Original Character Battle RP Tournament - Anyone want to give it a go?
- Thread starter mshcherbatskaya
- Start date
Demonjazz said at some point that he's written three pages of introduction, Jojo said that he could've had it done last week but with diminished quality, can't say for NewClassic, and I am just about to start, having spent two weeks unsure of the overall narrative 
It's five pages now actually, but will probably be trimmed down quite a bit in the proofreading process. Unless of course, I rush it out at the last minute. Oh, well. I could send you some proof of progress actually if you'd like.
- Mar 31, 2010
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[HEADING=1]Taiga vs Gremlin[/HEADING]
"Wake up, Taiga! Wake up!"
Taiga stirred and then cracked her eyes open. The first thing she saw was the anxious face of Kosa, who had taken the form of a small boy with monkey-like tufts of fur poking out from under his clothing, as he often had when she was young. That he had reverted to this form now suggested something was deeply wrong.
"Where are we?" she murmured, half to herself. The bright, clean room she had been operated in was gone, to be replaced by a damp cell with cracked walls. The bed was now stained and stank of dried vomit, and the only light came from a small barred window. Her spear was gone, though her stone hunting knife was still safely hidden under her furs. She might have believed that the whole library was just a dream if it wasn't for the stitches she could still feel in her aching shoulder.
"A safe place."
Taiga looked up to see a red, round face at the grill window in the door. A pair of piggy eyes stared down at her.
"Where?" she asked again, this time more firmly.
"Fairview Hospital. I'm Doctor Monroe, and I will be conducting your treatment today."
Few of those words made any sense to Taiga, but before she had a chance to ask for any further explanation, the doctor disappeared again.
"How did we get here?" she murmured, before the realisation struck her. She turned on Kosa. "Wait, I thought you said you were going to keep watch?"
"I'm sorry! I don't know what happened! I... I must have just been really tired and then... and then..."
"Ugh!" Taiga couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I can never trust you with anything!"
"I said I'm sorry! You... you fell asleep too!"
"You've already ruined my life once! Why can't you just fuck off and leave me alone?"
Taiga regretted the words as soon as she had spoken them, but it was too late to take them back. Kosa's expression changed to one of extraordinary hurt, and then he shrunk into an ant, scuttling under the door before she had the chance to say anything further.
"Wait, come back! I didn't mean it!" Taiga cried. But in her heart, she knew that wasn't true.
She sunk down into a corner, burying her head in her arms. She could feel that Kosa was somewhere nearby -- he physically couldn't get that far away from her -- but it didn't make her feel any less alone. After a time, she started to hear whispers outside the door she was locked behind. They were impossible to follow, but the snippets she caught were bad enough:
"...the patient suffers from persistent delusions..."
"...has heard voices since childhood, usually characterised a spirit named Kosa..."
"...was cast out of her tribe..."
"...banished for killing a man. Said Kosa told her to do it..."
Taiga covered her head with her hands in an attempt to block out the mocking voices. The worst part -- everything they said was true.
After what seemed like an eternity, the lock in the door suddenly turned. Taiga struggled to her feet, to be greeted by Doctor Monroe and two blank-faced assistants wearing stained white coats.
"Come," the doctor said simply. A demand rather than a request. Taiga stepped out of the cell, trying to get a sense of whether Kosa was nearby, but his familiar commentary was nowhere to be heard. She followed the doctor down the corridor until they reached a small room with a long dust-covered chair and several decaying plants. Over the chair hung a shining dome that gave off a distinctly ominous feeling. Her heart leapt, however, when she saw several of her old possessions laid out on a desk against the far wall. Among them, her flint-tipped spear.
"Sit, and we can begin," Doctor Monroe said, offering his hand. It was the moment Taiga had been waiting for. She vaulted over the chair and grabbed her spear with both hands, before spinning back around so that she was facing her captors.
"Get back!" she warned the doctor.
"Please, be calm. This is for your own good," he said, stepping towards her with something which resembled a dart held between his fingers. She jabbed the spear forwards, almost losing her balance as the flint tip passed right through his midriff. He stepped neatly to one side, leaving only a faint trail of mist. "Please, this isn't the time for games."
With a start, Taiga realised just what the doctor was. She didn't hesitate, leaping forward and feeling no more than a slight chill as she stumbled through the apparition. Then she ran and ran, not even daring to look behind her.
The corridors she found herself in seemed to go on without end. From behind some doors, she could hear screaming, while the unfortunate residents of others merely muttered to themselves. Taiga wasn't sure which was worse. Perhaps, she thought, the librarians had murdered her in her sleep, and this was the afterlife? A place of torment and punishment, clearly, but then that was no more than she deserved.
After a time, she reached an open courtyard rimmed with overgrown bushes. She slowed, sensing that Kosa was close by, but in what form? The spider on the wall, or the fly in its web? She prodded both with her forefinger, just to be sure, but neither showed any signs of being a sulking wind spirit in disguise.
"Kosa?" she breathed, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper. "Where are you, Kosa?"
At that moment, she heard a twig snap. Her instincts kicked in, and she spun around to see a white-haired man standing behind her, a dark-bladed knife in one hand. If it wasn't for his weathered face and dull, glowing eyes, she might have thought he was only a boy, as he was nearly a full foot shorter than her.
"Whoever this Kosa is, sounds like a lucky guy," the white-haired man said, almost conversationally. "You got out too, then?" Taiga didn't reply. "Gremlin's the name. You got one?"
"Of course. Taiga of the White Hands."
"Huh, Taiga. You haven't figured it out yet, have you?" Gremlin said, spitting on the ground. "They put us in here to fight. Only one of us can walk out the winner. But that doesn't mean we have to top each other or anything." He took a step forward and Taiga drew back, gripping her spear. "Come quietly, and you'll be back out chasing mammoths in no time. It's win-win, no?"
"And what do you get, then?" Taiga asked. Gremlin paused and then grinned.
"You ain't as stupid as you look." He shrugged. "Nothing that you'd want or understand."
"Tell me!"
"A gift. One wish for almost anything, corny as it sounds. Wouldn't have believed it either, if I hadn't seen that portal with my own eyes."
Taiga's heart leapt in her chest. Could it be true? There were many things she would wish to be done, or undone, if given the chance. But one she found impossible to ignore, something she had often pondered in her adolescent years but eventually dismissed as futile. A hopeless dream. But even if she could sever the soulbond that she known almost her entire life, would Kosa ever be able to understand why she had done so?
"Imma simple man," Gremlin continued, breaking her train of thought. "Retirement on a big ol' pile of gold sounds fine to me. And if you ain't gonna step aside..."
Without warning, Gremlin leapt forward, knife in hand. Taiga ducked to one side, but not before the serrated edge of the blade had connected with her left forearm. She let out a cry, swinging her spear and missing his ankle by a large margin. He swung again at her, nearly slicing her throat in two. She kicked at him and tried to regain space to move, but he grabbed onto her spear, wrenching it out of her grasp in a single slick motion.
"Welcome to the twenty-first century," he said, snapping her spear in his bare hands. Taiga lurched back, clutching onto her bleeding arm. "Shame they wouldn't let me bring my gun. Guess they couldn't make it too easy!"
Taiga turned and ducked, feeling the swish of a knife skimming past her ear. She heard Gremlin curse and didn't wait around to listen for anything else, instead bolting the cover of the nearest bushes. It wasn't so different from how she had been taught to avoid arrows in the midst of a skirmish. She stumbled forward, keeping her head low and covering her neck with her hands until she was out-of-sight, then ran with every ounce of energy she had left in her.
Unfortunately, with one fresh wound and another barely even begun to heal, Taiga wasn't in any condition to get far. She clambered up one flight of steps and then another, cradling her arm so that she didn't leave a trail of blood. When she finally ground to a halt, her lungs feeling as if they were about to burst, she found herself on the roof of the hospital. She edged around a gap where the ceiling had fallen in and made her way over to the edge, searching desperately for some ledge or foothold to climb down, but to her dismay, there was nothing to be seen. She was trapped.
She turned back, looking over the rooftop in desperation. There was something which resembled a giant drum, except it was overflowing with brackish water, and also some loose fencing material, but she couldn't see what use they would be. It was only when she spotted a torn sheet of tarpaulin hanging from a crumbling chimney that she suddenly recalled her father's words when he had been teaching her how their tribe hunted mastodon.
"The beast may have size and strength on its side, but we have cunning. Use that to your advantage."
She grabbed the tarpaulin and untied it with trembling hands, before dragging it across the gaping hole in the roof. It barely fitted. She then tied it with one tight knot on either side, and one just loose enough that it could just about hold the tarpaulin's weight, but little more. Then, she waited.
It wasn't long before she heard light footsteps ascending the steps below. The hunter, or perhaps now the hunted, emerged onto the hospital roof. He grinned knowingly when he saw Taiga.
"Thought you might be up here."
Taiga watched with bated breath as he stepped forward, before looking down and nudging the tarpaulin with his foot.
"You didn't think I'd fall for that, right? That's the oldest one in the book."
There was nowhere left to run. Taiga threw herself forward in a last-ditch attempt to preempt the inevitable attack, but Gremlin was already prepared. His right foot sunk into her stomach, sending her tumbling back across the wet rooftop. She fumbled wildly, her hands grasping onto a cracked piece of guttering mere inches before she slid off entirely.
"Shoulda taken the deal when you had the chance," Gremlin said as he appeared above her, grinning from ear-to-ear. Taiga snarled in reply. If she was going to die, then at least she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of begging.
Then, she saw a small black beetle crawling along the gutter. To anyone else, it would have been unremarkable. But Taiga instantly recognised the five-fingered white mark on its shell.
"Knock over the drum!" Kosa hissed. Taiga looked up and saw that looming over Gremlin was the overflowing water container. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. With one hand still clinging onto the gutter, she reached into her furs and found the hilt of her small stone knife. It was blunter than she'd have liked, but it would have to do.
With the last of her remaining strength, she hauled herself up onto the rooftop again while concealing the knife in her right hand. Gremlin watched her with a bemused fascination.
"Whatcha gonna do now? Spit on my boots?"
"This!" Taiga gasped, slamming down the knife into Gremlin's left foot. The man let out a bloodcurdling cry and collapsed onto his knees, desperately trying to release his pinned foot. Taiga meanwhile stumbled up to the rusting water drum, before throwing her whole weight against it.
Crack!
For a horrible moment, she thought it wouldn't budge. But then, the container began to tip and tumble towards the spot where Gremlin was still trying to free his trapped foot. Taiga saw him look up, a flash of terror in his mechanical eyes.
"You bitc..!"
There was a final scream, followed by a sickening crunch. Taiga limped back down to peer over the edge of the building, and then wished she hadn't.
"Well done, Taiga." She heard a voice behind her. She turned to see the leading librarian, the expression on his face almost as nauseating as what she had just witnessed below. "You've done very well indeed."
"What will happen to him?" Taiga asked hesitantly. She felt a bat-shaped Kosa land on her neck and reached up to give him an affectionate squeeze.
"Oh, he'll be returned to his own world, don't you worry," the librarian said smoothly. He flashed a grin that sent a shiver down Taiga's spine. "Well, what's left of him."
I plan to close the round on Sunday, unless I feel a disturbance in the Force, as though a bunch of writers cried out in anguish and were suddenly silenced. Post your shit, people!
Apologies in advance. It's a bit long.
Bricks and bronzed molding, a fountain now empty of water, old tile mostly perfectly set into the floor, and a small man in a barely maintained coat watches the dust draw aimless pathways through the debris. The caked skylight paints sunbeams across the air between Gremlin and the ground below. "I ain't got no patience for this, Lester. The hell is this place?"
His transceiver replied with static. Motes of dust floated through the air. The lobby remained empty.
"Ah'right. Guess that's how this is. Johnson's gonna be pissed." A piece of mostly disintegrated paper shuffles against a distant wall, either by wind or rodent. His eyes flicker in aimless directions while he scans his databases. Architecture resembles nothing he has blueprints for in Seattle. Whatever network this area has is either encrypted to hell and back or non-existent. The lobby design suggests a entry foyer, delivery zone, and waiting area. Or perhaps even a hotel lobby or holding. It's not any of the major corps, though... Not enough branding.
Gremlin's knife tip traces shapes in the sky as his mouth shapes the words not vocalized. Not corp, not the knights, no blueprints, old architecture, cavernous lobby without apparent purpose, dirty and disused, plants clawing through the cracks in the fountain's foundation, tarnished metal in the margins. Abandoned, then. Paper documents suggest either cult, ancient dragon, or fae....
More phantom movements from the trash below. Gremlin interrupts his thinking to watch it, eyes switching quickly among thermal, zoomed, and night-optics in search of some sort of sign of what's moving the trash. The debris continues to move, uninterested in Gremlin's gaze.
If fae, too dangerous to stay out here. If dragon, too dead to realize it yet. If cult, more dead, dismembered, and diseased. With any luck, in that order.
A set of double-doors stood between Gremlin and the deeper tunnels of whatever this place could dream up. Without plans or scouting, he's liable to be killed around every corner. Move slowly, creep cautiously, kill anything that moves, move anything you killed. Standard operating procedure, then. Dust and moisture collected and dried on the window across countless decades left the windows in the doors near opaque, but through the edges of the muck showed Gremlin nothing in the empty hallways.
He pushed the door experimentally, the door opens.
"Well, anticlimax."
The hallway is likewise covered in the dust that gathers in empty spaces. Dead skin from the walls gathers in the eddies that form from the vents and blankets the ground over years of no movement. Dirt from shoes gathers in the corners where the breeze takes them. Without lights, darkness consumes the hallways. Windows set deep into distant rooms provide only the barest promise of light, too skim to see anything but the faintest corners to the naked eye. Gremlins eyes glow with mechanical augmentation.
Thermal vision shows him little more than cold bricks set into mildly cool drywall. Nothing warm lurks in the doorframes of the offices that flank the hall on both sides. Gremlins boots thump with echoing hollows as he creeps down the hallways. Hasty glances in the offices show him cheap furniture, empty chairs, and more destroyed paper. Nothing but his footsteps accompany him as he walks. Blues and deep purples are all his thermal vision grant him as he moves down the hallway.
So cold as to be black bars wait for him at the end of the hallway, and he peers at them curiously. Strips of metallic void hover in the air. Gremlin raps noisily on the bars with his knife. "Knock, knock!"
The rapping of his blade pushes the bars inward. And he looks around. On his side, he spots what looks like an administrative window, with nothing but reflective orange in it. "Bars is supposed to open out."
The guard station window says nothing in reply.
He steps through the threshold, and walks further into the asylum. Another atrium, this one more spartan. Metal chairs, bare concrete columns, brutalist architecture. A home of sorts, at least in as far as Gremlin has been here before.
"Earth ta Lester. You there, jackass?"
Static.
Gremlin looks around, swapping quickly to night vision, then normal sight, then thermal again. The room is empty of all but the motes that shimmer ethereally through the air. An old television, or at least the nearest ghost of one, sits without its screen or CRT mechanism on a metallic shelf set against the roof. An old clock sits perpetually dead at 6:29. The chairs remain empty. A hand touches Gremlin's back. An empty card tab-
Gremlin whirls violently, fingers gripping his knife, a slash cuts through the air at throat level, a solid six inches (15 cm) above his. He feels nothing as his arm completes its rotation and he stands facing the bars a few meters away, now swinging gently from his passage through them. The room, and hallway beyond, are empty.
A brief pause. "Marco!"
No one replies.
"This place has at least half as many heebies and jeebies. Christ."
A book falls off the shelf set against the nearest wall, and Gremlin snaps his neck in that direction. It is empty of heat. It is empty of bodies. It is empty of movement. A cheap-looking hardback book is is spine-down on the floor, splayed open to a random page. Gremlin approaches cautiously, checking his surroundings as he moves, and nudges the book with his foot. It slides obligingly across the floor. He picks it up, and reads the cover: King James Version.
"Heh. Christ. Bible. I get it. Funny."
---
In a deeply recessed cell, Taiga was jabbing her spear into the stone wall. Metal bars, set into the floor and reinforced all the way across, are near impossible to break. She knows this, and isn't bothering to waste her time trying to break it. The ground is made of compacted stone of some sort, and would likely shatter the spear before sustaining much damage itself. The wall, however, had seen the weight of time, the rains of the heavens, and the crumbling of age. Though it bore no wrinkles, this was likely the first to break. Taiga wasted no time helping it along.
She'd woken in this cell, in an impossibly soft cot not unlike the medical room she'd passed out in had. Softer than snow, but hardly as wet, offered her the comfort of layered furs, but without the oppressive heat. Aside from that, a soft-cornered metal disk was wedged into the wall, and had a little lever poking from its top. The walls wailed when the lever was manipulated, so Taiga had jammed it back to what she hoped was a neutral position, earning a scornful chuckle from Kosa.
Beyond the bed and the metal, nothing else was in the room. Pieces of stone from a crumbling ceiling had gathered in various places, but no stone worth forming into a flint blade. She assessed the bars, the floor, the ceiling, the walls, then turned back to the bars. On the near wall, closest to the bed, cracks had birthed themselves into the joints that secured the bars to the wall. Weakness. She began there.
After an hour of labor, her still tender shoulder and ribbing commentary from Kosa left her winded. She sat back down on the cot, and surveyed her work while she rasped out breathes into the empty room. "Some watch you turned out to be."
The rat, such as he was, peered at her for a long moment. "Foolish me, then, to fall asleep at night."
Taiga gestured absently to her cell. "A reward for our well-earned rest."
"And in addition to your treatment, rest, and comfortable living, you find yourself a simple task with easy goals. You should hardly complain."
"Fleet-lipped spirit... I will not stray from your failing watching."
A brief hop, scurry, and shimmy up the bars leads the small creature to a smaller hole in the stone Taiga had most hewn out of the bricked wall. Taiga's next blink, and the rat disappears, replaced with the black and red marks of an impossibly graceful spider. The alien shape of its eyes turn back to Taiga, somehow mirthful, and slips through the hole through the wall. A second's silence before the rat stands on its hind legs, paws wrapping around the bars while leaning forward. "Then I shall nap out there. You're welcome to join me whenever."
---
Deeper into the wards, Gremlin's knife bites into the molded cushion of a dilapidated chair. Another two stabs litter the ground in fluff, stained black and brown with mold. "Stop touchin' me." Another hint of arctic cold dances across his lower back, pressing into his coat, and he spins with frenetic fury, tossing the chair on its side as his knife rips free, noisily, and whistles through the air behind him.
The nothingness remains unstabbed as he plants his boots, eyes darting around furiously.
The voice comes from every inch of nowhere in the room, bobbling drunkenly in the copper-piped walls, reverberating from the hollow plastic shell of a television still bolted onto its shelf, and shivering in the pages of the books on the wall. "Get out."
He jabs his knife in the air behind him, pointing dramatically at a plastic fern absolutely covered in plaster dust. "You get out, ya freaky air-cultist. You ain't the boss'a me."
A brief pause.
"...Is ya? That you, Lester?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, my name's not Lester!"
"Jesus tap-dancing sex fiend, it is you!"
"Who else would it be? You missed your meet with the doctor."
Gremlin's eyes narrow. "Johnson wasn't a doctor."
"You think I care, dumb-dumb?" He listened closer, and the static of his transceiver was just barely audible in his mind. "Go to the meet, and get out of whatever dark hole you're in. It isn't yours."
?Go screw yourself, ghost of Christmas past. I?m workin? here.?
Another hand snaked up his spine, and he turned and slashed at the air.
---
With another few hours digging, resting, and digging again, Taiga managed to worm her way through the opening, earning a few scrapes, a sore shoulder, but freedom from the cell she woke in. Once out in the hallway, it was like she?s shimmied her way into the arctic. Cold chills ghosted through her, impossibly fast but fleeting, as it fading into another dimension before seeping into her bones again.
?Have you been spending this whole time watching me dig, or noting all of the spirits drifting through here.?
Kosa continued eying the inside of the cell. ?They?re avoiding this place, for what reason I do not know, but out here they roam freely. I do not think they like me here.?
Taiga felt a ghostly hand rake its fingers across her back.
Kosa turned back to her, ?Or you, apparently.?
?Well, they can have their land. I do not wish to be here either.?
She turned, and walked up the hall, in a direction her gut told her would be wise. Kosa uncharacteristically spoke very little, instead favoring to keep track of all of the spirits meandering through the space.
---
?-ing the wrong way. The exit is where you came from. Get. Out.?
Gremlin growled to himself, shifting his steps as he shuffled quickly up the hallway. The front door had an electronic keypad on both sides. Likely using magnetic locks. Locks, that in the event of a power failure, wouldn?t open.
?Much as I would love to, Lester, I gotta work on it.?
Another touch, another knife swing. The knife breezed through empty air.
Some kind of warlock would know how to deal with specters, Gremlin reasoned, but he didn?t know how to solve any problem that lacked the decency to get shot or stabbed like normal people.
Further down the hallway, the corridors gave way to more hallways. Chips of plastic set on the walls illustrated a history of placards long lost to time. Gremlin checked the ground, brushing at the indented text to free it of whatever grime it had built over however long it?d been abandoned to the ground.
Instead, it remained too full of dirt to be read.
?Would?ve been too easy.?
So, instead, he waited until he felt a hand touch him and threw the grimy placard in that direction. It clattered noisily against a wall.
---
The echoes of noises rang from behind her, and Taiga turned to look. ?The spirits here do not seem to make noise. What was that??
?Sounded like movement.? Kosa provided, helpfully.
?Beasts??
?Perhaps, though bear in mind I consider humans to be among them.?
?Red hands??
?I cannot imagine any tribe to be of this place, whatever its providence.?
?Think we should investigate??
?If we wanted safety, I suspect we should have remained in that room.?
Frigid tendrils danced up her leg, and Taiga shuffled back a few steps. ?Maybe you?re right. All the same, I say we go find the source of that noise.?
?Eaten by beasts. Eaten by ghosts. All the same, so why not??
---
The third hallway Gremlin tried had MRI machines in them. Though they were far more powerful when electrified, these relics of medicine past could have a few reliable magnets in them. Hopefully one strong enough to at least jimmy the lock open. Gremlin began to pry the machine open.
?Mortal. I will not ask nicely again. Leave.?
?No. Shoo. Daddy?s working.?
Gremlin returned his focus to the MRI machine, wedging his knife into the seams of the plastic. As machines go, these were complex for the technology level of the time, and took a fair bit of prying with a simple knife to get just the plastic shell off. Gremlin was ripping at plates and panels, twisting his knife, shearing some screws, carefully turning others. A faint scratching started irritating him, but he pointedly ignored it, and continued to work on the machine.
Eventually,l he got a plate of something he was reasonably sure was a strong enough magnet to at least help him leverage the door.
He turned to find a black bear cub roughly the side of a large golden retriever, eyes luminous, covered in plaster and dust, stood between him and the door. ?A bear?? Gremlin asked the room, incredulous. ?A frickin? bear??
The bear glowed orange, yellow, and red under Gremlin?s thermal optics, except for the eyes, which bore no temperature at all. Cold, utterly empty of all temperature, a void in an otherwise universally colored beast.
Gremlin dropped the plate, turned to the bear, and raised his knife. ?Guess I should?ve left, huh??
---
The hallways were steeped in darkness. The further Taiga got from her cell, the more things descended into inky blackness. For a while, she followed the sounds of feet shuffling, plastic ripping, and a muffled voice that sounded approximately human.
The only nearby sensation, aside from the eternal feeling of spirits crossing her skin, was the sound of Kosa?s rat form skittered alongside her in the bleak darkness. She?d learned at a young age how to step without seeing the ground beneath her, a slower shuffle that used the full width of her feet to balance in case any one step landed on uneven ground. The floor here, along with everywhere else she?d been in this building, uncannily flat. More perfect than flatten dirt, more perfect than forested clearing. Aside from the spirits around her, these sensations were the most alien part of this place.
---
The bear cub?s shoulder slammed into Gremlin, and his boots skid frictionlessly across the dirt, spilling them both into the hallway, into a wall, and crumbling Gremlin to the ground. The cub climbed on top of him, and brought an enormous paw down. Gremlin flexed with his full weight up during the backswing, and sunk his knife deep into the pad of the creature. It roared, tinny and furious, and slammed the other paw into Gremlin, hurling him across the tile on his back.
Gremlin scrambled to get up, but traction on these floors was precarious at best, and far less so when the thing hitting him weighed more than he did but in half the height. All of that mass threw him down the hall, rolling up and down, as he tried to rise, until sliding to a halt in the middle of the hall.
?Alright, Lester? I?mma need my knife back.?
---
Taiga watched the white-haired man, tiny as he was, hurl himself toward the bear. She had never seen anyone so foolish in her life. Kosa chuckled to himself, ?The little one has a death wish, but he growls better than the beast.?
Taiga shook her head, watching silently.
The strange man took two lumbering steps, and thrust his palm onto the bear?s paw, attempting to pry something from it, maybe? The bear, responded with a strike from its own paw, bowling the white-haired man back into the ground. It was hard to see, given how little light was in the area, but Taiga?s eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and had fought in it long enough to pay attention to the few highlights she could catch.
The glint of the knife flashed has the insane man covered the distance again and dove for the paw, then ripped it out with the splattering of blood audible.
?Another? Get out.?
Kosa shivered, ?Oh Gods, it can speak.?
?It can, worm. Depart, or I shall turn the bear on you.?
Kosa turned to Taiga, ?Wise call, let us leave.?
---
Gremlin?s arm hung loosely from the shoulder, his other gripping the knife still covered in gore. His legs hurt, he was likely concussed, and he was pretty sure something was broken. Maybe a few cracked ribs. ?Aaaand, that?s my knife back. We can keep dancin?, Lester, or you can let me go.?
The bear turned, limping slightly on the injured paw as it walked.
?Oh, hell, that worked? I should?a said that from the beginning.?
The bear?s eyes turned back to Gremlin, still empty of all color, and turned again to the doorway behind it. A doorway that glowed with a human head, poking around the frame. ?Another chummer. Perfect.? Gremlin cupped his mouth with his functional hand, splashing himself with gore from the knife?s blade. ?Bear?s your problem now, Lester!?
He strode into the room, picked up his plate, and ran for the entry. Well, shuffled. His ankle was twisted.
---
Kosa had time to vocalize ?Who?s Lester?? before the bear fell on them both.
Taiga retreated two steps, planting her spear on the ground, and placed its tip between her and the bear. ?Not important right now, Kosa!?
The bear dove forward, and Taiga retreated another pair of steps, shifting her balance so the spear was gripped in her stronger arm, and the bear fell into it with the weight of the ground beneath her. The spear drove into the creature, who yelped and thrashed in place, snapping the haft into splinters and retreating with the spear still driven into the thick fur.
?That was your only spear.? Kosa supplied helpfully.
The bear charged again, and Taiga reached into her furs, putting them between her skin and the snapping jaws of the enormous creature. It bit down, but she rolled with the motion, slamming back-first into the ground and falling out of the enormous thing?s jaws. The cool tile beneath her slammed the air from her lungs, but she bounced gamely back to her feet. She locked eyes with the creature, which floated in the darkness, spectral blue wisping from the eye sockets.
From her shoulder, she heard Kosa say. ?The spear is still in its chest. Left side.?
The bear rumbled into another awkward charge, lumbering, slow, and gangly with so many injuries. Taiga rolled low and forward, trying to duck between the crushing paws and grab at the splintered heft of spear. She missed, and backed off another few steps. The creature broke into another lope, and she tried again to get the spear. After a few more misses and passes, her back hurt, her breathing grew ragged, but she got the spear, planted her foot, and hauled with her full weight. Between the legs, the floor as a brace, and the bear being young and airborne, she managed to hurl the thing over her shoulder, get up to her feet, and ran after the white-haired man.
---
Gremlin jammed the plate into the door?s lock, where it clanged loudly in the empty foyer. Then, he got down on his knees, and worked his good arm with the knife into the lock, shearing and jamming and pulling and shearing and jamming and pulling.
?This would be a lot easier with two hands.?
The lock fought him, but he knew this wouldn?t be easy. He just hoped he?d be able to get out of here before passing out. He?d lost a lot of blood.
He lost track of time, something he does all too easily when he?s this injured. Outside of the distant clanging of the bars in the back, he heard nothing as he worked. But he was pretty sure he?d been on the lock for a few minutes when he felt a hand touch his back.
He whirled, slashing the knife through empty ai-
The knife bit into shoulder, and he stumbled at the sudden, unexpected resistance on his arm. Taiga stumbled back, shocked, as Gremlin pushed his weight onto her, then they both fell over. Taiga, with a sleek, nano-coated knife poking out of her shoulder. Gremlin, arm broken, ribs cracked, ankles sprained, and a concussion that was quickly swallowing him into darkness. More or less at the same time, they blacked out.
The lobby remained empty, deeper in the hallway a bear thrashed enraged at the metal bars of the asylum proper, the magnetic plate slides down the door without Gremlin to hold it up, and as it slams into the stone tile, the lock tumbles apart, and the door swings open.
---
Some hours later, Gremlin awakened in a white room. The fluorescent lights above hummed with a static sort of sterility, and a medic peered into his face. ?Well, congratulations on getting the door open.?
?F?you say so, Lester. My arm hurts.?
With that, Gremlin passed out again.
His transceiver replied with static. Motes of dust floated through the air. The lobby remained empty.
"Ah'right. Guess that's how this is. Johnson's gonna be pissed." A piece of mostly disintegrated paper shuffles against a distant wall, either by wind or rodent. His eyes flicker in aimless directions while he scans his databases. Architecture resembles nothing he has blueprints for in Seattle. Whatever network this area has is either encrypted to hell and back or non-existent. The lobby design suggests a entry foyer, delivery zone, and waiting area. Or perhaps even a hotel lobby or holding. It's not any of the major corps, though... Not enough branding.
Gremlin's knife tip traces shapes in the sky as his mouth shapes the words not vocalized. Not corp, not the knights, no blueprints, old architecture, cavernous lobby without apparent purpose, dirty and disused, plants clawing through the cracks in the fountain's foundation, tarnished metal in the margins. Abandoned, then. Paper documents suggest either cult, ancient dragon, or fae....
More phantom movements from the trash below. Gremlin interrupts his thinking to watch it, eyes switching quickly among thermal, zoomed, and night-optics in search of some sort of sign of what's moving the trash. The debris continues to move, uninterested in Gremlin's gaze.
If fae, too dangerous to stay out here. If dragon, too dead to realize it yet. If cult, more dead, dismembered, and diseased. With any luck, in that order.
A set of double-doors stood between Gremlin and the deeper tunnels of whatever this place could dream up. Without plans or scouting, he's liable to be killed around every corner. Move slowly, creep cautiously, kill anything that moves, move anything you killed. Standard operating procedure, then. Dust and moisture collected and dried on the window across countless decades left the windows in the doors near opaque, but through the edges of the muck showed Gremlin nothing in the empty hallways.
He pushed the door experimentally, the door opens.
"Well, anticlimax."
The hallway is likewise covered in the dust that gathers in empty spaces. Dead skin from the walls gathers in the eddies that form from the vents and blankets the ground over years of no movement. Dirt from shoes gathers in the corners where the breeze takes them. Without lights, darkness consumes the hallways. Windows set deep into distant rooms provide only the barest promise of light, too skim to see anything but the faintest corners to the naked eye. Gremlins eyes glow with mechanical augmentation.
Thermal vision shows him little more than cold bricks set into mildly cool drywall. Nothing warm lurks in the doorframes of the offices that flank the hall on both sides. Gremlins boots thump with echoing hollows as he creeps down the hallways. Hasty glances in the offices show him cheap furniture, empty chairs, and more destroyed paper. Nothing but his footsteps accompany him as he walks. Blues and deep purples are all his thermal vision grant him as he moves down the hallway.
So cold as to be black bars wait for him at the end of the hallway, and he peers at them curiously. Strips of metallic void hover in the air. Gremlin raps noisily on the bars with his knife. "Knock, knock!"
The rapping of his blade pushes the bars inward. And he looks around. On his side, he spots what looks like an administrative window, with nothing but reflective orange in it. "Bars is supposed to open out."
The guard station window says nothing in reply.
He steps through the threshold, and walks further into the asylum. Another atrium, this one more spartan. Metal chairs, bare concrete columns, brutalist architecture. A home of sorts, at least in as far as Gremlin has been here before.
"Earth ta Lester. You there, jackass?"
Static.
Gremlin looks around, swapping quickly to night vision, then normal sight, then thermal again. The room is empty of all but the motes that shimmer ethereally through the air. An old television, or at least the nearest ghost of one, sits without its screen or CRT mechanism on a metallic shelf set against the roof. An old clock sits perpetually dead at 6:29. The chairs remain empty. A hand touches Gremlin's back. An empty card tab-
Gremlin whirls violently, fingers gripping his knife, a slash cuts through the air at throat level, a solid six inches (15 cm) above his. He feels nothing as his arm completes its rotation and he stands facing the bars a few meters away, now swinging gently from his passage through them. The room, and hallway beyond, are empty.
A brief pause. "Marco!"
No one replies.
"This place has at least half as many heebies and jeebies. Christ."
A book falls off the shelf set against the nearest wall, and Gremlin snaps his neck in that direction. It is empty of heat. It is empty of bodies. It is empty of movement. A cheap-looking hardback book is is spine-down on the floor, splayed open to a random page. Gremlin approaches cautiously, checking his surroundings as he moves, and nudges the book with his foot. It slides obligingly across the floor. He picks it up, and reads the cover: King James Version.
"Heh. Christ. Bible. I get it. Funny."
---
In a deeply recessed cell, Taiga was jabbing her spear into the stone wall. Metal bars, set into the floor and reinforced all the way across, are near impossible to break. She knows this, and isn't bothering to waste her time trying to break it. The ground is made of compacted stone of some sort, and would likely shatter the spear before sustaining much damage itself. The wall, however, had seen the weight of time, the rains of the heavens, and the crumbling of age. Though it bore no wrinkles, this was likely the first to break. Taiga wasted no time helping it along.
She'd woken in this cell, in an impossibly soft cot not unlike the medical room she'd passed out in had. Softer than snow, but hardly as wet, offered her the comfort of layered furs, but without the oppressive heat. Aside from that, a soft-cornered metal disk was wedged into the wall, and had a little lever poking from its top. The walls wailed when the lever was manipulated, so Taiga had jammed it back to what she hoped was a neutral position, earning a scornful chuckle from Kosa.
Beyond the bed and the metal, nothing else was in the room. Pieces of stone from a crumbling ceiling had gathered in various places, but no stone worth forming into a flint blade. She assessed the bars, the floor, the ceiling, the walls, then turned back to the bars. On the near wall, closest to the bed, cracks had birthed themselves into the joints that secured the bars to the wall. Weakness. She began there.
After an hour of labor, her still tender shoulder and ribbing commentary from Kosa left her winded. She sat back down on the cot, and surveyed her work while she rasped out breathes into the empty room. "Some watch you turned out to be."
The rat, such as he was, peered at her for a long moment. "Foolish me, then, to fall asleep at night."
Taiga gestured absently to her cell. "A reward for our well-earned rest."
"And in addition to your treatment, rest, and comfortable living, you find yourself a simple task with easy goals. You should hardly complain."
"Fleet-lipped spirit... I will not stray from your failing watching."
A brief hop, scurry, and shimmy up the bars leads the small creature to a smaller hole in the stone Taiga had most hewn out of the bricked wall. Taiga's next blink, and the rat disappears, replaced with the black and red marks of an impossibly graceful spider. The alien shape of its eyes turn back to Taiga, somehow mirthful, and slips through the hole through the wall. A second's silence before the rat stands on its hind legs, paws wrapping around the bars while leaning forward. "Then I shall nap out there. You're welcome to join me whenever."
---
Deeper into the wards, Gremlin's knife bites into the molded cushion of a dilapidated chair. Another two stabs litter the ground in fluff, stained black and brown with mold. "Stop touchin' me." Another hint of arctic cold dances across his lower back, pressing into his coat, and he spins with frenetic fury, tossing the chair on its side as his knife rips free, noisily, and whistles through the air behind him.
The nothingness remains unstabbed as he plants his boots, eyes darting around furiously.
The voice comes from every inch of nowhere in the room, bobbling drunkenly in the copper-piped walls, reverberating from the hollow plastic shell of a television still bolted onto its shelf, and shivering in the pages of the books on the wall. "Get out."
He jabs his knife in the air behind him, pointing dramatically at a plastic fern absolutely covered in plaster dust. "You get out, ya freaky air-cultist. You ain't the boss'a me."
A brief pause.
"...Is ya? That you, Lester?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, my name's not Lester!"
"Jesus tap-dancing sex fiend, it is you!"
"Who else would it be? You missed your meet with the doctor."
Gremlin's eyes narrow. "Johnson wasn't a doctor."
"You think I care, dumb-dumb?" He listened closer, and the static of his transceiver was just barely audible in his mind. "Go to the meet, and get out of whatever dark hole you're in. It isn't yours."
?Go screw yourself, ghost of Christmas past. I?m workin? here.?
Another hand snaked up his spine, and he turned and slashed at the air.
---
With another few hours digging, resting, and digging again, Taiga managed to worm her way through the opening, earning a few scrapes, a sore shoulder, but freedom from the cell she woke in. Once out in the hallway, it was like she?s shimmied her way into the arctic. Cold chills ghosted through her, impossibly fast but fleeting, as it fading into another dimension before seeping into her bones again.
?Have you been spending this whole time watching me dig, or noting all of the spirits drifting through here.?
Kosa continued eying the inside of the cell. ?They?re avoiding this place, for what reason I do not know, but out here they roam freely. I do not think they like me here.?
Taiga felt a ghostly hand rake its fingers across her back.
Kosa turned back to her, ?Or you, apparently.?
?Well, they can have their land. I do not wish to be here either.?
She turned, and walked up the hall, in a direction her gut told her would be wise. Kosa uncharacteristically spoke very little, instead favoring to keep track of all of the spirits meandering through the space.
---
?-ing the wrong way. The exit is where you came from. Get. Out.?
Gremlin growled to himself, shifting his steps as he shuffled quickly up the hallway. The front door had an electronic keypad on both sides. Likely using magnetic locks. Locks, that in the event of a power failure, wouldn?t open.
?Much as I would love to, Lester, I gotta work on it.?
Another touch, another knife swing. The knife breezed through empty air.
Some kind of warlock would know how to deal with specters, Gremlin reasoned, but he didn?t know how to solve any problem that lacked the decency to get shot or stabbed like normal people.
Further down the hallway, the corridors gave way to more hallways. Chips of plastic set on the walls illustrated a history of placards long lost to time. Gremlin checked the ground, brushing at the indented text to free it of whatever grime it had built over however long it?d been abandoned to the ground.
Instead, it remained too full of dirt to be read.
?Would?ve been too easy.?
So, instead, he waited until he felt a hand touch him and threw the grimy placard in that direction. It clattered noisily against a wall.
---
The echoes of noises rang from behind her, and Taiga turned to look. ?The spirits here do not seem to make noise. What was that??
?Sounded like movement.? Kosa provided, helpfully.
?Beasts??
?Perhaps, though bear in mind I consider humans to be among them.?
?Red hands??
?I cannot imagine any tribe to be of this place, whatever its providence.?
?Think we should investigate??
?If we wanted safety, I suspect we should have remained in that room.?
Frigid tendrils danced up her leg, and Taiga shuffled back a few steps. ?Maybe you?re right. All the same, I say we go find the source of that noise.?
?Eaten by beasts. Eaten by ghosts. All the same, so why not??
---
The third hallway Gremlin tried had MRI machines in them. Though they were far more powerful when electrified, these relics of medicine past could have a few reliable magnets in them. Hopefully one strong enough to at least jimmy the lock open. Gremlin began to pry the machine open.
?Mortal. I will not ask nicely again. Leave.?
?No. Shoo. Daddy?s working.?
Gremlin returned his focus to the MRI machine, wedging his knife into the seams of the plastic. As machines go, these were complex for the technology level of the time, and took a fair bit of prying with a simple knife to get just the plastic shell off. Gremlin was ripping at plates and panels, twisting his knife, shearing some screws, carefully turning others. A faint scratching started irritating him, but he pointedly ignored it, and continued to work on the machine.
Eventually,l he got a plate of something he was reasonably sure was a strong enough magnet to at least help him leverage the door.
He turned to find a black bear cub roughly the side of a large golden retriever, eyes luminous, covered in plaster and dust, stood between him and the door. ?A bear?? Gremlin asked the room, incredulous. ?A frickin? bear??
The bear glowed orange, yellow, and red under Gremlin?s thermal optics, except for the eyes, which bore no temperature at all. Cold, utterly empty of all temperature, a void in an otherwise universally colored beast.
Gremlin dropped the plate, turned to the bear, and raised his knife. ?Guess I should?ve left, huh??
---
The hallways were steeped in darkness. The further Taiga got from her cell, the more things descended into inky blackness. For a while, she followed the sounds of feet shuffling, plastic ripping, and a muffled voice that sounded approximately human.
The only nearby sensation, aside from the eternal feeling of spirits crossing her skin, was the sound of Kosa?s rat form skittered alongside her in the bleak darkness. She?d learned at a young age how to step without seeing the ground beneath her, a slower shuffle that used the full width of her feet to balance in case any one step landed on uneven ground. The floor here, along with everywhere else she?d been in this building, uncannily flat. More perfect than flatten dirt, more perfect than forested clearing. Aside from the spirits around her, these sensations were the most alien part of this place.
---
The bear cub?s shoulder slammed into Gremlin, and his boots skid frictionlessly across the dirt, spilling them both into the hallway, into a wall, and crumbling Gremlin to the ground. The cub climbed on top of him, and brought an enormous paw down. Gremlin flexed with his full weight up during the backswing, and sunk his knife deep into the pad of the creature. It roared, tinny and furious, and slammed the other paw into Gremlin, hurling him across the tile on his back.
Gremlin scrambled to get up, but traction on these floors was precarious at best, and far less so when the thing hitting him weighed more than he did but in half the height. All of that mass threw him down the hall, rolling up and down, as he tried to rise, until sliding to a halt in the middle of the hall.
?Alright, Lester? I?mma need my knife back.?
---
Taiga watched the white-haired man, tiny as he was, hurl himself toward the bear. She had never seen anyone so foolish in her life. Kosa chuckled to himself, ?The little one has a death wish, but he growls better than the beast.?
Taiga shook her head, watching silently.
The strange man took two lumbering steps, and thrust his palm onto the bear?s paw, attempting to pry something from it, maybe? The bear, responded with a strike from its own paw, bowling the white-haired man back into the ground. It was hard to see, given how little light was in the area, but Taiga?s eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and had fought in it long enough to pay attention to the few highlights she could catch.
The glint of the knife flashed has the insane man covered the distance again and dove for the paw, then ripped it out with the splattering of blood audible.
?Another? Get out.?
Kosa shivered, ?Oh Gods, it can speak.?
?It can, worm. Depart, or I shall turn the bear on you.?
Kosa turned to Taiga, ?Wise call, let us leave.?
---
Gremlin?s arm hung loosely from the shoulder, his other gripping the knife still covered in gore. His legs hurt, he was likely concussed, and he was pretty sure something was broken. Maybe a few cracked ribs. ?Aaaand, that?s my knife back. We can keep dancin?, Lester, or you can let me go.?
The bear turned, limping slightly on the injured paw as it walked.
?Oh, hell, that worked? I should?a said that from the beginning.?
The bear?s eyes turned back to Gremlin, still empty of all color, and turned again to the doorway behind it. A doorway that glowed with a human head, poking around the frame. ?Another chummer. Perfect.? Gremlin cupped his mouth with his functional hand, splashing himself with gore from the knife?s blade. ?Bear?s your problem now, Lester!?
He strode into the room, picked up his plate, and ran for the entry. Well, shuffled. His ankle was twisted.
---
Kosa had time to vocalize ?Who?s Lester?? before the bear fell on them both.
Taiga retreated two steps, planting her spear on the ground, and placed its tip between her and the bear. ?Not important right now, Kosa!?
The bear dove forward, and Taiga retreated another pair of steps, shifting her balance so the spear was gripped in her stronger arm, and the bear fell into it with the weight of the ground beneath her. The spear drove into the creature, who yelped and thrashed in place, snapping the haft into splinters and retreating with the spear still driven into the thick fur.
?That was your only spear.? Kosa supplied helpfully.
The bear charged again, and Taiga reached into her furs, putting them between her skin and the snapping jaws of the enormous creature. It bit down, but she rolled with the motion, slamming back-first into the ground and falling out of the enormous thing?s jaws. The cool tile beneath her slammed the air from her lungs, but she bounced gamely back to her feet. She locked eyes with the creature, which floated in the darkness, spectral blue wisping from the eye sockets.
From her shoulder, she heard Kosa say. ?The spear is still in its chest. Left side.?
The bear rumbled into another awkward charge, lumbering, slow, and gangly with so many injuries. Taiga rolled low and forward, trying to duck between the crushing paws and grab at the splintered heft of spear. She missed, and backed off another few steps. The creature broke into another lope, and she tried again to get the spear. After a few more misses and passes, her back hurt, her breathing grew ragged, but she got the spear, planted her foot, and hauled with her full weight. Between the legs, the floor as a brace, and the bear being young and airborne, she managed to hurl the thing over her shoulder, get up to her feet, and ran after the white-haired man.
---
Gremlin jammed the plate into the door?s lock, where it clanged loudly in the empty foyer. Then, he got down on his knees, and worked his good arm with the knife into the lock, shearing and jamming and pulling and shearing and jamming and pulling.
?This would be a lot easier with two hands.?
The lock fought him, but he knew this wouldn?t be easy. He just hoped he?d be able to get out of here before passing out. He?d lost a lot of blood.
He lost track of time, something he does all too easily when he?s this injured. Outside of the distant clanging of the bars in the back, he heard nothing as he worked. But he was pretty sure he?d been on the lock for a few minutes when he felt a hand touch his back.
He whirled, slashing the knife through empty ai-
The knife bit into shoulder, and he stumbled at the sudden, unexpected resistance on his arm. Taiga stumbled back, shocked, as Gremlin pushed his weight onto her, then they both fell over. Taiga, with a sleek, nano-coated knife poking out of her shoulder. Gremlin, arm broken, ribs cracked, ankles sprained, and a concussion that was quickly swallowing him into darkness. More or less at the same time, they blacked out.
The lobby remained empty, deeper in the hallway a bear thrashed enraged at the metal bars of the asylum proper, the magnetic plate slides down the door without Gremlin to hold it up, and as it slams into the stone tile, the lock tumbles apart, and the door swings open.
---
Some hours later, Gremlin awakened in a white room. The fluorescent lights above hummed with a static sort of sterility, and a medic peered into his face. ?Well, congratulations on getting the door open.?
?F?you say so, Lester. My arm hurts.?
With that, Gremlin passed out again.
My 4000 word fight, hope you like
?Hey Medicine Man! Granted, the tall chicken creature is very interesting, but??
Gilgamoc spared Black Arrow an apologetic glance, and returned his attention to the idle penguin. At least, he tried to. A darkness had descended over the rest of the reading room, leaving only himself, the fictional crossbowman standing upside down above him, and the television. The marching penguins on the screen flickered, the picture wrenching into distortion with a garbled audio scratch, before being abruptly replaced by a test pattern. Gilgamoc and Black Arrow exchanged perplexed glances.
?Where?d the penguins go??
?This contraption is just as foreign to me as it is to thee, Medicine Man.?
Then, with another dizzying series of flickers, it changed to a new channel. Soothing classical music, which the Duke side of Black Arrow might have recognised but to everyone else sounded utterly alien, played over black and white footage of a sunlit country estate. The picture panned across the building and its surrounding lawns, taking in every window, buttress, and spire of the imposing Gothic architecture, before fading into a shot of a wrought iron gate. ?Fates Sanatorium ? est. 1946? had been twisted into the austere black bars. As the music faded, a woman?s voice chimed in.
?Here at Fates Sanatorium, we believe that the human mind can recover from any ordeal. That?s why we admit over a hundred patients a year to receive our world-class psychotherapeutic treatment.?
Gilgamoc and Black Arrow watched and listened as the image switched to the brightly lit interior of the estate; corridors flanked by highset windows, recreational areas with pot plants and comfortable looking furniture, sterile looking consultation offices.
?Our facilities and dedicated team of team of doctors and nurses, led by the intrepid Doctor Skinner,? ? a man in a white coat, his smile forced, eyes lurking somewhere in the shadow of his large, balding forehead like some sheathed medical equipment ? ?are here to help you at our restored country estate, where you can be comfortable and in safe hands. See for yourself!?
The music swelled once more as the screen switched to a progression of scenes featuring men and women in shapeless white shifts; strolling through the garden, reclining on sofas, playing chess in the rec. room?
?Huh. Doesn?t look half bad, for a looney bin,? said Black Arrow.
Picking at a tray of porridge, shuffling through the corridors, rocking gently against the walls?
?Hmmmm?? Gilgamoc hissed sceptically.
Glaring into the camera through a window, straining languidly against a strait jacket, writhing naked in the middle of the rec. room, smearing a dark mystery substance across the cafeteria table?
?Good God. I take it back. It?s??
Electrode-strapped muscles spasming against the bonds of a restraining chair, brain tissue oozing through matted hair, a metal pick poking out from the corner of a twitching eye, a man leaning through the bars as he furiously pleasured himself?
?Evil.?
Dr Skinner once more, his leer stretched taut, beady eyes illuminated suddenly by the red glow of light through living tissue. Gilgamoc and Black Arrow recoiled in reflexive horror, but too late. The doctor spoke in a ponderous baritone,
?New patients. Let?s get started on your treatment.?
The Spider, the Weasel, and the Padded Room
After an indeterminable period of unconsciousness, Gilgamoc awoke to a feeling of gut-churning wrongness. He was in a dim, narrow space, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest like a pair of coiled serpents. The floor on which he lay was soft, as were the walls. While strange, none of this was enough to explain the wrongness; a gap, a wound, a gnawing doubt, a lurking nightmare. He felt? Exposed.
Gilgamoc tried to speak,
?Wherrrr? Uugh. Muh, muh, muushuh??
Suddenly panicked, rolled his head, nestling his face in his shoulder.
?Muh muuuh! Erruaaaaargh! OORRAAAAAAAAH!?
The beastly Gilgamoc wailed, straining against his strait jacket and flinging himself to and fro about the padded cell. His mask was gone, along with his primitive shapeshifting apparatus, and with it ebbed his tenuous grip on humanity.
In a separate cell, Black Arrow was roused by the pathetic cries of his neighbour. He too was bound in a strait jacket. His crossbow was nowhere to be found.
?Darn? Curses?? he said, nimbly rolling to his feet and hurrying to the door. There was a small window set high into the padding, far out of reach of his constricted hands.
?Hello? Where am I? Who put me in this quilted cage??
A bald-headed shadow appeared in the cramped space of the window.
?Hey! You there! Why am I in here? Name thyself!?
?What?s more important than the question of who I am,? said the shadow, its voice the voice of the man on the television screen, ?is who you are. Tell me, who are you today; the daring hero Black Arrow, or the avid reader Patrick Duke??
Arrow-Duke grimaced. In the neighbouring cell, Gilgamoc made a disorienting noise somewhere between a bray, a howl, and a squeal.
?You know of my affliction??
?Of course I do. I?ve studied dissociative identity disorder for thirty years. I know a split personality when I see one.?
?Split personality? This isn?t a split personality! I, in the most literal sense, changed into Black Arrow.?
The shadow stroked its chin contemplatively, tutting. ?Dear oh dear, it?s worse than I thought. Still, not quite as bad as your? Friend, in the other cell. He?s got to be one of the most extreme cases I?ve come across.?
?I can agree with your assessment of him, certainly. There?s something wrong with that man. But I swear to God, you?ve got it all wrong with me!?
?Always so convinced by their own delusions? I?ll find your treatment very interesting, Mr Duke.?
The shadow disappeared, leaving Duke with nothing but the cries of his neighbour.
It took an agonisingly long time for Gilgamoc to quiet down, but quiet down he did. With his throat and lungs burnt out, shoulders aching, and mind numbed he collapsed limp into the softened floor. He lay still, his ragged breaths the only sign that any sort of life remained in his wretched husk of a body.
Once again, Gilgamoc had been reduced to a creature. A sexless, soulless thing with no masks to impose upon its hollow identity. Without its mask, the creature was nothing. The only way to recover from its new plight? Find its masks. But where would they be? How could it retrieve them with its arms bound, locked away in a prison, and weakened by its own dysphoria?
An answer came to Gilgamoc, blessed as the rainfall on the Savanahs of its homeland, in the form of a tiny shuffling shape in its peripheries. Gilgamoc?s eye darted towards the shape, wild and unfocussed. It was on the wall, difficult to discern in the dim light, but detectable when it moved. It had many long legs ? eight, the creature Gilgamoc observed. A spider.
Gilgamoc had seen spiders before, but had never studied them in enough depth to take their form. In its weakened state, the creature didn?t know if it could summon the will to study the spider now, but nonetheless it pushed itself closer, watching. Watching and waiting for some flash of inspiration that could pierce its growing turmoil.
If there was one thing that Duke knew for certain, it was that he wasn?t crazy. Despite appearances, he wasn?t really Black Arrow, nor did he think that he was. And thus, he didn?t belong in this crazy sanatorium place.
?I must abscond- Darn it, I gotta leave this place, before I really do go nuts! But how??
He grit his teeth, racking his brains for some solution. At least that medicine man had finally piped down?
Gilgamoc?s sunken, quivering eyes followed the spider closely. It had moved onto the floor, its many legs moving with deliberation, and was now sitting motionless a short distance from the creature Gilgamoc?s face. It had been motionless for quite some time.
Then it began to convulse. Gilgamoc?s gaze focussed, the small part of it that remained lucid intrigued by this behaviour. It could be reasonably sure that the spider wasn?t dying, the spasms seemed too rhythmic, more like a beating heart than a death rattle. The spider abruptly rolled onto its back, legs splayed above it, twitching in unified bursts. It seemed almost as if it were stuck in its own skin, not unlike Gilgamoc?
This suspicion was confirmed true, when a seam opened up in the spider?s back, and a raw expanse of fresh spider skin forced its way through. The legs hollowed, their insides slipping out like fingers from a glove. Gilgamoc observed, utterly fascinated, as the spider shed its entire skin through its back.
Having suffered through this ordeal, the spider lay still for a long time. When its strength did finally return, it climbed back up the wall, and disappeared through a hitherto unnoticed gap in the side of the door window. Gilgamoc?s gaze followed it all the way up, more focussed now than ever. Having studied the spider, he knew the path to salvation.
Duke paced, stealing the occasional anxious glance at the window to see if Dr Skinner had returned. There had to be some way he could convince the man to let him go. It wasn?t fair that he be treated on the basis of a misunderstood diagnosis. Especially not if the treatment was anything like what he?d seen on the television?
No, Duke hadn?t forgotten that. The horrific images from that Fates Sanatorium ? presumably where he was now ? would likely stick with him in his dreams for a long time. He couldn?t let that happen to him. Surely the doctor would see reason?
Then again? Anyone who runs a practice like his mightn?t be so rational himself. Was it the doctor who was crazy? Suddenly his faith in appealing to Dr Skinner?s rationality was shaken. If he was going to get out of here, it would have to be on his own terms. And with the body of Black Arrow at his disposal, there had to be something he could do. First thing first, he had to get out of this strait jacket.
Outside, the medicine man had started making noises again. Not howls of agony this time, but periodic grunts, as though he were exerting himself.
Lying on its back on the floor, Gilgamoc flexed its constricted arms, skin sliding, chafing, and bulging beneath the tough fabric of the strait jacket. It stretched in and out, tearing at its binding in bursts of force, punctuating each pull with a ragged breath. Like the spider it has studied, Gilgamoc strained against its outer skin, now too tight and ripe for moulting.
With time and effort, a tear began to form along the ridge of its rippling spine.
The Marquis? Shackles. The fourth short story in the first Black Arrow anthology he?d read as a boy. When the evil marquis strapped the hero to the rack for interrogation, Black Arrow escaped his bonds using the flexibility of a weasel, which he had been earned from a master thief. Under Duke?s control, the same attribute would serve him well in his current predicament.
Duke carefully tested the limits of his new joints, rolling his shoulders and wrists within the knotted sleeves. Slowly, but surely, he contorted his arms around each other and above his head, sliding the bonds undone. Soon the strait jacket had been reduced to a pair of neat stringy tubes hanging at his from his wrists.
Meanwhile, Gilgamoc?s jacket hung tattered from its waist, an empty skin split open at the back just like the spider?s exoskeleton. The creature panted, basking in the freedom from its claustrophobic bonds and exhausted by the effort of pulsing its body through a sheet of tough fabric. Normally a human would not be capable of such a thing, but by studying the spider Gilgamoc could achieve beyond its primate limits.
Solemnly, Gilgamoc knelt before the remains of the strait jacket, pulling strips of material free. Once it had enough, it wrapped the strips around its head. Gilgamoc followed a strange geometric pattern as it wound its turban-like mask, leaving gark irregular gaps around the regions of face, forehead, and skull to mimic the many eyes of the spider. Gilgamoc breathed a deep sigh of relief as identity once again came into focus in her mind. She ran a hand over her masked face, and spoke in the whispered, yet clear tone of an young woman.
?Once again? I am Gilgamoc.?
Black Arrow was a master of concealment; a precaution for cases just like this. Skinner would have searched him before he put him in the strait jacket, but Duke was confident that his Black Arrow instincts would?ve ensured a hidden device to help him escape.
?Think? If I was Black Arrow ? which, I suppose I am ? where would I hide a lockpick? Sweet Jesus, surely not up my? No, hold it, I feel something. Aha!?
Duke reached into the hairline just behind his ear, and drew out a thin metal pick. He set about searching for a lock to use it on.
Having completely shredded her strait jacket and stowed away the resulting loops of material around her shoulder ? if she were to be a spider, she would need webbing ? Gilgamoc turned her many eyes to the high set window. If her muse spider could escape through it, then she could too.
The shapeshifter lunged towards the padded wall, latching onto the bulging material just as she had seen the spider do. She began to climb, scuttling with hands and feet, her bandolier of improvised webbing swaying behind her. It was not a long way up, so she was soon eye level with the grimy glass. At first it was difficult to see where the spider had crawled through, but running her fingers around the edge of the glass pane revealed a chip. Gilgamoc wouldn?t be able to fit through such a tiny gap, no amount of study could change that? But it might make a handy anchor point.
Gilgamoc threaded several strands of her web through the chip, cramming it into the corner to keep it held firm. Then, holding on tight to the remaining length of web, she jumped away from the window.
The second Duke had finished quietly pushing open the unlocked door and stepping out into the dank, dim hallway beyond, he was shaken by a sudden shattering of glass. The high window in the door opposite him had abruptly imploded inward.
?The hell???
Shortly after, Gilgamoc?s wrapped face appeared in the hole.
?Jesus Christ!?
?No, Gilgamoc.?
?Medicine Man? But, I thought you were a? Man??
Gilgamoc slunk through the broken window, landing opposite Black Arrow.
?Not Medicine Man. Gilgamoc.?
?Sure. You want to get out of here now? I shan?t linger a moment longer in this god-forsaken asylum.?
?Going so soon??
Gilgamoc and Duke wheeled around to find a shadowy figure standing at the end of the corridor. It had Skinner?s voice.
?Darn? You can?t keep up here doctor! Come one ma?am, we?re leaving.?
?Are you sure??
This time the voice came from behind them. Another shadowy Skinner stood at the other end of the hall. Gilgamoc looked back and forth between them.
?Demons!? she breathed.
?I think it?s time to fast track your treatment,? said the Skinners, closing in on Duke and Gilgamoc, moving with an eerie glide. Before the unwilling patients could even hope to fight back, the Skinners? shadowy forms had swelled into a stormfront of darkness, rushing into to envelop them. Once again, the world went black.
Electroshock Therapy
Session Transcript #666
MDs in attendance: Dr Clyde Skinner
Patients in attendance: Patrick Duke, John Doe
Purpose of session: psychological evaluation, electroshock therapy
Date: 66/66/6666
Skinner: Testing testing, six six six. Begin session. Subjects remain unconscious. Applying 50 volts to both subjects to alleviate symptoms.
-50V applied to Duke and Doe-
Duke: (screams)
Doe: (screams) It burns!
Skinner: Interesting. You, the one who calls yourself Gilgamoc. Why do you suddenly speak like a woman?
Doe: (silence)
Skinner: For your own good, Gilgamoc, I will have to compel you to answer if you do not answer of your own free will.
Doe: (silence)
-100V applied to Doe-
Doe: (screams) My mask. I made this by studying the spider. My studied tell me that the spider is a woman.
Skinner: But you were a man before, when I admitted you.
Doe: The snake. The snake is a man.
Skinner: So you take on the characteristics of the mask you wear. How fascinating. And we saw what happens when you aren?t wearing a mask. I have left your spider mask on, just to keep you lucid enough to speak, but to fully cure you we are going to have to ween you off this dependence.
Duke: Hey. What?s going on? Where are you? What are you?
Skinner: Yes, of course. An explanation. I?m speaking to you through an intercom, an electronic speaker. My appearance of late tends to impede the therapeutic process, as you might have noticed after you so rudely vandalised my facilities. That?s why you two are in together in the electroshock therapy chairs while I watch from another room. As to the nature of this session, well, it?s twofold. First and foremost, it is the commencement of your treatment. The electrodes attached to your heads deliver an electric shock to the brain that alleviates the symptoms of mental affliction.
Duke: Jesus.
Skinner: Secondly, however, this session is something of an audition. Since you two have managed to break two of my remaining three treatment cells, I regret to admit that I can no longer house both of you here at Fates. I will have to determine which of you is in the direst need of my help, and release the other. To that end I will be giving each of you a series of psychoanalytical questions and prompts to ascertain who remains, and who leaves.
Duke: You?ll release the least insane of us?
Skinner: Precisely.
Duke: Well doc, come now, surely I?m less insane than medicine man over-
-100V applied to Duke-
Duke: Christ! What was that for?
Skinner: I will be the judge of your sanity, Mr Duke. Before, you confessed to me that you believed yourself to have physically changed into the fictional Black Arrow.
Duke: Yeah. But doctor, just look at me. You can see me right? I look like the fella! I don?t usually look like this. If that ain?t a physical change I don?t know what is.
Skinner: Duke, Duke, Duke. You can?t keep telling yourself these things.
-150V applied to Duke-
Skinner: Now Duke. You?re American, are you not?
Duke: Yes.
Skinner: Don?t you find it curious that you speak in an Irish accent then?
Duke: I don?t know.
Skinner: It?s quite convincing.
Duke: (silence)
-100V applied to Duke-
Duke: What the hell?
Skinner: You?re going to have to try a bit harder to engage with your treatment in the future, Mr Duke. We?ll remove that Black Arrow from you yet, don?t you worry! Now, let?s go back to you, Gilgamoc. I have something a bit different for you now. You see the image from that projector? It?s called a Rorschach. I just want you to look at the pattern, and tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. Are you ready?
Doe: Yes.
-Rorschach #001 displayed-
Doe: I see the head of a wildebeest.
Skinner: A wildebeest, eh?
-150V applied to Doe-
Doe: (screams)
-Rorschach #002 displayed-
Skinner: How about this one?
Doe: A, ugh, two fish, leaping.
-150V applied to Doe-
Skinner: Next one.
-Rorschach #003 displayed-
Doe: A? Moth?
-200V applied to Doe-
Doe: (screams)
Duke: Hey ease up, that really did look like a moth!
-200V applied to Duke-
Skinner: Gilgamoc needs to be freed of this animal fixation if he wants any chance at recovery.
Doe: This is torture, not recovery.
Skinner: It all depends on the outcome, my animalistic friend.
The Diagnosis
?I?ve come to my decision,? said the Skinner intercom. ?Duke, I?m going to release your restraints and electrodes.?
The wrist, neck, and ankle restraints binding Patrick Duke to the chair popped open, the electrodes falling away like macabre dandruff. Still shaky from his ordeal, Duke stood.
?I can just? Go??
?You may. Gilgamoc?s condition is more severe. I shall have to prioritise his treatment over yours, for now at least.?
Duke glanced sheepishly at Gilgamoc, still quivering gently in her restraining chair.
?Listen, Gil. I don?t want to leave you here, but? I don?t know what else to do. I?m sorry.?
Gilgamoc said nothing. Her head lolled uncomfortably in the electrode cap. Looking as pathetic and feral as she did, Duke couldn?t help but think that a bit of unorthodox professional help might do her good. He turned to leave.
?Not so fast.?
Duke shot the intercom a dirty glance.
?What now??
?Before you leave, I need you to assist me with an operation.?
?What, like surgery??
?Nothing too strenuous. A simple trans-orbital lobotomy. Are you familiar??
?No.?
?I?ll help you. It?s for Gilgamoc, so we can do it now. I?ll add it to the record.?
?What does it do??
?It helps the brain recover. It?s very simple, here take this instrument.?
A thin metal rod, spiked at one end and flattened at the other like a nail, dropped through a grill in the wall besides the speaker. Shortly after a tiny by solid hammer followed it. Duke picked them up with some distaste.
?Now, approach the patient. What you want to do is like up the point with the inner corner of one of Gilgamoc?s eyes, and knock it in like you?re hammering in a nail. You have to hit hard enough to bypass the eyeball and optic nerve, and scramble the frontal lobe of the brain.?
?Are you insane?!?
?That?d be you, Mr Duke. But I judge you sane enough to perform this simple task for me. Do you want to leave??
Gilgamoc roused herself, looking up at the needle in Duke?s hand. She recoiled.
?What are you doing??
?Gil, I?m sorry. I don?t got a choice here.?
Duke stepped forward, raising the wicked instrument to eye level.
?Hold still,? he said, inserting the pointed tip into the foremost of Gilgamoc?s spider-masked eyeholes.
?No, not there-?
Duke gave the needle a smart rap, forcing it half way up to the hilt into Gilgamoc?s eyehole. Her words died in her mouth, and her muscles relaxed.
?Excellent!? Skinner lauded. ?You?re a natural. Gilgamoc should now be more docile. I?ll lead him back to his lodgings, while you feel free to go.?
?Right,? said Duke. He couldn?t bring himself to take his eyes off of the ancient oddity that was Gilgamoc.
?The door?s just there,? the doctor continued, said door swinging open, ?now, Gilgamoc, you?re going to come with me, okay? I?ll let you out of your restraints now.?
Just as they had with Duke, the restraints popped open. Gilgamoc raised her head slowly, turning to look from the intercom, and up to Duke. It was only then that the cowboy turned vigilante realised; he?d lobotomised through the wrong eyehole. With an exaggerated ?ptooy? sound, Gilgamoc spat out the needle into her own hand.
?You forget, celt,? she said, ?that I?m the Medicine Man here.?
And then, lunging like a scorpion, Gilgamoc slammed the needle point first straight back into the corner of Duke?s eye. His expression was one of stunned surprise, for a brief moment, before a look of vacancy too hold. He fell back heavily onto the floor.
?I too, am sorry,? she concluded.
?You barbarian!? Skinner accused. ?You dare to defy my? Wait. What?s happening? Where are you going??
Once again, and for the last time, blackness.
Victory
Suddenly, Gilgamoc was back with the penguin in the reading room, the sounds of David Attenborough playing from the TV behind him. He reached up, found he was back in his snake mask. Confused, Gilgamoc checked the stairs above him.
Duke was nowhere to be seen.
?Hmm??
Gilgamoc returned to his study of the penguin.
Gilgamoc spared Black Arrow an apologetic glance, and returned his attention to the idle penguin. At least, he tried to. A darkness had descended over the rest of the reading room, leaving only himself, the fictional crossbowman standing upside down above him, and the television. The marching penguins on the screen flickered, the picture wrenching into distortion with a garbled audio scratch, before being abruptly replaced by a test pattern. Gilgamoc and Black Arrow exchanged perplexed glances.
?Where?d the penguins go??
?This contraption is just as foreign to me as it is to thee, Medicine Man.?
Then, with another dizzying series of flickers, it changed to a new channel. Soothing classical music, which the Duke side of Black Arrow might have recognised but to everyone else sounded utterly alien, played over black and white footage of a sunlit country estate. The picture panned across the building and its surrounding lawns, taking in every window, buttress, and spire of the imposing Gothic architecture, before fading into a shot of a wrought iron gate. ?Fates Sanatorium ? est. 1946? had been twisted into the austere black bars. As the music faded, a woman?s voice chimed in.
?Here at Fates Sanatorium, we believe that the human mind can recover from any ordeal. That?s why we admit over a hundred patients a year to receive our world-class psychotherapeutic treatment.?
Gilgamoc and Black Arrow watched and listened as the image switched to the brightly lit interior of the estate; corridors flanked by highset windows, recreational areas with pot plants and comfortable looking furniture, sterile looking consultation offices.
?Our facilities and dedicated team of team of doctors and nurses, led by the intrepid Doctor Skinner,? ? a man in a white coat, his smile forced, eyes lurking somewhere in the shadow of his large, balding forehead like some sheathed medical equipment ? ?are here to help you at our restored country estate, where you can be comfortable and in safe hands. See for yourself!?
The music swelled once more as the screen switched to a progression of scenes featuring men and women in shapeless white shifts; strolling through the garden, reclining on sofas, playing chess in the rec. room?
?Huh. Doesn?t look half bad, for a looney bin,? said Black Arrow.
Picking at a tray of porridge, shuffling through the corridors, rocking gently against the walls?
?Hmmmm?? Gilgamoc hissed sceptically.
Glaring into the camera through a window, straining languidly against a strait jacket, writhing naked in the middle of the rec. room, smearing a dark mystery substance across the cafeteria table?
?Good God. I take it back. It?s??
Electrode-strapped muscles spasming against the bonds of a restraining chair, brain tissue oozing through matted hair, a metal pick poking out from the corner of a twitching eye, a man leaning through the bars as he furiously pleasured himself?
?Evil.?
Dr Skinner once more, his leer stretched taut, beady eyes illuminated suddenly by the red glow of light through living tissue. Gilgamoc and Black Arrow recoiled in reflexive horror, but too late. The doctor spoke in a ponderous baritone,
?New patients. Let?s get started on your treatment.?
The Spider, the Weasel, and the Padded Room
After an indeterminable period of unconsciousness, Gilgamoc awoke to a feeling of gut-churning wrongness. He was in a dim, narrow space, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest like a pair of coiled serpents. The floor on which he lay was soft, as were the walls. While strange, none of this was enough to explain the wrongness; a gap, a wound, a gnawing doubt, a lurking nightmare. He felt? Exposed.
Gilgamoc tried to speak,
?Wherrrr? Uugh. Muh, muh, muushuh??
Suddenly panicked, rolled his head, nestling his face in his shoulder.
?Muh muuuh! Erruaaaaargh! OORRAAAAAAAAH!?
The beastly Gilgamoc wailed, straining against his strait jacket and flinging himself to and fro about the padded cell. His mask was gone, along with his primitive shapeshifting apparatus, and with it ebbed his tenuous grip on humanity.
In a separate cell, Black Arrow was roused by the pathetic cries of his neighbour. He too was bound in a strait jacket. His crossbow was nowhere to be found.
?Darn? Curses?? he said, nimbly rolling to his feet and hurrying to the door. There was a small window set high into the padding, far out of reach of his constricted hands.
?Hello? Where am I? Who put me in this quilted cage??
A bald-headed shadow appeared in the cramped space of the window.
?Hey! You there! Why am I in here? Name thyself!?
?What?s more important than the question of who I am,? said the shadow, its voice the voice of the man on the television screen, ?is who you are. Tell me, who are you today; the daring hero Black Arrow, or the avid reader Patrick Duke??
Arrow-Duke grimaced. In the neighbouring cell, Gilgamoc made a disorienting noise somewhere between a bray, a howl, and a squeal.
?You know of my affliction??
?Of course I do. I?ve studied dissociative identity disorder for thirty years. I know a split personality when I see one.?
?Split personality? This isn?t a split personality! I, in the most literal sense, changed into Black Arrow.?
The shadow stroked its chin contemplatively, tutting. ?Dear oh dear, it?s worse than I thought. Still, not quite as bad as your? Friend, in the other cell. He?s got to be one of the most extreme cases I?ve come across.?
?I can agree with your assessment of him, certainly. There?s something wrong with that man. But I swear to God, you?ve got it all wrong with me!?
?Always so convinced by their own delusions? I?ll find your treatment very interesting, Mr Duke.?
The shadow disappeared, leaving Duke with nothing but the cries of his neighbour.
It took an agonisingly long time for Gilgamoc to quiet down, but quiet down he did. With his throat and lungs burnt out, shoulders aching, and mind numbed he collapsed limp into the softened floor. He lay still, his ragged breaths the only sign that any sort of life remained in his wretched husk of a body.
Once again, Gilgamoc had been reduced to a creature. A sexless, soulless thing with no masks to impose upon its hollow identity. Without its mask, the creature was nothing. The only way to recover from its new plight? Find its masks. But where would they be? How could it retrieve them with its arms bound, locked away in a prison, and weakened by its own dysphoria?
An answer came to Gilgamoc, blessed as the rainfall on the Savanahs of its homeland, in the form of a tiny shuffling shape in its peripheries. Gilgamoc?s eye darted towards the shape, wild and unfocussed. It was on the wall, difficult to discern in the dim light, but detectable when it moved. It had many long legs ? eight, the creature Gilgamoc observed. A spider.
Gilgamoc had seen spiders before, but had never studied them in enough depth to take their form. In its weakened state, the creature didn?t know if it could summon the will to study the spider now, but nonetheless it pushed itself closer, watching. Watching and waiting for some flash of inspiration that could pierce its growing turmoil.
If there was one thing that Duke knew for certain, it was that he wasn?t crazy. Despite appearances, he wasn?t really Black Arrow, nor did he think that he was. And thus, he didn?t belong in this crazy sanatorium place.
?I must abscond- Darn it, I gotta leave this place, before I really do go nuts! But how??
He grit his teeth, racking his brains for some solution. At least that medicine man had finally piped down?
Gilgamoc?s sunken, quivering eyes followed the spider closely. It had moved onto the floor, its many legs moving with deliberation, and was now sitting motionless a short distance from the creature Gilgamoc?s face. It had been motionless for quite some time.
Then it began to convulse. Gilgamoc?s gaze focussed, the small part of it that remained lucid intrigued by this behaviour. It could be reasonably sure that the spider wasn?t dying, the spasms seemed too rhythmic, more like a beating heart than a death rattle. The spider abruptly rolled onto its back, legs splayed above it, twitching in unified bursts. It seemed almost as if it were stuck in its own skin, not unlike Gilgamoc?
This suspicion was confirmed true, when a seam opened up in the spider?s back, and a raw expanse of fresh spider skin forced its way through. The legs hollowed, their insides slipping out like fingers from a glove. Gilgamoc observed, utterly fascinated, as the spider shed its entire skin through its back.
Having suffered through this ordeal, the spider lay still for a long time. When its strength did finally return, it climbed back up the wall, and disappeared through a hitherto unnoticed gap in the side of the door window. Gilgamoc?s gaze followed it all the way up, more focussed now than ever. Having studied the spider, he knew the path to salvation.
Duke paced, stealing the occasional anxious glance at the window to see if Dr Skinner had returned. There had to be some way he could convince the man to let him go. It wasn?t fair that he be treated on the basis of a misunderstood diagnosis. Especially not if the treatment was anything like what he?d seen on the television?
No, Duke hadn?t forgotten that. The horrific images from that Fates Sanatorium ? presumably where he was now ? would likely stick with him in his dreams for a long time. He couldn?t let that happen to him. Surely the doctor would see reason?
Then again? Anyone who runs a practice like his mightn?t be so rational himself. Was it the doctor who was crazy? Suddenly his faith in appealing to Dr Skinner?s rationality was shaken. If he was going to get out of here, it would have to be on his own terms. And with the body of Black Arrow at his disposal, there had to be something he could do. First thing first, he had to get out of this strait jacket.
Outside, the medicine man had started making noises again. Not howls of agony this time, but periodic grunts, as though he were exerting himself.
Lying on its back on the floor, Gilgamoc flexed its constricted arms, skin sliding, chafing, and bulging beneath the tough fabric of the strait jacket. It stretched in and out, tearing at its binding in bursts of force, punctuating each pull with a ragged breath. Like the spider it has studied, Gilgamoc strained against its outer skin, now too tight and ripe for moulting.
With time and effort, a tear began to form along the ridge of its rippling spine.
The Marquis? Shackles. The fourth short story in the first Black Arrow anthology he?d read as a boy. When the evil marquis strapped the hero to the rack for interrogation, Black Arrow escaped his bonds using the flexibility of a weasel, which he had been earned from a master thief. Under Duke?s control, the same attribute would serve him well in his current predicament.
Duke carefully tested the limits of his new joints, rolling his shoulders and wrists within the knotted sleeves. Slowly, but surely, he contorted his arms around each other and above his head, sliding the bonds undone. Soon the strait jacket had been reduced to a pair of neat stringy tubes hanging at his from his wrists.
Meanwhile, Gilgamoc?s jacket hung tattered from its waist, an empty skin split open at the back just like the spider?s exoskeleton. The creature panted, basking in the freedom from its claustrophobic bonds and exhausted by the effort of pulsing its body through a sheet of tough fabric. Normally a human would not be capable of such a thing, but by studying the spider Gilgamoc could achieve beyond its primate limits.
Solemnly, Gilgamoc knelt before the remains of the strait jacket, pulling strips of material free. Once it had enough, it wrapped the strips around its head. Gilgamoc followed a strange geometric pattern as it wound its turban-like mask, leaving gark irregular gaps around the regions of face, forehead, and skull to mimic the many eyes of the spider. Gilgamoc breathed a deep sigh of relief as identity once again came into focus in her mind. She ran a hand over her masked face, and spoke in the whispered, yet clear tone of an young woman.
?Once again? I am Gilgamoc.?
Black Arrow was a master of concealment; a precaution for cases just like this. Skinner would have searched him before he put him in the strait jacket, but Duke was confident that his Black Arrow instincts would?ve ensured a hidden device to help him escape.
?Think? If I was Black Arrow ? which, I suppose I am ? where would I hide a lockpick? Sweet Jesus, surely not up my? No, hold it, I feel something. Aha!?
Duke reached into the hairline just behind his ear, and drew out a thin metal pick. He set about searching for a lock to use it on.
Having completely shredded her strait jacket and stowed away the resulting loops of material around her shoulder ? if she were to be a spider, she would need webbing ? Gilgamoc turned her many eyes to the high set window. If her muse spider could escape through it, then she could too.
The shapeshifter lunged towards the padded wall, latching onto the bulging material just as she had seen the spider do. She began to climb, scuttling with hands and feet, her bandolier of improvised webbing swaying behind her. It was not a long way up, so she was soon eye level with the grimy glass. At first it was difficult to see where the spider had crawled through, but running her fingers around the edge of the glass pane revealed a chip. Gilgamoc wouldn?t be able to fit through such a tiny gap, no amount of study could change that? But it might make a handy anchor point.
Gilgamoc threaded several strands of her web through the chip, cramming it into the corner to keep it held firm. Then, holding on tight to the remaining length of web, she jumped away from the window.
The second Duke had finished quietly pushing open the unlocked door and stepping out into the dank, dim hallway beyond, he was shaken by a sudden shattering of glass. The high window in the door opposite him had abruptly imploded inward.
?The hell???
Shortly after, Gilgamoc?s wrapped face appeared in the hole.
?Jesus Christ!?
?No, Gilgamoc.?
?Medicine Man? But, I thought you were a? Man??
Gilgamoc slunk through the broken window, landing opposite Black Arrow.
?Not Medicine Man. Gilgamoc.?
?Sure. You want to get out of here now? I shan?t linger a moment longer in this god-forsaken asylum.?
?Going so soon??
Gilgamoc and Duke wheeled around to find a shadowy figure standing at the end of the corridor. It had Skinner?s voice.
?Darn? You can?t keep up here doctor! Come one ma?am, we?re leaving.?
?Are you sure??
This time the voice came from behind them. Another shadowy Skinner stood at the other end of the hall. Gilgamoc looked back and forth between them.
?Demons!? she breathed.
?I think it?s time to fast track your treatment,? said the Skinners, closing in on Duke and Gilgamoc, moving with an eerie glide. Before the unwilling patients could even hope to fight back, the Skinners? shadowy forms had swelled into a stormfront of darkness, rushing into to envelop them. Once again, the world went black.
Electroshock Therapy
Session Transcript #666
MDs in attendance: Dr Clyde Skinner
Patients in attendance: Patrick Duke, John Doe
Purpose of session: psychological evaluation, electroshock therapy
Date: 66/66/6666
Skinner: Testing testing, six six six. Begin session. Subjects remain unconscious. Applying 50 volts to both subjects to alleviate symptoms.
-50V applied to Duke and Doe-
Duke: (screams)
Doe: (screams) It burns!
Skinner: Interesting. You, the one who calls yourself Gilgamoc. Why do you suddenly speak like a woman?
Doe: (silence)
Skinner: For your own good, Gilgamoc, I will have to compel you to answer if you do not answer of your own free will.
Doe: (silence)
-100V applied to Doe-
Doe: (screams) My mask. I made this by studying the spider. My studied tell me that the spider is a woman.
Skinner: But you were a man before, when I admitted you.
Doe: The snake. The snake is a man.
Skinner: So you take on the characteristics of the mask you wear. How fascinating. And we saw what happens when you aren?t wearing a mask. I have left your spider mask on, just to keep you lucid enough to speak, but to fully cure you we are going to have to ween you off this dependence.
Duke: Hey. What?s going on? Where are you? What are you?
Skinner: Yes, of course. An explanation. I?m speaking to you through an intercom, an electronic speaker. My appearance of late tends to impede the therapeutic process, as you might have noticed after you so rudely vandalised my facilities. That?s why you two are in together in the electroshock therapy chairs while I watch from another room. As to the nature of this session, well, it?s twofold. First and foremost, it is the commencement of your treatment. The electrodes attached to your heads deliver an electric shock to the brain that alleviates the symptoms of mental affliction.
Duke: Jesus.
Skinner: Secondly, however, this session is something of an audition. Since you two have managed to break two of my remaining three treatment cells, I regret to admit that I can no longer house both of you here at Fates. I will have to determine which of you is in the direst need of my help, and release the other. To that end I will be giving each of you a series of psychoanalytical questions and prompts to ascertain who remains, and who leaves.
Duke: You?ll release the least insane of us?
Skinner: Precisely.
Duke: Well doc, come now, surely I?m less insane than medicine man over-
-100V applied to Duke-
Duke: Christ! What was that for?
Skinner: I will be the judge of your sanity, Mr Duke. Before, you confessed to me that you believed yourself to have physically changed into the fictional Black Arrow.
Duke: Yeah. But doctor, just look at me. You can see me right? I look like the fella! I don?t usually look like this. If that ain?t a physical change I don?t know what is.
Skinner: Duke, Duke, Duke. You can?t keep telling yourself these things.
-150V applied to Duke-
Skinner: Now Duke. You?re American, are you not?
Duke: Yes.
Skinner: Don?t you find it curious that you speak in an Irish accent then?
Duke: I don?t know.
Skinner: It?s quite convincing.
Duke: (silence)
-100V applied to Duke-
Duke: What the hell?
Skinner: You?re going to have to try a bit harder to engage with your treatment in the future, Mr Duke. We?ll remove that Black Arrow from you yet, don?t you worry! Now, let?s go back to you, Gilgamoc. I have something a bit different for you now. You see the image from that projector? It?s called a Rorschach. I just want you to look at the pattern, and tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. Are you ready?
Doe: Yes.
-Rorschach #001 displayed-
Doe: I see the head of a wildebeest.
Skinner: A wildebeest, eh?
-150V applied to Doe-
Doe: (screams)
-Rorschach #002 displayed-
Skinner: How about this one?
Doe: A, ugh, two fish, leaping.
-150V applied to Doe-
Skinner: Next one.
-Rorschach #003 displayed-
Doe: A? Moth?
-200V applied to Doe-
Doe: (screams)
Duke: Hey ease up, that really did look like a moth!
-200V applied to Duke-
Skinner: Gilgamoc needs to be freed of this animal fixation if he wants any chance at recovery.
Doe: This is torture, not recovery.
Skinner: It all depends on the outcome, my animalistic friend.
The Diagnosis
?I?ve come to my decision,? said the Skinner intercom. ?Duke, I?m going to release your restraints and electrodes.?
The wrist, neck, and ankle restraints binding Patrick Duke to the chair popped open, the electrodes falling away like macabre dandruff. Still shaky from his ordeal, Duke stood.
?I can just? Go??
?You may. Gilgamoc?s condition is more severe. I shall have to prioritise his treatment over yours, for now at least.?
Duke glanced sheepishly at Gilgamoc, still quivering gently in her restraining chair.
?Listen, Gil. I don?t want to leave you here, but? I don?t know what else to do. I?m sorry.?
Gilgamoc said nothing. Her head lolled uncomfortably in the electrode cap. Looking as pathetic and feral as she did, Duke couldn?t help but think that a bit of unorthodox professional help might do her good. He turned to leave.
?Not so fast.?
Duke shot the intercom a dirty glance.
?What now??
?Before you leave, I need you to assist me with an operation.?
?What, like surgery??
?Nothing too strenuous. A simple trans-orbital lobotomy. Are you familiar??
?No.?
?I?ll help you. It?s for Gilgamoc, so we can do it now. I?ll add it to the record.?
?What does it do??
?It helps the brain recover. It?s very simple, here take this instrument.?
A thin metal rod, spiked at one end and flattened at the other like a nail, dropped through a grill in the wall besides the speaker. Shortly after a tiny by solid hammer followed it. Duke picked them up with some distaste.
?Now, approach the patient. What you want to do is like up the point with the inner corner of one of Gilgamoc?s eyes, and knock it in like you?re hammering in a nail. You have to hit hard enough to bypass the eyeball and optic nerve, and scramble the frontal lobe of the brain.?
?Are you insane?!?
?That?d be you, Mr Duke. But I judge you sane enough to perform this simple task for me. Do you want to leave??
Gilgamoc roused herself, looking up at the needle in Duke?s hand. She recoiled.
?What are you doing??
?Gil, I?m sorry. I don?t got a choice here.?
Duke stepped forward, raising the wicked instrument to eye level.
?Hold still,? he said, inserting the pointed tip into the foremost of Gilgamoc?s spider-masked eyeholes.
?No, not there-?
Duke gave the needle a smart rap, forcing it half way up to the hilt into Gilgamoc?s eyehole. Her words died in her mouth, and her muscles relaxed.
?Excellent!? Skinner lauded. ?You?re a natural. Gilgamoc should now be more docile. I?ll lead him back to his lodgings, while you feel free to go.?
?Right,? said Duke. He couldn?t bring himself to take his eyes off of the ancient oddity that was Gilgamoc.
?The door?s just there,? the doctor continued, said door swinging open, ?now, Gilgamoc, you?re going to come with me, okay? I?ll let you out of your restraints now.?
Just as they had with Duke, the restraints popped open. Gilgamoc raised her head slowly, turning to look from the intercom, and up to Duke. It was only then that the cowboy turned vigilante realised; he?d lobotomised through the wrong eyehole. With an exaggerated ?ptooy? sound, Gilgamoc spat out the needle into her own hand.
?You forget, celt,? she said, ?that I?m the Medicine Man here.?
And then, lunging like a scorpion, Gilgamoc slammed the needle point first straight back into the corner of Duke?s eye. His expression was one of stunned surprise, for a brief moment, before a look of vacancy too hold. He fell back heavily onto the floor.
?I too, am sorry,? she concluded.
?You barbarian!? Skinner accused. ?You dare to defy my? Wait. What?s happening? Where are you going??
Once again, and for the last time, blackness.
Victory
Suddenly, Gilgamoc was back with the penguin in the reading room, the sounds of David Attenborough playing from the TV behind him. He reached up, found he was back in his snake mask. Confused, Gilgamoc checked the stairs above him.
Duke was nowhere to be seen.
?Hmm??
Gilgamoc returned to his study of the penguin.
September 16, 17--
To my Dearest and Most Trustworthy friend Black Arrow,
You may perhaps not remember me, We were but young and wild bucks when we met, but I have never forgotten the words you had said to me that inspired me to go back to the land of my childhood. I heeded your advice and have become a most prestigious doctor here with the help of the old family here who I have gotten along quite well with.
Speaking of the old family, it seems something most strange has occurred. A great uncle who I had previously not known of had bequeathed a quite sizeable parcel of land upon dying. It used to be a hospital but it seems they had left it to fall into utter disarray after some such tragedy with some of the lowborns there even though it was a cutting-edge facility back in its heyday. I was having high hopes of building back this establishment to its former glory and bringing back the name of my family in quite a good standing. However, one of the workers went missing recently and the rest absolutely refuse to work! I had told them repeatedly that it was likely he just absconded with his paycheck, but you know how the commoners are. They say that it?s the work of ghosts and that a strange ?beast? stalks the gardens at night. It?s all superstition if you ask me, but I think if some strapping young lad such as yourself showed up and made some show of tracking down this beast and for it, all turns out to be a large bear or some other animal squatting on my land that they may finally get back to work. I will, of course, pay quite handsomely for it.
Enclosed is enough money to buy the best carriage that will take you here, and five pounds as a payment upfront, and a key to the estate. You will be rewarded fifty pounds upon completion of your task.
Sincerely, Barnaby T. Weirwood
Duke turned over the letter a couple of times more in his hands as the carriage bounced along its path. As he thought it over a bit more. The letter knew one thing, he certainly didn?t remember this apparent ?friend? of his, and that he declared him strapping and young was? a bit disturbing, and certainly Black Arrow had no friends from the year 17--... Neither did he for that matter.
Duke?s thoughts were interrupted by a thump from the front of the carriage. ?I can?t take yah any farther, Mistah. You?ll have to walk the rest of the way
Duke wasn?t in the mood for walking. ?I?ll give you an extra ten pence if you drive me the rest of the way.?
The carriage driver opened the door and shook his head. ?You misunderstand, mistah. It ain?t that I?m not willing. It?s that I can?t take ya farther. Horses won?t go near the old hospital. Spooks them something mighty fierce. Only a fool would get any closer to that place.?
Duke eyed the man. ?A fool?s errand will often pay a hero?s sum.?
?Aye, that?s what the others before yah said too.?
?Others??
?Aye, mistah. The Tom twins went missing at that there hospital. Poor blokes always had more brawn than brains on their shoulders.?
?Twins? Weirwood only mentioned one worker going missing.?
The Carriage Driver handed Black Arrow his suitcase roughly. ?One? That madman sent a bloody score of men into that place!? the driver said with a single laugh and a snap of the reins he was off.
20 to 1. Duke wasn?t exactly liking his odds right now. The scenery didn?t seem to cheer him on either. It was of the somber months of the year, lacking the beauty of the snowy winter or the golds of autumn. It was a time of brown, biting wind and more than anything mud. The leaves had fallen off the trees and a cold sleet had just fallen on the ground yesterday leaving a disgusting film of decaying debris on top of the mud which even the most well-trod parts of the road had nearly a foot of.
At least he wasn?t going to get mauled by a bear was all Duke could think as most of his other thoughts were occupied with the cold wind or trying not to get stuck in the mud underneath his feet.
A once gleaming and polished bronze gate stood in front of Duke. In its day, it would have inspired a sense of awe along the carefully placed cobblestone bricks, and the Greek style statues of famous physicians. Now it stood as a warning to travelers, time having a sense of humour and causing the gate to proudly proclaim ?Do -- Harm?. Duke brought out his key whilst trying to ignore the decaying greek busts that stared at him. Despite the years of abuse, the gate opened easily if creakily and like the gate itself may fall off its hinges. Predictably as Duke stopped to look up at the towering five-story building in front of him, a large gust of wind blew the gate backward, shutting it. Duke never bothered to check if he could open it again. In these type of stories, leaving from the front gate was never an option.
Duke didn?t spend much time in the massive courtyard and gardens on the property. He only noted that there were two breaks in the fence line, a hedge maze (Whose idea that was is anybody?s guess but they seemed to show up in places like this), and two fountains with eerie statues. No, Duke knew that it was unlikely he would find anything in a haunted place like this on the outside. He had opened his briefcase taking in all of the traps and gadgets he had inherited from his new namesake. An assortment of bells, large lengths of string, bags of salt, and all else that one would need to fight any source natural or supernatural. Duke had a lot of work set out in front of him. First, he had to map the place out, identify important chokepoints, set traps, a warning system, and set up the best patrol routes.
He arrived at the hospital at early midday, it was inevitable that he would have finished after dusk. No one had ever encountered haunts during the bright of day. Duke was struggling to stay awake. He sat in the front lobby on a chair, an assortment of bells attached to trip wires throughout the hospital that when triggered would trigger the bells. There was also a line of salt along all the entrances of the lobby? Just in case. Duke was also struggling to get any sleep. Odd moans and rattles were heard throughout the night. There was an almost rhythm to them. Rattle, moan above, eerie wind, shuffle. Most people would have gone to investigate these strange sounds at night. Black Arrow vs Dracula, the non-canon side story gave advice for situations like these. Never deviate from your original plan on something you can?t see or hear clearly. He tried not to think of the origins of these sounds too hard. Instead, trying to fill up his mind with trying to recount important moments from his favorite series. Book 4, the thrilling fight with Captain Maria Estaban of the Spanish fleet. Book 9, the werewolves of Transylvania. Book 5, The assault on Stirling Castle. It didn?t help much. The noises and fear of what lurked in the hospital kept him awake, but his mind needed to be clear for whatever he was up against in the castle. His nerves were still on edge and it had been over three hours since his last patrol route. Hoping up that getting up and moving would calm his nerves.
Duke crept through the halls with his lantern. He seemed to find himself slinking and keeping low through the dilapidated halls of the asylum as he moved past the small hospital rooms. A bucket once used for bloodletting and? Other fluids sat at the edge of a snare trap tipping Duke off to walk around it. As he stopped to make sure the trap was in good shape, he heard the sounds of footsteps. He had been hearing the sounds of footsteps throughout most of the night, but these were different. The previous footsteps had been off in the distance, these were closer and seemed to be moving towards him as well. Duke snuffed out his light, and stopped down low, one hand on his flintlock. It seemed to be? One person, but there was another type of noise as well. It was hard to tell. The other noise seemed to be coming from upwards, but it didn?t sound like the footsteps of someone walking on the floor above him. More of a scratching sound, but a soft one. Duke paid attention to the steps coming towards him instead. One? Two. It was slow, but a steady walk forward. Their soles were hard and struck wood, softer wood than where he was. Was it walking on the rotten stairs? It didn?t seem to be slowing its gait at any point to not fall. A child? No, it sounded too heavy. Couldn?t be an animal, animals don?t wear cobbled shoes. A ghost? Do they even make noise? The footsteps rounded the corner.
A man rounded the corner, appearing to be in their late 60s wearing a strange hat, and with a pair of golden spectacles, the man was thin and tall, but not much else could be made out in the darkness. Duke eased up a bit but kept his hand near his gun.
? Stranger! Explain thyself, I?ve a duty- I mean, I hath been tasked with killing a slayer of men, and you would seem suspicious as not even the deer trespass here.?
The elder man seemed unfazed and spoke as if being bothered by an annoying intern. ?Slayer of men? Those who don?t understand our treatments here at the Weirwood Asylum may call me that.?
Duke raised his gun. ?Listen, This isn?t some jest. Leave and don?t come back, or I shoot.?
The elder man clicked his heels. ?I wouldn?t use that sir.?
?And why?s that??
?It wouldn?t do you any good. The body. What a useless thing. The spirit, is stronger, your true core, never changing. It reveals your true self. The spirit doesn?t hide sins. The virtuous like myself prosper in this state. No longer can I lust, or glutton. I want for nothing and need nothing. I think that perhaps I?ve even become very close to purging myself of emotion. To see the world as it truly is.?
?And you?d give up on what birthed you. Stuck in never-ending monotony.?
?Ah, I didn?t think someone still tied to their body would understand. No, worry. You?ll be joining us soon.?
?What?s that supposed to mean? Art thou gonna vex me??
?Oh no, somebody else should be able to do that work for me.?
Duke shook his head as the man disappeared into a wall. About normal, spooks and mysterious warnings go hand in hand, Duke thought to himself hearing the rustle of cloth and a scratching of wood on wood above him. He looked up but for one second to see a man with the mask of a lizard dropping down on him. His gun and lantern knocked to the side.
The masked man came down on him like a bag of bricks, the two tumbled down the hall barely missing the traps set. Before Black Arrow could even process what happened he was delivered a headbutt to the face, and a punch to the gut. Shaken but determined he launched a counter-attack? To his opponent's balls.
?Playing dirty are we!? Black Arrow said his attack giving him just enough time to push his opponent off him.?Two can play at that game, beast! And I assure you that I am the best!? With a flourish, he brought out his emeralded saber. His opponent on all fours whipped his tail across the floor causing Black Arrow to quickly jump over the sweep ?Come now! I?ve the grace of a cat, it will take more than that!? Duke rhymed.
?You insult the animals that you slaughter, Celt!? The creature said with a hiss. The Masked creature jumped across the hallway. Duke sidestepped the jump, tearing through the prosthetic tail of the masked one with his sword as he did so.
?You talk of slaughter whilst you have killed twenty men in this place! Tell me what these ghosts have promised you, heathen!? Duke brought out his great crossbow, and aimed at his opponent who? In the darkness, it almost seemed as if he shed his skin and became another person. Duke couldn?t let this stop him. His opponent charged towards him, but his arrow flew true and pierced the side of the masked thing? However, The masked creature just let out a loud roar and continued its charge forward the ivory horns of the wildebeest shining against the light of the overturned lantern.
?Shit? was all that Duke had time to get out before getting pinned to the wall, a searing pain went through his side. He coughed blood on a tanned hide. ?Do you insult me, Celt! I am not a slaughterer of men and know nothing of these ghosts!? Came the suddenly more womanly voice of his opponent.
?Shit!? Duke gritted his teeth. ?You could have fooled me!? Duke reached down towards his boot. ?Fuck, shit!? A searing pain went down the entire right side of his body when he went to grab his dagger. ?What the hell are you doing in some haunted ass asylum than!? Duke?s southern dialect came back in full force from the pain.
?I could ask yourself the same question, celt!? she said, digging her horns in deeper.
Duke reached across his back for his quiver.?Answer the FUCKING QUESTION!? He punctuated the sentence with a stab downwards with a bolt, using this opening he quickly forced a knee into his captor?s head, pushing his captor?s horns off of him. Duke clutched at his side and breathed heavy. Standing shakily with his sword drawn.
His opponent stood similarly albeit on all fours. The two circled each other, the air tense. ?I was studying the animals, and noticed there were none in this area.?
?And you headed towards a haunted ground? You must truly be a fool.?
?I could say the say the same, and your wounds can profess for that.?
?I am being paid a fortune for the head of the beast stalking these lands. What is your excuse?
?I thought that there was a truly strong creature nesting here, one truly worthy of study.?
?You study the animals to make visages of them no? A strange hobby.?
?It is no hobby, Celt!? The wearer of the wildebeest growled out. ?The study of animals is a way of life! To not only understand them, but to become one with them!? She beat out proudly.
?... I take it you have great expertise of the beast with two backs than?? Black Arrow nearly laughed being stopped by the pain in his lungs
?Does such a beast exist?? She seemed intrigued.
?As much as any beast can exist in metaphor. You didn?t explain why you attacked me though.?
?Someone from a tribe as cowardly as the celts, surrounded by traps, stalking a land with no beasts, consorting with spirits, and using many strange metals, and contraptions. It was only natural to think that you were responsible for the deaths of the beasts here.?
?And what of the bodies of these animals that I had killed. All the birds, and squirrels.?
?Taken away by the same magic that gives you hair the reds of leviathan?s fire!?
?Hair that is befitting of my heritage. The same fiery red of Gr?inne Mhaol, brave defender of the Irish isle which I call my home and whom I am privileged to be descended from.? Duke relaxed his posture, it seemed despite his opponent?s violent nature she was not pressing any attack.
?Hair that marks the sins of your people?s human sacrifice! Fiery as their funeral pyres!?
?Silence, your words have little meaning to me. I can tell you are not the beast which I seek stalking these lands, and that is all I need to know.? Duke tore off a section of his cloak to bandage himself with. His masked opponent was removing the thick skin of wildebeest that they wore in this form.
The bolt that he stabbed his opponent with seemed to have not gone in deep, but the bolt he had scored on the wildebeest earlier seemed to have gone through the beast?s side. ?How?s your range of movement, partner??
The masked one went to stand up and a low growl was heard from her before she moved to all fours. ?Not good.?
?I could help you with that, but we?ll need to take it out. It?ll do more damage in if it?s causing that much pain..? Duke said casually, as he tightened his own bandage.
The masked one nodded tentatively. As Duke got his lantern and gun he looked strangely at the one in the light, they looked familiar though he couldn?t quite place them.
?You way of speech. It seems to change.?
Duke cleared his throat as he took out his dagger. ?Have you ever heard of the man hoist by his own petard??
?What is a petard, and how would you hoist someone by it??
Duke made an annoyed sound. ?Come now, that turn of phrase is quite common. It was a jest. I was saying that you doth possess the qualities you ask of.?
?I have never heard someone talk like you. Like you are sharing the language of two tribes.?
Duke started to carefully saw one end of the bolt off. ?It seems you do indeed possess the eyes of an eagle? Or well, the hearing of a bat in this case.? The native didn?t seem to understand the turn of phrase. ?Nothing gets past you.? She still didn?t understand the metaphor. ?I?m? Borrowing a body. So to speak. A hero of my childhood called Black Arrow. I lack his way with the word.?
She nodded to Duke. ?Ah, so you too wear a mask.?
?Heh, Yeah. I guess I do.? Masks. Gears were grinding in Duke?s head. ?Wait! I know you!?
?I doubt that I don?t know many Celts.?
?No, I met you in that great library, I was upside down, and-? Duke was done sawing through the bolt, and with one quick tug pulled it. ?You left me so you could go chase a giant bird!?
?I learned much from the bird. Like how to slide.? Gilgamoc seemed proud of this achievement.
Duke roughly put pressure on the wound. ?Nice to hear buddy. Wish you could have spent five minutes getting me down from the ceiling.?
?Why didn?t you use your druidic vampire powers.?
?I ain't-a vampire!?
?Then you have studied the bat greatly, and mastered its claws.?
Black Arrow let out a loud and elongated sigh as he helped bandage Gil. ?That?No. I have not studied the bat. Can we talk about something else please??
?Your movements seem to come from a trained hand. Were you your village?s medicine man??
Duke hesitated for a second as he bandaged Gil. ?I was a medic in the war for a time in my old body.?
Gil nodded. ?Not an easy job. Would I know of this war??
?Do you know what America is??
?No.?
?Than you wouldn?t. It was brother against brother. Most of the draftees like me not even fighting cause what we believed in. Just fightin? because of what side of the border we fell on. Everyone had someone that got eaten up by that war. I didn?t last long. Stole a rifle, and ran off to Injun territory.?
?Injun? Is that some sort of creature??
?Well some folks think that, but they didn?t spend time with the natives like I did.? Duke finished bandaging up Gil. ?Should be good for now. I?ll need you, I think I know where this beast is.?
Duke was carefully moving his hands against several objects and walls. Gil was doing the same against the floor. ?Didn?t you say you already mapped this out earlier, why would you think that there is a trap door you missed??
?Well? Because no one would be able to figure out there was a secret door before now.?
?We are the only people here, who is going to figure it out.?
?Well? The librarians told me they gave me this body to figure out which genre of stories is the best. So, we should be running on story logic, and the conversation with the ghost should have tipped us off on this not being natural.?
?That doesn?t make sense, but I will hear you out.?
?Well, so we didn?t know anything about this place at first, and we don?t know much about it still, but that ghost referred to a treatment, and that I was gonna end up a ghost myself soon. So, he has still be running these treatments right??
?He could have just been insulting you.?
?Yes, but he referred to trying to get rid of his emotions, so I doubt that he would waste his words on something like that.?
?You never checked the upper floors though, correct. Why would you not think they were up there??
?Well? Because the workers didn?t see a treatment room anywhere, and none of the twenty people before me have bodies here, but also because? Secret labs are always underground.?
?You are quite the madman, celt. You never find a hideout on purpose.?
?Is that so??
?Yes, you would need to find it by chance. Or overhear its location.?
Duke thought it over before noticing a decrepit bookshelf in the corner. ?Or it?s the bookshelf.? Duke started to pull on all the books.
?Why a bookshelf??
There was a predictable click as he pulled a fake book, the bookcase moving aside and revealing a staircase downwards. ?Well because door sized paintings started to fall out of style.? The two descended downward.
Free from the biting wind and rain, the passage seemed almost homey. It was warm and dry. Seeming even warmer than it should have been naturally. It seemed industrial, smoothed stone and tile were used, and there were still places to hold torches on the wall though having not been used in quite a long time. It didn?t sit well with Duke, he thought that a place like this should have been much worse. Even colder, and darker than the outside. Something more naturalistic, but this cleanliness was something that Duke wasn?t used too. Gilgamoc seemed more confident than he did despite him leading the way. Perhaps all of this seemed so strange to the native that he could maintain his confidence anywhere.
This was the last thought Duke had as a stone wall descended down on him. Quickly rolling out of the way, he ended up on one side and Gil on the other.
Duke pounded on the wall. ?Partner! You okay over there!?
?Other than the hole in my side, yes.?
?That makes two of us.? Two torches light up behind him.
?Mister Arrow is it?? A strange voice said that seemed to come from the walls ?You seem a smart man. I would like to talk to you.? It was obviously someone of the upper crust.
Duke pounded on the wall even harder. ?Find out a damn way to get past this wall, alright!? Duke panicked quickly took out his flintlock and looked for a way out of this room. However, it seemed the room was bare except for the two lights on the wall, and no exit. He grasped looked for some sort of exit. ?Come on! Come on! There?s got to be some way out of here.?
?Yet another thing that you would be rid of. Mister Arrow. A bodiless existence means that you could transcend any boundary! Material or immaterial.? The voice sounded proud but tired. ?There is always the choice to come willingly, you know.? The voice softened ?Voluntary procedures always turn out better, Mister Arrow.?
?And to never feel the grass underneath my foot, or the wind in my hair, to never feel the touch of my beloved ?pon my breast.?
?Please, stop your rambling! At least you are better than the last subjects. All the screaming, and the blood. So much blood. You?re smart. I suspect you know that I won?t be convinced of your weak arguments.
?You have killed a score and many more. One such as you is not to be talked down, but cut down!?
?I regret that you think that way, Mister Arrow. I hate to use force. It was a real tragedy, this experiment. We tried to keep the body alive, and his mind has suffered ever since? However, he has proven his usefulness on occasions like these.? A wall opened up, and the whiney was heard, followed by metal scraping on stone.
?Did you hear that, Winifred?? A hoarse, and raspy voice came. ?It sounds like another has come to test our mettle.?
Black Arrow drew his saber. ?I?d appreciate it if you?d hurry up with that wall partner!?
?Alchemy takes time!? Gil shouted back.
?Calling for help! Good! My whip thirsts for a challenge.? The hoarse voice continued walking into the light. A man in black armour rode atop a wild looking black steed. In one hand he carried a whip of bone made from the spines of his enemies, and in the other his own armoured head. A black flame emanating from the rider?s neck. A dullahan. A rider who rode with such ferocity that flames would follow behind it.
?A CELT!? The rider roared. ?Finally, a worthy sacrifice! You should count yourself lucky to be offered to the gods..?
?Ah, but the gods love a good show. Doth you wait for my companion, and you shall be told of in legend.?
?Yes, told of as one who was tricked easily. Don?t underestimate me!? The whip cracked as Duke ducked underneath it.
?Going for the eyes? Art thou envious, It seems that I have the high ground if you keep cradling your head like a babe.?
?Take this seriously! The gods are watching!? Another crack of the whip and Duke rolled underneath it.
?Then you should give them a better show! Come now, put some swash in those swings!?
?Careful what you say!? The nostrils of the man?s steed flared with a sudden fire and in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, the horse galloped past Black Arrow. Barely reacting Duke only having enough time to bring his saber up to try to direct the blow away. Whilst he blocked some of the attacks the whip had still dug into his arm. ?I'm more powerful than you think. I was holding back to give you a fair chance.?
?You?re also dumber than I thought.? Duke quickly switched his flintlock and saber between hands, In a scramble, the rider forced his hand downwards as the pistol went off going into the flesh of his horse instead of the riders exposed head. The beast reared back and Duke back away dropping his pistol and holding his sword ready.
The dullahan had trouble righting himself, trying to keep a firm grasp on his head and reins at the same time. ?None have scored a hit on my beast before! You shall pay for this insolence!?
Duke ducked underneath another crack of his bone whip. ?The eyes yet again! So predictable!? He quickly dodged to the side as another attack came quickly with ferocity. ?I think you might have cut my hair with that one.?
?You can?t keep this up forever, celt. You will make a mistake eventually.? Another whip came and Duke rolled underneath it.
?I don?t need to keep this up forever. Just until I get an opening.?
?An opening that will never come.? The rider galloped scoring a hit across Duke?s chest, quickly rounding back, but knowing his opponent would try to compensate for his mistake earlier quickly threw a dagger into the shoulder of his enemy. Though it landed squarely his opponent showed no sign of stopping. Duke was knocked to the ground as his opponent kicked him from on high.
?I do not tire, Celt! I do not feel pain! It is time you bleed for me!? As the dullahan brought his whip up high suddenly, an explosion rocked the facility. Chunks of stone being thrown into the Dullahan.
As the dust settled, GIlgamoc appeared on the high stilts of a crane. ?Where?d you learn to do that!?
?Bombardier Beetle.? Came the high pitched voice of Gil as he delivered a stilted kick to the dullahan, and then another. Quickly he changed masks as he pounced down on his opponent in the form of a lion knocking him off his horse. The bestial and dominating roar of the lion as it rent flesh was the last thing Duke heard as he ran down the hallway that the Dullahan had suddenly appeared from.
Adrenaline pushing him on, Duke charged forward, the sounds of battle fading behind him. As he rounded the corner a foul stench reached his nostrils. It was the smell of ammonia, and formaldehyde combined with rotten flesh. He reached some sort of morgue. Bodies strapped to rows of tables, and in the center a gigantic machine glowing blue. It churned and chugged violently like a steam engine occasionally letting off wisps of blue mist.
?You see, the procedure was quite simple really. Your breath carries your spirit. You stop breathing, and so does your soul dissipate into the aether. But if there was a way to draw out your breath, and to capture that spirit in the same way that your body does. The drawing out of the breath was easy, but to stop its dissipation. Much harder You must capture it in a bag of solid aether. Why do you think people see ghosts as having blue auras around them. It?s aether.? The voice from the walls seemed closer.
?I take here is where you collect the aether,? Duke said taking out a horn of gunpowder from his belt.
?Yes, but there was a mistake. Aether is immaterial. You will need more as it tears, and wears? That is? Unless you can control the movement of your own breath.? A strange mist suddenly appeared over a corpse, forcing itself into its mouth.
With a wretch, it forced itself up from the table. Moving jaggedly, the body forced itself to full height with painful cracks and pops. ?I can not steal your breath. It seems you have been blessed by a witch, but? Your flesh can still be harmed.? The corpse lunged forward.
With a quick stab forward, Duke pierced the corpse that suddenly went limp falling on top of him with a gasp of air, the mist escaped from the wound. Duke kicked off the body of his sword and ran towards the machine.
?Smart lad going for the lungs, but you can?t destroy the air!? Another corpse lunged forward, catching Duke by the ankle, and biting it. Black Arrow stabbed the neck, and the mist drew back.
?You are not the air though, but a mist! And a mist can be blown away by a gust of wind!? Another corpse, and this time Duke was ready as he decapitated his foe as he ran forward.
?The explosion of my own machine you think can dissipate me, I have honed my breath for centuries!? Another corpse biting into Duke?s shoulder, and another swing of his saber.
?If you were sure of your skills you would have not bragged!?
?You will never reach the machine regardless.? Duke went to swing at another corpse, but found none getting up? Instead, he heard the growl of a predator behind him.
Gilgamoc prowled in the form of a lion, rushing forward he pounced on Duke, knocking him to the ground and rending flesh with the stone age claws. ?Your friend?s form is strong.?
?And doesn?t belong to you!? Duke punched Gil across the face and wrestled the man off of him, getting proper footing he tackled the body of Gilgamoc into a wall dropping his saber in the process.
?It?s no use! Strike me down! I have already taken his spirit from his body! Or are you too weak!?
?You?re a fucking liar!? Another punch from Duke, but the lion?s mighty jaw bit down on his one good shoulder unharmed from the battle tearing flesh.
?This heathen would strike you down quicker than I would! Why do you hesitate! You need to save everyone don?t you!?
Duke headbutted the man, and in a brief second his concussed and panicking mind had a moment of clarity. He remembered stories of all the hauntings he heard of suddenly quite clearly. Nobody left them unscathed. There were no happy endings. You had to lose something. They were warnings for the listeners, something to curdle the blood. The readers wouldn?t accept him winning? Unless.
Duke knew what he had to do. With one hand, he clenched the jaw of his opponent open and with the other, he jammed a horn of powder down the throat of his comrade. ?I?m sorry it has to be this way, partner? As the body of Gilgamoc clutched for air, Duke kicked him towards the machine, and threw his lantern at him.
Duke heard no screams, and never looked back as an explosion shook the asylum. He ran, his breath ragged, his pulse rushing. He must have run past the corpse of the Dullahan, and past a stairwell, but his mind hardly took that in as he ran. His wounds bled, and pain pounded the back of his skull. He rushed out of the haunted place, finally leaving the doors, he felt safe. He stopped seeing the sunrise in the distance.
And collapsed.
To my Dearest and Most Trustworthy friend Black Arrow,
You may perhaps not remember me, We were but young and wild bucks when we met, but I have never forgotten the words you had said to me that inspired me to go back to the land of my childhood. I heeded your advice and have become a most prestigious doctor here with the help of the old family here who I have gotten along quite well with.
Speaking of the old family, it seems something most strange has occurred. A great uncle who I had previously not known of had bequeathed a quite sizeable parcel of land upon dying. It used to be a hospital but it seems they had left it to fall into utter disarray after some such tragedy with some of the lowborns there even though it was a cutting-edge facility back in its heyday. I was having high hopes of building back this establishment to its former glory and bringing back the name of my family in quite a good standing. However, one of the workers went missing recently and the rest absolutely refuse to work! I had told them repeatedly that it was likely he just absconded with his paycheck, but you know how the commoners are. They say that it?s the work of ghosts and that a strange ?beast? stalks the gardens at night. It?s all superstition if you ask me, but I think if some strapping young lad such as yourself showed up and made some show of tracking down this beast and for it, all turns out to be a large bear or some other animal squatting on my land that they may finally get back to work. I will, of course, pay quite handsomely for it.
Enclosed is enough money to buy the best carriage that will take you here, and five pounds as a payment upfront, and a key to the estate. You will be rewarded fifty pounds upon completion of your task.
Sincerely, Barnaby T. Weirwood
Duke turned over the letter a couple of times more in his hands as the carriage bounced along its path. As he thought it over a bit more. The letter knew one thing, he certainly didn?t remember this apparent ?friend? of his, and that he declared him strapping and young was? a bit disturbing, and certainly Black Arrow had no friends from the year 17--... Neither did he for that matter.
Duke?s thoughts were interrupted by a thump from the front of the carriage. ?I can?t take yah any farther, Mistah. You?ll have to walk the rest of the way
Duke wasn?t in the mood for walking. ?I?ll give you an extra ten pence if you drive me the rest of the way.?
The carriage driver opened the door and shook his head. ?You misunderstand, mistah. It ain?t that I?m not willing. It?s that I can?t take ya farther. Horses won?t go near the old hospital. Spooks them something mighty fierce. Only a fool would get any closer to that place.?
Duke eyed the man. ?A fool?s errand will often pay a hero?s sum.?
?Aye, that?s what the others before yah said too.?
?Others??
?Aye, mistah. The Tom twins went missing at that there hospital. Poor blokes always had more brawn than brains on their shoulders.?
?Twins? Weirwood only mentioned one worker going missing.?
The Carriage Driver handed Black Arrow his suitcase roughly. ?One? That madman sent a bloody score of men into that place!? the driver said with a single laugh and a snap of the reins he was off.
20 to 1. Duke wasn?t exactly liking his odds right now. The scenery didn?t seem to cheer him on either. It was of the somber months of the year, lacking the beauty of the snowy winter or the golds of autumn. It was a time of brown, biting wind and more than anything mud. The leaves had fallen off the trees and a cold sleet had just fallen on the ground yesterday leaving a disgusting film of decaying debris on top of the mud which even the most well-trod parts of the road had nearly a foot of.
At least he wasn?t going to get mauled by a bear was all Duke could think as most of his other thoughts were occupied with the cold wind or trying not to get stuck in the mud underneath his feet.
A once gleaming and polished bronze gate stood in front of Duke. In its day, it would have inspired a sense of awe along the carefully placed cobblestone bricks, and the Greek style statues of famous physicians. Now it stood as a warning to travelers, time having a sense of humour and causing the gate to proudly proclaim ?Do -- Harm?. Duke brought out his key whilst trying to ignore the decaying greek busts that stared at him. Despite the years of abuse, the gate opened easily if creakily and like the gate itself may fall off its hinges. Predictably as Duke stopped to look up at the towering five-story building in front of him, a large gust of wind blew the gate backward, shutting it. Duke never bothered to check if he could open it again. In these type of stories, leaving from the front gate was never an option.
Duke didn?t spend much time in the massive courtyard and gardens on the property. He only noted that there were two breaks in the fence line, a hedge maze (Whose idea that was is anybody?s guess but they seemed to show up in places like this), and two fountains with eerie statues. No, Duke knew that it was unlikely he would find anything in a haunted place like this on the outside. He had opened his briefcase taking in all of the traps and gadgets he had inherited from his new namesake. An assortment of bells, large lengths of string, bags of salt, and all else that one would need to fight any source natural or supernatural. Duke had a lot of work set out in front of him. First, he had to map the place out, identify important chokepoints, set traps, a warning system, and set up the best patrol routes.
He arrived at the hospital at early midday, it was inevitable that he would have finished after dusk. No one had ever encountered haunts during the bright of day. Duke was struggling to stay awake. He sat in the front lobby on a chair, an assortment of bells attached to trip wires throughout the hospital that when triggered would trigger the bells. There was also a line of salt along all the entrances of the lobby? Just in case. Duke was also struggling to get any sleep. Odd moans and rattles were heard throughout the night. There was an almost rhythm to them. Rattle, moan above, eerie wind, shuffle. Most people would have gone to investigate these strange sounds at night. Black Arrow vs Dracula, the non-canon side story gave advice for situations like these. Never deviate from your original plan on something you can?t see or hear clearly. He tried not to think of the origins of these sounds too hard. Instead, trying to fill up his mind with trying to recount important moments from his favorite series. Book 4, the thrilling fight with Captain Maria Estaban of the Spanish fleet. Book 9, the werewolves of Transylvania. Book 5, The assault on Stirling Castle. It didn?t help much. The noises and fear of what lurked in the hospital kept him awake, but his mind needed to be clear for whatever he was up against in the castle. His nerves were still on edge and it had been over three hours since his last patrol route. Hoping up that getting up and moving would calm his nerves.
Duke crept through the halls with his lantern. He seemed to find himself slinking and keeping low through the dilapidated halls of the asylum as he moved past the small hospital rooms. A bucket once used for bloodletting and? Other fluids sat at the edge of a snare trap tipping Duke off to walk around it. As he stopped to make sure the trap was in good shape, he heard the sounds of footsteps. He had been hearing the sounds of footsteps throughout most of the night, but these were different. The previous footsteps had been off in the distance, these were closer and seemed to be moving towards him as well. Duke snuffed out his light, and stopped down low, one hand on his flintlock. It seemed to be? One person, but there was another type of noise as well. It was hard to tell. The other noise seemed to be coming from upwards, but it didn?t sound like the footsteps of someone walking on the floor above him. More of a scratching sound, but a soft one. Duke paid attention to the steps coming towards him instead. One? Two. It was slow, but a steady walk forward. Their soles were hard and struck wood, softer wood than where he was. Was it walking on the rotten stairs? It didn?t seem to be slowing its gait at any point to not fall. A child? No, it sounded too heavy. Couldn?t be an animal, animals don?t wear cobbled shoes. A ghost? Do they even make noise? The footsteps rounded the corner.
A man rounded the corner, appearing to be in their late 60s wearing a strange hat, and with a pair of golden spectacles, the man was thin and tall, but not much else could be made out in the darkness. Duke eased up a bit but kept his hand near his gun.
? Stranger! Explain thyself, I?ve a duty- I mean, I hath been tasked with killing a slayer of men, and you would seem suspicious as not even the deer trespass here.?
The elder man seemed unfazed and spoke as if being bothered by an annoying intern. ?Slayer of men? Those who don?t understand our treatments here at the Weirwood Asylum may call me that.?
Duke raised his gun. ?Listen, This isn?t some jest. Leave and don?t come back, or I shoot.?
The elder man clicked his heels. ?I wouldn?t use that sir.?
?And why?s that??
?It wouldn?t do you any good. The body. What a useless thing. The spirit, is stronger, your true core, never changing. It reveals your true self. The spirit doesn?t hide sins. The virtuous like myself prosper in this state. No longer can I lust, or glutton. I want for nothing and need nothing. I think that perhaps I?ve even become very close to purging myself of emotion. To see the world as it truly is.?
?And you?d give up on what birthed you. Stuck in never-ending monotony.?
?Ah, I didn?t think someone still tied to their body would understand. No, worry. You?ll be joining us soon.?
?What?s that supposed to mean? Art thou gonna vex me??
?Oh no, somebody else should be able to do that work for me.?
Duke shook his head as the man disappeared into a wall. About normal, spooks and mysterious warnings go hand in hand, Duke thought to himself hearing the rustle of cloth and a scratching of wood on wood above him. He looked up but for one second to see a man with the mask of a lizard dropping down on him. His gun and lantern knocked to the side.
The masked man came down on him like a bag of bricks, the two tumbled down the hall barely missing the traps set. Before Black Arrow could even process what happened he was delivered a headbutt to the face, and a punch to the gut. Shaken but determined he launched a counter-attack? To his opponent's balls.
?Playing dirty are we!? Black Arrow said his attack giving him just enough time to push his opponent off him.?Two can play at that game, beast! And I assure you that I am the best!? With a flourish, he brought out his emeralded saber. His opponent on all fours whipped his tail across the floor causing Black Arrow to quickly jump over the sweep ?Come now! I?ve the grace of a cat, it will take more than that!? Duke rhymed.
?You insult the animals that you slaughter, Celt!? The creature said with a hiss. The Masked creature jumped across the hallway. Duke sidestepped the jump, tearing through the prosthetic tail of the masked one with his sword as he did so.
?You talk of slaughter whilst you have killed twenty men in this place! Tell me what these ghosts have promised you, heathen!? Duke brought out his great crossbow, and aimed at his opponent who? In the darkness, it almost seemed as if he shed his skin and became another person. Duke couldn?t let this stop him. His opponent charged towards him, but his arrow flew true and pierced the side of the masked thing? However, The masked creature just let out a loud roar and continued its charge forward the ivory horns of the wildebeest shining against the light of the overturned lantern.
?Shit? was all that Duke had time to get out before getting pinned to the wall, a searing pain went through his side. He coughed blood on a tanned hide. ?Do you insult me, Celt! I am not a slaughterer of men and know nothing of these ghosts!? Came the suddenly more womanly voice of his opponent.
?Shit!? Duke gritted his teeth. ?You could have fooled me!? Duke reached down towards his boot. ?Fuck, shit!? A searing pain went down the entire right side of his body when he went to grab his dagger. ?What the hell are you doing in some haunted ass asylum than!? Duke?s southern dialect came back in full force from the pain.
?I could ask yourself the same question, celt!? she said, digging her horns in deeper.
Duke reached across his back for his quiver.?Answer the FUCKING QUESTION!? He punctuated the sentence with a stab downwards with a bolt, using this opening he quickly forced a knee into his captor?s head, pushing his captor?s horns off of him. Duke clutched at his side and breathed heavy. Standing shakily with his sword drawn.
His opponent stood similarly albeit on all fours. The two circled each other, the air tense. ?I was studying the animals, and noticed there were none in this area.?
?And you headed towards a haunted ground? You must truly be a fool.?
?I could say the say the same, and your wounds can profess for that.?
?I am being paid a fortune for the head of the beast stalking these lands. What is your excuse?
?I thought that there was a truly strong creature nesting here, one truly worthy of study.?
?You study the animals to make visages of them no? A strange hobby.?
?It is no hobby, Celt!? The wearer of the wildebeest growled out. ?The study of animals is a way of life! To not only understand them, but to become one with them!? She beat out proudly.
?... I take it you have great expertise of the beast with two backs than?? Black Arrow nearly laughed being stopped by the pain in his lungs
?Does such a beast exist?? She seemed intrigued.
?As much as any beast can exist in metaphor. You didn?t explain why you attacked me though.?
?Someone from a tribe as cowardly as the celts, surrounded by traps, stalking a land with no beasts, consorting with spirits, and using many strange metals, and contraptions. It was only natural to think that you were responsible for the deaths of the beasts here.?
?And what of the bodies of these animals that I had killed. All the birds, and squirrels.?
?Taken away by the same magic that gives you hair the reds of leviathan?s fire!?
?Hair that is befitting of my heritage. The same fiery red of Gr?inne Mhaol, brave defender of the Irish isle which I call my home and whom I am privileged to be descended from.? Duke relaxed his posture, it seemed despite his opponent?s violent nature she was not pressing any attack.
?Hair that marks the sins of your people?s human sacrifice! Fiery as their funeral pyres!?
?Silence, your words have little meaning to me. I can tell you are not the beast which I seek stalking these lands, and that is all I need to know.? Duke tore off a section of his cloak to bandage himself with. His masked opponent was removing the thick skin of wildebeest that they wore in this form.
The bolt that he stabbed his opponent with seemed to have not gone in deep, but the bolt he had scored on the wildebeest earlier seemed to have gone through the beast?s side. ?How?s your range of movement, partner??
The masked one went to stand up and a low growl was heard from her before she moved to all fours. ?Not good.?
?I could help you with that, but we?ll need to take it out. It?ll do more damage in if it?s causing that much pain..? Duke said casually, as he tightened his own bandage.
The masked one nodded tentatively. As Duke got his lantern and gun he looked strangely at the one in the light, they looked familiar though he couldn?t quite place them.
?You way of speech. It seems to change.?
Duke cleared his throat as he took out his dagger. ?Have you ever heard of the man hoist by his own petard??
?What is a petard, and how would you hoist someone by it??
Duke made an annoyed sound. ?Come now, that turn of phrase is quite common. It was a jest. I was saying that you doth possess the qualities you ask of.?
?I have never heard someone talk like you. Like you are sharing the language of two tribes.?
Duke started to carefully saw one end of the bolt off. ?It seems you do indeed possess the eyes of an eagle? Or well, the hearing of a bat in this case.? The native didn?t seem to understand the turn of phrase. ?Nothing gets past you.? She still didn?t understand the metaphor. ?I?m? Borrowing a body. So to speak. A hero of my childhood called Black Arrow. I lack his way with the word.?
She nodded to Duke. ?Ah, so you too wear a mask.?
?Heh, Yeah. I guess I do.? Masks. Gears were grinding in Duke?s head. ?Wait! I know you!?
?I doubt that I don?t know many Celts.?
?No, I met you in that great library, I was upside down, and-? Duke was done sawing through the bolt, and with one quick tug pulled it. ?You left me so you could go chase a giant bird!?
?I learned much from the bird. Like how to slide.? Gilgamoc seemed proud of this achievement.
Duke roughly put pressure on the wound. ?Nice to hear buddy. Wish you could have spent five minutes getting me down from the ceiling.?
?Why didn?t you use your druidic vampire powers.?
?I ain't-a vampire!?
?Then you have studied the bat greatly, and mastered its claws.?
Black Arrow let out a loud and elongated sigh as he helped bandage Gil. ?That?No. I have not studied the bat. Can we talk about something else please??
?Your movements seem to come from a trained hand. Were you your village?s medicine man??
Duke hesitated for a second as he bandaged Gil. ?I was a medic in the war for a time in my old body.?
Gil nodded. ?Not an easy job. Would I know of this war??
?Do you know what America is??
?No.?
?Than you wouldn?t. It was brother against brother. Most of the draftees like me not even fighting cause what we believed in. Just fightin? because of what side of the border we fell on. Everyone had someone that got eaten up by that war. I didn?t last long. Stole a rifle, and ran off to Injun territory.?
?Injun? Is that some sort of creature??
?Well some folks think that, but they didn?t spend time with the natives like I did.? Duke finished bandaging up Gil. ?Should be good for now. I?ll need you, I think I know where this beast is.?
Duke was carefully moving his hands against several objects and walls. Gil was doing the same against the floor. ?Didn?t you say you already mapped this out earlier, why would you think that there is a trap door you missed??
?Well? Because no one would be able to figure out there was a secret door before now.?
?We are the only people here, who is going to figure it out.?
?Well? The librarians told me they gave me this body to figure out which genre of stories is the best. So, we should be running on story logic, and the conversation with the ghost should have tipped us off on this not being natural.?
?That doesn?t make sense, but I will hear you out.?
?Well, so we didn?t know anything about this place at first, and we don?t know much about it still, but that ghost referred to a treatment, and that I was gonna end up a ghost myself soon. So, he has still be running these treatments right??
?He could have just been insulting you.?
?Yes, but he referred to trying to get rid of his emotions, so I doubt that he would waste his words on something like that.?
?You never checked the upper floors though, correct. Why would you not think they were up there??
?Well? Because the workers didn?t see a treatment room anywhere, and none of the twenty people before me have bodies here, but also because? Secret labs are always underground.?
?You are quite the madman, celt. You never find a hideout on purpose.?
?Is that so??
?Yes, you would need to find it by chance. Or overhear its location.?
Duke thought it over before noticing a decrepit bookshelf in the corner. ?Or it?s the bookshelf.? Duke started to pull on all the books.
?Why a bookshelf??
There was a predictable click as he pulled a fake book, the bookcase moving aside and revealing a staircase downwards. ?Well because door sized paintings started to fall out of style.? The two descended downward.
Free from the biting wind and rain, the passage seemed almost homey. It was warm and dry. Seeming even warmer than it should have been naturally. It seemed industrial, smoothed stone and tile were used, and there were still places to hold torches on the wall though having not been used in quite a long time. It didn?t sit well with Duke, he thought that a place like this should have been much worse. Even colder, and darker than the outside. Something more naturalistic, but this cleanliness was something that Duke wasn?t used too. Gilgamoc seemed more confident than he did despite him leading the way. Perhaps all of this seemed so strange to the native that he could maintain his confidence anywhere.
This was the last thought Duke had as a stone wall descended down on him. Quickly rolling out of the way, he ended up on one side and Gil on the other.
Duke pounded on the wall. ?Partner! You okay over there!?
?Other than the hole in my side, yes.?
?That makes two of us.? Two torches light up behind him.
?Mister Arrow is it?? A strange voice said that seemed to come from the walls ?You seem a smart man. I would like to talk to you.? It was obviously someone of the upper crust.
Duke pounded on the wall even harder. ?Find out a damn way to get past this wall, alright!? Duke panicked quickly took out his flintlock and looked for a way out of this room. However, it seemed the room was bare except for the two lights on the wall, and no exit. He grasped looked for some sort of exit. ?Come on! Come on! There?s got to be some way out of here.?
?Yet another thing that you would be rid of. Mister Arrow. A bodiless existence means that you could transcend any boundary! Material or immaterial.? The voice sounded proud but tired. ?There is always the choice to come willingly, you know.? The voice softened ?Voluntary procedures always turn out better, Mister Arrow.?
?And to never feel the grass underneath my foot, or the wind in my hair, to never feel the touch of my beloved ?pon my breast.?
?Please, stop your rambling! At least you are better than the last subjects. All the screaming, and the blood. So much blood. You?re smart. I suspect you know that I won?t be convinced of your weak arguments.
?You have killed a score and many more. One such as you is not to be talked down, but cut down!?
?I regret that you think that way, Mister Arrow. I hate to use force. It was a real tragedy, this experiment. We tried to keep the body alive, and his mind has suffered ever since? However, he has proven his usefulness on occasions like these.? A wall opened up, and the whiney was heard, followed by metal scraping on stone.
?Did you hear that, Winifred?? A hoarse, and raspy voice came. ?It sounds like another has come to test our mettle.?
Black Arrow drew his saber. ?I?d appreciate it if you?d hurry up with that wall partner!?
?Alchemy takes time!? Gil shouted back.
?Calling for help! Good! My whip thirsts for a challenge.? The hoarse voice continued walking into the light. A man in black armour rode atop a wild looking black steed. In one hand he carried a whip of bone made from the spines of his enemies, and in the other his own armoured head. A black flame emanating from the rider?s neck. A dullahan. A rider who rode with such ferocity that flames would follow behind it.
?A CELT!? The rider roared. ?Finally, a worthy sacrifice! You should count yourself lucky to be offered to the gods..?
?Ah, but the gods love a good show. Doth you wait for my companion, and you shall be told of in legend.?
?Yes, told of as one who was tricked easily. Don?t underestimate me!? The whip cracked as Duke ducked underneath it.
?Going for the eyes? Art thou envious, It seems that I have the high ground if you keep cradling your head like a babe.?
?Take this seriously! The gods are watching!? Another crack of the whip and Duke rolled underneath it.
?Then you should give them a better show! Come now, put some swash in those swings!?
?Careful what you say!? The nostrils of the man?s steed flared with a sudden fire and in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, the horse galloped past Black Arrow. Barely reacting Duke only having enough time to bring his saber up to try to direct the blow away. Whilst he blocked some of the attacks the whip had still dug into his arm. ?I'm more powerful than you think. I was holding back to give you a fair chance.?
?You?re also dumber than I thought.? Duke quickly switched his flintlock and saber between hands, In a scramble, the rider forced his hand downwards as the pistol went off going into the flesh of his horse instead of the riders exposed head. The beast reared back and Duke back away dropping his pistol and holding his sword ready.
The dullahan had trouble righting himself, trying to keep a firm grasp on his head and reins at the same time. ?None have scored a hit on my beast before! You shall pay for this insolence!?
Duke ducked underneath another crack of his bone whip. ?The eyes yet again! So predictable!? He quickly dodged to the side as another attack came quickly with ferocity. ?I think you might have cut my hair with that one.?
?You can?t keep this up forever, celt. You will make a mistake eventually.? Another whip came and Duke rolled underneath it.
?I don?t need to keep this up forever. Just until I get an opening.?
?An opening that will never come.? The rider galloped scoring a hit across Duke?s chest, quickly rounding back, but knowing his opponent would try to compensate for his mistake earlier quickly threw a dagger into the shoulder of his enemy. Though it landed squarely his opponent showed no sign of stopping. Duke was knocked to the ground as his opponent kicked him from on high.
?I do not tire, Celt! I do not feel pain! It is time you bleed for me!? As the dullahan brought his whip up high suddenly, an explosion rocked the facility. Chunks of stone being thrown into the Dullahan.
As the dust settled, GIlgamoc appeared on the high stilts of a crane. ?Where?d you learn to do that!?
?Bombardier Beetle.? Came the high pitched voice of Gil as he delivered a stilted kick to the dullahan, and then another. Quickly he changed masks as he pounced down on his opponent in the form of a lion knocking him off his horse. The bestial and dominating roar of the lion as it rent flesh was the last thing Duke heard as he ran down the hallway that the Dullahan had suddenly appeared from.
Adrenaline pushing him on, Duke charged forward, the sounds of battle fading behind him. As he rounded the corner a foul stench reached his nostrils. It was the smell of ammonia, and formaldehyde combined with rotten flesh. He reached some sort of morgue. Bodies strapped to rows of tables, and in the center a gigantic machine glowing blue. It churned and chugged violently like a steam engine occasionally letting off wisps of blue mist.
?You see, the procedure was quite simple really. Your breath carries your spirit. You stop breathing, and so does your soul dissipate into the aether. But if there was a way to draw out your breath, and to capture that spirit in the same way that your body does. The drawing out of the breath was easy, but to stop its dissipation. Much harder You must capture it in a bag of solid aether. Why do you think people see ghosts as having blue auras around them. It?s aether.? The voice from the walls seemed closer.
?I take here is where you collect the aether,? Duke said taking out a horn of gunpowder from his belt.
?Yes, but there was a mistake. Aether is immaterial. You will need more as it tears, and wears? That is? Unless you can control the movement of your own breath.? A strange mist suddenly appeared over a corpse, forcing itself into its mouth.
With a wretch, it forced itself up from the table. Moving jaggedly, the body forced itself to full height with painful cracks and pops. ?I can not steal your breath. It seems you have been blessed by a witch, but? Your flesh can still be harmed.? The corpse lunged forward.
With a quick stab forward, Duke pierced the corpse that suddenly went limp falling on top of him with a gasp of air, the mist escaped from the wound. Duke kicked off the body of his sword and ran towards the machine.
?Smart lad going for the lungs, but you can?t destroy the air!? Another corpse lunged forward, catching Duke by the ankle, and biting it. Black Arrow stabbed the neck, and the mist drew back.
?You are not the air though, but a mist! And a mist can be blown away by a gust of wind!? Another corpse, and this time Duke was ready as he decapitated his foe as he ran forward.
?The explosion of my own machine you think can dissipate me, I have honed my breath for centuries!? Another corpse biting into Duke?s shoulder, and another swing of his saber.
?If you were sure of your skills you would have not bragged!?
?You will never reach the machine regardless.? Duke went to swing at another corpse, but found none getting up? Instead, he heard the growl of a predator behind him.
Gilgamoc prowled in the form of a lion, rushing forward he pounced on Duke, knocking him to the ground and rending flesh with the stone age claws. ?Your friend?s form is strong.?
?And doesn?t belong to you!? Duke punched Gil across the face and wrestled the man off of him, getting proper footing he tackled the body of Gilgamoc into a wall dropping his saber in the process.
?It?s no use! Strike me down! I have already taken his spirit from his body! Or are you too weak!?
?You?re a fucking liar!? Another punch from Duke, but the lion?s mighty jaw bit down on his one good shoulder unharmed from the battle tearing flesh.
?This heathen would strike you down quicker than I would! Why do you hesitate! You need to save everyone don?t you!?
Duke headbutted the man, and in a brief second his concussed and panicking mind had a moment of clarity. He remembered stories of all the hauntings he heard of suddenly quite clearly. Nobody left them unscathed. There were no happy endings. You had to lose something. They were warnings for the listeners, something to curdle the blood. The readers wouldn?t accept him winning? Unless.
Duke knew what he had to do. With one hand, he clenched the jaw of his opponent open and with the other, he jammed a horn of powder down the throat of his comrade. ?I?m sorry it has to be this way, partner? As the body of Gilgamoc clutched for air, Duke kicked him towards the machine, and threw his lantern at him.
Duke heard no screams, and never looked back as an explosion shook the asylum. He ran, his breath ragged, his pulse rushing. He must have run past the corpse of the Dullahan, and past a stairwell, but his mind hardly took that in as he ran. His wounds bled, and pain pounded the back of his skull. He rushed out of the haunted place, finally leaving the doors, he felt safe. He stopped seeing the sunrise in the distance.
And collapsed.
@Doc Gnosis, @Khedive Rex - are you good for one week to judge or do you need two weeks to make your decision? Also, you can message me with your verdicts.
I'll be sure to post criticisms and PM my verdict to you on the stories before the end of the day.
One week is more than sufficient. And I'm happy to PM my verdict. On the subject of reviews, do I post them in thread? Do I send them to you? Do I hold off on posting them until results are revealed? How would you like that handled?
QUESTION FOR YOU PLAYERS: Do you want to receive your reviews privately or would you like them published in the thread?
Get your criticisms! Get your criticisms here!
Story is fine but it seemed like you weren't making much use of the haunted house setting. Considering that Taiga has an animal spirit I was looking to see what effects Kosa would have on the place, or if it would be from Kosa's POV instead. I had hoped you would make more use of your characters and your environment. As it stands the locations reads like you were ticking a box off of a criterion. Even the mad doctor you wrote seemed like you were checking off a list, and the story could've been done without him.
The action and conflict seemed okay, though not gripping. Also somewhat disappointed with the flow of combat between the two; I get why she did these things, but I still wished for something more even, or perhaps show Taiga as a more cunning being than fierce. Knowing the tone to write these moments would've made this story a lot more compelling. What story you had to begin with would've shined brighter than what you have now.
The action and conflict seemed okay, though not gripping. Also somewhat disappointed with the flow of combat between the two; I get why she did these things, but I still wished for something more even, or perhaps show Taiga as a more cunning being than fierce. Knowing the tone to write these moments would've made this story a lot more compelling. What story you had to begin with would've shined brighter than what you have now.
Suspenseful from the get go. You have the pacing and atmosphere down pat, though the conflict seemed more like an afterthought. It works with the suspense you've built looking the story over it's like you had two different stories you were trying to force together. Before I reached the climax, I wondered if there was going to be some Jigsaw-like conflict that forced the two combatants to make some quick decision to save themselves. As it stands it reads really well, even if I just wished that the conflict between the two could've happened earlier.
I have complaints over the way you've spaced your paragraphs. Besides that, you've got atmosphere and setting on lockdown. Throughout the story I got the location and it felt really bleak to read. However I think your focus on setting and atmosphere may have been at the expense of the conflict and characterization. Both Gilgamoc and The Duke seem more like they were an extension of the setting rather than the main characters. And unfortunately having their fates decided by some third party felt hollow. I think if you took your focus on setting and extended it to creating a meaningful conflict, it would've done your story a service.
You need to space your paragraphs as I have trouble reading your story. Beyond that, it seems like you needed cut out parts of your dialogue. Most of your story seems to be dialogue, and not all of it meaningful. It made it hard to find the action and climax, which were short but all felt like an afterthought.
Thanks Doc. All very valid criticism, although in my defense the spacing looked a lot better while I was writing it in Word. Should probably have adjusted after posting, will do so for my next fight should I be lucky enough to get one!Doc Gnosis said:
I don't want to say too much about the more literary criticism, don't want to interfere too much with the judging, but I can see where you're coming from. I do think, on reflection, I could have given the two fighters more agency and interaction. Skinner might have gotten too big a role.
Would also briefly like to say, loved everyone else's fights. I look forward to seeing how people do in other genres!