[IC] Recollections: Where the Folds Meet

[Evil Ghost Note]

Post coming soon...

[Blizz]

Current day
Interactions:?̶̥̼̠̪̮̭̾͆͝?̶̡̋͋?̷̧̅̓͆̌͠͠?̵̰̹̮̍?̶̢̺̳͓̖͛?̵̢̤͖̤̐̓̾̒́͜?̸̩͉̙͌͐̍͑?̵̰͉̔͛̂?̴͕̝̜͔͙͈̽̏?̸͚̄̎̔͆́̈́?̷̦͇͕͍̠̀

---

Noise.

Music.

Pulsing voices.

There was too much going on to focus on even a third of what was happening. The lights, the smells, it was all just so much. Tommy’s brain lacked the capacity to divide attention up among it all, which meant that some things were coming to him a matter of seconds slower than if he were more accustomed to this scene. He felt every single beat of the music as if the natural rhythm of his own heart had sought to match it. A small part of him wondered if he was just going to get motion sick in this place, or discover a photosensitive condition he didn't know he had. But no, instead, he was just in this feeling of being high-strung, where entire minutes felt like they were going by before Tyler said anything. Tommy didn't feel that something was wrong in that. His thoughts were slow, tonight.

Then there was a thud. A beat out of sync with the rest of them, that tugged on Tommy's sense of awareness, and roused his senses. Then Tommy thought he heard somebody screaming over the noise.

"What-"

"Run."

There was a man standing next to him, wearing a tweed suit jacket. He was taller than Tommy, maybe five-eleven and smoking a cigar. He couldn't see the man's face, because it was obscured by golden trails of smoke. He looked so casual, so in his element here. Even though, somehow, Tommy just knew he was probably in his fifties. Around his neck was locket of brass, that glowed yellow against a dark green sweater. His hands were stained red, but he couldn't get a good look at them.

"It will be here soon, boy," The man said, through the smoke. "Do you not see it?"

Tommy blinked.

"Who the hell are y-"

"RUN! IT'S COMING! HURRY!" There were more screams. Tommy's head snapped around directly behind him, and saw people clambering over each other. People were pushing, shoving, trying their best and then some to leave. Why?

Tommy saw something fly up over the crowd, a human arm. Blood sprayed up and over people, and that was cold water to his disjointed senses.

"What the fuck?!"

He backed away, feeling something in his chest burn. He hit a wall. He didn't remember being that close to a wall. He-

<sub>"He's Blind."

"They all are. He doesn't know, he hasn't been taught."</sub>

Tommy slipped, and he was face down in a mess of cheap alcohol and blood. His blood, he cut himself on the glass. The burning didn't help him feel any more coherent. What the fuck was happening?

<sub>"Almost there, I think."

"If he dies here, it won't matter. Look, that's close to him. Close enough to work."</sub>

Tommy got his feet under him and ran.

_{"Go, Vera."}

All he knew was that he didn't want to be here. The screams, the blood, the sound. Was somebody here? Was it that fucking guy who the FBI caught? Did he escape? Tommy jumped over someone who was kneeling in a pool of their own blood, he didn't question that they were staring into thin air like something was watching them. He wasn't breathing properly, he wasn't thinking rationally. The people around him were dying, he knew that, and he could've maybe stopped to help someone to their feet. But... He was scared. Tommy didn't have the strength to stop. And besides, who would do the same for him? No one. Most people in this town didn't even know his name, except when they needed something from him.

No, he had to help himself.

So he ran, away from the direction others were going. His car was in that direction, but if there were that many people, he'd just get caught in whatever was going on. He shoved past bodies, nearly hit the floor a few times, almost tripped over someone's lost bag of drugs. He pushed away from them. He didn't deserve this. Whatever this was.

"This way."

There was a woman, standing by the walls of the warehouse. She was in a red dress, brown hair in short curls. She looked... Old, familiar. She had his mother's eyes. Despite the chaos, she just stood there, arm outstretched. She looked like watercolor against impressionism, pointing him towards a door.

"You do not deserve this, young man."

That voice sounded familiar to him. It pulled on that feeling in his heart. That warm, swelling feeling of pride.

It burned.

He couldn't breathe.

"I don't- What- What's going on-" He felt like he was going to burn up, sweat beaded up under his hair. There was a pain in his chest, and it made Tommy clutch at his shirt and-

His hands. They were smoking. Golden flecks of something he'd never seen before were coming off his skin.

Something far away from this, something both nowhere in the world and everywhere roared.


"Ah... There it is." A hand fell on his shoulder, and made him flinch. He looked, and the smoking man was there.

"Congratulations, boy," He said. His face was visible now. He was old, with ashy blonde hair, his features gentle and soft. There was a smile on his face. His eyes were yellow like sunflowers, and just looking at them made Tommy feel still. The locket around his neck had more details to it, Tommy could see what looked like a sword, circled by olive branches, engraved on its surface. He smelled like wood ash.

"That was more rough than mine," The woman in the red dress remarked. Tommy noticed her arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, depicting flowers of various species. Everything from thorny roses to hemlocks. She held a fountain pen that glowed the same color as the old man's locket.

A black snake hung around her shoulders.

Finally, after what could have been a thousand years, Tommy breathed.

"What... In the fucking-"

"Quiet, we don't have long." The woman had a stern tone. "You are going to run for your life, and then you will use what you've been given. You just Kindled, Thomas Bracken, as we did when we were alive. We're already running out of time, so I'll just tell you now, that magic is real."

Tommy blinked. What?

"And..." The old man sighed. "As much as we would love to tell you more, I expect that we won't have that chance."

He stepped around to face Tommy, and his body seemed to be fraying like an old photograph. He tapped his locket, and then touched Tommy's jacket, where his cards were stored.

"When you know you are safe, reach for those. You will know what to do."

He felt so confused. What was he supposed to do?

The black snake around the woman's neck stuck its tongue out and hissed. Her legs and feet were evaporating.

"Well, time to go."

"Yes. Be proud, boy. Above all else, be proud."


They flickered out of his vision, and with them, the burning feeling that gave him pause. Tommy's thoughts felt a bit more ordered. He touched his hands to where his cards rested in his jacket. They felt heavier... And then, with that faint moment of peace behind him, Tommy came crashing back to reality. Back to the screams, back to the blood. Back to the warehouse.

Back to the writhing bodies of the living and the dying.

And he just ran.

[Evil Ghost Note]

---

^And...

Interactions: None.
The Warehouse Massacre.

---

---

Isabelle didn’t move when the first body dropped. Not at first. It wasn’t calm. It wasn’t controlled. It was a split-second stall—her brain trying to catch up to something that just didn’t make sense. The second impact hit, and something in her chest lurched hard enough to hurt.

Her breath caught.

"Wha-

The word didn’t finish. Her eyes snapped down instead. Not to the body. Not to the blood. To the floor. It dipped as something stepped. Her heartbeat kicked hard, uneven. She swallowed, forcing air back into her lungs too fast at first. Around her, people began to shift, confused at first, then faster, louder, breaking apart into noise and panic. Isabelle stayed one second too long. Just enough to see it again: a distortion in the air, a pressure that didn’t belong to anything visible. Moving. Toward the exit.

Her head snapped up.

The doorway was already clogging with people shoving, yelling, and falling over each other. Wrong. They were all running straight into it.

“Don’t—”

Her voice was swallowed instantly.

Someone slammed into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance. She caught herself against the pillar, fingers slipping for a second before gripping tight. Another step—closer—and she felt it through the concrete, up her arm, into her chest.

Too close.

Isabelle pushed off the pillar hard and forced herself forward, but not toward the exit. She cut across the crowd instead, sharp and lateral, slipping through gaps instead of following them.

Someone grabbed her sleeve. “WAIT—!”

For a split second, she almost stopped. Almost turned. Almost listened.

She ripped free.

“Sorry-” slipped out automatically, breathless, not even realizing she said it.

Her focus stayed ahead. Step. Shift. Step. But it wasn’t clean. Her foot caught on something slick, balance wavering, a half-step too far. She corrected hard, shoulder clipping someone as she pushed through.

Behind her, a sound—cut short.

She flinched.

Didn’t look.

Don’t look. Don’t—

Her breath hitched, chest tightening as she pushed forward.

Side door. Left wall. Past the bar.

There.

Half-open. Cold air slipping through.

Her pace quickened. Too fast. Someone stumbled into her, and she didn’t recover cleanly this time, knee dipping before she caught herself on a table edge. Her hands were shaking now. She hadn’t noticed until that moment.

Another step.

Something right behind her.

Her skin prickled.

Her body locked for a fraction of a second.

Move.

She dropped too slowly.

Something tore through the air above her—so close it dragged heat from her skin, pulling at her hair. The impact behind her shattered into the wall, concrete cracking as people screamed.

Dust fell.

Isabelle sucked in a sharp breath, scrambling up. Her pulse hammered in her ears now, loud and messy.

It’s on you.

The thought wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t clean. It hit and stayed.

No—no, just—

But the rhythm had changed.

Not the crowd anymore.

Her.

“... Fuck,”

Her voice shook. She heard it.

Didn’t have time to think about it.

She ran.

No clean path now. No control. Just motion—dodging too late, correcting too often, forcing her body forward through chaos that was now closing in.

The door was right there.

A body slammed into her side, and she staggered hard, breath knocked halfway out of her. She caught herself, barely. A hand grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t leave me! Please!”

Isabelle froze.

Not fully. Not long. But enough.

Her fingers tightened around theirs. They’re going to die. The thought was quiet. Certain. She yanked her arm back hard, and the grip broke. She didn’t even look at them-She couldn’t.

Three steps. Two—

The floor shifted under her foot.

Her stomach dropped.

No.

Too late.

It hit her. There was no shape. No warning. Just force. Something punched through her midsection with violence that erased everything else. Sound vanished. Air vanished. Thought vanished. Her body lifted instantly, feet leaving the ground as gravity disappeared. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out but blood.

For a second, she felt it—not physically, but spatially. Something around her. Through her. Holding her in a way that made no sense.

Then pain arrived all at once.

Blinding.

Her body jerked, spine arching violently as something inside her tore wrong, deep, and wet and final. Her vision flared white at the edges. Her hands twitched uselessly. She looked down. The floor. People are still running. Still screaming. Not even registering that Kari was distraught upon her death. Then she was thrown, being flung outside into cold air, then trees, then impact after impact—branches, trunks, ground.

Finally, a tree stopped her. Silence followed. Her body hit the forest floor and didn’t move. For a moment, there was nothing.

Then a twitch.

Her fingers curled weakly into the dirt. Her breath tried to return. It didn’t. Her chest spasmed once. Twice. Nothing. Her vision flickered, edges darkening. The sky above looked too far away. Too still.

Wrong.

In the distance, the bass still thumped faintly—warped now, disconnected, as it belonged to another world entirely. Isabelle tried to inhale. Her body didn’t respond.

And somewhere deep inside—

something unseen, unformed, and waiting—

noticed.

Somewhere below, but not...

---

The Pit did not feel like a place. It felt like something that had already been destroyed and simply refused to stop existing. Reality there fractured in layers—collapsed dimensions stacked like bruised glass, each one pressing into the next. The red glow of the sky was the only light provided. That was the only constant in the Pit. Time didn’t flow so much as hesitate, as if uncertain whether continuing was worth the effort.

A Threaded remnant, small by most standards, but patient in a way that outlived empires. She drifted across a seam of broken causality, where a collapsed world had folded into itself like a crushed spiderweb. Something tugged at her awareness.

A rift.

D’rryha paused. For the first time in what might have been centuries, she did not simply observe it—she approached. The rift pulsed like a wound between realities; Cornell bleeding into nowhere. Warm. Full of unclaimed threads. Fragile in a way that almost invited correction.

“... Escape,” she noted softly, though the word meant little in the Pit. Everything here was already escaping something. She pressed forward, and the rift did not resist—it gave way. Cornell struck her like noise after silence. Sudden. Overfilled. Chaotic with life that didn’t understand how close it was to unraveling. She emerged beneath a fractured night sky, half-sewn into the edge of a wooded collapse where reality thinned near the warehouse’s disturbance.

So many threads.

So many weak anchors.

And then—

One stood out.

A girl.

Broken near the edge of the forest. Barely functioning.

Still aware, despite it all.

D’rryha stilled, in evaluation.

Perfect.

D’rryha descended. And Isabelle did not hear her arrive. But something in her did. Not thought or instinct. Something deeper. Older than panic. The air around her tightened. Cold, though it shouldn’t have been. Wrong, though she could not name why. Then—

Weight.

Not physical at first. Not even pressure, but an occupation of space. As if the idea of her body had been touched. Isabelle’s fingers twitched in the dirt. Her breath stuttered once. Her eyes opened halfway.

“No...” It was barely a sound.

Something approached-Then it stopped pretending it was approaching at all. The air around her split its attention. Limb-like extensions unfolded where there should have been nothing. And then it reached her.
Into the very concept of her body. Isabelle tried to move, but her body did not respond. Like her muscles had stopped being recognized as valid endpoints for command.

“Get away... from... me...” she forced out weakly.

D’rryha did not acknowledge the sound as requiring a response.

“You are damaged,” she said gently.

Isabelle’s breathing sharpened.

“Who... what are you?!”

A pause.

“I am what remains when the rest fails to persist,” D’rryha replied. "I am forever."

Then the space between them collapsed inward.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

Something thin and impossibly precise touched Isabelle first, not breaking skin so much as finding seams that had always been there and had never been named. Places where body and identity did not align cleanly. Where “Isabelle” ended and biology continued without permission. Her ribs tightened—not from pressure, but from something sliding between them as they had briefly forgotten how to stay together.

“No-”

The word fractured immediately. Because something was already inside the space where the second half of it should have existed. Her body convulsed once, sharp and involuntary, as if accommodating something too large to reject cleanly—except it wasn’t entering all at once. It was moving in increments she could feel separately, like steps being taken inside her without her consent.

And then—

D’rryha stopped being “around” her. She stopped being “touched” by her. She became something that had found enough continuity within Isabelle’s structure to no longer need the distinction. Isabelle’s breath turned ragged—not just stolen, but briefly misrouted, like her lungs forgot which direction air was supposed to belong to.

“NO... NO!” The sound tore in half as her throat tried to follow instructions that no longer had a consistent owner. A second later, even the act of screaming felt delayed, like her voice was no longer synchronized with her mouth.

D’rryha did not rush, as there was no urgency in something that had already calculated survival past the moment resistance mattered. She simply extended further, sliding through damaged structure, reinforcing what would hold, dismantling what would not—not as destruction but as reconstruction without consent for the original design.

Except now Isabelle could feel the editing. Not metaphorically. Physically. Like sections of her were being lightly lifted, examined, and set back down in slightly different positions while she was still awake inside them.

Her vision flared white at the edges.

Her thoughts split into two currents: hers and something colder moving underneath like a tide learning her shape from inside—except it wasn’t underneath anymore. It was sharing space with her reflexes, arriving a fraction of a second before she did.

“Stop...stop....stop—”

Her voice degraded into repetition, not because she chose it, but because everything else in her throat had become harder to coordinate than the single surviving instruction.

Then silence.

Her body shook violently where it lay, breath uneven, eyes unfocused. Something inside her had changed position in the world and no longer agreed with being singular.

Her voice degraded into repetition.

Then silence. Her body shook violently where it lay, breath uneven, eyes unfocused. Something inside her had changed position in the world and no longer agreed with being singular.

D’rryha spoke again, closer now—not louder, just nearer.

“This place is dangerous,” she said. “We should move.”

Isabelle laughed once, out of disbelief.

“... We?”

A pause.

"Yes."
"Yes"

D’rryha lifted her, spider-like legs splaying in all directions.

Isabelle gasped, grabbing at dirt, roots, anything she could still interpret as external.

“Stop! I can—walk-”

“You cannot,” D’rryha corrected.

“I never ask you to-”

“You did not need to.”

That ended the conversation.

They moved into the woods. Isabelle stumbled in partial control at first—legs dragging, coordination unstable, as if her body were forgetting how to obey a single owner. Every few steps, she resisted. Every time, something inside her adjusted her balance before she could fully fail.

“Let me go,” she rasped.

"No"
"No"

“Why me?!”

D’rryha considered that as they walked.

“Because you persist.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only reason you were not allowed to die.”

Branches bent aside as they passed, not broken, but recomputed around her presence. Isabelle’s breathing turned uneven. Anger and fear collide, neither stable enough to become coherent.

“You’re going to kill me.”

A pause.

“If I wished you dead, you would already be dead.”

That made her go quiet.

Not reassured, but something worse. The forest grew darker as they went deeper, as if the world itself were slowly refusing to acknowledge them. Isabelle’s voice came again, smaller now.

“... What are you going to do to me?”

D’rryha’s answer was almost gentle.

“Preserve you.”

A beat.

Then, more honestly:

“Then use whatever you become.”

Isabelle’s breath trembled.

“No-no, that’s not-this isn’t-”

Her voice broke on itself, turning uneven, panicked.

“No,” D’rryha agreed.

They continued walking, leaves shifting around them without a breeze, and Isabelle looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Still hers.

Mostly.

“... I’m still me,” she whispered, like she was trying to force the universe to confirm it.

D’rryha did not respond immediately.

Then, gently:

“For now.”

---

The forest did not get quieter as they went deeper. It got less real. Branches stopped behaving like branches. Shadows stopped staying attached to anything that should have been casting them. Even Isabelle’s sense of direction began to fail. Her body was still moving, and that was the worst part.

“Stop... ” she whispered again, weaker now, “Just... stop, please...”

D’rryha did not answer immediately. She never did when the answer was already decided.

“You are unstable,” she said gently, almost conversational. Then, softly, “We are correcting that.”

Isabelle tried to pull back, but stopping was impossible at this point; her body recognized it.

“I want to go home...” she whined.

D’rryha slowed.

For the first time, she looked almost attentive.

“You are not in any condition to return,” she said.

That word—condition—landed wrong inside Isabelle’s chest. Like she was no longer a person. The forest opened into a clearing that shouldn’t have existed. Too still. Too clean. The ground there was soft in a way soil wasn’t supposed to be, as if it had been prepared long before she arrived. Isabelle's body simply.... agreed to stop resisting.

“No...” Barely audible.

D’rryha leaned closer.

Something began to unfold behind Isabelle—not visible at first, but felt, as if the idea of being enclosed had been introduced into her mind. Every instinct she had screamed to move, to run, to do anything—

Nothing answered.

Her arms lifted slightly on their own, not in surrender but in failed resistance.

“Don’t-don’t-” Her voice broke.

D’rryha moved her.

“It will be easier if you stop fighting.”

Then—

The first thread touched her; it adhered to her skin like it had been waiting for her specific shape. Isabelle jerked violently-or tried to. Her body responded as if it were already decided, and more threads followed. Each one connecting to the last with terrifying intention, mapping her outline as if confirming she existed correctly enough to be contained. Her breath turned ragged.

“I can’t-I can’t move!”

She could in small ways now. The cocoon did not wrap her as cloth would. It learned her shape as it enclosed her. Her vision blurred at the edges. The world felt farther away than it should have been as something was quietly reducing how much of it she was allowed to perceive at once.

“Please...” she whispered, and it didn’t sound like panic anymore. D’rryha’s presence felt strange for a moment. Almost protective, if protection meant containment.

“You will stabilize here,” she said.

“...I don’t want... this...”

A pause.

Then, gently:

“You will not experience this for long.”

The last thing Isabelle felt clearly was not pain-it was being sealed. Her breathing slowed against her will. Her thoughts stopped arriving in full sentences. The world narrowed to a final, suffocating quiet as her eyes closed—

And then even that quiet stopped needing her to remain awake for it.

The forest did not feel like it had gained a monster.

---

Interactions: None.
The Warehouse Massacre.

---

---

The warehouse doesn’t feel like it’s breaking anymore. It feels like it’s already broken—and Lupe is just arriving late to the collapse. She moves through it anyway. Not running now. Not dancing. Something in between—motion stripped down to purpose. Lupe cupped her hands together as she shouted.

“Diego! Alejandro!”

Her voice barely exists under the screaming crowd. It gets swallowed instantly.

No answer.

Lupe cuts past overturned tables, slipping between panicked bodies. Someone grabs her shoulder, and she shrugs them off without looking. Someone else screams near her ear-she doesn’t register it. Her eyes are locked forward, searching.

“¡DIEGO!” she calls now, louder, sharper, cracking at the edges.

Still nothing.

Then—something shifts. Lupe feels it before she understands it, like the space ahead of her just remembered it can end. Her steps slow without permission.

“No...”

She sees Alejandro first, not fully at first. He’s trying to run, half turned, arm lifted like he’s about to grab someone. And then he air around him misaligns-Lupe’s breath catches. It’s like something intersects him mid-step. Not touching him like hands would. More like the world decides there’s too much of him in one place and corrects it violently. His body jerks at an angle that's wrong.

“... Papi?”

It comes out soft. Confused. Because her brain still hasn’t accepted what it’s seeing.

Alejandro turns his head. He sees her. And for a fraction of a second, he smiles—stupid, familiar, unshakable—like he’s still in the party, like none of this is real.

]“Lu-”

The sound doesn’t finish. Something pulls. Alejandro is lifted out of alignment with the floor, and his body twists as if something is trying to fold him into a shape he doesn’t fit. His arm reaches out and Lupe is already moving before she thinks.

“NO!”

She runs.

She runs.

She runs.

But Alejandro hits the ground—but it isn’t a landing. It’s an interruption. A correction. The sound arrives half a second late, like the world is buffering. Lupe reaches forward anyway, hand outstretched, too far. Always too far. When she reaches her brother, she gets down and shakes him back and forth, gently at first, then it quickly degrades into violence.

“Get up—get up, stop-stop playing!”

Her voice is shaking apart mid-sentence.

Alejandro doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move.

The realization tries to enter her mind, but is rejected on impact.

No.

No, no, no—

Her vision stutters. She lifts her head up.

And then Diego. She sees him. Not clearly. Not fully. Just enough. He’s on the ground already. His hand is still slightly raised, like he was reaching for her. Like he was trying.

“Diego!”

Her voice breaks completely on his name. Lupe feels it in her bones.

And suddenly—her Third Eye opens.

Not gently. Not as a choice. It tears through her perception like something inside her skull is forced open and refused permission to close again. The world layers. Splits. Stacks itself in impossible geometry.

And she sees it.

She sees him.

The thing standing where Alejandro was. Where Diego is. Where everything is ending.

Too tall. Too wrong. Its shape refuses consistency, limbs flickering between presence and absence, weight bending the floor. And its eyes—no looking, no searching—just awareness.

Gets up.

Lupe drops.

Her knees hit concrete hard enough to sting. She doesn’t feel it properly. Her hands follow. Then her whole body. She scrambles back onto her feet, only to fall back to her hands and knees, raising her head as she desperately hopes the worst has not occurred.

Diego is still moving.

Still alive.

Still trying.

Lupe sees him clearly now. Just him, running wrong through a collapsing world, his head turning like he’s searching for her even while everything else is screaming at him to leave.

“PAPI-RIGHT HERE!” she screams, voice cracking open as she pushes forward.

He sees her.

For a split second, everything in him locks into place—relief, recognition, instinct.

"... Lupe!" He yells.

Relief flashes across his face—sharp, immediate, real.

And Lupe sees it too.

She sees him.

She sees the monster behind him. And its eyes are locked right on him. Calculating.

“No—no—no—no!”

The monster steps forward.

Fast.

Before Diego can react, a single arm shoots out and grabs him, lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing.

“Diego!” Lupe screams, already on her feet and running. He thrashes immediately, grabbing at the arm holding him, kicking, fighting.

“LUPE!” he yells, voice cracking now. Real fear breaking through.

Lupe reaches them—but the distance is suddenly too much. Always too much.

The monster tightens its grip and there’s a sickening, final motione. Diego goes limp, head dropping forward. Lupe stops so hard her legs nearly give out.

“... Diego?”

Her voice doesn’t understand what it just said.

The monster doesn’t hesitate; it just turns slightly toward her and then throws him in a cold, dismissive motion, and Diego’s body hits the ground directly at Lupe’s feet. She freezes completely.

Her hand is still half-raised, like she was going to catch him.

“... No...” she whispers.

She stares at him like he’ll get back up and call her stupid and shove her shoulder like always.

“... No, no—get up... get up, papi...” her voice breaks immediately, cracking under its own weight. “... stop messing around...”

Nothing.

The warehouse keeps screaming around her, but it feels far away, like she’s underwater.

Behind Diego, the monster stands still.

Watching.

Lupe’s breathing starts to fall apart.

“Diego...” A whisper this time.

Her knees begin to shake, threatening to give out as her entire body tries to accept something her mind refuses to process. And for the first time since this started—

Lupe doesn’t move toward anything.

She just stands there.

Looking down at what’s left.

The moment Diego’s body settles at her feet, the warehouse stops feeling like a place she can survive. It stops feeling like anything she can reach at all. Lupe stands frozen over him. Her hand is still half-raised—like if she holds it there long enough, the last second will undo itself, and he’ll sit up again, laughing, calling her dramatic, messing up her hair like he always did.

But he doesn’t.

Nothing moves except the screaming in the distance. The monster doesn’t even look at her anymore-it’s already gone. Lupe swallows hard. Nothing comes back up right. She drops beside Diego.

Just... down.

Concrete meets her hard enough to sting, but she doesn’t react to it. Her hands land on the floor beside him, hovering like she’s afraid contact will confirm something she still refuses to accept.

For a second, she just stares at him.

His face.

Still him.

Still Diego.

Still supposed to get up and yell at her for something stupid.

She breaks.

“No...”

It’s barely a sound. Behind her, the warehouse keeps dying—people running, screaming, the distant impacts of something heavy moving through them like they’re nothing at all. But it doesn’t reach her properly anymore. It’s all muffled, distant.

Her fingers twitch.

Then curl.

Then press into the floor like she needs something to hold onto before she disappears entirely.

A breath hits her wrong.

And then it begins.

At first, it’s not voices.

It’s feelings that aren’t hers.

Her vision fractures into patterns. Into the colors that don’t belong to light.

Red.

Green.

Purple.

The warehouse is still there, but layered over it are other places. Other moments. Echoes. And through them her ancestors. They arrived like memory becoming conscious.

Not with mouths.

With certainty.

The Red lineage comes first.

"You are Awakened."

Lupe flinches slightly.

“... What...”

The Green follows, slower, like something growing through soil.

"You are Lux-bound."

Her breath catches harder. Her fingers tighten against the floor. Lupe shakes her head slightly, tears still falling.

“I don’t-what are you?”

The Red surges forward again, cutting through her confusion.

"You have no spells yet."

That lands.

Hard.

Lupe goes still.

“... No spells...?”

Green clarifies immediately, softer but absolute.

"Spells are not given. They are created."

A pulse of understanding follows it, like instinct being unlocked.

"You experiment. You attempt. You fail. You try again."

Purple adds, precise as a blade:

"Movement defines your domain. Velocity. Position. Transition. Space between moments."

Then Red again, almost like it’s leaning closer to her grief.

"Your rage shapes the world."

Lupe’s breath shakes.

Her eyes flick down to Diego again.

Her throat tightens violently.

“...that’s not0” she starts, then breaks. “...that’s not fair...”

Green answers immediately.

"Fairness is irrelevant to the world. Or the creatures that inhabit it."

A heavier silence.

Then Purple continues the explanation, unbothered by her grief:

"Red Lux manifests through elemental force. Heat. Impact. Destruction. Creation through force."

A flicker of heat stirs in Lupe’s chest without her choosing it.

"Green Lux manifests through biological authority. Growth. Regeneration. Control over living systems."

Her fingers twitch slightly.

Like her body is trying to understand something it hasn’t learned yet.

"Purple Lux manifests through motion. Acceleration. Redirection. Positioning. The manipulation of “where” and “when” something is."

Lupe swallows hard.

“I don’t have anything...” she whispers.

The Red lineage answers immediately.

"You have everything. You did not fail because you were weak." He pauses, before he says, "You failed because you were not yet ready to stop it."

The Green follows, quieter.

"And now you will be tested."

Lupe’s head lifts slightly. Tears still streak her face.

“Tested, papi...?”

Purple answers first.

"The Beasts of this world will notice you."

Green sharpens it:

"And Adepts and other beings will feel it too."

A beat.

Then all three, one after the other,

“You were never in a simple world.”

“You weren't ready to see it.”

“But you have already seen far too much to go back.”

Lupe’s breathing stutters. Behind her grief, something begins to anchor itself. Potential. The warehouse screams again somewhere behind her—another impact, another death—but it doesn’t fully reach her anymore. Her awareness is splitting. One-half is Diego and Alejandro. The other is something newly awake and trying to learn how to exist.

“Look, I don't want this...” she whispers.

The Red lineage is immediate.

"They never do."

Green is gentler now.

"But it is already yours."

Silence.

Lupe’s hands slowly curl into fists against the concrete. Stabilizing. Not healing, not accepting, but changing.

“So now what?” she whispers.

A pause.

Then the answer comes one after the other.

"You survive."

"You learn."

You move.

A longer pause.

Then all three together, softer now—but absolute:

"And you begin with nothing."

Then they fade away. Lupe's back in the warehouse.

Lupe lets out a broken breath that almost becomes a laugh. She looks down at Diego again. Still there-still dead.

“I'm still here...”

Around her, the warehouse continues to burn itself out, and the monster is still moving.

“... I'm still here.”

And the first thing the world teaches her is this:

She will be tested. When the Diddler Ghost arrives.

[Rekkuza]

September 7th
Warehouse
Interactions: Vicky (Mentioned), Ella (Mentioned)

---

Carnage. Blood, everywhere. Screams. Kersten sat there, watching with wide, uncomprehending eyes. It was like his mind refused to function in sheer terror, a strange, dense haze impeding conscious thought much more efficiently than drugs ever did. He very well might’ve stayed there, unmoving, until his life was snatched away from him as well, had someone not called his name out.

She turned her head. She felt like she was underwater. Chef was there, pulling Vicky to her feet, calling out for her to help. She looked around some more. All of the other people that used to populate the Stoner Corner alongside her had disappeared. Probably trampling over each other, rushing to the exit. Kersten hadn’t noticed them leaving. They’d broken her bong. She liked that bong. A shame…

And then suddenly they were wet. Something warm, and slightly viscous, and that smelled like pennies was drenching their shirt, covering their face. They had stood up by then, though they had no memory of doing so. There was more screaming, much closer than before. Chef wasn’t there anymore. Chef was being spilled everywhere. Chef was what was covering them and staining their clothes.

Vicky was screaming. Kersten was screaming too.

Reality slammed back into her senses all at once, the fog fully gone and survival instincts taking over. Vicky stopped screaming (or did she only stop making noise?) and was dragged away faster than Kersten could try and catch her. Her heart sank into her stomach.

”VICKY!” They shouted after her, one arm stretched out futilely. They tried to ignore the sudden nausea at the thought that her lacking reaction time might have cost Vicky her life. They failed.

A clinking sound, like glass toppling over without shattering. The noise was small and soft, almost melodic, and yet, to Kersten’s ears, it pierced through the surrounding cacophony like a gunshot.

He looked over, and caught a flash of yellow. The object was laying in a pool of fresh blood, and yet, it was strangely… clean. Not a scratch marred its surface, and no stain nor dust seemed to stick, not even the surrounding blood. It almost seemed to gleam in the darkness, as if lit by a dim inner light.

---

When fabrics get torn, other weaknesses tend to appear in the weave. Some are rather dire and require immediate attention; edges fraying and eating at the fabric, fibres breaking under stress and creating holes, the old tear itself widening even further…

Others are small, and inconsequential. Disturbed and loosened fibres will move around, or be moved, and then eventually find their way back to their proper place, leaving the weave unharmed. But in the tiny moment when their order was disturbed, a gap, a very small gap, forms. And in that tiny moment, through that tiny gap, things can…. slip in.

When the fabric of reality was torn through, its weave was disturbed, and many of these pinprick gaps appeared, if only for a fraction of a fraction of a second. All closed right back up, before anything could coincidentally make its way through. All but one.

Whether through fate, divine intervention, or simple luck, one gap let through something. An item, born of pure potential, belief yearning to take physical shape. It fell through, unseen light shining from its glass body, into a dark warehouse slowly but surely filling with death.

---

Kersten looked at the glass object. Its shape was strange, like it wasn’t really a shape at all. They couldn’t seem to actually tell what it was, only that it was. They chalked it out to the poor lighting.

The floor was rumbling. It had been since the panic started, but now it was doing so more strongly. Like how it did when Chef got bisected, and Vicky was taken. Whatever caused this was approaching.

She took the glass without thinking much. If anything, she could throw it, use it as a weapon, whatever little good that would do.

The awakening wasn’t brutal, or spectacular. Kersten almost didn’t notice it. It was a tiny itch in his head… no, in his brain—no, not that either, in his mind—as his new sense bloomed. It felt natural, like moving a limb, except in this case you had simply never needed to move it before, so it felt the tiniest bit odd, but not that much. He blinked, and the shapeless piece of glass was no longer shapeless.

It was an ear of corn, with a face, and arms, and legs, and it was made of glass, and in any other situation Kersten might’ve cooed over how tacky of a bong this was, except in any other situation people, their friends, weren’t currently being killed by the droves by some kind of invisible monster that was now perhaps, very possibly, gunning for them next.

Except now the monster wasn’t invisible anymore. Whatever the (magic?) bong did to awaken her new, as-of-yet-unknown sense also seemed to have let her see the monster. And as the towering bloodstained mountain of fur and fangs and claws and muscle stalked towards her location, head lowered and teeth bared, she did the first thing that came to mind.

Kersten clobbered the monster over the head with the (definitively, absolutely magic) bong as hard as he could, and then booked it towards where Ella was waving people through a broken window, clutching the miraculously unbroken bong the entire while.

[FernStone]

---

Interactions: Ella vaguely
Warehouse

---

The Shadow’s sharp claw bounced off the surprise shield that protected Vicky. It didn’t get a chance to strike again, Tuyen panickedly pushing herself back and tugging the Shadow with her. It saved Kersten from the same fate as Chef as it was pulled out of range. The Shadow wasn’t disappointed. It didn’t matter. All it wanted to do was torment its new host.

Tuyen continued to back away until her back hit a wall, the impact jolting her tense body. Vicky’s head was still there, glazed over eyes seeming to follow Tuyen’s retreat. Blood stained the floor, and it stained her hands too. She felt sick. She wasn’t sure if it was from all the death she could see, or with herself.

The Shadow slunk around her, shrinking down to a mocking replica of her own shadow- so similar, but with hands that rippled into sharp claws and a mouth cut out of the darkness with sinister fangs. It remained manifested and alert- it didn’t want to lose such a tasty meal so soon, after all. It didn’t matter that it dropped part of the hallucination, allowing her to see it, because she wasn’t in a state to be looking.

With nowhere left to run, Tuyen curled up into a tight ball, hands clutching at her hair and pulling it out of the ponytail it was in. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her chest heaved with short, sharp breaths. Vicky was dead. Her only friend… The only person who put up with her without blood ties… She was gone. It was all her fault. Why hadn’t that thing come for her now?! Was she not even good enough to kill?

Her breath hitched, suppressed sobs turning into sharp panic laced with guilt. She was terrified. She wanted to live. She didn’t deserve to, and she shouldn’t, but she did.

Tuyen’s head jerked up, wide eyes immediately filled with the sight of her own shadow looming over her. It flickered between horrendous forms she recognised from her own imagination. Grotesque, twisted creatures with sharp claws and teeth, or more sinisterly subtle ones that stared at her with judging eyes. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream, eyes going wide with fear. But the nightmare made of shadows didn’t kill her.

Instead it flickered to the side, giving her a clear view of the original monster. It was just as horrifying as the Shadow looming over her, but in that moment it seemed more dangerous. It had already killed Chef and Vicky… She didn’t understand why she could suddenly see it. She flinched as its glowing yellow eyes surveyed the area for its next prey.

Go on. Run like the coward you are.

A sinister whisper in her mind, distinct from her own inner voice, pushed her into action. The self hatred, grief and guilt still clung to her, but it was pushed aside in favour of survival instincts kicking in. She pulled herself to her feet, and ran.

Another teenager managed to get up just in front of her, injured from being trampled on in everyone’s panic. He only managed to take a few steps before the Shadow twisted in front of Tuyen, claws digging into his side and throwing him out of the way. Bile rose in Tuyen’s throat, her breathing growing harsher. She kept running, but the closer she got to the masses still shoving through the door, the more people got thrown out of the way by the Shadow.

Why was it doing this? Why hadn’t it hurt her? A horrific understanding grew, followed by waves of guilt crashing into her again. She could feel its attachment to her, like a cold wire around her throat. This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t real. Her shadow wasn’t alive. She was hallucinating, she had to be hallucinating.

As if confirming that she was going mad, the Shadow dropped out of existence, leaving only the bloody path it had torn to make it easier for Tuyen to get out. It sunk back into her normal Shadow, hidden to everyone else, conserving energy now that she was almost out. It didn’t offer her any feelings of security, fear of being caught by the monster as strong as ever. She didn’t know it could protect her- it didn’t want her to know.

Tuyen twisted around, not daring to go through the large group still at the door, and instead stumbled into Ella, cutting in front of Kersten. Any concerned words fell on deaf ears as she numbly scrambled out the window.

What was that? What did she do now? Keep running? She’d only taken a few steps outside, away from the broken window, when she was paralysed by fear and doubt again. Why even bother.

[FernStone]

---

Interactions: Kersten, sorta
Warehouse

---

Ella was doing her best to help everyone that came her way. Most people were still in the crush at the door, desperately shoving their way out. Overwhelming panic stopped them from thinking, so her shouts fell on many deaf ears. But every person that got through the window was another person saved, and she grabbed people going past and half shoved them through.

The immediate panic she’d felt was suppressed by something else- a burning desire to make sure as many people survived as possible.

She spun around, deciding to be more active in her helping as she scanned the mess of people around her. Her eyes widened as she witnessed Kersten bashing the completely invisible threat with a… Ella wasn’t sure what it was, but it sure didn’t look like a weapon!

Whatever it was, the action was inspirational.

In the end it wasn’t the horror of what she saw that triggered something within her, but a bold desire to protect everyone. Her surroundings seemed to ripple, as if another picture was superimposed on top of it. A field filled with flowers and laughter. A vast, hot savannah teeming with life. A battlefield, thick with shouts and the smell of blood. Home- not anywhere specific, but the feeling. A place to protect. A place of joy. A place replaced with rage when it burns.

Gentle voices filled her ears, dissonant with the surrounding horrors. The flicker of people not quite there surrounded her, hazy figures in the corner of her eyes that she instinctively knew but couldn’t fully see even if she turned her head. There, but always just out of sight.

You have awakened.

Huh? But she was already awake. What did they mean… Wait, was she going crazy?!

Not that. The softest voice seemed to laugh.

Your magic has awakened. You are an adept, the-

Magic? She had magic? She was a magical girl?! Ella’s internal excitement and loud thoughts completely cut off her ancestor.

There’s no time.

Oh right. The monster!

Your blood of three Luxal lines flows through your veins. With Orange, you can enhance and enchant. Magic becomes stronger, and objects obey your commands.

With Green, you can heal and grow. Biology bends to your wishes.

With Red, you can destroy. The elements are at your fingertips.

You know what to do.

She did.

"Aurora Prism Power Make Up!" She shouted out a very uncreatively, almost entirely ripped off phrase.

One step forward. She instinctively spun on that foot, hands brushing down her body. A rainbow light sparked wherever her fingers touched, and with a dramatic flare her pink plaid skirt turned purple. Another step, and she stretched her arms up above her in a simultaneously elegant and ridiculous pose. In a flash of rainbow light, her crop top became a white leotard with a pink bow.

Go forth and fight with courage.

She practically jumped forward, one leg bent and arms reaching forward. Rainbow light danced down her arm, forming white gloves. As if that wasn’t shocking enough, in an act of unprecedented flexibility (for Ella), she bent backwards and pointed one leg up towards the sky. Rainbow light formed a pair of knee high pink boots, even as she stumbled out of the pose and put a heavy foot down. As she caught her balance she brushed past Kersten, one hand catching them to push them towards the window and further from the monster.

Never lose the joy that you’re fighting for.

Another step became a surprisingly accurate pirouette. And she just kept spinning as her previously shoulder length coily hair grew and grew until it reached her waist. The colour got more vibrant with the growth, bright pink at the top gradienting into vivid purple. As she stopped spinning she brought her hand to her head in a peace sign, a tiara forming across her forehead.

Channel your anger to protect those that cannot protect themselves.

The final step brought her between the monster and the two escape points, slamming her Sailor Moon wand against her chest. Her stance was powerful, staring down the face of death with complete confidence.

Well maybe not complete confidence- By Sailor Moon, what was that thing?! Why was it so furry?! Why did it have such big teeth and claws- No, no, Sailor Moon didn’t run.

Magical Girl Aurora wouldn’t run.

She brandished her sailor moon wand like a sword in front of her, even though it absolutely wasn’t a sword. In fact, the spell she’d managed to cast was almost entirely superficial. Though she did feel a bit stronger. Strong enough to be emboldened again.

"In the name of the light and all that’s good in this world, I won’t let you kill any more of my friends!"

[NoriWasHere]

---

Current day
Interactions: Mars bar
Outfit: Normal

---

”Well, welcome to Cornell, Lynn. My party knowledge might be lacking but I’m happy to give you the lay of the land, so to speak. These are good people here Er, some are a little fractious before you get to know them, b-but they mean well… I think.”

Lynn chuckled. His explanation did little to ease the concerns she had for the upcoming school year. She knew all too well that not everyone would be good, and she would be very naive to take him at his word that all it took was getting to know them to see that. It did not take a seer to see that her future would have challenges here at this new school. Still, it was nice that she had found such a kind guide through these new halls. Even if they were nothing more than a smiling face in the crowded halls in between classes, he would be a start. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Her mind felt a strange sensation as if it had moved somewhere else. The sensation felt somewhere between a brain freeze and a cluster headache, but it dissipated as quickly as it started. Whoever invited her out tonight was smart. This was what she needed to start the new year. This was everything she could ask for. There was only one thing she needed to do from here, and that was to ensure that she learned everything she could about this man. Her smile widened. Her eyes opened. She watched a kid die less than a dozen feet in front of her.

“....What?”

There he was, standing, drink in hand, and in the next, he was lifted into the air by some unseen force. Lynn watched, in horror, as the poor kid’s spine was twisted in a way that nobody should be twisted. The snap sound that came from his body made Evelynn nearly vomit. And she watched as the boy was tossed to the side like a discarded toy, and watched it impact the ground with force. Her eyes drifted to his face for a brief second. Suddenly, the scene was replaced by the scene of her in the back seat of her family's car. She remembered how her family snapped like that, about how their bodies made noises like that. All she could see was her father’s head spinning around in a way a head should not be able to do, much like how this boy's back was bent in a way a back should never. It was wrong, and there was nothing she could do to help them. Any of them. Her father, her siblings, her mother, this boy.

And then she felt an unnatural footstep that reverberated through the floor. She could almost feel that something unnatural was here. Something that should not exist in their realm yet did so all the same. Her eyes caught the girl as she was grabbed. One minute she was laughing, the next her jaw snapped to the side with an impossible force. Her mother's face flickered on top of her face, a memory she had thus far repressed. A shriek escaped her lips as the girl was dragged back. This was a nightmare. There was no way this could be happening. Lynn collapsed to the ground with her hands pressed against the temples of her head. This was not happening. This was not happening. And as the chaos erupted all around, Lynn could not move. She could not be dealing with this again. She can’t deal with death again. Even as the footsteps drew close, Evelynn shook her head from side to side, denying the reality in front of her. Even as she felt the impossibly strong hands wrap around her neck, she cried out that this was a lie. And even as her body was raised up effortlessly by a hidden threat, she did not try to escape or protest her fate.

As the invisible force squeezed her neck, suddenly the illusion broke, and Evelynn was someplace new, somewhere else. As far as she could see, there was white. It was a bright, vivid white as if she were standing in the middle of a partially finished art piece. And if this were a piece of art, no doubt the subject of it would be the vast and ever-branching tree that she suddenly found herself holding onto. She blinked. There was not much she could do besides blink. This place was alien to her. Yet, for some reason, it felt like she had always belonged here. More so than back home out west, or at the party in the east. Whatever this tree was, whatever this garden was, it was something that called to her in a way she had never experienced. Yet, despite this desire to stay, she felt herself pulled backwards away from the tree. She flew at such speed, and she closed her eyes.

A second later, they opened again. She was back at the party, yet for some reason, this party was still going. If someone had witnessed her in that brief moment, and the few moments prior, they could remark about how her eyes were suddenly as vibrant as a vivid piece of jade. The people were still drinking, dancing, and having fun. There was no blood, no death, and no sign that anything was wrong. Lynn started hyperventilating. Each breath felt like she was sucking concrete through a plastic straw, and each one required more and more effort. She knew what she saw. It was real, or at least it felt real, and there was no way these people were reacting the right way when that had just happened. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She forced herself to take a deep breath in, out, and in again. She repeated this a couple of times before everything felt easy. And as she opened them again, she sighed and chuckled. No doubt that this poor party boy would have just witnessed a panic attack come and pass just like that. It was totally a panic attack. None of it felt real. Nothing of the sort. If Daniel asked, she would just say she was on a new medication, or that she smoked some weed before the party, or that she was just overwhelmed by the noise, or that she…

*thump*

Her eyes slowly shifted to the side and caught sight of the first victim for the last time. Behind them stood a towering monster. Lynn could not even try to describe what she saw. The impossible size, the strange appendages, and the eyes that sent chills down her back. She watched as the scene started again, the same as the first time, and she knew she needed to run. Before the first victim was even grabbed, Lynn had grabbed the hand of Daniel Mars and dragged him through the door, even before the first victim had died. The sounds of the entire warehouse screaming behind her told her everything she needed to know about what was happening.

“We need to run. We need to fucking RUN.”

---

Interactions: The nope dog and an ancestor
In the room where it happened

---

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

This was impossible.

No matter which way Nora tried to spin what she witnessed, and continued to witness, she could not explain away what was happening. The kids were actually dead, their lifeless and limp bodies told them that much, and more kids were dying. In a panic, the rest of the patrons tried to get out of the party at the same time, leading to a quick demonstration of a crowd crush and why modern buildings have multiple exits. Yet the knowledge of how this tragedy within the tragedy did little to make Nora feel better. If anything, it made them feel more sick to their stomach. Why were they thinking of something so fucking trivial as building codes as people died around them? Why the fuck were they not doing more to help people get out? Sure, they couldn’t see whatever beast Baba Jaga conjured up and sent their way but they could at least help someone get through the door,

Yet, their muscles lost their strength.

Their mind lost their will.

And they did nothing. Why would they need to do something when they had Ella at their side? Kari did wonders helping the small group navigate the chaos, and soon they all found themself on the other side of the bottleneck and outside the warehouse. They were away from the immediate danger and could make a break for safety somewhere far away. They could tell the government what happened here and they would dispatch some fucking monster hunting group they no doubt funded for situations like this, kill the ghost, and life would move on eventually after years of therapy and terrible coping skills. As long as Ella and Nora were together, this night would not be the defining night of their life. Nora looked to where Ella was and gasped when they saw they were no longer by their side. They quickly spun around, back towards the death and destruction behind them, and covered their mouth with their hands. While Ella still held onto Nora, they knew that was about to change.

"Keep going, we- we need more exits! I can help with that. I’ll get out too, don’t worry!"

With that, Ella let go of Nora, and Nora reached out for their friend. They took a half step back towards the warehouse, but quickly stopped as they heard another body breaking inside. They needed to help their friend, they needed to ensure they did not die, and yet something was pulling her away from stepping through the door. Their vision narrowed more and more, and the door that was packed full of panicked teens seemed to grow further and further away, with a dark chasm between them appearing. The fear of losing their best friend and closest confidant broke something deep inside them, and through that wound, something awakened. A snowflake fell into view. A second fell a moment later. Soon, the vast distance between Nora and the door became a blizzard that nearly blocked their view of the warehouse, and time seemed to slow in response. They could see individual hands moving in a slow-motion effect. Nora began to have a panic attack. What the fuck was going on? Why the fuck was this happening? They couldn’t afford to be dealing with this right now; they needed to help their friend help the poor folks still trapped inside, not fight their own mind right now.

Suddenly, they felt a presence behind them that commanded their attention. Despite their best effort not to turn their head, it still slowly craned around. Instead of the rest of the friend group, and other panicked kids they expected to see, their vision showed a cobblestone street, lined with old merchant stalls. Straight ahead of them was a rather large river, and right before the street curved away from its banks stood a rather large and imposing church. There was no one else on the street besides Nora, the growing snowbanks, and a single woman who stood far too close and yet seemed all too far away. Nora could tell they were pale, almost deathly so. They wore a simple white linen dress. It seemed far too little for the weather they were facing, yet Nora did not linger on their outfit for long; instead, their eyes raised to a crown of thorns that was causing a persistent flow of blood down their face. It dripped off every few seconds, burning through the layer of snow below. They stared at Nora with an intensity that words could not describe, but all Nora wanted to do was run

“Do you wish to save your friend,” the woman asked as she began to circle around Nora.

“What the fuck.” Nora paused as they stumbled backwards.

In the blink of an eye, the strange woman closed the gap and was now right in front of them. Nora tried to scream, but their voice was stolen as the woman gave them an audible tisk, tisk, tisk as their cold gaze swept over their body. “Do you eat? Do you train? How are you the first one to awaken after all this time? No choice. Desperate times you face, and you shall gain desperate measures to face them.”

Nora just blinked twice. The woman had a very similar accent to both their parents, and Zofia could hear the woman fight to not speak Polish. Her body went limp as the woman practically grabbed her arms, stretching them out, and expressed dismay at the size of Nora’s arm muscles. What the fuck was going on? While Nora had never met this woman before, there was a certain air of familiarity that they could just not place. And even as blood dripped on their face as the tall, lithe woman danced around them, Nora remained frozen in place. Yet, the weird actions and relentless questions disarmed Nora’s fear and spurred a single question. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? Who am I? You little,” the strange woman started, stopped, took a deep breath, sighed, and placed both her hands on the cheeks of Nora. “Young Zofia, I am an ancestor. You have just woken from your lifelong dream and are now about to see reality for what it is. For that, I am sorry. However, we do not have time to discuss what that means, who I am, and what you can do. Your friend is in danger. I ask again. Do you wish to save your friend? What’s her name, Ella?”

Nora, shaken, simply nodded their head. They did not know what they could believe in this mental break, but something tugged at the inside of their body in a way that only their favorite anime or music could. And it felt all too real.

“Good,” the woman paused as she pulled both hands off Zofia’s face, returning with a gentle slap, and then back off again. The woman’s right hand formed a fist, before the pointer finger extended towards the Saint’s pendant around their neck. “I am sorry for what you must feel, which is your fault for not having a crown like mine, and I wish you good luck in the battles to come. Your body will know what to do,” the woman paused as their extended finger pushed the pendant until it was pressed firmly against Zofia’s skin, causing a surge of pain to flare outward from the location. “I hope we meet again.”

As the pendant forced its way through their skin, the world around them collapsed, and they quickly found themself back in reality. The pain of the pendant was intense, as the skin underneath it felt like it had suddenly gained the courage to resist the damage that it had once welcomed. They collapsed to the ground, with a hand over their chest, as the pain reached its zenith. And then the pendant broke through, becoming flush with the skin around it, and they felt a surge of power spread through their body. It wasn’t like their muscles felt stronger; it felt like their blood itself became a torrent of power that coursed through their veins. They felt a connection, or control, even over it. Blood seeped around the edges of the pendant, and Zofia reached out with this control, and soon the blood flowed into a long tendril that soon formed and pulled together, forming the most anime thing they could think of, a blood red rose petal. The petal broke free from the tether and orbited their body for a few seconds before the blood dissipated. They felt like they could have compelled the petal to fly towards something, but chose not to in the moment.

Zofia rose to their feet, and they looked around to see if anyone else saw what they just did. They shook their head. They did not have time to check if they were still sane. Their best friend was still inside the warehouse and might be in trouble. They needed to either use this possible power to help them, or at least convince them to run off into the night together. They wiggled their way through the door frame, above the crowd that was trying to get out, and looked for their friend. They did not expect to see her midway through a magic girl transformation scene straight out of the various anime they watched together. Well, this was real. And it looked like Ella was a magic girl too. "In the name of the light and all that’s good in this world, I won’t let you kill any more of my friends!"

Feeling a surge of strength at the sight of their friend, they pulled more blood from their body and created three rotating crimson petals and looked for the invisible ghost. The three petals dissolved when they found it visible. Zofia gasped in horror as the visage of a massive, werewolf like monster filled their vision. It was far too big to make sense, far too hairy to be human, and far too naked for them to allow. This was a fucking high school party, and what nerve the monster showed by showing up naked. What nerve this fucker had to ruin a good night. This could not stand, no, it would not stand. Zofia groaned as two long cuts opened on the palm of their hands, long since healed wounds they willed back open, and two long crimson tendrils of blood began to birth crimson petals. They did not know what they could do, but they could not allow Ella to face this threat alone. "Then you will not stand alone. Let your light guide the way, and I shall paint the path in crimson. So long as my heart still beats, none of our friends will fall today!"

[Evil Ghost Note]

---

Interactions: Ella @FernStone, & Nora @NoriWasHere
The Warehouse Party Massacre.

---

---

Kari approaches the window, hand braced on the frame, ready to climb, but suddenly everything shifts. Her thoughts falter, sounds distort, and movements slow down. A sharp pain and a sense of wrongness flood her mind, then she sees it: Isabelle, a thread in her chest pulling violently out of place, as if space itself warps and lifts her body without support.

The thread tugs again, then stretches away into the outside. Her body jerks with the force of it, and a cry escapes her: "ISABELLE!" The feeling of loss is immediate and raw. Her body freezes, caught between escaping and being fixed in place. She clenches her fists on the wall without feeling it. Confused, she recalls how she was attentive (she knew something was wrong) and wonders why she hadn’t acted sooner. Another pulse hits her harder, causing her world to wobble. She missed the signs, misunderstood the danger, always presuming there’s time. But she was watching. That’s the point. Yet everything still seems to slip away. The thread weakens and fades; her chest tightens. Desperate, she struggles to think and move, but her mind clings to understanding, trying to catch up with what’s already occurred. It’s impossible. That truth hits hard: she’s always behind.

For a brief moment, Kari stops—then something sparks within her.

Kari doesn’t fall. She just... stops. The warehouse noise becomes distant, like it’s happening behind glass. Her breath catches, not from fear, but because something inside her has shifted. Then the presence arrives. Just there, like someone sitting beside her.

“Ah. There you are.” The voice is old but smooth, familiar in a way she doesn’t understand yet.

“She’s a bit early, isn’t she?”

“Early? No, no. She's right on time. She’s just dramatic about it.”

Kari tries to speak, but nothing comes out. “What.... is happening?”

A pause, as if they’re smiling.

“Oh, that’s a good question.”

“You’re kindling, sweetheart.”

Her mind stalls at the word—kindling.

“Long story short? We’re your ancestors. Curators of the Owl’s Library. Or what’s left of it in you.”

Her chest tightens further. “Ancestors…?” “Oh yes,” the first voice says casually.

“Very old family business. Watching. Recording. Not interfering unless things get really messy.”

“.... And things are getting messy,” the second adds lightly.

“In case you hadn’t noticed.”

The space around her shifts—like awareness itself is turning.

“You’ve got White Lux,” the first continues.

“Information. Perception. Seeing how things connect when others cannot.”

“White Lux...?”

“Not flashy,” the second voice says, almost fondly. “But very, very important.”

A pause. “Especially now.” Kari’s breathing steadies (Just barely).

“Magic is real?” And a soft laugh answers.

“Oh, yes. Always has been. People just get very creative about ignoring it.”

"And our specialty is Observation," the first voice adds, with the word standing out differently.

It resonates more strongly than the others.

“All-seeing eye. Look far enough, and distance no longer matters."

"Observation..."

A quiet hum of approval.

"It's an old spell,” the second voice explains. "Handed down. Not something you start with. Something you learn.”

Kari’s thoughts tighten.

“What does it do?”

"It allows you to see and hear places as if you’re there,” the first voice states simply. “If you focus. If you learn how to anchor it properly.”

A pause.

“You’ll need to learn it on your own. We just don’t have the time to teach you now.”

Something shifts again—her perception expands outward uncontrollably.

“Then why tell me now?”

A gentle sigh.

“Because you’re going to need it.”

“Your friends are waking up.”

That hits harder than anything else.

“Not like you,” the second voice says. “Not White Lux. Different paths. Different sparks.”

“But they are changing,” the first continues softly. “And there's only one like you in Cornell.”

A pause.

“The observer.”

Kari’s fingers twitch against the wall.

"Observer..?"

“The one who sees first,” the first voice explains. “The one who understands what’s happening before it happens.”

“And the one who keeps them from dying because no one else knew how to look,” the second adds, almost matter-of-factly.

Kari’s breath catches.

"I... don’t know how to do that.”

A gentle, affectionate laugh.

“Oh, you will.”

“We didn’t either,” the second voice admits. “At first.”

A pause.

Then more quietly:

“You’re not just watching, Kari. You’re responsible for what you see.”

The weight of that settles slowly—like gravity shifting in the wrong direction.

“That’s... not fair.”

Another pause—then warmth again.

“No,” the first voice agrees with a shrug. “It isn’t.”

“But you're the only one who can do it,” The second voice begins. "The other ones, they have strength. They have power. But to stay alive, you're going to need a little more than muscle, if you catch my drift."

The world sharpens around her.

Far beyond the warehouse, something shifts, threads she can’t yet name, but can feel beginning to form. Then, briefly—so briefly it seems almost accidental-

“The Owl will explain more,” the first voice says.

A short pause.

“He’s... complicated. Old. Curious. A pain in the ass. Keeper of the Library.”

A slight hesitation, as if choosing words carefully.

“You’ll understand him fully when you meet him. Not now. We don’t have time to do him justice.”

“Just remember," the second voice adds softly, “He sees everything. Always has.”

A pause.

“You’ll learn about him the same way we did. The hard way.”

The first voice exhales softly.

“She’s going to overthink this.”

“Of course she is,” the second responds. “She’s ours.”

A pause.

"Now, look, sweetheart."

Kari recalibrated, returning disoriented. Still unhealed, unsettled, as if she’s been abruptly dropped back into reality. The sound precedes her vision: screams, overwhelming panic, and a shattering sensation that shouldn’t be possible. Her sight fixes on Ella, luminous and surreal, rushing toward the chaos as if victory is within reach. Nora is closer than expected, standing directly in the danger zone of an uncontrollable creature. The monster shifts, causing Kari’s perception to falter.

For a second, everything feels delayed, like the world is happening half a heartbeat ahead of her.

Her chest tightens.

No.

No, no—

“Ella, NORA, what are you two doing?!”

Her voice cracks hard, sharp enough to cut through the noise but not enough to control it.

Ella keeps moving.

Nora doesn’t back up.

Kari’s panic spikes instantly.

“GET BACK-GET AWAY FROM IT!”

She takes a step forward without thinking, then immediately hesitates as the air around the monster warps again, like reality itself is refusing to agree on its shape. Danger is imminent, too close, and wildly unpredictable. Her breath falters. She yells helplessly, pleading for them to stop moving closer.

Too close. Her breath stutters.

“STOP—DON’T GO ANY CLOSER!”

The monster moves too quickly for Kari’s slow perception to keep up and then strikes. Ella is in the middle of a motion, hope, and the idea of herself as capable, when the creature hits her, throwing her sideways into the wall with brutal force. The impact is so sharp that Kari feels it more in her teeth than in her eyes. Nora, caught in the same instant, is knocked off balance. For a brief moment, everything freezes in a terrible stillness; Ella slumped against the wall, Nora falling back, the monster already turning away as if it wasn’t the point—and Kari’s mind tries to process, fails, and then breaks as she accepts that it’s moving on to a different target.

Kari acts before her thoughts catch up, moving with lightning speed. She reaches Ella in an instant, a pace that doesn’t seem her own, and drops beside her, hands hovering nervously as if touching might worsen things. "Ella-Ella! Ella, are you okay? Can you hear me?" she asks sharply, her voice breaking slightly at the edges. She quickly turns to Nora, eyes wide and breathing unevenly. "Nora—Nora, talk to me—please, are you okay?!"

Behind them, the monster continues its approach towards a different target.

Vicky.

---

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Something broke.

In ways I’ve seen before.

A fracture not in ground, but in agreement—like reality can’t decide what “here” is anymore. Trying to exist in two places and failing.

Something deeper is pushing through. The Pit.

Close enough to stain.

And she’s coming because of it.

I don’t need more.

Too late and it’s gone. Too early, and I lose her again.

Cornell won’t hold this.

Either way—it’s begun.

[Atrophy]

---

Interactions: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST EVERYBODY ANYBODY PLEASE
Warehouse

---

The banshee wails had shifted into uncontrollable blubbering as Vicky pressed herself up against the bathroom stall, her feet kicking at the ground in a fruitless attempt to scoot herself even further away from the danger, her hands feverishly wiping tears and snot and blood from her face. Her eyes dared not to look away from the door, terrified that what had chopped up Chef and had tried to strike her would barge through it at any second. She didn’t understand how that nightmare creature hadn’t taken off her arm. She didn’t care. She was alive and that was all that mattered. She was covered in gore, sore all over, so traumatized that she was hallucinating, and (worst of all) single, but she was alive.

Vicky stopped trying to burrow herself into the wall for safety. The blubbering became little more than a whimper. Slowly and with some difficulty she pushed herself upright, although she couldn’t quite stand without leaning against the stall, for as sobering as watching someone get ripped in half was it didn’t change the fact that she was still quite drunk. Actually, considering how drunk she was and what she had just witnessed, it was a downright miracle that Vicky hadn’t committed a major party foul like—oh god, NO NOT NOW! Vicky lurched, retched, closed her eyes, and collapsed against the toilet, an awful noise echoing out of the bowl that sounded eerily like Chef’s guts spilling onto the floor of the warehouse.

He had died for her. How romantic. Everyone would be so jealous. Only except he hadn’t. Chef didn’t see it coming. She had. So really, he had died because of her. Fine, that was fine. Not her fault. No way could that be considered her fault. It was just, it was just, it was just if anybody had seen it, if anybody had paid attention, would they have noticed? Would they tell other people? Would a giant big fucking red flag be forever waving above her head so that everyone would know that she didn’t even try to save him? Would they then be able to correctly assume that she didn’t try to save her brother, either? That she had just stared, mouth agape, watching the blood pool around his head until their mother had shoved her out of the way?

Did any of that matter as long as she remained popular? What was more important: what people thought about her, or that people thought about her?

“Whatthefuck!” cried out Vicky in disgust and confusion as she spat into the toilet bowl.

Why was she thinking about any of this shit? She had to get out, now! Unaware that the mixture of her fear, selfishness, and doubt had been part of the secret handshake needed to let her ancestors know that she should be let into their special little clubhouse, Vicky stumbled up to her feet, took a few tentative steps, and tripped over something as she fell. Her eyes caught sight of the culprit, Chef’s crumpled up letterman jacket, as she tumbled through the air. She felt the jolt of energy course through her body as her Lux crackled to life, ready to protect her, before it was pulled back by incorporeal onlookers as the first thought that had entered her mind, even as she let out a muted “Whatthefuck!”, was not of protecting herself but of how she should’ve protected Chef.

The protective weave around Vicky snapped and her head thunked hard against the bathroom sink. A swift and sudden pain shot through her skull.The world around her went black as Vicky crumpled to the dirty, bloody floor of the bathroom. It was a harsh lesson, perhaps, or maybe a warning from her ancestors: there was no room for guilt in their circle. If Vicky wanted to be a survivor like them she’d have to wise up to that fact. She was out cold for a few heartbeats, but it felt longer. She opened her eyes with a start, let out a pained cry that morphed into a “whatthefuck”, scrambled to her feet, caught herself as she nearly fell over again, and paused as she listened at the door. Heavy bass interrupted by heavy footfalls, shouts, and screams.

The monster was still out there, but so were people who could distract it. Good. Vicky felt a little spark inside of her as she touched the door handle. It flattened as she looked back at Chef’s jacket into a low hum, the buzz of Lux briefly dying as she reached down to grab his coat. She felt a shock go through her hand as she touched it, a little warning zap from those beyond to let it go and get out, yet she still grabbed it. Stubbornness. A trait that, while sometimes admirable when it was mistaken for integrity, easily got people killed. Dragging his jacket behind her like a security blanket, Vicky quietly opened the bathroom door and poked her bloodsoaked head out

Vicky had no idea as to what she had expected to see, but it was not this: the bestial monster, no longer wreathed in darkness, whose attention was being diverted by Ella and Nora. Both of them looked gross as hell, and Vicky considered her earlier upchuck to have been a blessing in disguise because otherwise she would’ve done it right here. It was uncertain what Vicky found more visually upsetting: the creepy ass blood stems blossoming out of Nora’s arms or the fact that Ella was cosplaying in public. No, actually, the cosplay was worse. Ew.

“Whatthefuck,” scoffed Vicky quietly as she crept out of the bathroom.

In hindsight, she had been too harsh on Ella or Ella’s friend, which was really the only name Vicky knew for Nora. Regardless, thank god for these nerds. The obvious exits were all jammed up by teens pushing and shoving, but she would use their distraction to find some other exit and sneak out. Two dorks dying so one Vicky could live was a crazy good trade; Vicky was probably worth the lives of the entire AV Club, marching band, and student government combined. They were so fucking dead. She felt that mysterious buzz of energy swell up in her again as stalked with her back against the wall away from the crowd and the chaos, her ancestors seemingly pleased that she didn’t do anything stupid to try and save them.

Kinda sucks about Ella, though. Her friend, ehhhh, not so much, the last thing the world needed was another awful thespian, but Ella? She was a good slugger. Vicky would have to work twice as hard to make sure the softball team were champs this year without her offense. The electricity inside of her stilled, annoyed, as if to chastise her for worrying about the wrong things, telling her to press on. Vicky did for a moment, then she paused and turned to look back at Ella. Perhaps she was going to give a wave, or a nod, an acknowledgment of her bravery and sacrifice, but instead there was only just a loud, singular laugh-like wheeze of shock as the duo were dropped immediately by the monster. Vicky didn’t mean to be cruel, but after all that pageantry she had just thought there would’ve—HOLY FUCKING SHIT IT WAS COMING FOR HER!

It was the wheezelaugh. The wheezelaugh had given her away! Oh, fuck, just run, run, ruuuuuuuuuun and she tripped, Chef’s stupid jacket wrapping itself around her legs like a hunter’s bola, some kind of sick act of revenge from the grave for getting him killed. IT WASN’T HER FAULT! She hit the ground hard on her knees and elbows, sending tingles through her body that wasn’t the Lux. As for her magic it wasn’t cooperating, as if her jackass forefathers had thrown their hands up and said, “Welp, this is what you get for ignoring us” after offering no help whatsoever. Pops of Yellow Lux sparked and flickered around her like a dying lighter as the monster got closer and closer.

She found herself yet again with her back up against the wall, her feet kicking helplessly at the ground, as she screamed at her ancestors, at her classmates, fuck it, even at god. Like what was the point of going to those camps if she couldn’t even cash in a divine favor or something? She hadn’t meant to laugh. It wasn’t funny. Just surprising. An honest, unintended reaction. C’mon, she didn’t deserve to die here like some loser!

“HELP! HELP! HELP ME!” screamed Vicky, sucking in a deep breath, and then releasing, with her best pep rally projection, loud enough to be heard over the bass and the shouts and the heavy stomps of rapidly approaching doom, one final, desperate plea as the monster raised it hand to rip her in two:

“HELP ME! YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!
HELP ME!”

[NoriWasHere]

---

Current day
Interactions: Tommy, Vicky, Corey, Dead Guy
Outfit: Normal

---

”Dunno. Must have been a ghost or something. What about you? Your coach a fan of underage drinking, Fox?”

A ghost. Tyler chuckled. A fucking ghost? This kid was definitely on some form of a drug if that was the first thing that came out of his mind. Of course, someone invited that loser, and Tyler suspected that Tommy was blissfully unaware that the culprit was right in front of him. Still, Tyler did not want to rush the reveal. No, that would be both too easy and too simple. He had a long list of questions that needed answers, and Tommy would be providing them one way or another. There was not a song that could break her from this path, nor a drink strong enough to make him forget, nor would the sound of a body breaking in a way it shouldn’t pull him from the righteous path he was on. Not even the two nerds leaving the party early, that religious freak, and some weird-looking girl, could stop him now. Tommy would answer his questions, and it would start right now. Tyler took a step forward and readied a hand to place on Tommy’s shoulder, but paused as his mind took a step back and remembered the sound of a body breaking. He heard the sound of bones snapping all his life. It wasn’t something that bothered him so much, nor did the sight of a broken arm, but something felt different this time. The heavy footstep thundered deep inside of him, and his eyes darted towards the source.

Tyler caught sight of one of his classmates hanging in the air, body broken, and eyes that betrayed that the lights were off and nobody was home. Tyler’s breath was stuck in his chest. Even as he watched the body fly through the air, he could not tell what threw him. How did a body fly that fast? Tyler took a step back. Heavy footsteps crushed the floor beneath them as the party froze all around Tyler. His eyes tried to see through whatever illusion this was to try and stop whatever was causing this, but no matter how hard he strained, he could not. And then a girl was grabbed. She wasn’t an uggo or anything, but Tyler never found her cute. But even someone like her did not deserve the death that followed. And as the party descended into chaos on beat with the body beating the floor, Tyler could not move. If he were on the football field, he would have seen the free rusher breaking through the line long before the second blocker away from him. And now Tyler was in the backfield, all alone, and with nobody but Tommy to guard him from the raging…

Tyler caught sight of Tommy running away. “Son of a bitch…” Did Tommy not know how important Tyler was to this town?

Tyler took an unblocked hit from his blind side as a stupid theater kid couldn’t pay attention to where they were running, and he stumbled for a moment before he found himself caught in the mass of idiots running for the only fucking way out. While Tyler was strong, the mass of drunk teenagers scared for their life over powered him, and soon he was one with the hulking mass of flesh that would make The Thing from The Thing blush. Tyler pushed, and clawed, and kicked, and did everything he could to break free from the chaotic place, yet he was stuck in place. A familiar emotion washed over him. Anticipation. There was some invisible fucking force about to rush towards a stuck, painfully moveable mass of objects, and that would be it. Tyler would never rise to the occasion and prove himself as an athlete. He would never escape the town that chained his father. This was it. He would die here amongst the losers, the regrets, the assholes, and worst of all, Vicky. This broke a barrier inside his soul, unlike anything he had felt before. The voices of the idiots around him began to blend, and they felt like they suddenly got sharper and louder. An added element of bass was added to their tone. Soon, the words disappeared, and all Tyler could hear were sharp cracks, booming thunder, and cries for help in a language he did not know.

Tyler blinked, and when his eyes opened again, embers were drifting down from above. He looked around, and he was in hell. In the distance, all he could see was a firestorm that raged through the streets of a small village. The hills and surrounding countryside bore the scars of recent impacts and explosions. While he did not see any bodies, he could smell them all around. Tyler looked to his left, and then his right, and then finally towards the front. A singular eyebrow raised as the sight of one of those old-timey soldiers greeted him. He was squatting down, with a flintlock rifle slung over his back and a stick drawing something in the dirt. His eyes rose and met Tylers and Tyler could tell there was a rage building. He scoffed at the sight before him before he dropped the stick, stood up, dusted the dirt off his pants, and straightened his uniform. He spoke quickly in a language Tyler never had a chance to understand.

“English?”

“Oh no,” the man spoke in a heavy German accent, “we speak that foul language now, huh? It’s been a few years since I had this talk with someone like you, someone on the worst day of their life, sometimes the best, but it seems this is the worst day of your life, no?”

“And how would you know? Where are we, and what happened to the party,” Tyler asked as he tried to rise to his feet, but he felt like he was stuck in quicksand.

“I know. I always know,” the man paused as he looked back over the countryside in the distance, “that’s part of this. This recollection. You have found yourself waking up with the blood of a certain skillset that has been passed down for generations. And it seems you have awoken in a time of war, hence why you meet me.”

Tyler followed his gaze over the countryside once again. He could make out a distinct European style of building to the homes, the shops, and even the uniform that the man before him wore. The sight before him had to be a hundred plus years in the past based on the rifle the man carried and the style of the uniform itself. What was this? What was a recollection? “Some shit is going down at that party, I need to get back. Send me back.”

“To help?” The man before him crossed his arms behind his back as his head tilted upward, looking down on Tyler as he did.

Tyler recoiled back at the attempted slander. Of course, he wanted to help. He was the hero of the town, and he was going to be damned if he allowed a spooky ghost to kill his admirers. “Of c-”

“Do not lie to me, to us, to your ancestors. This is a two-way street. I know all about who you pretend to be.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed at the asinine assertion that he was not telling the truth. Everything he did was for others. He won the big fucking game to bring that trophy home to a school that was struggling, he was pushing himself hard to make his dad proud, and the only person who had any problem with this was this man before him, and his mother.

“You have potential. Your mother sees it, and so do we,” the man pointed at the ground under Tyler. For some reason, the man seemed to be growing taller, or was he himself shrinking down, “and don’t call me old-fashioned, but it is time for you to learn your magic, or die.”

“Magic? Like the card game?”

The man simply stared at Tyler, and after a second, his mouth fell agape. Tyler felt something crawling up his shirt all around him. Instead of humoring that response with a reply, he simply pulled a knife from its holster and held it up. He then pointed at a lantern that was on the ground, broken, with shattered glass scattered around. A moment later, he tossed the knife into the air, and suddenly the lantern was where the knife was, and the knife simply fell into the broken glass behind them. “Easy, right? Now you do it, or die.”

Tyler finally looked down and saw that an invisible force was crushing his body. He remembered, almost too late, that he was right in the middle of a crowd crush before he was pulled into this vision. His body was dying. He could feel his breath was far away, and he tried to breathe using all his strength, yet it did nothing. “How,” he gasped, “how do I use it?” Tyler did not believe in magic, but he would do whatever it took not to die in this crowd.

“You have always known where your teammates were on the field of battle, no? An almost uncanny ability to know where they were going, where your enemy was, and the weak spots you could exploit in the defense. Use that feeling. Reach out into the world with your magic and find an object. Once you do, you simply will the target to swap places with an object of your choice, yourself included. Feel the battlefield before you, truly feel it, and this will work.” Tyler’s eyes darted around, scanning the landscape in front of him. “No! We do not run from the danger that threatens those around us. If you try to run from this fight, you will find that you will die in that crowd and be gone forever. Think, Tyler, feel what’s behind you. Visualize the warehouse, and once you do, finding something to swap positions with is easy. The clock is ticking, Tyler,” the man towered over Tyler completely now, only this time he had a concerned look on his face. This was definitely not the way he intended this meeting to go. Tyler did as he was told, however, and despite every instinct pushing him to look ahead, he instead focused behind. He was keenly aware of everybody pushing into him, where those bodies were, and how they were positioned. As he focused his mind, despite the sharp pain that pounded in his chest, he was able to push his visualization further back until he found just what he was looking for. His championship ring began to glow. “You’re doing it! And now, just-” Tyler flicked his wrist like he was commanding a center to snap the ball, and he watched as the burning countryside that he was faced with disappeared; instead, he could see the backside of the mass of classmates that nearly crushed him a moment ago. In the space his body made up, Tyler had sent a bottle of alcohol, still unopened, to occupy it.

Tyler collapsed to the ground. His chest hurt. His ears were ringing. There was blood pouring down his nose. He was alive, but injured, and he had used his magic. He gasped for a breath, and then he heaved in a second, and within a moment he was breathing in quick but consistent breaths. His vision was fuzzy, and the room seemed to be twisting and turning around him. Yet there was a shrill, nails-on-chalkboard noise that seemed to pierce through the fog, unlike anything else could.

“HELP ME! YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!
HELP ME!”

“You dramatic b–” he started to mutter, but his voice was cut short when he saw what was killing his classmates. It made no sense. It was far to big to move that quickly, and far too impossible to exist in a reality where he existed. He needed to run as fast as he could to get as far away as possible from that thing. Tyler grunted as he forced himself to his feet, and he took one weak step forward before stopping and sighing. Remembering that he was like a hero to these weak students, Tyler knew he could not leave them like this. He needed to help clear the jam at the door, get Vicky away from danger, and then get as far away as he could from there. A sharp pain from his side commanded his attention, and he placed a hand over his right rib, which felt tender. He gritted through the pain as he trusted in his sanity and reached out into the world with his so-called magic. The first object he selected was Vicky. He couldn’t have his rival die in such a pathetic way, as that would reflect poorly on him as a whole if this was the best his rival could do. The second was what he thought was a dead body. His eyes saw them slumped against the wall, with a rather large gash across their head, revealing white bone beneath red skin. And as the monster readied the end of Vicky, Tyler compelled the two objects to swap.

And they did.

It was only when Vicky was against the wall near him, and the so-called body was in front of the monster, that Tyler realized it was not a dead body but instead a very much alive, albeit inured, Corey. Corey was a music nerd who pissed Tyler off, but everyone could see that in that moment of realization, Tyler was a little mortified. He had just condemned a man to death. And he couldn’t look away as it happened.

[Drag]

---

Interactions: Lynn, Ella, Nori, Kari, Tyler, Vicky, Poor Corey, And a certain cheeky apparition
Warehouse

---

Inexperience can make it difficult to discern what is abnormal in a scenario that’s already foreign. The delineation between expected and unexpected blurs as you try not to look out of place and go with the flow. So, when the party began to unravel like a dropped ball of yarn, Daniel Mars initially didn’t react.

Until the screaming began.

Lynn had appeared to zone out after Daniel finished speaking - with the easily-worried boy assuming he’d bored or offended her in some way. Even when her eyes returned to him, filled with sudden, primal terror, and her hand gripped his and began to yank him out of the party with expletive-laden haste, Daniel elected to simply follow her lead.

He should have continued to do so but instead he spared a glance that would sear into his mind forever. Unnatural angles, reality melting down and suffocating every unfortunate soul in the dregs. The sounds. God, the sounds. Skin separating like torn paper as bones bent and burst out of the flesh, screams of a pitch and intensity that Daniel had never thought possible. All of this in the first seconds, before he and Lynn passed through the door and into the evening woods, her foresight or quick reaction speed had given them only a taste of the nightmare that was unfolding inside that warehouse.

This girl had saved his life, even in hysteria the rational part of his mind knew this. He was one of the lucky ones. These truths did not comfort him as the weight of all that had happened in the span of seconds threatened to crack Daniel's mind and made his legs buckle under him.

Panting, sweat dripping from his face and pooling onto the floor. The only victory he achieved was that his stomach was so thoroughly knotted that he couldn't vomit up the contents of that afternoon's lunch, even though he desperately wished to.

“I knew these parties were against the rules!” Daniel despaired into the void.

With magnetic force and precision, Daniel suddenly clasped his hands together. Burying his face against them as his eyes began to drip. This girl, Lynn, had saved him. Saved his foolish, worthless, sinful life. All he could do was weep on the grass as the sounds of horror intensified in the building behind them. He recognised many of the screams, the panicked yells, the pleas that fell on unsympathetic ears as whatever demonic forces that had arisen played with their food.

“F-father who art in heaven, Hallowed be… thy name…” Daniel began to murmur shakily. There would be little salvation for him, he knew that. Knew that even if his love for God hadn't wavered, his sense of right and wrong had. He had questioned the word of his father, flaunted his disobedience and for that he'd face whatever consequences awaited him.

“Thy kingdom come; thy will- will be done on earth. As it is in Heaven.” But his peers, these children - whatever their individual morality may be - did not deserve this fate. They'd made no such pledges of virtue, had not dishonoured their superiors in the same way.

“I pledge myself to Your mercy. I give You honour. I leave room for You to do what Your wisdom knows is… is…” wavering, Daniel’s warbling plea faltered into hopeless despair. What was happening inside this remote slaughterhouse was not right. Was not fair. Was not…

“JUSTICE.” Daniel Mars cut-off the prayer with a voice that was not his own.

Eyes drying, heart slowing into a steady, ominous rhythm. A presence had emerged onto this plane of existence, birthed by a desire for impartiality and fairness, or perhaps having always existed in some nascent form. The call of the guilty and repentant Daniel Mars had lured it into the world, providing a conduit to deliver a verdict.

Daniel's eyes deepened to an unnaturally dark blue. His spirit judged the righteousness of the slaughter within the warehouse.

And found it wanting.

Standing, changing. Daniel Mars looked into the eyes of Evelynn Serenelight, his face placid.

“I-” he began - an aborted attempt of gratitude, sympathy or perhaps confusion. He would never know, as his head jerked forward like a child roughly correcting the posture of a toy.

It undid Lynn's selfless work, marching back into the warehouse with heavy stomps. Skin thickening and growing into jagged, black stone. Daniel Mars’ face was swallowed beneath a cocoon of the cracked obsidian shell, shaping itself into a perverse facsimile of a knight's helm.

The screams muffled and the roulette of light inside the warehouse swallowed the black knight as it left Lynn behind. Valor cared not, there was much work to be done.

---

The Warehouse Massacre

---

What awaited inside was a circus of violence. Those that fled with reckless abandon - throwing themselves through glass and cracks in the rusted walls in the process - had survived, those that had lingered a half-second too long were largely smeared across the walls and floor, the rest were clawing at each other like rabid animals to shove themselves out the doors. Warriors had emerged as well, shown now to Daniel through Valor’s eyes.

Nora, Ella, Kari, these names meant little to the apparition but it knew them all the same. Knew some of their habits and mannerisms, if not on an intimately personal level. All these new, superfluous, details flooded its mind. They were kind, likeable, and currently being batted away with the indifference only a truly powerful being could muster. Kari, the apparent strategist of this duo, tended to the wounded. Valor knew their problem even without the personal details, they were focused on the wrong thing. The act of saving lives or defending honour is, in and of itself, a selfish endeavor. There is only one motive that matters.

There were others of more immediate interest. The discordant wails of Victoria Prescott, the callow mutterings of Tyler Fox and, in a surprising instant, the confused and trembling body of Corey Aquino. The loose voice inside Valor’s mind was notably less complimentary of these three, yet weakly insisted they were misunderstood in some manner. Valor did not care, they would face judgement in some future time.

A splat. Perhaps some would face judgement sooner than others.

The boy, Corey, went from dazed fear to no expression at all. The pure concussive power of the beast jerked down onto his chest like a collapsing tree, caving in his torso and rupturing his limbs in a shower of gore - Valor noted an unfamiliar simile in its mind, comparing it visually to a water balloon falling from a roof and bursting against the sidewalk. It had no time to interject regardless, yet Valor felt nothing all the same. Whether or not this boy could’ve been saved was irrelevant, Valor’s purpose was singular.

“ABOMINATION.” Valor spoke, reverberating and bombastic but no discernable emotion. “YOU HAVE COMMITTED UNRIGHTEOUS SLAUGHTER WITHOUT PROPER JUDGEMENT.”

Arm outstretching, white fire exploded around Valor’s hand and instantaneously formed into the shape of a burning spear. The black crusader stood rigid, addressing the monster with calm certainty.

“THE SENTENCE IS DEATH.”

Then, with sudden and frightening speed, Valor hurled itself forth with the spear’s bladed tip aimed at the beast.

[FernStone]

---

Interactions: Tyler @NoriWasHere
Warehouse

---

What. The. Fuck.

Lexi’s first thought as she saw someone slammed into the ground was that she’d been given ecstasy laced with hallucinogenics. An energetic joy had bloomed in the aftermath of getting headbutted, so the drugs had definitely kicked in. Fuck, her sister couldn’t even get her clean shit? She gave her drugs laced with something that caused her to see some kinda fucked up shit?

She’s in for it when I get home.

It took a couple more dead people and crowds surging for the door for her to realise it wasn’t the drugs. She wasn’t seeing things. Her heart wasn’t just beating fast because of the drug, though her hands getting clammy definitely was just because of that. She wasn’t a coward.

But she was going to get out of here. Reckless as she may be, she wasn’t a fucking idiot.

She jerkily looked around, catching sight of the bottleneck at the door and the one broken window. Not there. Most of the windows in this place were jammed, or the kind you couldn’t just open, probably for some kind of warehouse security. Didn’t want people breaking in or some shit.

The bathroom. She should get to the bathroom, she could climb out the window there. It’d be easy. Get on the sinks, slide through, jump down. No getting crushed in a sea of bodies… She’d smoked out it before. Using it to escape wouldn’t be much different. It would be pretty fucking fun, actually.

Lexi was already moving before she thought it through, pushing past Camille like he wasn’t even there. She was too drunk and high to think things through much anyway. Her eyes darted around as she pressed her shoulder against the wall, alert to her surroundings. But she didn’t feel scared.

Then there was a blocker in her path. An irritating, ugly blocker, screaming about nothing.

“HELP ME! YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER! HELP ME!”

”Shut up, Pose-” Lexi’s words died on her lips as the biggest bitch in town was replaced with her drummer slash friend. Her head jerked around, catching Vicky near Tyler, and Tyler looking like he just realised what a boring piece of shit he was.

What the fuck- WHAT THE FUCK?!

Warm blood splattered across her face, sticky viscera clinging to her skin and clothes. As she turned towards what little remained of her friend, Lexi felt… Nothing.

A deep absence of any emotion at all. It was jarringly different from the erratic energy she’d felt just moments before. She backed away, but not out of fear, merely self preservation. An all devouring apathy swallowed her whole, the world around her becoming fuzzy.

She could hear someone mumbling behind her, in a language she couldn’t immediately place. Then it clicked- French. Had Camille followed her? So he was a creep too.

But it wasn’t Camille who walked into her line of sight, but a graceful blonde woman who looked eerily familiar. Lexi could see similarities to her own features in her face, but more than that, a resemblance to her older sister. It was like facing a more refined version of Danielle, wearing an out of fashion and old dress her sister wouldn’t be caught dead in.

The woman calmly regarded her, speaking again. ”En face de la mort, on comprend mieux la vie.”

”I don’t speak French.” Lexi snapped, convinced that she really was hallucinating. It was the only explanation.

”Nor do I.” There was a low chuckle behind her, another figure coming into view. A man this time, dressed in an open shirt tucked into tweed trousers with suspenders, dark hair thick and messy. His was a more rugged look, and less familiar.

”In the fact of death, we understand life better.” The woman enunciated. ”There is no time.”

”There’s never time, so just bend time to your will.”

Lexi was bored of this already. Couldn’t her hallucinations be a little more exciting.

”We are not hallucinations. We are your ancestors, long dead. You have awakened something we too thought was dead.”

”Stop beating around the bush- You have magic, Alexandra! You’re an Adept.”

”Fuck, at least say something believable.” Lexi snorted.

”Heh, just like how I was when I kindled. You’ll learn… Or you’ll die!” The man laughed.

”Death isn’t the end. For some it is the beginning. One day, you will be able to bring back friends who die before you.”

”Like a necromancer? Fuck, that’s–”

”Ridiculous? That’s not all you can do! Nothing can trap you anymore, not even time. Bend it, move as you want- Anticipate, and in a blink of an eye you’ll be somewhere else.”

”But do not feel too much. Death is unforgiving and unfeeling. The Hound comes for us all.”

”On that cheery note- do you feel it? The power? Thrilling, isn’t it.”

Though Lexi was disbelieving at first, she did feel it. She could sense the thick miasma of death that surrounded them innately. There was an itch beneath her skin like something trying to get out. A coiled up energy broke through the apathy.

”Until we meet again in the Hound's domain.”

”Try not to die!”

Her ancestors faded, leaving with only useless words. They hadn’t taught her anything, and the magic itching to be free had nowhere to go. The feelings that had freed it, however, pushed her to move without care. She backed away further from the ugly, furry monster she could suddenly see- and the weird cosplayer with a flaming spear.

”You owe me a fucking drummer, Tyler!” Lexi shouted across the warehouse, pointing at Tyler before drawing a finger across her throat. She wasn’t acting like she’d just seen one of her closest friends die. Her expression was ice cold. Not sad, or even angry. The corners of her lips pulled up briefly, the shadow of a taunting smile flickering across them. In her eyes was a manic light, her dilated pupils all the more obvious as her eyes narrowed at Tyler. Maybe she’d finally gone mad.

Probably, with how she was now moving in his direction rather than towards the door. She didn’t have much thoughts at that moment- just that since he’d used her friend as a meat shield for that bitch, she’d use him as one for herself.

[Evil Ghost Note]

---

The Creature

Interactions: Valor (@Drag), & Lexi (@FernStone)
The Warehouse Party.

---

---

The creature did not think in words; instead, it understood sensations like pressure, heat, and movement-the subtle rhythm of soft things breaking. Corey arrived in an unexpected manner, not thrown or running, but deliberately placed. One moment, there was empty space beneath his descending limb; the next, a trembling, living body appeared, defying the slaughter’s flow. Confused, the creature hesitated, shifting mid-motion, joints flexing in unnatural ways to reconcile the contradiction.

Its focus sharpened, and the world dimmed around Corey’s outline as if reality itself hiccupped. The creature leaned in, trying to understand. Then, it made a decision. Its limb descended with impact, and Corey was instantly absorbed by the force. The creature felt the familiar, correct structure break. Yet, the disturbance lingered, an unsettling dissonance it couldn’t immediately resolve. Its body shuddered, mass twitching as if trying to digest not just flesh but the event itself. Then, the spear struck deep, and for the first time, its form was forced to change.

The spear carved through, and, for a moment, the monster held that shape around the wound. Then, it reacted violently. The flesh around the spear didn’t bleed but reorganized, layers peeling and folding inward, wrapping the shaft as if learning a new anatomy. Tendrils, too thin for veins but too deliberate for nerves, snaked along the spear, tasting and mapping it. The white fire burned, prompting the creature to change what could burn. Surrounding tissue blackened and hardened into a chitinous sheath, insulating deeper layers. Softer matter liquefied and shifted, redistributing damage from vital regions (though “vital” was constantly shifting).

Structures dissolved and reformed elsewhere, organs shifting to avoid the intrusion. The spear drove deeper, and the creature grew around it-a second “ribcage” unfolded within its torso, blooming like a grotesque flower of bone to trap the spear’s tip. Ribs snapped into place, intercepting and locking them into a cage of calcified matter that hadn’t existed moments before. Its surface rippled again—a face appeared near the wound, not Corey’s but something older and angrier. It split open quickly, teeth or tooth-like protrusions grinding uselessly against the embedded shaft. The creature emitted a sound—not a roar or a cry of pain, but an adjustment. Its mass shifted forward, deliberately impaling itself further to understand the resistance. Tendrils tightened, pulsing to learn the rhythm of the fire and how it consumed.

They then adapted, slowing the burn but not stopping it completely, producing a thick, translucent coating around the spear. The substance bubbled, burning away, reforming repeatedly until a terrible equilibrium was reached. The creature steadied—not in defiance but in understanding. The white fire still burned inside, but now had defined edges. Tendrils tightened along the spear’s length, pulsing slowly, as if the weapon had become part of a circulatory system that didn’t exist seconds before. It tested the boundary. Its torso flexed, and the spear moved with it. Not freely, not yet.

The inner cage of bone ground against the shaft, splintering and reforming in each instant—each break a calculation, each regrowth a correction. The coating thickened, bubbling where the fire resisted, until the reaction dulled from raging burn to contained friction. The creature leaned forward and twisted before a wet, industrial tearing sound filled the warehouse. Its upper mass rotated independently of a spine, dragging the spear along as muscles and tissues tightened in sequence, forcing the weapon to conform to its new geometry.

More bones grew around, forming jagged, ivory segments that spiraled up the embedded shaft, turning it into a handle within a living mechanism. The creature didn’t pull the weapon free; removal became irrelevant. Its limb—if it could still be called that—split open, unfolding into layered grips that clamped over the exposed part of the spear. Each “finger” sealed shut, fusing into a solid mass around it. Now, it had leverage—now, it understood. Its full attention was on Valor. For the first time, its movement aligned with intent. It stepped—or rather, compressed—forward, its bulk condensing and releasing like a coiled spring of flesh and bone. The floor cratered beneath as it drove itself through the space between them, dragging the spear—and everything attached—along. Then, it swung—not wildly, but with precision.

The internal cage shifted at the exact moment of impact, releasing just enough resistance to convert its entire body’s momentum into the arc of the strike. The spear became an extension of the creature’s axis, a pivot point weaponized by something that had only just learned what a weapon was.

Valor didn’t just get hit—

—he was carried.

Driven sideways in a violent, uninterrupted line as the spear tore free from its internal constraints at the last possible instant, bone snapping open to let it slide, tissue parting and resealing around the motion like a living sheath. Wall met body and lost. The impact detonated through rusted metal and concrete alike, the structure giving way in a scream of tearing supports and collapsing panels as Valor was launched through it, white fire trailing in a fractured arc behind him.

The creature stood there, half-open. The wound where the spear had been was no longer a wound. The inner ribcage collapsed inward, bones liquefying into a thick slurry before rehardening in a different configuration. The charred outer layer cracked and peeled away in slabs, revealing fresh, pale tissue beneath that pulsed with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The translucent coating remained, now lining the interior like a membrane that remembered the spear's shape. And it kept building. A groove formed where the weapon had sat—perfectly contoured, reinforced with layered bone and dense muscle, as if preparing for the next time something like that tried to define it.

The air around it seemed to tighten as its attention narrowed—

”You owe me a fucking drummer, Tyler!”

Lexi

-And settled on Lexi. She was not fleeing, and that alone was significant. More than that, her movement defied the flow—while others dispersed, she pressed forward. In a time of chaos and panic, she maintained a strange form, detached from the madness. To the creature, this was not insanity but pattern deviation. Its mass rippled, the inside groove of its torso flexed as if recalling the spear, with tendrils twitching internally, reacting not to injury but in anticipation. Lexi pointed, spoke, and moved towards Tyler. The creature ignored her words but perceived her direction and intent.

It shifted slightly, redistributing weight, limbs adjusting into new positions on the fractured floor, bones sliding into place with faint cracks. It was preparing—not to attack blindly, but to intercept. Part of its torso split open again—not violently but precisely, revealing a reinforced channel lined with a heat-resistant membrane—an indication of learning and adaptation. No longer regenerating randomly, it was designing, learning from its wounds to become a tool.

The creature took a step. The ground cracked and gave way, as if expecting impact but failing to withstand it. Its movement grew faster, cleaner, and with no wasted motion. It was no longer reacting; it was hunting.

And Lexi had just become the most intriguing thing in the room.

[NoriWasHere]

---

Interactions: The nope dog and an ancestor
In the room where it happened

---

“Oh fuck.” Nora felt the color drain from her skin as the pedals she created fell to the ground. A second later, she felt a force of nature swat her away, and she stumbled backwards and nearly fell. While she was not hit by the strike itself, she could still feel the power behind it. It was strong. It was far stronger than anything that she had felt, but it lined up with various enemies that her favorite anime characters would often face. That big, imposing, brute-like monster that the group would face early into their adventures, which they would need to defeat to grow stronger. But could one grow stronger when that was the monster the show threw at the party in the first fucking episode? At least it missed her and missed everyone. Nora turned to ask Ella what she planned to do, but she gasped when she saw her friend on the ground. Her eyes trailed up from the ground and saw the cracks spreading across where Ella had hit. They slowly returned to their friend, and a loud ringing soon filled the air.

Nora was stuck, both physically and mentally. She screamed at her legs to move, but she could not manage even a step. Even as Valor drove a spear straight through the beast and marked its flesh, Nora could not break from what she saw. All she could hear was that damned ringing, her own heartbeat, and nothing more. Please don’t be dead. No matter what else happened tonight, she could not lose her best friend. Please don’t be dead. She didn’t care about starting a training arc, working with her power, and growing as a wizard; all she cared about was lying on the ground. As long as she wasn’t dead, the world hadn’t ended.

"Nora—Nora, talk to me—please, are you okay?!"

Nora took a big breath in. Kari. Kari was okay, and she was here. She would know what to do to help Ella. Nora opened her mouth right before the beast sent Valor flying right past her body, passing far too close for comfort. It dawned on her, in that moment, that this was scary. Really scary. And Nora needed her friend. She ran without thinking until she slid into the wall and nearly fell on Kari. She quickly grabbed Ella’s arm and tried to pull her off the ground but she completely lacked the strength in her tiny, noodle-like arms. “I-I am okay, Kari, is she alive? Is she going to be okay? Kari, what is going on?” The sight of a new person stepping through the door caught her eye, and she gave her a quick glance before returning to Kari with tears welling, “I”m scared.”

---

Current day
Interactions: Mars bar
Outfit: Normal

---

Lynn couldn’t help but softly, yet firmly, mutter a “what the fuck,” as Daniel pulled his hand free, only to pray away the pain of what he had seen. Sure, putting the impossible in the higher power was a compelling action in the moment. Everything that had happened thus far did more to push her back towards that chapel than even the death of her parents. A giant werewolf-looking monster felt more like a demon than a creature, and if demons were real, that would indicate that the big guy upstairs was real. And if the big guy upstairs was real, did that mean that Lynn would be heading the wrong way if this monster killed her here tonight? Lynn knew she did not want to find out. She wanted to go out on her terms and in her own time, and not end up as puppy chow for a monster. She took a quick step towards Daniel. While she had only met the boy, she needed someone to run with her. The world around them was unfamiliar and scary, and if Lynn got lost, she would die. And he was far too nice to leave to his fate outside, where the monster would go next. She took another quick step towards him, and she found herself just outside what a modest person would consider their personal space.

“Thy kingdom come; thy will- will be done on earth. As it is in Heaven.”

“Party boy, Daniel, listen to me, we need to run,” Lynn paused as she looked past Daniel and saw another person die. Her breathing became quick and frantic, and her heart began to skip a beat. She was just a girl, standing in front of a boy, trying to break him from his religious psychosis. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening in there,” she paused, “I pledge myself to Your mercy. I give You honour. I leave room for You to do what Your wisdom knows is… is…”, Lynn offered a weak smile as it sounds like Daniel was snapping out of it, “JUSTICE.”

Lynn took a stuttered step back, nearly tripping over her own foot as she did. That was not Daniel. Her breath was once again stolen as a blue light covered his eyes in a way that screamed it had happened, but her mind raged at the impossibility of it. Did the good lord smile down on the plight of his faithful? Or was this some other thing altogether? Lynn did not know, and when Daniel looked at her with that completely emotionless look, she knew that something else was now present. Call it a sense, or a vibe, but that was not the same boy she had just met. “No, no, Daniel, don’t go back in there,” Lynn muttered, standing still. What she meant to say was “please don’t leave me alone out here,” but she did not want to see him die. A moment later, the once pleasant boy had transformed into something out of fiction, and drove a spear through the creature's body, and for a second, Lynn hoped it was over. Yet she watched as the body adapted, twisted, contorted, and evolved. The next second the holy warrior of god was sent flying across the warehouse. Lynn’s head jerked down as the chaotic crash of concrete and metal filled the air. There were still so many people inside who were going to die soon, and Lynn wished she could see a way that she could help.

A second later, her eyes once again turned into jade. She found herself quickly transitioning from reality as she knew it to that strange garden once again, standing on a large branch of the impossibly large tree. The branch itself wasn’t too large, and Lynn soon found herself off balance. She swayed too and fro before she ultimately went to fall, but caught herself by grabbing a branch. In an instant, she experienced a possible future where she saw everything. She learned more about the monster, even if it was not really more than what she already knew. She learned about her new classmates and what they could do; she learned the names of every last one of them, and she felt terrified as each last one of them died in an incredibly painful way. As she let go of the smaller branch, she fell and wrapped her arms around the bigger one she stood on and screamed. The vision had ended once again with Lynn picked up, body crushed, and dead. It felt real. It felt like the life was completely crushed out of her body, and her current body remembered the feeling. Was that the future? She looked back to the branch she had grabbed and let her eyes linger for a moment before they looked further up the tree and saw a branch she could almost reach. Lynn shimmied forward, reached out a hand, and grabbed the next branch.

Once again, the vision started as soon as she had grabbed it. In this possible future, the same scenario began to play out, yet the actions the others took were slightly different. The attacks were more varied, the lineup a small bit different, and yet it counted for nothing. Everyone died, and Lynn released the branch as tears streamed down her face. The monster did not end her as quickly this time. Instead, it had adopted an almost childlike curiosity as it pulled an arm off here, a foot off there, and examined the pieces as if she was nothing more than a toy. The memory of the pain lingered, and Lynn could not do anything except wallow in the pain. The two visions that the branches brought were of interest to her, and as the memory of the last one began to fade, she began to see the puzzle board laid out before her. These did not seem like certain things, and if her first use of whatever magic this was an indication, they were a possible future that did not, or would not come to pass. The actions that everyone took in it were different, and that changed what happened dramatically. Lynn was also an active participant in these possible futures, able to act and change outcomes as they were happening. Yet she was learning that there were truths to the possible future that no action could change. She shimmied forward again and reached for another branch. She wondered if she kept this up if she could save the party boy and the others? She grabbed the branch and tested her first theory at once.

---

A second later, back in reality, the jade fell from Evelynn’s eyes, and she took a deep breath. In an instant, tears welled and fell within an instance running through her makeup with a fervent intensity, bringing streaks of black onto her cheeks. Her body radiated with pain all over, even if this was false pain her mind thought she should feel. By her count, she died fifteen times building the puzzle up before the garden sent her back to reality, and each time was either as painful or more painful than the last. She doubled over and fell to the ground, bracing her fall by stretching out her arms. She did not find the missing pieces to how to kill this monster. Each death, each pain-filled moment was in vain in that regard. That was not to say she did not gain an idea that might work. In the last three possible futures, she had managed to get a few of the magic users inside to attack in one attack together, and this caused the creature to adapt to each attack at the same time. This gave them a window, but not the window that they wanted. Lynn was going to see what would happen if she could convince them all to work together.

There was also the possibility that this was not her fight. She could run, like many others before her. There was no shame in seeing death and electing to live. Whatever this power which was thrust upon her, truly, she could spend time mastering it and learning to wield it better to help some other group defeat the beast later. Lynn cried even harder at the thought. If she ran, she knew deep in her heart that she would be running from even more deaths that she could have prevented, just like her family. Could she live with herself as the ghosts of those who died by her action, and inaction, circled her soul? Lynn slammed a fist into the ground as her tears mixed with the dirt. Would she live with herself? Lynn knew that answer, and she did not need to visit the garden to know that answer

Evelynn pushed herself onto her feet. She wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands and took a deep breath. She lingered at the threshold for a couple more seconds before she stumbled through the doors of the warehouse. She quickly scanned the scene and found the woman she was looking for. “Kari,” Lynn spoke as she looked at the monster, watching it stalk towards a woman she thought was named Lexi. It just hit her that she did not know for sure if Kari was the right name, as she only heard it in the garden anytime she died, the name screamed out by two idiots named Nora, or was it Zofia, and Ella. Lynn gritted her teeth as she saw that the Sailor Moon cosplayer was down, and the two others were around her already checking in. She needed to check. “If that’s your name,” Lynn paused as she pointed to the monster. Her voice was much calmer now, far too calm for the scenario in front of her. Yet she found a certain strength in experiencing it all before. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I do have an idea on how we can run away from it. If we get everyone, and I mean everyone, to hit that thing at the same time, and hard, we can slow it down while it adapts to the different attacks. We could run. I don’t know you, any of you, but I know what I saw. I know that we will all die here, together, if we try to fight it or if we don’t work together. Will you help me?”

[Atrophy]

---

Interactions: Terrible Tyler @NoriWasHere & Loser Lexi @Fernstone
Warehouse

---

As the shadow of the monster loomed over Vicky her cries for help became an unintelligible waterfall of curses that harmonized into one final, primal scream. With impending doom rapidly descending upon her, the drunk, confused, and scared girl was allowed a final moment of clarity, a chance for self-reflection, perhaps even an opportunity for one last confession and atonement for the pain her selfishness and jealousy had caused. Instead she could only fixate on how it was totally utter bullshit that Victoria Prescott’s legacy wouldn’t be a lucrative multi-million dollar deal with Nike, but rather reduced to being example 1A in a mandatory assembly held inside of the school’s gymnasium to scare students about the dangers of underage drinking.

She crossed her arms defensively in front of her face as the creature began to swing at her. She closed her eyes as she braced for impact. Vicky felt her body shift but there was no pain. Weird. She’d assumed death would hurt like hell, just like she assumed death would be the end of her consciousness, but neither seemed to be the case. Slowly, she started to open her eyes, praying silently that she wasn’t standing in the waiting line to get into to hell, feeling for the first time in her life a sense of relief to still be in Cornell, a sense of relief that evaporated as fast as it had materialized, her arms dropping from her face, her eyes widening in horror as they witnessed what had been meant to happen to her instead happen to Corey.

Had her prayer been answered? Was this divine intervention? Jesus Christ, she was sorry for every wrong she had committed, as well as for doubting the existence of a higher power, and also for that one time she’d strong-armed Daniel into stealing communion wine at Bible Camp (even though it had turned out to be only grape juice). Even as fear dimmed the world around her, even as another nightmare made of obsidian and hellfire joined the fray and started fighting the monster, she could sense His presence. It smelled weirdly like Axe Body Spray. She could even feel Him on the wall next to her. She reached out to Him without looking, her hand slipping into his and squeezing it for strength and stability.

This was it. She would be a better person. Starting…

”You owe me a fucking drummer, Tyler!”

…now? Vicky turned her head and discovered that she was only standing in the presence of the Almighty Douchebag. Oh, goddamnit! The last thing this little bitch needed was to further have his ego boosted by comparing him to the big JC. How did Vicky get over here? Why was Lexi screaming at him about something so stupid when there was a fucking monster killing people? Most importantly, why was Vicky still HOLDING HIS GROSS ASS HAND, EW! Tyler was totally the kind of psycho who didn’t wash his hands after taking a piss, proudly subjugating the entire world to deal with his jock juice.

And yet, even with that horrifying thought rattling around inside of her skull, she tightened her grasp on his hand, fake nails anchoring into his palm to counteract her hand slipping free due to Chef’s still warm blood that covered her from head to toe.

As Lexi began to cut a warpath across the warehouse, another war ended as soon as it had begun right over her shoulder. Vicky stared in awe as the dark knight struck what should’ve been a killing blow to the monster, only for the thing to ripple and tear and reconstruct. It was eerily reminiscent of that time where Vicky had been lab partnered with that Jared freak to dissect a fetal pig and she had been held hostage as he turned their project into a Cronenbergian horrorshow. The shifting monstrosity, using the knight’s own weapon as leverage, threw its opponent so hard that it crashed through the wall, its departure as abrupt and sudden as its arrival.

More importantly, it had created a new exit. A temporary one, judging by the ear piercing screech of twisting metal hanging above the hole like the blade of an executioner, impatiently waiting to forever seal their fate.

“Fuck her, let’s go,” begged Vicky, draping Chef’s jacket over her arm so that she didn’t trip again.

Vicky grabbed Tyler’s arm, pulling at him to draw his attention away from Lexi and towards their salvation. She leaned on him, her steps unsteady, her grip tightening on Tyler, as much for support as it was for possessiveness. It was by sheer happenstance that, by turning towards the hole in the wall, it would mean that Tyler was blocking Vicky from the monster. Yet briefly, as Vicky leaned around Tyler’s frame to steal a glance at Lexi, her expression shifted from one of terror to something almost terrifying as she hit Lexi with a vicious sneer. The sneer said, “if anyone’s going to use this big, stupid asshole as a meatshield, it’s going to be me!”

Then it was gone, the fear returning to Vicky’s eyes as the ground shook, her mouth slackening as she saw the monster split open, reassemble, and shift its attention towards Lexi. If Vicky had to rank the people she hated in Cornell, and that list was long, Lexi would be vying with that stupid fuckface Danny Graham for the number one spot. No, actually, she would take number one, because at least with Danny Graham he actually had a reason to be a jerk to Vicky, even if it wasn’t her fault, but Lexi, Lexi, Lexi had no reason to act like such a bitch and yet she still did and it drove Vicky absolutely insane! There was nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing more in the world Vicky would love to do than watch Lexi eat shit and die. She deserved it. She totally deserved it!

And so, with vile contempt and the kind of self-loathing that would take years to reconcile with, it pained Vicky greatly as she screamed at Lexi, “IT’S BEHIND YOU, YOU DUMB BITCH! LOOK OUT!”

[FernStone]

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Interactions: Kari @Evil Ghost Note, Nora & Lynn @NoriWasHere
Warehouse

---

For a moment, Ella stopped breathing.

The force with which she hit the wall completely knocked the air out of her lungs. Without a sound, she crumpled onto the floor. Her breathing came back in short, shallow gasps. Her vision went black for a moment as agony gripped her. Was this what dying felt like? It hurt so much. Everything hurt so much… This was so much worse than the time she fell down the stairs and broke her arm. Her head throbbed, ringing in her ears muffling all the external sounds. They were distant, but still there… She could hear Kari asking if she was okay.

But why could she hear Kari? Was Kari dead too? No, no, this pain was proof she wasn’t dead.

She was alive. How was she alive? It was a miracle! Magical girl miracle!

"I- I’m okay." Ella wheezed out, sounding absolutely not okay. She sounded and looked exactly like someone who’d been thrown into a wall. As she lifted her head to look at her friend, blood dripped down her forehead in a sluggish river. Her arms trembled with exertion as she managed to push herself up, leaning in the direction Nora pulled her and slumping against the wall. It was better than being prone. "Ican’earyou, Kari."

Her words slurred together, her mouth feeling like it was full of toffee. But she was quickly coming back to things, managing to think through the pain to figure out just how bad it was. It felt like someone had driven a knife in between her ribs, intense pain radiating out from her side. Probably a broken rib. Or three. She bent her legs and arms, twisting her hands with a grimace. Everything hurt, but she could move everything too. So nothing else was broken… She could probably walk with help. Thank Sailor Moon. It was a miracle she wasn’t in much shape. Was it because of her magic? Was her feeling stronger not just a feeling but reality?

She was obviously strong enough to survive being thrown into a wall by a monster like a ragdoll.

"Don’t be scared, I’ll protect you. I’m alive, Nora." She said, voice much clearer now. She reached out to pat Nora’s hand on her arm, though there was no strength in that gesture. She’d heard everything, even if it was all slightly fuzzy through the pain. Her head tilted so that she could squint up at the newcomer.

She was suggesting they all hit it. Normally, Ella would jump on something like that. Just moments ago she’d been ready to beat the thing up herself. She told herself she wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t let it hurt her friends, but- but- she wasn’t strong enough to stop it. And if she wasn’t strong enough, who was? Nora, Kari? No.

Sometimes Sailor Moon lost. But her friends never got hurt badly when it happened.

"We- Can’t." Ella coughed, looking away from Lynn. She felt ashamed to say that. She should be the positive one, the brave one. She was! But she’d also felt that thing’s strength when it threw her against a wall like it was nothing. She could barely move. She didn’t want to die! She wasn’t overconfident anymore.

She was scared too, even if she tried not to show it.

Her eyes, pupils unevenly dilated, moved back to Kari. It was hard for her to think through it all, like her mind was covered in fog. So naturally she looked towards the person she should’ve listened to in the first place. "What do we do, Kari? Oh, I can smash another window to get through… Just gimme a minute… We should do something. I’m okay, so I can do something."

She waved the hand that wasn’t covering Nora’s as if that’d miraculously help her get up off the ground. The more she talked, the more obvious it was that she’d hit her head- if the blood on her face wasn’t already obvious enough. Her gaze drifted towards nothing, eyes unfocused as she repeated her question. The pain was getting worse. Shouldn’t it get better?

"But what can we do? Kari?"

[NoriWasHere]

---

Current day
Interactions: Tommy, Vicky, Ella
Outfit: Normal

---

In a moment, it was over. In a moment, Corey went from a scared and confused kid to nothing. Every hope, dream, and plan that he had was now gone. And it was all Tyler’s fault. He was surprised by how little he felt in regard to it. It was an honest mistake. He did not mean to swap Vicky with a still living person, and he was certain that anyone would have made a mistake given the circumstances. There was a big fucking monster, magic was real, he wasn’t given an instruction manual on how to handle the fucking weird as fuck situation he was now in. Tyler took a deep breath. His face remained chiseled, stoic, perfect, handsome, inspiring, and most importantly of all cut, yet his eyes were just a hair wider than they normally would be, even during the most stressful of games. Tyler pushed down the thoughts of his newfound murderer status and simply stood his ground. Staring at the red that painted the wall. Wondering who was going to tell Corey’s folk what really happened?

Tyler suddenly felt a hand enter his and squeeze. Tyler blinked, and his eyes finally left the bloodied wall and searched for who had made the mistake of trying to comfort him when he clearly did not need it. Vicky’s blood-soaked frame was the culprit. All of a sudden, the complicated world around him made sense. There was no monster, no magic, and none of the kids were dead. This was all one giant fucking prank that Vicki was pulling at his expense. She had obviously bullied everyone to fall in line for this, spiked his drink, and was about to reveal that this was all her doing.

”You owe me a fucking drummer, Tyler!”

“Oh shut your fucking mouth you paid fucki-”

Vicky squeezed his hand tighter, her nails digging into his skin in a not pleasant, but not entirely unpleasant manner. Wait. Were the rumors true? Did she actually like him? And by saving her life, was she revealing that disgusting truth to him? This would be a terrible time for something like a meet-cute, and Tyler knew as much. Thus, was she angling for a meet ugly instead? Neither trope lined up to his expectation of when a trope like that would be used, and he knew that some idiot like Vicky would know that. She seemed like the kind of girl who would pretend to be this evil bitch in real life, only to go home and lie under the covers reading Yuri fanfiction of some terrible show. She would know that right now, of all times, especially if this was not a joke and the monster was indeed real, it was a terrible time to not think this through. Therefore, he knew that this couldn't be a casual admittance of what she felt. Tyler knew this because she lacked the capacity to feel anything at all. So this wasn’t anything romantic, and there must be a perfectly logical explanation for why she looked at him and squeezed his hand tighter. A second later, it dawned on him. She truly was into him. The stress had finally knocked some sense into her thick skull about how awesome he was. Joke's on her, though; she was totally not his type, and he was totally not into his childhood rival.

“Fuck her, let’s go.”

Let’s go? Let’s go? Was she really asking him out at a time like this? Tyler looked back towards Lexi and tried to offer a meek ‘sorry bout your drummer’ before it returned to Vicky. The nerve. It was astonishing how much nerve she carried around daily, but this took the cake. Even as she draped her possibly dead boyfriend's letterman jacket over her arm, Tyler wanted to give her a piece of his mind. How dare she set up this cruel and unusual prank? How dare she make him think that he murdered a kid? How dare she grab his hand to embarrass him in front of the team? Tyler turned back towards Lexi, ready to ask if she was in on the joke too, when suddenly he felt a gentle tug on his arm. He turned back and, once again, it was Vicky pulling him from the danger. She tugged at his arm with a gentle pull. Far too gentle for how she normally treated him. Tyler did not like this. Tyler did not like not knowing what was going through his rival's head.

Thanks to his superior sense of where every object was in the nearby area, he became acutely aware that he was now in the middle of the monster and Vicky. Finally, it made sense. All of this wasn’t a joke; it was a distraction. Vicky used what little feminine energy she had to summon a little charm to distract Tyler from the fact that she was now using him as a meatshield. There it was, his rival returning to form! Sure, she lost her boyfriend in an incredibly awful manner, and she also nearly died at the hands of a monster, and also experienced the incredibly traumatic murder of all the other students, but that did not stop the heartless, wicked witch of Cornell from trying to one-up him. Of course, she would realize that the only way she could be better than him was if he were dead. He could practically see the fucking glee she felt as this played out.

And then the ground shook again, and all that possible bravado disappeared, and suddenly Vicky looked like every other scared teenage girl going through a traumatic moment in life. And all of a sudden, all the rage that Tyler had in his heart for this girl faltered for just a moment, and all he wanted to do was tell her everything was going to be okay.

“IT’S BEHIND YOU, YOU DUMB BITCH! LOOK OUT!”

And if Vicky, Vicky fucking Prescott, the queen bitch of Cornell, could look out for someone so obviously beneath them, then the hero of the school could step up and play the part.

"But what can we do? Kari?"

Tyler, letting Vicky still hold onto his one arm, reached down and grabbed a piece of concrete that had broken free thanks to whatever the monster threw away. He turned, squared his shoulders to the monster, and readied his strongest throw. With one quick, decisive moment, he wound it up and let it rip. And as it flew through the air, Tyler selected the concrete chunk and swapped it with one of the big speakers that was still upright, causing the speaker to slam into the beast's leg.

“We can fucking RUN.” Tyler turned towards the gap in the wall and escaped from the madness. Tyler knew he had to survive this night, because he had just gained so much ammunition to use against Vicky for the rest of their life.

[Blizz]

Current day
Interactions:

---

Magic was real.

All Tommy’s life, he was fascinated by the idea of magic. He was no theatre kid by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a thrill in sparking a glimmer of light into the eyes of someone who had yet to smile that day. There was something fulfilling in putting on the act, wearing the mask and showing off to wow someone. The enigma, the intrigue, the inherent force of personality… It spoke to Tommy on a level that made living in Cornell tolerable. Not easy, but tolerable.

But it wasn’t really magic. One called themselves a magician because of the performance. It was all sleight of hand, stage presence and misdirection, all to give the illusion of something baffling. Half of the tricks Tommy knew came down to turning his hand a certain way so his fingers hid the card, or just depositing one somewhere so he wasn’t even holding one. The notion of “magic” was just the kayfab of it all.

And so, running through the woods, it dawned on him he was both a stage magician and a fucking sorcerer. A wizard. A goddamn Adept.

The sound of his footfalls slowly won out over the screams of the party, and the cool night air over the morass of bodies and alcohol. Tommy’s breath came in ragged fits and starts, while golden smoke fumed off his hands and from his mouth as though he were burning up from the inside out. The power of Gold Lux was coursing through his body, carving out something raw and unexplainable in its path. He didn’t have time to think about what it was doing to him, he didn’t even know what it was. Tommy ran for the woods, away from his car. Away from the warehouse. Away from people.

Did anyone else experience this? Was Kari in there seeing ghostly old men and women with snakes? Did Tyler get something stuck inside him that felt like it was paying footsies with his soul? It swelled inside him in a way that would feel euphoric if it weren’t for the circumstances of fucking everything.

Who the fuck were those people? Who did-

Tommy’s foot snagged on a bush.

He tripped and tumbled, the ground gave way beneath him and he rolled feet over head, down the side of a hill. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could have sworn he banged his face against a rock. His foot hit the ground at an odd angle, and Tommy hissed. He ate the ground, and came to a stop.

It was impossible to hear anything over the sound of his heart beating in his own chest. His head swiveled around, looking for anything visible. But there was only the moon, the faint stars, and the golden magic roiling off of him.

He’d never breathed so fast in his life. He wasn’t safe here. He was hidden, secluded for a while, but he wasn’t safe.

Tommy clutched a hand to his chest and felt his deck. Something seemed different about it. Tommy unzipped his jacket and reached for it.

The small box the cards were in felt… Different. They felt more natural to him, more right. That old man had said to reach for them.

Blood dripped down his hand and onto a card that sprung up on its own. The six of hearts. The golden smoke around him started to coalesce and fall inwards on the deck. The cards were eating the magic. Or perhaps it was his magic?

The burning in his chest was weakening.

Something clicked for him.

”…I need you for magic. This one too, don’t I?”

He touched his fingertips to the bloodied card.

”That woman with the snake, she was like some kind of witch, or wizard. That must’ve been her damn familiar or something. Okay… If I’m like that too…”

Tommy pulled the card free and held it up. The golden glow shimmered around it, and he imagined something coming out of it. His blood burned away in the gleam like flash paper. Could he make something do his bidding? Help him out in this situation?

”If I can do that… Give me something that hurts.”

Sharp blades. Something fast. If he was followed, he’d want protection.

He willed the power into a shape. The wings of a bird, red-streaked blades where feathers met the air. A great flying menace. Its body formed in the air, and for a moment, Tommy felt weak. Something tugged on his insides, and then it flew threw the air. A streak of golden light, accented in neon red, swooping in circles around him.

It nearly made Tommy jump out if his skin. It was a large bird with razor-sharp wings, and it landed in front of him. Its head and neck were crowned in needle-like feathers the color of the sun. Tommy reached out to touch it, and it felt familiar.

”…What in the good goddamn fuck are you?”

The bird just chittered at him.

”Okay. You’re mine. I- I made you. You wanna help me hide?”

The bird unfurled its wings and took to the sky again. Tommy crawled to his feet with a wince. ”If you see something that’s not a person… I don’t know, swipe at it! Kill it, cut it, don’t care! Just don’t let it near me!”

Tommy used the dim light of his glowing deck to reach for a tree limb. He hauled on it, and the bird came down to slice at it. It came clean off, and the bird went up again.

”Huh… Thanks. Okay, follow me?”

It circled overhead. It was easy to spot. Maybe it would screech if something happened?

Tommy used his stick to keep the weight off his foot. It felt like he twisted it. He started forward, and kept walking. This time much more quietly.

”If I can make that… What else can I do now?”

[FernStone]

---

Interactions: The Monster @Evil Ghost Note
Warehouse

---

At the sight of Vicky clinging to Tyler like the selfish, shield hogging bitch that she was- all done with a smug little sneer- Lexi only got more single minded in her goal of reaching the largest asshole in the room. So single minded that she didn’t notice the monster had changed its target to her. While the drugs hadn’t hampered her alertness, they’d certainly messed with her ability to concentrate on what was important in a dangerous situation.

“IT’S BEHIND YOU, YOU DUMB BITCH! LOOK OUT!”

In a rare show of trust, Lexi spun around, catching sight of the changing, moving creature. It was coming for her. It didn’t even look like it had the moment she turned her back on her- and she didn’t have the mind to think about that right now.

She didn’t panic, though she probably should have. In that moment the only emotion she felt was anticipation and nothing else. Because really, wouldn’t this be a good way to die? Much fucking better than dying in her fifties from smoking her lungs to death while still stuck in shithole Cornell. Dying to some shifting, torso splitting monster was much more fun.

Not that she planned to die.

Would she be able to turn around and outrun it? Probably not. Maybe it was like a bear, and wouldn’t attack her if she backed away slowly. No fucking way was that the case. The more she looked at the monster, the more she felt- ”It's really fucking ugly.”

Her lips pulled up into a sneer. At the same time as feeling disdain for the creature hunting her, she internally cursed her ancestors. It felt like they’d mocked her with their parting words. Try not to die- then fucking tell her how to use the magic she supposedly had! Fuck! If they weren’t already dead, she would’ve beaten them to death herself.

She settled for backing away as fast as she could without tripping, keeping her eyes on the monster at all times. Tense, coiled energy filled her small frame, waiting for any movement in the hopes she could get out of the way in time. Or an opportunity to actually get away…

And the opportunity came in the form of a piece of concrete that suddenly became a large speaker. She immediately reacted, darting to the side that had been hit while backing away. Finally, the tension overflowed, something snapping that pushed through

All the magical energy that had been itching underneath her skin came out in one unpracticed telekinetic burst. Debris around her was flung into the air in all directions. It was a shame it wasn’t strong enough to fling people or the massive monster itself, but it was better than nothing. The second blast was more targeted, flinging all the objects in front of her towards the monster.

At the same time she was able to use the momentum to back away, bringing herself closer to the newly made exit, the injured people on the floor, and the beefy asshole meatshield who’d fled before doing his job and blocking a single hit.

[Drag]

---

Interactions: The Party Gang
Warehouse

---

Debris and dust rained upon Valor on impact before settling into a light snowfall, marring the black of Valor’s body with sandy streaks of grey. It had been administering the sentence not moments ago, only for the beast to absorb the punishment in the most literal sense - reshaping its body like clay and using itself as a living fulcrum to turn Valor’s spear into a springboard as it launched the crusader away.

Crashing with a sound loud enough to blanket even the opera of screams, shouts and destruction in the warehouse, Valor - perhaps due to its newly acquired mortal vessel - couldn’t help but note that a normal human’s insides would almost certainly be reduced to paste from the speed velocity of such a collision.

A fist burst through the sheets of corrugated, rusted metal that had piled atop Valor. It, thankfully, was far from mortal. Merely inconvenienced by the destruction and ready for round two.

“RESISTANCE OF SENTENCE.” Valor dryly noted, its eyes flashing for a moment as if tallying up an internal list of violations.

Stomping out of its crater, the justice-driven knight did measure the beast with fresh eyes. Administering the sentence would not be quite as cut-and-dry as it had assumed. This understanding was not brought about by fear, that was an emotion solely for the guilty. It was done with pragmatism, the sooner this beast was felled the sooner judgement of the others could commence.

Speaking of…

“-If we get everyone, and I mean everyone, to hit that thing at the same time, and hard, we can slow it down while it adapts to the different attacks.”

"But what can we do? Kari?"

Valor considered the whimpering debate. Overtaxing the creature’s shifting biology may work, yes. Better still, it was an option that did not involve this beast escaping proper punishment. A dour looking girl with black hair had the right idea, using some unseen force to hurl nearby objects at the beast. Ineffective and overly-emotional though these children may be, they may make themselves of some minor use. Albeit, with some encouragement.

”FEAR AND MERCY HAVE MADE YOU WEAK,” Valor stated, not even deigning to look down at Kari, Ella, Lynn and Nora as it spoke. Instead, its “eyes” never left its quarry and its arms extended outward again.

”STEEL YOUR MINDS AND HEARTS. LEST THE DISEASE CONSUME YOU.” It added, cold and critical yet intended as some kind of encouragement.

Then, as if in emphasis, a fiery axe materialized in one hand and a flaming sword appeared in the other. Valor theorised that, if the creature’s form-shifting healing could be tired out, giving it multiple injuries of varying depth and intensity would further tax it.

Booming footsteps once more echoed through the warehouse as the knight did not await its allies of convenience to find their courage. There was justice to mete out.