Disclaimer: This story contains violent and descriptive gore. Please do not read if you have trouble with graphic writing.
Author Note:
This chapter and the next one (Chapter 16) will most likely be the most bloody ones in the story, so I thought I'd put a nice disclaimer at the top :) Anyways, I really like the way this story has turned out so far. We're getting closer and closer to the end! I can't believe it! Only 6 more chapters!
Love chu all~ Keep Reading :)
~Scar
Chapter 15:
She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Garry tensed even more than he already was, his hands curling into fists. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" Ib yelled through the tears that had started to fall down her face. The grotesque creature continued to limp towards them, gargling happily; a long, dark curl of smoke-like paint spilled from between her stitched mouth, which was turned up at the corners in a sort of malevolent smile.
"Red."
Ib stared, and her hand went to her mouth as she noticed another demented feature of the twisted being that stood before her. Her eyes. Where were they? Ripped right out of their sockets, Ib could see the dark fleshy tissue of her eye socket in full; the white bone of her skull partially showed through on either side. "Mary! Why are you doing this? I'm sorry! IM SO SORRY!" She began to sob furiously again, her body shaking. A petal fell from her rose, wilting and disintegrating into black dust in the air. Garry tensed even more.
"Red. You have so much red inside you. Beautiful, rich, red; thick, sweet, savory RED." She took another step closer, the black from her previous message shrouding her face like a black veil. She stumbled slightly, and Ib noticed that she was limping heavily on one leg, which seemed to stop at the ankle. A long trail of her black blood was visible across the deep blue flooring. What happened to her? Garry took a step towards Mary, placing himself right between the two girls.
"Mary." He spat the word, his tone more venomous than Ib had ever heard it. His rose slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, and she noticed that the black tainting the petals was spreading, softly, slowly, encasing the blue in a shockingly thick shroud of darkness.
"GARRY!" She screamed through the tears, "YOUR ROSE!" He ignored her.
"Red. I can SMELL it, I can HEAR it, let me TASTE it." She hissed and gurgled, a long trail of black spit escaping her mouth and splashing to the floor. It burned the floor where it hit.
"Close your eyes, Ib, and don't open them until I tell you to do so." Ib obeyed fearfully. She had no idea what was going on, and at that point, was just praying for her life.
She had to live.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
White closed the book with a loud thud. She was back in her domain, the White palace. The place of learning, of happy-endings. The other artwork often called it 'Heaven's Gates' after the painting of that title that resided on the eastern wall. It was large, almost a mural in size, with a gaudy golden frame and a thick, white canvas. It depicted a rather ostentatious scene full of soft gold angels and dark black demons, that seemed to be congregating around the pearly white gates of Heaven. White sighed, massaging her temples tiredly. I'm growing old. So very old. She looked down at her gloved hands and eased one off of her fingertips, wincing slightly at the pain that ran through her body like crackling electricity. She stared down at her bare skin, the skin that was once so purely paper white. Black. It was spreading like a disease, it had started at the fingertips, tainting her skin with an odd grayish pigment, now it was her entire hand. Gray at the wrist, dark, sickening black at the tips of her fingers. It burned bitterly, sending bursts of pain through her nervous system at fairly regular intervals.
She was dying.
Everything was dying.
The blackness was taking over, and drowning them all in its never-ending tidal wave of silence.
And it would continue to collect victims.
Until there was no one left.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
Dark. It was so dark. She was still shaking. The sounds of fighting filled the room. There was an occasional exclamation of pain from Garry, or a gargle of anger from Mary. With each new noise, her heart beat seemed to quicken. Her pulse was racing, almost matching the high intensity of which she was violently shaking. Suddenly, silence. Her heart dropped, before soaring again; beating faster and faster and faster. Rip. There was a violent crunching noise, intensifying as though it was getting closer. Ib heard Mary hiss, and Garry exclaim with surprise. But she couldn't see.
She was lost in the dark.
Alone.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
Garry stared in shock at the monster that had stumbled into the room. It was so familiar, its demented face greeting Garry with a severe case of déjà vu. "Wh-What is..." Mary had gone deathly still, her face paling with what looked like true fear. The monster stepped forwards slowly. Marry hissed, shrinking in on herself. It took Garry a while to snap out of his daze. He could take advantage of the situation that was put before him, it was time to go. He retreated back to Ib and picked her up, holding her bridal style in his arms. She began to scream, but Garry delicately pressed his hand against her lips, shushing her quietly; she fell silent. Mary was still frozen in place, shivering slightly. He ran for the exit, trying not to draw too much attention to himself and the girl in his arms. Garry took one final look back at the room they were leaving, and Mary's dark, sightless eyes met hers. He slammed the door. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and as Garry took off down the corridor, he continued to hear it ring in his ears. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. An image was stuck in his mind. Her face... Why was it so familiar? Where had he seen it before? He shook it off, continuing to run, faster and faster. Splash. A large puddle of paint smeared onto the floor, and Garry hurriedly read the writing.
"Did you forget something important? -G" a small image accompanied the note. It looked like a blue rose.
/\-*~*-*~*-*~*-/\
The painting bit into her leg, black paint splattered onto the floor, Mary roared with pain and anger. The paint didn't seem to be harming her attacker in any way, he was immune to the poison. She writhed in his grip, but he was persistent. She heard the dry sucking of muscle as it tore out of socket. Black. It splashed her attackers face, he licked at it with his tongue. She squirmed even more, the lubricant of her own blood allowing her to slip out of his grasp. He dropped the limb that lay in his arms, twitching slightly, and scrambled after her. Just a bit farther... Her fingers reached for the doorknob desperately. Yes! Her hand wrapped around it, slick with her own blood. She turned it, expecting the door to swing open. But it didn't.
It was locked.
She was trapped.
A numbing realization hit.
She felt a firm hand wrap around her ankle, its nails digging into her skin, and dragging her back...