exsiliumlogs | monsters and the kids who become them and the people who fight them

Every conscious second was a fresh scare: It felt as though he could just close his eyes for a moment and open them to somewhere new. Sometimes somewhere filled with the smell of blood. Not his, not really. He wasn't sure what his was like.

A vehicle took a turn to sharp and squeaked wheels, bringing him into the next moment and the latest scene. Startled out of a fitful sleep, Martin was again, somewhere new. Why? Or, maybe more importantly – where?

The sun was still not through with the day; he could see the color of the sky if he tilted his head up out of his curled-up shape. He had to squint. Dusk? Close? Maybe...

But he was in the shadow of a pair of buildings, curled among a mess of discarded scrap and other waste. Dark. Safe, maybe? That's what he wanted. Thought he wanted. Yes, he was...fairly sure he just...wanted to be alright.

Metal rustled and rattled as he himself shifted, the noise so profound in his ears after so much quiet. Ears still throbbing – always throbbing now. Why?

A sheet of metal fell from its propped place against the wall, making such a loud sound as to make him gasp, panicked anew. Why couldn't he have woken up in his bedroom?

What's happening–?

Noise. Not that of another car rolling by, nor of someone rushing home, but of something crashing. Flailing. Something worth investigating, if only to get Bariyan moving again. He turned and he stared and he went, expecting yet another false alarm and one more reason to give up.

He approached slowly, with caution. Sure enough, there was something moving in that pile of scrap. Something almost human-shaped (not human, he said, time and time again)--

A breeze, a shift, a tilt in angle of his line of sight. Bariyan didn't know what it was, exactly. But as he watched, he saw something in that cringe that struck a familiar chord in him. Enough to fire up a fierce certainty.

"Martin!"

He ran the rest of the way.

The shaking came back. Martin, horrified, tried scooting back further against a wall he was practically glued to already and found his heel giving the troublesome sheet a little shove. He felt a sound bubble out of his throat in an exhale, but it didn't stop his heart drumming, drumming in his chest and so loudly in his ears. Calm down, make it stop.

It got worse – like a hand grabbing the organ and squeezing so tight as to make his whole chest hurt. MARTIN. Someone he knew – thought he knew? – someone...

It was pretend again, or...Martin's hands went to his ears, but barely pressed without causing the searing pain their swollen state caused. He buried the black and sore-ridden hands under his arms, folded tight against his chest, fists curled against skin too calloused to hurt anymore, even with the claws.

He made up the sound; the footsteps were just more throbbing, drumming–"Khh–" He squeezed his eyes shut fast, allowing only one rogue tear escape, while all the rest welled up in waiting.

The recoil told Bariyan to keep his distance, so he came to a halt about six feet away. He lowered himself to a crouch and stayed there for a time, silent, observing. Too tired to be horrified.

Transformation, Koltira had said. Now Bariyan could see that clearly enough. And so had the others.

"Martin," Bariyan said, again. He extended a hand. His voice was quiet, his actions slow. He'd been searching for so long. The last thing he wanted was to frighten the boy off. (Boy. Always 'the boy', always, not -- not whatever Martin was turning into, transformations be damned.)

Made up, Martin was sure. The second sound was too soft to hear over the drumming in his ears and in his head. It was uncomfortable to stay curled up so, and in moving and looking about, he found his hallucination had a body.

He startled with a sharp sound, back pressing up against the wall and eyes rushing across the scene wildly to find a focal point. The hand, ultimately, being so close. He gawked at it, eyes saucer-wide and terrified. In terror, anger coursed along, waiting for the excuse to lash out again. In anger, guilt followed, heavy and choking and nagging about things he could barely remember.

Anora?

No. A loud sniff, receiving nothing, and in nothing, actually something. He looked past the hand.

"Mharyin," he uttered; sounds had come out all wrong behind the teeth and thickened tongue.

"Yes," Bariyan said, barely moving except to speak. "That's right."

He lowered his hand to pull forwards by one careful, deliberate inch. Then he held his hand out again. Finger curled, arm steady, waiting. Pleading. The wall of patience he'd suddenly built up already crumbling under the weight of anxiety. He had to stop this, whatever it was. Here. Before it worsened.

"Are you there, Martin? Talk to me." A beat, followed by nothing but a silent pang in whatever passed as Bariyan's heart these days. Come back to me.

"Noh," he moaned, a long and unhappy note. Martin brought his hands to his face, lacing his fingers together over his eyes as his head drooped down. "I ghand..." I can't. Go away. I can't explain. I don't know anything! A flash of agitation heated his skin up at the quickening thoughts. "I gyandh!"

"All right," Bariyan said. He took his hand back, folded his arms over his knees. "I will wait."

He stayed. Perfectly still, not blinking, not breathing, as if afraid that the slightest motion will set Martin off. Perhaps it would. Koltira's very presence had been a threat, but Bariyan couldn't imagine that Roslyn or Anora or any of the others had done anything to provoke Martin. Anything that would normally provoke him.

But he was coiled, tense, waiting. If Martin made a bolt for it, Bariyan would be ready.

Go away.

Martin squirmed, and his fingers curled out of hold and into fists, knuckled against his eyelids. Dragging them away, blearily seeing Bariyan still there...Something bad had happened. A lot of bad things had happened. Had to. He knew, somehow. Definitely. But he didn't know-know...He couldn't explain.

"I donh gno," he cried, letting his fists fall to his collarbone. Wretched. He was absolutely wretched and awful. Go away! "Gho away!"

"I can't," Bariyan said, sounding far more patient than he felt. "And I won't."

He resisted the urge to push forwards a little more. Any further and he would perhaps come off as aggressive, could be viewed as an attempt to corner Martin against the wall. So Bariyan stayed where he was, fighting his instincts.

"I know you don't know," Bariyan said, urgently. "I know, Martin. But it's all right. You can come back."

Back? Martin's face scrunched up, not understanding. Back to...Home? Or. Well, it was always the room. Maybe if he pinned the door shut and pushed the...

The mattress against the...

Martin froze up, feeling a sharp tightness in his chest and the welling up of so much adrenaline.

Anora.

"No!"

His shoes scuffed and scraped against the ground as he scrambled wildly to his feet, clawing at the wall to find handholds for support. He let out a whimpering, sobbing sound, cut short by too little breath. I can't breathe! He grabbed at his throat, falling back against the wall. Anora. "Agh, ha–! N–!"

Bariyan sprung into action, registering Martin's sudden motion as an attempt to bolt. He was back up on his feet and two steps closer when he realized that he was mistaken. He stopped, drew his shoulders together, and took a moment to watch before moving again.

"Hey." Bariyan could barely hear himself over Martin's wheezing. He took a few steps closer. "Martin. Stay with me."

And then he was there, reaching for Martin's wrists -- the skin, changed and strange even under Bariyan's numb senses -- trying to pry them away from Martin's throat. Gentle, careful to keep his actions steady, all the while nearly out of his mind with fear. Fear that Martin would retaliate, fear that he would break free, fear that he would escape yet again.

There had been hot anger and red smells and – no, that was blood – and...Martin barely realized Bariyan had laid hands on him until he stopped feeling the pinpricks of pressure around his neck.

He tensed again, frozen for only a single, hot second, before his body moved. Harshly, Martin yanked against the grip, ducking his body down to make for the opening just under Bariyan's arm, groaning and growling with frustration.

"No!"

Martin had managed to break out of Bariyan's grip, but Bariyan twisted himself with Martin's motion and threw his arm out into Martin's path, meaning to catch him. He lost balance somewhere along the way and went down on a knee, hard, barely noticing.

Stay, goddammit, stay with me--

He'd forgotten what he was fighting, what he was afraid of. Every thought was simply get away or else – Martin didn't even wonder what or else could mean. It couldn't be good. Something awful had happened, and something worse was going to, he knew–

The big shape now in his way only fueled his blind panic, dropping him back to instinct. Instinct set his palms down before him and hunched his body forward, conjuring the lance to launch him up and up – his body twisting and straightening to adjust his course and latch onto the wall with those claws of him. Once his feet found the wall as well, he pushed away, to catch the building adjacent, and in that back and forth way, he scaled up to the roof, vanishing from sight but not from sound.

One more lance to catch his fall as he leaped out into the air before him, and Martin rolled back to the ground a distance away, scrambling into a run.

Bariyan flinched back when he saw Martin start to conjure. He knew that whatever happened, there was nothing that he could do to stop it. He flinched, too, because he half-expected that in a moment, he would look down and find bone splintering into and through his chest....

But instead there was scrabbling, a landing, an escape that he could not prevent. Finding himself uninjured, Bariyan quickly retreated back out into the square to try and follow Martin's actions -- an exercise in futility until Martin leapt back to the ground again, much further away. But at least that brought the boy back into sight.

Cursing, Bariyan gave chase.

Lance had been wandering the city for a few hours now and was bored. Aside from the new technology and strange machines, the city didn't differ much from the ones he'd been to back home. Having seen enough for one day he had started heading back to the Hold, keeping to the lighted streets.

Lance walked out into the square, paying more attention to the street names and where he was going rather than to the shape that had just leapt off the building across the way.

And just like that, there was something else drumming in Martin's throbbing ears. Aside from the rhythm of his pace, somehow, he could hear it – practically feel it.

Beating heart. Pumping blood. Instinctively, Martin was veering toward it, the cause of his flight evaporating from his mind. There was no voice in his head asking him why? Where? What for?

There was just drumming.

Bariyan was too focused on Martin to notice Lance until the boy suddenly turned. Bariyan's eyes widened, and he grimaced. Damn, damn.

"Lance!" Bariyan shouted, his voice still a wreck, but now loud enough to carry over the square. He said no more. The sight of Martin hurtling forwards would have to serve as the rest of his warning.

At the same time, Bariyan finally made his lunge. Hoping to get at Martin before the boy reached Lance. Gods, he should have just put Martin to sleep when he had the chance....

Lance looked up when he heard his name shouted from across the square to see some kid running at him followed by and upset looking Bariyan. He'd never seen the kid before and hadn't a clue who he was but, there was something....off about him. Whatever it was, Lance wasn't interested in finding out and quickly glanced around the square for an escape route. Seeing nothing close enough to be worth trying for he settled into a fighting stance, his silver sliding down his arm, forming into a long pole.

If he could cripple the kid, Lance could escape and leave Bariyan to take care of....whatever was going on.

Approaching, Martin hunched, opening his posture by letting his arms out at his sides. His eyes widened, wholly focused in the meat in front of him, the flickering glimmer of the lance. He'd break it, like the bones...

His arms were thrust forward, and then down, and the lance launched him up in an arc; the second sent him spiraling downward, and with a heave, he sent the lance ahead of him. Break. Bleed.

Bariyan had rather been hoping that Lance would have the sense to flee -- he wasn't pleased to look up and see Lance ready for a fight instead. Anger and horror flashed in his eyes before he turned his attention back to Martin. Who, in the space of time that it'd taken for Bariyan to check up on Lance, had managed to launch himself into the air.

Bariyan whirled back towards Lance, and changed course.

"I thought you'd run!" Growled, as he threw himself into Lance without courtesy. Hoping to shove the man out of the way before he got himself impaled by the lance coming down at both of them.

Lance rolled back up onto his feet, switching his staff for a short short stiletto, and moved to put Bariyan between himself and Martin.

"Well, running doesn't really seem to be an option now does it?"

Then a thought occurred to him. Bariyan was dead. Sure, he's walking around and conscious but he's still dead...and dead things are oh, so useful.
Lance made a small cut on one of the fingers of his right hand and began watching for an opportunity to make his move.

Martin was still on the move, only angrier for the blockade. Striking or not, the former projectile was dust and forgotten while a new one flew out from his arm, caught before completely free. Gripped tightly, Martin continued his charge, letting the bladed tip scrape against the ground before he swung it in a long horizontal at the both of them.

The lance struck Bariyan in the shoulder before it disintegrated. It halted his progress, forced him to stumble to a halt. As it fell to dust, he straightened up to look for Martin again, but hesitated. Just long enough to look down at the injury and back at Lance. He swung a hand out, a gesture for Lance to leave--

That pause cost him. Bariyan spotted the next strike coming out of the corner of his eye, too late for him to get out of the way. He turned to face it as it struck him, and instinct had him throw his arms up. The tip bit into his skin as it slid across. The force threw him back into Lance.

monsters and the kids who become them and the people who fight them

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

TOO MANY LANCES IN ONE SCENE TBH

Just call the short, elfy one Jerkface

my vote is LANCESEMPAI

LANCESEMPAI PLS NOTICE ME

Does stabbing count?

ofc it does look at where you are

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

ZOMBIRIYAN, I CHOOSE YOU!

IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE !

BUT THEN ZOMBRIYAN FAINTS FROM SHOCK AND HORROR