10-19-2016, 01:08 PM
The drip drip of water in the distance was the only sound as Armande put his pack between his head and the wall, a makeshift pillow. The weight of his body against the rough rocky surface made breathing hard. His arms and legs and neck were on fire. He had peeled off his shirt- felt the painful tearing away of skin where the fabric had melted into the flesh- and did his best to clean it with the first aid kit he'd stolen. Even without the burns, however, he had reached his limits. His body was insistent. It needed rest. He was no longer 30 years old and vigorously celebrating with Jova after killing a nest of D'Jinn. He ached everywhere, the sealed away pain now something he could no longer ignore. He needed sleep.
He'd spent what he had to guess were hours following the tunnels. He made a map in his mind as he walked and more than once saw a branching upward that he knew would take him to the surface. But he didn't want to go there, not yet. He'd been reviewing the facts in his mind even as he carefully walked through the darkness, keeping to the edges. They had worn their anti-surveillance gear for the entire mission. He knew the fire couldn't have been the CCD. It was too soon for the government gears to have moved that quickly even if they had been identified. But the traitors within the Atharim, they would have wanted to take advantage of his absence. No. He did not want to return yet. He just needed somewhere to go for now.
More than once he'd seen what looked to be homeless encampments. After sneaking close enough to take some water bottles, energy bars and a first aid kit, he avoided them. The deeper he went, the more he encountered, as if a city existed down here. Even as he walked, he felt he weight of the ceiling above press down upon him. The air felt compressed and stale, processed and fetid. And it was too warm.
Once, he saw what he guessed were a nest of Naga. It had been from a distance and he was hidden by the mouth of one of the tunnels, but the way they moved almost screamed inhuman. He felt disgust churn is his gut. Vile inhuman creatures. It had been a mistake to let that one live his last time in the tunnels. He was in no shape to take on a whole nest of them now, though.
On and on he had walked, felt himself going deeper into the earth until at last, he was too tired to move on. After finding a hidden recess in which to sleep, he, at last, had been able to dress his wounds. Sleep finally closed off his mind and he at last found some peace.
He awoke hours later, trying to hold on to the images he'd seen. It was fleeting, leaving emotion rather than anything concrete. The feel of riding a horse at full gallop, taut muscles playing under the skin, felt through legs and hands, two creatures now one. The sheer power of it coursed through him and his heart thundered in his chest. But what was the image? What had he seen? All he remembered was...gone. It was gone.
The quiet pressed in around him, only cut by the drips in the distance. The air felt warm on his skin. He drank half of one of the bottles and ate some of the bar. It was enough, for now. He tried to rise and his entire body protested. He ignored it, and slowly got to his feet. He bent down, pushing aside the protest of his back and arms and lifted the pack and settled it on him, back and neck screaming as the rough fabric brushed against his wounds.
He continued down, using his flashlight, descending from level to level. He wasn't sure why he pressed on. Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps need. The reason kept skittering away from him even as his feet bore him onward. He passed abandoned subway stations from more than a hundred years ago, debris and dust and cobwebs covering rails and balustrades and even paintings left hanging. The light played across ornate columns and hand rails. The dust he kicked up made the edges of the light sharp and defined.
Another time he might have explored to learn more. Instead he continued on. He heard the scratching and harsh guttural grunts of creatures and carefully avoided their lairs even as he mentally marked where they were for later. Down. Down.
Soon, the heat had become almost unbearable and sweat drenched him, the salty perspiration stinging his wounds. The pain from his back and shoulders warred with that in his right forearm. He was sure he looked a like a denizen of the underworld, hair charred and shriveled, dust and ash caking his face, cut by lines of sweat. It didn't matter.
He continued for what seemed hours when suddenly, another smell added itself to the melange he had come to expect. It was the smell of decay and putrefaction, the tang of iron from blood sharp. It had come upon him almost too quickly and he found himself at the edge of a large depressed bowl, scattered bones and carcasses everywhere. An Oni was crouched down, feeding on something, its eyes shining in the light from his flashlight.
Almost without thinking it roared and begin to rush at him. Desperately, he threw his pack down even as he grabbed at his retracted blade, flicking it out, the blade growing to full length. He switched the light to lantern-mode just in time, dropping it, to face the creature as it came.
He'd spent what he had to guess were hours following the tunnels. He made a map in his mind as he walked and more than once saw a branching upward that he knew would take him to the surface. But he didn't want to go there, not yet. He'd been reviewing the facts in his mind even as he carefully walked through the darkness, keeping to the edges. They had worn their anti-surveillance gear for the entire mission. He knew the fire couldn't have been the CCD. It was too soon for the government gears to have moved that quickly even if they had been identified. But the traitors within the Atharim, they would have wanted to take advantage of his absence. No. He did not want to return yet. He just needed somewhere to go for now.
More than once he'd seen what looked to be homeless encampments. After sneaking close enough to take some water bottles, energy bars and a first aid kit, he avoided them. The deeper he went, the more he encountered, as if a city existed down here. Even as he walked, he felt he weight of the ceiling above press down upon him. The air felt compressed and stale, processed and fetid. And it was too warm.
Once, he saw what he guessed were a nest of Naga. It had been from a distance and he was hidden by the mouth of one of the tunnels, but the way they moved almost screamed inhuman. He felt disgust churn is his gut. Vile inhuman creatures. It had been a mistake to let that one live his last time in the tunnels. He was in no shape to take on a whole nest of them now, though.
On and on he had walked, felt himself going deeper into the earth until at last, he was too tired to move on. After finding a hidden recess in which to sleep, he, at last, had been able to dress his wounds. Sleep finally closed off his mind and he at last found some peace.
He awoke hours later, trying to hold on to the images he'd seen. It was fleeting, leaving emotion rather than anything concrete. The feel of riding a horse at full gallop, taut muscles playing under the skin, felt through legs and hands, two creatures now one. The sheer power of it coursed through him and his heart thundered in his chest. But what was the image? What had he seen? All he remembered was...gone. It was gone.
The quiet pressed in around him, only cut by the drips in the distance. The air felt warm on his skin. He drank half of one of the bottles and ate some of the bar. It was enough, for now. He tried to rise and his entire body protested. He ignored it, and slowly got to his feet. He bent down, pushing aside the protest of his back and arms and lifted the pack and settled it on him, back and neck screaming as the rough fabric brushed against his wounds.
He continued down, using his flashlight, descending from level to level. He wasn't sure why he pressed on. Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps need. The reason kept skittering away from him even as his feet bore him onward. He passed abandoned subway stations from more than a hundred years ago, debris and dust and cobwebs covering rails and balustrades and even paintings left hanging. The light played across ornate columns and hand rails. The dust he kicked up made the edges of the light sharp and defined.
Another time he might have explored to learn more. Instead he continued on. He heard the scratching and harsh guttural grunts of creatures and carefully avoided their lairs even as he mentally marked where they were for later. Down. Down.
Soon, the heat had become almost unbearable and sweat drenched him, the salty perspiration stinging his wounds. The pain from his back and shoulders warred with that in his right forearm. He was sure he looked a like a denizen of the underworld, hair charred and shriveled, dust and ash caking his face, cut by lines of sweat. It didn't matter.
He continued for what seemed hours when suddenly, another smell added itself to the melange he had come to expect. It was the smell of decay and putrefaction, the tang of iron from blood sharp. It had come upon him almost too quickly and he found himself at the edge of a large depressed bowl, scattered bones and carcasses everywhere. An Oni was crouched down, feeding on something, its eyes shining in the light from his flashlight.
Almost without thinking it roared and begin to rush at him. Desperately, he threw his pack down even as he grabbed at his retracted blade, flicking it out, the blade growing to full length. He switched the light to lantern-mode just in time, dropping it, to face the creature as it came.