I dont own 'em I'm just borrowing 'em.
Oh yes... and MY OC AND DANTE DO NOT FALL IN LOVE! That sort of thing pisses the hell out of me.
The girl blinked wildly as sunlight burst across her vision.
"Oh Christ!" She cried and flung herself onto her stomach, shielding her eyes. Her voice was torn, her skin cracked and salty and her muscles were stiff and seized.
Where was she?
Squinting fiercely, she tried to look around her. She was on a beach of some making, probably a sea – given that she could hear waves behind her and they occasionally lapped at her feet playfully.
As her eyes adjusted, she gathered the strength to swallow. Immediately she hacked up sand so violently, she was sick. Salty water gushed down the sand to rejoin its brothers in the ocean after its brief stay in her stomach.
Feeling even weaker after being so violently sick she attempted to rise to a sitting position. Dragging herself in the sand, she clasped a hand tightly around a large rock and painstakingly pulled herself from the ground.
Why was she in so much pain?
Resting against the rock she glanced at it, noticing that it was a volcanic rock – like much of the others that dotted the dark beach. She frowned, not quite being able to explain to herself why she had known it was volcanic.
It was then that it dawned on her; she had no idea who she was.
She coughed as she looked up at an old castle in front of her.
"My sympathies to the housekeeper." She rasped. The old brickwork was rotting away, covered with lichen, moss and mildew. It's once magnificent stained glass windows were filled with jagged holes, ravaged with age. The dust on the cobblestones completed the demonic, gothic architecture. In fact, it almost looked familiar.
She looked behind her at the narrow beach and looked down at herself. She was in one piece, nothing broken. Her body still felt stiff and awkward though. Limping stiffly she noticed a large black sheet on the cobblestones. It was a thick, warm fabric. Kicking the sheet to the side, her foot hit something hard. A pair of blades. She winced, realising how near to skewering her foot she'd come. It was lucky that she hadn't maimed herself worse than she was.
"So... Dorathy's landed on the Wicked Witch of the East... bring out the Munchkins." She muttered.
Grumbling at the irritating confusion of it all, she slowly crouched down to wipe the dust of the side of her army boots. Straightening up again, she stamped her foot to get the mud out of the cracks of the soles of the boots. The metal that encircled the semi-circle of her heel clinked almost inaudibly. Hesitantly, she picked up the strange sheet. If she was going to be wherever she was for a while, she might need something to keep warm.
She twisted it around her shoulders and looked around herself in a wide circle. Where was she? More importantly; Who was she?
She looked up at the castle. Perhaps she could find the answer in there? There had to be someone on this godforsaken island… maybe they knew her… maybe they'd been separated?
Setting her shoulders she walked through the castle's gardens. As she walked her muscles started to relax and loosen; reducing the limp and making it easier to walk.
To her left were two gilded doors that led into a towering lobby. She could hear the tinkling of a fountain. Here? In a ruined castle? Who was paying the water bill? She shook her head, not wanting to think about who - or what - might like to live in run-down old houses like this. Serial killers, rapists... serial rapists. She shuddered. She was suddenly struck with the thought that she didn't have anything to defend herself with. She started walking through the large room, continuously looking into the upper balconies and stepping as quietly as she could.
She was about to call out a tentative 'Hello?' but caught herself. She couldn't go around announcing her presence to the world. She was obviously somewhere where she hadn't traveled willingly, and that was enough to make her extremely cautious. She had injuries she didn't remember receiving that must have been inflicted by someone… or something… She had to make sure that who - or what - had brought her here, didn't know that she was scared stiff. She also had to make sure that she had some way of defending herself against...
Ghosts? Ghouls? Flesh-eating zombies?
She looked around warily; half-expecting to find what had attacked her had come back and finish her off.
She noticed paintings on the walls, some were aged beyond recognition and some were almost perfect. Trying to take her mind off who... or what... might be hiding in the shadows, she decided to look at the artworks. She saw melting clocks in one, and smiled at the next one; The stairways into nothingness, impossible given earth's gravity, but breathtaking and stunning to look at. She expelled her breath sharply, blowing dust off the last painting on this wall.
She looked at the painting in wonder; reaching out her hand. Her slender, long fingers touched the painting, swiping off the dust. A name was written in the corner, the artists name: Chagall.
The girl's eyes scanned the familiar painting; the barn full of disjointed body parts, the fiddler playing the melody that the naked, hairless bodies clapped in time to, and the headless crows flying in circles. Blind death.
Something small and sharp hit her on the back of the head. She leapt around, ready to scream into the face of some blood-covered dead creature.
"What?!"
The crumbling face of an ancient pillar greeted her. She slowed down her heart rate to its original BPM. The stone face of the pillar extended above her to the roof, where large chunks of the stone were missing. It looked like gravity was winning that war.
"Screeaiih!"
The unearthly scream echoed off the walls. The girl placed her back against the wall, stopping her from being surprised by the creature that had made the sound, visions of death flitting in her mind and making the shadows swell from the walls. A cackle sounded afterwards, like the popping of bubbles from a saucepan.
She decided that now was the time to find a large blunt object. She looked around the corner of the wall, from the hallway on her left was a greenish glow, from the hallway on her right there was only darkness. She swallowed her heart back into her chest; discovering that she must be afraid of the dark. Not liking the shade of green that was coming from the other end of the hallway, she darted down the shadowed end.
A loud metal scraping noise was heard. Like a blade being scraped against a stone wall, she imagined sparks flying from it. Absently, she wondered if the metal looked like the blades that she'd almost impaled herself on.
She stopped breathing, trying to hear what it was that was - undoubtedly - following her. After a minute of silence, her breath slowing down back to a normal pace. A bolt of terror went through her though as another scream echoed through the castle.
A Sin! It's a Sin!
She looked around wildly, mind blank with terror for a moment. She bolted further down the hallway and came across about twelve suits of armor. Bingo. She scanned the suits of metal, spotted with rust. The scraping got closer and closer. Finally, she settled on two smallish swords.
She frowned and gave them a test swing. There was no sense in being in a strange place with no way to defend yourself. They felt large and clumsy. They worked alright, but she had to use more of her arm muscles to move the swords. As a thought, she grabbed the two sheaths that went across the armors back. There was no use having weapons if you didn't have somewhere to keep them. She spun the swords using their hilts; suddenly surprised with the dexterity she'd displayed.
"I guess I'm a swordswoman." She said aloud, once again surprising herself; her throat was healed. The cackling got louder.
Then she saw it.
The greenish glow came from the mist that it seemed to float on. It looked like some kind of woman, except greenish and see-through. Of course, then there was the scythe. It was slightly rusted, but she could not distinguish the oxidised iron from the dried blood.
There was also something familiar about it too… something that made her feel like it wasn't a threat.
"If you come any closer," She declared shakily, "Then I might hurt you… I don't want to hurt you, but I will."
She noticed how unsure of itself the creature looked. It gave her back a small amount of her courage, which was comforting. Being a teenage girl she was sure she wasn't used to this sort of thing – waking up in excruciating pain and relearning how to walk, let alone nightmares in dark hallways!
The creature moved in closer and waved its arms menacingly. Her legs shifted, making one swift jolt as she darted towards it. In a show of grace that amazed even her, she swung a sword upwards and through the centre of the ghoul in a diagonal cut… stopping when the sword hit the blades. She almost slapped her forehead, metal can't cut metal!
She followed through with the blow and spun, slicing off the green head. The nightmare fell to the floor with a heavy thunk where it screamed then dissipated. The blood slowed in the girl's veins.
"I...I did it." She whispered. She took one last look at the fallen monstrosity. It had that same deflated look that the sheet that she'd discovered before had. A lump caught in her throat as she looked at the fallen creature – feeling a strange kinship with it.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, taking the scythe gently from the limp cloth. She swung it, hearing it hum gently. Frowning, she spun it around her gracefully.
"Well hello there." She murmured to it. She reached down and scraped the dried blood off its curved blade. It winked at her enticingly; the handle changed – smoothing and lengthening. Thoroughly confused, the girl shrugged. If the scythe had decided it liked her; who was she to argue? Taking a leather strap from the suit of armor she'd borrowed the swords from, she looped it around her shoulder and slid the scythe into it. Replacing the swords she shook her head and continued her dash down the hallway.
She came to the base of a large flight of stairs, leading up into the darkness that seemed to be a recurring motif in the interior design. She rubbed the joint in her leg, not wanting to stay still for too long, or else the muscles started to twitch.
There was an echo of clacking wood behind her. She spun, scythe arching gracefully in the moonlight. She looked at the fallen creature. It looked like some sort of deflated puppet.
"A Marionette?!"
Yet another creature that looked familiar. Her heart jolted as something bobbed to the surface of her mind; Marionettes travel in Hoards...so where were-
Oh Shit.
Her thoughts were interrupted by blades scraping at the stone floor. At least she'd found the rest of them. The only downside was that they outnumbered her about seven to one.
Combine that with the fact that they were about seven feet tall, and the odds weren't exactly in her favour.
"Great." She muttered.
One of the Marionettes swiped at her. Double-handed, she brought the scythe down in a 45 degree arc, then swung it to her left as another Marionette joined its fallen Packmates. Another leapt onto her back. She could feel the pin-pricks of its blades pierce her skin. She gave a noise of frustration, spun the scythe behind her – beheading it - and rammed her back into the wall, crushing it like a soggy balloon.
More hollow clacks.
Leaping backwards to avoid a spinning Bloody Mari, she spun the scythe so fast it flew from her grip – lanced through the puppets like a saw blade and spiraled back to her. She smiled, looking at it in loving wonder.
Without warning a wooden hand latched onto her arm. She saw another Marionette grabbing a pointed candelabra.
Oh. fuck!-
Impulsively, she shielded herself with the Marionette on her arm. It screamed as the projectile pierced its back. With a cry she skewered it on the scythe and launched it at a group of oncoming Marionettes. They toppled over each other, flying to pieces. She felt more latch onto her shoulders.
"Why won't you fucking die!!?" She tried to shake them off, but they clung on stubbornly.
A sudden flash of red caught her eye to the right, in her peripheral vision she saw someone watching from the wall. Another Marionette tried to tear out her throat, catching it's sharp fingers on her collarbones. She hissed in pain and spun her scythe around her in a circle, feeling satisfaction as the puppets were swept across the room.
Using the wooden end of the scythe, she smacked the Marionette at her back and it fell off. Without warning, a Marionette leapt at her chest. She traveled backwards and hit the wall with a smack. Winded, she dropped her scythe on the stone floor, where it hummed and dimmed.
Damn it!
Closing her eyes, she held her breath, ready for the ripping and tearing. She could hear the scraping of the Marionette blades, almost swearing that she already felt them nipping at her neck, tearing her skin into shreds. But no. Some sudden twist of fate interfered with her death.
In the most unlikely form.
There was a very fast click of a clip being loaded and gunshots echoed through the hall. Opening her eyes, she used the wall to get to her feet. In front of her lay the Marionettes that had held her, on the ground, whilst the others were retreating. A low chuckle could be heard as the bodies disintegrated into floppy pieces of cloth. The girl looked for her savior, then caught her breath, surprise flooding her.
It was Him.
His platinum colored hair fell to his jaw line and starkly contrasted his tanned face. Only on him could white hair look... amazing... without making him look ancient. His icy blue eyes were regarding her with suspicion. He turned away wordlessly, his ankle-length blood-red coat fanning out behind him like an afterthought. It was rolled back to the elbows, showing black gloves which were holding two guns, a black and a sliver, smoke rising from the barrels.
She spied her scythe on the floor, too far to reach. She instantly felt extremely vulnerable… and then she saw a heavy-looking sword resting on his back.
Crap.
He stopped, then turned around again, as if wanting to say something but doubting his own decision to say it. He looked serious, as if he very rarely smiled. He was analysing her. She felt goosebumps crawl across her skin as his eyes scanned her.
"You fight like one of them." He growled, "But you don't look it."
"I... I... think..."
Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes slowly closing. She looked at a gash on her upper arm; the top was torn. It was dripping blood slowly.
"...that can't be... good..." She could feel her knees getting weak, buckling underneath of her. The blackness swallowing her whole as she felt her head slam against the cold stone floor.