[ gold flashes in the fog and glimmers on the ground in splotches. Sometimes he loses track of it and has to stop to wipe away the ooze dripping into—from—his eyes, clearing his vision just enough to see again. To keep going. Finding someone in the emptiness between realms isn't easy at the best of times—and this is definitely not one of those. Especially not for him.
Somewhere deep within his mind, a place still yet untouched by the substance coursing through his veins, he knows what's going on. Remembers it happening before. The fleshy flowers growing like blisters, filling the air with a rotten odor as their petals burst open with a wet crack. The moon itself turning a sickly orange. The nausea twisting within him, seemingly at random. Without explanation—until some scrap of the Entity's whispering finally reached him after a long stretch of silence.
Blight. Sick. Purge. Purge. Purge.
During that time, no trials occurred. Or the Entity failed to call him to one, leaving him warily wandering the fog without any distraction from the pulsating plants and the strange, swollen moon. Just like now. The same scenes of corruption awaited him wherever he went, each realm he visited oddly lifeless despite the flowers and their tendrils spreading across the ground. But the howls and screeches echoing from their distant corners told another story—one that, for once, he wasn’t eager to investigate.
The attack had come from nowhere. A sharp blow to the back of his head followed by a piercing sting, realized a second too late, not long enough for it to even register as an injection. Oh, but once the pain started, then—then he had what felt like an eternity for all of it to sink in when an intense heat began burning him alive from the inside. In front of his widened and now lidless eyes, his skin blackened, then split open. The flesh near his shoulders sloughed off in sheets. His voice shredded itself in near-continuous screaming. Blood and glowing serum seeped from his mouth as he collapsed, convulsions wracking his body. The last thing he saw before his mask melted right onto his face was the silhouette of a man emerging from the shadows. Unhurried, watching him while he choked on molten plastic in the dark.
Still watching when he regained consciousness to the odd, horrifying sensation of dirt against his exposed guts. Yet somehow he could see again—and his rage at sight of the man just standing there snuffed out any terror. Had he tried to say anything then? Or had he only snarled like a rabid animal as he sprang up and lunged towards the man, knife flashing?
But the movement was too much, too sudden, and he blacked out as he slashed down wildly, feeling the blade catch on and cut into something. The next time he came to, the man had disappeared. Instead, a trail of luminous spatter led into the fog.
Clutching his knife, he got up and followed.
But. How long has he been walking? And where is he?
A wave of dizziness pushes against him. He stops, steadying himself by digging his knife into whatever wall he’s walking next to.
A click. A hiss. A new searing pain surging from between his shoulder blades, doubling him over and driving him onto his hands and knees. His knife clatters to the floor. Beneath the melded mess of his mask, he screams—guttural, gurgling—as everything goes gold again. ]
cw: body horror, gore, violence, more to come probably
Somewhere deep within his mind, a place still yet untouched by the substance coursing through his veins, he knows what's going on. Remembers it happening before. The fleshy flowers growing like blisters, filling the air with a rotten odor as their petals burst open with a wet crack. The moon itself turning a sickly orange. The nausea twisting within him, seemingly at random. Without explanation—until some scrap of the Entity's whispering finally reached him after a long stretch of silence.
Blight. Sick. Purge. Purge. Purge.
During that time, no trials occurred. Or the Entity failed to call him to one, leaving him warily wandering the fog without any distraction from the pulsating plants and the strange, swollen moon. Just like now. The same scenes of corruption awaited him wherever he went, each realm he visited oddly lifeless despite the flowers and their tendrils spreading across the ground. But the howls and screeches echoing from their distant corners told another story—one that, for once, he wasn’t eager to investigate.
The attack had come from nowhere. A sharp blow to the back of his head followed by a piercing sting, realized a second too late, not long enough for it to even register as an injection. Oh, but once the pain started, then—then he had what felt like an eternity for all of it to sink in when an intense heat began burning him alive from the inside. In front of his widened and now lidless eyes, his skin blackened, then split open. The flesh near his shoulders sloughed off in sheets. His voice shredded itself in near-continuous screaming. Blood and glowing serum seeped from his mouth as he collapsed, convulsions wracking his body. The last thing he saw before his mask melted right onto his face was the silhouette of a man emerging from the shadows. Unhurried, watching him while he choked on molten plastic in the dark.
Still watching when he regained consciousness to the odd, horrifying sensation of dirt against his exposed guts. Yet somehow he could see again—and his rage at sight of the man just standing there snuffed out any terror. Had he tried to say anything then? Or had he only snarled like a rabid animal as he sprang up and lunged towards the man, knife flashing?
But the movement was too much, too sudden, and he blacked out as he slashed down wildly, feeling the blade catch on and cut into something. The next time he came to, the man had disappeared. Instead, a trail of luminous spatter led into the fog.
Clutching his knife, he got up and followed.
But. How long has he been walking? And where is he?
A wave of dizziness pushes against him. He stops, steadying himself by digging his knife into whatever wall he’s walking next to.
A click. A hiss. A new searing pain surging from between his shoulder blades, doubling him over and driving him onto his hands and knees. His knife clatters to the floor. Beneath the melded mess of his mask, he screams—guttural, gurgling—as everything goes gold again. ]