Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THIS!!!! (Beat that, you creative geniuses!)
Chapter 3:
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, oh gods...
Each word seemed matched with its own separate, heaved breath. Nothing was turning out right. Nothing at all. Oh sure, she was supposed to look cool and all, kicking these meddlesome beasts' asses... but those asses were damn hard to kick when she couldn't even stand up straight. That was so not her fault, either.
Another set of jaws snapped at her calf, triggering a high-pitched yelp from her own lips and an increase of speed.
She was running with her tail between her legs, arms pumping back and forth in a sad attempt to give her an extra boost... that never seemed to come. Her Material bow had been forgotten and left strapped to her arm, merely a useless weight on her arm. Damn, how this had turned for the worse.
The Bandersnatch pack seemed to be having one wonderful romp through the mountains, all chasing at her like some skittery rabbit. She, on the other hand, was panting furiously, her legs working into overtime as she fled. Sometime during her full-fledged retreat, the scarf had slipped down below her chin, where it hung limply and flew out behind her like a banner. All she needed were a few neon yellow letters that read, "Dinner To Go". How could this have gone so wrong? She dove momentarily into the past few seconds to try and figure this one out...
**
She pulled the trigger.
Again, and again, and again. Wide-eyed and incredulous, she stared down the barrel of her malfunctioning weapon.
"You lousy piece of shit! Don't crap out on me now! For the love of all things warm and fuzzy, WOOOORK!!"
It merely clicked in refusal, spiting her with its mechanical failures. The arctic creatures merely stared onward with rather awkward expressions, as if they hadn't quite expected such an outcome as well. Still, they weren't complaining. They advanced while the girl swore loudly, using language best left for the solitude of the frozen mountains.
"Mother bleeping ass-faced... RETREAT!" She hollered, spinning on her heel and making a mad dash to her left. Only, it was more of a stumble-slip that later developed into a dash after a few more mouthfuls of ice. Sputtering, she leapt forward, her boots propelling her off the frozen surface and onto her escape. Oh, but how they followed, nipping at her heels and barking as she screamed in reply.
"This is what I get for being a consumer???" She stole a fleeting look at the sky, pleading to the gods above for a decent explanation. She had a warranty on that cross bow. Well, it was a warranty. Now it was toilet paper... at least it -would- be if she ever saw a toilet again.
Still, the gods left her no reply and continued to watch as she fled through the snow in what had to be the most ungraceful retreat in history. Clothes just weren't -meant- to rip like that.
On and on... she ran.
**
Running and running, even as she returned to the moment, finding herself exhausted and fleeing for her life.
Massive paws tore up the snow, sending a wave of it cascading into her and stinging her skin with the shocking chill. She spat and gagged, surging onward as her lungs heaved and ached with the effort. Her heart felt as though it would give out with each valve's effort. Pumping blood wasn't so fun anymore. A gush of searing breath billowed against her leg, and then became a vicious pain at the back of her leg. She screamed, wordless as the beast tore at the bare skin. It nearly ripped the straps of her armor to pieces, pulling at it with such terrible vigor. That was the final straw.
Snarling with her own renewed vitality, she tore open her item pouch once more and grasped the subtle heat. Out came a leveled Fire Materia, gripped tightly in her hand as she prepared herself. With a quick, steadying breath, she planted her feet into the snow and stopped, leaning forward dangerously as inertia took effect. The wolves, however, continued forward, barely able to settle enough to change their course.
A victorious smirk wormed its way to her lips as she wound her arm back.
"Oh HO! Take this, fools! Fire 2!!"
She grunted with the effort of her throw, sending the glowing orb flying into the unaware pack. It soared through the bitter winds towards her bestial foes. A blinding explosion roared before her, accompanied by the pained whimpers of dying Bandersnatches. She could merely stare for a moment as the Materia... well... kicked major ass. Perhaps it had been a higher level than she thought.
Shit... There goes my bonfire.
Instead, it had created a smoldering pile of burning animal flesh. She wasn't quite sure if she was desperate enough to seek comfort from that, either. Yet, as the realization of victory set in, her grin was back with a victory pose.
"Silly pups! Nobody messes with-"
The peak above her growled and moaned, once again sending a familiar jolt of fear through her cold ridden body. Slowly, she lifted her eye upwards, ONLY to be bitch slapped by a massive wave of ice and snow. It knocked her off her feet and onto her rear, sending the breath flying from her lungs. It covered the wolves' bodies without leaving so much as a ripple. She rolled and screamed and rolled some more, carried further and further down the mountain by the unforgiving force of nature: avalanche.
"MOMMY!!" her voice echoed throughout the range, only to be lost in the drowning roar of ice. She spun and swirled atop it, all balance lost to the unyielding wave.
Someone make it end! I swear I'll never whine again! I'll never take candy from babies or spit in public again! Just make it stop!
Her body was suddenly in the air, arms and legs free from the harsh cold of the winter wasteland. At first, she thought Bahamut himself had answered her prayer and taken her up from this torturous trek. She thought better of it as soon as she opened her eye and saw herself heading straight for another block of sparkling ice. At that moment, she cursed the god, casting him off as a lazy son of a-
She threw her arms in front of her face, creating a shield of bone and flesh for the landing to come. The contact was harsh and unforgiving, prying her eye open and sending a barrage of stars to blind her. Her body slumped to the familiar, icy bitterness. After the initial shock of it all, a sharp pain speared her entire body and shook her to the bone. Then the blizzard began again, coating her with its blanket of chilled softness. She whimpered in agony, out of breath and energy. Slowly, she curled her knees up under her chin, assuming the fetal position. Everything hurt way too much. Nothing was working in her favor anymore. Things had been going so well. She felt proud, on top of the world. Now it was just a fading memory that she yearned to make her reality. It wouldn't happen. Lady Luck had smiled on her one time, but now she just dumped her ashtray atop the downtrodden girl.
Her throat tightened as a sob threatened to shake her once concrete resolve. Self-pity was very slowly beginning to ooze through the cracks. Her skin prickled and stung with frostbite. She knew at least one of her eyebrows had to have frozen. Damnit, she needed a better place to wallow and sulk. Lifting her head groggily, she narrowed her eye to pierce through the frigid winds. What she saw caused it to widen in momentary surprise. Something dark, tall and ominous loomed before her. It wasn't miles away, either, which caused even greater astonishment. Filled with a new vigor, she rose unsteadily, favoring her aching limbs. Bloodied and bruised, she plodded onwards. As soon as she covered at least two yards, it became clear to her exactly what this was.
A house. No, a manor. Mansion, even. The outside was dull brown and unpainted. Someone had crafted this without actually taking paint into consideration. But despite its lack of a protective layer, here it stood; amidst the cruelest storm she had ever seen. Snow and ice caked the windows and wedged between the panes. Teeth chattering, she plowed along its length, placing her gloved palms against the rough surface. She paused at the door and simply stared for a moment. Her blue tinted lips curved downwards in a frown.
The double doors were thick and gothic in appearance, the wood darker then the rest of the exterior. The foreboding part was the harsh marking across it. Deep gashes stretched from the center to the very bottom, three rows on either door. They looked like claw marks, thickening the farther they went, but they were absolutely massive. Not even a Bandersnatch could have done this, much less an arctic one. Stupid things...
Her left hand wandered along the gaping marks. Palms flat against the door, she pushed it at it. Now, she really didn't know what good it'd do, but hell, the door opened. She jumped back in surprise and felt her leg protest immediately. Wincing, she decided sudden movements were probably going to do much more damage than she would like to deal with. Inhaling deeply, she stepped through the threshold and left the wasteland behind her.
What greeted her was a dark living room almost completely void of furniture. It was drafty, even as she shut the door behind her. Still, it wasn't nearly as harsh as that godforsaken ice pit outside. Two couches sat in the lonely room, facing an empty fireplace. Her heart leapt at the sight. Fire! Oh, there had to be something to burn here, even if she had to throw the sofa in. She would have her warmth.
Gradually, she gained more confidence and moved further into the house. The ice began to melt, dripping from her body in small amounts. Her clothes were damp and cold, clinging to her body like ineffective blubber. With a trembling breath, she began to undo the straps of her abandoned Gun Bow and returned it to her back. God, what a waste of gil.
The floorboards creaked beneath her boots, the soles of her shoes leaving moist prints on the dusty surface. Her hair lay plastered to her face, nearly black in this lightless manor. A door stood off to her right, instantly drawing her attention. She never denied her curiosity, or her willingness to appease it. She grasped the knob and turned, finding herself staring down a wooden staircase. This felt like a bad slasher scene, were the innocent teenager goes skipping down the stairs, knowing something's in there, but blatantly ignores all sense her pitiful brain might have retained during endless affairs with various men... then gets her head bitten off by an axe wielding rat boy who just happened to be that guy she slept with last winter.
Damn, she needed a life. Yet she had to get down these stairs. She needed wood to burn, and matches. Or something like matches. If anything attacked her, she could always throw her shoe at it and swear it to death. Forsaking all her common sense, she descending the staircase with barely enough light to see two feet in front of her. Any deeper and she might just have been rendered blind, but it ended. Yes, it ended. The room she face stretched out before her, crates strewn on both sides. The largest was far too narrow, though, and lengthy... very... lengthy. A serious feeling of Deja Vu was beginning to sweep over her, tightening the muscles in her stomach. Her bruises and gashes screamed at her to cease all this, but she walked forward, eyeing the crates. There just had to be prizes inside. Wonderful, flammable prizes. But the box at the end, this large, wooden box, she just couldn't shake. Tilting her head back, she eyed the ceiling. Rafters hovered above her, coming as a surprise. You didn't often see this in basements... cellars... what nots... But still, here they were. Something was seriously screwy with this design.
"You gothic freaks never had any sense of style," she complained audibly, her voice bouncing off the cement walls and returning to her. Damn, this was freaky. Still...
This is stupid. I'm tired, hungry, cold, and I smell like a wet dog. I want to sleep for at least twenty years before dealing with this shit. I've done the chase scene, but this is out of the question. I'm poor, half naked, and standing in the middle of a depressed teenager's dream land. Screw this!
Storming forward with a huff, she gripped the lid of the vertical box and heaved, grunting with the effort.
"Open... up.... stupid... box!!" When it wouldn't give, she kicked it sourly. Dust drifted downwards, covering the top of her head with a thin layer of dirt. Oblivious, she delivered one more kick and an unpolished punch, shaking the box where it stood.
With a deafening crack, the loose plank above fell and landed smack on her skull. All went numb. Her eye unfocused and blurred as she suddenly could feel nothing beneath her feet. It was as if the ground just wasn't there, like a cloud. Pretty cloud. Pretty box. Pretty man.
She sank to her knees, unaware of the lid flat beside her. Slowly, she drew her eye higher and higher to the body erect before her. Long, black hair framing pallid skin. Black on black and black. Silly black people. Depression's for cats.
The last thing she saw was a pair of crimson eyes shooting through her, expressionless. Dead. Her body met the ground with a dull thud as her eye fell shut behind a russet curtain.