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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

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Dark!Amarantha x Human!reader: Her New Whore[***]

A/N: man, I caved at the end, I’M SORRY.

Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, some specklings of Greek Mythology, pussy-eating, face-sitting, manipulation I guess, corruption kink? 6.4K words

Summary: After the Wall fell, the High Queen easily seized control of the human lands. Every month, a name is picked from the largest cluster of houses—the closest any of your kind have to a city. You manage to keep your head down for long enough, until your sister’s name is read aloud, condemning her—and inevitably the family she’s made—to a tragedy.

“Cynthia.”

You freeze. Eyes slide to the matching pair beside your own, locking onto her widened gaze. No. There’s mirrored terror streaking your faces, and already people are taking precautionary steps back, making sure to distance themselves from the damned.

The guards don’t even have to search for her, the steadily widening circle around your sister condemns her itself. And sure enough, clawed hands are gripping her upper arms, already beginning to drag her away, and you lunge at her, only to be shoved back. You crash to the mud, dress dirtying as the wet cold bites at you, already setting in. “Cynthia…!” You rasp, throat wet with tears, chest tight with grief. “Cynthia!” You scream, pushing up from the dirt, stumbling after your sister as she’s flung to the foot of a stage.

The High Queens’s eyes are sharp, and piercing into her with a strange look. Your sister shrinks beneath the cold, ancient eyes, hands wrapping around herself, as though it will give her a modicum of safety against the innately powerful fae. Her blood red lips open, permanently set in a cruel, hateful twist, as she intends on beginning her riddle. You scramble forward, pushing through the crowd that has gathered eagerly to watch, delighting in her misery. Because they get to live another day.

You race forward, kneeling by your sister’s side, throwing your arms over her protectively, keeping her tight to your form. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, fingers trembling. “You’re safe, I’m here, Cynth.” She presses against your side, shaking badly, cowering before the High Queen. Amarantha watches, her words halting as she takes in the act of disobedience. No one else has dared interrupt a ceremony.

You swallow, meeting her icy, taunting gaze. “Please…” you manage, voice cracking. “Please— She’s my sister, please.” The tears fall and you know you need to do better. “I beseech you, my Queen. Please. She has a family—a husband and children.” You release Cynthia, pushing away from her as you bow, pressing your hands into the mud and lowering your head in derogatory supplication. “Take—… Take me in her stead. I beg you.” Salty tears wet the earth as you shake, Cynthia weeping by your side, copying your movement, and it pains you to see her like this. Splattered with mud. Cowering before a tyrant.

“Rise.”

Immediately, you follow the command, raising beneath her amused gaze. Her long nails click against the temporary throne. She’s no longer watching Cynthia, her eyes have moved to you. “What walks on four feet in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night?” Terrified relief slides down your spine. She’s directing the riddle at you—not Cynthia. You could weep.

Her brow narrows, “behead the first one.”

Your eyes widen as her soldiers come forward. Cynthia grasps onto you and you to her: nails slicing into thin, worn fabric. “No! Please, my Queen! Please!” You scream, holding your sister tight as the creatures tug away from you. She’s torn from your arms, and you thrash, trying to reach her. You turn your head to the female sat atop her throne born of bloodshed, “my Queen! She’s my sister, please!” The tears are streaming down your cheeks as you writhe against the talons that slice into your skin.

Cynthia is shoved to her knees, more mud saturating the already wet fabric of her dress. The High Queen’s eyes are on yours, paying the torture of your sister no mind, as if it hardly even registers to her. You can’t look away from her.

A guard raises his blade, and ire blazes inside of you, fury at the injustice. Rage at how they’re about to cleave the gentle slope of her neck in two, sever it from her body, then leave her to rot in the piss-coated mud.

“Stop.”

Your breath catches, your chest stilling as the blade halts it’s slicing. The High Queen rises from her throne. A metallic smell crackles in the air and a rug rolls down the steps of the stage—her shoes will remain clean of the filth. She comes to a stop in front of you, and you’re petrified. The Queen, The Conquerer, is stood one pace away from you, and you’re staring into her eyes—holding her gaze as if your life depends on it.

“Release her.”

You’re close enough you can see the shape of the words cutting through her blood-red mouth clearly. Her soldiers release you, so suddenly that you crash to the floor, on your knees before her. You make no move to shift from the placement.

Slowly, she pulls the fabric of her orchid coloured gown upward, revealing a pale ankle, leading up to a creamy thigh—perfect skin. She’s flawless. The High Queen raises her foot slightly, a silent command. Your cheeks flush with hatred. Her lips lift at the edges, her eyes flicking from Cynthia, then back to you. You hang your head in shame, but blink away the tears. If she’s giving you a way to save your sister, you’ll take it.

Reluctantly, you begin to lean forward, but stop. You crane your neck to look at the High Queen, icy gaze piercing down on you. “I do this…and you’ll let my sister go?” You aren’t foolish enough to phrase it as an order. “Indeed.”

“You won’t harm her? Ever?” Her lip curls, a sign she’s already tiring of you, but you need to make sure. “Insolent,” she growls as she glares down at you. It’s difficult not to shrink from her. “If you give yourself to me—” your breath catches, “—and follow through, she will be released instantaneously. Unharmed.”

The word rings through you. Unharmed. She’ll be okay. She can return to her girls, and her husband. She’ll live.

“Whether she remains that way…” she grins, cruelty lighting her eyes, “…is up to you.” You feel the blood drain from your face. Brutality sparks in her gaze as she taps your chin provocatively with the tip of her shoe. “Make your choice, human.”

You refuse to cry. You won’t. Not in front of her.

So you grit your teeth, steel your spine, and settle your lips on the point of her shoe.

————

She didn’t waste a second—by the end of the day, you’d been shoved into the arms of one of her beasts, a weightless sensation had overtaken you, and then your surroundings had completely shifted, the air slightly tinged with a strange metallic scent. You’d been walked through cavernous hallways lit solely by flames that sent shadows flickering along the walls.

Then you were brought to a large chamber, dragged across the smooth stone floor, and tossed onto a wide, circular bed that was lined with various fur blankets and beautifully embroidered duvets. Atop lay a circular instrument, thick, opaque fabric hanging down like curtains to seal the bed from the rest of the room. They were dark velvet, such a deep red they were nearly black, with small tassels weighting the material at the edges.

An unknown amount of time later, another creature enters, dropping new clothes on the bed—night robes—for you to change into. Its eyes run over you with intrigue and barely masked hunger. You manage a quiet thank-you, along with a small dip of your head before it’s stalking from the chamber. You decide it would be best to follow their implied instructions, thankfully left by yourself while you bathe and clothe yourself.

Heat flushes your cheeks as you lift the fabric to the strange lights. It’s almost completely sheer, a failed imitation of clothing. Hardly a breath of thread. You double…triple check the pile, but there are no underthings to keep you hidden. You drop the material as if it’s stung you, taking a step away from where you had dropped it—beside the bathing pool.

“Insolent humans.”

You yelp, spinning around. The High Queen has snuck up on you, silently entering the bathing chamber. You hadn’t even heard the snick of the curtain rings slide back into place. Your hands fly to cover your naked body, stumbling back in fright. You slip, squeezing your eyes tight as you fall backward—into the pool.

When you surface, you hear her laughing, like the ringing of silver bells, warm and amused. You shiver. “I forget how uncoordinated you all are,” she grins, that cursed crimson like a blood-red slash across her mouth. Slowly, you back away in the lagoon-like pit, distancing yourself while keeping your arms across your chest.

A dainty nail points to you, then curls as she beckons you forward. “Come here.” Your arms tighten around yourself, and you’re sure that if the water wasn’t there, your legs would have given out. Her lips twitches, as if knowing exactly what she’s doing to you. “You’ve hardly been here for half a day,” she growls in warning, “and you’re already testing my rather generous patience.”

You tremble, but begin to move toward her. Her growls settle as you draw near, stopping at what you believe to be a safe distance. She almost laughs at your naïveté. She settles by the edge of the pool, “closer.” Her teeth are bared beneath the superficially gentle smile, eyes gleaming with harmful glee as you shudder, but follow her orders.

She spared your sister. She spared your sister. She spared your sister. You can do this for Cynthia. Cynthia and her girls. Cynthia and her husband. For Cynthia, you’ll manage. The High Queen’s hand raises from the carved stone, and you flinch when he cups your cheek, eyes piercing down at you: half-submerged in the pool, the water reaching just above your midriff. “There you go,” she drawls, lips quirking at the terror in your eyes. Her thumb brushes your cheek and you tremble, her sharp nails scraping beneath your lash line, as if poised to dig into the soft flesh that would rupture beneath her claw.

The High Queen must have read it across your features, as she grins wickedly, “your Cynthia is alive.” You don’t allow yourself a moment to relax, not with the Queen of the fae so close. Her brow rises, “no words of thanks? No offers to appease me?” You swallow, inhaling quietly. “Thank you, my Queen,” you manage, voice cracking from fear.

Her hand lowers, and you still as her thumb brushes over your lip, and you wonder if she’ll tear it from your body. She merely lays a surprisingly soft pat to your cheek, her eyes flicking to the mesh robe, untouched, by the pools edge. “Put it on,” she orders, quietly. You double check all of your chest is covered—as much as you can, anyway—before meeting her gaze. “My Queen?” You ask, uncertain. She wants you to wear to robe while in the water? Or to get out, dry, and then adorn it? Her fingers clasp the sheer fabric, bringing it within your reach, “did I stutter?” Her lips are still up-tilted, but ice is beginning to frost in the depth of her eyes.

With a trembling hand, you reach forward, taking the robe from her hand. Your fingers brush, and you flinch, preparing to be hit, squeezing you eyes shut. She merely watches you, marks your reaction with quiet anger. “Put. It. On.” Her voice has dropped, and you flush with shame as you lower your arms to adorn yourself in the dress. Despite being underwater, you push it down, allowing it to rest at your ankles.

The High Queen smiles, though it’s lacking something. “Keep up the obedience and you’ll be just fine.” She gets to her feet, flashing you a snippet of smooth skin as she stands and you feel dirty for looking. Instinctively, you falter a step backward, at last easing a small breath of relief.

It’s cut short as her fingers drop to the buttons of her dress, slowly unpinning them, revealing small glimpses of her porcelain skin beneath. You hurriedly turn away as she undresses, cheeks ablaze as you catch sight of her sleeve descending over a creamy shoulder. You can hear the soft wisps of chiffon falling to the floor, and flashes of soft and supple skin whisper through your mind. You pinch your forearm hard, just one mark among many.

Amarantha scowls at your turned back. Foolish human dignity. Do you not understand she could slice you up in seconds, sink her teeth into the soft flesh of your throat? She swallows, licking her lips as a slow smile lifts her edges.

Silently, she descends into the lagoon, allowing the peacefully warm water to lap over her skin. Prowling up behind your unaware form. The sweetest prey.

Your breath catches as her arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back flush against her front, and you feel the soft pressure of her breasts. She’s naked. She’s completely bare. Your mind short circuits, fire heating your body, licking over you like it’s a phantom touch. Her fingers dancing over your skin, her lips feathering over your own, her—

You dig your nails into your forearm. It must be some faerie magic. Your mind must not be your own to have such horrifically impure thoughts in it. A quiet sound of fear drags from your throat as she noses a space beneath the shell of your ear. “My Queen…?” You stammer, “what—…what are you doing?” Each breath that falls from your lips is wracked with a silent tremor.

She laughs against your skin and you subtly try to squirm away from her. Her arms wrap tighter. “You live such short lives,” she croons, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “yet you deprive yourself of the pleasures the Mother has provided.” A shiver spider-walks down your spine, her fingers beginning to trace circular patterns over the base of your sternum.

“It’s a sin,” you rasp, voice failing you under duress. “It’s an equivalent exchange. Pleasure of unity for the pain of reproduction. My Queen.” You hurriedly add on the title, a way to soften your brazen defence. “If it’s a sin, why are you craving it so badly? The mother wouldn’t wish for her creations to suffer,” she whispers, and her fingers raise higher, dancing beneath the swell of your breasts.

You turn your head, and Amarantha greedily drinks in your mortal beauty. “Is that why you spared her? My sister?” There’s a devastating spark of hope in your eye, looking to her for answer. She blinks, and you quietly await her response. “I spared Cynthia because you promised yourself to me.” Her eyes pierce into you, “equivalent exchange and all that. A life for a life. However fleeting, or pitiful.”

Your brow narrows in hurt, “our lives may be short, my Queen, but it gives us meaning. We are to make the best of ourselves, however slim our chances. It is the beauty of being human.” She smiles, settling her chin on your shoulder, feeling you stiffen. “You are, indeed, quite beautiful.”

You don’t know how to respond. Is it a concealed taunt you don’t understand? Is she using her faerie tongue to deceive you in some way? You can’t figure it out. “You…remember her name, my Queen.” She laughs, but it lacks amusement. “It is not a difficult name to remember. Neither is your bond with her.” She seems sad. A quiet wash of anguish fleeting across her gaze.

And maybe she’d been gentle enough with you, been so unexpected that you reached out. You’ve been raised that it’s a woman’s role to reach out and help others—always. Why would she be any different. You move your hands from where they’ve been suspended above the water, gingerly settling them overtop hers. “Why not?” You murmur, watching her.

The High Queen’s eyes drop to your fingers, and for a moment you’re concerned she’ll see it as an affront—for a human to touch a faerie. But they entwine with your own, keeping as much of you close to as much of her as she can. “My sister was murdered by a human. Tortured and murdered. For weeks.” She hears the quiet gasp you release, and raises her gaze to your own, shocked and wide.

“Her name was Clythia, and I cared for her more than anything. More than I should have let myself.” Her eyes seem to regain their sharpness as they drink in your features. Her arms tighten around your rib cage, “I will not be making that mistake again.” Her words are clipped; pained. You squeeze her hand, “isn’t it lonely?” Her eyes are narrow on you, a quiet warning, but allowing you to proceed. You gulp and you’re certain she can hear it. “As an immortal. With no clear end to your life? You should find yourself a love, take a husband, and—”

She snarls, lip curling back from her teeth, muscle rippling; power thrumming. Your body freezes in response, but she spins you round, roughly. Her nails dig into your hips, pulling you tight against her.

It’s so much worse.

You can see her. See the pale skin of her collar bones, the smooth skin of her shoulders, the feminine swell of her breasts, pressing against your own—

“A husband?” She snarls, watching with fury as you cower, trying to shrink away from her. Your hands land hesitantly—even as you’re terrified—over the top of her chest, attempting to push away. “I treat you as I have, and you tell me to find a husband?”

“I’m—I’m sorry—… I simply mean—” She snarls again, more viciously, cutting you off as she grips you tighter, walking you backward in the pool.

Initially, you’d been wary about bathing, not knowing how deep the pool went. You knew the depth was more staggering at the back, and being unable to swim, you’d kept far from it.

You shove your feet onto the floor, but it’s rough, and bites at the soft pads. She’s so powerfully fae, and has no trouble shoving you further and further back to that drowning depth. “My Queen!” You cry, reaching for her but she keep you at arms length. The water gets deeper, rising over your chest, and you know you’re right over the precipice. “Please! I can’t swim!” You panic, “please, my Queen! I didn’t mean to offend!”

The High Queen shoves you away, sending you off into the deep. That terror again engulfs you as you begin sinking. Your eyes go wide, latching onto her own beseechingly, just before the water’s surface swallows you. It’s suddenly no longer comforting—the peaceful warmth. It feels as the air before a storm, hot and humid, too still to be safe.

You thrash, not knowing how fast you’re descending, but you claw about. Maybe if you can reach that edge again, you can pull yourself up. You stretch out your hands, and they find the ledge. Rough and hewn, but it’s there. You could cry. But then you feel as she presses the heel of her foot down, digging your fingers into the rock and you cry out, releasing precious air as you lose your grip.

You try again, this time taking hold of her ankle, tightly—even if it enrages her. But she holds still, allowing you to touch her as you begin to pull yourself to the surface. Your lungs are burning as you reach her thigh and your hand freezes, realising where you’re going to have to go past. You take too long, strength seeping from your arms as you begin to lose conscious. You practically feel her growl thunder through the water as a force lifts you from the depths.

When you break the surface, your religious worries are far from the front of your mind. Your arms snake over her shoulders, clinging desperately as you splutter, hauling yourself over her arm as you gulp down air, tears of panic spilling over your cheeks. Your legs wrap over her hips, circling tight in fear.

Before you’ve even had the time to regulate your breath, her hand is tightening in your wet hair, pulling you back just enough for her to glare into your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasp, tears streaming over your already wet cheeks. “Please,” you plead, brows curving upward, “please don’t kill her.”

The High Queen’s eyes do not soften as she pulls back from the ledge, carrying you up into shallower water. You daren’t tear your eyes away for fear she’ll have a change of heart. “I hold you as I do,” she seethes, “I treat you as one of my own, instead of one of those humans. I touch you as I do— cherish you as I do—” Your lower back presses against the hewn rock of the pool, and you attempt to unwrap your legs from her hips. Her grip tightens and she snarls up at you. “—and you think a husband would please me?”

You keep your lips pressed tight, deciding it wise to not speak anymore. But her eyes pierce into your own, commanding you to respond. Whatever you say, it could be you last. “What would please you, my Queen?” You stammer, softly, trying to banish the tremors from your arms.

Her eyes flicker for a moment, and then her mouth is crushing down onto your own. You seize up, paralysed as one arm snakes up your back, between your shoulder blades, making your back curve, pressing your breasts to her own. You’re all but naked before her, save for the sheer fabric that clings to you relentlessly. A whimper claws up your throat at the sudden move.

She pulls away, eyes dragging from your mouth up to your own.

Then she’s returning, lips warring over your own, teeth biting, tongue slashing as she dominates your mouth. One hand grips your ass while the other tightens around the nape of your neck, crushing you against her, pressing between your thighs as she devours you. She gets lost in your flavour, raising both her hands to cup your jaw, pinning you to the pool’s wall with her lower body.

Her grip slackens as she takes you in, breathing shakily.

You take your chance.

You slam your hands down on the pool’s ledge, lifting yourself out as you kick away from her, panting as you scramble back. You tumble over the lip of the lagoon, falling down onto the smooth rock of the bathing chamber. The High Queen snarls from the pool and your eyes go wide as she heaves herself out of the water with such ease.

Immediately you’re scrambling back, flipping onto your front to crawl away, to stumble to your legs but she catches you on the threshold of the two rooms. Her arm wraps around your hips, once again pulling your back flush against her chest as her hand snakes up your front, gripping your throat. “I thought you wanted to protect your sister?” She snarls, so close to your ear you feel the scrape of her teeth.

You simply writhe in her grip, terror spinning and spinning until you feel dizzy. “You’re okay if she dies?” The High Queen growls, gripping tighter, and you choke. “Maybe I’ll make you watch when I kill her. Nice and slow.” You shake your head vehemently, colours swimming as you splutter. Your fingers claw at her hand but she holds fast, so much stronger than you could ever handle.

Then, she’s picking you up from the floor, your legs pulling to your chest, kicking wildly in attempts to disorientate her. It’s a pitiful attempt. She sets you on your feet before the opening to her bed, turning you around roughly. Then power crackles in the air and you’re completely dry, as if neither of you had even stepped foot in the bathing chamber.

With a hard shove, you’re falling backward, sitting on the circular mattress, clothed in only the sheer fabric and nothing else—no undergarments to conceal you from her hungry and furious gaze. You start crawling backward, but she only laughs, as if delighted by your actions. You understand why when you hit the edge of the bed. Your back collides with something solid, despite it being curtains. She laughs at your confusion. “There’s a barrier around the mattress. Once you have entered, you cannot exit unless I permit it.”

You’re trapped.

“Please,” you whimper, watching as she climbs onto the bed, the curtain shutting behind her, sealing you in a cocoon of dark red light. “Please, my Queen. This is wrong!” She simply grins, prowling closer until her hand wraps around your ankle. You don’t even try to resist as she drags you beneath her, caging you in. “There’s nothing wrong about enjoying the pleasures of life,” she snarls down at you. You shake your head weakly, “no…the first time…” Tears roll down your cheeks and she stills. “The first time should be with someone you love!” You scream at her with a fury you don’t recognise.

Her eyes change, something indiscernible flashing across her features. “Pleasure is for…for man and woman,” you cry, reciting the words that have been flung at you since you came of age. “They couple…and the woman bares his children…and—…and he works! While—…while she stays at home…raising his children, in his house, for him!” You’re sobbing, wanting to scream and kick and just lash out in some way. “It’s the wife’s duty— My duty, to serve my husband one day. And that is…that is how it should be…” you trail off, crying as you push away tears with your fists.

Her hands strangle your wrists, roughly pushing them aside as she glares down at you with renewed ferocity. “So insufferably human.”

“And you’re insufferably cruel…” you weep, though the words lack any bite. “Yes,” she snarls, “I am.” You peer up at her through teary eyes. “And do you see me crying? Do you see me being forced into something I don’t want? Do you see me serving a man in the way you believe is a duty?” You stare at her, lower lip trembling as you manage to shake your head.

“No. You don’t. Because I am High Queen of Prythian. I rule over this land. It is mine. The food, the country, the people. They’re mine. Just like you are mine. At the end of the day I do not submit to a husband, or a father, or a brother. Because I am my own keeper.” She practically spits the last part, dripping with venom as she glares down at you.

Your brow narrows at her anger. The anger that isn’t directed at you, not this rage. Not really.

Her hand again wraps around your throat as she lifts your head from the sheets. “I can fuck you better than a man ever could. Than anyone.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle as much as you can. “Open your eyes.” You refuse, screwing them shut tighter. “Open your damned eyes before I pluck them from your skull.”

Tears roll as they land on her, working every silent plea you can into your gaze. You would beg on your knees for her to stop. For her to leave Cynthia alive. “That’s more like it,” she breathes, hand loosening around your throat, allowing you to gulp down air. “Now, let me show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

Her mouth reattaches to your own, but it’s softer. Until her teeth nip at your lower lip. You flinch, and it spurs her on, canines tugging relentlessly until you whimper. “Touch me,” she commands, between kisses, “pull me closer.” You remain how you are, hands paralysed at your sides as she pulls you apart. “Reciprocate or I swear on Clythia I will shred your sister alive. Piece by piece.”

You’re trembling, shaking and on the verge of shattering, but you manage to wrap your arms around her neck, parting your thighs to hug her hips. “Now touch me like you mean it. I’m giving you one damned chance.” The snarl is more beast than faerie, but it’s for Cynthia. For Cynthia, you will put everything the High Queen has done aside. For Cynthia, you will commit this sin, that will damn you far below hell. For your sister, you will give in to those desires that have caused the crescent shaped indents in your forearms.

Your vision blurs as you shove it all away, and follow her commands.

Your mouth opens, tongue dancing with her own as she grips your hair, yanking it. A growl of innate satisfaction thunders through her chest and her free hand lands atop your breast, palming it. You want to scream, but force a moan instead. You doubt you’d be able to pull yourself back together if you started screaming.

She thumbs your nipple, and her mouth leaves your own, nipping and licking at your neck as she works lower, ignoring the quiet tears that roll back into your hair, dampening the bed. Her teeth sink into the junction of your throat and shoulder, biting down and you know it’ll bruise. It’s her way of claiming you. To have her scent entwined with yours isn’t enough. She needs to have her bite marks littering your skin, to have bruises of her fingertips blossoming over your neck, hips, thighs— everywhere she can.

Quicker than you can think, she’s tugging the erotically teasing dress up your thighs and over your head, baring you to her. The High Queen doesn’t waste a second: her mouth latches over your nipple, just over your heart, and this time you don’t have to force it. Pleasure sings through you, lighting you up as your back arches. As much as you hate it, as much as you know it’s a sin, it feels undeniably good.

You don’t want her to stop, you realise.

It brings a new wave of emotion looming in the background of your mind. But you cannot allow it to crest. So instead you thread your fingers through her beautiful silky hair, so soft to the touch, encouraging her. She growls with pleasure as she goes lower, sucking bruises into the skin of your stomach as she descends, leaving a trail of obscenity until she reaches between your thighs.

“My Queen…” you whimper earnestly, knowing what she’s planning. “That’s—” She snarls, teeth scraping over your inner thigh.

“Are you trying to stop me?” And you can hear the threatening displeasure coating the question. You hurriedly shake your head, flushing in shame. She shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It should be a man. But you meet her eyes and undeniable arousal flows through you and the possessiveness. Had anyone ever displayed such a strong instinct to protect you? Bordering on fanatic obsession. Infatuation.

“I’d feel…guilty. Not doing anything, I mean,” you manage. As soon as the words have left your tongue you realise their truth. Nausea roils in your stomach. How sick are you? Could you ever be forgiven? A dark laugh breaks you from your spiralling thoughts and it sends another wave of heat rushing between your legs. You’re practically aching for her.

“Not so innocent after all,” she drawls, and you flush.

“I simply mean—”

“I know what you said.” She snarls, crawling up your body until she’s over you, her deep red hair hanging like the deep red curtains trapping you on the bed. “You want to have your mouth between my legs, don’t you?” Shame sparks in your chest, licking between your thighs as your eyes dart away from her. She grips your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Say it. Let me hear you beg for it. Beg for me to mount your tongue, like an animal in heat,” she snarls.

For Cynthia, you can do it. For Cynthia—

Fuck Cynthia.

“Please,” you beg, that religious yarn the priests had twisted tight, now unraveling at an alarming pace. “Please, my Queen. I need to know. Let me know what if feels like. What you taste like.” Her eyes roll as she lowers her face to the crook of your neck, burying against you, nosing at the skin as she laps over the erogenous area. Your back arches and you wish you could resist her. Wish you could return to your discipline, and your unruffled life before she came along with her chaos and her fury and her devastating beauty.

“That’s it,” she pants, pleasure flushing her cheeks. “Look at you,” she hisses, “already settling so well into your new role.” And then she’s prowling further up your body, swinging a leg over your head and your arms have already wrapped snuggly over the elegant sweep of her hips. You tug against her but she doesn’t move, keeps herself suspended above you, teasingly. You can’t stand it.

Your nails bite into the flesh of her waist and she keens, hands pushing your thighs apart. When her eyes land on your glistening heat, she growls. You’re hers. “Now, now,” she croons, “see how far you’ve come already? Dying for a taste of a female.” Your hips buck, urging her to devour you, set her mouth on you, anything. “My Queen, please. I need you. Mother above, I need you so badly.” She just laughs.

“Maybe I should punish you for taking so long to come around, hm? Maybe I should bring you to the edge, and suspend you there. Maybe I should—”

You take initiative. Your grip tightens as you raise your mouth to her cunt, lapping all over her, pressing against her hole. Anywhere you want, really. She snarls, but it’s full of pleasure and feminine satisfaction. The High Queen decides she’ll punish you later. Right now, she has you, and she’s in no mood to deny herself of you. Not after so long. She shifts her weight back at the same time she sets her mouth on you and you moan.

Her wet heat encases your mouth, and you groan as you feel her tongue lap over your centre. You flinch when her teeth nip a deliciously sensitive spot between your legs and you follow it on her, locating the small bud. You place a gentle lick to it, and her hips grind over you. Perfect. You focus on that mark, abusing it over and over, occasionally raising your tongue to her entrance, needing to refresh her flavour before diving back down.

Moans echo throughout the room and you feel a tightness in the pit of your belly. “My Queen,” you stammer, confused. She snarls, shutting you up, but the coil tightens— but it feels so good. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch. You just need her to find a spot, a spot that will just get you. Her tongue flicks over that bud and pleasure rushes your veins. You bury your face between her legs as you desperately nip, flick, suck and fuck all of her, memorising her taste as you bathe in the euphoria.

You feel her fluttering on your tongue moments later, your own high triggering hers as she sits upright, shoving you down into the soft mattress. You don’t even try to escape. You relish in her scent, in the wet heat of her, the way she encompasses you as she rides your face, moans spilling from her mouth until she’s ready to leave.

As she lifts from you, you notice threads of slick attaching your mouth to her, and you moan at the sight, already desperate for another taste, but she shifts. And her mouth is over your own. She’s ravenous, tongue licking and lapping, teeth nipping and biting as she drinks down your moans until she’s rolling off you.

Her arms circle possessively around your waist as she tugs you against her. “You’re mine,” she hisses down at you, and no matter how much it goes against the teachings, you can’t bring yourself to repent. She’s sunk her claws into you, and they run deep. Even if you wanted to, she wouldn’t let you go. You nod, pressing against her, melting into her possessive warmth.

She snarls, looking down at you. “You’ll stay here. In my bed. Warming it for me.” You nod again, and as the pleasure fades, as the adrenaline seeps from your blood, that familiar primordial dread begins to surface. You’ve promised yourself to her. You’re bound together. And you have no hope of escaping.

She bares her teeth and you hurriedly reply. “Yes, my Queen.” Her eyes soften ever so slightly. “Amarantha. I want you to call me Amarantha.” Your cheeks flush and you take the time to appreciate her beauty. The glow about her skin, the softness of her lips, the ferocity in her eyes. You feel safe. But maybe that’s just her power as High Queen. Maybe she’s gotten you so far under her spell you’ll never see her commit wrong.

“Amarantha,” you repeat, softly. A small, sane part of you screams at your compliance. But you’re too enchanted by her otherworldly beauty to pay it the necessary attention. To realise what you’ve done. What’s she’s done to you.

You reach forward, pressing your lips against hers, revelling in the plushness of them. You moan, and she’s never heard a sweeter sound. She’ll never let you leave her side. She’ll take you round on a leash if she has to, with chains decorating your wrists and ankles. Anything to ensure you stay at her side at all times. Because she’s never met someone she recognises so instinctually. Like a warped mirror.

If Clythia hadn’t been killed, if the High Queen hadn’t lost that part of herself in the war five hundred years ago, would she be as beautiful as you? She doubts it. You’re perfect. Living perfection. Crafted for her.

Her perfect new whore.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Amarantha #amarantha x f!reader #[***]#dark! fic #dark! Amarantha #dark! Amarantha x f!reader #Amarantha smut #June #Amarantha x f!reader smut #dark! Amarantha x f!reader smut

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purity-town · 2 months

Text

No update today as I'm still working on the script for this chapter and have some IRL obligations this weekend. In the meantime, quick ask response below the cut!

I've had a couple of thoughts on this subject but nothing super concrete, so here you go! Also -- I'm always excited to talk about worldbuilding, so no need to apologize!

Back when Andrew was a child and the ancient spirits were newly-locked-away, precautions for blood moons (and other dangerous events) were a lot more intense. Main reason being that people still remembered the preceeding years where such fortifications were absolutely necessary, and since the memories were still fresh and the infrastructure/protocol still in place, it still got used. Living out on the edge of the plains, they would likely have had plans in place to get underground quickly and then sweep the town the next morning for any remaining monsters.

Chris, in comparison, is from a modern coastal town. The main precautionary system there is a bell system that alerts people when a blood moon begins rising to give them even a small amount of notice to prepare, and fishing is strictly banned. His hometown also has walls around the main land-facing portion with a local guard stationed along them, helping keep out monsters from entering on foot. This helps ensure people can get inside, block their doors, and safely hunker down for the night. All of this is organized by the local Guide and helps to keep folks safe.

Purity Town, and the region the town (and other settlements) is in, has fewer precautions in place due to the relatively low population. Chris' hometown can get away with heavy infrastructure because it has the population to support it, and Andrew's hometown did it out of fear/necessity. In Purity Town's region, people like Malik might run around near the start of a blood moon to make sure everyone is able to get inside safely, cover their windows, and so on. It's also generally accepted that people who go out late at night should have a plan for what to do if a blood moon suddenly begins, because the region is just too remote to go out looking for them.

As for frequency, I'm inclined to say somewhere between monthly and every few months -- quite irregular, but happening often enough that it's not uncommon.

#not an update #pt asks

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irulaan · 7 days

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CHAPTER ONE ; HEAVEN ON EARTH

RAPHAEL X FEM!ANGEL!READER

⤷ chapter summary: Tav walks a delicate line, guarded by an angel's presence yet haunted by dreams of a devil. warnings for this chapter. mentions of mystra. blood and other fluids. astarion. i don’t use physical descriptors with the angel. word count. 4k.

back to masterlist / next chapter

The Angels exchanged concerned glances as one of them conjured an image of a peculiar crown, its purple magic radiating an imposing aura even in illusion. An illusion of power. They recognized the opulent jewelry immediately, aware of its destructive potential, appealing to the ambitious and those who dream of self-destruction.

In the tranquil confines of the garden, the atmosphere grew tense as the oldest among them acknowledged the significance of the artifact. Their collective knowledge of magical relics whispered tales of devastation and chaos brought by such items. One of them stepped forward to examine the artifact, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "Does this belong to the Weave? To Mystra?" She asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Some tilted their heads in contemplation, offering no sympathy to the ones not aware of the power of such thing.

"The Crown of Karsus doesn't exactly belong to the Weave—or Mystra, by extent," replied an Aasimar who had traversed Faerûn extensively, and had seen and heard about these men-crafted things. Her tone is grave. "Now it resides in its homeland, and that is cause for great concern."

A sense of unease settled over the group as they pondered their next steps. "What can we even do? It's beyond our reach. Shouldn't this concern the Goddess of Magic? Surely, she has a plan?"

A sudden breeze swept through the celestial creatures gathered in one of the smallest gardens of the second circle of heaven. Though rarely used for discussions of importance, the ancient angel deemed it a suitable location, free from any imminent threats that could jeopardize their safety in heaven. They chose this secluded spot to prevent any speculation or unwarranted interference from other beings—a precautionary measure against potential dangers. Despite the fact that two fallen angels now held dominion over circles of Hell, their existence was accepted as an inevitable recurrence.

"Of course Mystra has a plan," scoffed the angel holding the image of the crown, a devout follower of the Goddess. It was not uncommon for angels to serve deities or aspire to do so.

Raising an eyebrow, another celestial's wings quivered with uncertainty. "Then it's her problem. And it's fixed."

"To kill her chosen one?" One of the celestials laughed, her bright blonde hair dancing in the gentle breeze. "Humans are... unstable, and I wouldn't trust them. I'd say this concerns us too," Her voice was strong, as she added with a soft yet cautionary tone. Having witnessed countless tragedies across various planes of existence, she understood the potential ramifications of seemingly minor events. Though they were shielded within the confines of Heaven, danger always lurked on the horizon—whether in the form of wars, fiendish creatures, or even threats from humans.

"What's the situation on Earth?" Another inquired.

One raised their eyebrows. “Where’s the crown now?”

The earth-born, now an Aasimar, responded softly, “It's in the hands of some cultists. They're threatening an entire city.”

“And the stones?”

The Aasimar stood in silence for a moment. “The cultist... The Dark Gods have their chosen ones... Bhaal chose Orin the Red, whose mother was also a follower of him; they've both been manipulated by the mortal turned God... Bane has Lord Enver Gortash, and Ketheric Thorne has been resurrected by Myrkul.”

“—Jergal was such an idiot!” One of them interjected.

Many sighs were heard. “Maybe Mystra is going to need a hand…”

“But is the crown safe in her hands?”

“She's already powerful—“

One of the youngest angels chimed in, “But she can’t stop this. How can we even call her a Goddess?”

There was a moment of silence as they locked eyes. The air crackled with tension, a palpable anticipation lingering between them. The energy of the angels clashed, swirling in a chaotic dance instead of harmonizing as one. Then, unexpectedly, another pair of wings fluttered against the breeze.

"I've been having strange dreams," Came from behind them.

It was some battle angel. Her armored body and wings emitted an eerie sound as she approached the group, unaware of their reunion until her innate ability to reach beyond brought her there.

"I've seen him wielding his father's sword, his head crowned by that dangerous jewelry, the Crown of Karsus," She rushed out her words, her voice filled with urgency. "I've been haunted by his black sclera and bright demon pupils. He's so hungry for power—I can feel it. But it's not by his own merit, no... it's an earth-born that hands him the crown," she continued, her tone growing more desperate as her fellow celestial beings regarded her with nonchalance. The mother of angels had recently given birth to a new offspring, and her own conscience urged her to be protected. She felt her vulnerability, having experienced so little of the universe's dangers.

It was clear to everyone that she was referring to Mephistopheles’ son, as the Archduke was the previous keeper of the crown. He had hidden it among his most prized possessions until it mysteriously vanished—stolen, perhaps, though he remained largely silent on the matter. But that happened many years ago.

"The crown could crush a cambion's soul—as they still retain some semblance of humanity, even if he's the infamous son of Mephistopheles," One continued, their voice tinged with concern.

"And he doesn't care much... as human as he may seem, he has carnal urges and can be easily manipulated, even by something as simple as an incubus—his father's idea," Another angel chimed in, rolling his eyes dismissively. "I don't believe he's the real threat here."

“But what about the human who could deliver the crown to him? Isn’t she significant?” The battle angel interjected. She was often wise, but now a few eyes squinted at her recklessness and unconventional approach. “Isn’t she just a human? How many mortals possess the knowledge and bravery to trade with a devil? True, he may be a cambion, but his lineage, as the son of Mephistopheles, changes everything.”

It was as clear as crystal that the Archduke’s son posed no threat to anyone, not even the lowliest celestial creature. Cambions were as frail and wicked as their human counterparts..

But some were intrigued; “Is it a possibility?”

“Indeed, everything is within the realm of possibility,” she responded sternly. Her voice commanded attention and obedience, as if she were the embodiment of authority itself. Having led thousands of battles, guiding celestial beings to both hell and victory, her words held weight.

“Then assign her a guardian angel,” the ancient one suggested plainly. “Your most recent daughter would be suitable. She possesses a strong moral compass and lacks the hint of corruption that deems her vulnerable.”

The battle angel was taken aback. Her most recent daughter had endured the icy clutches of hell, but she was ill-prepared to take on the role of guardian angel, despite her uncorrupted moral compass.

“I... I'm not sure... What if we're underestimating the gravity of this situation?” interjected the follower of Mystra.

The ancient one rolled her bright blue eyes, emitting a quiet, almost haunting laugh. “Mystra herself? She knows the potential devastation the crown can unleash, yet her only plan is to eliminate her former lover with it? Assigning a guardian angel to a lost human seems equally absurd.”

“I–I don’t think… What if we’re sub-estimating this matter?”, interrupted the Mystra follower.

"I think we should help he–"

A deep rage seized the ancient being, wounds from encounters with numerous deities and creatures flaring up within her. "I don’t and won’t ever serve a God! They’re equal to devils… they sicken me! She’s no good even when she tries to be," she declared vehemently, her frustration palpable, as there was nothing else to do; everything was beyond their reach. "This is everything we’re doing!"

A tense silence enveloped them as they exchanged stares; none dared to speak further. The ancient one commanded both respect and fear.

With that, the conversation took a pivotal turn, setting fate on a new and uncertain path. Angel wings would soon be stained with blood, as they ventured into uncharted territories.

Mornings at the camp unfolded in tranquil serenity, with birds harmonizing their soft melodies into the air. Tree branches swayed gently in the warm summer breeze, infused with a familiar hint of coastal saltiness. Despite the dying warmth of the campfire and the wilting flowers, the atmosphere exuded a profound sense of peace, a harmony between life and death. It was still as everything should be, they were at the right place.

Yet, this idyllic scene was shattered by the piercing cries of birds and the ominous crack of breaking branches. Something—or someone—was hurtling through the sky, falling toward the earth with alarming speed. The sudden change of scene jolted half of the camp awake, their senses reeling from the unexpected disturbance. They didn’t even have the chance to get out of their tents as a loud crash was heard outside — it was definitely someone that collided against the dirt… against the cold ground.

Emerging from his tent, Astarion furrowed his brow at the commotion, silver hair tousled in disarray. His gaze fell upon the figure amidst the dirt, unmistakably an angel fallen from the heavens. "Well, isn't this a delightful turn of events?" he remarked wryly, a hint of amusement lacing his words. "As if our situation couldn't become any more... interesting."

She lay sprawled on her stomach, her once pristine wings now splayed out to shield her body, though futilely, from the impact of the fall. They appeared broken in places, blood seeping from beneath the soft feathers, showing the tender skin under. Her celestial garments, once immaculate, were now stained with dirt and torn by branches, though they still provided ample coverage. Despite the damage, there was an otherworldly elegance to her form, juxtaposed with the stark reality of her injuries. It was both heavenly and apocalyptic.

Shadowheart cautiously approached the fallen angel, her keen eyes scanning for signs of injury. "I believe her wing is... damaged," she observed, concern evident in her voice.

Astarion's senses were overwhelmed by the sweet yet invigorating aroma emanating from the angel's presence. If the blood of a devilish creature repulsed, then surely an angel's blood was akin to tasting the very essence of heaven. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze lingering on the wounded wing. "Heavenly indeed—I mean the smell." The temptation to partake of such divine essence was almost palpable, stirring an unfamiliar hunger within him.

Gladly, Karlach interrupted his ruminations. “Do you think heaven has a certain smell?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, and it’s this,” Astarion declared, gesturing towards the fallen angel. “Can we keep her? I bet she’d make the best companion.”

Gale interjected, “She's a celestial being, you can't keep her.”

“Ah, Gale! Boo, spoilsport…” the vampire huffed.

Gale, not unfamiliar with the presence of angels or gods, approached the scene. As the chosen one of the Goddess of Magic, he had encountered many celestial beings before. It was only natural for him to share his knowledge with the party. "She might be an angel, or perhaps an Aasimar... I haven’t seen one in person since…” He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “Mystra had some followers who were angels, battle angels. But she doesn’t seem to fit that description... she's not wearing any armor,” he observed, moving closer to the celestial being. “I believe she's an angel.”

“Should we wake her up?”

“Mmm, I don’t really know…” Gale kept his eyes on the angel, as Shadowheart was examining her wounds. “Angels are very powerful creatures and we don’t know if we are on her wrong side”

Astarion cried, “And why on earth would we be on her wrong side! We are the victims here!”

The wizard gestured for Astarion to lower his tone, a silent reminder of caution. “She probably doesn’t know any of us… and their intelligence and wisdom are great. If we lie, she'll likely discern the truth, which wouldn’t bode well for us.”

“If she ever wakes up, we can ask for her assistance… Wouldn’t she be helpful?” Shadowheart frowned, muttering incantations for a healing spell.

“But what if she attacks us?! It would be a shame to kill her!”

They were all well-versed in the workings of deities and celestials; they don’t simply appear by chance, something Astarion seemed oblivious to. His bitterness toward them fueled by his unanswered pleas to the gods. Shadowheart attempted to ground their thoughts. “I do believe she could be helpful – I mean, angels. If she just fell here… I don’t know. I’m certain she’s here for another reason.” There was a moment of silence. “We should wait.”

“Where’s Tav?”

Not a second passed before they heard someone take a deep breath. "Where is she?!" The angel had awakened in a frenzy, fluttering her wings and desperately searching for something.

Astarion frowned, glancing at the sky as if seeking guidance, then turned to Gale. "So... does that sound like a good or bad angel?"

If Gale hadn't been a bit nervous about the angel, he might have chuckled. "There's no such thing as a bad angel," he replied. Astarion rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Gale's optimistic view. Another ‘too good for everyone and everything’ creature. He already hated her. "She's looking for someone... but there's no malice in her voice."

The angel rose to her feet, her wings still and her expression twisted in pain. "I need to find her... where is she, Gale of Waterdeep?"

Even though Gale had encountered angels before, he was taken aback. After all, he was just a humble human. He struggled to find the right words as the angel's gaze seemed to penetrate his soul. She couldn't be a follower of Mystra if she wasn't connected to the Weave.

“Are you an… an angel… how does–how do you know me?” He muttered utterly confused.

"I'm not asking again," the angel stated firmly, conjuring a spell that would have taken Gale at least a few minutes to prepare.

Astarion ran away, “For fuck’s sake! Can’t we have an uneventful day?! What the hell is an angel looking for–?”

Tav found herself ensnared in the tumultuous grasp of a restless slumber, her breaths quickened and jagged amidst the confines of what scarcely passed for a bed. Each twist and turn brought no solace, only exacerbating the disarray of her unkempt hair, while beads of sweat cascaded like raindrops upon her furrowed brow and the scant linens beneath her. This nightmarish feeling was all too familiar, since she and a bunch of other outcasts started this long journey to take back and free Baldur’s Gate.

Outside her sanctuary, an ominous silence permeated the air, punctuated by the eerie whispers of the soft wind that whispered strange secrets to those willing to listen. Abruptly, her eyes snapped open to a realm devoid of company, bathed solely in the warm luminescence of the sun gentle embrace and the waning embers of a dying campfire.

Within the realm of her troubled dreams, a conflagration blazed with an intensity that threatened to consume her very essence. Amidst the infernal glow, she beheld orbs of darkness, each adorned with irises of bright yellow that fixated upon her with an unsettling intensity. Veins of pulsating blood marred their scarlet-hued skin, crowned by a profusion of horns behind the intoxicating smoke. The acrid scent of their presence assailed her senses, though its origins remained unknown, forgotten.

At times, she attributed the noxious aroma to the campfire's burning branches.

Yet, in her state of desperation, bereft of recourse and ensnared by the flames' searing embrace, she found herself imprisoned within the confines of her own subconscious. Even as she cast her gaze skyward, the high ceiling above was adorned with ostentatious frescoes, each one a macabre manifestation of her innermost fears. Nightmare after nightmare, she fights against the specter of impending demise, with the allure of death’s sweet kiss looming ever closer.

It was not until the faint aroma of the somewhat familiar freshly cut lawn covered with rain, mingled with the soft rustle of giant wings that she found reprieve, her eyes fluttering open to behold a vision of winter white feathers that offered, in some way, sanctuary.

Only then did she emerge from the clutches of her torturing dream, liberated from the gaze of those infernal orbs, and welcomed into the embrace of wakefulness. The embrace of life.

It was morning once more… and the first thing she heard was Astarion’s screams.

Still groggy from sleep, she emerged from her warm tent, gripping a blade in her skilled hand. The sun's rays blinded her momentarily as they hit her face. "I thought we were going to be safe here—what?" She paused, her gaze falling upon the celestial being, whose wings shimmered under the light.

Pointing directly at Tav, the celestial spoke in a soft and delicate tone, attempting to ease the noticeable stress and fear on Tav's face. "You are the one I'm looking for. I'd recognize you even in a crowded room." The angel introduced herself by her given name, emphasizing that being in her presence wouldn't transform Tav into an Aasimar. "I haven't been authorized to do so. But I’m here nonetheless…"

"I don't understand... Why?" Tav questioned, confusion evident in her voice.

"Because you're playing an important part in the present event," the celestial explained calmly. "You're going to need as much help as you can gather. Even if your companions are resourceful, they might lack morals or be blinded by deities and religion." She gestured towards Astarion, Gale, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart as she spoke, unapologetic about her words. "I'm not insulting them; they're sincere, but they're only human, even as chosen ones."

Tav frowned, processing the information. "Are you always going to be around me? Following us around?" Her intuition was failing her, but she sensed that the angel meant no harm.

"I'm no babysitter," the celestial replied firmly. "You'll make your own decisions. I won't try to manipulate you like others might. But I offer insight and guidance when needed."

"You seem so blunt to speak, haven’t you been around humans, dear?” Astarion's bitterness tainted his words as he got uncomfortably close to the angel, attempting to intimidate her with his presence.

Her hand glided gracefully across his cheek in a fleeting touch. “Why should I sugarcoat my words, vampling? I do not seek approval from mortals.” Despite the sting in her words, her gentle tone didn't enrage Astarion.

Attempting to maintain his composure, Astarion pressed on, “Aren’t angels naive and easy to manipulate creatures? How can you be a compass? You have been living in a fantasy bubble.”

“Is that what you think about me?” The celestial directed her gaze at Tav, though Astarion was the one who spoke.

“He’s a… friend. I trust in him,” Tav stuttered. “They’ve been wandering this world for longer than me… So I think – I haven’t even read or heard anything about angels.”

The angel nodded, sensing the sincerity in Tav's words, a sentiment she reciprocated. "I am here solely for you, with no other purpose in this world but to do good and eradicate evil... devils and demons," she declared, causing Tav's companions to narrow their eyes in suspicion. "I can walk by your side without these."

In the blink of an eye, her celestial essence vanished. Her once-dirty wings disappeared, and the halo of ethereal light surrounding her faded from sight, blending her seamlessly with the earth-bound creatures around her. She appeared just like one of them.

Tav smiled warmly. "There's plenty of room in the camp," she offered. But Astarion couldn't help but roll his eyes in annoyance.

The tension in the air didn't escape the angel's keen senses. "It wouldn't be wise. I don't want to wake up in a pool of blood," she stated bluntly, her gaze unwavering. "Your bonds aren't strong enough... You're alone."

Tav held firm. "I trust them... Despite their differences, we're all united by the same goal."

But nothing could sway the angel from her decision to keep her distance from the group — not from Tav. "Whenever you need me, I'll assume this appearance to walk by your side," she assured Tav, handing her a small, irregular crystal-like artifact. Inside, a flow of energy danced in a spectrum of light colors. Its sharp edges spoke of its potential power. "Use this if you need me. We can't be summoned like devils, so use it wisely. It will take me a few minutes to reach you."

The air changed, charged with such energy that seemed to ripple through the forest. The earth was anticipating the departure of the celestial being from Faerûn. In her absence, a palpable void lingered, leaving behind so many questions. It was as if a fleeting dream had slipped away, leaving behind only fragments of memory and a lingering sense of uneasiness.

Despite the many centuries by his side, the incubus still found amusement in their playful banter, a dance of manipulation and desire that always seemed to end in the same and routinely climax. But this time was different, a palpable tension hung in the air, casting a shadow over their usual exchanges. There was something stirring within his master, a hunger for power and dominion that surpassed anything they had encountered before. Even if his House of Hope filled with weeping tortured souls was the greatest evidence of his desires.

As he watched the demon lord with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, the incubus couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the brink of something great. With a sly grin, he leaned closer, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. "Back to meddling in the affairs of mortals, are we? Oh, this should be delicious."

The Devil shot him a withering glance, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Yes, I'm planning to visit... earth," he replied curtly, his tone laced with impatience.

The Demon's lips curled into a knowing smile as he sensed the simmering excitement emanating from his master. With a languid walk, he approached, the sinuous movement of his tail betraying his amusement. "Ah, I've not felt such excitement in ages," he remarked, his voice dripping with suggestive innuendo. "You know you can always bring me back something as I enjoy earthly delights..."

The Devil's response was swift and harsh. "No."

Undeterred, the Demon chuckled, unfazed by the rejection. He knew his role well, and he relished in it, knowing that the consequences of his actions would never truly be a punishment for him. He knew his master wouldn’t dare to entertain the thought of murdering him—not with the knowledge that he would report to his Father. And even though he didn't harbor fear of his father, it was a strategic move to keep him out of the picture, to avoid any unnecessary complications.

A smug smile twisted the Devil's lips, though it seemed out of place on his typically composed face. "She's naive, too gullible. This will be child's play," he declared confidently.

That single glance, that imperceptible shift in demeanor, was all the incubus needed to know the Devil was lying.

a/n. I’m so excited! First things first, since english isn’t my first language there might be some grammar mistakes; I use grammarly to fix any possible mistake but I’m only a girl living at the end of the world, therefore, we don’t speak english. Then, I use deepl to translate the work to my mother tongue and see if there are any mistakes left, but still, I know it has. Secondly, I know it was looooong and descriptive and probably a bit boring, but I wanted a somewhat proper background; I know I’m probably drifting away from the dnd lore but I hope you can enjoy the story nonetheless. I was mainly inspired by biblical angels, since I think Raphael is pretty much a biblical devil. I had some other inspiration such as the divine comedy, because —again, I think Raphael’s fiendish form was inspired by Dante’s Satan.

Thank you so much for reading this, I’d love some feedback. If you liked this you can reblog or leave a comment or something <3 I’d be so grateful you don’t even image how much.

I like to speak about Raphael and bg3; so this is an invitation jeje.

Kisses, see you around!

#raphael bg3 x reader #raphael bg3 x tav #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 x fem!oc #rafi <3

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shriketimes · 2 years

Text

monday july 18th, 1988.

After a successful weekend of celebratory sales at the Shrike Heights mall, the establishment has taken yet another horrific blow during closing hours last night. Despite precautionary measures that our police force has taken, the malls power was cut, leaving employees locked inside with the killers known as the Jack-o-lantern and the Hunter. Several members of our police force sacrificed themselves for the safety of our town. Fortunately, law enforcement has been able to capture the suspected ringleaders of the attacks, and the deputy sheriff has made a statement on behalf of the SHPD to say that it is expected that there will be a decrease in crime within the upcoming months. Still they suggest that residents be vigilant in order to protect themselves until police finish interrogating the perpetrators. A memorial will be held in the town center by the newly constructed historical museum for anyone who wishes to pay respects to those who laid down their lives to protect us.

sunday july 17th, 1988.

A fact known by most of the residents of Shrike Heights, is that early July marks the anniversary of the founding of this brilliant little town. For this reason, in 1987, the biggest development of the town yet, the Shrike Heights Mall, had been scheduled for completion in late June in order to be prepared for the celebrations held in July. 1988 marks the 130th anniversary of the founding of Shrike, and to celebrate, a new building has been erected in the town center. The Shrike Heights Historical Museum is the town's latest new addition.

To celebrate its construction, and the town's big birthday, the mall has had extended operating hours over the weekend, along with fantastic sales across all stores in the mall. It’s been one of the busiest weekends by far, competing even with its grand opening in 1987. Despite the protest from mall employees, most of them had still been rostered on over the weekend, pushing each and every person to their limits. The mall investors had no choice but to compromise with the employees - agreeing to provide the mall with extra security in the form of police on standby, along with extra mall security.

Saturday was a perfect day, the mall reaping profit from the locals and tourists from nearby towns coming to score a bargain and get their hands on things that are otherwise unavailable to them. There were no issues aside from a few pairs of middle aged shoppers fighting each other over the last of the item they had their sights on, along with some minor theft here and there - nothing altogether out of the ordinary. Sunday too is coming to an end without any sign of trouble, which makes some in the town feel hopeful. Others know very well that they can never let their guard down, even on the better days.

At the end of such a busy day of successful sales, most of the stores in the mall are packing up for the night, a little later than usual. Florian Bonavita and Lou Ryder make sure that Come What May is locked up properly before the two of them head down the escalators to the ground floor. “I’m surprised we actually had as many customers as we did,” Florian says as he leads Lou towards the back entrance.

Lou laughs, shaking their head in response, “No, with those deals I’m surprised we didn’t have more.” Though really, they’re thankful they didn’t - the weekend had been busy enough as it was. They found themself wondering how Charlie’s shift had gone - but figured they’d get to ask him any minute now.

Before they continue the conversation, one of the few remaining mall security guards, Deo Ramesh, calls out to the duo. “Allow me to escort you out!” he says with a smile so friendly that almost anyone would feel cruel to decline his offer. “Just to be sure you feel safe.”

“Sure, thank you,” Florian says, motioning with his head for Lou to follow.

“You’ve all done such a great job this weekend, working so hard. It must be nice to know that things’ll be calming down over the next few days.”

“Yeah, I’m personally dying for a break,” Lou felt that if they had to stand around much longer, they’d have permanent damage to their spine.

When they reach the doors, it’s evident that they’ve been locked, as they don’t automatically open when the employees approach. That’s not a cause for concern, however, as the back door is usually locked at this time of night, leaving only the front doors open. Deo presses the button to open them, but the doors don’t budge. He hums and presses it again. And again. “Strange… it should be set to open with the button. This is a hazard. I’m going to have to call-” Deo doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he notices the sound of big, heavy boots thudding on the linoleum behind them. Assuming that it’s yet another employee attempting the back entrance, he turns to tell them not to bother. Only it’s not an employee at all.

The Jack-o-Lantern killer comes to a halt, standing completely still as if he doesn’t even need to breathe. Deo thinks quickly. It’ll be safer to split up, he thinks. He doesn’t wait too long before he gives a command. “Run.”

The trio split up, and Deo steps closer trying to keep the attention on himself. “Hey, ugly!” he spits out the first insult he can think of, hoping that perhaps it will infuriate Jack enough to make him target Deo. Unfortunately, Jack is not phased by the petty insult. The killer turns to Florian, who is looking back at them with a panicked expression. The second that Jack takes a step towards him, he tries to flee - but he makes the mistake of underestimating the killer's speed. He thinks he has a chance of escaping without injury until he feels the sharp searing pain of the carving knife slicing down his back.

Lou considers checking on Florian until they remember that it’s not likely for Jack to be working alone. “Charlie,” they whisper. Without even filling the others in on what their plan is, they sprint in the direction of Angel’s, worried to death about their twin and praying for his safety. Their sudden movements have piqued Jack’s interest, and he follows them at a fast paced walk, as though he’s not too worried about losing them. Deo makes a move towards Florian to be sure he’s okay - when the power suddenly goes out.

They stand in silence for a moment, the only sound their heavy breathing. Deo pulls the flashlight from his belt and turns it on, rushing to Florian and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Fuck - it hurts. Am I… Am I going to die?” Florian asks, wincing as Deo pulls up the back of Florian’s shirt to examine the wound.

“No, you’re going to be fine. I’ve seen those real bad injuries that have nearly killed people. This doesn’t look so bad. Even if it could be life threatening, we’re going to get help before it gets to that point,” he reassures him. Florian lets out a shaky sigh, full of regret. After only having just built up the courage to return to the mall, the worst has happened yet again.

The two of them hear footsteps approaching, and Deo shines the flashlight right into the eyes of the perpetrators, anxious about what terrors may be stalking them. However, to his relief, it’s Jane Howard and Glenda Adams, both wincing at the pain of the light hitting their eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologises quickly, shining the light elsewhere.

“Is that blood?” Jane asks, her brows knitting together anxiously.

“I’m fine,” Florian says quietly - though he’s not so sure he believes it.

“Everything is going to be okay. We need to stay calm. I’m going to call Desi and see if he can get through the front exit.” Deo unclips his radio from his belt and speaks into it, “Calderon, this is Ramesh, do you copy?”

There is a crackling of white noise before the voice of Desi Calderon comes through. “Hey Deo, I read you loud and clear. Do you have any idea what’s going on with the power?”

“No, I don’t - but that’s not what I’m contacting you for. I have an injured employee here with me. The killers have somehow gotten past the security and the police outside and I can’t open the back doors. I wanted to know if you could check the front to see if you can secure an exit for us.”

“I’ll try my best. Stay safe, Deo, and take care of the employees as best you can. Someone has to do it.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Glenda - we need to go back upstairs. I don’t think I saw Orwell leave yet. If they’re up there all by themself-” Jane started, her voice full of panic. She’d seen enough friends hurt physically and emotionally by the killers.

Glenda put a reassuring hand on Jane’s shoulder, and she tried to hide the pang of anxiety deep in her chest. She knew that the Showtime employee had a tough exterior, but truthfully, they were more fragile than they let on. “It’s going to be okay. Deo - we need to go and make sure Orwell is okay.”

“Of course, I’ll take you there. I refuse to leave anyone behind.”

Outside of the mall, a dozen or so officers are left in darkness. It’s a complete surprise to them all. Thankfully each is equipped with a flashlight, which they all immediately turn on so as not to leave themselves practically blind in the night. “Is it a town-wide outage?” One officer asks. But another points out the lights in the distance. “No you idiot, it’s an isolated outage. You can see the lights in the apartments over yonder.” They motioned to the apartment buildings in the distance, only visible by their tiny little lit-up windows. Their voice was dripping with sarcasm. “If you don’t understand what that means - it’s just the mall.”

In order to investigate, the officers attempt to go through the front doors, only to find that they can’t get them open. Despite standing there, looking like idiots as they stomped and tried to set off the motion sensor, one of them finally realised what the issue was. “The power. The doors can’t open because there’s no power.” Someone slaps them across the back of the head in a less-than-playful manner. “Let’s split up. Surely we can get through one of the many fire doors. Or even a back entrance.”

“You stay here. Only a few of us need to go, we still need protection at the front, especially if the power comes back on,” Cara Wright is the one to take charge. Though she’d never admit it, she is scared of the unpredictable situation, and the only way to make herself feel remotely better is to put herself in charge of other people (no matter how unfit for the job she is.) “Jonathan will go with me. Antonia, Robert and Marius will go solo. Surely one of us will find an open door.”

Antonia Linwood makes the journey alone, along the side of the building and then along the back. It wasn’t the first time that Cara had put her into an uncomfortable situation, but she’s one of the more timid police workers, and doesn’t want to cause trouble by sticking up for herself. Despite this, she thinks about how much she dislikes her co-worker, and resents her for making her take the trip alone. She thinks perhaps this is worse than the time the woman took credit for her work and got a promotion because of it. At least taking credit for my intelligence wasn’t putting me in danger, she thinks. Over the sound of her own thoughts, Antonia doesn’t hear the figure approach from behind. As she takes another step, The Skeleton swings his femur bone in front of her, and he holds it against her neck. With his overwhelming strength, he squeezes her neck until she can’t breathe.

Antonia struggles against his grasp, but her brain is losing oxygen fast, and her body is going limp. When she can no longer fight back, the skeleton snaps her neck with a quick little twist. He made it seem as easy as snapping a dry twig. She drops to the floor, completely lifeless.

Inside, even in the dark, Lou manages to find their twin brother, Charlie Ryder. Alongside him are Topher Hancock and his co-worker Jupiter Bernstein. Lou is so relieved that their brother is safe that they throw their arms around him, holding him tight for just a moment. “The killers are here. We’re in so much danger - we are so fucked,” Lou tells them, hands still resting on Charlie’s shoulders, “We need to find a way out of here.”

“Dolly,” Topher says, the panic setting in. He feels like his stomach is going to crawl right out of his mouth. Unable to stand not knowing if she’s safe, he rushes up the escalator, and the others follow close behind him.

Topher’s eyes haven’t quite adjusted to the dark yet, so when he runs right into Dolly Jensen, he isn’t immediately aware that it’s her. Dolly holds his arms and squints in the dark, and within a few moments she’s able to see the features of his face. “Killers,” he says a little breathlessly, “Lou said we’re in danger.”

“I had a feeling in my gut that something was wrong,” Dolly says, swinging her arms around Topher's shoulders to hold him tight for just a moment. She’d had somewhat of a premonition the second the power went out; of course, she was only just putting two and two together, but she was thankful that she’d been taking the situation seriously from the beginning.

“How are we going to get out of the doors if the power is out?” Antonio Betancourt chimes in from behind Dolly. Lou, Charlie and Topher are surprised to hear from him, as they hadn’t even seen him standing there, a considerable distance away.

“I didn’t want to leave Antonio. I knew something serious was going on, and I couldn’t live with myself if-”

“I get it,” Lou nods, “We need to stick together right now.”

Topher rounds everyone up, making sure that everyone is together before he ushers them all towards the escalators. “Watch your step, you don’t want to fall down those right now,” he tells them, particularly taking note of Dolly's movements, making sure that everyone heads down before him. With a sigh of relief he takes a step forward. There’s a flash of darkness before his eyes and before he knows it, there’s something tight around his neck. His hands immediately grasp at the rope, but the pressure only increases.

Dolly turns to see Topher strung from a beam above, and she screams his name as he’s slowly lifted into the air by his neck, completely unable to breathe. She runs back towards the escalator with the intent of getting him down, one way or another. A masked figure appears in the darkness and knocks her to the ground with such force that it knocks the air out of her. Her head throbs from the contact with the ground, and she takes a moment to catch her breath. She whimpers as she holds her hand to her head, which feels warm and wet with blood. “Topher!’ her voice cracks. As she helps herself to her feet, there’s a sharp sound in the air.

Charlie stands wide-eyed with shock, blood trickling down his arm from where an arrow was now protruding from his bicep. He reaches for it, but pauses, unsure as to whether or not he should pull it out. The killer is standing with another arrow aimed in his direction. He’s not sure if he should run. Would moving make any difference at all? The Hunter has a brilliant shot, it seems. Lou feels their heart sink in their chest. They can’t imagine losing their brother - yet they can’t think of how to get out of this situation.

Dolly cries, tears running down her cheeks. She has to make a difficult decision. She can either try to save Charlie from the next arrow, or she can try to get Topher down from the beam he’s currently hanging from. It would be a difficult decision for anyone with a conscience - choosing to save one person over another. But being forced to choose between two people she cares about, it’s too much for her - and she freezes. The panic has taken over and she can’t force herself to make either choice.

As the hunter pulls the arrow back further, prepared to release, Lou makes a difficult decision. They leap in front of Charlie just as the killer's fingers let go of the arrow. The arrow zips through the air with a sharp thwip, and it pierces through Lou’s abdomen. The pain is so severe that they can’t even react. This certainly isn’t how I expected it to feel, they thought, reaching a hand up to pull at the arrow. Something shifts uncomfortably and painfully inside of them and that’s when they start to lose their composure. A second arrow zips through the air and lands in their thigh, ripping through their clothing and their flesh as though it were nothing but a piece of paper. Lou starts to cry. Charlie is going to have to watch me die. They collapse to their knees, their body shaking with the sobs.

Charlie rushes to them, “I can’t believe you just did that,” he says sternly as his own eyes fill with tears that he desperately tries to hold back. He seems to have completely forgotten about the pain in his arm now that he has his twin to worry about.

Meanwhile, Jupiter and Antonio have found the end of the rope tied to the railing. The two of them struggle to untie it in the dark, and once they get it loose, the weight of Topher’s barely conscious body causes it to unravel, sending him toppling to the ground with a heavy thump. His head is spinning and throbbing with pain, and he has such little oxygen that he doesn’t have the strength to lift himself up. They make their way over to him to check him over.

Knowing that both Charlie and Topher are safe for now, Dolly has come to her senses. She slides over to Lou, reaching for the arrow in their thigh and tearing it out quickly without so much as a warning. The barbed arrowhead causes more damage on the way out. “Dolly, what the fuck?” they seethe, holding their hands over the wound that is now bleeding more than before. Their eyes have adjusted better to the dark now, and they can see the blood spilling onto the floor through their tears. They hadn’t meant to snap at Dolly, but they were going into shock now.

“Don’t pull the other one out!” Jupiter says quickly as he helps Topher sit up, supporting his back as Antonio checks over his head to be sure there isn’t any serious wounds, “You could kill them.”

"I was only trying to help!" Dolly sobs, but as she's overwhelmed by the amount of help all three of her good friends require, it's understandable to all around her that she had acted so hastily.

“God only knows what the arrow has pierced - if you pull it out they could bleed to death. We need to get them to a hospital to get it out safely,” Antonio agreed, while gently tapping Topher on the cheek, “Come on Topher, keep your eyes open - you gotta get on your feet.” He and Jupiter help Topher to his feet, though he’s still unsteady.

With all the commotion, none of the employees had been keeping an eye on the hunter - so none of them expect the rain of flaming arrows that comes next. It’s difficult for them to dodge the assault while trying to support one another, and Antonio doesn’t quite dodge in time. The flaming arrow hits his chest and falls to the ground. His clothes catch fire almost immediately, and to prevent the fire from spreading to Topher and Jupiter, he jumps back and rolls on the floor, desperate to stop the searing pain all over his torso. He has no choice but to pull the remains of his shirt off to stop the fibres from melting into his skin. It doesn’t appear too bad, but his skin is blistering and no doubt it will leave a scar, even just temporarily.

Jupiter, in an attempt to avoid yet another arrow flying in his direction, takes a step in the wrong direction. When his left foot hits the ground, there’s a loud metallic screeching sound as his foot is caught in a bear trap. He screams as the sharp metal teeth dig deep into his flesh, threatening to cut right through if he makes any movement. Blood gushes out of the wound and onto the linoleum floor at an alarming rate, so he can only assume that an important artery has been hit. He doesn’t need to test his foot out to know that his ankle is broken.

Luckily, Dolly appears at Topher’s side to ensure he’s conscious enough now to support himself, or else he would have toppled down with Jupiter. Despite his dizziness, Topher gets to his knees and starts to pry at the trap, “I can’t see how to open it-” he says, his voice still weak after hanging by his neck, “it’s too dark, I can’t see.” But that doesn’t stop him from trying. Antonio joins him, taking hold of one side and pulling with all of his strength. The trap is wet with blood, and with every time they pry it away from the wound, Jupiters leg squelches as the wound fills with more blood. Dolly tries to take hold of Jupiter's wounded leg to allow them to more easily pull it from the trap, but holding the trap open proves to be a difficult feat and Topher doesn't let Dolly's fingers linger in between the sharp teeth of it.

“We need to tie up his leg, he’s going to bleed out,” Antonio says.

“I’m right here guys can we please not talk about me as if I’m not here?” Jupiter asks in a panic.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Antonio says quickly, using the rest of the material from his shirt to tie tightly around his leg, just below the knee. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was the right place to tie it, but he figured it was better than not tying it at all.

As Antonio and Topher start to pry at the trap again, Dolly trying to help Jupiter with his wound, Antonio is unexpectedly pulled back by his hair. The force is so intense that it wouldn’t surprise him if he were to be left with a bald patch on his head if he were to survive. He pushes through the pain to give up a fight - but the hunter slams his face against the ground several times, again and again. He feels the crunch, but the others hear it. First his nose breaks, and then his jaw. When Antonio feels the hunter’s knife puncture his abdomen, he starts to think that he doesn’t even have enough time to see these wounds become more scars added to his collection. The hunter kicks him aside, seemingly frustrated.

Topher’s arms shake and sweat drips down his forehead as he holds the trap open long enough for Jupiter to drag his leg out of it. Dolly wraps her hands around the man's torn apart flesh and she assists Jupiter with lifting the leg out as swiftly as possible to save Topher's hands from meeting the same fate. The second it’s free, Topher lets go, careful not to get any of his fingers caught between the snapping metal teeth. The two help Jupiter to his feet - or, foot. Jupiter can’t even hold his foot at a natural angle, the bone so mangled that it hangs there like the limb of a ragdoll. A scream is heard in the distance, causing Dolly to wince and reach over to Topher desperately, and the hunter takes interest, deciding to leave the mangled employees behind. Dolly cries as they make the most of the hunter's attention being elsewhere, all catching their breaths.

“Put pressure on your wounds,” Jupiter says a little breathlessly. The loss of blood and the panic from the pain is making him a little woozy. “Tie up Lou’s leg before they lose any more blood. And don’t pull any more arrows out.”

Charlie helps Lou by tearing the leg of their jeans off, starting from the tear that was made by the large arrowhead. He ties it securely above the wound as tight as she possibly can. He's not going to let this be the end of his twin, he's not going to let them die for him. Dolly struggles with letting go of Topher, first examining his already bruising and swollen neck, but she soon steps away to help Antonio as best as she can, trying to put as much pressure against his stab wound as she can manage with her shaking and already bloody hands.

Out in the darkness of the night, Robert Sutton is alone along the side of the building. He holds his flashlight out in front of him as he searches for the nearest fire door - which takes longer than expected due to him not knowing the layout of the mall. Despite the warm summer night air, he can’t help but get chills as he wanders the area alone. When he finally finds the door, he tries with all of his upper body strength to open it. When that fails him, he tries to throw himself against it over and over and over again in an attempt to force it open. He has no luck. One more try and I’ll move on, he thinks to himself, taking a moment to catch his breath. He takes a few steps back, prepared to get a little more speed this time. Before he can take his first step, someone grabs him from behind, and he feels a sharp pain across his neck. Blood pours down the front of his body. He barely has time to process what has happened before he hits the ground, gurgling blood as he tries to breathe. His hands reach for his throat in an attempt to stop the blood flow, but it’s too late. It only takes a few minutes for him to die. But he stares at the figure covered in a sheet to make them look like a Ghost until he takes his last breath. He’s terrified the entire time.

After hearing the commotion downstairs just before the power had gone out, Arne Berman runs up the escalator to take refuge on the first floor, desperate to find someone to cling to for the sake of safety in numbers. Though it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, he soon runs into Sami Zahid and Ryanne Williams, who had met each other in the dark only moments before.

“Something is very wrong - did you hear the screams?” Arne asks them, his voice a little jittery.

“No, we didn’t hear any screams, we were just worried about the power,” Ryanne answers, Sami nodding in agreeance.

“I have a really bad feeling ab-” before he can finish his sentence, the three of them hear fast, heavy footsteps coming their way. At first they suspect it could be a scared employee - but very quickly they realise that Arne was right to have been paranoid.

Even in the dark they can see the roundness of the jack-o-lantern mask that the killer wears as he approaches with his arm out to the side, carving knife prepared for slaughter. The three of them make a run for it, dodging past the first set of escalators and running down the concourse. Arne, lagging behind the others, trips over his own feet and lands harshly on the floor, his hands catching his fall. Jack is quick to catch him, pulling him up by the back of his shirt and slashing the carving knife along the man's abdomen.

Though Jack raises his arm once more, prepared to butcher Arne further, he doesn’t get the chance. Sami picks up a (thankfully empty) trash can with some effort, and he throws it at the killer. Arne groans as it hits his shoulder, but it ultimately does the trick - distracting Jack. The killer drops him and takes a few unbalanced steps backwards. Arne doesn’t have time to calm his anxious breathing before he’s running again, this time towards the second set of escalators. “Get in front, we don’t want to lose you,” Sami says as he pushes Arne ahead of him.

“Thank you for that,” he says through heavy breaths.

“Do me a favor and thank me when we get out of here,” he pats Arne reassuringly on the back. Once Arne is a decent distance ahead of him, he starts to move again. Unbeknownst to him, Jack has recovered from his little stumble, and it seems he is particularly frustrated with Sami’s little stunt. Before Sami can get very far, he feels a sharp pain across his back, which quickly grows wet with blood, soaking through his shirt. He quickly turns around and with all of his strength, kicks Jack in the center of the chest, sending him toppling down the still-standing escalators.

Though their pace slows with exhaustion, they continue to run once they reach level two. Running towards Bloom Boutique, Ryanne nearly crashes into Rebecca Kibo. There’s no time to explain the situation, so she grabs her by the arm and drags her along.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack?” Rebecca asks, struggling to keep up with the other employees, even despite Ryanne’s tight grip on her arm.

“Killer,” Ryanne huffs as she leads the group into Bloom, which is still open due to a panicked Glenda who hadn’t wanted to waste her time locking the store in the dark.

Inside the store it is terrifyingly dark, even moreso than out in the open space of the mall concourse. “We need to hide - not all together, I don’t think there’s enough space,” Ryanne says to the group. Sami nods and makes his way behind the counter, poking his head over the top to be sure he’ll be securely hidden underneath. Once he’s satisfied, he disappears from view. Rebecca makes her way to the change rooms, where she half wraps herself in a curtain, trying to keep it looking as natural as possible. This way, if she needed to, she’d be able to make a run for it without much effort. For a similar reason, Ryanne hides herself within a clothing rack full of half-price winter jackets that the store had desperately been trying to sell now that Summer is in full effect. She feels secure there, and knows that as long as she can control her breathing, she shouldn’t be found easily.

Arne is crouching behind a tall shelf, shuffling slowly from place to place, trying to find the best place to hide. He’s unsure of himself, and any hiding place he thinks of doesn’t feel right. He turns the corner and immediately freezes. Ahead of him is a large, shadowy figure. It’s even harder to make out their features in the dark store, but he knows for a fact that it’s none of the employees that accompanied him into the store. His breathing, though quiet, is fast paced and erratic, and he panics that even the slightest movement from him will catch the attention of the figure ahead of him.

Everyone holds their breath as best they can, knowing that it is a matter of life or death.

With a sudden, loud thunk, the head of the figure goes flying. Ryanne holds back a gasp as the head hits the floor with so much force that the sound makes her jump ever so slightly - thankfully not enough to move the rack that she was hiding in. It rolls beside her and tears fill her eyes. In the dark she’s unable to distinguish the features of the head, and thinks it must be one of her companions. Simultaneously, Arne screams as Jack steps in front of him, which makes him realise that the now headless figure was actually nothing more than a mannequin after all.

Arne tries to run but he’s caught by the hair. His whole body is shaking as he thinks about the mannequin head. Surely my head is next. This is it for me. Sweat runs down his forehead and he closes his eyes tight, unable to watch what was surely to happen next. Jack effortlessly slams Arne’s head into the shelf beside them, over and over. Arne feels and hears a crack in his face, and a sharp pain shoots through his eye socket. He’s never experienced such pain in his head before - and he’s sure that something in his skull has fractured. Jack stabs him again and the searing pain is so bad that Arne almost faints.

From the change room, Rebecca can hear Arne’s struggle. Anxiety is tugging at her insides, but she feels that it’s not right to just stand there doing nothing. She doubts that they’ll make it out alive but she figures she has to do something. After all, if they’re all going to die, she doesn’t want to die being a selfish asshole. She carefully slips out from behind the curtain and sneaks around the side of the shelf. Pushing with all of her body weight, the shelf topples over onto Jack. Arne is dropped, and before the shelf comes down completely, he crawls towards the counter where Sami promptly helps him. Jack takes a step back and lets the shelf drop to the floor, and in a furious rage he spins around and blindly slashes his carving knife. The blade slices Rebecca across the chest and the arm that she instinctively holds up to protect her face.

Ryanne leaps out from the clothes rack and they all make a run for the entrance of the boutique. Ryanne breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that all three of her companions still have their heads on their shoulders. When everyone is out, she pulls the security grille down as quickly as possible in an attempt to slow the killer. She cursed for the fact she didn’t have the key - but doubted that she’d be able to lock it very quickly in such darkness. Before she pulls away, Jack appears right before her, faster than seems would be possible. He grabs her shirt through the grille and slams her face against the grate, bringing his knife up to slice her across the chest. Ryanne truly believes she’s done for until Rebecca grabs onto her and manages to help her break free before the killer can do any further damage.

They run until the killer is no longer in sight.

“How is everyone?” Ryanne asks, trying to catch her breath from the intense, panic-fuelled running.

Arne can’t bring himself to use words to respond. His body shakes still with fear and with pain, and he feels himself losing blood at an alarming rate. No doubt he had left a blood trail that could have led the killer right to them. Sami lifts Arne’s shirt and tries hard to assess the wound in the darkness. “Arne’s in bad shape. But it’s okay, I think we’re in the clear now. We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” he tries to be reassuring despite being uncertain. “My back fucking kills. Bastard got me good. How about you, are you okay?”

Ryanne looks down at her shirt, which has been sliced and is now soaked with blood - but not nearly as much blood as Arne. “He got me pretty good too. But I’ll be okay.”

“I really didn’t think we were going to get out of there. I still don’t, actually, if I’m being completely honest,” Rebecca says as she examines her own wounds, wincing as she prods at the deep laceration on her forearm, “I think we’re lucky to be alive right now. So that’s something. We need to find a way to get out of here, or else we might not be so lucky by the end of the night. What happened to the cops that were supposed to be on standby?”

“The power is out, so the doors are locked, I’m guessing. I’m sure they’ll find a way in soon enough,” Sami is helping Arne out of his shirt so that he can tie it around his torso, to put some amount of pressure on the stab wound.

“What good have they ever done in these situations anyway?” Ryanne’s voice is full of disappointment, and the others know she’s completely right.

Police officer Marius Bass searches alongside the building, also looking for a fire door. Something tells him that they should have been better prepared - with a map of the layout and a plan in case anything did happen. But that’s not how things are in the Shrike Heights police department. Instead of a fire door, he’s met with the loading bay where the trucks bring in stock for the stores. As he shines his flashlight around, he notices a Scarecrow in the garden bed nearby. Strange… very strange place for a scarecrow, he thinks to himself, it must be some kind of inside joke. He tries the loading bay door, but has no luck.

Snap. He hears something from behind him. He swiftly turns around and aims his flashlight behind him, but there’s nothing there. He’s so panicked that he doesn’t even realise that the scarecrow is no longer in the garden bed. He stays put, listening closely. When he turns back to the door, he’s met with a pitchfork through the neck. The last thing he sees is the gnarly scarecrow’s face before he loses consciousness.

On the third floor of the mall, Christy Boyer has gone searching for a friend – very concerned about the power outage. She finds it awfully suspicious that the mall should lose power on one of the busiest nights of the year. In the dark, she finds Nora Davies, and it takes her a moment to figure out her identity before she’s close enough to see her face.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on? I couldn’t even manage to lock up it’s so dark,” Nora asks. The moment that the power went out, she found herself feeling increasingly anxious. “It doesn’t make sense. Something must be wrong… right?”

“Right – my thoughts exactly. It’d be too much of a coincidence for this to happen now,” Christy agrees. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been so paranoid - but this is Shrike Heights, after all. The last year of absolute chaos has been enough for her to assume that every bad thing that happens is related to the supposedly invulnerable killers who plague the town.

Nora stands in silence for a moment, thinking of the best plan of action. The doors won’t open, we won’t be able to break through, our only option is to try the fire exits. She motions for Christy to follow her, “Come with me. We need to get out of here before anything serious happens. I have way too much going on to deal with any of this.” The two of them carefully tread down the escalators, careful of the uneven steps towards the beginning and end where the track had paused when the power went out. On the first floor, they can hear voices nearby - soft, unthreatening whispers that tell Nora and Christy that it’s safe to follow.

Mary-Beth Jameson and Posey Bryant are discussing the events when the others find them. Mary jumps with surprise when she sees the figures approaching, but quickly recognises them. “You nearly scared the life out of me,” she says, hand over her fast-beating heart, “if you’re here to ask if we know anything about the outage, unfortunately we can’t help. Posey has already asked me a million questions.”

“Guilty,” they raise their hand. If they’d moved their hand a fraction to the right, they would have been met with a painful surprise. A flaming arrow shot past their head, so close that they felt the heat of the flames. They pull their hand back to their chest, eyes focused on the figure in the distance holding yet another flaming projectile. “Something very bad is happening.”

As the arrows begin to rain down around them at a scarily fast pace, they make their way to the escalators. Mary and Posey head down one side, and Christy and Nora down the other. Nora slips on the uneven steps and slides down a few steps before she regains her balance. Though Christy had thought Nora was quite unlucky for that, she very soon finds out that she’s wrong. As she runs down the steps, Christy finds herself caught in a trap, a snare snapping tight around her neck and cutting into her throat. The sudden stop gives her whiplash, but she’s thankful she wasn’t running faster, or else she might have suffered worse injuries. The snare is so tight around her neck that she can’t undo it by herself.

While Christy is tied up, the hunter makes his way down the first escalator, his eyes set on the other three employees – figuring that he can deal with Christy once he’s done with the others. He marches towards Posey and Nora first, hunting knife in hand. While distracted with them, Mary pulls together all the courage she can muster in order to sneak back up the escalator where Christy is pulling at the wire around her neck.

“Shh, hold still, let me figure this out,” Mary-Beth whispers, gently pushing her fingers beneath the sharp wire. The pressure causes the wire to cut into her hands, scraping the skin just enough for it to bleed. “Ouch – is your neck okay?” she asks, pulling the wire at just the right spot to loosen it. It’s too difficult for her to see where the snare is attached to, so she works slowly and carefully so as not to cut her hands or Christy’s neck any more than it already has.

“I’m okay – somehow,” Christy replies. Aside from the sting of the wound, all she feels is a dull pain in the muscles of her neck.

From there it’s easy to pull the wire open enough for Christy’s head to slip through. A wave of relief washes over them, but neither realise that they’ve caught the attention of the hunter again, who sees Mary freeing his victim. He quickly draws an arrow from the quiver and there’s no time for either of them to move. Both Christy and Mary expect impact, but the arrow only pierces Mary’s thigh. She cries out in pain and Christy crouches on the escalator, helping the other girl down so that she’d have some cover.

“Shit,” Christy places a hand on Mary-Beth’s thigh and feels the blood that is already dripping from the wound. “Are you okay, do you think you can walk? Or- run?”

Mary stretched her leg out and winced at the pain that came with her muscles stretching. “It hurts, but I think considering the circumstances, I’ll manage.”

“Good, if that’s the case… I think we should get the others and hide in the Jazzercize studio.”

“Okay… just give me a minute.”

Meanwhile, Posey reaches down to grasp one of the still-burning arrows. The flames and the heat of the burnt wood burn their hand, but they grit their teeth through the pain so that they can throw the arrow back to the killer in an attempt to inflict injury. They haven’t forgotten the searing pain of the injury that one of the hunter’s arrows had left across their chest back in March, and they refuse to go down now without a fight. The flaming arrow misses, but the hunter seems to withdraw in fear. This is something Posey will remember. As the arrow slowly burns out, the hunter moves to close quarter combat, and uses the sharp hunting knife to slash Posey multiple times, across the arms, across the chest and abdomen. Flecks of blood fly with each movement, flicking off of the knife as the hunter attacks again and again. It’s evident that he’s growing increasingly frustrated, as if he would almost prefer for the employees to accept their fate and go down easy.

Nora is considering running, leaving the others behind, thinking that it might possibly be her only chance to make it out alive. But before she can make a move, the hunter turns quickly and catches Nora’s neck with a sharp wire, squeezing it so tight that it cuts into her skin. She can hardly breathe with the pressure of the wire, her throat bruising as he squeezes tighter and tighter – she fears that if he pulls any harder it just might slice into her jugular. With his hand, he pulls an arrow from the quiver and stabs it directly into Nora’s chest. There’s an intense pain in her chest, and from the hole in her chest she can feel air escaping. Her lung has been punctured. The hunter uses the wire to drag her to the ground and he crushes one of her hands beneath his feet, the bones of her fingers crunching and breaking beneath his weight. Tears spill from the corners of her eyes as she finds herself closing them tight, afraid to watch as he delivers the final blow.

Mary-Beth however, despite her fear, can’t watch Nora die without trying to do something. She uses the darkness and the heat of the moment to take advantage of the killer. She kicks the killer right in the back of the knee, which sends him toppling forward. His knife slides across the floor and he loosens his grip on the wire around Nora’s neck. Christy pulls it over her head and drags her body aside before helping her to her feet, while Mary is quick to support Posey.

The four of them hobble away from the hunter, and when they turn to see if he’s hot on their tails, he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s almost as if he was never there in the first place. Posey feels a shiver go down their spine – but they’re unsure if it’s because of the unique situation, or if they’re feeling cold because of the amount of blood they’re losing.

“Into the studio, we can hide here until the power comes back on,” Mary guides them into her workplace, and pulls the grille down a little more than halfway, so that if anyone were to open it, they’d all be alerted of their presence. Once inside, they all pile into the staff room, taking a seat on the floor to rest and catch their breath. Posey and Nora are in bad shape, the two of them slumped against the wall in pain, wondering if they’ll last long enough for help to come.

“I’m surprised we made it out of there,” Posey said with a half-hearted smile. Their hair is damp with sweat, and there is so much blood that their clothes are dark and damp.

“I’m surprised she made it out of there,” Nora said, giving a nudge towards Mary-Beth.

“Hey – Mary, you did a great job. Thank you. If it weren’t for you I’d definitely be dead meat right now,” Christy places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“I don’t think you need to thank me, I was just trying to do the right thing.”

Posey laughs weakly. They close their eyes and start to lean sideways, their body exhausted from the pain and the loss of blood. Nora nudges them harshly but doesn’t get a response. Christy leans forward and carefully takes a hold of their shoulders, “C’mon Posey. Stay awake. Stay awake until help comes.”

Posey groans.

Cara Wright and Jonathan Grey are making their way down the back of the building. Despite the power outage, which has given them a larger workload than the woman would have liked, she’s thankful for the dark so that Jonathan can’t see her trembling with fear. “If we don’t at the very least pretend to do our job, we’ll get shit from both the boss and the public,” she says to Jonathan. “It’s important that we get into the mall so that it looks like we actually know what we’re doing.”

“But… we don’t know what we’re doing, do we?” Jonathan asks her, using his flashlight to look around them to be sure that they aren’t being followed. He too is a rather cowardly officer.

“As long as it looks like we care, that’s all that matters. The important part is controlling mass hysteria. Nothing else that goes on here really matters,” she snaps. Though some might have thought she was speaking only for herself, it was no surprise that she was speaking for the entire police department.

Cara turns the corner and Jonathan doesn’t follow.

Jonathan is pulled back around the corner, much to his surprise. At first, he suspects another officer trying to get his attention to give him some news. But he feels someone punch him in the back repeatedly, over and over and over again. It isn’t until the blood starts to pour down his back that he realises he’s not being punched – he’s being stabbed. He tries to call out for Cara, but he finds that he can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs, meaning they’ve likely been punctured. The stabbing continues, over fifty stab wounds in his torso. He’s dead before he even has the chance to feel the last dozen.

Deo, Jane, Glenda and Florian make their way up to the third floor, Deo having no issues leading them to Showtime even in the dark. He knows the place like the back of his hand – perhaps even better than that. Just as suspected, Orwell Washington hasn’t left the store yet. They’re standing behind the counter with a broom for self-defence and a lost expression on their face when they approach.

“Orwell! Are you okay?” Jane asks, relieved that Orwell is alive.

“Can I think about that one and tell you the answer later? I must say that even though I’m not scared of the dark – and I swear I’m not – I am not a fan of being alone in the dark, considering the climate you must admit that it feels a little threatening,” Orwell says, seemingly all in one breath. The way they’re talking all breathy immediately clues Jane and Glenda onto the fact that they’re incredibly anxious.

“It’s okay, you’re not alone, or in the dark anymore,” Glenda says sympathetically, reaching out, squeezing their arm in a way that said, I’m here for you. “We can talk about it later if you want. But for now, let's get out of here.”

“Are you all okay?” Orwell asks.

“I’ve seen better days,” Florian answers glumly.

“We’re fine,” Jane says on behalf of herself and Glenda.

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d love to take you out to the front entrance to see if we can get you to safety. I don’t doubt that Desi will figure something out for us,” the security guard ushers the four employees together. But little do they know, they aren’t alone on the third floor.

Jack, after having escaped from Bloom, has circled the area and has returned to the third floor, hoping to find some of his previous victims. He’s in luck. Before they’re even aware that he’s there, they begin to hear the sound of heavy boots slamming against the linoleum like he weighs more than any average man could. They see the pumpkin-headed man appear in front of the store, standing and staring with the already bloodied carving knife in his hand.

The four of them try to space themselves out around the video store, trying to keep distance between themselves and the killer. Jack takes his first step into the store, and it's all he needs to be able to reach out and take hold of Jane by the arm. With wide eyes watching the perpetrator carefully, Jane is able to see him coming, and while she's unable to move fast enough to avoid his grip she is so frightened that she jumps dramatically, slipping out of the killer's hands but accidentally backing into a shelf of videos. The shelf topples over, and Jane loses her footing so terribly that she falls on top of it, feeling the sharp corners of the VHS tape covers digging into her from all angles, scraping at her skin. Glenda steps backwards, wincing and reaching down to hold her leg. The shelf had scraped against her, ripping into her flesh. Jane immediately gets to her feet, absolutely racked with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Glenda.”

“It’s okay, just be careful – for you, not for me,” she reassures her through the sharp sting.

Orwell becomes the next target. When the killer reaches for their hair they move too fast – his fingers only just grazing the ends, not enough for him to hold. She lets out a sigh of relief, but she celebrates her escape too soon. Jack’s strong hand lands on her shoulder and he spins her around, and with the knife he holds in the other hand, he slashes across her chest, tearing through her work shirt and into her skin. Wet blood trickles down and starts to seep into her clothing.

They take several unbalanced steps backward, but the same fist on their shoulder reaches for their hair once more, this time taking a fistful of the messy locks. Orwell’s lower lip trembles with fear and they kick and struggle against the beastly man. He slams their head against one of the shelves twice, the first hurting, but the second splitting their forehead open. Jack’s strength made Orwell seem like they weighed no more than a doll.

“Please, please leave me!” Orwell sobs, blood trickling from her forehead over her freckled cheeks, “Please leave me, let me go, please don’t kill me! Don’t…” she stops being able to form coherent sentences through her sobs. Jack shows no mercy, driving the carving knife deep into their abdomen several times before dropping their limp body.

Jane’s eyes fill with tears as she’s forced to watch the assault on her friend. Glenda feels like she’ll never really forget this moment.

“Help Orwell,” Deo says quietly, preparing himself to be braver than he’s ever been in his life. He breaks into a sprint, and when he reaches the shelf next to the killer, he throws his body weight against it. The shelf goes toppling over onto Jack, but it doesn’t fall to the ground, which is exactly what Deo was counting on. Glenda and Jane rush to the aisle where Orwell is lying limp on the ground, and with a team effort they drag them out of the way. The killer frustratedly swings his weapon, slicing Glenda’s forearm in the process. She doesn’t even flinch, just thankful that they’ve managed to get Orwell out of the way before Jack loses his balance and the shelf falls completely on top of him. Deo dusts himself off and removes his jacket, tying it tightly around Orwell’s torso. “I can’t… I can’t say for sure if they’re going to be okay,” he delivers the bad news. Panic sets in. He doesn’t want to see another person die. “But we can try our best to help.”

“Wake up, Orwell,” Jane gently holds Orwell, tears falling from her cheeks onto Orwell’s bloodied face, “Come on, you need to get up, we need to get out.”

“I would try to carry her but I don’t think I can manage it with my back,” Florian frowns.

“Orwell… come on,” Glenda gently taps her cheek until groggy blue eyes open. “Good, good, you doin’ okay?”

“Fuck,” Orwell says, holding her hand to her torso and feeling the dampness of all the blood. Despite the jacket tied tight around her wounds, the blood is already soaking the fabric of the makeshift tie, “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be on the inside.”

“Get up for me,” Glenda gets to her feet, arms hooked under Orwell’s to help them to their feet.

As Jack is pulling himself out from underneath the shelf, Deo ushers everyone out of the store, making sure that Orwell is fully supported on both sides by Jane and Glenda. “Get out of here, I’ll distract him, okay?” Deo says. His heart is beating so fast that he swears that he could go into cardiac arrest at any moment, though he knows that’s not quite how it works. He swallows hard and gently prompts Florian out beside the others. "Hurry. You won't have much time, especially with Orwell down so bad. Make sure Florian doesn't lose so much blood either."

“What about you?” Glenda asks.

“I’ll be fine. I know my way around this place better than my own home. I’ll lose him.”

“Okay… good luck. Thank you for your help Deo. We owe you our lives,” she says softly. Something in her gut tells her that they won’t be seeing Deo again, but she’s too scared to bring it up.

“Don’t mention it. I love my job.”

The employees make a run for it, as fast as they can with a barely conscious Orwell and a struggling Florian, and Deo is left alone to face the killer. As he stands in the doorway, watching the others escape, he takes a moment to think back over all the important moments of his life. He’d had a good one, considering his struggling parents and his large family. There wasn’t a moment of his life that went by where he didn’t feel loved and appreciated by at least one person in his life. He doesn’t even realise that he’s sobbing, tears spilling uncontrollably down his cheeks. His one regret would be that he didn’t get to savour the last hug his mother gave him, nor did he get to say ‘I love you’ to each and every one of his siblings before he went to work.

He knows when it’s coming. Jack drives the knife furiously into his back multiple times. He keeps his strength for as long as he physically can, holding onto the frame of the door and refusing to move out of the way. But the blood loss gets the best of him. He slides to the ground and Jack walks over him as if he isn’t even there, leaving him to bleed out. At this point, the others aren’t visible from Showtime, and he relaxes now knowing that there’s a chance they’ll get to safety.

Deo reaches for his radio. “Hey - Desi?”

White noise. “Copy. What can I help you with, Deo?”

“Nothing really, it’s just…” he finds it difficult to speak - like his air supply is limited. “The pumpkin got me good.”

There’s a pause. “Deo? Are you serious?”

“I’m not going to make it, Desi. I just know I’m not going to. I feel it.”

Desi’s eyes fill with tears as he listens to his co-worker talk to him on the radio. He refuses to believe it. Refuses to lose him. “Deo hold on. I promise you we’re going to get you some help, just stay awake and hold on for me.”

“I can’t… but Desi please, do one thing for me.”

“No, no I won’t. Deo, stay awake.”

“Please… tell my family I love them. More than anything.”

Desi’s hands shake as he holds back a sob, though the tears keep flowing, “Deo, you can tell them that yourself. Listen to me - stay awake. Keep talking to me until I get to you. Where are you?”

“Take care of yourself, Desi. And the other employees. Someone has to do it,” the weak smile is evident in the tone of Deo’s voice as he repeats what Desi had told him earlier in the night.

“Deo. Deo, please keep talking!”

The next sound he hears is a terrifying gurgle before silence.

“Deo!” Desi calls his name one last time. He understands now that there won’t be an answer. “I’ll try my best.” He says quietly, switching off the radio and holding his hands to his face, breathing heavily. He knows he has to compose himself soon. Everyone in the mall is in grave danger, himself included.

Bodhi Kol places a hand on Desi’s shoulder. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Please know that this isn’t your fault.” Desi doesn’t answer, knowing that if he tries his voice might crack as he cries. Bodhi understands, and doesn’t pressure him to speak, allowing him this moment to grieve.

Along the back of the building, Cara reaches one of the many fire doors. With a half-hearted jiggle, she’s unable to get it to open. Remembering what she’d said to Jonathan earlier, she pushes harder - knowing that the reward of getting inside (even if it happens to be too late) will be greater than the punishment from the townspeople of Shrike if she doesn’t get in at all. “Jonathan, can you try this stupid fucking door? Aren’t fire doors supposed to open no matter what? That’s a health and safety issue, right?” But there’s no response from her co-worker.

Cara turns around and sees that he’s nowhere to be found. “You’re an idiot, Jonathan,” she mutters under her breath, marching back in the direction they came, prepared to scold him like a schoolyard bully who didn’t get her way. She backtracks around the corner and gasps when she sees Jonathan’s body. She quickly gets to her knees beside him, shaking his body vigorously, though from the amount of blood on the pavement around him, she knows in her gut that he’s not waking up. “I’m going to get so much shit for this, I swear to god if you don’t wake up…”

The Skeleton takes a swing from behind. The heavy femur bone collides with the back of her skull, a loud crack echoing in the quiet night. Cara slumps forward, stunned by the pain but still conscious. Blood is seeping into her hair from where the collision split her scalp, but the killer isn’t stopping there. With another fullbodied swing, the back of her head bursts open, blood splattering over Jonathan’s dead body and the wall of the mall. He doesn’t stop there. Swing after swing, bone cracks, brain matter splatters over the pavement, there’s a symphony of wet squelches and crunches, bone scraping against bone. Cara won’t be taking charge of anyone in the police department ever again.

It takes a moment for Desi to collect himself, but he forces himself to do so. “Thank you for being patient with me,” he says quietly, straightening himself up and preparing to continue his task.

“You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m just trying to be a good person,” Bodhi answers. They often had to make an effort to be the kind of person that they never encountered. They were perfectly capable of putting aside the issues that they previously had with Desi during such a difficult time - they weren’t heartless.

“Desi, is that you?” the voice is familiar to the security guard.

He turns around and sees Dhruv Acharya approaching with Scott Laurence by their side. Immediate relief washes over him upon seeing that they’re okay, and he places his hand on Dhruv’s upper arm - a gesture to show just how happy he was to see them. “Thank god you’re okay. Things aren’t looking good around here. We need to get to the front door to see if we can open it.”

“Got it,” Scott says, his voice a little quiet. Desi takes it as a sign that he’s nervous - and he doesn’t blame him.

“But let’s not get too excited until we’re actually out,” Dhruv says seriously. They know there’s no reason to celebrate until everyone inside the mall is safe and out of harms way.

“We’re going to be fine. I’m not losing anyone else tonight.” Once Desi turns away from them, Scott gives Desi a terrified expression - almost as if he doesn’t quite trust the security guard to protect them. Dhruv dismisses him with a wave of his hand. If there’s anyone in the building that he trusts, it’s Desi.

The four of them head back towards the front of the mall, walking along the concourse. At every new store or corridor, Desi shines his flashlight so that he’s completely aware of his surroundings. However, at the next corner, his flashlight shines in someone's face. Soren Chen stands with her skateboard above her head, prepared to bring it down upon Desi’s head until she sees who she’s come face to face with.

“Woah, put that down, kid,” Desi takes a defensive step back, concerned that he’s about to be given a concussion by the familiar face.

“Sorry old man, just instinct!” Soren says defensively, tucking their skateboard under their arm and holding a hand up, “It’s the only thing I have to defend myself right now.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, but you could’ve knocked me out. Follow us, we’re getting out of here.” Soren gave a little salute and joined the group, walking a little closer than she normally would have. She was secretly very thankful to come across Desi. If it had been anyone else, she would have found herself distrustful. If it weren’t for her having known him for most of her life, she would have risked an escape attempt all on her own.

After having lost the remaining survivors of the other group, the Jack-o-lantern killer is furious. He hears Soren and Desi conversing and is drawn to them. With every heavy step he seems to get louder and louder, and it’s soon very evident to the group that he is approaching. Even in the dull light of the night they can see that every step he takes leaves behind a bloodied footprint. Desi immediately ushers the others forward and they make a run for it.

Scott struggles to keep up with the others, trailing just behind Dhruv as they run. Even so, Jack shouldn’t have been able to keep up with the group – yet somehow, he has. Heavy boots thudding so fast behind them that they’re too scared to turn in case it causes them to slow down even a fraction. Scott feels like he’s overextending his legs as he tries to run faster than he’s ever ran before. Even still, it doesn’t save him. Jack is uncomfortably close, and with a wide swipe of his arm, he slashes the carving knife deep into the side of Scott’s abdomen. Scott trips forward and slides onto his hands and knees, crawling across the linoleum, desperately trying to get back to his feet to escape the killer.

As Jack approaches, Soren takes action. Boldly, she steps in front of Jack, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She raises the skateboard above her head and with all of her strength, slams it over the perpetrators pumpkin head. The board breaks clean in half, the other half falling to the ground with a clatter. Her fear can no longer be hidden, as clear as day in her eyes, though she still tries. She throws the other half of the board and turns around quickly, helping Scott to his feet and guiding him into Bodhi’s arms.

Scott’s eyes are full of tears as he’s overwhelmed with the pain and anxiety, but Bodhi supports him. “Hey, look at me - it’s okay. I know it hurts now, and I know it’s scary, but it’ll be okay.” In response, Scott’s breathing starts to slow and he nods his head in response, obviously feeling a little more under control with the help of their words.

The killer turns his attention to Soren now, her act of heroism obviously setting him off. She makes a run for it, down the side of the concourse near the vending machines. Already she’s a little out of breath - running has never been one of her strengths. She starts to regret it when Jack hits her in the center of her back, sending her hurtling into the ground. She winces, pulling herself along the ground in a desperate crawl as she tries to get away. Jack has other plans.

Jack reaches to the cigarette machine beside them. Soren, still crawling away, has no idea what is about to happen. With very little effort, Jack pulls the cigarette machine down, holding it above them for a moment as if to tease them. Soren rolls aside as fast as they can, but they don’t make it in time. The machine catches their left arm, crushing the bones in an instant. Soren’s scream is so gut-wrenching that it makes their throat ache. As if the pain isn’t bad enough, Jack steps up onto the machine, his entire weight supported by the heavy machinery crushing her arm. Soren sobs. Okay, okay, you got me. You win. The metal corner of the machine cuts deep into her elbow. I’m going to lose my arm. Holy shit I’m going to lose my arm.

The killer takes slow steps on the machine, stopping right on top of her arm. At this point Soren can’t even bring herself to make any noise, so instead she silently cries with her face against the floor as her arm pulses with all kinds of pain. He crouches nice and slow, taking his time to reach forward and take hold of her free arm - the right arm. He pulls her arm back, which pulls her left shoulder in an unnatural way, dislocating it with a painful pop. Soren groans through gritted teeth, her tears completely involuntary. Equally as slowly as his other movements, he slides the carving knife deep into her side. Soren is sure she’ll die now.

Dhruv can’t stand by any longer. Despite his fear, he approaches the killer and starts to throw punches to the back of his masked head, putting all of his strength into each and every hit. Jack pulls the knife from Soren’s wound and spins around, swiping the bloody blade across Dhruv’s face. They stumble backwards, holding their hand to their face in surprise. Jack steps off the machine and holds the knife out towards Dhruv in a threatening manner - but Desi refuses to let him be threatened. He pushes Dhruv aside and takes his place, with nothing but his flashlight in hand. Jack swipes at him and Desi uses his flashlight to protect himself - the blade meeting the metal hilt of the tool with a sharp noise. He lets out a shaky breath. Desi isn’t so lucky the second time. The knife misses the flashlight and slices across his forearms, leaving him with a terrible, searing pain.

Bodhi and Dhruv make their way over to Soren as quickly as they’re able, using teamwork to lift the machine up, and Scott helps to drag them away from the machine. Scott nearly vomits when he sees the state of her arm, but he hides his reaction from her. Bodhi and Dhruv breathe in sharply as they help her to her feet.

“Soren, Soren do me a favour and don’t look at your arm, okay?” Bodhi says softly.

“I don’t… I don’t want to lose my arm,” Soren whimpers, clenching her eyes shut tight. She doesn’t need to see her arm to know that absolutely nothing is right with it. The bone has broken through the skin, and the limb is purple with contusions and swollen due to the break. If she didn’t get medical assistance soon, no doubt she would lose function of the arm.

“It’s okay, we don’t know that yet, so just focus on breathing deep for me,” he tells her. “Shit, I don’t think you’re stable enough to walk on your own-”

“She’s probably in shock,” Scott says, standing aside with his arms wrapped around himself.

“Don’t worry, we can support her. I’ll even carry her if we need to,” Dhruv stands to support Soren’s other side, and they start to hobble away from the scene behind them of Desi fighting with the pumpkin-headed killer.

“Run!” Desi says, taking his own chance to run, catching up with the others in no time at all.

Once the group is clear of the killer, Bodhi takes the time to check up on Scott, who still seems rather reserved considering the situation. Scott, who insists he’s fine, is very clearly not. His face is pale and he seems a little shaky, and Bodhi can tell that it’s not because of blood loss, but because of the sheer anxiety of it all. “I know I told Soren to focus on breathing, but I want you to do it too.”

“Okay…” Scott nods. It’s not something that he hasn’t heard before, and it’s definitely not something that always works, but for Bodhi’s sake he tries.

“I’m… gonna lose…” Soren muttered, “so much blood. There is so much blood.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” Desi says, brows furrowing as he shines the flashlight over her abdomen. Her clothes are soaking with blood and her shirt is torn from where she was stabbed. “You’re gonna be okay. But for the love of all that is good, please do not look at your arm.”

After hearing screams, Delilah Lennox finds Fiona Torres and Hector Reyes close by, but it's evident that the gut wrenching sounds have not come from them. She keeps them close and they all move to investigate, all sure that something extremely sinister is happening in the dark mall tonight. They make their way upstairs, where Delilah is sure the screaming has come from, and while they aren't exactly sure if they've been led to the right group of victims, they can only assume so.

“We heard screams, are you okay?” Hector asks as they approach.

“Holy shit, she is not okay,” Delilah motions to Soren, “That’s…” Fiona nudges Delilah and gives her a stern look. Don’t comment. She signs. That’s all the warning Delilah needs before she shuts her mouth.

Desi, Dhruv, Bodhi and Scott are almost certain that Jack is likely to be following them still, so they all take a moment to think about the best plan. Though it feels cruel to think, Soren is slowing them down a considerable amount. There’s no way Desi is going to put Soren in a situation that is any more dangerous than the one they’re already in, but he realises that they need to separate in order to keep everyone safe. “I have an idea.” Desi signs in ASL as he speaks. “We have a killer that’s moments away from finding us. So… Fiona, Delilah, Hector, you take Soren and help hide her somewhere that we can come back to as soon as we figure out a way out of here.”

“You’re getting rid of me?” Soren asks with a pout. She’s almost seeing double now, and she’s so very tired. She tries her hardest to sign to Fiona, they’re getting rid of me! But her left arm is useless. Fiona shakes her head and signs back, save your strength, you’re not doing well. Soren shrugs in response.

“Alright, we’ll make sure she’s safe. There should be an abundance of hiding places around here,” Hector agrees to the challenge, “But… to be clear, if anything happens, I can’t be held responsible, right?”

Delilah shakes her head, “Hector, you’re not the one that did that. It’s just a game of chance now.”

Desi holds Soren’s face in his hands for a moment, “I’m not abandoning you, okay? I’m trying to help you. Stay safe out there, kid. I’m gonna see you on the other side of this.”

“Sure thing, old man,” she was practically slurring her words now.

The two groups separate once again, one having lost a party member and one having gained one. Soren is being supported by Hector and Fiona as they walk back down the hall, looking for some kind of open store to hide Soren in until they could get assistance. It’s not long into their search that they begin to hear the heavy boots following at a slow pace behind them. They’re unsure as to how Jack found them, but they know they need to get out of there, and fast.

The three of them practically carry Soren into the employee’s only hall, figuring that would be their best bet instead of seeking stores that hadn’t yet been locked up properly. They know that without Soren, they’ll escape quicker. And with Soren hidden, they won��t be a target. It’s a win-win situation if they all make it out alive.

In the hall, they meet Karim Díaz, who had been cleaning up for the night when the power went out. Karim shines the flashlight in their direction; he instantly panics at the sight of Soren, with her mangled arm and blood-covered torso. “What the fuck happened here?” he asks, the raise in pitch of his voice evidence of his nerves. Her arm was enough to make him feel queasy.

“She was with a group and they were attacked by a killer. Our plan is to hide her so that we can get away faster, while also protecting her by keeping her hidden. Does that make sense to you?” Delilah asks him. She can only hope that it does, because she can’t think of a better way to explain it than that, with all of her nerves.

Karim nods his head, even if he does find the whole situation to be a little sad. “Of course. Well, the storage closet back here is clean. It’s got a lot of stuff in there but in a way that’ll make her easier to hide. We should be able to pull that off.”

Hector certainly can’t think of a better idea with a killer hot on his tail, so he helps Soren into the nearby storage closet, where Karim builds up a pile of empty boxes to better hide her if someone were to take a peek inside. “I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but so long as we know this closet is the one we put her in, we’ll be able to find her again, easily. As soon as we’re out and we have some kind of protection we can get paramedics in here or something.”

Fiona thanks him. Despite understanding that it’s a perfectly reasonable solution when it comes to self preservation, she still feels guilty for what they’re about to do. She doesn't like the idea of Soren being alone after suffering such great trauma, and she worries that the blood loss will catch up to her sooner than what they can get help. But Fiona is aware that all she can do in her position, being pursued by a killer, is trust that Desi hasn't led them astray; at the very least she knows he's right in thinking that they'd be in trouble trying to defend themselves with Soren to look after.

“Thank you, Karim,” Delilah nods.

I’m sorry. Fiona says to Soren. Soren shrugs her good shoulder. She understands that she’s dragging them down. There’s a pang of guilt - and a fear that perhaps all Soren has done all of her life is drag other people down. You need to conserve strength. Rest here until we come back for you. Fiona signs. Soren feels bad for being unable to sign back, but she hopes that with Karim’s flashlight, she may be able to read her lips. “Okay. But if I die… can you please make sure that no mouthbreathers are at my funeral pretending that they were my friends when they actually hated my guts? I hate that…”

The four of them make sure that Soren is secure before going back out into the open space of the mall to see if they’re in the clear. Karim, Delilah and Hector are listening closely for any sign of him. When they start to hear the footsteps yet again, they’re much closer than they expected. They signal to Fiona, and she motions for them to follow. She figures that trying the fire escape might throw him off, at least a little bit. And at the very least, they’d get the killer off of the third floor.

The door to the fire escape is heavy, and they strain to open it in a hurry. The moment that all four employees are through, they desperately try to slam the door behind them, but Jack’s boot prevents them from doing so. “Shit - run!” Hector says. Karim runs first, then Hector, then Delilah. As Fiona turns away from the door to run, Jack bursts through and pushes her down the stairs. She hits Delilah’s back, who in turn topples into Hector.

Karim manages to escape the collision, pressing himself into the corner as the others tumblr down onto the platform. Hector is lucky enough to escape with nothing but a graze on the side of his face and bruises over his body. Delilah is not so fortunate. As she tumbles down the stairs, she smashes a knee against the edge of the concrete stairs, which breaks her patella clean in half. She holds her hands out to help break her fall, scraping her palms in the process. She cries out as she lands on the platform, twisting herself around so that there’s no pressure on her knee. She’s too terrified to move due to the severe pain.

When Fiona hits the platform, she catches herself with her hands to prevent from rolling into Delilah and her clearly broken kneecap. She winces at the sharp pain in her left wrist. The redness developing at the joint tells her that she’s at the very least sprained it. She watches the killer descend the stairs slowly, as if he’s attempting to be more threatening this way. He’s made Delilah his target, approaching her directly. She tries to scramble backwards, but she winces and cries, trying to hold her leg still as if that will stop the pain she’s just triggered in her knee. Jack raises a hand, carving knife ready to plunge right into the fallen girl, when Fiona uses the last of her strength to kick him in the back of his knee, sending him toppling down the next flight of stairs.

“My knee - I don’t think I can walk,” Delilah sobs, her breathing heavy with panic. She knows that if she can’t get herself up then she’ll be in the same situation as Soren. “I don’t want to be left alone. Please don’t leave me alone down here.”

“It’s okay, I can carry you a short while,” Karim tells her, “You’ll have to hold the flashlight.”

Fiona gets to her feet and dusts herself off, her entire body aching. She motions to Jack, who is slowly pulling himself to his feet. “Go,” Hector nods, pushing his body weight against the door. It’s so heavy and rarely-used that it screeches as he does so. Karim carefully scoops Delilah up into his arms, and they’re the first through the door. Hector follows suit. As Fiona slides through the half-open door, the carving knife leaves a nasty cut from her shoulder blade down to her hip. Jack has caught up faster than Fiona had been expecting, and somehow that makes the pain of his attack even greater. Once she’s through, they all slam the door shut on the killer's arm, causing him to withdraw.

Hector lets out a sigh of relief, refusing to move from the door for a moment, hoping that Jack will go elsewhere to play his sick games. “Fiona, you alright?” he asks.

Fiona nods. As okay as I can be. She signs, her wrist aching with the action. She’s thankful however that she’ll still be fine to use a notebook and pen to communicate while she lets her wrist heal. She’s confident that it’s only a matter of time before they get out of this hellhole.

“I don’t think my knee is supposed to look like that… please tell me it’s just dislocated,” Delilah says, throwing her head back and exhaling slowly as she tries to get rid of the nauseous feeling in her stomach.

“I really hate to break it to you, but that’s not a knee dislocation,” Hector tells her, as much as he wishes he could tell Delilah what she wants to hear. “It’s definitely broken. I’ve seen a few of those in my time. And most of the time, they heal pretty well! If that makes you feel any better.” Of course he assumes that Delilah won’t be playing any sports competitively any time soon.

Outside of the mall, police officers are growing impatient. Cara and the others have been gone far too long for their liking, but surely if they had managed to get inside, they would have called for backup. It makes sense to no-one as to why they hadn’t made contact yet. Joel Price picks up his radio and attempts to reach Antonia. “Officer Linwood, do you copy?” When he’s met with radio silence, he feels his heart rate increase ever so slightly. “Officer Sutton, do you copy?” Silence. “Officer Bass, do you copy?” White noise. “Grey! Do you copy?” Nothing. “Cara, you pathetic coward, answer me!” His hand shakes with how tightly he’s gripping the radio; he’s panicking.

“Sir - please calm down,” another officer says, used to the man's outbursts. “Maybe something is interfering with the signal. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Let's arm ourselves and go see if they’ve made any progress.”

Of course, none of the officers who had attempted entry had made any progress. Joel and his companion make their way around the mall and find the bodies one by one, getting increasingly disturbed and more distraught by each and every one. Cara’s body is the one that scars them the most. When the officer sees Cara’s brain matter splattered over the ground with pieces of her skull, he vomits into the nearby garden bed.

“We need to get inside. If the public finds out we let this happen, we’re going to be in deep shit.”

Desi, Bodhi, Scott and Dhruv make their way down to the ground floor at last. All four are exhausted from their encounters and the physical exertion. They make their way through the food court towards the front entrance of the mall - where Deo had originally asked Desi to try the front doors. Of course they don’t open automatically, but it doesn’t stop the security guard from trying to pry the doors open with his bare hands. He groans with frustration. I’ve failed. Even after all of that, I can’t do what Deo asked of me. Desi thinks. He doesn’t have the energy to cry anymore, but he slams his fist against the security glass in frustration.

Scott is breathing heavier than before, his body heaving with the deep breaths. He feels like his chest is restricted, like something heavy is sitting on top of him. He’s very familiar with this feeling. And silently, Bodhi recognises it, too. They carefully approach Scott, being careful not to overwhelm him. When they’re sure it’s okay to place a hand on his shoulder, they do so.

“I get these too, you know,” Bodhi motions to Scott with their other hand, “The constricting feeling. Like something is squeezing you way too tight and you can’t seem to get enough air no matter how hard you try… right?”

Scott finds himself breathing a little more naturally as he focuses on Bodhi’s words, nodding his head.

“You’re not alone, is what I’m trying to say. And if you can hold on just a little longer and make it through this, then I don’t doubt you can make it through anything,” it’s something that perhaps they could have benefitted from hearing at some point in their life. “We’re going to protect you. We’re getting out of here.”

“Thank you,” he says - his body slowly starting to ease up on him, allowing air into his lungs. The anxiety doesn’t leave him entirely, of course, but he keeps telling himself that he just needs to get through this.

“Is there anything you can do for the door?” Dhruv asks Desi.

Desi stands with his hands on his hips, an expression of defeat on his face. “I dont know. These doors have security glass. I don’t think we’d be able to break through them if we tried, it’d take some real force. Force that we don’t have, even with four of us.”

Dhruv runs a hand through his hair, the stress evident in his body language, “What about the fire doors? They’d work, right?”

“Something tells me they won’t. I feel like we’re very intentionally trapped in here.”

As Bodhi finishes giving Scott somewhat of a pep talk, he turns to see a large figure standing directly behind Dhruv and Desi. There is no mistaking the shape of the jack-o-lantern mask. It takes him a moment to register it properly - after all, why hadn’t they heard the footsteps? Why hadn’t they seen the killer walk past? It gave them the chills to think about how someone so dangerous could be so stealthy, despite their size. “Hey, pumpkin-head!” He calls, hoping to catch his attention while warning their companions.

Jack turns to face Bodhi, and approaches with such a speed that it terrifies them. Before Bodhi even has time to think of a plan, the killer wraps his hand tight around their throat, picking them up with ease. He feels the blood supply cut off from his brain, and the killer has clenched so tightly that he can’t breathe at all. With an effortless movement, the killer throws Bodhi to the ground with great force. He instinctively puts his arms out to break his fall, and he hears the snap before his body lets him feel it. Unable to crawl away with a severe break, Bodhi kicks and lashes out at the villain. Jack drives the carving knife deep into Bodhi’s side, just above his hip.

Desi feels his heart drop as he witnesses the attack. I can’t let this happen again. Not on my watch. He refuses to allow Bodhi to meet the same fate as Deo. He quickly passes the flashlight to Dhruv, and pushes Jack away from the injured person on the floor. Dhruv struggles to help them to their feet with the flashlight in their hand, but with Bodhi’s arm around them, they guide them to safety until they’re sure they can stand on their own. Desi approaches the killer with clenched fists in a proper fighting stance. Despite his external confidence, he doesn’t truly believe in himself.

At first there are a few missed swings from both parties, but Jack is the first one to land a punch. His fist collides with Desi’s face with a strength that seems almost unnatural. Desi feels a deep pain across the center of his face, deep down into his head. He can tell immediately that his nose is broken, blood dripping down over his lips. He has no time to think about the pain when another punch is thrown his way. He retaliates quickly, but his fist never meets the killer. He struggles to see through the involuntary tears in his eyes that come reflexively with the broken nose. Jack swipes the knife and Desi instinctively holds his hands up, allowing the blade to slice over his palms.

“Desi, don’t!” Bodhi cries, wincing at the pain of their muscles tensing, “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Desi ignores him. He throws another punch and this time it lands right into Jack’s chest. The pumpkin-headed killer doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react at all. In fact, he stands completely still, as if it were a scene on a VHS that had just been paused. Desi takes several steps back, confused as to what the man has up his sleeve.

He hears a thwip and a grunt.

Desi turns around to see Bodhi standing with an arrow through his abdomen, piercing completely through from back to front. He’s frozen with shock, as is Bodhi. Desi, with his back turned to the jack-o-lantern killer, is stabbed in the back, only inches away from his spine. One wrong move and there would be permanent damage. Desi can’t even react to the pain, because his eyes are focused on the person he was trying so hard to protect. Bodhi slowly reaches up to the bloodied arrow and gently puts his hand over it.

Another thwip.

An arrow pierces his throat. He coughs up blood and immediately struggles to breathe.

“Bodhi!” Desi screams his name, finally able to break through his shock enough to outwardly react.

The power switches back on all very suddenly, the light so bright that it’s almost blinding to the employees who have spent so long in the dark now. The scene in front of them is so much worse now that the deep red blood is completely visible. Bodhi stumbles forward a few steps before falling to his knees. The killers walk away from the group, making it very obvious that they’re done with their game for the moment. Not a single person can understand their motives.

All but those who were hidden for their safety have ended up on the ground floor, most of the employees having had the same idea of trying the front doors. They stay clear of the food court and the scene unfolding, terrified of being out in the open and vulnerable to yet another attack.

Glenda sees Hector’s face and approaches him, reaching up to hold him in order to get a better look, “Oh Hector, you poor thing. Did you get hurt anywhere else?” She can’t help but feel concerned for him - having known him for so long.

“I’m fine - but you! Are you okay?” he feels a little queasy at the sight of the open wound on her arm.

“Nothing I can’t handle. There are people here who have it much worse than me.”

Dolly, who just about thought she had run out of tears to cry, bursts into tears once more when she sees Orwell drenched in blood and paler than they’ve ever been. She rushes to their side and has to resist the overwhelming urge to throw her arms around them. Their eyes are tired, and they lean heavily on Jane, looking as though they could pass out at any moment. “Orwell! Look at you… How are you feeling?” She holds the back of her hand to Orwell’s forehead, which is unnaturally cold.

“Never been better,” they lie easily, as if anyone could believe them in that state.

“Oh shush, don’t lie to me. The killers are gone, the power is back on. I know you’re not okay, but I think you’re going to be just fine. Just hold on for me, okay?”

Desi rushes to Bodhi and takes him into his arms, his own pain and injuries the last thing on his mind. They can hear the police outside now, coming through the automatic doors, speaking in their angry, domineering voices at one another about catching the perpetrators. Desi doesn’t believe for a second that they’re capable of doing so. Otherwise this would have stopped a long time ago. “Bodhi, hold on, hold on, help is coming. Stay with me, kid.”

Bodhi can’t speak, they can’t even breathe. Desi promises that help is on the way but Bodhi knows that even though it’s true, it’s too late for him. He gurgles and blood spits out of his mouth, splattering Desi’s already blood-stained work shirt.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, I couldn’t protect you,” tears fill his eyes, blurring Bodhi’s face. I couldn’t protect anyone. “Please hold on. I can’t lose someone else tonight, I can’t watch this happen…” He cries. “You’re strong, kid, just hold onto that for a little longer. Just a little longer, Bodhi, just a little longer.”

Bodhi places a gentle, but bloodied hand on Desi’s shoulder. It feels reassuring, as though they’re letting Desi know that he tried his best, and that he shouldn’t blame himself. At least, that was Bodhi’s intentions - they hoped that it came across that way. The world around them is spinning, and their vision gets spotty. They know this is the end, and that there’s nothing they can do about it.

With a final breath, Bodhi’s hand slips from Desi’s shoulder, and he falls limp in his arms.

Scott hugs himself, tears filling his eyes spilling down his face. He understands that the last thing Bodhi ever did, in a dark and terrifying moment, was give the kind of kindness that they never received, to those who needed it most.

Dhruv approaches Desi carefully, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Desi… we have to get you some help right now, you’re bleeding. Come on.” Desi slowly and carefully puts Bodhi’s body down and gets to his feet with the help of Dhruv. He throws his bloody arms around Dhruv and hugs him tightly, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. He understands what Dhruv has told him, he understands that he needs to get help for his injuries, but they in no way even compare to the pain he feels over the loss he’s endured tonight. “I’ve got you, Desi. I’ve got you.” Desi trusts Dhruv more than most, and while it’s uncharacteristic, all he can do is lean on them for support, squeezing them and listening to their reassurance as he cries.

Meanwhile, half of the remaining police officers from outside of the building have piled into the back entrance. Jack and the hunter seem to have missed their chance to escape - the officers can’t believe their eyes as they approach. Several officers pull taser guns from their belt and rush towards the perpetrators, firing the taser in their direction. Other than a little movement, the stun guns have no effect on the men.

“It’s those damn costumes,” officer Joel Price says, retrieving handcuffs from his belt as his coworkers are waiting for his next command, “Take them down, handcuff them. We need them alive.” He’s an aggressive man, and he believes the killers need to pay for the crimes they’ve committed; he’s sure the entire town of Shrike Heights feel the same.

The officers pile onto the killers, and handcuff them with little to no issues. Joel Price has never been prouder of himself. It almost seems too easy, but he puts it down to him being great at his job. Perhaps the killers are also fatigued after doing so much damage in only one night, but that’s part of his logic that Joel won’t be quick to share while boasting, once back at the station. Once the killers are back on their feet, they’re surrounded by law enforcement and are taken to the police station.

Despite questioning and prodding from officers, the two men are silent the entire time.

plot drop 009 features twenty-seven of our muses encountering the jack-o-lantern + the hunter.

antonio betancourt is left with mild burns on his torso, a broken jaw, a broken nose and a stab wound resulting in severe blood loss.

arne berman is left with a superficial wound on the forehead, a broken eye socket, a mild concussion and two stab wounds resulting in severe blood loss.

charlie ryder is left with an arrow through the bicep.

christy boyer is left with a minor cut around the neck and whiplash.

delilah lennox is left with grazed hands and knees and a broken kneecap.

desi calderon is left with deep cuts along his forearms and palms, a broken nose and a stab wound resulting in severe blood loss.

dhruv acharya is left with a minor cut on the face.

dolly jensen is left with bruising and a minor cut on the forehead.

fiona torres is left with a sprained wrist and a cut down her back resulting in mild blood loss.

florian bonavita is left with a stab wound, resulting in substantial blood loss.

glenda adams is left with a minor wound on the leg and a stab wound across the arm.

hector reyes is left with a grazed cheek.

jane howard is left with scrapes and bruises.

jupiter bernstein is left with a broken ankle and a severed artery resulting in severe blood loss.

karim díaz is left unharmed.

lou ryder is left with a minor wound on the arm, and an arrow in the abdomen and thigh, resulting in severe blood loss.

mary-beth jameson is left with minor cuts on the hands and an arrow to the thigh, resulting in mild blood loss.

nora davies is left with a stab wound resulting in substantial blood loss and a punctured lung, a cut around the throat with severe bruising and several broken fingers.

orwell washington is left with a head injury, a cut down the center of their chest and multiple stab wounds resulting in severe blood loss.

posey bryant is left with burns to their hands and several deep slashes across their torso/abdomen, resulting in severe blood loss.

rebecca kibo is left with minor knife wounds across the chest and arm, resulting in mild blood loss.

ryanne williams is left with bruising and a graze on the face and a cut across the chest resulting in mild blood loss.

sami zahid is left with a deep cut across the back, resulting in substantial blood loss.

scott laurence is left with a deep slash on the abdomen resulting in substantial blood loss.

soren chen is left with a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder and a stab wound resulting in severe blood loss.

topher hancock is left with severe bruising around the neck.

bodhi kol is left with a stab wound, a broken arm, and two arrows piercing through the abdomen and neck – both of which are fatal.

#violence tw #gore tw #stabbing tw #death tw #injury tw #blood tw #hanging tw #plot drop 09

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atelierlens · 1 year

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Lens Atelier 19: Preview

It was the year 9 X X, 18 months after I joined Puller Office.

“GOOOOOOD MORNING, DISTRICT 16!!!! The time currently reads 8:00 AM, with a fair temperature of 22 degrees! It’s going to be a BEAUTIFUL day today with mostly-sunny skies and a cool breeze through to tonight at 9:00 PM, after which we’re expecting rain showers from about 9 PM - 3 AM. Be sure to keep your pets inside and safe by then!”

The speaker awkwardly cleared their throat, as if they had misspoken.

“Of course, this is a Nest channel, so our listeners from the Backstreets are already taking precautionary measures for that! This is aimed at our Nest listeners specifically. Now– for our scheduled programming on this fine morning, we have these next segments…”

“Ahhhh… Who woulda known today was gonna be so nice?”

The personable Fixer propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“Today feels like a laundry day. Y’know, like when you go to the laundromat and sit on one of them wax seats, watching whatever soap operas or novellas on the TV while waiting for your clothes to finish drying?”

“Ooooh? Didn’t take you for the kind of person to reminisce on things that have NEVER happened to you, Kuzuki~”

The playful Fixer sitting across from Kuzuki teased him.

“Untrue!”

“Exactly!”

She giggled as she pushed back at Kuzuki.

“Grrrr….”

“Now, Helena, don’t tease him too hard. He might actually just go out to do laundry right now just to prove you wrong.”

Mr. Blakeney butted in to join Helena in bullying Kuzuki.

“...Man, whose side are you on?”

“Hahah. I unfortunately don’t fight losing battles.”

Kuzuki groaned.

“Whatever! Point is– it’s really nice today!”

“You’re definitely right about that~! I could just go out and take a nice walk through the markets. Right, Sal?”

Helena turned to me, who by that point was listening to the radio on the other side of the lounge room and vaguely listening in to Helena and Kuzuki’s banter.

“Oh, well, uh… I guess? It feels like most other days, though.”

A dull response. It’s not that I wasn’t interested in taking part in my superiors’ conversation– I was just caught so off-guard that I couldn’t really add anything meaningful to it.

“Mmmm, not good!”

Helena shook her head at me.

“Huh?”

“You can’t just say something depressing like that and expect me to let it slide. Listen: me, you, after work. Let’s go shopping!”

“Wh—“

“Of course, Fiore’s invited too~ I want today to feel different from other days for you. C’mon! I can even give all sorts of advice. Dating, fashion, self-care, Fixer stuff~”

“Wh-what even…?”

I didn’t really know how to respond. I wasn’t even sure if Helena was being serious about this…

“Yo, what about me?! Kinda rude to go out and have fun without me, y’know!”

Kuzuki butted in, clearly feeling left out.

“Hm? Oh, sure, I guess you’re invited too. You’re gonna pay for our food though, Kuzuki~”

“Whaaat?!”

“That’s the rules~ You want in, pay part of the expenses.”

“Hrghmmmmm…”

Kuzuki grumbled before hanging his head in resignation.

“Morning, everyone!”

Fiore greeted everyone with a grin while carrying a bag of sweet breads.

“Morning, Fiore. You came in at the perfect time.”

Mr. Blakeney side-eyed Helena and Kuzuki.

“Huh? Hold on, what’re you two going on about now?”

Fiore inquired with a raised brow. She was used to intervening whenever Helena and Kuzuki were at each other’s throats.

But this time she was too late– Kuzuki had already been defeated by Helena.

“Ah, good morning Fiore~! We were just talking about going out shopping after work with Salieri here.”

“Oh?”

She set the bag of bread on Mr. Blakeney’s desk.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Just a spontaneous decision! I want Salieri to go outside and have fun without any sort of work obligations! You’re invited to come along, naturally.”

Fiore turned to look at me, clearly confused by my involvement in any of Helena’s antics.

“Err…”

Unfortunately, the most I could reply with was an awkward smile followed by a shrug.

“Well, I won’t ask. But, hmm…”

She rested her hand on her chin pensively. For a moment, her expression deepened into a frown, but then it returned to her natural, confident look.

“I’ll have to pass this time. You go on ahead though, Sal.”

“Huh? But… why aren’t you going?”

“I’m not gonna be home ‘till the evening.”

“Did something come up…?”

“Mmm, sort of. It’s nothing super serious though, so don’t worry!”

“...”

I couldn’t help but frown. Ever since I became a Fixer, I tried my best to start becoming less dependent on Fiore.

It felt like the longer I relied on her, the more of a burden I ended up becoming. Both financial and emotional. So I didn’t want to press this any further out of fear that I’d come off as needy, but…

Something felt off about Fiore today. Really off.

“Cheer up, dude! If I pay for food, then I’m also dragging y’all along to the arcade! It’s her that’s gonna be missing out on the fun.”

“A-ah…”

Kuzuki, who just moments ago was sulking, ruffled my hair. It’s something he and Mr. Blakeney did often, so I was sort of used to it…

“The arcade?”

Helena raised her eyebrow.

“Yeah. What, not into games at all?”

“Quite the opposite, actually~ Not only am I one of the most fashionable gals in District 16’s Backstreets, I’m also one of the best arcade gamers.”

“Hah! You’re bluffing. I’m the best gamer in all the City, period. You’re no match for my sick puck drifting!”

Helena smirked just as Kuzuki uttered those words.

“I’m not so sure about that. Everyone I’ve met who says that always end up being the most predictable, since they’re so focused on beating the puck until it slides into the goal that they don’t realize the score ratio is doubled against them~”

The two Fixers, once again, started their back-and-forth. Fiore let out a low exhale at the sight.

#fanfic #project moon

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facilitymanagementuk · 1 year

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The Benefits of Working with Facility Management Consultants

To build a brand new building you must check a number of components before starting construction. Working with a construction facility management consultants can certainly help alleviate your concerns about your project. Talk to these experts and learn a little more about brand new building construction and the dangers associated with them.

If you plan to build a new home or perhaps a large facility, you will go through a long process From the preparation process to the turnover of your home, you always have to observe the important things. You usually have to be by the side of your constructor to make sure everything is in the right position. When you forget to do this, you can waste your investment. You may ask yourself how you can protect your investment if you do not know anything about engineering. A construction facility management consultant can really help you with this process. They specialize in construction and have engineering degrees. They can come to your aid and help you explain the basics.

A construction consultant gives you a few solutions. Below are a few of them.

Project planning :

Such experts can guide you from the beginning of your project. They recommend designs and supplies to use so you know your new home or facility is of high quality. They help you create a budget so that you can spend based on the money you receive. This can be a problem for some people who do not get help and advice from the authorities. There is a tendency to spend extra on unnecessary additions to their benefits.

Facility management consultants also assist in overseeing current progress. Through this method, they help to identify potential hazards and present the method to them when they occur.

Forensic work :

Sadly, many buildings may not be as strong and durable because of certain components. If problems are not quickly identified, the entire building may collapse. Your consultant can really help point out the problem so that the developer can find a solution to it. This could be a weak spot on the floorboard or a problem with the foundation. They will try to find the root cause and plan the steps to prevent the problem from happening.

Security :

You may need to go through construction protection programs to make sure your site is safe. The lessons you will learn from these courses will reduce the number of events on the site. You will learn more about using safety gear that contractors should always wear in this area. There should be different signs in some corners of the site to remind the staff. Almost all employees have to go just before starting these programs. Restrictions from outsiders are among the first few regulations of the development site. Construction safety programs don’t just try to guard area employees. It also presents a precautionary measure for many who live near the site. Visit evbex.com for for more exclusive information.

#facility management #facilities management #facility management consultants #facilities management companies #Facility Management Technology #facility management software #real estate #key performance indicators #KPI Software #Business

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stingslikeabee · 1 year

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❝ i’ve learned so much from you. part of it is admittedly criminal behavior. ❞ listen this is from noah

'Wednesday' starters . accepting

It was only through working at the Archadian palace that one could learn all of its secrets; with such a maze-like structure and never-ending floors, not to mention the heavily armored guards that used to be patrolling every inch of the building during wartime, it would be impossible to find the elusive pathways and accesses that only a few individuals were aware of without raising suspicions and warranting questioning.

But now, with peace, the Bhujerban emissary was under no orders to discover secret scape routes meant to smuggle the emperor out under dire situations, or even ways leading to hidden armories and other supplies. Lilian, however, had been keen on going as far as she could on the tower where her office was located - ever the climber, even for one of the Sky City, part of her free time was dedicated to exploring ancient stairways and small corridors that seemed forgotten by most people.

Until she learned of a garden - supposedly small compared to the main one down, at the capital city proper, but which used to be tended to by a former empress of Archadia, long deceased. The extremely isolated location had been a precautionary measure - none of the enemies of the Empire at the time possessed flying crafts; the spouse to the imperial ruler from that era would be safe while cultivating her hobby.

The only way to get there was a small set of steps, leading from a door which had been jammed into place until Lilian heard about the story and started to investigate. Now, certain she had uncovered all the necessary clues, the woman had pulled Noah along as a companion to the final discovery, eager to share the moment with him (even if the plants had wilted, at least the view would be breathtaking).

But they were stopped short of the former dancer’s goal by another door - one she hadn’t expected to be locked, but fortunately not one with heavy chains or any outdated safety measures. Sighing, Lilian removed a hairpin from between her tresses to work some magic, not thinking twice before resorting to such alternative engineering methods to clear a path ahead.

“I’ve learned so much from you. Part of it is admittedly criminal behavior,” Noah’s amused voice came from behind her, and the woman paused her work to turn around and stare at him, looking at the magistrate with disbelief, mock outrage and clear mirth. A hand went to her hip, a clear stance of the shorter woman when she felt instigated to argue.

Noah’s smile did not falter at the sight.

“Noah fon Ronsenburg - you take these accusations back right now,” eyes narrowed at the figure of the judge - considering she was two steps above Noah, Lilian had the unique opportunity to look him at eye level rather than from under him, “We both work here - I have every right to be looking for this garden. It just happens the original key was misplaced.”

“So I imagine you had full clearance from the Marquis of Ondore to do the same to the maintenance pathways in Bhujerba when we first met,” the magistrate countered with a calm tone, hand raising to enumerate his arguments and making Lilian scoff in indignation, “And the permission of the owner to that storage room we broke into Rabanastre. Oh, and the consent of your traveling troupe manager when you borrowed one of their vehicles from Nalbina to visit the oasis from the Mosphoran Highwaste because you were convinced you had learned the key to the shrine mystery.”

“You were with me the entire time and I do not remember complaints,” Lilian arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms and offering the judge a look that anyone not used to their particular antics could mistake for actual animosity (of the type they nurtured for each other as ‘Gabranth’ and ‘Melissa’ for a while), “Besides, you represented the jurisdiction of the empire at all these times and you did nothing to stop me - that does turn you into my accomplice, does it not?”

“As usual, your imperial codex knowledge is lacking,” Noah smiled even further, a throwback argument to how the woman never truly bothered with the intricate details of the local legislation and relied far too much on her luck to get out of complicated situations (or counted on being a weakness to a judge magister); “I was unfit to represent the Empire and administer any punishment - my judgement was impaired by the influence of a bewitching presence.”

With that unexpected flattery, Noah’s hands pulled her close to him - just a minute gesture considering they were not far away to begin with, and also one done with care to not send both of them tumbling backwards. The judge’s declaration completely defused Lilian’s rage - as playful as it had been - and peace was further sealed with a soft kiss, the two of them separating long enough for the man to see the smile on the face of his beloved.

“You are impossible, Noah. You could have saved the beautiful words for when we reached the garden, you murkha” she murmured back, but there was only fondness in the Bhujerban’s voice. A hand went out to his face, a thumb stroking the underside of his chin softly before it was brought up to rest under his lips. “Although I do enjoy it when you speak abou the law like that - I used to abhor it before.”

“I know,” he replied, simply - and the slight curve of his lips had a double meaning. The judge had once provoked the woman on the grounds of testing her resolve and true agenda - now... Well, certain habits were just too hard to let go; the young soldier known as Noah had been ready to follow the dancer into all sorts of mischief, and to do everything she had asked of him.

Now, even if their titles were of judge magister to Archadia and diplomatic liaison to Bhujerba, they somehow had managed to bury their false identities built over rage and pain to let their true selves shine once more - even if just around each other.

#5judgements #v: FFXII #Wednesday starters #replied #in which Noah calls her out #and rightfully so #this lady was (is) a menace #to anyone with a career in law enforcement XD

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secretariatess · 1 year

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Arvek 16

It was unnatural how everything went back to its normal state after he returned with King Masitof. While it was not a long trip, it should have been long enough -and abrupt enough, he felt- that something was disturbed in the way things went.

However, everyone treated it like he had just gone for a day’s trip around the city. Instead, all the attention went into the preparations for the party from Phrompt, not just in making sure the guests were well accommodated, but also that they had as little interaction as possible with anyone outside of the castle. Rasinod, the castle healer, was forced to surreptitiously get large quantities of medical supplies to ensure the public was not alarmed, and believed the party from Phrompt were indeed infected instead of realizing that they were taking precautionary measures.

Things had not been resolved between Masitof and Arvek, and the bustling atmosphere of the castle did not help the relationship. When Arvek was no longer needed for his duties as prince, he found himself more often than not in the company of his mother or Cor, the only two in the castle who seemed to acknowledge his impromptu quest. Even though Arvek did not return with Selim, Niara made sure to express her gratitude several times for his attempt.

The queen had adopted an air of weariness since Arvek had left. To the public, she did everything in her power to maintain the grace and control of a queen. In private, her shoulders drooped, her head hung, and the life had left her eyes.

If there was something more that he could do, if there was something that he could say, Arvek would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Seeing her like that made his heart twist in pain, made worse by the fact that he knew the only way her own pain could be eased was in the assurance that Selim was safe.

And who knew how long that would take? Who could say how well the instructions to the Veil would be followed?

He was not allowed to ponder this question for long, as the party arrived within the week of his return.

When the party’s arrival to the city was announced, Arvek, his younger brothers, and Niara went to watch their procession through streets from the palace’s balcony overlooking the city. It was hard to miss them, as they had quite a colorful display that clashed with the streets, as well as banners with Phrompt’s crest, lest there be any mistaking this decadently dressed parade was somehow from Harlofelp. Had Arvek been in a lighter mood, he may have considered it quite humorous.

“I always heard that they put their horses in dresses,” Veran remarked, leaning over the balcony guard, his hand propping up his chin. “I never thought it was actually true. But even after seeing it with my own eyes, I still don’t think it’s true. It looks quite ridiculous.”

“I would hope that you would remember your manners well enough not to say such things in their presence,” Niara said, a hint of a warning in her tone.

Veran looked affronted. “Of I wouldn’t. But you can’t tell me you’re not thinking that they look like their horses were invited to a ball.”

Well, it wasn’t something Arvek was going to admit. Phrompt had covered their horses, with the exception of the team pulling the carriage, with long flowing cloaks, some of even going up the neck and covering the horses’ heads like masks. Fitting for a masquerade ball to be sure. But as far as Arvek was aware, no one was actually planning on having a masquerade ball while the Phrompt party was visiting.

“Just like their horses, they have their princess well hidden,” Cor noted, as the carriage came closer and they saw that all the windows were covered by curtains. In the time they watched, the curtains did not even flutter once to indicate that the princess was even the slightest curious in where she was headed.

“It is not so important to see her now,” Niara remined him. “We will see her in only a few moments.”

When the carriage disappeared from view, Arvek departed his family and headed to greet the arrivals. Ignoring the look his father gave him as he entered the entrance hall, he assumed his position -arms folded behind his back, torso straight.

First entered the herald, announcing the arrival of King Tyrovo of Phrompt, and his daughter Princess Rovyna.

Next came a handful of guards, positioning themselves symmetrically to the sides so the king and princess could walk down the middle.

Then came the awaited two themselves.

King Tyrovo hobbled in, doubled over with a cane in one hand and the other clutching his daughter’s arm. The metal chain that held his robe in place appeared to weigh him down, swinging happily in the pull of gravity. Wispy white hair appeared as though it at some point that day had been carefully groomed, but now stuck in every direction and generally doing whatever it pleased. The king’s wrinkled face had a permanent frown, eyebrows so close together he seemed to have unibrow hanging over two once dark eyes that knew no other expression but a glare.

Next to his hobble and clunking as the cane hit the ground with every step glided the Princess Rovyna. She stood a head taller than her father if he stood straight, her chin lifted in the air. Black hair with copper highlights was swept back into a braided bun, held in place by her tiara. Her eyes watched Masitof and Arvek carefully, but her expression was otherwise unreadable.

They came to a stop when they were with in a few feet of the king and prince of Harlofelp.

After a brief pause the four exchanged the proper bows, or in the case of Rovyna, curtsy.

“Welcome to Harlofelp,” Masitof said, when he had lifted his head. He spread his hands in welcome, but they only parted so far. “I hope that your journey here was not too difficult.”

“It would have been better if the roads were smoother,” Tyrovo said crossly. His voice was a curious noise. It sounded as though a mouse was attempting to roar. “I might not be as young as I used to be, but a young man could break his neck out there!”

Arvek bit back the response he wanted to give upon hearing rather unfair criticism of his kingdom.

Rovyna made no reaction to her father’s criticism, the expression the same as when she entered.

Masitof clenched his jaw before continuing to greet his guests. “That is unfortunate to hear,” he said. “I hope your stay here will not be as rocky as the road.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tyrovo muttered under his breath. He took a glance around the entrance hall. Arvek could see the very negative things coming to the king’s mind to say.

Apparently, so did Rovyna. Before her father could make mention of his surroundings, she said, “Forgive me for being so forward and skipping several formalities, but I am afraid the trip here has quite tired me out. Would it be too much for me to ask if we could be shown somewhere to rest until the evening meal?” Her tone was smooth and diplomatic, betraying no hint of emotion.

Masitof stepped to the side, gesturing her onward. “The servants will show you to your rooms,” he said, matching her tone.

She dipped into another gracefully curtsy before striding forth, chin still held high. Her father stumbled a couple of steps beside her, but was too weak to actually hold her back and too reluctant to let go of her. Arvek caught him grumbling something as they passed, but missed what he said. As Rovyna glided by, the two of them exchanged a glance with guarded curiosity.

So this was who he was expected to marry. Though there was little to glean from their brief encounter, at the very least, she knew how to keep her father in check.

For now, that was.

#between the veil and crown #arvek #rough draft

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beardedfoxinfluencer · 3 months

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Navigating the Waters of Business Resilience: Unveiling the Power of Business Continuity and Risk Management Services

In the ever-evolving landscape of business, uncertainties are as inevitable as they are unpredictable. To thrive in this dynamic environment, companies must equip themselves with robust strategies that not only shield them from potential risks but also ensure uninterrupted operations. This is where Business Continuity Services and Risk Management Services play a pivotal role, acting as the unsung heroes behind the scenes.

The Crucial Role of Business Continuity Services

Weathering the Storms

Picture this: a sudden network failure, a cybersecurity breach, or a natural disaster disrupting your business operations. Without a solid plan in place, these unforeseen events can be catastrophic. Enter Business Continuity Services – a comprehensive set of measures designed to keep your business afloat in the face of adversity.

These services encompass everything from risk assessments and data backup strategies to emergency response plans. The goal is simple yet profound: to ensure that, no matter what challenges arise, your business can continue to operate seamlessly. By identifying potential risks and developing tailored solutions, Business Continuity Services act as a safety net, bolstering your organization's resilience.

Beyond Disaster Recovery

While often synonymous with disaster recovery, Business Continuity Services extend far beyond mere crisis management. They involve proactive measures to prevent disruptions, including redundant systems, remote work solutions, and regular testing to identify and address potential weak points in your infrastructure.

In a world where downtime can translate to significant financial losses and reputational damage, the investment in Business Continuity Services becomes not just a precautionary measure but a strategic imperative.

The Strategic Importance of Risk Management Services

Proactive Risk Mitigation

Risk is inherent in every business venture, but successful companies are those that don't merely react to challenges but proactively mitigate risks. This is where Risk Management Services step in, offering a structured approach to identifying, analyzing, and addressing potential threats to your business.

From financial risks and regulatory compliance issues to supply chain disruptions and market volatility, Risk Management Services provide a comprehensive framework for navigating the intricate web of uncertainties. By identifying potential pitfalls in advance, companies can make informed decisions that safeguard their interests and foster sustainable growth.

Achieving Business Objectives Safely

Every business has its unique set of goals and objectives. However, achieving these goals requires a strategic approach that considers the associated risks. Risk Management Services align risk tolerance with business objectives, allowing companies to pursue growth opportunities while minimizing potential setbacks.

By incorporating risk management into strategic planning, businesses can strike a delicate balance between innovation and stability. This not only enhances decision-making processes but also ensures that the pursuit of success is accompanied by a vigilant eye on potential pitfalls.

The Synergy of Business Continuity and Risk Management

Building a Resilient Future

While Business Continuity Services focus on maintaining operational continuity, Risk Management Services act as the sentinels guarding against potential threats. Together, they form an unbeatable duo that not only safeguards your business but also empowers it to thrive in the face of adversity.

The synergy between these services lies in their ability to provide a holistic approach to business resilience. By integrating Business Continuity and Risk Management Services into your business strategy, you not only prepare for the unexpected but also lay the groundwork for sustainable growth.

Conclusiona

In an era where change is the only constant, businesses must be agile, resilient, and prepared for the unknown. Business Continuity Services and Risk Management Services are not just tools for crisis management; they are strategic assets that empower businesses to navigate the complexities of the modern business landscape with confidence.

By investing in these services, companies not only protect their assets and reputation but also position themselves as leaders in their industries. As the business world continues to evolve, those with a proactive approach to resilience will undoubtedly emerge stronger, more adaptable, and ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

#Business Continuity Services #Risk management

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armorservices · 6 months

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Safeguarding Kuwait: The Role and Importance of Security Guards?

In the thriving metropolis of Kuwait, security stands as the cornerstone of a safe and prosperous community. Security guards, the silent sentinels of our daily lives, play a crucial role in maintaining order and ensuring the well-being of residents and businesses alike. This blog delves into the significance of security guards in Kuwait and why their presence is integral to the fabric of a secure society.

Section 1: The Evolving Role of Security Guards in Kuwait

Security guards in Kuwait are no longer confined to traditional duties; they have evolved into multifaceted professionals equipped to handle diverse challenges. From safeguarding physical assets to ensuring public safety, their responsibilities have expanded to meet the demands of a modern society.

Section 2: Key Duties and Responsibilities of Security Guards

2.1 Property Protection:

Explore how security guards secure residential and commercial properties, preventing unauthorized access and deterring criminal activity.

2.2 Surveillance and Monitoring:

Discuss the importance of surveillance in maintaining a proactive security stance, including the use of modern technology for monitoring.

2.3 Crowd Control and Event Security:

Highlight the role of security guards in managing crowds during events, ensuring a safe and orderly environment.

Section 3: Specialized Security Services in Kuwait

3.1 Corporate Security:

Detail how security guards contribute to the protection of businesses, employees, and sensitive information.

3.2 VIP Protection:

Explore the specialized services provided by security guards for the protection of high-profile individuals and dignitaries.

3.3 Transportation Security:

Discuss the role of security guards in ensuring the safe transit of goods and people, particularly in logistics and transportation sectors.

Section 4: The Importance of Professional Training for Security Guards

Delve into the significance of ongoing training programs for security guards, emphasizing how continuous education ensures they stay abreast of the latest security threats and technologies, enhancing their effectiveness in safeguarding their assigned areas.

Section 5: Top Security Guard Companies in Kuwait

Highlight reputable security guard companies in Kuwait, showcasing their expertise, client testimonials, and any unique features that set them apart in the industry.

Conclusion: Fortifying Kuwait's Future with Professional Security Guards

In conclusion, the contribution of security guards to Kuwait's safety and prosperity cannot be overstated. As the first line of defense, their vigilance and professionalism serve as a shield against potential threats. Investing in professional security services is not just a precautionary measure; it's an investment in the collective well-being and progress of Kuwait.

#security guards in kuwait

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j-graysonlibrary · 6 months

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The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four Chapter 41

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 118k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: In order to save the world from the continuous subjugation and potential annihilation at the hands of Tiandi, hard lines must be drawn. The Great Spirits that were imprisoned ages ago must be unsealed and awakened, no matter the consequences.

The players are divided—those who stand blindly with Tiandi, such as Xiang Merra and her disciples versus those who want to tear the system down and give the power back to the people. Even a few of the most religious Lords change their minds when they learn the truth of the world—that Tiandi is no more than a dictator with no love in his heart.

It is up to the last, real Xiang and the ill-fated Chaaya to put everything they have into tearing God from his throne and creating new possibilities for the future.

Full chapter 41 under the cut

Chapter ILI:

“Lord Viren!” The reception to the returning lord was even more brilliant than anyone had planned for. Word of mouth did most of the heavy lifting for them and, before they knew it, there was a crowd of people, all ready to fight alongside them and help Viren reclaim his throne.

“We had lost faith,” one of the women said, crestfallen.

Another spoke up, “We had been told you were dead!”

“I know; I am sorry,” Viren responded with a sigh. “I wish I could have returned sooner but…”

As he trailed off, one of his old guards pushed to the front of the crowd and took a knee in front of him. “Lord Viren,” his voice was warm but there was a tremor underneath, “As much as we would love to reinstate you now, the Xiang Merra has placed your Aunt Seira on the throne.”

“Is she there now?” Baiya asked, reeling back. He had expected Viren’s replacement to be involved in the battle somehow but, for whatever reason, he did not picture them staying behind while Merra marched away from the capital. Perhaps she expected something of an ambush and left her as a precautionary measure?

“She is,” the guard answered and then looked up at Viren. His eye twitched when he really took in his appearance, noting the sickly complexion and weak stance. “You should remain here, Lord Viren. We will storm the palace and clear the throne for you.”

“I will help,” Kaz offered.

“As will I,” Heidi seconded, removing her axe from her back holster.

Kaz, Heidi, and Ashoka all hurried ahead with the guards and townsfolk while Baiya kept his arm looped with Viren’s so they could follow behind, only more slowly. Oli kept close by as well but his attention was divided between the two groups.

“Once you summon Gnome, you need to fall back,” Baiya said, keeping his voice low so only Viren could hear him. His partner was in even worse shape than when he had first come back from Gnoma—there was no way he could stay in the fight safely.

Viren, however, smiled and patted his arm, reassuringly. “I plan to.”

The gates to the palace were stormed and the front entrance was assaulted by more people than Seira’s guards were prepared for. Some of their own men turned against them and struck the Seira and Merra loyalists down. With the help of Kaz and Heidi’s abilities, none on Viren’s side suffered any casualties.

It took no time at all before Lord Seira was dragged to the front steps of the palace and forced onto her knees. A streak of blood painted her lip, dripping down her chin and staining her pristine robes. Her hair, disheveled, fell into her face but did not cloud her vision enough to block out her nephew.

“You…you pitiful worm…Lao was right about you!” Seira cursed but was struck on the back of the neck, knocking her forward. She spit blood and glared back up. “You should know that your presence here will not go unnoticed. The Xiang may be gone but the second she catches wind of this, she will turn around and direct her devastating attack force on you. You will be crushed by her and you—!”

Her attention shifted to Ashoka and she tensed immediately. She had, briefly, encountered both lord Lao and Seira while she was working with Merra but she could not count a single time they had spoken directly.

With a furrowed brow and a deep scowl, she continued, “Merra will make you suffer, traitor. You cannot win—none of you can hope to win!”

“Say what you want, aunt,” Viren replied with a collected tone, “but it matters not. You chose your fate when you took up Lao’s torch and became Merra’s lapdog. Had you thought of anything besides the power you could grasp, you might be worthy of a second chance.”

“I took you in…” Seira seethed, blood leaking through her clenched teeth. “I housed you and your mother! You ungrateful brat…”

“I am forever appreciative of your past support,” Viren said, looking past her, “But that is not cause enough for me to turn a blind eye to your actions of late.” Already, he had given her too much leeway in her scrimmages with Agni in recent years. He should have seen her path, back then, but his attachment to her prevented him from viewing her the same as Lao.

His aunt cursed as him, devolving into unintelligible ranting so Baiya led him away. “Let us get you dressed the part of King, shall we?” he suggested, keeping a firm hand on his back.

Behind them, Heidi raised her axe into the air and severed another branch of the Haun royal line for good. The cheering from the townsfolk was all Viren needed to hear to know that she had hit her mark.

***

Those who were not inside the palace or helping to root out the last of Merra’s men from within the walls of Ultimos were outside, to the south, where they constructed a small stage as fast as possible.

Viren looked at the robes set out for him, almost rendered catatonic by the daunting task of dressing. Luckily, both Baiya and Kaz were ready to help out.

Kaz went to work on removing his current clothes and, afterward, he pulled his hair up and tied it neatly to ensure it would not get in the way. He traced his fingers along the nape of the lord’s neck, evoking a shiver from him. “Sorry,” he mumbled and then stepped around to meet his golden eyes. “How are you feeling? Need anything? Water?”

Viren smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, though.” He lifted his nearest hand, making contact with Kaz’s chin, just barely, and led him closer. The kiss, chaste as it was, lasted a few moments and Viren so clearly did not want to leave it. His eyes appeared glassy but his voice held no tremor when he said, “You are very sweet, Kaz. It is easy for me to love you.”

Though the words had been said before, it was jarring every time. Kaz’s face flushed and he grumbled, “…you too.”

Baiya overheard and chuckled at his expense while he walked closer with the fancier robes in his hands. There was some heft to them so he took his time putting each layer on as to not overwhelm Viren. “It is bad luck to say such things before a battle, you know,” Baiya mentioned after all of the layers were in place. All that was left was adjustments and accessories.

“What?” Viren questioned, “The ‘I love you’ thing?”

When Baiya nodded, Kaz pointed out, “We all told Pangu we love him.”

“That is different. He is going somewhere else. We are all heading to the same battleground.” Baiya secured a heavily jeweled necklace around Viren’s neck. He caught his eyes and said, “It is the same as saying goodbye when someone leaves on an important mission. Instead, you should say ‘see you later’.”

“So, what would you suggest in our position?”Viren’s lip quirked into a smile.

“Hmm. Maybe a distant, even cold, ‘fight well’ or something to light the fire under the other person. Start an argument so they’re mad and have to survive if for no other reason than to give you a piece of their mind at the close of the battle.”

Kaz rolled his eyes while Viren laughed. The lord placed his hands on either side of Baiya’s face and pulled him, as well, into a kiss. “I love you.”

“…You care nothing about my superstitions…” The Agni disciple sighed and then responded in the way he knew Viren wanted. “I love you too.”

He and Kaz worked together to braid Viren’s hair and set in the headpiece to finish off the look. They, decidedly, exchanged no “I love you” between them and Kaz even decided to throw a, “If anyone has to die, I am rooting for your demise,” at Baiya before they left the room.

As it was his idea to pick a fight before the battle, Kaz wanted to respect his wishes.

The three joined everyone outside, instantly taking note that Kali and Chandes had also made some adjustments to their appearances.

“What kind of magic is that?!” one of the guards shouted in surprise.

“The kind that you need to keep your mouth shut about,” Kali snapped, using Kira’s voice.

“Yeah,” Chandes/Pangu added, “We need Merra to believe we are the ex-Xiang and Chaaya so all of you need to keep your yaps closed.”

“This will certainly get her to turn back around…” another guard marveled.

Viren smoothed down his robes and looked at the two. Although they were perfect replicas of Pangu and Kira, he could still, very much tell the difference. With a glance to Baiya and Kaz, he knew they could tell too.

“Alright, I will begin the ceremony,” Viren told everyone, “Baiya, Kaz, Oli, Kali, and Chandes—you five will be on stage with me. Heidi and Ashoka, keep guard with my army. A few scouts have been sent out further north and we will be signaled when Merra is here.”

The stage for Viren’s coronation was impressive, especially given how quickly it had been assembled. Kaz took in the sight with awe—there were banners, torches, and even some embellishments that he had not expected. Viren’s people were a lot more dedicated and devoted than he had assumed.

Since he had never encountered his people before, he could only guess that he had some loyal supporters but the majority of the city was on his side. They had ended up begging some people to stay in their homes to wait out the fight—even the unprepared, unskilled, average person wanted to raise arms for Viren.

It was already important for Kaz to protect the capital but his will grew even stronger seeing the love the people had for their ousted lord.

When the horn blew from one of the scouts, everyone tensed and looked to the horizon. A sea of bodies dotted the distance and it grew closer but no less dense. It was as if she had the entirety of Terra with her, save those they had encountered in the city and the people of Meala.

With only those capable of fighting from Ultimos—around three hundred bodies—and the small group they had arrived with, the match was daunting yet Viren did not flinch.

The Xiang’s army stopped with only a small stretch of the field before them. Merra spotted all the key players and her eyes narrowed. “What is this?” she hissed and glanced between Pangu, Kira, and Viren before stopping on Ashoka. “You really think you can outmaneuver me, Ashoka? You think I do not see that some of the fallen Xiang’s group is missing? You think I am a fool?”

“Good job having eyes,” Kali/Kira remarked with a wave of her hand, “I doubt you can guess what is coming.”

“And you have underestimated me,” Merra countered, “I know who every Great Spirit is attached to. You have no element of surprise—quick! Kill him before he can summon Gnome!”

The guards around Viren inched closer, ready to defend or deflect anything that came at them. Yet, none of the archers in Merra’s army drew their bows and neither Kubja nor Bofu moved. Kubja had his head bent, almost as if he was staring at the ground and Bofu looked even worse for wear than the last time Ashoka had seen him.

“There!” Heidi shouted suddenly and turned her attention to the left. A gleam in the sky appeared as an arrow of light was let loose.

She and Kaz pieced together a barrier to reflect it and, in order to avoid the redirect, the caster had to release whatever magic was hiding their presence. Jun darted to the side and the arrow flew off into the distance but he did not appear too distraught at being caught. The corner of his lip twitched, even, as if to smirk.

“No!” Baiya’s yell brought their attention back to the stage.

From the center of the field, another light arrow had been released and Gongji flickered into being right afterward. No one had seen it, with the commotion on the left, and the arrow hit it’s mark—the center of Viren’s chest.

He stumbled backward but Baiya caught him, lowering him down until he was on his knees. Kaz collapsed on his other side, taking the lord’s hand into his.

“Viren!” Kaz gasped, “This is my fault! I should have been paying more attention, I—”

“It is alright,” Viren stopped him and winced immediately. Talking took the wind out of him but he pushed through it regardless, “Oli, come closer…”

Though his face was frozen in an expression of shock and horror, Oli did as his cousin asked and knelt beside Kaz. He reached over to Viren but could not bring himself to touch his hand, as if doing so would break him. “…Yes?” he managed to ask, in a whisper.

“You…have to rule now…” Viren nodded, encouraging him to do the same. “You are ready…you will do well…ahhn”

“Viren,” Kaz clutched his hand tighter. “Hang on, we can get you somewhere safe where you can heal. Just preserve your strength.”

“That is sweet, Kaz…” Viren did his best to squeeze him back. “But I am not…making it out…I…” With a cough, a splash of blood washed over his lip and chin. “I am glad I was able to meet you…even if our time together was short.”

“Don’t do this,” Baiya warned as he placed a hand around the arrow of light, attempting to hold back some of the blood. “Please, Viren, what am I going to tell Pangu? He won’t forgive me if I let you die, you know.”

The lord smiled and, with his free hand, he mopped up a tear from Baiya’s cheek. “Do not worry…about that…” He gulped. “Take care of…Kaz…be n-nice to him…”

“Viren…” Oli barely uttered.

“I made…an agreement with Gnome…” Viren took a few steadying breaths, holding on as best as he could despite the darkness creeping around his vision. “This is all…for the best…do not lose focus…”

He removed his hand from Baiya’s face and gripped the light arrow with as much force as he could muster.

“Gnome,” he instructed, “Be free.”

Viren yanked the arrow loose and a beam of light escaped the wound. Everyone closed their eyes but refused to let go of him—even when a deep rumbling could be heard and felt through the land.

Once the light dimmed, a crack formed on the surface, right before Merra’s toes. She stepped back, urging those behind her to do the same. A loud, deep roar from the distance sounded and the earth ripped apart in a fury. Stones shifted and large chunks of land slid down into the new chasm that opened between Ultimos and Merra.

Heidi’s tears dried up as she watched Merra’s army almost disappear, past the horizon, while a deep and seemingly endless hole in the ground took her place.

“Incredible…” Kali/Kira mentioned as she dropped her ruse, finding it no longer necessary.

Chandes followed her lead and then looked to the others still on the stage or nearby. “Alright, I know we are all sad and everything but we need to hit Merra hard and fast while she’s off balance.”

“Viren…” Baiya whispered as he lowered him all the way onto the stage, resting him in as comfortable of a position as he could.

“He knew he was not going to make it…” Oli muttered, “I knew too but…I did not want to believe it.”

“Did summoning Gnome require a sacrifice or…?” Kaz asked, still confused.

“It doesn’t matter!” Chandes yelled out. “If we don’t act now, what he did will be in vain anyway.” She opened up a portal and pointed to it. “Let’s go.”

Leaving Viren’s body behind may as well have been the same as voluntarily severing a limb but Baiya and Kaz followed Chandes’ instructions.

“Oli, you stay with a few guards,” Kali said with a firm point of her finger. “Everyone else, come with us.”

The other end of the portal opened on Merra’s side of the ravine and, with Viren’s death driving them forward, Baiya and Kaz immediately fell into a groove of fighting side by side. Heidi and Ashoka, as well, made a potent combination.

Merra had already pushed backward, moving halfway through her forces to lead them south again and, hopefully, find some high ground or an advantage for one of the Princes to work with. She panicked at the thought of Gnome acting again—the next time swallowing them all into an abyss.

She came to a stop immediately as a new force caught them in a pincer.

The armor and colors were unmistakable.

“Traitors!” Merra shrieked and pointed. “Kubja, Hwang—direct all your strength to the lord of Meala! Kill him and I will burn the rest!”

Fire lapped at her palms as the back quarter of her force charged ahead to meet the new challenger. There were more of them than there were of the tribesmen so she knew she could overpower them. Her only set back would have been if Pangu had unlocked their crowns but, by the way they met her soldiers in battle, they were not working with any divine energy.

“Tiandi, give me strength,” she whispered to herself before running at Dio.

On the other end of the field, Chandes was able to see the success of the pincer attack. She was also able to see the ferocity with which Merra was pursuing Dio. “We need to help the lord of Meala! He is being surrounded by Merra’s forces.”

“On it,” Kaz replied and jumped into the air. He readied his spear to send it down onto Kubja but he was knocked from his perch. Heidi cushioned his fall with a little help from Sylph and he was placed gently back onto the ground while the faerie flew about him.

A faint crackling appeared in the sky before Jun and Gongji became clear. Baiya narrowed his eyes. “I am sick of this invisible spell shit.” He whirled his chain in his hand and threw his blade, bathed in flames at the floating men.

Of course, they deflected it and darted to either side. Between them, and on the ground, Bofu walked closer with a whip in hand. He stumbled but remained upright, clearly using all of his strength.

“This battle will kill you, Bofu!” Ashoka shouted, “Merra will not even think twice about using you as a sacrificial pawn—can you not see that?”

“What does it matter?” the boy groaned and pulled his weapon taut between his hands. “I am dead anyway…we all are.”

Evie’s scream rattled the field and she dropped to her knees as Merra’s soldiers surrounded her husband, blocking her view. But she had seen enough.

Spears pierced his body, from all angles and at nearly the same time. Fire shot through his veins and, even if he knew he would not survive the injuries, he still shot out as much of his energy as he could. Pangu had unlocked his crown and he would not let that effort go to waste.

The soldiers were either sucked into the earth and crushed or skewered by a spike he shot out. Evie, even in her distress, helped to beat back the majority of them.

She attempted to run forward but a blast of air knocked her back. Merra caught her eyes and it was clear she was holding her in place.

Even more of the Xiang’s men charged forward despite the rampage Dio had unleashed. His lifeblood poured out of him but he refused to slow down. Until his body literally stopped, he planned on fighting.

“Dio, watch out!” Evie yelled as she could not reach him—physically or with her energy.

Her eyes bulged as the men took to throwing their spears instead of rushing into him. Some were blocked by shields made of the earth but others cleared the barriers and, thanks to Merra’s control of the air, they hit their mark with ease. Evie let out a gut wrenching cry, falling to her knees.

Whether or not the Xiang was still holding her captive, she could not be sure. She only knew, when the soldiers surrounded her husband again, flailing and slashing, she could hardly breathe. They backed away and one of the soldiers held up Dio’s severed head, hooting out in victory.

Evie swore her heart stopped.

Merra’s cold eyes turned to her and she spoke to the remaining lord directly, “Do you see now? Tiandi’s law is the only way. You either obey or you die.”

Evie’s anger could have swallowed her whole—it could have engulfed the entire field—but the new arrival on the north west hill would have to do for her revenge. It certainly caught Merra’s attention.

The Xiang turned to see the new army, with the sun at their backs, and she scowled. She had known, when she saw Raine missing from the gathering, that he would appear at some point. And, at his side, the King of Kyrie stood along with a woman who glowed in the light of the sun, revealing a luminescent, blue body.

Yet another Great Spirit.

Merra’s hands balled into fists and she shook in a mix of anger and dread.

Raine checked in with his King, noting the eager smile on his face. “It seems we are here early,” he said.

“Good, perhaps we can end things before too many more lives are lost.” King Raime announced and held out his hand. “Undine; flood them.”

#the xiang chronicles #my novel #my writing

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