Moonlit Fright (Campfire Story)
Oct 29, 2022 11:41:21 GMT -5
Post by Veliky on Oct 29, 2022 11:41:21 GMT -5
Good riddance. Veliky doesn't know where she is now, but it's better than Hell.
Pale moonlight shines through a window in soothing, silver beams, and she can feel the chill of Autumn soothing her nausea. After such an ordeal, it's euphoric just to feel something natural.
And there's another familiar sensation, as well. It's less relaxing, but just as welcome. The light: she can feel the blessings Raguel gave her, pulsing just beneath her skin. And she can feel that her powers and magic have returned. So the sly bastard had lied after all.
She's still wearing this stupid witch costume, though, and her practical equipment is nowhere to be found. Wait... even her core's missing! She hadn't even thought of it before; but, now that she's realized, it feels bizarre to have that part of her chest again, and to not feel it embedded in her ribs. She brushes where the thing used to be... smooth. Less abrasive than that rock. But she needs it, there's no way around that. Of all her equipment, that will definitely be the biggest pain - and the most painful - to replace.
But that's a worry for later. For now, she's safe. Save for the illumination from the window, the room's dark. She can barely make out the silhouettes of a bed, a dresser, some end tables and...
"Zarius!"
In the darkness of the backstage, she hadn't even realized he'd been wounded. Was Game armed, somehow? It doesn't matter, she has to do something.
That potion from before: it worked then, and it should work now. The costume will do the work. She closes her eyes, focuses on the task... but nothing. She opens her eyes, and she's holding nothing. But she'd realized it before she'd seen it. The magic from the costume has faded. It's just fabric, now. It won't save him. The sounds he's making...
What can she do? She has her abilities, her spells, but she's just not a healer. She's no more useful for this than anyone.
But maybe someone else could help! Whose house is this, anyways? She stands up and stumbles forward, still woozy. The door seems so far away, but she's recovered enough to walk. Rest can come later.
The door's too tall for her to reach the knob, and she wouldn't bother with a physical approach anyway. That same trick she used in the mansion should work here. She raises her hand, fingers poised to snap.
But she doesn't get the chance. A sound shriller than a banshee's wail grips her heart. The temperature in the room rises beyond reason, beyond bear!
Veliky knows this feeling. He's coming.
It's no shock to Veliky when the very space around her begins to burn away like paper in a fireplace. And, through the tears, scalding heat spills out with hazy, orange light. And she can hear the screams of a thousand tortured men and women, all but drowning out the crackle of flames.
The tears grow and spread until all she can see around her are infinite, burning fields. Pyres dot the forsaken landscape, and lashed to them with white-hot chains are charred, yet squirming victims of twisted penitence. They plead in a million tongues for freedom, for forgiveness, and for death. They gaze up with immortal yearning to a beauteous aperture in the sky, from which the most merciful of lights shines down, tormenting the prisoners' minds with memories of hope. In the distance, there burns a fire the size of a city.
Veliky knows this place, though she's been here only once before. The Field of Pyres Ever-Burning: the domain of Raguel the Justiciar, her patron and mentor. The great flame is called the Inferno; it is where the truly sinful are quarantined. But, below even that, Raguel has alluded to place of even greater suffering, for those deserving of an even darker fate.
She looks down. The wooden floor has turned to ash. Is this aid, or is this retribution? The heat is choking, and torrents of sweat are pouring down her face and accumulating beneath her gloves. Where is he? She knows he'll be appearing soon. She can feel his presence: a sense of impending doom - the same that harbinges a heart attack.
But then, the space around her burns again. She peers between her fingers at what appears to be something far more mundane and, in fact, far more familiar: her cafe. It doesn't take long before the hellish images fade, even as the sounds linger, ringing in her ears. The scalding heat and the slimy feeling of her own sweat, too, remain. But she's in the first floor of Blixt™ Cafe, where people would gather to drink and eat if it were open.
...That presence is also still with her. He's here.
"Turn around." His voice crawls over her shoulders.
She takes a deep breath - all she can really do to prepare herself. There's no avoiding it. She turns to face him.
There he hangs in the air, motionless and towering. His orange eyes burn her skin with as much intensity as the Fields themselves. But, otherwise, his four-winged, four-armed figure is barely illuminated. It's strange to witness an angel in darkness, even stranger than to witness one at all.
But... he says nothing. Not for several moments. And so it's Veliky that breaks the silence.
"Where's Zarius?"
It's difficult to see in the darkness, but two of Raguel's arms are ever-crossed, as if they're stitched to his chest. Veliky doesn't know if they're even real.
"He lives. Though his death would've been preferable."
Veliky doesn't bother asking why he'd say such a thing. Game told her that he's a syndic, and she's willing to believe it. That's cause enough for Raguel to want him dead.
"But I am not interested in him. It is you that we must speak of."
Veliky averts her eyes from the unmoving, orange flames. There are many things she's done tonight that may've angered him, but she has an idea of which would most draw his ire.
"We did it," she says, clearly and blankly. "We dissembled the gang. We beat Game. We were successful, wildly so."
"Is the dull axe that cuts forgiven for its crudeness?"
"...I-"
"I do not ask for excuses. Speak. How did you fail?"
Veliky's gaze wanders through the shadows, avoiding the looming judge for as long as she can.
"I almost gave in. I almost took his deal."
Silence. It tells her that she's right; Raguel is always first to contradict and ridicule. It is only in vindication that he holds his words. But his condescension still saturates the air, thickly.
"You made a promise to me."
Veliky's composure crumbles. She steps forward, eyes pleading.
"And I'll keep it! I resisted in the end, didn't I?"
"No. The moment his words were spoken, there was entropy within you. Forces within your consciousness collided, and one side prevailed. That you did not accept this 'Game's' temptation is only the result of chance."
"B-But if I resisted that... that temptation once, then I can do it again!"
"No!" His voice shakes the tables where they stand. "Chance is fickle, you know this. Where there is chance for your failure, there is definity! It is only a matter of how many times you are tempted, and with what connive."
The terrible figure hovers forward. He bends at the spine, lurching to meet her at almost-eye-level. His face comes close to hers, almost touching.
"You said you would be my champion, yet I have seen only weakness from you. I see now that your promise was a lie."
Veliky closes her eyes. She knows what to do. She has to speak up, but she fears what that entails. Only, fear is just another test, isn't it? She opens her eyes, which now stare blankly against all urge to turn away.
"Yes, I considered his offer, and I still refused it. It wasn't just on instinct. I thought about it carefully; that way, I knew exactly why to refuse, not just when to. Isn't that what you want? To understand evil, but still choose to do good?" She tries to search his eyes, but there's nothing there. How do you discern something so cosmic? "A good businesswoman considers every option, no matter how reprehensible."
His burning gaze moves across her skin, evaporating her sweat. Veliky struggles to keep a steadiness in her breath. She's good at hiding her emotions, but Raguel isn't just a person. He's far beyond anyone else she's ever known. His ire is the ire of the universe, his disappointment is that of the heavens. She wants so desperately to be able to read him, but there is nothing in his iron-masked visage.
Suddenly, the angel raises a hand and grabs Veliky by the jaw! His touch burns like sunlight, piercing her skin to the bone! She struggles, trying in vain to pry his talons away. She cannot contain her agonized groans.
"Failure! Is not! An option!"
He releases her, and she immediately pulls away, gripping her face. She steadies herself on a nearby stool, but the heat still tingles in her face. By the time it's faded, it leaves a terrible itchiness beneath her skin.
Raguel raises back to his full height, watching Veliky's pain and sorrow in silence. An ugly scar is left where he clutched her. She no longer meets his eyes. But she is glad; the sight of the Field of Pyres was a glimpse of the sentences that could've awaited her.
"...You doubt yourself." His voice softer, yet rougher, as if his breath is full of sand. "That is good. Never stop doubting. Overconfidence is the father of corruption. And shame, however cruel, is the best teacher you will ever have."
He floats over the floor, toward the cowering woman, and then crouches down again. He moves a hand before her face, and the scar is gone[2]. The tingling, too, is gone.
Veliky says nothing, but her breath slowly becomes more rhythmic, shock subsiding.
"You have done good on this day, in spite of your failings. There is... potential, within you. But you must be molded, tempered as a blade is. And; to that end; I have, for you, two blessings."
Veliky looks up in surprise. Blessings? Like the ones he gave when they first forged the pact? Those first ones changed her, made her so much more powerful, so much more able to fight. If she has more, then...
"Thank you." She nods gratefully. Perhaps the suffering was worth something, after all.
She should be wiser than this. If she saw anyone else in her place, she would realize, clearly, the creeping claws of indoctrination.
1. Angelic Light (Raguel)
2. Minor Healing (Raguel)
Pale moonlight shines through a window in soothing, silver beams, and she can feel the chill of Autumn soothing her nausea. After such an ordeal, it's euphoric just to feel something natural.
And there's another familiar sensation, as well. It's less relaxing, but just as welcome. The light: she can feel the blessings Raguel gave her, pulsing just beneath her skin. And she can feel that her powers and magic have returned. So the sly bastard had lied after all.
She's still wearing this stupid witch costume, though, and her practical equipment is nowhere to be found. Wait... even her core's missing! She hadn't even thought of it before; but, now that she's realized, it feels bizarre to have that part of her chest again, and to not feel it embedded in her ribs. She brushes where the thing used to be... smooth. Less abrasive than that rock. But she needs it, there's no way around that. Of all her equipment, that will definitely be the biggest pain - and the most painful - to replace.
But that's a worry for later. For now, she's safe. Save for the illumination from the window, the room's dark. She can barely make out the silhouettes of a bed, a dresser, some end tables and...
"Zarius!"
In the darkness of the backstage, she hadn't even realized he'd been wounded. Was Game armed, somehow? It doesn't matter, she has to do something.
That potion from before: it worked then, and it should work now. The costume will do the work. She closes her eyes, focuses on the task... but nothing. She opens her eyes, and she's holding nothing. But she'd realized it before she'd seen it. The magic from the costume has faded. It's just fabric, now. It won't save him. The sounds he's making...
What can she do? She has her abilities, her spells, but she's just not a healer. She's no more useful for this than anyone.
But maybe someone else could help! Whose house is this, anyways? She stands up and stumbles forward, still woozy. The door seems so far away, but she's recovered enough to walk. Rest can come later.
The door's too tall for her to reach the knob, and she wouldn't bother with a physical approach anyway. That same trick she used in the mansion should work here. She raises her hand, fingers poised to snap.
But she doesn't get the chance. A sound shriller than a banshee's wail grips her heart. The temperature in the room rises beyond reason, beyond bear!
Veliky knows this feeling. He's coming.
It's no shock to Veliky when the very space around her begins to burn away like paper in a fireplace. And, through the tears, scalding heat spills out with hazy, orange light. And she can hear the screams of a thousand tortured men and women, all but drowning out the crackle of flames.
The tears grow and spread until all she can see around her are infinite, burning fields. Pyres dot the forsaken landscape, and lashed to them with white-hot chains are charred, yet squirming victims of twisted penitence. They plead in a million tongues for freedom, for forgiveness, and for death. They gaze up with immortal yearning to a beauteous aperture in the sky, from which the most merciful of lights shines down, tormenting the prisoners' minds with memories of hope. In the distance, there burns a fire the size of a city.
Veliky knows this place, though she's been here only once before. The Field of Pyres Ever-Burning: the domain of Raguel the Justiciar, her patron and mentor. The great flame is called the Inferno; it is where the truly sinful are quarantined. But, below even that, Raguel has alluded to place of even greater suffering, for those deserving of an even darker fate.
She looks down. The wooden floor has turned to ash. Is this aid, or is this retribution? The heat is choking, and torrents of sweat are pouring down her face and accumulating beneath her gloves. Where is he? She knows he'll be appearing soon. She can feel his presence: a sense of impending doom - the same that harbinges a heart attack.
But then, the space around her burns again. She peers between her fingers at what appears to be something far more mundane and, in fact, far more familiar: her cafe. It doesn't take long before the hellish images fade, even as the sounds linger, ringing in her ears. The scalding heat and the slimy feeling of her own sweat, too, remain. But she's in the first floor of Blixt™ Cafe, where people would gather to drink and eat if it were open.
...That presence is also still with her. He's here.
"Turn around." His voice crawls over her shoulders.
She takes a deep breath - all she can really do to prepare herself. There's no avoiding it. She turns to face him.
There he hangs in the air, motionless and towering. His orange eyes burn her skin with as much intensity as the Fields themselves. But, otherwise, his four-winged, four-armed figure is barely illuminated. It's strange to witness an angel in darkness, even stranger than to witness one at all.
But... he says nothing. Not for several moments. And so it's Veliky that breaks the silence.
"Where's Zarius?"
It's difficult to see in the darkness, but two of Raguel's arms are ever-crossed, as if they're stitched to his chest. Veliky doesn't know if they're even real.
"He lives. Though his death would've been preferable."
Veliky doesn't bother asking why he'd say such a thing. Game told her that he's a syndic, and she's willing to believe it. That's cause enough for Raguel to want him dead.
"But I am not interested in him. It is you that we must speak of."
Veliky averts her eyes from the unmoving, orange flames. There are many things she's done tonight that may've angered him, but she has an idea of which would most draw his ire.
"We did it," she says, clearly and blankly. "We dissembled the gang. We beat Game. We were successful, wildly so."
"Is the dull axe that cuts forgiven for its crudeness?"
"...I-"
"I do not ask for excuses. Speak. How did you fail?"
Veliky's gaze wanders through the shadows, avoiding the looming judge for as long as she can.
"I almost gave in. I almost took his deal."
Silence. It tells her that she's right; Raguel is always first to contradict and ridicule. It is only in vindication that he holds his words. But his condescension still saturates the air, thickly.
"You made a promise to me."
Veliky's composure crumbles. She steps forward, eyes pleading.
"And I'll keep it! I resisted in the end, didn't I?"
"No. The moment his words were spoken, there was entropy within you. Forces within your consciousness collided, and one side prevailed. That you did not accept this 'Game's' temptation is only the result of chance."
"B-But if I resisted that... that temptation once, then I can do it again!"
"No!" His voice shakes the tables where they stand. "Chance is fickle, you know this. Where there is chance for your failure, there is definity! It is only a matter of how many times you are tempted, and with what connive."
The terrible figure hovers forward. He bends at the spine, lurching to meet her at almost-eye-level. His face comes close to hers, almost touching.
"You said you would be my champion, yet I have seen only weakness from you. I see now that your promise was a lie."
Veliky closes her eyes. She knows what to do. She has to speak up, but she fears what that entails. Only, fear is just another test, isn't it? She opens her eyes, which now stare blankly against all urge to turn away.
"Yes, I considered his offer, and I still refused it. It wasn't just on instinct. I thought about it carefully; that way, I knew exactly why to refuse, not just when to. Isn't that what you want? To understand evil, but still choose to do good?" She tries to search his eyes, but there's nothing there. How do you discern something so cosmic? "A good businesswoman considers every option, no matter how reprehensible."
His burning gaze moves across her skin, evaporating her sweat. Veliky struggles to keep a steadiness in her breath. She's good at hiding her emotions, but Raguel isn't just a person. He's far beyond anyone else she's ever known. His ire is the ire of the universe, his disappointment is that of the heavens. She wants so desperately to be able to read him, but there is nothing in his iron-masked visage.
Suddenly, the angel raises a hand and grabs Veliky by the jaw! His touch burns like sunlight, piercing her skin to the bone! She struggles, trying in vain to pry his talons away. She cannot contain her agonized groans.
"Failure! Is not! An option!"
He releases her, and she immediately pulls away, gripping her face. She steadies herself on a nearby stool, but the heat still tingles in her face. By the time it's faded, it leaves a terrible itchiness beneath her skin.
Raguel raises back to his full height, watching Veliky's pain and sorrow in silence. An ugly scar is left where he clutched her. She no longer meets his eyes. But she is glad; the sight of the Field of Pyres was a glimpse of the sentences that could've awaited her.
"...You doubt yourself." His voice softer, yet rougher, as if his breath is full of sand. "That is good. Never stop doubting. Overconfidence is the father of corruption. And shame, however cruel, is the best teacher you will ever have."
He floats over the floor, toward the cowering woman, and then crouches down again. He moves a hand before her face, and the scar is gone[2]. The tingling, too, is gone.
Veliky says nothing, but her breath slowly becomes more rhythmic, shock subsiding.
"You have done good on this day, in spite of your failings. There is... potential, within you. But you must be molded, tempered as a blade is. And; to that end; I have, for you, two blessings."
Veliky looks up in surprise. Blessings? Like the ones he gave when they first forged the pact? Those first ones changed her, made her so much more powerful, so much more able to fight. If she has more, then...
"Thank you." She nods gratefully. Perhaps the suffering was worth something, after all.
She should be wiser than this. If she saw anyone else in her place, she would realize, clearly, the creeping claws of indoctrination.
1. Angelic Light (Raguel)
2. Minor Healing (Raguel)
protect him at all cost. (can’t use discord anymore so making use of this here)
