lmao its 2AM

Armour: Brimflame (Vanity- CAU Robes)

Weapon: Lashes of Chaos, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor

Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, TerraSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)

Health: (500/500)

Armour: Molten Armour (Vanity - Standard)

Weapon: Uzi (High-Velocity Bullet); Molten Bow (Ichor Arrows); Arkhalis

Acc(12/12): Charm of Myths, Ankh Shield, Terraspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Deific Amulet, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, MOAB, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings, Warrior Emblem, Sniper Scope

Health: (0/400)

Is he even coming... It's been days...

It was morning. Again.

Another day. Another morning, and although the sun shone down merrily, there seemed to be a grim melancholy about the place. The sky was blue and distant. Clear skies, wispy clouds - a harrowing silence where not even a fly buzzed or the wind stirred. A week ago, before The First Guide had gone and thrown himself into a pit of lava (if The Monster Knight was to be believed), The Compound was buzzing with life. There were far too many animals here. So many birds, their morning songs were cacophonous. So many squirrels they had dug holes all over the lawn. It was chaotic, amusing and annoying - and although she had found bird droppings all over her front porch for a week straight, she didn't dislike the company.

And she didn't begin to miss it until The Monster Knight returned.

Because when he did, when that man came stumbling through the gates - madness burning in his head and grief sinking his steps, he cut down every single creature that crossed his path. Deer and squirrels, slain by the blade. Birds were shot out of the sky. The Mechanic was beheaded. The Party Girl was chased into the woods... The Stylist wondered what would've happened is she had been in the common area at the time. Would she have been cut down too? Very likely. The Monster Knight didn't pretend to have any affection towards her. He scarcely acknowledged anyone aside from The Guide anyways...

The Guide said he'd return for me... that bastard better not have run off.

She sighed and rested her cheek against her outstretched arm. The wooden table beneath the outdoor gondola was beginning to smell rather strongly of alcohol, which was expected given The Party Girl often took her drinking to the lawn and did little to clean up after herself. Had The Stylist been a bit more courageous, she might have confronted The Party Girl for this filthy behavior, but she dare not. It was well known that if you valued your life, you just didn't tussle with CC Agents.

Instead, you just did as they instructed...

And for The Stylist... it meant she needed to play butcher.

I can't imagine why she won't do it herself... Does she not want him to detect her scent?! What about me then! I don't want the Monster Knight on my doorstep either!

The Stylist sighed once more and reached out towards the seathed knife The Party Girl had supplied her with. It was a small blade, no longer than the length of her hand, but sharpened so wickedly it drew blood when it nigh grazed the skin. What was she supposed to do? Cut off his nose, right? The Party Girl insisted on it, and she also insisted The Monster Knight would be helpless to resist... and she also insisted she'd kill her if she disobeyed. As such, The Stylist was at a crossroads: certain death by The Party Girl, or uncertain death by The Monster Knight. Both situations were bad, but one was immediately worse than the other.

Which meant... the moment The Monster Knight reappeared in on that spot in the patio, she had to leap up and attack him - and what were her chances of surviving that?! Would he actually be helpless? Since when was The Monster Knight ever helpless? Agh... There was no shirking her task either! She could feel The Party Girl's merciless eyes blazing against the back of her neck. Her only hope was for The Guide to return with some air balloon so they could both escape this place. But then again... Maybe The Guide just up and left her! He said he wouldn't, but she had only known him for a few days anyways and-

*thunk-*

It was a fleshy noise.

The sound of bare skin and slack muscle plopping against the stone. Startled, The Stylist seized her knife and turned to look...

And before she could fully process the sight, she was already striding across the lawn - blade flashing in the cool afternoon sun.

He'd walked through this park a hundred times.

It was a little wooded area on his route home from the hospital where he slaved away for twelve-hour shifts. It was dirty work, nursing. Typically staffed by women, but after working in the industry for a few years, The Guide was convinced the physicality of the job was far more suited for men. It was a messy and tough job. Yes, a good portion required an extensive medical knowledge, something he had accumulated a great deal of during his studies (he never forgot anything, after all.) but a lot of it involved picking people up, moving heavy equipment, dealing with difficult patients and sometimes being attacked.

So although The Guide had grown up a classical 'nerdy' kid, with little sports background and often found himself winded at the top of the stairs... two years of people lifting for twelve hours a day had him eating like a glutton and packing on enough muscle that women he'd daydream about were nigh throwing themselves at him...

... well, usually they were throwing themselves at him in a panicked mess when their patients were getting physical or were too heavy to move. He was young, and he was strong -stronger than they, at least- and he found he had a great deal of patience. He never said no, even when he was exhausted, and quickly became such a valued member of The Annex Hospital, The Director saw fit to bump his pay for fear another organization would snatch him.

And so, although work was hard, life was good. His coworkers loved him. His boss loved him. His patients (sometimes) loved him, and that was all he needed to feel fulfilled. The Guide knew he was a bit of a people pleaser, but what was so wrong with that? Whenever somebody thanked him (sometimes profusely, with tears) he felt such a great swell of pride, he'd go about the rest of his grueling shift with a little halo over his head.

*crunch crunch crunch*

But today, much like many other days, he was walking home, exhausted, and with no halo over his head. Today was particularly terrible. They were short staffed (as per usual around the holidays), one of his patients went into cardiac arrest, a homeless citizen was brought in after being hit by a car and The Guide was assigned to keep an eye on him as he begged and cried for treatment. But what did the man expect? Imperial policy explicitly forbade providing state subsidized treatment to the 'undesirables', and the hospital fine for breaking this law would far outweigh any sort of goodwill he had with management. The Guide had watched this man slowly bleed out over the course of three hours before time of death was recorded and the corpse disposed of.

Maybe I could have snuck him some painkillers... ack, but that's not allowed by policy.

The Guide sighed and pondered the colourful leaves underfoot as he made his way through the little wooded park, as was his after-shift custom. The night was cool by the time he got out of work, and the smell of the fresh evening breeze was sublime compared to the sickly smell of the hospital. Overhead, little stars twinkled in the sky, and - although The Guide was no astronomer, he did enjoy identifying each of them from various angles, especially if he had to assuage some misplaced sense of guilt. This was one of the few perks of living in The Capitol Annex, as opposed to The Capitol proper. This area was more suburban, and boasted the luxury of little patches of forest like this one. Of course the Autumn Festival's partygoers had rampaged through this place all afternoon, leaving trash and crushed beer bottles everywhere, but even so - The Guide was determined to enjoy it before he stumbled into his apartment to sleep. He shut his eyes and drew a deep breath.

*crunch crunch crunch*

And... and the scent of the air changed?

The Guide snapped his eyes open and looked about. The air had become warm, fresh, musky, new? The smell of loamy dirt after a spring rain. The speckle of sunlight peeking from betwixt newly sprouted leaves. What... sunlight?! Was that the sun, peeking through the trees?! Today was the last night of The Autumn Festival! How could it be spring?! The Guide frowned deeply and stopped walking as he blinked the light from his eyes. Is this real? Most likely not. Was he lucid dreaming? This was no time to dream. If he fell asleep in the park, who knows what would happen to him? At minimum, he'd be robbed. Worst case scenario, he might wake missing his organs.

So, now only slightly panicking, he pinched himself a little harder than necessary.

"Ow! Dangit!"

The world didn't dissolve. The Guide frowned again and, after a brief moment of hesitation, started walking. He was honestly quite confused - but doing something was preferable to doing nothing in this situation. Maybe some mage had messed up their teleportation spell and zipped him all the way across the country? Or perhaps somebody was testing a season changing device (The Guide was unsure if such a thing existed). In any case, all he needed was to find somebody to ask. Best case scenario, they knew a way for him to go home.

Okay...

There were several lightly-trodden paths winding through the forest. They intersected, tangling upon themselves in a dizzying fashion, and likewise petering out without rhyme or reason. Game paths, possibly? Given the comparative humid temperature and the season, The Guide could only assume he was quite far south. Perhaps even close to The Crimson Border?! It was well known the southern region of this continent was a fertile and plentiful land... that is, until The Dryad's enchantment was mysteriously broken a few weeks ago, and people began fleeing the encroaching crimson in droves. There was some news that Yharim himself had come down here to sear the land in an attempt to stop The Crimson's spread - but the reports came back that the world-eating cancer dug far deeper than what dragonfire could cleanse from the surface.

I do hope that dragonfire did accomplish something...

The forest was very quiet. There was the merry trickle of a babbling brook not far off, but that was it. No insects buzzed. No birds sang in the trees. Not even voles and chipmunks scurried amongst the underbrush. It really was quite eerie... especially after The Guide had stumbled across a set of deer bones poking out of a shallow grave. Now The Guide was no vegetarian, but he was also a city dweller... he didn't necessary want to know where his food came from. Imagining Bambi getting eaten never failed to bring a tear to his eye.

Somebody was hunting here recently... here's hoping they're still around.

The Guide sighed as he continued to walk. He somehow had a sense he knew where to go - which was strange for him. He wasn't a man who worked off intuition much at all. Perhaps that was the drawback of having a perfect memory? Well, in any case, he continued to follow the little path until...

...

A Gate? No, an entire fortress.

Granted, it was a rather small fortress, but a fortress nevertheless - ringed roundabout by a tall and sturdy wall and appearing oddly insurmountable despite its humble size. The front gate seemed to simply emerge out of the trees as The Guide walked. It was a heavy gate, of pressed hardwood and bolted down with masterful craftsmanship. At this point, his curiosity had usurped his caution and The Guide wandered up to The Gate to press his palm against its cool surface. Much to his surprise, it creaked open.

Oh... it looked so secure... I guess not.

With a little bit of sheepishness, The Guide pushed open the doors and straightened his scrubs, intending to introduce himself any remaining residents of this fortress and hopefully find a quick way home (tomorrow was his day off, and he didn't want to waste it travelling). Instead, he was met with a far more horrific sight.

Near the center of the slightly overgrown field was a large, raised patio upon which a great deal of debris was scattered about. An iron pot here, a sawmill there, there was an anvil buried halfway in the dirt and the red brick was stained black as if it had been bathed in dragonfire.

And in the midst of the smoldering ruins were two figures.

One, a man with a terribly wan complexion. He was laying motionless on his back. A women was hunched over him, her hands and knees were covered in his blood. There was a dark, wild look in her eyes as she plucked her blade out of the man's face and splattered fluids across her lap. She looked about to go in for another stab when she paused, raised her head and, upon looking to his face, smiled at him.

Damn, another crazy...

And as The Guide hurtled across the lawn with the full intention of violently tackling the pink-haired woman to the ground, the only thing he could think of was how much he hated working the psyche ward.

The sun is setting over The Capitol City.

Brilliant colours spread across the sky, reds and pinks and oranges that meld and blend into one another to paint the buildings in the hues of rainbow fire. The evening is cool and the streets are gently bustling. It seems the last festivities the Autumn Celebration have not been cancelled despite the wreckage of my battle. The Mechanical Eyes' burning chassis had crushed a few buildings and certainly caused a number of casualties, yet even so, The Capitol's citizens continue to mill about with a heedless optimism.

I suppose I can understand.

Why focus so keenly on tragedy? There is no benefit in sinking to despair nor drowning in anxiety. The people could either wail in fear, or go about in happiness... and they have chosen happiness. So because they have decided my battle was not worth panicking over, I - in this tentative moment of peace - may relish these last few moments in The Capitol's opulence, for I certainly will not return here again for a long while. I have heard whispers in the streets that Yharim is soon to return, and so - at any moment - I am quite prepared to teleport back 'home' - wherever that might be.

I wonder ... will I appear amongst the wreckage of The Archmage's Castle? or perhaps in the little room that was carved out of time for me... Hero, are you not quite lost?

I am lost.

But I am not in despair.

I wander, but I am not filled with anxious thoughts.

Perhaps I am being short sighted. Perhaps I am living in the moment a little too much... but I am determined to enjoy what I can, when I can. I have little skill in illusions, but just changing my eyes and rubbing squid's ink in my hair has been sufficient to deceive any of the vendors who - to be fair - were more interested in my pocketbook than I. As far as they cared, I was a rather tall, rather odd looking CAU Student who was trying to spend his pocket change as quickly as possible.

And although each coin is rather filthy and worn (reasonable, considering I'd pilfered each one of them from the corpses of the great zombie horde) the vendors took my coin without complaint. And thusly I divested myself directly into the registers of a great variety of food vendors, and in return I indulged in shameless joy. Chocolates so smooth, they melt on my tongue, hard candies that are sweet like honey, but contain within themselves flavours I cannot fantom nor identify. I've eaten three bags of pastries and with each that I consume, the more delightful the flavours become. Frankly, I fear I've become a bit of a glutton - but then again, why not enjoy; at least while I can? Soon enough I'll be back in the woods with nothing to munch on but treebark and mealworms...

"One of each, please."

"Of course, darling."

A masked lady had spent the evening bustling about, proffering seasoned meat on sticks to passersbys when I crossed her path. Of course, I am always excited to expand my palate experience and don't refuse what she's offered me... whatever it is. Well, it doesn't really matter. I am not the type to be overly worried about the things I've consumed. No matter what I've eaten, I've never felt sick for it. Even mysterious meats are not offputting!

*Clatter...clink*

And just like that, I wander the night. Sometimes walking in the warm lantern-light, othertimes retreating to the shadows. There is hustle and bustle all about me, raucous, jolly laughter that rises and falls as naturally as the floes of wind and tide. Twirling skirts and dancing ladies. The sounds of joy and camraderie, of fluttering banners and wonderful smells. There is a sort of chaos in the festival street, chaos yes, but beauty too when so intertwined - soothes the souls. And so, I continue to saunter through the night, kebab sticks poking from between my lips and humming a little tune I'm quite certain I've never heard before - watching the men and women whirl about each other, watching the children shout and leap as they chase each other about the streets. I am an outsider here... nay, I am an enemy, yet I cannot help but desire to partake in their dewey-eyed joy.

Perhaps... if I go dance with them, I-

...

A chill runs down my spine. My heart seizes and, suddenly, I feel insects skittering, slithering under my skin. Dread pours over me like a bucket of icy water, and my half eaten kebabs fall to the ground from between my rigid fingers. What was that? what is this dreadful presence? The sun... has it always been so red?

Was the sky always so black?

Was the air always so thick?

My vision is blurred with trembling tears as I lift my face to the pitch black sky. There is malice in the air, the miserable stink of rancid death seeps behind my eyes and drives barbed hooks into my brain. It pulls at my mind. It pulls at my memory until... until the festival and the food and all of my chaos and all of my joy... are all but forgotten. Merely misty phantoms, shadows cast from flickering firelight. There is just one reality now.

The Bloom.

The bloom on the horizon.

A horrendous red bloom where the sun should have been. It's enormous, and with each passing second, it seems to swell and swell until it fills my vision. Until it reaches the vault of the sky, and stretches from one end of the earth to the other. Fiery tendrils wind and tangle within a shell of warped flesh and stones - roaring and roaring, whirling and whirling. Her great eye stares wide at me, its gaze haughty and full of seething malice. Palpable malice, as hot as tar, as searing as brimstone. It touches me and I shrivel. I hunch over. I choke. I vomit.

I... I must flee...

I know this aura. I remember this scent. It's the scent of distilled death. It's the aura of purified dread. A wailing song of despair echoes in my ears, sung by a thousand shrieking voices, a hundred fevered shouts. The Eye is magic. The image of a great and terrifying power.

Whose Magic is this?

I dare not find out.

Monster Knight: "I think this pain will end with you."

Faze: "Are you /srs, or /j?"

MK: "I/U"

F: "Ah okay." *dies*

d