{ KILL THE BEAST } Asa + Esme + Rancor
Oct 22, 2014 0:10:43 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker kelsier on Oct 22, 2014 0:10:43 GMT -5
[presto]  [/presto] |
A S A R E A U
{ the world
was a l w a y s
d a r k ;
was a l w a y s
d a r k ;
My flashlight is still lit when I begin to run away and the light of it bounces off of the walls, ricocheting off of the ceiling, hitting the floor. Our shadows hit the dirt like burn marks and even as I run for my life from the terrible squeaking of the mega rats, I have time to wonder if when I die, I will leave a burn mark or a blood mark, if it will be fast and sweet or slow and filled with pain. It isn't productive thinking. The rat hit me on my hip, just under where the vest ends and there is no padding to stop sharp claws. I can feel Barnabas' hand lifting my shirt up and I move faster, away from his hand out of his instinct. There's a bit of leftover bandage in my pocket from earlier, I slap it on the cut, if only to stop the bleeding while we run.
I don't want to be responsible for leaving a trail.
I turn off my flashlight, grabbing Barnabas' hand in an unspoken agreement for him to lead me to safety, to keep me safe from tripping.
Eventually, we make it far enough away. If I listen, I don't hear the sound of the rats anymore which is an obvious plus. I realize that I am exhausted already, I wonder how long we really have been running in fear. It's difficult to tell the passing of time with no sun, difficult to note a changing landscape with endless tunnels and no light. I have no idea. I stumble forwards against the wall, my hand still grips Barnabas, like his is an anchor. It is difficult to let go of him in the darkness where no one can see what I do anyway.
He and I rest against the wall, sliding to the dirt. We're quiet for some time, simply breathing, catching our breath. My hand seeks his again, he finds me, I find him. My knuckles must be white by now, by how tightly I hold on to him. It may seems small as an outside viewer, but the darkness is heavy. I pretend I am not afraid by wearing sunglasses, by relying on Barnabas' sight with his goggles rather than a flashlight. I don't like the shadows that it casts.
I feel it as his head slowly falls against my shoulder, as his breathing grows more even despite his pain. I know he's feeling it, that knife he took to the stomach. I wonder if he's dying right now beside me from internal bleeding. I don't want to wake up in the morning to the sound of a cannon and the absence of the warmth beside me. It's a sobering thought. I dare not move as he sleeps, afraid to wake him, not when he needs to rest.
The cut on my hip stings, the bandage sticking to the dried blood, it will hurt to remove it. I can't leave it there either. It will get infected. I pull up my shirt slowly, revealing the red stain across the white bandage. It's a shallow cut, but across the bone. You bleed more, quicker in the places where skin is thinner. For me it would not matter where, my skin stretches across my bones in most spots like I am a mannequin in a taxidermist's shop. It's a wonder Barnabas can lean on me to sleep without being in pain. I can't be comfortable to sleep against.
I exhale softly, fingers beginning to pick at the edges of the bandage. The sooner I have it removed the better. It hurts but I'm so used to pain now, to dealing with my own hurts that it doesn't offer as much pain as it should, as if I am numb to it. A small hiss escapes from between my lips as I slowly begin to tear the bandage away, it tears at my skin.
"Let me see."
I was so invested in the removal of the bandage that I did not hear her coming. I can hear her now though, right in front of me. I still myself, thoughts going to the sword hilt at my side, wondering if I'll have to stay alert another night to make certain that she can't attempt my murder again. I am unused to anyone wanting to see to my wounds unless they're a nurse at the hospital or a tech at the training center. I don't know what to do in this situation. It's not a very bad wound but I do need to attempt to bridge the gap between us. I slowly relax and hold my shirt up for her. "Alright," I say, voice soft in the loudness of the black.
I watch quietly as she inspects the cut and I feel silly about it. It's really nothing in comparison to what Barnabas is going through, which is why I was trying to stay quiet about it. If it wasn't on my hip and stretching, reopening with every step I could ignore it completely. "I'm going to have to cut away some of the puss, else the wound will get infected," she says and I suppose that means she is going to be holding a blade right over my body yet again. I wonder how many times we will be in a similar situation. Once an evening then? Or is this the last time. She could kill me if she wished, just reach up a little higher and stab me through my neck. "I know I'm the last person in the world you trust right now, but I'm also the only one available to help you."
Oddly enough, I am not worried as she brings the cold metal to my skin. I guess I'm used to it by now, weapons against my skin, near me in general. My brother always kept a couple of knives on him at all times just to play with me. I'd be doing the dishes or something and I'd feel it underneath my throat, point held against my back just over my heart, a line drawn over my back. I grimace as I arch my back the smallest bit in remembrance from that pain. It still haunts, the end of the long scar draped over my shoulder like a lover's arm. I can't even trust my own brother, how could I be expected to trust a stranger?
"Don't take it personally," I say, grinning slightly, "I don't trust anyone." But I remember the warmth against my arm and I sigh slightly, leaning my head back against the dirt wall. "Except him. I trust him." I wasn't certain why at first and I'm still not entirely sure. He's never tried to hurt me though. From the moment he met me he cared. I've never had that. He's a good person, a hell of a good person.
I can feel her working on the wound. It should be a good enough one to make me yell at least in the practical yet brutal way that she cute away the puss. If it weren't for the fact that I was so used to pain I might have. This is nothing new to me however. Pain has been a constant since birth. "What makes you trust him?" she asks, and I take the time to consider it. I don't rightly know. I'm not some fool who will trust just anyone who walks his way.
Barnabas is just different though. He's like Pearl. They've got this otherness about them, this tranquility that makes you feel better just to be around them. Of course they have their weaknesses but it only makes them stronger. Me, I'm just a weakling with too much Career training. "The same reason you trust her I suppose. He's better than me." When I say it, I know it as truth too. He is better than me. Much better in every way. He's strong and wonderful and caring. Not like me, not like me at all. I've seen the way Patricia looks at Pearl, like she's something to protect in this hellhole, something worth fighting for.
She's quiet for a moment, I fear that I must have gotten it wrong but when her voice comes out of the darkness it only confirms my thoughts. "Don't pretend you know the first thing about me."
I've said something wrong. Normally when that happens, I'm made to understand that I have spoken out of turn by pain. Whether that be cruel words or physical pain, I am trained out of saying things again and again until there are no words left that I am certain that I can say. I guess that's where the nervous stutter first came, the uncertainty of speaking. I never knew if my words were going to warrant a slap or not. I turn my head to the side, clenching my jaw, the words sharp and curt in an effort to get them out without the stutter that I was hoping was gone. "S-sorry," I say, not quite managing it, "I o-overstepped." the boundaries. I can't manage the rest.
"It's cleaner now, just put some pressure on it and I'll change your bandage."
The pain doesn't come. I wait a bit longer and then cautiously reach out to press two long fingers against the wound, pressing down until the skin around it must be going white. It burns slightly but it's a good burn, an odd burn. I can punish myself instead for saying something to piss her off. It completes the circle somewhat. Vicious words from a vicious boy deserves vicious pain. If she doesn't give it, I have to take what I can get. "If it had been me, standing with a blade over the body of Pearl, what would you have done?" I don't realize that I've spoken until the words are out. Once they're there, it's like I've written some rude words onto the wall in enormous letters, there for everyone to gawk at.
"Nothing," she lies.
I roll my eyes behind the sunglasses but I don't want to push the girl who approached me just last night, blade naked and ready to shove it through my throat. "I see," I say, giving no clue to the amount that I do not believe her words.
It's quiet for a while as she works on the bandage, fingers gentle despite where we stand. Which is somewhere I'm not sure of. I know where I am with Barnabas, it is nearly impossible to explain but easy all at once. I know where I am with Pearl, she and I have an understanding. Call it a similar upbringing or misjudgment, whatever it is, it works. Patricia is the one I don't know, the missing link. I don't know what motivates her or what her life was like before this. I really don't know anything about her. I barely even remember the colour of her eyes, only spotted once or twice across the dining hall but near impossible to see in this darkness.
"Why haven't you killed me yet?"
I sit quiet for a moment, stunned. I suppose that it's a fair enough question that she asks. By all standards, I am a career. A textbook career would have held his blade to her throat yesterday, pushing the steel through her skin until she was choking on her own blood. My brother would have done that, Heracles the strong, the perfect. He would have gotten rid of her from the get go just because of her strength. I know however that the strength she bares can be put to use. What I lack in my brother's muscle, I make up for in brains. Heart too, I'd like to think. I haven't killed her yet because I don't want to kill her. Not if I don't have to. "Careers are people too Patricia, not just cold-blooded killing machines."
The sorrow in that statement makes my voice heavy, quieter. It is something that I more believe, not something that I am able to easily prove. The only exception other than myself I have found so far is a handful of acquaintances from the training center in two and Pearl. I don't want her to catch that weakness, that sadness. I don't want her to know it, to know me. It's dangerous to know anyone, I've learned that now. You begin to feel for them, to try to understand that. Once you start to do that, you can't imagine hurting them. If she hurts Barnabas, then I'll have to hurt her. I said I would. I will.
"Besides," I say, switching a confident, nearly jovial tone on in an effort to get across to her that I am joking, "If I wanted you dead, you would be." I couldn't kill her even if I wanted to. I doubt that I am a killer when even hurting those two girls yesterday made me cringe internally. No, I'm not like Heracles, or Father. I'm not the cold-blooded machine that they were trying so hard to build. If I ever kill, it will not be with intent.
My joke falls flat. She finishes with the bandages and steps aside and I can tell that I have offended her. Maybe it's better this way, her distrust and my inability to make friends. It's a miracle that Barnabas even wanted to be my friend, after the weird first impression I gave him. It's difficult to tell what people want from me. I doubt that Barnabas would have been interested in my friendship if I weren't so surprisingly weak and I doubt Patricia would allow me to live if I didn't appear so strong. People are odd, hypocritical things. It's exhausting trying to navigate them. "Thank-you," I say, voice polite as she moves off, "It was difficult to see in the dark."
I listen as she moves off and something in me relaxes. Slowly, I pull my shirt back down so it rests lightly on top of the bandage and let my head fall back against the tunnel wall, the whole interaction somehow beyond exhausting. The ache in my hip is better though, somehow a tighter pain. It should feel better by tomorrow.
His voice erupts beside me in the darkness, soft and loud all at once, like a schoolteacher I had when I was younger who could command an entire storm with a whisper if she wanted to. I did not know that he was awake, I was certain that he was sleeping. "I'm not better than you," he says, and I grin at no one and nothing. If only he knew.
"Yes you are," I tell him, voice final, despite the smile hidden in between the words. He doesn't understand what he's done, reaching out that first day, noticing me from across the room, being the first to actually try and fix me, as if there was a possibility that I could ever be put back together again. He doesn't have all the kings horses and men but somehow he gives me hope anyway. That's all I've ever wanted. Something to hope for, something to protect and covet. Hes given me that in the form of his friendship.
He wiggles closer, searching for my heat in the cold of the tunnels and I am careful when I do the same, wresting my head on top of his. I don't want to hurt him. "I don't believe you," he says, voice muffled and I let out a sigh of contentment in response. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, where we're going to find ourselves, if there will be more pain. I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever does, I have this moment of feeling safe, warm, involved in something important for once. I can't name what it is, this feeling of happiness but it's the nicest thing I've ever felt before. "Go to sleep," I say, voice chiding but the smile behind my words hopefully heard too in the darkness.
I don't realize I've fallen asleep until I'm woken up with a gentle prodding and to Pearl's voice saying, "Hi, sorry, it's time to get up."
I'm not the best at mornings but I mutter an incoherent, "...shamks..." before she moves off again. I grown quietly and press myself against Barnabas who is unyielding in his sleep, I topple him over, landing with a hard smack on the ground myself. "It's awake time, Barney," I say after pulling myself back up, using the wall to stand. My body is sore from yesterday combined with sleeping on a cold dirt floor for two nights in a row. I think about the bed I left behind in the training center and nearly start drooling. It does no good to think about comfort but sometimes it's difficult not to.
I only realized that I managed to miss the anthem last night when we set off into more silence, Barnabas on my back again, telling me where to go. I know I heard a couple of cannon shots yesterday, but I guess I won't be finding out who it was who died. I guess I was just too tired last night but it would be nice to know who is still out there.
I'm just about to ask when I hear a noise in the darkness. I still, listening for the sound again. I rest a hand on the hilt of my sword, letting Barnabas down so that I can attack easier. I'm almost hoping for more rats rather than tributes at this point. I don't want to see other people. I don't want to hurt anyone, not really. I will, of course I will. I'll always hurt them before they can hurt Barnabas first. I just wish it didn't have to be this way.
I hear the sound again and I flick on my flashlight, rushing forward through the jumping shadows to meet my maker, to defeat him in battle once again.
I only realize that I've been running for a while when I do not hear the echoing footsteps of my allies behind me. Uncertain, I move forward, flashlight searching for the marks tha tPearl has been leaving along the walls. However, we must not have been this way yet. There are stairs in front of me, leading downwards and despite my fear at being separated, I'm curious as well. I didn't believe this place could be any deeper and darker than it was. I take them, considering only after the first hundred stairs or so that this might be folly. By then it is too late. The beast roars in front of me, mighty and terrifying. It boils my blood to a freezing point.
I panic, bringing my sword down with a stabbing motion into the beast's foot, the oddity standing in front of me almost too much to bear alone.
[ASA ATTACKS THE RANCOR]I don't want to be responsible for leaving a trail.
I turn off my flashlight, grabbing Barnabas' hand in an unspoken agreement for him to lead me to safety, to keep me safe from tripping.
Eventually, we make it far enough away. If I listen, I don't hear the sound of the rats anymore which is an obvious plus. I realize that I am exhausted already, I wonder how long we really have been running in fear. It's difficult to tell the passing of time with no sun, difficult to note a changing landscape with endless tunnels and no light. I have no idea. I stumble forwards against the wall, my hand still grips Barnabas, like his is an anchor. It is difficult to let go of him in the darkness where no one can see what I do anyway.
He and I rest against the wall, sliding to the dirt. We're quiet for some time, simply breathing, catching our breath. My hand seeks his again, he finds me, I find him. My knuckles must be white by now, by how tightly I hold on to him. It may seems small as an outside viewer, but the darkness is heavy. I pretend I am not afraid by wearing sunglasses, by relying on Barnabas' sight with his goggles rather than a flashlight. I don't like the shadows that it casts.
I feel it as his head slowly falls against my shoulder, as his breathing grows more even despite his pain. I know he's feeling it, that knife he took to the stomach. I wonder if he's dying right now beside me from internal bleeding. I don't want to wake up in the morning to the sound of a cannon and the absence of the warmth beside me. It's a sobering thought. I dare not move as he sleeps, afraid to wake him, not when he needs to rest.
The cut on my hip stings, the bandage sticking to the dried blood, it will hurt to remove it. I can't leave it there either. It will get infected. I pull up my shirt slowly, revealing the red stain across the white bandage. It's a shallow cut, but across the bone. You bleed more, quicker in the places where skin is thinner. For me it would not matter where, my skin stretches across my bones in most spots like I am a mannequin in a taxidermist's shop. It's a wonder Barnabas can lean on me to sleep without being in pain. I can't be comfortable to sleep against.
I exhale softly, fingers beginning to pick at the edges of the bandage. The sooner I have it removed the better. It hurts but I'm so used to pain now, to dealing with my own hurts that it doesn't offer as much pain as it should, as if I am numb to it. A small hiss escapes from between my lips as I slowly begin to tear the bandage away, it tears at my skin.
"Let me see."
I was so invested in the removal of the bandage that I did not hear her coming. I can hear her now though, right in front of me. I still myself, thoughts going to the sword hilt at my side, wondering if I'll have to stay alert another night to make certain that she can't attempt my murder again. I am unused to anyone wanting to see to my wounds unless they're a nurse at the hospital or a tech at the training center. I don't know what to do in this situation. It's not a very bad wound but I do need to attempt to bridge the gap between us. I slowly relax and hold my shirt up for her. "Alright," I say, voice soft in the loudness of the black.
I watch quietly as she inspects the cut and I feel silly about it. It's really nothing in comparison to what Barnabas is going through, which is why I was trying to stay quiet about it. If it wasn't on my hip and stretching, reopening with every step I could ignore it completely. "I'm going to have to cut away some of the puss, else the wound will get infected," she says and I suppose that means she is going to be holding a blade right over my body yet again. I wonder how many times we will be in a similar situation. Once an evening then? Or is this the last time. She could kill me if she wished, just reach up a little higher and stab me through my neck. "I know I'm the last person in the world you trust right now, but I'm also the only one available to help you."
Oddly enough, I am not worried as she brings the cold metal to my skin. I guess I'm used to it by now, weapons against my skin, near me in general. My brother always kept a couple of knives on him at all times just to play with me. I'd be doing the dishes or something and I'd feel it underneath my throat, point held against my back just over my heart, a line drawn over my back. I grimace as I arch my back the smallest bit in remembrance from that pain. It still haunts, the end of the long scar draped over my shoulder like a lover's arm. I can't even trust my own brother, how could I be expected to trust a stranger?
"Don't take it personally," I say, grinning slightly, "I don't trust anyone." But I remember the warmth against my arm and I sigh slightly, leaning my head back against the dirt wall. "Except him. I trust him." I wasn't certain why at first and I'm still not entirely sure. He's never tried to hurt me though. From the moment he met me he cared. I've never had that. He's a good person, a hell of a good person.
I can feel her working on the wound. It should be a good enough one to make me yell at least in the practical yet brutal way that she cute away the puss. If it weren't for the fact that I was so used to pain I might have. This is nothing new to me however. Pain has been a constant since birth. "What makes you trust him?" she asks, and I take the time to consider it. I don't rightly know. I'm not some fool who will trust just anyone who walks his way.
Barnabas is just different though. He's like Pearl. They've got this otherness about them, this tranquility that makes you feel better just to be around them. Of course they have their weaknesses but it only makes them stronger. Me, I'm just a weakling with too much Career training. "The same reason you trust her I suppose. He's better than me." When I say it, I know it as truth too. He is better than me. Much better in every way. He's strong and wonderful and caring. Not like me, not like me at all. I've seen the way Patricia looks at Pearl, like she's something to protect in this hellhole, something worth fighting for.
She's quiet for a moment, I fear that I must have gotten it wrong but when her voice comes out of the darkness it only confirms my thoughts. "Don't pretend you know the first thing about me."
I've said something wrong. Normally when that happens, I'm made to understand that I have spoken out of turn by pain. Whether that be cruel words or physical pain, I am trained out of saying things again and again until there are no words left that I am certain that I can say. I guess that's where the nervous stutter first came, the uncertainty of speaking. I never knew if my words were going to warrant a slap or not. I turn my head to the side, clenching my jaw, the words sharp and curt in an effort to get them out without the stutter that I was hoping was gone. "S-sorry," I say, not quite managing it, "I o-overstepped." the boundaries. I can't manage the rest.
"It's cleaner now, just put some pressure on it and I'll change your bandage."
The pain doesn't come. I wait a bit longer and then cautiously reach out to press two long fingers against the wound, pressing down until the skin around it must be going white. It burns slightly but it's a good burn, an odd burn. I can punish myself instead for saying something to piss her off. It completes the circle somewhat. Vicious words from a vicious boy deserves vicious pain. If she doesn't give it, I have to take what I can get. "If it had been me, standing with a blade over the body of Pearl, what would you have done?" I don't realize that I've spoken until the words are out. Once they're there, it's like I've written some rude words onto the wall in enormous letters, there for everyone to gawk at.
"Nothing," she lies.
I roll my eyes behind the sunglasses but I don't want to push the girl who approached me just last night, blade naked and ready to shove it through my throat. "I see," I say, giving no clue to the amount that I do not believe her words.
It's quiet for a while as she works on the bandage, fingers gentle despite where we stand. Which is somewhere I'm not sure of. I know where I am with Barnabas, it is nearly impossible to explain but easy all at once. I know where I am with Pearl, she and I have an understanding. Call it a similar upbringing or misjudgment, whatever it is, it works. Patricia is the one I don't know, the missing link. I don't know what motivates her or what her life was like before this. I really don't know anything about her. I barely even remember the colour of her eyes, only spotted once or twice across the dining hall but near impossible to see in this darkness.
"Why haven't you killed me yet?"
I sit quiet for a moment, stunned. I suppose that it's a fair enough question that she asks. By all standards, I am a career. A textbook career would have held his blade to her throat yesterday, pushing the steel through her skin until she was choking on her own blood. My brother would have done that, Heracles the strong, the perfect. He would have gotten rid of her from the get go just because of her strength. I know however that the strength she bares can be put to use. What I lack in my brother's muscle, I make up for in brains. Heart too, I'd like to think. I haven't killed her yet because I don't want to kill her. Not if I don't have to. "Careers are people too Patricia, not just cold-blooded killing machines."
The sorrow in that statement makes my voice heavy, quieter. It is something that I more believe, not something that I am able to easily prove. The only exception other than myself I have found so far is a handful of acquaintances from the training center in two and Pearl. I don't want her to catch that weakness, that sadness. I don't want her to know it, to know me. It's dangerous to know anyone, I've learned that now. You begin to feel for them, to try to understand that. Once you start to do that, you can't imagine hurting them. If she hurts Barnabas, then I'll have to hurt her. I said I would. I will.
"Besides," I say, switching a confident, nearly jovial tone on in an effort to get across to her that I am joking, "If I wanted you dead, you would be." I couldn't kill her even if I wanted to. I doubt that I am a killer when even hurting those two girls yesterday made me cringe internally. No, I'm not like Heracles, or Father. I'm not the cold-blooded machine that they were trying so hard to build. If I ever kill, it will not be with intent.
My joke falls flat. She finishes with the bandages and steps aside and I can tell that I have offended her. Maybe it's better this way, her distrust and my inability to make friends. It's a miracle that Barnabas even wanted to be my friend, after the weird first impression I gave him. It's difficult to tell what people want from me. I doubt that Barnabas would have been interested in my friendship if I weren't so surprisingly weak and I doubt Patricia would allow me to live if I didn't appear so strong. People are odd, hypocritical things. It's exhausting trying to navigate them. "Thank-you," I say, voice polite as she moves off, "It was difficult to see in the dark."
I listen as she moves off and something in me relaxes. Slowly, I pull my shirt back down so it rests lightly on top of the bandage and let my head fall back against the tunnel wall, the whole interaction somehow beyond exhausting. The ache in my hip is better though, somehow a tighter pain. It should feel better by tomorrow.
His voice erupts beside me in the darkness, soft and loud all at once, like a schoolteacher I had when I was younger who could command an entire storm with a whisper if she wanted to. I did not know that he was awake, I was certain that he was sleeping. "I'm not better than you," he says, and I grin at no one and nothing. If only he knew.
"Yes you are," I tell him, voice final, despite the smile hidden in between the words. He doesn't understand what he's done, reaching out that first day, noticing me from across the room, being the first to actually try and fix me, as if there was a possibility that I could ever be put back together again. He doesn't have all the kings horses and men but somehow he gives me hope anyway. That's all I've ever wanted. Something to hope for, something to protect and covet. Hes given me that in the form of his friendship.
He wiggles closer, searching for my heat in the cold of the tunnels and I am careful when I do the same, wresting my head on top of his. I don't want to hurt him. "I don't believe you," he says, voice muffled and I let out a sigh of contentment in response. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, where we're going to find ourselves, if there will be more pain. I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever does, I have this moment of feeling safe, warm, involved in something important for once. I can't name what it is, this feeling of happiness but it's the nicest thing I've ever felt before. "Go to sleep," I say, voice chiding but the smile behind my words hopefully heard too in the darkness.
I don't realize I've fallen asleep until I'm woken up with a gentle prodding and to Pearl's voice saying, "Hi, sorry, it's time to get up."
I'm not the best at mornings but I mutter an incoherent, "...shamks..." before she moves off again. I grown quietly and press myself against Barnabas who is unyielding in his sleep, I topple him over, landing with a hard smack on the ground myself. "It's awake time, Barney," I say after pulling myself back up, using the wall to stand. My body is sore from yesterday combined with sleeping on a cold dirt floor for two nights in a row. I think about the bed I left behind in the training center and nearly start drooling. It does no good to think about comfort but sometimes it's difficult not to.
I only realized that I managed to miss the anthem last night when we set off into more silence, Barnabas on my back again, telling me where to go. I know I heard a couple of cannon shots yesterday, but I guess I won't be finding out who it was who died. I guess I was just too tired last night but it would be nice to know who is still out there.
I'm just about to ask when I hear a noise in the darkness. I still, listening for the sound again. I rest a hand on the hilt of my sword, letting Barnabas down so that I can attack easier. I'm almost hoping for more rats rather than tributes at this point. I don't want to see other people. I don't want to hurt anyone, not really. I will, of course I will. I'll always hurt them before they can hurt Barnabas first. I just wish it didn't have to be this way.
I hear the sound again and I flick on my flashlight, rushing forward through the jumping shadows to meet my maker, to defeat him in battle once again.
I only realize that I've been running for a while when I do not hear the echoing footsteps of my allies behind me. Uncertain, I move forward, flashlight searching for the marks tha tPearl has been leaving along the walls. However, we must not have been this way yet. There are stairs in front of me, leading downwards and despite my fear at being separated, I'm curious as well. I didn't believe this place could be any deeper and darker than it was. I take them, considering only after the first hundred stairs or so that this might be folly. By then it is too late. The beast roars in front of me, mighty and terrifying. It boils my blood to a freezing point.
I panic, bringing my sword down with a stabbing motion into the beast's foot, the oddity standing in front of me almost too much to bear alone.
7HEYPhwosword
[Stabbed in Foot -- 8.0 damage]
[presto]  [/presto] |
