Lugubrious

World of Light

Merry Christmas, everyone! It's been a full week since my last update. Since it's the most wonderful (and for many most busy) time of the year, I won't be enacting Prompt Failure for a while longer, even if your character was in direct danger this last round. Still, please do not neglect your posting!

World of Light

Tora's Christmas Dream: "Heart to Heart"

“Cheers!”

A great many voices swelled at once, and a host of cups thrust into the air. Every face held weariness, scarred on the inside and out from the months-long campaign, but today they held joy, too. Enough days had passed since the end to let the numbness fade away and the scars scab over, and now the veterans had gathered to celebrate. They'd come from their chosen homes all over the World of Light, from the cities, villages, remote reaches, and pitstops alike, to this gorgeous terrace atop Lominscuttle Town overlooking the western sea.

Tora drank deep from his glass, emptying the whole thing in one long gulp, his eyes closed to savor the sweet taste. “Aah!” With a smack of his lips he set the cup down, the impact reverberating through the giant ring-shaped table so that everyone else could feel it. Their motions reached him too, thanks to the table's design. It was a reminder that everyone was linked, close together in ways despite how far apart they might seem. Even someone on the opposite side could feel what Tora was doing, and he could feel them. Of all the things he'd designed, it stood out as a particular point of pride to Tora, though of course he treasured a few things more.

Beaming, he looked around. He saw quite the assembly. Several dozen faces, some new and some old. A few from the very beginning, but just as the Master of Masters promised so long ago, none exactly the same as back then. Even with all of her acquired parts uninstalled, Blazermate looked totally different from how he remembered her. Like a next-generation model of a device, versus one that had been in production a few years. Plus, ever since she embraced becoming technoorganic, she'd been alive, too. A big change, one that took a long time to settle in. Tora saw Junior living it up as well, enjoying a meaty feast. Well, he wasn't so junior anymore. With all the spirits he'd taken in, one couldn't say he was the spitting image of his father, but he carried the torch proudly. As Tora looked at the others in turn, he tugged at his whiskers absently. A full two months, and he still hadn't gotten used to the facial hair gained from absorbing both doctors Wily and Light. Or the nose, for that matter, but he tried his best to forget about that. At least Light had helped him maintain his roundness, which Tora was grateful for. All this time, and he was still a Nopon. Still himself.

His eyes fell upon a familiar shape, one that filled his heart with pride and joy every time he saw it. The one and only Poppi, his greatest creation. He remembered with a twinge of embarrassment the first time she accessed her third form—everyone's judgmental stares. But they learned to live with it soon enough, especially with how rarely she ever changed back nowadays, pretty much only for practical purposes. Tora could not deny the metaphor presented by those changes: that she was growing up. While still his Blade, now and forever, she had become her own person through and through. Those days of self-doubt and worries about real or fake were long gone. Sitting there, joking with Daxter with a smile on her face, she displayed a gratifying, confident self-assurance. For his part, Tora couldn't be happier.

A moment later he found himself looking at the sunset. A gorgeous orange against the horizon, it tinged the entire World of Light in yellow and gold. For a while the sunset instilled in him a touch of fear; not only did it remind him of that splendorous nightmare in the Ancestral Farmstead, but it also carried with it a measure of uncertainty. What would the night bring? And the next morning? But here they all were. Alive and well, changed but not undone, able to unconditionally appreciate the beauty of a vivid sun shining upon the endless sea. The sun's glow created a road of glittering white straight below it across the water, a path to the horizon. Tora gave a long sigh, glad for peace and happiness at last.

“Father?”

Tora turned, unaware of how long he'd been staring down at the flawless coast. Poppi stood beside his chair, hands clasped behind her back and that same smile on her face. It still sounded a little strange after all this time, but every time she said that word, his heart became full. There remained no doubt in his mind, no words like 'artificial' and 'unreal'. Like a father he had once created her, his beautiful girl, and here she stood—all grown up, far beyond the point of doubt. Beside her, there stood another familiar face, this one looking a little sheepish. Another machine that appeared human, with spiky brown hair and adventurous eyes above a genial smile. “Meh?” Tora said.

“I wanted you to say hi to Volnutt. You remember him, right?” Poppi put an arm around her companion, pulling the slightly-shorter fellow close. That provoked a very slight furrow of Tora's bushy brows, though he knew it wasn't the first time, since he did remember. Mega Man Volnutt, one of the many 'Mega Men' encountered during the long journey. A nice guy, earnest and spirited, he joined the team in the Ruined Metropolis and soon proved that the heart of a hero resided in that metal body. From the moment he and Poppi met, they'd been fast friends. Something else prodded at Tora's mind, like a snippet of the first half of a conversation, left in stasis some time ago.

Poppi broke into his reverie. “Could we talk in private?”

---

A few minutes later, the Nopon, the Blade, and the reploid stood by the water's edge, a story down from where the revelry on the terrace continued. A few feet away, the lapping waves separated land from a sea that stretched on forever, but Poppi wasn't looking at the beauty of the western coast. Instead Poppi looked conflicted, like she wanted to say something but couldn't. Only after a time did finally she start to speak. “I asked you something a while back, and you said we'd talk when the war was over.”

Tora nodded slowly. That sounded right.

“So here we are.” Poppi chose her words carefully. “I want...I want to spend my life with Volnutt. To be with him. To travel the World, to adventure, to see everything there is to see...together. I...we wanted to get your blessing.”

Tora held his breath steady. In, out. In, out. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them. They gleamed like metal, steely black and implacable. “Tora cannot give blessing, meh. Cannot give Poppi up. Poppi too important to Tora!”

Wringing her hands, Poppi shook her head. Her cascading lavender hair flicked from side to side. The look on her face suggested that Tora's response was not unexpected, but it did not suggest compliance. “Father, please,” she pleaded. “I know you love me, and I love you too, but I'm not yours to keep. Volnutt is important to me, too. It's time that I walked my own path.”

Tears had formed in her eyes. Tora's, too. He meant to be stern and firm, but here he was, weeping, betraying himself. Somehow he knew his grip couldn't hold. “Poppi, no!” Rubbing his eyes with the back of a wing, he burbled, “Meh, meh, meh! Since creation Poppi has been whole life for Tora. Before, just shut-in loser who fiddle with machines. Poppi let Tora become hero. Poppi gave Tora a family. If Poppi go, Tora will be all alone!”

Poppi shook her head again, then affixed him with her amber gaze. “Father, look around. Look at all your friends. How could you be alone? Your days of being alone are gone. They've been gone forever. You're a hero without me. Just take a moment and think about everything you did! I helped you get where you are, but you don't need me anymore. You're more than Poppi's driver. And I am more than Tora's Blade.” Her creator fidgeted, trying to find the right words to describe what his heart was feeling, but Poppi stepped forward and knelt. She had to get on one knees to be level with Tora, who she now stood so far above. Her arms circled him in a great big hug and squeezed tight. “It's not like I'm disappearing,” she murmured. “We can still see each other. Get together, work together, laugh and cry together.” Tears flowed freely from both pairs of eyes now. “We might not see each other for a while, but we're still connected. Father and daughter. Driver and Blade. No matter how far apart we are.”

Tora remained silent. He was thinking about tables. About feelings that reached reached across great distances.

“Do you understand?”

The Nopon frowned and tugged himself free. Poppi watched him, still kneeling. A long moment passed, with only the murmur of friends and the soft sound of waves breaking on the shore to fill the silence. Then Tora reached a wing forward to wipe away her tears. First one wing, then the other. “Tora understand,” he said, his tone heavy and low. “It been good, long time. But now is time for Poppi to find own way. Live own life. Guess Tora knew all along, even back then maybe, but didn't want accept.” With the other wing he beckoned to Volnutt, who came over and knelt beside them. Tora took him by the hand.

“Young man, Tora is giving Poppi to you. Poppi is most precious thing in world to Tora. You take good care of her.”

Volnutt smiled and nodded his head in determined affirmation. “I will.”

He and Poppi stood. With a squeal of delight, Poppi embraced him, and the two stood like that for a long moment. Then another long moment. Tora didn't see any sign indicating it would stop, so he turned away, sniffing quietly. For a time it had felt as though a piece of him were being carved up, taken away, leaving a gaping hole behind. But the piece he thought he'd lose was still there. It would always be, no matter how far apart from the rest of him. A bond connected it to him that would stretch any distance.

Tora's stomach rumbled, and he started to waddle away, back to the terrace to find friends and food waiting for him. Dimly he sensed that some of them at least had been watching him. So much for a private moment. But he was happy, for himself and for Poppi. As he left, he didn't look back to see the two machines locked in each others' arms. He felt that he didn't need to. Whenever he needed to look, he knew, she would be there. No matter how far.

(1828)

Overlord: Momento Mori

Before long Graft and Salem met with their Sable Lord, and they got down to business straightaway. His niceties about being busy did not fall on deaf ears; Graft thought of the news given to him by his assistant, which riddled him with curiosity. The wishes of Rodias, of course, remained the number one priority, and the industrialist gave his master his full attention.

Tea arrived, as if on cue, and Graft took a cup almost too quickly. He downed the whole thing in a few seconds, heedless of temperature thanks to the overpowering thirst he only just now remembered having, but did not miss a word Rodias had to say. Just as expected, he would be cooperating with Salem, although the plan outlined afterward made Graft think that 'cooperate' was too generous a term. In order to gather intelligence on the Chateau's surroundings, he would be manufacturing a number of bodies for Salem to use for surveillance, especially populated areas. The nature of the arrangement, in which Graft would be making equipment that Salem would then be using, was the source of his verbal discontent. In no sense were they really working together. If Graft was offered a partnership, he expected full integration and utilization of both parties in the entire process. Of course, maybe he thought about terminology a bit too much, but when cutting a deal the terms were all-important.

With that preliminary problem shelved, the practical ones rose to the forefront of his mind. Rodias seemed to know it too. Before automata and replica vermin could be made, Graft needed to get an idea of what the fauna of this world looked like. To assume it identical to that of the last world would be the height of impetuousness. He intended to make no foolish mistakes. But to find out the fauna, those concerned in the Chateau would need to go out and look. Before him lay a circular dilemma, and he doubted that the noble ladies Ashara and Kath would be scouring the refuse heaps and filthy back alleys to observe this world's vermin.

Rodias went on to suggest birds instead, with such a theatrical show of thinking that Graft half-guessed the amended plan had been premeditated. It was a good change, since birds would be more mobile and easier for scouts to observe themselves, but they still needed to be cataloged before the machines could rumble to life. His stated reasoning for changing his mind, however, seemed faulty, and it formed the other half of Graft's guess. What did Salem care about encountering less-than-pleasant substances through a distant proxy? Aside from being inorganic, with nothing to worry about in terms of contamination, he would be experiencing it all with just one sense: sight. No revolting smell, no disgusting texture. And kids loved getting filthy, anyway. Graft felt sure of that, since Brushen Penn hated kids, and whatever she hated must be despicable.

As Rodias left, Graft tapped his foot, thinking. “Looks like we might be at an impasse,” he told Salem. “Until we know what this world's creatures look like, I can't start making fakes for you to put eyes in.” With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he gave his mustache a sophisticated stroking. “Of course, Lord Rodias must know this. And that we must know what to infiltrate before we can infiltrate it. Therefore the delay in production is understandable, and until we have the data, we can attend other matters.” Speaking as though it were a done deal, Graft waltzed into the elevator. Once in, he spun about and looked at Salem. “How'd you like a special tour of the Factory, young...one?” He grinned, more on one side of his mouth than the other, his eyes partially shut. “You can take a look at my R&D process. Maybe test out my latest amalgam. It'll be fun. Oh, but hurry. This special offer expires in three, two, one...”

Whether or not Salem joined him in the elevator, the door slid shut, and the box slid down, down, down.

---

A wave of distinctive air hit Graft as he emerged into a Factory hall on the lower level. Dingy, ribbed, and dimly lit, it held a vast quantity of air that boasted not just an unforgettable smell, but an unforgettable feel. Like it was crawling all over you. “Ahh, yes.” He sighed. “That warm, clingy vapor, that...oh, full-bodied odor. Like an entire complex full of exhaled breath. You never realize how much you'll miss it 'til it's gone.” He released a sound, as might someone shown something very interesting and important. “Hm...I really must can it and start shipping it around.”

Two paths lay before him. One went to his office, which contained the inventory node that he used to do his prototyping. The other led to the Factory's very own testing room, where that wyvern from earlier still paced restlessly. Graft didn't know where to begin. “Hmm...which one, which one. Get to work on something new, or visit something old.” He remembered the special matter mentioned by Papillary. “Or, I could get that out of the way...”

A Direct Line to Papillary manifested. Graft slid it close to his head, the floating magic rune bridging the short distance between his ear and mouth. “Papillary? Where are you now?”

“Production,” the hearty female voice responded immediately. “At the door.” Graft stared into the testing room. On the opposite side of that large, circular chamber lay. At its end, the core with its invaluable artifact. Behind that, the forbidden door. Penn's private chamber. That Graft considered investigating it at all spoke to his reliance on Rodias' assurance that he and he alone constituted the Board, with the other Bandersnatch Lords indefinitely absent. “Are you coming?” the voice asked.

Graft nodded to nobody. “I am.” He banished the Line, seized his cane, and set off toward Production.

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Artemisia

Alymere Fort Exterior

Following her incantation, Einer moved forward to capitalize on Artemisia's provided opportunity. Before fully committing, however, he cast a glance back at her to offer a compliment. The dark mage permitted herself a smug smirk. “Of course. My magic is remarkably potent.” Then he was off, into the breach and striking out at the foes within, kicking and thrusting like he was being paid for it. Of course, she couldn't let him keep all the fun for himself, but she needed a moment to recover before casting again. Alnard himself arrived to sustain the attack, following Einar through the broken wall. Together they continued the attack, and when Hadrick appeared alongside Artemisia, they moved in one after another. Inside, the dust and dark particles had just about cleared, leaving just friend and foe to sort out their differences. Unfortunately for them, the brigands seemed outnumbered. Artemisia pondered her team's good fortune, wondering if the squatters lacked the manpower to repel the attack, or if the blasting strategy was just that good. Either way, while Alnard engaged the brigand, she could scoot freely to the side and ready another Flux. Smaller and more compact, she held it aloft and waited for a chance. If Alnard possessed even the slightest situational awareness, he'd disengage with a parting blow and give her the chance to sneak in a Flux that'd make his job that much easier. Maybe it would even kill the guy, after that fireball. Her plan went awry as the dynamic shifted. A full-bodied blow from the man fighting Einar brought him out of close quarters, and the swordsman went after Artemisia and Alnard's target instead. That left the other vagabond to deal with herself and Hadrick, but the dark mage hadn't counted on someone challenging her directly and was out of position. Undefended, she made for a tempting target, and she knew it. With a yell Artemisia flung her Flux at the free bandit, but her aim was high and her shot easily avoidable. She turned the movement of her arm into a sideways swing, pivoting to dart behind Hadrick for protection, but in her panicked state she harbored no idea whether or not she'd make it in time.

__________________________ Status: Alive but starting to fatigue Class: Occultist Inv: Vulnerary, Book of Secrets

World of Light

Ancestral Farmstead

Level 5 Tora - (35/50) EXP and Level 4 Poppi - (33/40) EXP
Tora Stress: 95/100 and Poppi Stress: 35/100
Location: the Land of Adventure
Word Count: 682

The Thing had fallen, but the battle continued. More enemies emerged from the Farmstead surrounding the hilltop battlefield, not in droves but in a steady trickle, and with how tough the husks were it made for daunting opposition. With Tora down and Poppi by his side, and the others forced back together, the situation looked grim. The color-infested things lurched over the bleached soil and grass, farm tools and tainted seed in hand, to finish what they started. Their foremen and scarecrows were turning the tide, striking from afar with biting lash and repugnant wails to tear down body and mind alike.

Behind the defenders, the others attempted to rally. Since landing her last attack, Hat Kid had been frozen stiff, her big eyes paralyzed by a color altogether too much for a young mind. Mimikyu and Kamek attended to Bowser Junior, but the light had left the young koopa's eyes. His limbs and eyelids were heavy, sore from bearing the weight of crushing despair, telling him to lie down and accept the futility of the battle.

Linkle took in the grim scene and chose to act. Overflowing with righteous anger, she took off like a top, spinning wildly as she unleashed a torrential fusillade of arrows. The night lit up with an awesome tornado of fireworks. Tora squeezed his eyes shut, and Poppi threw herself over him, protecting him with her body. Flame, force, and gunpowder filled the air, but miraculously her allies were totally unharmed. It was as if the breathtaking fury chose to ignore them. When Poppi looked up, eyes wide and wondering, she saw the fading smoke leave behind dust, ash, and crystal shards. Even the explosive aberrations had been vanquished by the onslaught.

But not all their foes. A quick headcount, initiated by the portion of Poppi's mind still calm and logical despite the bloodcurdling chaos, came up with nine farmhands, three foremen, and two scarecrows still standing. They were already under attack, with Michael evaporating one foreman and Franklin peppering a scarecrow with practically useless bullets, but there they were.

And one scarecrow was about to scream.

Tora couldn't take it. Poppi didn't know how she knew, but she did. No sensor or analytic routine told her, but she could still feel it. Her master was doing a two-part samba on the fine line between sanity and insanity, and he wasn't a very good dancer. Too round. One little tap could send him right over, and Poppi wouldn't let that happen.

Her heels burst into flame that scoured the earth, blasting her forward. In both hands a new Mech Arm materialized from her ether. Her eyes relayed the data to her mind, a deadly supercomputer, and it spat out exact numbers describing time and force. Poppi hit the scarecrow in just shy of a second with a right hook, her actuators at full tilt. Its head simply disappeared, becoming a spray of straw, cloth, and crystal. Instead of trying to stop the blow, Poppi let its massive force carry her around in a spin made wild by her still-firing boosters. At that point she needed only to extend her leg and catch a brief glimpse of the metal limb ripping the scarecrow's body into two raggedy pieces.

Stage one, complete. Stage two, begin. This wouldn't be as complicated. Still spinning, Poppi transformed into her Alpha form, shield in hand, and let it go at just the right moment. The massive centrifugal force sent the shield zipping like a massive, circular bullet at the second scarecrow, catching it square in the chest. It was carried backward a hundred yards before hitting an abandoned wagon and exploded into an indeterminable shower of debris, the wagon along with it.

Poppi eased off her boosters, falling to the ground. Her ether furnace, massively overclocked, struggled fitfully to remain operational. It must have been painful, as far as machines felt pain, but the artificial Blade dragged herself over to Tora. Once there she lay against his roundness, watching the fight. At this point, she trusted her friends to finish the fight.

Some were doing better than others. With only the will of others driving him on, Junior commanded his legion of minions to attack, but with their power already on the low end and their leader near-inert the koopa and goombas were slaughtered. They were simply out of their league against the husks, two different worlds of strength. Bowser took the fight to the enemy, a burly flamethrower on a rampage, and his own strikers lent their hammers to the cause.

Having put down one foreman Michael readied himself for another shot. As in every battle so far, he'd found himself a safe spot to set up shop and start hawking his wares in an opportunistic lightning sale—everything must go. But this time would be different. Above and behind the prone man, a gruesome shape moved like a dark cloud, unseen. If one tried to look at it straight-on, it disappeared, invisible and untargetable, but it could be seen in one's periphery, the corner of the eye: a plow horse. It snorted, pawing the ground, and raised a hoof to bring down atop his skull.

Not too far away from Michael's foxhole, the fight against the Brachydios continued. Things were getting messy. The heroes were spending their energy and taking hits, and enough husks remained to maintain the perilous divide in their focus. After burying three husks using his Donphan, Courier 6 mounted up to join his friends on the other side of the battlefield against the husks remaining there. Over by the Brachydios, however, four closed in on Geralt, the only ones that remained on this side other than a lone foreman. Euden couldn't break his gaze away from the blue-scaled beast to look at Geralt as he called, but he nodded and shouted in reply. “Right! Thanks!” Draconic power was building in him; he needed just a few more moments.

Unfortunately, the reality was that if he stood alone against the monster, even shapeshifted, he couldn't fell the beast. Midgardsormr possessed great strength, but it was fleeting, and not as overwhelming as might be hoped. Euden knew he could surprise the Brachydios and wrestle it to the ground, cut it up a bit with the dragon's claws, but just a few seconds later the window would close. Euden rolled out of the way of another punch, collecting himself to leap over the monster's now-stubbier tail sweep, and landed right in a puddle of goop. “Dang!” he said, a swear not at all appropriate to the gravity of the situation. The slime had already yellowed, and it would blow at any moment. He wanted to thrash around and wipe it off, but the monster would surely hit him. It had been some time since Ace Cadet grabbed the beast's focus, and since Geralt was on husk duty, that meant the prince had the monster's undivided attention.

The Brachydios stepped forward, couching an arm for a punch the size of Euden himself. Adrenaline punched, and time slowed down. One word flooded his mind: out. He needed to get out, no matter what. Aiming his blade downward, Euden slit the laces on his shoes. At the same time he dropped his shield to lie flat on the goo, and both sock-clad feet were on it before it hit slime. Then it exploded, launching Euden up into the sky, out of the way of the punch, the horn, and everything else. For a solitary moment, he was alone in the night.

On ground-level, one more husk was stirring. Way out of the reach of Linkle's bombardment, it was roused by the heavy concussions of feverish battle. It lofted into the air, glowing from within, and cracked open like an ancient egg to hatch a new cosmos.

The night sky evaporated, and was replaced by gold. Around the hilltop stretched an infinite expanse of glittering, gleaming golden light. Immaculate, awe-inspiring. Hearts skipped a beat; breaths caught in throats. The dazzling, gorgeous, beautiful yellow radiance cast the gray and brown of the remaining landscape in hues of dark purplish-red, perhaps maroon. Alien geometry floated and stretched through the boundless sky, islands and pillars and bridges, ornamentation for the opulent infinity.

The light has become Splendorous,
Enemies grow less resistant. Heroes' hearts swell with virtue, and stress-related skills gain potency.

Euden then fell, eyes full of wonder, and hit scales. Nearby, the Ace Cadet had a hold of the Brachydios' ridge, stabbing away with a knife. So that's where he went. Joining in, Euden started working the beast's upper body. Totally unreachable for the thing, he could build up the energy he needed quickly.

Nero

Location: Chief's Office, RCPD, Dead Zone

Nodding, Nero passed Joker a page. “Check this out. Probably stuff that doesn't matter anymore, given how things shifted around, but still interesting. The PD also owns and operates an orphanage, somewhere nearby. And this guy, the police chief. Brian Irons? He's been buddying it up with some guy from this Umbrella Corporation. I don't do business or anything, but that literally means 'cover up corporation', right?” He snickered and set it down. “Nothing on hungry ghosts though.”

A few more moments of searching turned up nothing. Nothing relevant, at least. The lack of findings drove Nero over to the other door, the one opposite the route taken by Blazermate and Louis. He tried the door. Locked, but not for a devil hunter. A little coaxing and the thing swung open, admitting the pair inside.

Inside, they found more stuffed animals and a wooden display case with all sorts of stuff, mostly leftover museum pieces. A number of plates stood prominently on it, and it held a drawerful each of long-disused cutlery (cheap, where one would be forgiven for expecting silver) and pristine candles. If the heroes had been putting on a lovely formal dinner it would have come in handy, but a brief search turned up precious little.

Nero shook his head. “Not right. There's got to be something we're missing. Secrets out there, so there have to be secrets in here. Right?” He looked around, giving a full second to each piece of furniture. He did not take a second glance at any of the taxidermy.

Louis

Location: Garage, RCPD, Dead Zone

Louis met the clawed zombie in a clash of sparks. It closed its fingers around the blade, jamming its hideous face against his own. A violently self-defeating act for anyone in the world of the living, but this undead seemed smart enough to use its body to its advantage. It commanded notable strength, too, but not enough that Louis couldn't hold it off with one hand. He held out his other to the side, and it started to change. Strips of leather wriggled across metal and flesh like worms, melding together in a giant, ghoulish mitt claws far bigger than the zombie's. Louis smiled. A drain attack took a long time to start, but once it got going, it would take a lot more than this zombie to stop it. It watched, deadpan, as he the ogre claw finished charging and swept into him like giant rake, tearing through cloth and mutated skin. In a mere moment the zombie was reduced to a pile of scraps, and Louis flicked the dangling forearms from his blade.

At that point he got the chance to watch, incredulous, while the weak zombies heeded Blazermate's command. They went for the giant, headless axeman all at once, alarming the imp. In a shrill voice it screamed for its protector to attack, and the monster swung at its former allies with mindless strength. Zombie parts splattered across the floor, yielding easily to the huge blade. It was no contest, but the skirmish bought Louis and Blazermate a chance to go to work.

The revenant cruised forward, like a dancer. He got in three punishing slices on the first trunked executioner before its overhead chop fell. Once again Louis morphed his arm, this time to block and parry, but when the axeblade made contact he found his efforts unnecessary. A stream of protected power, channeled from Blazermate, surrounded his body in a shining blue barrier that completely repelled the attack and sent the lost reeling. Louis looked down at himself briefly. “Oh. Well now...that'll be useful.” It extended to the medabot herself as well, which he saw as she flew forward to bash the executioner head-on. A tongue extended from her shield to embed itself messily in forsaken flesh, and while it struggled Louis readied his blade and cut into its legs. One, two, and the trunked beast was falling backward, its legs cut at the shins. An impressive display, but Louis had the tools at his disposal to do far better.

What followed could only be described as exquisite. He moved like a river, iridescent blue streaked with crimson. Louis made his way through the crowd in a hypnotizing series of slips, dashes, and blinks, each stroke cleaving through a zombie's dead hide whether it be ally or enemy. What he didn't put down, Blazermate cleaned up. The second trunked executioner swung horizontally at him, but he didn't even notice. He simply let it clang off him, then took an arm, the trunk, and the monster's left knee. On its other side, the axeman was winding up for a giant swing. Louis teleported to the other side of the executioner, spinning in the air to slice off its head before using its failing body as a springboard to leap up. Louis took the axe square in the chest, felt nothing, and clambered atop it to get another boost that carried him all the way up to where the panicking imp called the shots. Three cuts were made in the blink of an eye, and Louis fell to the ground with the imp scattered around him. He touched down, and the ubercharge faded away.

A noise to his right made him turn. He saw a bright light, then a blinding flash. And when he could see again, he could no longer move.

“Hahahahaha! Incredible!”

A few feet away, a dark-haired man in a blue suit with a red scarf wrapped around his neck like a tie stood facing Louis and Blazermate, frozen in time. In one hand he held a camera, and in the other an enormous, wicked-looking knife. He strolled forward into the bluish, distorted zone surrounding the heroes, and spoke in an intense, accented murmur. “You, my friend, have a true talent for killing. An appreciation for the art.” The stranger came to a stop only a foot away. At that distance, the two men didn't look two dissimilar. Well-dressed, dark hair covering one eye, self-assured bearing. Only now, Louis was afraid. His was a fear borne of helplessness, of inability. The other man noticed and smiled. “And your fear. So beautiful. Surely you will enjoy a treasured spot in my gallery. You are now my art!”

Clenching his teeth, he lifted the blade of his knife and drove it into Louis' chest. He carved downward, sawing back and forth, diaphragm to navel, and when he ripped it out he snapped a photo of the red spray. The blue zone faded, and Louis dropped backward. He hit the garage floor already dissolving into bright mist. His head lolled to the side, one last look at Blazermate before he dissolved completely. Particles streamed out through the busted metal gate and into the night air.

The man looked at Blazermate, pointing his camera like a gun. Any move and he could freeze her again. One lesson, and she already new as well as he did. Confident in his position, he told her. “You are not yet finished. You have a job to do, little light. Been stuck here too long. Tell the others that if they stick around much longer, I'll be taking more photos.” A smarmy, venomous grin filled his face. “Now run along.”

Another flash. Not blue, but white. When it faded, there was only darkness. Darkness inside a metal cage, slowly rising.

Maximilian Howard

Location: Main Hall, RCPD, Dead Zone

Standing up, Howard planted both hands on the receptionist's desk authoritatively. One by one the hunting parties returned, not all of them but most. Nero, Joker, Blazermate, Louis, Leon, and Lucatiel had yet to show. Fox, after returning with Donnie, had departed again with questions on his mind to seek those last two down and hopefully get some answers. With the various reports in, enough puzzle pieces had been laid out to get an idea of the bigger picture, and Howard wanted to sum it up.

“Okay, people. What we're looking at is this. Big-time ghost, tortured and hungry 'cause of the suffering it inflicted while alive. This guy Manapaiboon robs and hurts a bunch of people, including his own mom, then gets spiked through the head by an iron bar.” He pointed to Fortune, Banjo, and Kazooie. “You all saw it in this impossible space in the library. Giant, angry, one red eye. Gotta be the guy. And a pitch-black darkness, heavy as a concrete wall.” His eyes landed on Jak and Daxter. “You found a satchel with decorations like the stuff in the weird rooms. Must be linked. Cloth, incense, cursed nails. Keep a hold of that stuff.” A nod at Donnie. “You found some booklet with some pages about ghosts torn out. We got some names for whatever it's called, but don't know which one. But we do know ghosts mess with stuff like machines and locks. Gotta be what's keeping us stuck here.” Nodding again, he swept his gaze around all those present. “We find the pages, we find our solution, and we're out of here. Any questions?”

In the silence that followed, everyone became aware of a muffled mechanical grinding. At first nobody could place it. Heads turned in every direction, but Fortune's twitching ears zeroed in on the source. “Down there!” She pointed at the circular dias beneath the goddess statue standing in the main hall's center. As everyone watched, the front part of the dias wall slid down, revealing a mechanism. An elevator. It was lifting something upward, out of the dark and into the main hall's yellow light. A dozen eyes peered inside, watching the shape that came up. It was Blazermate.

World of Light

@LugubriousSorry, been busy. Will get a post up eventually

@XoXKieroBombXoX

To avoid situations like this, please let me know when you're about to have an absence. Otherwise, I have no choice but to assume abandonment. As for now, I'll reinstate you when you post again.

World of Light

Nero and Louis

Location: RCPD, Dead Zone

While he didn't notice Joker until he was in the midst of the assembled survivors, Howard was happy to give the kid his full attention as he replied. “Well, you are a minor by the looks of you, but since we're busting ghosts instead of heads I think it'll work out fine. Sure, welcome to the team.” The others were already peeling away. Banjo and Kazooie followed Ms. Fortune up the left-hand stairs, Louis led the chipper medabot toward the garage, and Donnie was off in search of the break room with Fox. “Got any idea where you're going?” the chief asked, wanting to make sure the youth would be paired with someone reliable, just in case.

Of the other appointed searchers, Lucatiel had already wandered through the east door, and Leon was poised to go west, but had conscientiously stopped to look back and make sure the others were good. Nero stepped up to the plate. “You can come with me, kid. We'll see what's up in the chief's office and that side room of his.” Motioning for Joker to follow, Nero headed up the right-side stairs after Louis and Blazermate. The four passed down the walkway overlooking the main hall, through the waiting room, right by the Art Room Blazermate visited only a few minutes ago, and into the chief's office. At that point Louis and Blazermate continued on toward the chief's elevator, the only real option into the basement now that the stairs had been sealed off. The others, however, remained behind to have a good look around.

---

Though his partner seemed inquisitive, Louis regretted that he had nothing to share. Their brief trip alone to the elevator after parting with the others, through a narrow and disused hall never meant for the public to see, was as quiet as the ride that followed. Only one scarlet eye peered out from his long, wavy hair, but it studied Blazermate closely. She was, put simply, marvelous technology. In his world, fighting strength with no chance of going blood-mad made for one hell of an asset. Plus, if she specialized in support as much as her appearance and actions to this point suggested, his team could have conducted its research with basically no risk of dispersal. Here, however, he would settle for a steady supply of healing.

His examination lasted only a few moments, after which he began preparation. “Last I saw, the garage was completely overrun. Monsters busted through the gate to the street. Be ready.” He reached up to his back and removed the sword stowed there, carefully moving it into a ready position given the limited space. It was beautiful, an elegant curved sword of jet black with a ruby-red streak across the reverse side of the blade. He held it as familiarly as he might the hand of a lover, like the two belonged to one another. When the elevator dinged and the doors open, he rushed out in a whirlwind of steel, leather, and silk.

The nearest monsters turned to look, but they did not comprehend. Louis disappeared, teleporting in a burst of red midst into the air between the beasts, and his blade flashed between them. Two strokes, one apiece, and the Lost fell apart with muted growls.

Louis stood up straight. “This is better than I remember. They must have wandered back outside. Or destroyed one another.” Some fodder zombies, creepy things, and Lost milled around, most near the stairwell door, keeping their distance from a couple more distinctive threats. Louis could see a chainsaw zombie, a clawed zombie, and a couple of trunk-nosed creatures with weapons. There was also a lumbering, headless behemoth together with a flying imp: Judgement. Not an overwhelming force, but the two would have their hands full.

Louis readied his blade and charged at the freak with the chainsaw.

---

Stepping into the chief's office took Nero momentarily by surprise. It looked like the last thing someone would expect to find in a police station. Well-fitted wood floor, posh red rug with cream patterning, expertly made cupboards, green wallpaper, and a luxurious desk with a plush black chair. Even the lights were upscale, the glass casings around the bulbs tapered like hanging flower buds. Most striking were the animals. Just about every wall featured a mounted animal head, expertly taxidermied and preserved. Deer, bear, bison. Standing on the ground was a wolf locked eternally in motion, and a raccoon frozen mid-patter lay on the chief's desk. It looked like a room straight out of a museum, save for the cardboard boxes.

Not very interested, Nero started rifling through the chief's desk. Some drawers were locked, with no key in sight. The devil hunter punched straight through the wood with his mechanical arm to get at their insides. He didn't think twice about it, and didn't need to. The police captain on duty was down in the thick of it, working to get problems solved. He was a practical, reliable sort. An old-fashioned hero type. This wasn't his office. That black chair by the desk was the chair of a fat man who spent a lot of time in it, and this office was more of a show of taxidermy than policing. Whoever used this office, lording it up in an overdecorated, too-comfortable corner of the station while his subordinates did the work, was an asshole.

Something among the papers caught his interest, and he stood reading them. Joker was left to his own devices.

World of Light

@XoXKieroBombXoX you haven't answered my status updates, so I'm marking you as inactive. Them's the rules.

World of Light

Sorry for a lackluster post, but I got a thing up. :'D

@Majoras End

Nothing wrong with it, I say. Good to have you in! Just as a note, since Joker hasn't been exposed to a serious Darkest Dungeon fight, he doesn't have to worry about stress. Well, quantified stress, anyway. I'll look forward to the other Dead Zone members getting to know Joker.

World of Light

@Lugubrious

Yeah, I haven't really made time to start on it, so thanks!

@Majoras End

In that case, go ahead and move Joker to the characters tab and at the first opportunity I will PM you about am entry point.