Logs:Deadites - The Campus II
|Deadites - The Campus II|
Part of Deadites
|Dramatis Personae|| |
23 January, 2016
St. John's University campus is still a dangerous place for Hunters
Saturday night. It's cold...very cold. The winds are howling and the huge storm system is throwing down icy snow on the twin towns of Fallcoast and Hanging Hills. Anyone with any sense would be indoors but no one has ever said the Keepers of the Vigil have any sense. As Luna trudges through the falling snow she soon notices how few people are around. Even the homeless have headed indoors - sometimes illegally but it's better than being outside in this.
Though it seems some homeless haven't made it to shelter. A bundle of rags is sitting up against the wall of one of the University buildings as Luna approaches. It is probably a person though they seem content to allow the snow to build up atop them. No movement. No sound. Maybe they're dead?
It must be said: Luna is not one for the cold. Perhaps it's from spending the past year in Milan, or else her blood might just hail from somewhere a bit warmer in climate. In any case, she's bundled up to the nines, almost to the point of parody. A thick black down jacket, a scarf wrapped 'round her face, a knit cap on her head. Only a sliver of her face is visible. Her hands are in deerskin gloves, and she's wearing, unfortunately, snowpants. Yes, snowpants on a grown woman. Even yet, she looks miserable as she trudges along.
Here and there, when the wind gusts, she'll mutter something distinctly unladylike and duck her head lower to avoid the worst of the cold's knife. The fact that her gaze is low is probably what makes her look at the unmoving shape over against a wall. "Oh, God, you poor thing." She adjusts her path to move over toward the shape, lifting her voice. "Hello? Are you okay?" She doesn't get right up close. Good-hearted, yes. Foolish...not necessarily.
There is no immediate answer from the clothes shrouded shape. The figure lost under layers and layers of old clothes that have seen better days. They even look like they have frozen stiff. "God?" squeaks a voice from the darkness under a double hood. "Any particular one?" It is recognisable as a woman's voice at least. Then the figure shifts and the stiff clothes crack and pop like old bones as she pushes herself upwards against the wall.
"We know who you are" she almost whispers, the ends of long silver hair slipping out from under the hoods. The head lifts and a pale skinned face comes into view. Her eyes milky white and ice makes her flesh sparkle almost as bad as a Twilight vampire. "Are you ready to give up your soul?"
Luna takes a single step backward. One hand flies up, to cover her mouth (which has started to make a wide 'O' of fear) as her eyes widen behind her glasses. "Silver Hair," she whispers. One more step back, more involuntary than giving any thought to fleeing right now. "I've heard of you." She keeps her voice from squeaking - if just barely. "I m-meant the God of my father and his father before him. The Almighty." Her hand drops to her chest, pressing at the faint shape of the crucifix beneath her jacket. "I don't mean you any violence. May we speak?" Hopefulness in her voice. And perhaps an aversion to what she'd be forced to do to survive if she fights.
"Speak? Why would we speak?" the young girl asks in a curious, though mocking, tone as he now stands upright. A roll of her shoulders and there is more cracking and popping - though this time it seems to be bone and flesh that is being shifted. "I am hungry and I would like to feast on your soul" she growls, lifting her hands to her side in a crucifix shape. Her fingers start to swell, the flesh tearing open as claws push their way outwards. "The Almighty? A mere pup who we will soon purge from all minds."
Luna glances around quickly, side to side. Trying to see if there are possibly any saviors present. Or witnesses. "I'd thought," she starts to say, her voice tight but controlled. "That you might have something you want us to know. You've said that you know us to the others." She bites down on her lip. "I-" She cuts herself off when Silver Hair seems to make mock of the crucifix. "If the Almighty is a pup, who is His elder, then? Who are you and who do you serve?" Another slow slide of feet backwards.
The woman, her arms outstretched, rises higher and higher. Her feet at least a foot above the ground now. She tilts her head to one side...the spine snapping...then back to the other side in a curious appraisal of Luna. "The only thing we want you to know is how tasty your souls will be" she cackles, her pail flesh now an explosion of pustules and boils that bleed black to the white ground. There are no witnesses. No saviors. Just the howling winds and the biting cold.
"My soul belongs to God, as it always has. And always shall." Luna swallows heavily. She's terrified, that much is clear. And it's very much her faith that's keeping her there. Which is ironic, considering what happens next. She swallows her fear and uses it to force herself to open up the gates to a dark place that she only recently discovered was inside her. And then the change sweeps over her. She springs up from a petite little thing to something closer to seven feet in height than not. Her hair darkens to pitch and falls in waves to nearly her waist. Her eyes glow a bright yellow, like a citrine gem. And there's a cry ripped from her mouth as a pair of skeletal wings tear through the back of her now ill-fitting winter jacket. Down and droplets of blood spatter from the wound and torn garment. Her fingers are tipped with pearlescent nails, sharp enough to rake skin. "You may still walk away, little gnat." No more fear. Only unbridled arrogance, and a voice that chimes like a bell.
Avenging angel? Not so much. Years as a librarian have not exactly made Luna into the avenging type. Maybe a 'shelving angel' would be more appropriate. The punch that she lashes out with strikes with more force than a human should be able to muster with a mere punch. But the skill it's delivered with is, alas, severely lacking. Still, there's a happy sound more like a musical note than a laugh from Luna's mouth, and her eyes blaze that much brighter.
The woman cackles as Luna changes. A whooping, delighted laugh as she starts to circle the Huntress...in the air. "One of us" she rasps before laughing loudly once more. The punch makes bones crack but she doesn't seem too bothered. In return she slashes downwards with her black claws but they merely scrape over Luna's hardened, demonic flesh. "Your soul will be especially delicious!!"
"You're not listening, you ice-haired slag!" Luna gets a little more feisty when she lets her hair down. So to speak! "You could never hope to touch my soul!" She wades in to try to press her luck, another swing of what was once a dainty little fist. And somehow, her infernal ancestors must be with her. Because the fist strikes home once more.
The woman is struck by the infernal beast once more, hard enough to tear at the dead flesh and send the floater spinning through the air. And still she laughs. "You have no soul" she grimaces. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" She swoops through the air once more but misses the Hellish librarian completely with her black claws.
Luna is getting cocky, which can't lead anywhere good. Her voice is arrogant, prideful, and her bright eyes look with disdain on the beast flying around her. "You're looking at my soul, monster. This is what I am. And crushing your heart under my foot will be the sweetest thing I've ever felt!" So declaring, she leaps at Silver Hair. Again, it's not exactly poetry in motion. But there's a certain zeal with which she rises, her slashing nails leading the charge.
Cocky is dangerous. Even though Luna rips another chunk of the Deadite away, the silver-haired creature manages rake its black claws through the demonic skin of the Huntress. Cue more giggling. "We look forward to devouring you soon" she mocks, black ooze dripping from her body and fizzing upon the snow.
Things don't go as well this time. Perhaps it's the way she took her first wound from the claw. Even cocky, she is not a combatant. The first inkling of fear (the mind killer!) sneaks onto her flawless face, creasing alabaster brows. "Eat this, dear one," she says, somewhat distracted by nagging doubt as she launches another attack. One that doesn't even connect.
The floating woman darts out of the way of Luna's flustered attack, cackling and giggling at the giant demon's effort. She rises and rises, ready to deliver the coup de grace. Her white eyes staring down at Luna from ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet. "Your soul will be..." And then she suddenly stops talking as a gnarled branch erupts from her chest. She never saw the tree behind her with its cruel, pointed limbs black against the night sky. And now there is one protruding two feet from her rapidly dissolving chest.
Soon the whole woman's body is melting. The black ooze disintegrating even as it falls towards the snow. Never even reaching it to spatter on the white ground. The clothes soon drift to the ground and there is no trace of the silver haired woman anymore.
Even an angelic being of mighty and terrible power can be surprised. And surprised she clearly is as the Deadite starts to dissolve. The haughty smile returns as she looks at the falling lump of clothing there on the ground. She doesn't even get to savor her victory, though. Because her own body starts to shrink down back on itself. She utters a groan as bonds shift, shrink, and her wings fall away to useless dust. The next thing she knows, she's on hands and knees on the snowy ground, panting and dizzied. "Why...don't you make like a tree…and leaf," she says haltingly into the silence of the night. "Would have been funny if someone were hear me say that."
The snow continues to fall. It quickly covers the old, wretched clothes as the wind howls around Luna. A wind that seems to pick up from the completely opposite direction it has been blowing from, swirl around Luna and then zoom off into the night. It even sounded like it was laughing. Luna can take the clothes from under the snow if she wishes but the branch is thirty feet from the ground, reachable only via an icy tree with the wind threatening to knock off any climber.
Luna looks up at the tree, eyeballing the branch that did the deed. She considers it. She really, really does. But it's a moment of stubborn pride, one that she quickly turns herself aside from. In her condition, she'd probably trip trying to reach the tree. "You're lucky today, tree," she tells it. Then she hears the wind and the strange sound it makes. A shiver ripples through her, having little to do with actual cold. She stumbles over to the fallen clothing, gathering it quickly. And as she does, she wills some of her last flickers of will into her flesh to erase the damage that had been done. Both from her transformation and her foe.