RE: TERRARIUM - Round 1: Apocalypse
08-15-2017, 09:17 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-16-2017, 04:10 AM by Hellfish.)
Mercator’s head was empty. There was a black wound pulsing raw and ugly in the space where Abhararcan lived, a sudden sickening emptiness that made him stumble and grip his head so tightly sparks flew across his vision. His breath thundered in his chest, unreal, and he slid to the ground and clawed blindly through the fallen leaves with his bare hands, the bow sliding from his back. His head was spinning like a carnival ride, round and round, monstrously hollow except for his own panicked thoughts, and he was alone, all alone-
His fingers touched cold iron and he ripped the arrow out from underneath a fallen branch, gripping it so tightly his knuckles shone white under the dappled sunlight. The weapon’s presence flooded his mind as if flipped on by a switch, its caustic voice jagged with undisguised fury.
-here? God, finally! Took you long enough, what the hell were you waiting for?
“Boss, boss,” Mercator sobbed, “I thought you- I thought- I thought you-”
I know what the fuck you thought, Abhararcan snapped. I can read your damn mind.
“That thing in the sky-”
That wasn’t the sky, you idiot. Shut up. I’m trying to think.
Mercator wiped his nose on his sleeve, nodding miserably. He was still dizzy, a pounding headache rattling the back of his skull. He leaned against a nearby tree, the rough bark snagging the fabric of his clothes and jabbing into his back. He barely felt it. After the shock of its absence Abhararcan’s mind was settling into its familiar place inside his own like water into a jar. He felt its strange inside-outside vision watching him, reading him even as its own thoughts fluttered and buzzed in circles.
It wants something, Abhararcan said abruptly. It had a habit of continuing conversations that Mercator wasn’t a part of. That’s obvious. Does it want to kill us? No, no, stop panicking, you wet rag. Are you going to be completely useless today?
“No. I’m just scared.”
Don’t be. Did you see the others?
Mercator shook his head pointlessly. “There were others?”
Five. Maybe six. Abhararcan gave the mental equivalent of a shrug, a wave of irritation rippling through it. I didn’t get a close enough look, but we’re not alone. What do you think that means?
“I don’t know, boss.”
Hm. Another wave of annoyance, this time followed by bitter satisfaction. There’s nothing I can’t kill. I’m not concerned about them. But if they’re here, they’re here for a reason. We might be able to make use of them. We might have to kill them. We’ll see. Fire me into the air.
Mercator took the bow from the ground and nocked Abhararcan in a practiced motion, glad to have something to do. He angled the bow back and loosed it straight upwards, letting the black arrow fly high above the treeline. At the highest point of its arc it vanished and reappeared in the palm of his hand, its iron shaft bitterly cold.
“What did you see, boss?” Mercator asked, afraid of the answer.
Dead people. A lot of them. Oh, I just hate murdering corpses, what a waste of my talent.
His fingers touched cold iron and he ripped the arrow out from underneath a fallen branch, gripping it so tightly his knuckles shone white under the dappled sunlight. The weapon’s presence flooded his mind as if flipped on by a switch, its caustic voice jagged with undisguised fury.
-here? God, finally! Took you long enough, what the hell were you waiting for?
“Boss, boss,” Mercator sobbed, “I thought you- I thought- I thought you-”
I know what the fuck you thought, Abhararcan snapped. I can read your damn mind.
“That thing in the sky-”
That wasn’t the sky, you idiot. Shut up. I’m trying to think.
Mercator wiped his nose on his sleeve, nodding miserably. He was still dizzy, a pounding headache rattling the back of his skull. He leaned against a nearby tree, the rough bark snagging the fabric of his clothes and jabbing into his back. He barely felt it. After the shock of its absence Abhararcan’s mind was settling into its familiar place inside his own like water into a jar. He felt its strange inside-outside vision watching him, reading him even as its own thoughts fluttered and buzzed in circles.
It wants something, Abhararcan said abruptly. It had a habit of continuing conversations that Mercator wasn’t a part of. That’s obvious. Does it want to kill us? No, no, stop panicking, you wet rag. Are you going to be completely useless today?
“No. I’m just scared.”
Don’t be. Did you see the others?
Mercator shook his head pointlessly. “There were others?”
Five. Maybe six. Abhararcan gave the mental equivalent of a shrug, a wave of irritation rippling through it. I didn’t get a close enough look, but we’re not alone. What do you think that means?
“I don’t know, boss.”
Hm. Another wave of annoyance, this time followed by bitter satisfaction. There’s nothing I can’t kill. I’m not concerned about them. But if they’re here, they’re here for a reason. We might be able to make use of them. We might have to kill them. We’ll see. Fire me into the air.
Mercator took the bow from the ground and nocked Abhararcan in a practiced motion, glad to have something to do. He angled the bow back and loosed it straight upwards, letting the black arrow fly high above the treeline. At the highest point of its arc it vanished and reappeared in the palm of his hand, its iron shaft bitterly cold.
“What did you see, boss?” Mercator asked, afraid of the answer.
Dead people. A lot of them. Oh, I just hate murdering corpses, what a waste of my talent.