It was time. She could feel him congealing about the ship now: could feel that something had changed, that the ship was now at risk, that madness was starting to spread, that he now had the ability to hurt with his strength now. It would be the madness that would consume them. All this, of course, a demon girl could take in stride. Why shouldn't she?
She made darkness like this herself.
And because of that she strode forward, images of Silent Hill and Cristobell and tortured Alessa in her head. She heard the happy cries of the filthy cult as they burned the girl, and her anger was not enough, not without help. These things were untrue: filthy lies cooked by her demon memories, the secret feelings she had, She could even see bits of Shadow and Pirogoeth locked in a lover's embrace, plainly saying that she was a demon and unworthy of any in the first place. Images of falsehood. She even saw Shadow as a corpse, and a likeness of the Nightmare King triumphant, gathering the hedgehog's blood as the Nightmare King claimed himself the Ultimate Weapon.
All this Alessa viewed, detached, unaffected. To a human, she supposed there was a trigger in their heads to accept what they saw, that their eyes and own brain were not traitors. They could be and were here, if they were so easily tapped into. To this Alessa moved still, but the world around her began to look warped, pinched together, and Alessa knew why: they were fighting for dominance, and right now, Alessa could not win. She understood that herself.
But the Nightmare King could not drive her mad nor use imagery around her. If he were going to send an attack, he would have to through someone else's mind frame: hers was unstoppable when it came to a power they both understood. Logically, fighting the King by herself was folly: he could actually kill her. So she would need to ally herself with some of the others. She walked on, determined.
A passing thought went to both Pirogoeth and Shadow, as she pondered their safety. She was confident they were all right.
Not long into her journey, she'd stumble across Leon, picking himself up off the ground.
Up until a few moments ago, he had been trapped in his own body. His arms and legs moved of their own accord, taking the skills he learned and putting them to malevolent use.
He could hear them, Saddler, Salazar, the hundreds of other plagas. They were a constant chorus in his skull, laughing as they manipulated his movements, turning him into nothing but a puppet on a string. He had been screaming inside his own head, but couldn't break through the noise.
He could only watch helplessly as the violence unfolded in front of him, but it was the targets that he was sent after that made the experience more unnerving. They were senators, congressmen, and other politicians. People he was sworn to protect, but that he, frankly, hated. And because of that, there was some perverse part of him that was enjoying this show. There was something about watching these assholes get what was coming to them that just satisfying.
This was just the warm up act, though. Leon needed to be primed. Somewhere in his mind, under the chorus of plaga, there was a whisper. Don't you wish that was Nathan Petrelli you were stabbing? What has that useless motherfucker done anyway? I bet you wish that was Brainiac 5 you were choking to death. You know that arrogant snot is so caught up in proving how superior he is to to everyone that he's going to fuck up and create something that'll kill everyone.
The were a whole crew full of people that Leon regarded as a bunch of loud, reckless assholes. Part of him really wanted to punch several of them in the mouth then boot them out an airlock. And had the Nightmare King simply sent Leon to do that from the get go, Leon might have let it happen. He might not have resisted as much as he was.
Airlocking Batman was a really tempting thought.
But the Nightmare King got greedy. He wanted to break the fight in Leon, to own him completely. He figured the best way to break his spirit was to break his heart.
Without really noticing the change in scenery, Leon found himself holding Claire. But not in the caring, gentle, loving way that he normally would. No, he was holding her of the ground as he throttled her neck.
He tried to stop, once he became aware of what he was doing. He could feel her struggling, he could feel her screams and cries die in her throat under his grip. He could see the fear in her eyes. And finally, he could her the sickening snap of her neck as he broke it in his hands.
Claire died in his arms. But his will to fight didn't die with her.
If anything, it made Leon realize that was just a dream. Because there was no way in hell Claire would go out like that.
The two of them had an agreement. One that was never spoken of, but was understood between them. If one of them got infected, and was past the point of no return, the other would finish them, no matter what.
Claire wouldn't allow some parasite masquerading as him to hurt anyone. She'd fight it tooth and nail, and he'd be rooting for her to do so. And most importantly, she would kick him in the stones and then in the chin if he ever tried to choke her like that.
Realizing his folly, the Nightmare King tried to replace Claire's corpse with Jean Grey's but by then, the spell had already been broken.
He could hear the whispers over the chorus of noise in his head, and he met it head on.
Yes, he thought the bulk of his bosses on Capitol Hill were worthless wastes of flesh. Yes, he hated some of the things he's had to do in the line of duty. Yes, he wanted to toss several crew members into a star and watch them burn.
Because Claire Redfield was still alive after Raccoon City. Because Sherry Birkin Redfield-Kennedy wasn't going to spend her life as a lab rat. Because Manuela Hidalgo could remember that she wasn't some monster, but a person. Because Ashley Graham made it safely back to her father.
Because, after seven years of fighting, the world no longer has to fear the T-virus.
Because even selfish jackasses needed someone to stand up for them, because there are worse things out there than other selfish jackasses. Like you, he told the Nightmare King.
Messed up as they were, and as much of a pain in the ass as they were, they were still his crew, and none of them deserved to be messed with like this. He was going to protect them.
But first, he had to wake up.
He kept repeating those two words, like a mantra of sorts.
wake up wake up Wake up WAKE UP wake up wake up Wake Up
WAKE UP!!!!
He screamed at the noise in his head, and with sheer persistence and stubbornness, he started to break through. His hands were suddenly his own again, and he clenched them into fists and released them a few times.
He started to regain more control of his body, until he dropped to his knees and screamed out in pain. He wanted to scream, but something was stuck in his throat, and no air could pass one way or another. His intestines felt like they were being ripped and shredded. A black liquid started to pour out of his mouth, and was quickly followed by something large, covered in mucus and bile, and possessing tentacles.
Leon would've been appalled by what he just horfed up, (or wondered how in gods name he just puked up something that large without ripping apart his esophagus), but he just grabbed his knife and stabbed the damn thing until it stopped moving, and broke down into a liquid.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and spit the taste of that thing out of his mouth. He still wasn't entirely alone in his own head, but he was back in control of himself.
And now he just had to pick himself off the ground, and get back to work.
"That looks fairly nasty," Alessa commented, watching Leon's struggle. While she had no love for the Military commander, she also had no hate for him either. Like most people on the ship, she was usually indifferent, and showing any kind of emotion for anyone was restricted to her chosen few.
She waited for a moment though. His nightmare was his own, and unless he actually needed her help (she suspected he was too proud, and if that were the case she was happy to oblige him). There were others that were going to be needing their help. Humans were usually fairly weak when it came to their mental issues, so she had an idea they would have a bit of jumping around to do.
She had an idea that Leon was the type to spite death if given the chance. That would keep him alive.
"Whenever you're ready," Alessa said. "We have a lot of work to do, don't we?"
Something was wrong. Mai could feel it at the back of her mind. Something, somewhere was off. She couldn't quite tell what and it was starting to needle at her brain. However, her train of thought was cut off by the sound of her mother's voice, "Mai, pay attention to your calligraphy lesson."
Mai blinked, attention returning to her surroundings. Where was she? Oh, yes. Of course. At home, watching her tutor go through another stunningly boring lesson. She already knew most of these and she didn't see why she needed to learn the horrifically obscure and complicated characters. Still. She sat up a bit straighter, murmuring a reply, "Yes, mother."
She wasn't sure how long the rest of the lesson lasted. She did know it seemed to drag on forever and when it was finally finished, she let out a soft sigh of relief. Maybe now she could get away. Go back to her room and throw some knives at the wall or something. Wait.
She slid a hand into her sleeve, feeling for the reassuring weight of her throwing knives. They should be there. She always had them.
This time, they weren't. She blinked, feeling slightly alarmed. She glanced uneasily at her mother, "Mother. Where are my knives?"
Her mother gave her a strange, slightly disapproving look, "Oh, Mai, you know we made you give up that nonsense ages ago. You agreed it wasn't the best of ideas, remember?"
Oh, right. Now she remembered. She sighed softly and slowly nodded her head.
"Now, come along. We're going to the Admiral's dinner party tonight and you need to look your best if we're going to make a favorable impression..." Her mother started to prattle on and all Mai could do was nod and go along with it.
The day stretched on. The party was a blur of being introduced to people who's names she wouldn't remember and who's faces all seemed to blur together. It had been miserable. Nothing to do but listen to her parents make small-talk and force herself to smile when she was introduced to prospective suitors. Grin and bear it. Keep her apathy, depression and utter contempt for being forced into this life in check behind an emotionless exterior. Just as she always had.
That day blurred into another; more lessons, more meetings with people she forced herself to care about. Then again. And again. Every day, more of the same. People and places, names and skills she was sure she would never have to remember or use. It had always been like this. Would it always?
Probably, she reflected. She hadn't seen either of her friends since she'd left school - she'd heard Ty Lee was in the circus now (a prospective job that actually seemed better than this, if only she had a marketable skill) and that Azula was off hunting the Avatar or something. And Zuko... Zuko was in exile. She'd probably never see him again or be able to tell him exactly how she felt.
It wasn't like it mattered, anyway. She'd always have to do what her parents told her. She had to be their perfect little girl to impress the neighbors, the political higher-ups, the society her parents seemed to place so much stock in. Mai detested it. There was no way out. Eventually, she was sure, her parents would find someone who was "perfect" for her and they would get married, just like that. There would be nothing left for her but quiet reflection and withdrawal from the world. All she had to do was go through the motions. She didn't have to care.
Dully and with the barest hint of feigned enthusiasm she found herself practicing her calligraphy again. At least another twenty of this character and then thirty of the other and then another twenty and then....
It was going to be another long, horrifically boring day.
"How perfectly boring," interrupted a voice. Mai could look around at first: she would see Alessa just yet, and that was just as well. Like the Nightmare King, she preferred a temporary cloud of anonymity, just so the girl could mull over her situation. "I'll admit that your situation isn't as action packed as one might hope, but the scenario seems just as bleak. Going through the motions without caring about the situation is as detrimental to a human being as any mental breakage you try to avoid."
And, as if to remind her who she was (she doubted very much that this girl needed it) Alessa appeared, knives in hand, extended to Mai. Mai was certainly different from the sniveling she had come to expect from the desperate, fragile minded people she knew. The potential here was much more promising: she just needed a bit of a push.
In any case, Alessa was interrupting the dream: Mai at least knew, or was understanding, there was life outside the dull existence the Nightmare King had planned for her. Leon was bursting through in any case: he could properly drive that idea home.
"You could stay here," Alessa said, "But you aren't meant for this kind of thing, really. I heard you made an excellent shish kabob of that one AI Hal. We wouldn't want to give up such a promising career, would we?"
Leon was there. Linefaced as usual, he was looming slightly behind Alessa. He probably stood out like a sore thumb in these surroundings. The clothes, the weapons, the skin color and hair, nothing about him fit this place and this time.
He didn't interrupt the conversation as of yet, wanting to see how Mai reacted to them.
Mai's brush faltered and she set it down, looking at Alessa curiously through dulled eyes when she appeared. That wasn't supposed to happen, her mind told her. People didn't just appear out of thin air like that. Not even the now-extinct Airbenders. For a long moment she simply stared at Alessa and the offered knives. Those weren't her's. She'd given it up ages ago because her parents had made her.
No. That wasn't how it had gone at all. Her lips turned down slightly into a frown, eyes narrowing in concentration. As Leon joined Alessa her eyes started to clear and her expression began to turn cold. She reached out a hand and took the sheaths and straps; a familiar weight in her hand and she realized that she was still wearing them. She'd always been wearing them. Memories began to flood back to her. Stacy. HAL. Her journey with Azula and Ty Lee.
Zuko.
She flexed her fingers and then in one spiteful, smooth motion, she overturned her ink pot, letting the black liquid flow over her paper.
"Mai, what do you think you're doing? You'll have to start all over again!" Her mother again, this time sounding indignant. Mai's gaze snapped over to her.
"You're not my mother. Not really. And I'm finished with calligraphy." Mai's voice was a dangerous monotone - little inflection, but there was a cold, hard edge to it.
"Nonsense-!" Her mother - her dream mother - flushed angrily, looking as if she was about to launch into a tirade.
Wanda's husband was gone. Her brother was gone. As were her niece, sister in law, friends, teammates, everyone who mattered to her was lost. They lay dead at her feet.
Her flesh had withered away. There was no color to her skin, no blush. She looked as pale and lifeless as a corpse, only she was not a corpse.
They had been surging forward at an impressive rate: even Alessa had no criticism in how quickly they covered ground. Once they got to the next scene, she was sure that they would topple whoevers dream was next. As they got closer though, Alessa felt the smell of something in the air: blood. She knew it well enough, and stopped Mai and Leon. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel out the situation, to fell for the reason of change in the air. When she got her answer, she sighed.
So much for saving her strength.
"You can hang back, or proceed to another dream," she told the two, "its up to you. But unlike both of your dreams, whoever this is must be very strong. We are in the Nightmare of someone who has dreamed a dark god. This is about to get very dangerous."
"Because the one Dark God wasn't enough," Leon muttered to himself. He did a quick check of his weapons, then considered the situation.
Of course, for him, the thing he was considering was how to deal with this.
"We need to find whoever dreamed this thing up and smack some sense into them." Easier said than done, but that's neither here nor there. Leon looked at Alessa, "Can you keep it distracted?"
She was surrounded by dead Slayers. Giles lay dead at her feet, and behind her, she heard Angel howl as a stake pierced through his chest, turning him to dust.
She looked up into the sky.
Willow hung in mid-air, dressed in black, her face all pale and veiny, her eyes shimmering with the darkest sort of magic. In front of her, in an aura of bright green, fluttered Dawn, Buffy's sister. Literally, Buffy's own flesh and blood.
Leon stood behind Buffy, and he had the oddest sense of deja vu. He was half tempted to toss the shield at Willow, just to see if it would work again. But Willow was just a figment of Buffy's imagination, or so he assumed. Buffy he recognized, the others, not so much. So he didn't need Willow alive, nor did he need her attention. He just needed to snap Buffy out of it.
Mai watched silently from beside Leon. She didn't really have anything to say. What was it with people and their doomsday, end-of-the-world dreams? Did no one else fear boring, hum-drum, everyday life?
Alessa appeared, but at the sight of Buffy she paused. It was one thing to go jumping into a gods' dream, but whoever this was, she was an experienced killer. The scene itself was an interesting one though: she would have liked to know the story behind it if they had the time. The floating redhead, for instance, definitely had a sense of style. She could feel the darkness without even being that close. The scent of death was close to this girl, she knew that enough.
She gave Willow another look over, then turned to Buffy. "We are on a bit of a time restraint, actually. You must know about the nightmares by now: they are starting to affect the ship. We are trying to defeat a dark god who is preying on your fears even now. You should join us."
She had to make mention of something though. "You're a powerful one. You would be a good asset."
Obi-Wan faced his apprentice across a landscape of burning stone. He had no idea how it had come to this. Not this, not Anakin...No, not Anakin, tainted with the dark side and staring at him with bald hatred in his gaze. Not his sword-brother and friend, the man he'd once raised as a son, then trained as a partner, and fought alongside.
'If you're not with me, you're against me,' the apparition sneered, and it was such an Anakin thing to say— impulsive and without base, without thought.
"Only Sith deal in absolutes," Obi-Wan shook his head and took his Lightsaber in hand. How had it come to this? "I don't want to fight you, but I will do what I must."
'You will try.'
And that was when the battle began in earnest, a blurring madness of flashing blades and the burnt-ozone smell the blades exuded when struck hard. Obi-Wan fought desperately, but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't want to win this fight, and he couldn't afford to lose.
"Yes," the demon girl agreed. "Is this something that you need to see right now? You are in the throes of the Nightmare King: you are living in your fears. You have to break free, so that we may fight back."
Alessa looked at the shooting and shook her head. So abrupt. In any case, it got the job done.
Click, hum. Lafiel was doing her nightly sensor check on the bridge, plugged into the ship's sensors via almfac (http://mrflea.net/gallery/d/1333-2/Lafiel_Wavy.gif)* and gooheik (http://i35.tinypic.com/2n8y5fp.jpg)**. From this perspective she felt the immensity of the bleed outside. The vacuum was comforting, assuring her the stars, her kin, were still out there. If Abh were religious she would say she felt much like a mote in God's eye, but a benevolent God, a great protector. The hull was free of obstruction. All seemed normal...
Then there was a locking in place, and Lafiel felt her awareness catapulted out into the bleed. This was a strange nightmare. Humans and their descendants experienced dreams as hallucinations, random firings in their brain that stimulated visual and auditory cortexes. Abh had an extra cortex, the froce***, and a hallucination originating there was gravely upsetting. She felt displaced, spatial-sense putting her somewhere outside the hull, although she knew her body was still sitting there on the bridge.
The bleed felt...warm. Slurry. And floating past her were horrific chunks of her crew (http://www.projectlafiel.net/Site%20Images/Ekuryua_Sobbash_Samson.png). A scrap of skin, blue hair still attached. Half of Samson's face, the side with the scar, the other side of it a disgusting ruin. Intestines trailing like pale vacuum cables. A set of long, delicate fingers. Lastly, the only whole body among them: Jinto (http://www.projectlafiel.net/Site%20Images/Jinto_and_I.png), emaciated enough to show his ribs through the Star Forces tight fitting uniform.
She thanked gods she didn't believe in that she couldn't feel her cheeks at the moment. Tears would be too shameful.
Clawing her way back to her body was difficult. It seemed to reject her at every turn, to slide away from her. But she managed to get her hand at least, the one in the gooheik and with it scrawled out a crude message on the screen.
< < brdge crew lafiel hrer prlyzed by atack rqurie asstnce reqeust termngtion if am fnd thraet to vtl cscystms if not plz gntly unplg frmo console > >
No response to her message came back. Maybe she never really hit send. Maybe she did and no one got it. Maybe no one could respond. Or maybe there was no one there to respond.
She would have what would likely be a lengthy few minutes to think about that, until there's a hand placed on her shoulder.
"Relax, we're here."
Communications were garbled enough as it was, and her added gibberish didn't help. As was not knowing whether any of this was even real or not, but the chance had to be taken.
Now came the slightly more difficult part, of unhooking her from the console. Leon was no technical expert, but getting her unplugged wasn't too much of a hassle, once he identified all the connections. At least he didn't just cut all the wires and be done with it.
Lafiel felt stabs of panic hit her. She was alone in this disgusting illusion while the Nightmare King did what it wished with her body and the ship's systems.
She floated in the mess. Helpless, alone, without anyone to tell her what to do or where to go next.
When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, it was as if she were feeling something that was happening a far distance away. The removal of her almfac from the ship's console caused her to plunge back into her body and she convulsed for a few seconds. It subsided into trembling.
Luckily the tears had dried on her cheeks. Her mouth tasted of vomit. "...Sir?" She was almost afraid to turn to look at him, suspecting another trick, to be confronted with another grinning death's head, perhaps of her father or little brother.
When the dead walked and the shadow tainted the waking world with living nightmares, there could be no surer sign that Tarmon Gai'don approached. Whether that be in Andor, Seanchan, or a flaming prison in the sky, Mat knew what the signs meant. When the dreams started to hurt people, he knew Rand had to be out there somewhere, and knowing their bloody ta'veren destiny, Perrin too.
Before long, it seemed like the only place that were safe was his room. But burn him if he were going to hide in there until Rand defeated the Dark One. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. He wasn't lucky enough to have food drop in on his lap. All he really needed to do was ignore the ghosts and where they led him, and he'd stay out of trouble. Still, it'd been good to be in real clothing again, where he could fit all his knives.
Until now. The dice were thundering in his head, but he didn't need them there to know why. The bloody trollocs charging through the halls made it clear enough all on their own. There must have been a Waygate somewhere on this Light-forsaken ship.
Then again, that wasn't the problem. Between the Ashandarei and his knives, the trollocs were only hulking, smelling obstacles. The people on this ship would be able to take care of them, and maybe whatever Fades came with. The problem was that the medallion was freezing against his skin.
"Matrim Cauthon."
Instinct drove him to spin, Ashandarei poised, but he knew that voice before he turned. "You. Are not real."
Bodewhin--the image of Bodewhin--gave no indication he spoke at all, instead she held out her hand toward him. The flash of memory was so brief, he barely registered it, but the lesson remained. He spun a bit too quickly for his hip's liking, and threw himself to the ground only a moment before the ship's tentacles--propelled by the flaming One Power--crashed together where he'd been standing only a moment before.
"So at least someone has an idea," spoke a voice, and the demon girl stood behind the man. This dream was strange to her, she had to admit, but at the same time she really didn't care either. She was a demon, and that meant she could do nothing but be practical when it came to this: besides, hadn't she and the others released enough people anyway? The tentacles she held at bay with her own power, which she was annoyed to use in the first place: she had to preserve her strength.
"It ISN'T real," Alessa said. "If it were, we might all be in a bit of trouble. Now come on: there's still much we have to do about the Nightmare King."
Leon grabbed Mat, and started to pull him to his feet.
"Let's go, Mr. Cauthon." Yes, Leon knows your name, Mat. He knows the name of everyone on board, so don't let it freak you out. "We have bigger problems."
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She made darkness like this herself.
And because of that she strode forward, images of Silent Hill and Cristobell and tortured Alessa in her head. She heard the happy cries of the filthy cult as they burned the girl, and her anger was not enough, not without help. These things were untrue: filthy lies cooked by her demon memories, the secret feelings she had, She could even see bits of Shadow and Pirogoeth locked in a lover's embrace, plainly saying that she was a demon and unworthy of any in the first place. Images of falsehood. She even saw Shadow as a corpse, and a likeness of the Nightmare King triumphant, gathering the hedgehog's blood as the Nightmare King claimed himself the Ultimate Weapon.
All this Alessa viewed, detached, unaffected. To a human, she supposed there was a trigger in their heads to accept what they saw, that their eyes and own brain were not traitors. They could be and were here, if they were so easily tapped into. To this Alessa moved still, but the world around her began to look warped, pinched together, and Alessa knew why: they were fighting for dominance, and right now, Alessa could not win. She understood that herself.
But the Nightmare King could not drive her mad nor use imagery around her. If he were going to send an attack, he would have to through someone else's mind frame: hers was unstoppable when it came to a power they both understood. Logically, fighting the King by herself was folly: he could actually kill her. So she would need to ally herself with some of the others. She walked on, determined.
A passing thought went to both Pirogoeth and Shadow, as she pondered their safety. She was confident they were all right.
no subject
Up until a few moments ago, he had been trapped in his own body. His arms and legs moved of their own accord, taking the skills he learned and putting them to malevolent use.
He could hear them, Saddler, Salazar, the hundreds of other plagas. They were a constant chorus in his skull, laughing as they manipulated his movements, turning him into nothing but a puppet on a string. He had been screaming inside his own head, but couldn't break through the noise.
He could only watch helplessly as the violence unfolded in front of him, but it was the targets that he was sent after that made the experience more unnerving. They were senators, congressmen, and other politicians. People he was sworn to protect, but that he, frankly, hated. And because of that, there was some perverse part of him that was enjoying this show. There was something about watching these assholes get what was coming to them that just satisfying.
This was just the warm up act, though. Leon needed to be primed. Somewhere in his mind, under the chorus of plaga, there was a whisper. Don't you wish that was Nathan Petrelli you were stabbing? What has that useless motherfucker done anyway? I bet you wish that was Brainiac 5 you were choking to death. You know that arrogant snot is so caught up in proving how superior he is to to everyone that he's going to fuck up and create something that'll kill everyone.
The were a whole crew full of people that Leon regarded as a bunch of loud, reckless assholes. Part of him really wanted to punch several of them in the mouth then boot them out an airlock. And had the Nightmare King simply sent Leon to do that from the get go, Leon might have let it happen. He might not have resisted as much as he was.
Airlocking Batman was a really tempting thought.
But the Nightmare King got greedy. He wanted to break the fight in Leon, to own him completely. He figured the best way to break his spirit was to break his heart.
Without really noticing the change in scenery, Leon found himself holding Claire. But not in the caring, gentle, loving way that he normally would. No, he was holding her of the ground as he throttled her neck.
He tried to stop, once he became aware of what he was doing. He could feel her struggling, he could feel her screams and cries die in her throat under his grip. He could see the fear in her eyes. And finally, he could her the sickening snap of her neck as he broke it in his hands.
Claire died in his arms. But his will to fight didn't die with her.
If anything, it made Leon realize that was just a dream. Because there was no way in hell Claire would go out like that.
The two of them had an agreement. One that was never spoken of, but was understood between them. If one of them got infected, and was past the point of no return, the other would finish them, no matter what.
Claire wouldn't allow some parasite masquerading as him to hurt anyone. She'd fight it tooth and nail, and he'd be rooting for her to do so. And most importantly, she would kick him in the stones and then in the chin if he ever tried to choke her like that.
Realizing his folly, the Nightmare King tried to replace Claire's corpse with Jean Grey's but by then, the spell had already been broken.
He could hear the whispers over the chorus of noise in his head, and he met it head on.
Yes, he thought the bulk of his bosses on Capitol Hill were worthless wastes of flesh. Yes, he hated some of the things he's had to do in the line of duty. Yes, he wanted to toss several crew members into a star and watch them burn.
But...
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Because Claire Redfield was still alive after Raccoon City. Because Sherry
BirkinRedfield-Kennedy wasn't going to spend her life as a lab rat. Because Manuela Hidalgo could remember that she wasn't some monster, but a person. Because Ashley Graham made it safely back to her father.Because, after seven years of fighting, the world no longer has to fear the T-virus.
Because even selfish jackasses needed someone to stand up for them, because there are worse things out there than other selfish jackasses. Like you, he told the Nightmare King.
Messed up as they were, and as much of a pain in the ass as they were, they were still his crew, and none of them deserved to be messed with like this. He was going to protect them.
But first, he had to wake up.
He kept repeating those two words, like a mantra of sorts.
wake up wake up Wake up WAKE UP wake up wake up Wake Up
WAKE UP!!!!
He screamed at the noise in his head, and with sheer persistence and stubbornness, he started to break through. His hands were suddenly his own again, and he clenched them into fists and released them a few times.
He started to regain more control of his body, until he dropped to his knees and screamed out in pain. He wanted to scream, but something was stuck in his throat, and no air could pass one way or another. His intestines felt like they were being ripped and shredded. A black liquid started to pour out of his mouth, and was quickly followed by something large, covered in mucus and bile, and possessing tentacles.
Leon would've been appalled by what he just horfed up, (or wondered how in gods name he just puked up something that large without ripping apart his esophagus), but he just grabbed his knife and stabbed the damn thing until it stopped moving, and broke down into a liquid.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and spit the taste of that thing out of his mouth. He still wasn't entirely alone in his own head, but he was back in control of himself.
And now he just had to pick himself off the ground, and get back to work.
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She waited for a moment though. His nightmare was his own, and unless he actually needed her help (she suspected he was too proud, and if that were the case she was happy to oblige him). There were others that were going to be needing their help. Humans were usually fairly weak when it came to their mental issues, so she had an idea they would have a bit of jumping around to do.
She had an idea that Leon was the type to spite death if given the chance. That would keep him alive.
"Whenever you're ready," Alessa said. "We have a lot of work to do, don't we?"
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Mai blinked, attention returning to her surroundings. Where was she? Oh, yes. Of course. At home, watching her tutor go through another stunningly boring lesson. She already knew most of these and she didn't see why she needed to learn the horrifically obscure and complicated characters. Still. She sat up a bit straighter, murmuring a reply, "Yes, mother."
She wasn't sure how long the rest of the lesson lasted. She did know it seemed to drag on forever and when it was finally finished, she let out a soft sigh of relief. Maybe now she could get away. Go back to her room and throw some knives at the wall or something. Wait.
She slid a hand into her sleeve, feeling for the reassuring weight of her throwing knives. They should be there. She always had them.
This time, they weren't. She blinked, feeling slightly alarmed. She glanced uneasily at her mother, "Mother. Where are my knives?"
Her mother gave her a strange, slightly disapproving look, "Oh, Mai, you know we made you give up that nonsense ages ago. You agreed it wasn't the best of ideas, remember?"
Oh, right. Now she remembered. She sighed softly and slowly nodded her head.
"Now, come along. We're going to the Admiral's dinner party tonight and you need to look your best if we're going to make a favorable impression..." Her mother started to prattle on and all Mai could do was nod and go along with it.
The day stretched on. The party was a blur of being introduced to people who's names she wouldn't remember and who's faces all seemed to blur together. It had been miserable. Nothing to do but listen to her parents make small-talk and force herself to smile when she was introduced to prospective suitors. Grin and bear it. Keep her apathy, depression and utter contempt for being forced into this life in check behind an emotionless exterior. Just as she always had.
That day blurred into another; more lessons, more meetings with people she forced herself to care about. Then again. And again. Every day, more of the same. People and places, names and skills she was sure she would never have to remember or use. It had always been like this. Would it always?
Probably, she reflected. She hadn't seen either of her friends since she'd left school - she'd heard Ty Lee was in the circus now (a prospective job that actually seemed better than this, if only she had a marketable skill) and that Azula was off hunting the Avatar or something. And Zuko... Zuko was in exile. She'd probably never see him again or be able to tell him exactly how she felt.
It wasn't like it mattered, anyway. She'd always have to do what her parents told her. She had to be their perfect little girl to impress the neighbors, the political higher-ups, the society her parents seemed to place so much stock in. Mai detested it. There was no way out. Eventually, she was sure, her parents would find someone who was "perfect" for her and they would get married, just like that. There would be nothing left for her but quiet reflection and withdrawal from the world. All she had to do was go through the motions. She didn't have to care.
Dully and with the barest hint of feigned enthusiasm she found herself practicing her calligraphy again. At least another twenty of this character and then thirty of the other and then another twenty and then....
It was going to be another long, horrifically boring day.
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And, as if to remind her who she was (she doubted very much that this girl needed it) Alessa appeared, knives in hand, extended to Mai. Mai was certainly different from the sniveling she had come to expect from the desperate, fragile minded people she knew. The potential here was much more promising: she just needed a bit of a push.
In any case, Alessa was interrupting the dream: Mai at least knew, or was understanding, there was life outside the dull existence the Nightmare King had planned for her. Leon was bursting through in any case: he could properly drive that idea home.
"You could stay here," Alessa said, "But you aren't meant for this kind of thing, really. I heard you made an excellent shish kabob of that one AI Hal. We wouldn't want to give up such a promising career, would we?"
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He didn't interrupt the conversation as of yet, wanting to see how Mai reacted to them.
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No. That wasn't how it had gone at all. Her lips turned down slightly into a frown, eyes narrowing in concentration. As Leon joined Alessa her eyes started to clear and her expression began to turn cold. She reached out a hand and took the sheaths and straps; a familiar weight in her hand and she realized that she was still wearing them. She'd always been wearing them. Memories began to flood back to her. Stacy. HAL. Her journey with Azula and Ty Lee.
Zuko.
She flexed her fingers and then in one spiteful, smooth motion, she overturned her ink pot, letting the black liquid flow over her paper.
"Mai, what do you think you're doing? You'll have to start all over again!" Her mother again, this time sounding indignant. Mai's gaze snapped over to her.
"You're not my mother. Not really. And I'm finished with calligraphy." Mai's voice was a dangerous monotone - little inflection, but there was a cold, hard edge to it.
"Nonsense-!" Her mother - her dream mother - flushed angrily, looking as if she was about to launch into a tirade.
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Wanda's husband was gone. Her brother was gone. As were her niece, sister in law, friends, teammates, everyone who mattered to her was lost. They lay dead at her feet.
Her flesh had withered away. There was no color to her skin, no blush. She looked as pale and lifeless as a corpse, only she was not a corpse.
Wanda was no more. There was only Chthon.
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So much for saving her strength.
"You can hang back, or proceed to another dream," she told the two, "its up to you. But unlike both of your dreams, whoever this is must be very strong. We are in the Nightmare of someone who has dreamed a dark god. This is about to get very dangerous."
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Of course, for him, the thing he was considering was how to deal with this.
"We need to find whoever dreamed this thing up and smack some sense into them." Easier said than done, but that's neither here nor there. Leon looked at Alessa, "Can you keep it distracted?"
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She looked up into the sky.
Willow hung in mid-air, dressed in black, her face all pale and veiny, her eyes shimmering with the darkest sort of magic. In front of her, in an aura of bright green, fluttered Dawn, Buffy's sister. Literally, Buffy's own flesh and blood.
Willow was killing Dawn.
And ending the universe.
And Buffy was powerless to stop her.
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"You waiting on an invitation or something?"
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She gave Willow another look over, then turned to Buffy. "We are on a bit of a time restraint, actually. You must know about the nightmares by now: they are starting to affect the ship. We are trying to defeat a dark god who is preying on your fears even now. You should join us."
She had to make mention of something though. "You're a powerful one. You would be a good asset."
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'If you're not with me, you're against me,' the apparition sneered, and it was such an Anakin thing to say— impulsive and without base, without thought.
"Only Sith deal in absolutes," Obi-Wan shook his head and took his Lightsaber in hand. How had it come to this? "I don't want to fight you, but I will do what I must."
'You will try.'
And that was when the battle began in earnest, a blurring madness of flashing blades and the burnt-ozone smell the blades exuded when struck hard. Obi-Wan fought desperately, but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't want to win this fight, and he couldn't afford to lose.
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"This is the wrong battle you're fighting, General Kenobi."
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Alessa looked at the shooting and shook her head. So abrupt. In any case, it got the job done.
"This will not help you."
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Buffy why are you so dorktastic
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Click, hum. Lafiel was doing her nightly sensor check on the bridge, plugged into the ship's sensors via almfac (http://mrflea.net/gallery/d/1333-2/Lafiel_Wavy.gif)* and gooheik (http://i35.tinypic.com/2n8y5fp.jpg)**. From this perspective she felt the immensity of the bleed outside. The vacuum was comforting, assuring her the stars, her kin, were still out there. If Abh were religious she would say she felt much like a mote in God's eye, but a benevolent God, a great protector. The hull was free of obstruction. All seemed normal...
Then there was a locking in place, and Lafiel felt her awareness catapulted out into the bleed. This was a strange nightmare. Humans and their descendants experienced dreams as hallucinations, random firings in their brain that stimulated visual and auditory cortexes. Abh had an extra cortex, the froce***, and a hallucination originating there was gravely upsetting. She felt displaced, spatial-sense putting her somewhere outside the hull, although she knew her body was still sitting there on the bridge.
The bleed felt...warm. Slurry. And floating past her were horrific chunks of her crew (http://www.projectlafiel.net/Site%20Images/Ekuryua_Sobbash_Samson.png). A scrap of skin, blue hair still attached. Half of Samson's face, the side with the scar, the other side of it a disgusting ruin. Intestines trailing like pale vacuum cables. A set of long, delicate fingers. Lastly, the only whole body among them: Jinto (http://www.projectlafiel.net/Site%20Images/Jinto_and_I.png), emaciated enough to show his ribs through the Star Forces tight fitting uniform.
She thanked gods she didn't believe in that she couldn't feel her cheeks at the moment. Tears would be too shameful.
Clawing her way back to her body was difficult. It seemed to reject her at every turn, to slide away from her. But she managed to get her hand at least, the one in the gooheik and with it scrawled out a crude message on the screen.
< < brdge crew lafiel hrer prlyzed by atack rqurie asstnce reqeust termngtion if am fnd thraet to vtl cscystms if not plz gntly unplg frmo console > >
With an effort of will, she hit send.
[OOC:
*control tiara
**control glove
***spatial sensory organ]
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She would have what would likely be a lengthy few minutes to think about that, until there's a hand placed on her shoulder.
"Relax, we're here."
Communications were garbled enough as it was, and her added gibberish didn't help. As was not knowing whether any of this was even real or not, but the chance had to be taken.
Now came the slightly more difficult part, of unhooking her from the console. Leon was no technical expert, but getting her unplugged wasn't too much of a hassle, once he identified all the connections. At least he didn't just cut all the wires and be done with it.
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She floated in the mess. Helpless, alone, without anyone to tell her what to do or where to go next.
When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, it was as if she were feeling something that was happening a far distance away. The removal of her almfac from the ship's console caused her to plunge back into her body and she convulsed for a few seconds. It subsided into trembling.
Luckily the tears had dried on her cheeks. Her mouth tasted of vomit. "...Sir?" She was almost afraid to turn to look at him, suspecting another trick, to be confronted with another grinning death's head, perhaps of her father or little brother.
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Before long, it seemed like the only place that were safe was his room. But burn him if he were going to hide in there until Rand defeated the Dark One. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. He wasn't lucky enough to have food drop in on his lap. All he really needed to do was ignore the ghosts and where they led him, and he'd stay out of trouble. Still, it'd been good to be in real clothing again, where he could fit all his knives.
Until now. The dice were thundering in his head, but he didn't need them there to know why. The bloody trollocs charging through the halls made it clear enough all on their own. There must have been a Waygate somewhere on this Light-forsaken ship.
Then again, that wasn't the problem. Between the Ashandarei and his knives, the trollocs were only hulking, smelling obstacles. The people on this ship would be able to take care of them, and maybe whatever Fades came with. The problem was that the medallion was freezing against his skin.
"Matrim Cauthon."
Instinct drove him to spin, Ashandarei poised, but he knew that voice before he turned. "You. Are not real."
Bodewhin--the image of Bodewhin--gave no indication he spoke at all, instead she held out her hand toward him. The flash of memory was so brief, he barely registered it, but the lesson remained. He spun a bit too quickly for his hip's liking, and threw himself to the ground only a moment before the ship's tentacles--propelled by the flaming One Power--crashed together where he'd been standing only a moment before.
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"It ISN'T real," Alessa said. "If it were, we might all be in a bit of trouble. Now come on: there's still much we have to do about the Nightmare King."
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"Let's go, Mr. Cauthon." Yes, Leon knows your name, Mat. He knows the name of everyone on board, so don't let it freak you out. "We have bigger problems."