EVENT #10: AFFLICTION - IC POST

[abraxasmods]

Event #10 - Affliction

go to the OOC event info & plotting post

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With tensions heavy across Abraxas and all the destruction that's happened, it's no surprise that the dark shadows which sweep over the land go unnoticed...at first.

Winds initially stir in Solvunn, where the influence of the Old Gods remains the strongest. Slowly each Herald infects Thorne and the Free Cities, as well. The Summoned are the first to feel its effects and are the most heavily impacted.

Though no one will realize it until well afterwards, Nocwich remains unaffected. After all, the Summoned don't reside there.

NOTE: This event will deal with themes of death (people and animal) and horror imagery.

Emergence

It begins sometime in mid-October, around the 18th. Not everyone will experience it at the same time. You might even believe you're spared until days afterwards when you're visited by an unusually vivid dream.

The dream starts the same for everyone: you are going somewhere, anywhere, walking to your bedroom or enjoying a stroll on the beach. You might be driving down a familiar neighborhood. Wherever you're headed, you eventually come upon a stone tablet engraved with your Arcana. Laid on the tablet are three objects:

◎ A dead moth trapped inside a wilted rose, symbolizing Koth of Festering Lands
◎ A teacup inside which sits a single nightshade berry, symbolizing Adlewyrd of Poisoned Tongues
◎ An ornate cracked hand mirror that contains no reflection, symbolizing Sannleikr of Many Faces

Make a choice. Something inside your soul will be drawn towards one of the objects. Maybe you spend hours in the dream deliberating, but sooner or later, you'll pick one of the items up. The moment you do, the other objects vanish and the chosen Herald appears before you. Where one might expect a god to seek subservience, the strange figure instead extends a friendly hand towards you - as though it's greeting you as an equal.

Whispered around you, you hear its name. Then it fades and with it the dream. You awaken.

Affliction

You go about your day as usual. That's when you realize something isn't right. Creatures and people around you behave strangely. You begin to sense that you are the cause.

Depending on your chosen Herald, you'll experience at least one of its afflictions. The effects might start small, then grow. They might rush you all at once. You can't shake what haunts you, though you can try. Spells, potions, and willpower can help keep the afflictions at bay but you won't ever be completely free.

As the afflictions seep into your mind, you start to find shadows of it following you: a dead moth here, a nightshade bloom there, a cracked mirror elsewhere. You may even wonder if it's following you in the first place. What if instead, you are the one leaving these signs behind?

Corruption

The first time you inflict your ability on someone else, you don't mean to. It might be a stranger, some unsuspecting soul, or it might be another Summoned. Regardless, the afflictions that ail you seem to spread through you into another. Someone falls down as if in the throes of an invisible death or secrets spill. You brush by someone and they're suddenly upset and confused.

The more this happens, intentionally or not, the better you feel. You may grow full of life and energy, gain a renewed strength of heart, or radiate a charm that turns heads and garners compliments. The afflictions haunting you could even start to fade or completely vanish. And if you use your newfound power deliberately? You'll feel better even faster for longer. Of course, these boons are temporary, lasting at most an hour or so. When the feeling wanes, you might miss having it.

You are not possessed. You can't control this power that spreads through you, but how you respond or behave is up to you. You could be attracted to the allure of power, enjoy the boons you are granted, or realize you can gain relief from your afflictions if you choose a victim. Not everyone will fall headfirst into the pull. Some are not easily swayed by power, some struggle to overcome their dark impulses, and others would rather endure their suffering than inflict it on someone else. But others still might succumb to temptation and turn on those around them with purpose: once, twice, multiple times. The choice you make is yours alone.

Blight

With the call of the Herald at your fingertips, the world around you twists. No one knows whether this stems from you and your newly imbued afflictions, or if the Heralds are exerting power on their own. It's for sure easier to think of what occurs as the influence of something monstrous beyond your control. No matter the cause, the earth is changed all the same.

Omens

The omens arrive shortly after the initial Summoned receive their dreams, but they don't come to every faction at once. SOLVUNN is first, being home to the Old Gods' shrines, before THORNE and the FREE CITIES follow only days afterwards. Depending on where you are, the omens will affect things a bit differently.

Solvunn

In Solvunn, the ground stirs. A desiccated hand breaks through the grass, a cloven hoof. Human or animal, they crawl forth, animated against their will. Some might attack, but most do not. At the same time, crops around the settlements begin to fail. Some chickens lay rotten eggs while cows produce spoiled milk. Any livestock that perishes overnight will surface in the mornings with empty eye sockets - pecked out by crows or gnawed on by rats. From a distance, the ocean can be seen bubbling as leviathans beneath thrash.

Worth noting is that many of the dead are concentrated around the shrines, especially the ones deep in the woods. They're too decayed to recognize, and some might not even move from the site, as though they are waiting for the earth to take them again...or as though they once chose to give up their life at this very spot.

Summoned can assist by helping to cast spells or place warding charms around shrines, farms, and gardens to protect crops and livestock. As a commune, the Solvunnites will share their resources as much as possible and would appreciate those who might lend a hand bringing supplies, herbs, and offerings to neighbors who are lacking. The Summoned can also brew a common herbal remedy to aid any animals who have fallen ill or to help purify the well water.

Free Cities

In Libertas, the dead buried under the rubble dig themselves out. More crawl forth from graves in Cadens' cemeteries. Beasts and bandits slain in the desert wilds rise, hungry or searching for the ones who killed them. At the same time, dead fish wash up onto the shores of Aquila while birds fall dead from their perch, dropping like flies from an unknown illness. Vultures and other scavengers begin to prey upon the eyes of the dead, leaving behind hollowed-out corpses.

Worth noting is that in the Badlands, a few very old and skeletal corpses rise with a metal plate or two screwed onto their bones, which are also oddly elongated. Only one or two make their way near the city. The army is quick to dispose of them before many can notice. They will not disclose any information about this and will claim these are just monsters like anything else.

Summoned can assist by going on patrol with the soldiers to put down any risen dead. Merchant caravans are also hiring escorts for their journeys. Additionally, they can help look through any received supplies and packages to make sure the food isn't rotting or worse, use a special dissolving compound to purify the waters, and donate staple food items to refugees and the less fortunate who can't afford the rising prices.

Thorne

In Thorne, the dead emerge only from the outskirts of the castle city. Thanks to information from one of their Summoned and their recent monitoring of the Singularity, Thorne was able to act swiftly and was able to ward any royal or otherwise significant burial sites. Graves and tombs of less importance, though, will not be protected in the same way. There are fewer encounters with eyeless corpses, though some animals might appear outside the castle in such a state. Normally extravagant dishes from the Castle's kitchens use simpler ingredients as they struggle to ration their food stores.

Worth noting is that a few unexpected corpses make their way up from deep under the castle in places beyond the dungeons. These are twisted and mangled, missing limbs, heads, fingers. The castle guards are quick to dispose of them before they get too far into the rest of the castle, but one or two may be spotted.

Summoned can assist by contributing to the wards around Castle Thorne and the city, using spells to put down the dead without mangling the corpse, and taking inventory of food stores. Further, in Nott the situation is more dire for anyone who is traveling there to continue assisting with repairs following the attack. Nott will welcome help with any problems caused by the omens. It'll be clear the kingdom has neglected the city somewhat. Thorne will claim the Castle takes priority, of course, due to King and Queen residing there along with the entire royal court.

Apprehensions

Across the factions, locals are beginning to catch on that something isn't right with you, the Summoned. No one will say it outright, but there's an air of caution and wariness around you where you go. Merchants might be quick to hand you your wares so you'll leave or locals give you a bit of space when they walk by. Chatty innkeepers are more reluctant to hold lengthy conversations.

Much of the time, it may not be conscious. The natives might simply sense something off that instinctually makes them want to put some distance between them and you. The only exception? If you've chosen Sannleikr of Many Faces, you'll continue to exude your charm towards people you encounter. At least for as long as you continue to inflict that ability you've been gifted.

Displacement

Everyone responds differently while in the Horizon. You might exert better willpower over your afflictions or you might feel its effects more strongly. It all depends on the individual and their mindset. Regardless, the Heralds are only one part of the equation. There's a much bigger disturbance going on.

It could happen as soon as you enter or it might be as you're stepping over the threshold into another's domain. Whatever the case, you are suddenly not where you're supposed to be. Instead, you're in one of two places depending: transported into a domain you never meant to go into or in a foreign setting altogether.

Visitation

Whether you're the one transported or someone teleports unexpectedly into your space, the Horizon becomes unpredictable for the next little while. Rooms normally locked to strangers, areas you yourself may not even realize exists - you and your fellow Summoned continue to pop in and out despite your intentions.

The effect isn't painful, just disorienting, like missing a step you didn't see or stumbling through a door into a too-bright room. The person whose domain you've inadvertently visited might sense an unwanted presence, whether they're inside the Horizon or not, or they may be completely oblivious. This will depend on the strength of their connection to the Singularity and the Horizon.

Not to worry. You won't be trapped or anything in these cases...unless the domain you land in happens to seal from the inside. You might stumble on secrets you weren't meant to find, though, locked away in someone else's mind.

Ensnared

The less fortunate will be pulled into a space that they've never encountered before. The bizarreness of it resembles the glitchy visions that flashed through a few months ago, but rather than an image flickering by, you are now inside the space itself.

Trapped between minutes to hours, you can't use the Horizon's creation magic as normal. Attempts will falter or go sideways: trying to fly out might cause you to tumble, tools and objects are broken or not quite right, wounds don't vanish or heal completely, etc. More significantly, you can't seem to send or receive messages through your connection. Anything that manages to come through will be garbled and distorted. It's as though the place you are in is just out of the reach of your control.

Luckily, you may not be alone. Someone else may have gotten lost alongside you. They might already be there when you stumble through or they might arrive after you do. They might even fade out sooner than you, unintentionally leaving you behind.

Eventually, you'll be released back into the Horizon proper, spat out in a random place in the Horizon. While you're stuck, though, you can try to survive, explore, sit and wait it out, or make friends with your fellow trapped partner. Each area has its challenges and quirks that you'll need to deal with.

Scenes to Explore

JUSTICE ◎
FULL IMAGE

High in the clouds, these snowy peaks are as cold as they look. Giant marble hands reach out, though their sheer scale means you might not recognize them as hands from up close. You can scale the mountain, but if you try to go down, the hands will flip the mountain, which sends you tumbling to the top again.

It's up to you whether you can be injured when you fall. Maybe the snow will feel like marshmallows, or you'll break a bone on the jagged rocks. No two experiences are the same. If you have a partner, they could end up faring better than you despite being in the same place.

Conjure some warm clothes or a log cabin even if you wish - they might not manifest perfectly, but it'll be better than nothing. At least the view's fairly nice...while the sun is up. A blizzard will come through by nightfall. With it arrives a strange hovering light that entices you or your friend to follow it into the frozen darkness. What draws you out depends on you. It could be a familiar voice, an image, or a simple compulsion. If you're lucky, the person with you is unaffected and can try to stop you. Or maybe you're the one desperately chasing after the other person?

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THE CHARIOT ◎
FULL IMAGE

From a distance, it's hard to tell if they're shipping containers or houses stacked atop each other. A gooey mess covers the ground below. Oddly, the smell isn't as unpleasant as the goo looks. It smells like bubblegum or cotton candy, artificial and sweet. When you first fall in, you might land inside one of the homes, on top of the stacked structure, or the ground. You can try to reach anyone else who's there with you, but be careful: the ooze is spreading. Climb if you must or move from room to room. If you don't keep moving, you risk getting sucked into its sticky mass.

Each block of a home is different. Some are furnished, whereas others are empty or filled with strange knickknacks. Some might even have subconscious creations spawned by you. Keep ahead of the gloopy substance, and you'll be fine, probably. Or you can try to fight it back or block its path by sealing yourself in a room or otherwise, which can slow it down significantly. Mostly, you'll have to hope you fade out before the pink mass completely consumes the landscape.

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THE WORLD ◎
FULL IMAGE

The hazy neon glow obscures a nothingness that seems to extend forever. In the middle of the wet ground are several stacked television sets with wires plugged into nothing. Inexplicably, there's also a cat. At first, it appears perfectly normal, but keen observers will notice that its behavior is on a loop where it will walk a certain path, pause at specific intervals to lick its paws, and meow at set points. It does not acknowledge any of its intruders. You can break its loop by picking it up, at which point it'll go limp as a ragdoll. As soon as you set it down, it'll resume its actions as before.

While you can see the same images as someone else on the screens, it's also possible you'll each see something different despite being in the room together. What you see is up to you. It could be an old fuzzy movie, home videos of your childhood, trivia questions you have to answer correctly, or even a memory or vision you wouldn't want to share. Words or faces taunting you could appear between staticky flickers, or maybe your very thoughts are projected onto the screens for anyone with you to read.

Break the televisions if you want, but given a few short minutes, they'll reform between one blink and the next. Looks like you'll have to keep watching until you're released.

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THE FOOL ◎
FULL IMAGE

Sprawling and massive, you're unlikely to recognize at first that you're trapped in a labyrinth. Stone walls rise around you, and your surroundings are pitchblack. Manifest a torch or a flashlight if you can, though these will be prone to going out at inopportune times. Escaping over the walls will only send you into another section in the maze.

As you navigate the twisting corridors, you'll encounter any variety of trials and troubles: gaps in the ground, spiked traps, haunting whispers, monsters, decaying corpses. Some of these might've formed from your mind, others might've spawned from anyone else who's trapped with you.

If you aren't alone, do your best to locate your fellow Summoned. Voices do carry and echo over the walls, and there could be landmarks that help you find each other. Finding the exit, however, is another matter. Walk and climb all you want. A way out is impossible until the Horizon chooses to set you free.

Players can pick any scenario that interests them from the four choices above. Unlike the visions from before, characters can accidentally be trapped in as many of the scenes as you want, as many times as you want. Another option is that they can stay trapped in only one scene while a variety of characters fade in and out to join them, or some combination of the two. Choose what works best for your plans.

Each scene will once again carry an associated Arcana etched somewhere inside it, which can change from person to person or instance to instance. It might be on a wall, a table, or on the ground. Characters with a stronger connection to the Horizon are likely to be trapped for longer but the extent of this is your choice and it won't ever exceed a few hours. It's also your choice whether the afflictions continue to haunt them or not. If you want characters to deal with both problems while stuck together, you're welcome to!

Generally speaking, there are no restrictions other than that they won't be able to communicate with anyone outside the area, they can't escape it until the Horizon chooses to release them, and their creation magic will go wrong just enough that it'll make things tricky.

Comments

[supersoldier]

[The undead are dangerous only in that they are numerous, but their rotting flesh and ambling gait make them easier to cut down than living, breathing men. Sephiroth learns this early in his encounters against them, when they lurch towards him and he shears one in half with his sword, the blade not even hitching against its decrepit spine. The next one loses its head with similar ease, leaving the rest of the body to writhe on the ground, twitching and crawling. Many citizens—wide-eyed and horrified—are understandably panicked to see such an effective, almost merciless culling of this rotted threat, but Sephiroth does what he must, as quickly as he must, without a flicker of hesitation.

He cannot spend too long on one straggler, else that straggler turn into a small group, and that small group turn into a larger one which would have no issue overtaking a house filled with scared, anxious residents. So Sephiroth leaves all he finds in pieces; quartered cleanly in the streets, or alleyways, writhing on the ground. At least rotted flesh does not bleed profusely, even if it does stink. They can worry about clean-up later.

However, nothing is quite as merciless as the mess he finds later, just a weakly moving mass of scattered flesh, sinew and bone and dark blood. Someone’s dealt with this group in a way that feels keenly personal, and though it’s of some interest, he cannot hope to know the context behind it. Perhaps he shouldn’t really care.

But then he lifts his green gaze upwards, and far, far down the street, he spots— Ciri? She slips past the front door of what must be an abandoned manor, and pinning pieces of context together, Sephiroth decides to hurry his own step and follow. A minute later, and he’s crossing the threshold of that home, peering inside with a slanted brow, calling out:]

Ciri?

[wiedzminka]

[ Part of this district was spared, and with its residents wealthy enough to go elsewhere, it's entirely abandoned even if some of the houses remain standing. Ciri knows it's unlikely the water she finds will be fresh, or that the pipes have not been broken, but she's hoping that she'll at least find some towels or cloths to wipe down with, or a shirt to change into.

She's already begun peeling off her blouse, nose scrunched up at the mess of it. She's usually not so messy, but the fight earlier (if it could be called a fight) had been-- it hadn't been a usual thing, in her defense, and none of the last few days have been usual either.

That feeling clings to her like the disgusting old blood on her hands. The wrongness. It isn't even the dead in the street that bother her, but something she can't place. The thing that's been in her head since that dream, the visions out of the corner of her eye, the way she blinks sometimes and sees someone on the street with their bones exposed or guts falling out, and she blinks again and it's gone.

Ciri knows by know she's not the only one. She knows the Singularity (what else could it be?) has fucked them all once again. There's nothing to be done but wait it out. Same as the last nightmare.

Then she hears the creak of the door. Footsteps.

She pulls away from the closet and makes for the bed in the room she's looking through, where she's left her sword. ]

[supersoldier]

[Sephiroth feels it, too, like the rest of the Summoned. A wrongness, manifesting in ways that seem different for everyone, but persistent — whispers, in his case. Darkly pervasive things, needling into his mind, asking him if that’s how he’ll leave Nibelheim in a future that has not come to pass: its villagers cut to pieces, writhing and slowly bleeding into the ground, like the undead he leaves coldly behind him.

He hears them now, even as he steps into the abandoned manor, coiling around his thoughts like a serpent. Yet he ignores it, tells himself they will pass like all things wrought by the Singularity, and tries to drag his focus to the forefront. There are footsteps echoing distantly against the dull wood of the floor, hurried and almost-scrambling. This needs his attention, first and foremost — especially if Ciri’s in here. He’s almost certain his eyes weren’t fooling him.]

Ciri? [He calls out again, a little louder, trailing towards the sound. His own footsteps are even, heavy thuds on the floor. He has no reason to hide his presence here.]

[wiedzminka]

[ She hears her name. The voice is--

Wrong. Gives her that same, crawling feeling, like spider's legs on the back of her neck.

The footsteps near. She steps around, from the upstairs bedroom into the hallway, sword at the ready. Her dirty blouse left in a pile on the floor while she was wiping herself down with a sheet from the bed, she's left in her bustier and trousers, though she doesn't particularly care.

She waits, listening to the steady, quiet steps nearing. A flicker of a shadow around the wall.

Expressionless and silent as death itself, Ciri slips around the corner sword-first, thrusting her blade confidently at chest height. ]

[supersoldier]

[He’s climbed the stairs, which creak under each footstep. Something wrong about this immediately pings at his nerves and gives him that telltale feeling of unease. If Ciri was here, then why isn’t she responding? Had she already left? He would have seen her go out the front, and he is almost certain he would have heard her exit; the hollowness of this house amplifies every prominent movement.

Instinct has him gripping the hilt of his sword. Maybe it wasn’t her — or maybe she wasn’t alone. The possibilities churn through his mind—maybe the undead got her, maybe she’s dead, maybe you weren’t fast enough, the whisper in his head suggests—but he keeps a steady pace down the upstairs corridor, the brightness of his eyes casting sickly green light against the deepest shadows.

The hallway turns up ahead, his shadows splays across the wall. And then, interrupting the eerie stillness, Ciri lurches out from across the corner with her blade shining in the light spilling through the adjacent window.]

What are you—

[The sentence is cut off by the clang of steel as Sephiroth raises his own blade to catch and cross against hers. Were it not for years of training, she might have actually skewered him, and suddenly his heart is thudding in his chest, the usual shot of adrenaline careening through his veins.

He holds his ground. He doesn’t even push back. She must have thought he was someone else—]

Ciri, stand down! It’s me.

[wiedzminka]

[ The clash of steel on steel jolts up her arms and shoulders, reverberates in her chest like a familiar melody.

She jumps back instantly, spins and comes back around low this time, all as if in one viciously fast movement, agile as a lightning strike.

The stranger who knows her name is nothing but a monster in her mind. Another one of the bandits after her, or maybe something worse. A vampire, a shapeshifter, an intelligent beast. She reacts only with savage brutality, the paranoia seizing her in its merciless grip, convincing Ciri she must defend herself. It is so remarkably easy to give in. Years spent fighting tooth and nail just to survive have warped, somewhere inside her, the killing instinct sparking to a roaring fire in her blood.

She loves the fight. The thrill. The power. She hasn't spent this long killing to live without enjoying it, on a visceral level.

It's that, usually, her better senses, logic and conscience are a little more in sync.

But not today. ]

[supersoldier]

[She’s fast, but thankfully, so is Sephiroth. The edge of her sword draws near the high leather of his boots, cutting close to the knee, shearing past the material but not quite drawing blood at such a vital spot. A long half-step back, and he puts more distance between them, eyes raking across her.]

What are you doing?

[He’s on the defensive, of course, making no move to follow up with a lunge of his own. Beyond the angle of his steel, he looks at her, cat’s eyes sharp — why would she attack him? What’s happened? Have these strange influences, muddling the minds and emotions of the Summoned as of late, affected her, as well?

The timing’s bad. Fighting in a corridor is disadvantageous to Sephiroth, who prefers a longer blade than most. He’s going to have to angle his weapon just right to even keep himself defended against Ciri’s agile movements.]

Ciri! Snap out of it!

[wiedzminka]

[ She's smaller than Sephiroth, and though she wields a longsword, her movements are precise even in this small space. She uses it to her advantage, forcing him back, harrying him toward the stairs.

Through the rush of battle, she can hear her name. It's simply that she's decided to ignore it. When the voice tugs at her subconscious, something else takes over, bloodthirsty and eager. She becomes angry that this thing is taunting her, calling her when she knows it is nothing but a monster, maybe even a nightmare. She is alone.

Inevitably, she always ends up alone. ]

Shut up.

[ Ciri snarls, stepping in with a forward thrust at his stomach. Before her blade even reaches it, she can smell the blood, see the flesh rending, viscera tumbling out.

It is so sudden, the vision surprises her into a second of hesitation too long, her sword not quite reaching the full length she'd intended. ]

[supersoldier]

[Unwilling to fight back with equal furor, his options are limited if she isn't going to listen to reason. Her assault in this hall is quick and nimble, in a way that even he cannot manage based on physicality alone; the best strategy is retreating closer to the stairs, where he might be able to leap down to the first floor common area and give him more room to maneuver.

But a different opportunity opens up first. Something flashes in Ciri’s eyes—he cannot know what—and she hesitates. She misses just short of his torso, and Sephiroth backsteps again, then swipes his blade up hard, with the hope of knocking hers straight out of her hand.]

cw: bugs

[wiedzminka]

[ The clash of steel hits her hard, jolting painfully up her arm with the force and momentum, the angle twisting her wrist. She knows better. She shouldn't have gotten distracted, should have kept her grip tighter, her whole body engaged-- but it only takes a split second to lose control.

Ciri tries to correct her mistake too slowly. The sword is already clattering behind her. Her fingers and wrist smart.

And without hesitation, she's already pulling the silver dagger from her belt. Breathing hard, Ciri falls back into a defensive position, rethinking the optimal way to reclaim her sword.

The blood is gone. She blinks, and it's something else. Jagged wounds all down his arms, skin flayed from muscle and fat. The walls, suddenly covered in dead moths, cicada shells, crawling with flies. The monster -- it must me one of the undead, far more agile than any she's encountered so far (and why does it know her name?) -- turns its hollow eye sockets on her.

Ciri changes course yet again in the span of a second or two, and instead of going for her sword after all, she jumps up and lunges, dagger first. ]

[supersoldier]

[Her sword flying overhead is just a glint of silver and a clatter on the ground, the only confirmation Sephiroth needs to gauge its distance. It’ll be awkward for her to retrieve it without leaving herself open to him, and he can only hope this works to his advantage. He needs an opportunity to truly get in close, to try to snap her out of whatever thrall she’s under, and even if that just means stilling her hands and keeping her pinned until it wears off, then he’s willing to spend as long as needed to do so.

Naturally, she doesn’t make it easy on him. Ciri unsheathes her dagger, and Sephiroth frowns, the line of his jaw gone hard.]

Ciri, listen to me. I’m not your enemy. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not— it’s not real.

[Cool and controlled as it is, he cannot tamp down the edge of anxiety threaded through his words, only because it’s her. He needs to focus. He keeps a keen eye on her footwork, trying to guess where she’ll head, and after a few perilous seconds pass, it seems she’s simply decided to lunge at him.

So much for his advantage. Sephiroth turns his body halfway to align with the hallway, sword arm flung outwards, useless as it is up close. She misses, and he thrusts his body to the side, aiming to shoulder-check her right into her chest. If she's staggers, he's reaching out to grip at the wrist holding the dagger.]

[wiedzminka]

[ There is a flicker of confusion in her eyes again. Behind him, dead bats start dropping like dry leaves from the ceiling, littering the floor, the steps beyond, the smell of decay sickly-sweet and cloying. She chokes despite herself, gasps when the distraction costs her the precision needed to dodge out of the way mid-lunge. His shoulder knocks into her sternum, hard enough to shove her against the wall and knock the air from her.

That's when Ciri screams.

One bony, skeletal hand slams her wrist into the wall, far off to the side to incapacitate her weapon. Her scream reverberates through the whole house. Cracks appear in the ceiling.

It isn't real. This isn't real. A nightmare. Another one of that nightmare's tricks.

The warped visions that have been plaguing her since the dead began to rise have only been in the corner of her eye before. Dead animals, insects, mold on food that's gone when she blinks, flies that buzz in her ears and aren't there.

It's never been something that could attack her before.

(Why does the voice make her feel so strange?)

Ciri screams again. This time, Sephiroth will feel it, a disorienting, perhaps even painful sound that burrows in his brain and rings in his ears. ]

[supersoldier]

[The opening was well-timed—her wrist slams against the wall, rendering that dagger useless—though even Sephiroth finds himself flinching against the first scream that escapes her. The sound is utterly harrowing because he cannot imagine what she sees, what could be so terrible that she would fight him like this.

He opens his mouth to speak again, to try to talk some sense into her, but then Ciri lets out a second cry, and this one affects him in a wildly different way than the last.

The whole room goes fuzzy at the edges, it spins as though a glass shard had suddenly been lodged into his brain. Behind his eyes, the pain feels about as poignant, pulsing, sharp, constant. His ears ring loudly, a high pitched, nails-on-chalkboard sound careening in his skull.

He does not release her wrist, but he does grit his teeth, slams his eyes shut and hisses out a noise of pain. His free hand drops his sword, coming up to clench at the side of his face, his temple. It’s a futile effort. The pain remains, and he sways on his feet.]

[wiedzminka]

[ Something clatters to the side, and though Ciri can't see it, she surmises it must be his weapon. His grip seems to weaken, if only a little.

She shoves forward, trying to push away from the wall and into him, yanking at her pinned wrist. Her other hand goes for his throat, or his face, wherever she can reach, hitting and clawing like an animal.

Everything takes on a sharp edge of hysteria now. She doesn't know what is happening, and the anger begins to give way to fear and desperation, leaving little room for logic. If she were thinking straight, she might've tried a Sign. Maybe even tried to portal away, if she could just escape long enough to do so. But at this point, it's impossible to even make a plan like that, however short-term; the visceral fear digs into her lungs, suddenly so overwhelming, she can barely breathe.

An ominous grinding noise from above reverberates through the empty house. The wall behind Ciri shows visible cracks. By the time the echo of the scream subsides, shattered glass litters the hall. ]

[supersoldier]

[He keeps a hard grip on her wrist through pure instinct rather than cognizant effort, but he’s still reeling too much to stop her other hand from clawing straight at his face. A sharpness burns across his cheekbones like fire — her nail’s already drawn a harsh crimson line across his skin in her harried fear and furor.

But it’s that bright pain that somehow stands out amongst the one pulsing behind his eyes; a reminder of her, not just the room spinning, not just his focus gone foggy, but Ciri being so affected that she would tear at his face rather than go for her sword, or cast magic, or take this moment to retreat. So utterly out of control, so afraid.

Even though glass has shattered in a glittering spray, and cracks begin to spiderweb across the wall, this singular thought is enough to grant Sephiroth just a brief moment of keen clarity. A single moment is all he needs. He reaches up to grip Ciri’s arm, attempting to pry her away from his face. And he pushes forward, clumsy but uncaring, until her back bumps up hard against the wall behind her.

And then— and then what? She won’t listen to him. She’s so very far beyond reason. And, perhaps insanely, he can only think back to the time when he, too, was lost in the thrall of a nightmare. A slow death, bleeding out into the snow, black feathers dusted with hoarfrost, looking up at Ciri like she were his entire world, and the way she pressed her lips against him, not knowing what else to do.

He doesn’t know what else to do, either.

Sephiroth leans forward, without any grace and without much thought, and kisses her.]

[wiedzminka]

[ The body pushes her against the wall, trapped under the heavy weight of her own despair and disorientation. Her chest heaves, wrist twisting in his grip. Her other hand has found his hair, and tangled there-- but for a few brief moments, she seems to stand frozen, trying to keep fighting but running up against walls of darkness on every side as the fear spirals out of control.

Ciri closes her eyes, as if to brace herself for the worst.

And then, instead of the cold hand of death around her throat, she feels something else. A warmth. Pressed to her lips, soft and alive.

She stops struggling. Nearly stops breathing. Heartbeat racing, pounding in her temples, Ciri shudders and goes still, sinking back against the wall as the adrenaline leaves her and her knees go weak.

The crack in the plaster spreads, creaking as the building itself shudders behind her to match. ]

[supersoldier]

[Her lips are still warm. A supremely useless thought in this moment that he humors all the same: her lips are still warm and familiar, despite the fear, despite the ferocity of her desperate attempts to harm him just moments past. It had grounded him before; he can only hope it offers the same respite for Ciri, piercing through the illusions in her mind, widening a small window of clarity that she can latch onto. Cling to.

She freezes against him. Sephiroth’s lips linger, and it’s as if he can feel tension unwinding in the muscles of her body, though he only has grasp of her wrists in his gloved hands. She slinks against the wall like her strings have been cut. Instinctively, maybe foolishly, he lets go of one wrist and settles it, instead, at her waist.

Keeping her steady, hoping against hope that she’s coming to her senses.]

It’s me. [He breathes out, low and slightly guttering from his own adrenaline, when the kiss finally breaks.] It’s just me, Ciri.

[wiedzminka]

[ The fog lifts, slowly at first then all at once, warm hands pulling her from the darkness, bracing her before she falls. Ciri lets out the breath that's been stuck in her throat with a shudder, hot against Sephiroth's lips. Her hands slide to his shoulders, holding on now, not pushing him away.

When she opens her eyes, she sees him. Really sees him, past the frenzied terror still pounding in her chest. ]

...o-oh.

[ Is all she manages at first, shocked and quiet. She can still feel the ghost of his lips on hers. The monstrous dead thing she'd been fighting was never there.

Just like what had happened with Geralt, though that had been in the Horizon, and this is the waking world.

Visibly shaken by how thoroughly the illusion had gripped her, Ciri grips his shoulders hard, reassuring herself of what is real. ]

[supersoldier]

[And there, like slipping past an invisible veil, she’s come back to him. Grounded in reality, hot off the heels of an illusion. As shaken as she must feel—nerves still alight with adrenaline at the very least, Sephiroth assumes—he cannot help but let relief tendril itself through him, like it were a tightly wound thing finally, finally uncoiling.

He’s forgotten everything else; his sword strewn somewhere down the hall, the state of the windows and cracking plaster, even the warm burn of a fresh cut across his cheek. He sees Ciri and only Ciri, keeps her steady with one hand as she clasps his shoulders, and raises his other to cup at the side of her face, slow and careful.

The whispers in his head soften and recede; maybe they twist into something else, even more tempting, as he catches her gaze with his own, but he doesn’t note their transformation if they do.]

Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.

[The words themselves are no different than what he would speak were he not under the quiet thrall of some ineffable thing. But today, they may exert an influence unintentional; they might implore in ways unspoken, wheedle into her head more pleasantly than a nightmarish illusion, and offer the tempting comfort of getting lost in something altogether different.

Sephiroth tilts his head until their foreheads touch, exhaling. His lashes are so dark, so long.]

There’s no threat. It's just you and me.

[wiedzminka]

[ With his fingers still around her wrist, Sephiroth can probably hear how fast her heart is racing. Ciri exhales shakily, blinks a few times; her adrenaline is still high, and all of a sudden, there's nowhere to direct the fear and aggression that had been flooding her mind, as it's all evaporated in a moment. She's left disoriented and breathless, clutching Sephiroth like a lifeline.

Her gaze catches on the blood sliding down his cheek. ]

I'm sor--

[ But then, he leans in closer, presses their foreheads together. For a second, there's only a glimpse of his eyes, that too-bright color overwhelming everything else.

She forgets to breathe.

It hits her with the crash of adrenaline, leaves her weak-kneed and lightheaded. The relief crashing through her in the wake of a close call, the sudden need to make the best of a bad situation, the light at the end of the tunnel even if it's only a flame.

Ciri slides her free arm around his neck and hugs him. ]

Why do you keep catching me like this? At my worst.

[supersoldier]

[He can hear her heart racing. He can practically feel the pulse of it, too, where his fingertips touch her. Sephiroth shakes his head, and both of his arms slide around Ciri to complete his half of the embrace.]

So I can be here for you.

[He’d not want it any other way, to be oblivious of the moments in which Ciri was frightened or hurt or in need of help. And perhaps that’s not very comforting to the person caught amid moments of vulnerability, but Sephiroth has long discarded the idea of keeping up appearances with his closest. He is tired of losing the very precious few he had ever learned to care about. Here, in this world, he has decided he no longer wants to continue that trend.

His cut still ekes red, smeared by her touch. But still, he doesn’t notice it. He’s only interested in letting this moment of reprieve stretch itself out, giving them both time to reorient and recover. His heart, too, thuds hard in his chest.

She’s so warm.]

You wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, would you?

[wiedzminka]

[ She squeezes him, shaking, not with fear but with something else now, something that leaves her just as breathless and lightheaded, clutching him to her body with a grip that verges on painful.

He says it too, whispered against her ear.

Want.

Ciri shifts her grip then, pushes herself up on her tiptoes.

You aren't gonna give up on him, are you? Julie had asked her. Stop playin' tough girl. You're allowed to like him.

She grabs him by either side of his face, blood smearing beneath her fingers.

You can give away your power to him too, make him take care of you like he should live to serve you.

Ciri pushes off the wall, and plaster falls behind her, the crack where she'd just been widening, beams creaking. Dust rains down on them from the damaged upper story. She doesn't seem to notice.

That's real trust.

She doesn't respond to his question. Not with words.

They crash into each other. She kisses him desperately, hard and hungry, tasting blood. ]

[supersoldier]

[Something shifts, less like a switch and more like a shadow slipping across a threshold. Somewhere between the plaster cracking and falling, or the sieves of dust raining down from the ceiling above, a different sort of want has needled itself into her — no, into him, too. He cannot know if it’s the aftermath of adrenaline, or relief, or the many times of nearness they’ve spent together, crystallizing into one moment of action, but he doesn’t care to overthink it.

Her lips press hard into his, hot and hungry and unlike any he’s experienced thus far, and he returns it in kind, closing his eyes. On his tongue, he tastes blood, and there’s something—

(Thrilling, says the whisper in his head. Something thrilling about that, too. He does not care to disagree.)

Sephiroth’s hands move from her shoulders and glide down the curve of her, finding purchase on opposite sides of her hip. His gloved fingertips press a little harder, almost imploring, suddenly keenly aware of her half-dressed state, while he parts his lips a little amid their kiss. It's as though his body moves on its own, seeking out her warmth, instinct wanting to keep himself close, closer than he's ever been before.]

[wiedzminka]

[ She takes the opening, pressing her tongue between his lips, urging him to kiss her deeper. Her hips press forward beneath his touch, back arching.

It's been months working up the courage. She'd thought they would do this in her bedroom sometime, after an evening of food and drink, playing games and talking, warm and comfortable. That was how she'd imagined it. Made plans, even, with Julie's help.

Not like this, dirty and scratched-up, surrounded by death in an abandoned building that creaks beneath their weight with every step. Urgent, desperate, like they might never get another chance.

So fuck planning. Fuck waiting. Hasn't she waited long enough?

Ciri moans against his mouth, impatient. ]

[supersoldier]

[He does kiss more deeply, mouth slotting open to make room for a questing tongue. It is telling how little effort it takes for him to do so, how only a modicum of encouragement is drawing him down this same path. Against his body, he feels her arch against him, and warmth coils just beneath his belly. They are dirty and grimy and couched in the dim lighting that pours through the broken windows — this is not an ideal place to do this.

But Sephiroth cares less and less. His hands want to move, want to rove over her — the idea is almost too much to only humor in thought. She’s already so, so warm, and whose heart is that, thudding in his chest? Pulsing in his ears? It must be his own.

He pulls away, an almost-gasp spilling from his lips already glistening from her; not to stop, but to say—]

I don’t want to wait anymore.

[His chances to be close with her, like this with her, put off time and time again.]