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

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

Date & Time: 9/2 – 9/12, various times
Location: All throughout the city
Characters: See tags
Summary: A lot of people have to put up with an increasingly unstable kid
Warnings: Fightytimes violence, body horror, dead things

IN THE FAR-REACHING FUTURE OF AN ALT-EARTH, MONSTER-BASED ATTACKS ARE CONSIDERED ESPECIALLY RIDICULOUS. IN EXSILIUM, THE DEDICATED TRANSPORTS WHO ENDURE AND INVESTIGATE THESE VICIOUS HAPPENINGS ARE MEMBERS OF AN ELITE SQUAD KNOWN AS EXTRA-UNLUCKY BASTARDS.

THESE ARE THEIR STORIES.

The following threads coincide with the established timeline posted here and are arranged chronologically for participants' use if need/want be.

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Annoying, that shield. Martin attempted to bully into it once more, finding much of the same response before staggering back a few paces. Hunched forward again, he pressed his palms to the ground and loosed a pair of thin-bodied lances, energy enough to lift him high overhead. He grappled and scrambled up a wall and back into the dark up high, the sounds receding with him.

Regroup, move roundabout...He'd make that shield worthless.

Ico held his hand out, “Wait!”

He ran after Martin. He kept his head up and listened for him. Yet after turning into another alleyway for the third time, he could no longer hear him. Even after he climbed a wall despite his injuries, he could not find him on the roofs. He let go and staggered as he landed on the ground.

Help, he needed help. Someone to help him find Martin and restrain him long enough until a solution was found. Maybe Commander Shepard or Koltira would understand. They did not seem like the type to hurt Martin. He did not want to do this, because it would alert everyone else and possibly endanger more of his friends, but he had no choice.

He looked to be sure Martin was not around before he took out the netbook. His blood smeared over the screen and the little buttons that switched on the video feed.

As Ico made his plea to the network, Martin prowled about, sizing up his arena for attack and the boy therein. Listening, feeling the panicked drum of his heart and Ico's, coursing blood and the scent of sweat...His stomach tightened and caused another twinge of pain. It needed quelling.

From above and behind, Martin dropped back to the earth, spindly arms reaching for his shoulders, his neck, snarling.

His plea barely started before Martin landed on him. The netbook dropped on the ground but the light of the screen was still on. Ico yelled sharply as his head hit the ground and his bandages turned red.

From this angle, he could not protect himself with the shield. He thrashed about desperately. It was hard to tell where Martin struck him when his entire upper back was in searing pain. Even in his panic, he noticed before how light Martin was and how awkward his arms were. It would injure him further, but he pushed one shoulder up and heaved to one side to throw him off balance.

Martin clung,hands scrambling to keep hold despite all things. He couldn't bend those arms and coil around the boy, but his fingers weren't going to let go once they'd grasped something solid.

The weight pulled until he fell on his side. Ico’s horn clacked against the hard ground and he had to twist his head. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Martin. His claws had split his skin open in more directions than he could count. It was such an intense pain that made him nauseous and disoriented to the point that his scream sounded far off and distant. Yet through all the chaos and pain, a soft, sweet voice called to him. Not through his ears but from his very bones and blood.

Take me.

Ico understood now why the sword called for him. He could never hurt his friend, but he could not help him either. Forgive me, Ico thought but he could not say it.

He could no longer move his right hand and it trembled when he tried to lift it. Instead, he dropped the shield and reached back for his sword. The white scabbard was dull in comparison to the brilliance of the sword itself. Bolts of white light danced over the spotless metal the moment the glyphs were revealed. It filled his heart with warmth that pushed the pain and fear away. In one fluid motion, Ico unsheathed the sword and swung back, stabbing it into the ground between them but in a way that would not cut Martin.

The air exploded with a bright light, illuminating everything like the noon sun. Ico could see everything in that light and he clearly saw what had become of Martin.

Agony!

Martin recoiled, his arms flailing and useless to cover his face against the horrid light. His skin seemed to blister anew in the glow, bringing on fresh pain.

There were no words in his head, only the impulse to flee. He staggered back, groaning in pain and frustration, striking at the wall he nearly ran into as he turned away, launching himself into the air with another weapon and scrambling up to the rooftops.

The sounds of metal puncturing rooftops echoed on as he fled.

Ico watched Martin as he fled. When he could no longer see him, he still gazed at the roof that seemed to swallow him entirely. White spots filled his vision and it became difficult to distinguish shapes. He pulled on the sword and tried to rise yet he collapsed before he could get both his shoulders off the ground. Ico cried, but it was not because of his pain. He cried because of the cruel fate that had befallen Martin.

"Ico!" Koltira shouted. "By the Light, Ico ..." He had come as fast as he could, as soon as he connected the strange illumination with Ico's stomach-wrenching cry over the network. Once again, he was too late--Martin was gone, and the damage was done. He crouched beside the injured boy, his emotions roiling--he seemed to do nothing but fail, lately, and this incident was another on an increasingly long list. Fortunately, Ico was alive--wrecked with lacerations and wounds, but alive. That was something, at least.

Ashraf isn't far behind, staff in one hand and swirling blue lights whirling about him to shed light for his path. His eyes widen when Ico and Koltira come into the range of his lights, and he's immediately dropping to a crouch opposite of Koltira. His hands hover above Ico as he heals, and those fluttering blue lights are wiped out entirely by the green, soothing glow of his holy magic. He watches Ico, but addresses Koltira.

"Did you see where he went?"

At first, Ico thought he was only hearing Koltira from a great distance. His breath shuddered as he was ready to shout but when he lifted his head, a twinge of pain in his neck made him yelp instead. He squeezed his eyes shut but he could feel Koltira next to him. There was no time for crying. He blinked away his tears and when he opened his eyes again, he could see Koltira with an indeterminable emotion on his face.

“Koltira,” Ico murmured softly. As soon as he let go of his sword, he could feel pain return in his arm. It was a struggle to put his hand over Koltira’s. He weakly grasped onto him despite the cold. “Please, protect Martin. He’s in danger. Everyone is.” While he was fully aware of how much he needed help, he knew Koltira would do better in helping Martin than himself.

Soon, Ashraf came in view and Ico looked bewildered by this green light. It was not the same experience from the time Yorda healed him, but it was an unmistakeable sensation. Although his wounds were not fully healed yet, he sat up once he had the strength.

“Thank you,” Ico said. Although he spoke genuinely, there was a look of trepidation. He did not know if this stranger would hurt Martin.

Koltira didn't miss that look. "It's all right, Ico. This is Ashraf--he is a priest, and a good man."

He was relieved to see the boy healed, but that meant his mind turned to the more pressing matter. Bariyan was dead, and Martin's rampages continued unabated. Honor demanded that Koltira do something--something tangible, something terrible. But what was duty before the heart? He had abandoned the former for the latter in the past, and had no regrets about it, despite the extreme consequences.

But this situation did not affect him alone. He had to consider the good of the city.

"I will find him," Koltira said. "I will do whatever I can."

He has a hand immediately on Ico's shoulder as he sits up, a gentle restraint. He doesn't try to push him back down, but it's definitely a suggestion that he not try standing up yet.

"Please, be still. You are not yet strong," he says, gently, and then glances to Koltira. "Go. I can take care of this much."

If Koltira trusted Ashraf, then Ico did as well. However, did not listen to him and he tried to stand. Martin was still out there and the longer he waited here, the greater the distance grew. He pulled his sword out of the ground and its light gave him the strength he needed to continue. This was another chance to save Martin.

“I’ll go with you. He went this way.”

"No," Koltira said firmly. "You will not. You will remain here, with Ashraf, where you are safe."

Great, now there's swords involved. Ashraf's mouth is a thin line, and he reaches the other hand to Ico's opposite shoulder as well, slightly more insistent.

"He is right. I'm sorry, it is better that you come with me to the clinic."

His shoulders tensed under Ashraf’s hands but he did not run away. Ico shook his head adamantly.

“Let me go. Others might be coming after him and he’s hurt.” He lowered his head, “I hurt him.”

Koltira sighed. "I realize that, and I understand how you feel. But I work best when I am unhindered. Please, for me. Go with Ashraf."

"You did what was needed of you, Ico. Koltira will help him now." That with just a quick glance over Ico's head at Koltira, because if it were really that easy, it would have been taken care of by now. "We would only slow him."

They were both foolish and Ico knew well enough that Koltira was not likely to accomplish this on his own. He looked desperate but when it became apparent to him that they could not be swayed, his expression twisted into grief.

“He went there,” Ico said as he pointed to the buildings. “On the roofs. Be careful, Koltira.”

He knelt down to take his shield. The broken strap dangled uselessly as he held onto it with one hand. He winced slightly as he stood again but when he reached up to hold onto Ashraf’s hand, his grip was steady. He did not put away his equipment. If Martin came back, he was ready to protect him.

"Thank you," Koltira said, his voice emphatic. For his part, the issue was less that he could handle Martin alone and more that he would not be able to do what was so clearly necessary. But he couldn't think about that, not yet. He had to find the boy first. Koltira stood up, his gaze following the direction Ico had specified.

"I'll be on my way, then," he said. Turning to Ashraf, he added, "Stay safe. I will call on you, if need be."

He's lying, though not on purpose. Ashraf was right: if this problem were so easily solved, it would have been over already. On a rational level, Koltira knew this. But he was overwhelmed with grief, with a crushing sense of doubt and failure, and to consider that he truly had no power to help in this was just too much to bear right now. He had to go. He had to try. And pretending that anyone else could still affect the outcome--including himself--was the only recourse he had against those suffocating fears.

Koltira turned away and set out. One way or another, there had to be an end to this, and he would ensure it. Somehow.

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

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Koltira > Ashraf > Ico?

sher

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