[hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/bemGSrE.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/fGCaIL3.png[/img][/center][right][b]Interactions:[/b] Ella [@FernStone], Valor [@Drag], & Nora/Tyler [@NoriWasHere]
[code]The Warehouse[/code] [s][code]Party[/code][/s] [code]Massacre.[/code][/right][hr][hr]

Kari doesn’t answer immediately. 

She simply can’t. 

Everything around her is too loud, too fast, overwhelming, and somehow also delayed, as if her brain is a half-second behind [i]everything[/i] that matters. Ella’s voice merges together, words twisting and slipping away before Kari can catch them fully. Nora’s grip is firm and real, yet feels distant, like she’s touching something through glass. They’re speaking to her. Waiting for her to respond. Her chest tightens. She knows she’s [i]supposed [/i]to have the answer. But she just—her thoughts get[i] caught.[/i] 'Observer.' That word doesn’t help; it only adds pressure. Ella is hurt, with a head injury, blood loss, and at least a concussion. She’s moving, but unsteady. Nora is shaking, overwhelmed, still able to function but barely. Lynn is talking strategy; calm, detached, with too much input and too many variables, at a rapid pace. Kari’s breathing becomes irregular and strained.

[color=#eac6ae]"...Stop talking just—just—"[/color]

Her voice falters halfway through. She quickly closes her eyes, hoping to somehow align her thoughts. But it doesn’t happen. Something shifts, and her eyes snap open. The monster is no longer fixated on them; it has already moved. Her gaze follows it—not smoothly, but with jagged, frame-skipping corrections, as if she’s struggling to keep up. It passes through its previous position and appears where it is now, causing Kari a moment of nausea as she tries to make sense of it. Then realization hits. It’s not about them anymore. It’s about Valor. Kari’s head jerks toward the knight just as he steps forward, loud and purposeful, drawing the creature’s focus like a flare. A small, temporary, but [i]real[/i] window opens. Her breath catches. There. That’s—Her body moves instinctively, before she even finishes the thought.

[color=#eac6ae]"It’s not on us-"[/color] she blurts, voice sharp, urgent, almost panicked. [color=#eac6ae]“It’s focused on him-it’s-just_"[/color]

Kari grips Ella by the arm with more force than intended, attempting to lift her upright. The movement is awkward and unsteady—Ella’s weight shifts unpredictably, and her body fails to stabilize, causing Kari to nearly lose her hold.

[color=#eac6ae]"We’re leaving.[i] Now.[/i] Come on-"[/color]

Her eyes shift back to the creature—no, not just the creature, but through it, following its movements to anticipate what it will do next. She can't quite predict everything yet, but she has enough understanding. Currently, it’s not paying attention to them, and that's the only thing that matters.

[color=#eac6ae]“Nora, help me. Get her up. This might be our only chance..”[/color]

Her voice has grown thinner and frayed, still attempting to sound in control but failing. Because deep down she knows this isn’t a plan; it’s a window that’s already closing.

[hr][center][b][h1]The Creature[/h1][/b][img]https://i.imgur.com/xChQ2eh.png[/img][/center][right][b]Interactions:[/b] Valor ([@Drag]), & Lexi ([@FernStone])
[code]The Warehouse Party.[/code][/right][hr][hr]

The incoming debris initially seemed harmless, scattered, and inconsistent. The creature didn’t fully turn to face it; parts of its body responded independently. When chunks of concrete and metal struck, the surface shifted slightly to lessen the impact, softening in some areas and hardening in others. 

As similar debris continued to strike, the creature adapted, forming ridges on its surface, not armor, but angled structures. Subsequent impacts deflected, redirected into tissue, or lost force, rendering them insignificant. It no longer focused on Lexi; her movements were processed, unstable, and her attacks broad and inefficient. 

The real threat was Valor. 

The creature’s body responded to him, shifting not directly towards him but in reaction to what he symbolized. Inside, the groove from the spear flexed, and tendrils twitched—not from damage, but recognition, as the weapon’s pattern became familiar. Bones began to form again, not as a cage but as segmented structures beneath the surface, aligned with probable entry points, meant to guide rather than stop the weapon. The interior channel thickened; some areas were intentionally soft, others hardened into dense nodes slightly offset from previous strikes, preparing for the next attack. 

The white fire wasn’t remembered as pain, but as behavior; the creature changed its composition where the fire burned most effectively, forming resistant patches amidst softer tissue, which could shift to carry the burn elsewhere. It wasn’t trying to stop the fire but [i]move[/i] it. The creature subtly adjusted its balance, lowering its center by compressing its mass and widening its internal channel, preparing itself. 

It paused before attacking, making precise, small adjustments—limbs shifting, movement slowing, reducing waste. It was no longer reacting impulsively; it was focusing, filtering. Valor’s weapons ignited again—this was the constant, what truly mattered. The creature remained still, not out of hesitation, but because it had completed its preparation. 

When the weapon next entered, it wouldn’t be leaving. It would be ready, controlling what comes next.

[hr][center][b][h1]???[/h1][/b][/center][right][b]Interactions:[/b] None.
[code]???[/code][/right][hr][hr]

The blade was already in his hand when the opening appeared. 

It came suddenly, without warning. One moment, there was nothing; then, a clean break in space formed like a doorway. He hesitated briefly, not out of doubt but to check. [i]Too soon.[/i] The thought passed silently; he knew it would align in time. He adjusted his grip once and smoothly slid the katana into its sheath. 

Then the opening sealed immediately behind him, leaving no sound or trace. The air beyond felt strange, heavy but [i]familiar,[/i] as if something large had already occurred nearby, leaving a residual pressure. He moved forward steadily, confidently, navigating turns instinctively as if he knew the layout. 

The sounds from inside echoed—metal breaking, concrete shifting, impacts replaying. Continuing, he slightly adjusted his direction, confirming his sheath was secure. A faint, out-of-place sensation flickered at the edge of his perception but vanished quickly. Ignoring it, he approached the damaged building, its interior exposed through broken sections.

Whatever was happening inside had not finished.

And that was the only condition that mattered.