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Post by quandry on May 25, 2012 16:58:12 GMT -5
Curtis was pushed through the thin plaster while a black serpent-like creature climbed over the ruined wall. Pain surged through his back, and his arm was stiff; but it still aimed. Pressing the trigger, shots resounded through the classroom. The lead tore through the beast’s body, and the Nosalis, trying to climb over the desks towards him, fell limp. “Shit. . .Ivan! I’m over here!” He got up, and punched his arm, knocking the sense back into it. Bullets went into the chamber of his revolver and it clicked closed. Darkness had drowned the room, and as usual, everything felt very dry. Curtis held his breath, before asking again, “Ivan, you there?” Nothing could be heard. He decided to move out to the hallway, where Ivan and him last were. Shards of the glass remained broken from the attack years ago, but among them, he found Ivan’s scope for his rifle. But that’s not what took Curtis’ eye. Out, in the city, there were two figures moving. It tore at a chord in Curtis’ chest. He picked up the scope and got a better look; some novice stalker way too close to Sad. And that was just the worst part; the recruit was looking face forward at a Dark One. The iridescent glow of its skin nearly reflected the boys skin; and it was just standing there. Meanwhile, the rookie tore at himself with an icepick, slamming it into his skin, his bones, his knees and shoulders, desperately trying to kill himself. Blood foamed at his mouth, and it was apparent he was dead. All it took was a look. Curtis, as curious as he was, looked right at the Dark One through the scope. It looked right back. It looked right back. It looked right back. It looked right back. He suddenly felt sluggish, like he could jump out of the building in a rush of frenzied excitement, in desperation and utter dismay. His throat wouldn’t take in air—maybe his gas mask wasn’t on right? Maybe it was all this radiation. Maybe he was just done with this life. Curtis grabbed his chest and turned away, throwing himself against the floor. Balling up his fist, he pounded his gut until he began breathing again; as if he had to make an external effort to convince himself living was still worth it. It's as if everything started to spin and spit at him, like a ball of clay just lodged itself into his esophogus and cemented. His chest felt like it was on a constant loop of internal combustion while his fingernails grinded into the tile floor. Not particularly wounded, he got up from the ground and kept his revolver at his side. Deep breaths accompanied a stiff paranoia which effercessed inside the microcosm of his mind. He looked back out and only the dead body of the boy lay there. Twisting around, he called once more, “Ivan!”
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Post by blackstone on May 25, 2012 22:13:26 GMT -5
Ivan roared out as the Nosalis tackled him into a bookshelf on the floor above Curtis at the same moment. The shelf splintered as the man impacted, proceeding to start a domino effect with five other shelves. The bear of a man groaned as the impact jarred his slung rifle into his back, he started to reach for it seeing that one can only physically hold off one of these for so long. "GREAT LENIN'S GHOST WHY WON'T YOU DIE?"He rose up, throwing the beast with all his might into a far corner of the room before making a break for the stairs. "Yankee of ten-gallon hat!" Ivan barreled down the stairs and into the hallway where Curtis had witnessed the poor young man become mad at the touch of a Dark One. He rushed to the American's panicking side and quickly replaced the filter on his mask. "Up now, nothing can do!" With Curtis in his arms, Ivan burst through the window opposite where the dark one had been and into a courtyard.
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Post by quandry on May 29, 2012 0:39:01 GMT -5
Curtis grabbed at his mask and there was a crash upstairs. He looked up and water began pouring on his face-- no, it wasn't water. It was much darker, thicker-- soon it was everywhere, flooding the building, the world. He thrashed around, trying to swim against the current; sharks dove in and out of the water and as one came up, encompassing his figure in it's deep jaws, everything went blank.
He woke up, still swimming, but this time in a shallow grave in a desert. But there were hills-- cliffs, and as he looked up there were men looking down. Gruesome looking men, with long limbs, spears, feathers in their head with skulls as faces. He dodged up, running as fast as he could to the burning, black sunset while arrows and spears tore into the ground, always barely missing. The squeals of his enemies tore into his soul and ate his life out.
At another blink, he smashed into a tree. His world was now surrounded in a dense forest-- and he could hardly understand that. He could feel himself suffocating in the dense heat, and the magnificent blend of beautiful insects cascaded into a resplendant rush of energy. However, a ruffle had been heard, a snap of a twig. And then a scream, a war like scream; several tall, black Dark Ones-- Now affirming his initial suspicion for those before-- stood uncamoflodged, with their spears braced, hanging from trees and surrounding him. He had to die, and he had to die NOW.
Randomly shooting, they would not die. Their bodies soon turned into sand, and then into snakes. Big black snakes with skull faces, like the Dark Ones, forked tongues spilling through their slit mouths.
And then it all seemed to happen. Through some form of nuclear fission, he could feel the pain of all his atoms being split, torn apart in an instant. His screams were squealched in the utter pain and torment, for even a taste of the atomic explosion was enough to twist your body and mind through an irreversable crush of--
Something grabbed up at him; it was a nosalis, a monster of some kind, and Curtis just shrieked once before bringing his gun to his neck and pulling the trigger over and over. No matter how hard he tried to end it right there, nothing would happen. He couldn't bear the thought that he'd have to suffer at the hands of the Dark One for the rest of his life-- because that's what he believed at the moment, true to his heart.
But suddenly his breathing felt clearer. His body had been lifted up and crashed through a window. It seemed to knock some sense into his brain, and with a squint, he realized Ivan had carried him. Relief washed over his heart, and finally he began to calm down. "Ivan, thank God you've come." He murmered, throat sore from all the screaming. The sky was above him, figuratively reminding him of so many references of 'fresh air' from the books of old, wondering if it had anything else to do with his recovering state.
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