[i][/i][b][/b][i][/i][color=f7941d][h3]Romaní Bogart [/h3][/color][sub]
[i]Strength Blares When the Candles Fade[/i]
Friday, ???
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCax6p1Lm9s]theme[/url][/sub]
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His breath finally caught up to him, his eyes stared at the mess left behind by the creature whom just moments ago, he had snapped it's neck in a frenzy he was unbeknownst to. The irises returned to their natural hue, and the sounds or more creatures began to surface from the darkness. What happened today was a testament of a world he was utterly sure resembled hell. The moment he-- disposed of one of them, the others would soon rally behind in attempts to not only feast, but to sustain the threat of the mice that bit the eye of the cat. The pendulum vanished as soon as it arrived, along with the gun... What was that all now? He couldn't dilly-dally on the thought, his feet kicked the concrete beneath his heel, turned and left the area as soon as the voices began to churn for an audience to please them. Romaní had no sense of direction, but he knew that, although different this place resembled London to some extent, the world swallowed by darkness and oddly shaped enigma's was all that differed it from the everyday monotonous streets and building of the London he knew.

A clone to some extent, if set clone began to molt and rot before the very eyes of society. Or more so, the more Romaní thought, it was as if it was a bleak mirror of the world he knew. A stained image of the reality which consumes what the world knows to be true, but hides it behind its midst. He shook of the thought, that didn't matter at the moment! He needed to get out, and if there was an in somewhere, the out had to be close to a source of incredible energy... or at least he could come to such a conclusion since mostly every cliché would, at some juncture, lead him to such a thought. Soon, as if answering his doubts a tremble came to his feet.

[color=f26522]"The school..."[/color]

Before he knew it, his feet dragged him to the most notable location. Almost instinctively, muscle memory even, he arrived at the area he spent the most time in as he could witness the shift between one image and the next. The visage began to distort, grossly so, into a fortress. The shape began to increase and increase, shifting before his very eyes and turning into something else entirely. Before he knew it, the school was now a medieval-war-castle. Out of the seams, a voice, thunderous and demanding... The source held in its hand a book, and he rose his hands up in reverence, witnessing the skies, gleaming to it as if questioning its very existence, or perhaps even suggesting to give reason to what already exist. Romaní would even say it was majestic, in the gloom of what this world was, the source gave life to an undead world, but the ominous sense of malice overtook the area and blanketed it on its source. This place... if there was an exit, it was certainly here. 

Soon after, he noticed. Something about the man there were others around, others like him. He needed to find answer and quick. Was that-- Ashcroft? Why was he gowning such clothing? Why did the school shift so drastically? Honestly at this point, nothing that made sense existed, so the abnormal had turned into a common entity, Romaní was less surprised and more interested, if there was an out, it had to be somewhere close or within this point. He turned, in hopes that this "Ashcroft" didn't notice his presence, and he began to survey the surroundings. There must be an escape, somewhere...