke him.

Riptide could never refuse a challenge.

The Soul Breaker kicked forwards. The scream of a dead woman blasting through his mind as he tore her soul to fragments and launched them dart-like at the man’s open stomach. His challenger spiralled to the side and dodged the first but he had not been prepared for projectiles. Two dove into chest. Another, misaimed, bounced off the creature’s blade. A threatening grin spread across the shaman’s face. The final nicked the other’s cheek, a centimetre below his eye but the stern, ready gleam burning there didn’t fade.

Riptide followed up quickly. Too quickly for the wounded creature. Without mercy, the Soul Breaker unleashed a flurry of quick and accurate blows targeted for every vital point imaginable. His fists and feet smashed into the side of the other’s face, his ribs, his chest, back, legs; everywhere. His unfortunate opponent evaded and blocked what he could, swiping out with his sword when the best chances presented themselves but he was outmatched. His injuries too dire, Riptide’s aggression too consuming. Time slowed, adrenaline fed the bluenet’s bloodlust but he could not dominate forever.

Fuck!

With what had to be the last remnants of power he possessed, the haloed humanoid swung his sword in a fearsome downwards arch. Wide eyed, Rip sprang backwards, letting the sweeping blade pass down before him, slicing into his shirt. A second slower and he’d have been cleaved in half!

The thought only served to fuel the Soul Breaker. Such a close call would not be allowed again.

He rocketed forward. Back at full fury and geared for a next attack.

Brutally, Riptide hammered his fists into his assailant’s back, between his wings, propelling him down upon the shaman’s waiting knee. It brought the creature to the ground, wide eyed and choking through blood and saliva. Riptide gasped in the stinging pain that the movement gave to him. It burnt through his clothes, dissolving the worn, wet fabric easily and baring his now reddened thigh, stinging with pain as if the nest of a thousand wasps had been smashed upon it. He kicked out the arm that supported the winged beast for good measure. Rip wanted him to suffer.

“Bastard! Stay here and fight to the death if you like but it won’t be with me!”

And as if on cue, hard, heaving footsteps drew closer.

They had been found… Unsurprising. They’d made a racket.

“MOVE!” He yelled to the other humanoid, the one he hadn’t fought, the one he deemed worthy of living.

And with that, Riptide ran and left the celestial to die at the hands of an unknown.

[Solomon]

Solomon listened to the introduction. Riptide the Soul Breaker?!? A name like that almost belongs down here. For a moment he thought maybe this man was another illusion inside the tomb. Yet it didn't seem so. The man couldn't answer Solomon's question about where they actually were, meaning he was just as lost as Solomon was. Either that or he was a clever trick.

"We shouldn't linger." Riptide said, hardly even audible. Solomon was just about to shoot off another question, hoping to slowly piece together a picture of what this place was and what those noises were. Then there was a sudden crashing upon the ground, cutting him off just as he opened his mouth.

Solomon spun his body around with his legs out and ready to defend himself, yet there was no need. The noise came from a battered creature. Like that of a man, yet with majestic wings spreading out from his back. Had the creature been on his feet Solomon might have thought he was an apparition, or some sort of spiritual messenger. Instead he was down along the ground and holding his sword out for a last defence. He spoke out against them.

“I hope your pathetic sense of honor belies you to fight a dieing warrior!” The new stranger exclaimed.

Solomon looked over the poor man. He was beaten badly, and judging by his comments, just as lost in the darkness as he and Riptide. Solomon eased his fighting stance to a regular stand. The words offering help to the man were on the edge of his tongue, but Riptide had other ideas.

In a flash Riptide fired off a series of flashing darts. Solomon couldn't believe his eyes as the two began fighting one another in the middle of this dark corridors. They punched, sliced and stabbed, creating all the sounds of battle which echoed endlessly down the corridors.

"Stop that, what are you doing?" Solomon stammered. Yet his voice fell on deaf ears. He didn't know what to make of this. Did they know each other? Was there some score to settle between the two of them? Solomon couldn't figure out why they did this or how to stop them.

He drew back from the brawl, shaking his head in anger and disappointment. He now felt just as alone as he had when he entered this place. They showed no sign of stopping. They could very well kill each other. He’d have to go about this task alone if this is what these others were going to be like. They didn’t care that much bigger things than petty battle lurked in here.

As they fought the runes flashed violently and burned even brighter. Even the spirits were trying to stop them now, they knew more than any of them no good would come of this.

This was it. Riptide ceased just as the ominous footfalls drummed in the infinite darkness. That thing was after them once more, all three of them were together now. Riptide bolted off in the opposite direction, leaving the winged creature there to die. He called after Solomon as he passed him, telling him he'd better get going. As much as Solomon wanted to run, he could not fight the remorse he felt for the beaten man.

He didn't know whether or not helping the creature would be an offence to Riptide, be he really didn't care. He didn't approve of what Riptide had done in the first place. This man posed no threat to them. He swiftly came down to the fallen man, knowing that time was against them both he grasped his arms in a hurry.

"Come on, I'll help you up." He said quickly. The thunder drew closer.

[Letho]

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