10-22-2015, 08:19 PM
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
The door slams shut with a horrible squelch and the distinctive crack of bone as the zombie’s hand is crushed. Shahrizai flinches from the sound as he stumbles forward. When he regains his balance, a familiar voice rings in his ears. Her voice. What the hell has she done to him?
He can’t help but glance around, looking wildly for the odd woman from the gilt room. That is, until her voice rings inside his mind, reprimanding him for such foolishness. He blushes, a faintly ruddy color staining his tan cheeks. As she continues, he gazes surreptitiously at his surroundings, taking in the high, leafy walls of the maze surrounding him. They are at the entrance, an ominous opening into a dimly lit interior. But it is the only way out besides the door. And there is nothing that could convince him to go back that way.
An anguished roar suddenly sounds out just as Shahrizai is forcefully lifted and slammed into the wall of the garden. It is an impressive feat, considering that the black haired man is not, by any means, small. Shah’s wild gaze finds the furiously angry and aggrieved eyes of Killian, who is holding him pinned against the densely entwined foliage of the maze.
“YOU KILLED HIM.” The words seem to be wrenched from the man’s throat, a statement so full of grief and rage that Shahrizai winces reflexively. He has no words for Killian. As far as he is concerned, it is his fault that Mick is dead. He had been so stupid. So disbelieving. If only he hadn’t doubted them, hadn’t delayed. But if wishes were horses…
He nearly snorts in laughter at that thought. Of all the times his inappropriate humor had to turn up, it would be now. But the thought of the dead British man is sobering, one that keeps the tasteless grin off of his features.
I’m sorry, Killian.
Shahrizai’s guilt is self-evident, worn (as every other emotion is worn) directly on his sleeve for the world to see. Killian, however, looks as though he is about to pop a blood vessel. “You’re sorry? You’re fucking SORRY!? …”
Killian does not get a chance to finish that statement, for Shah is abruptly jerked from his grasp into the massive wall behind him. Shahrizai had been so focused on Killian that he had not realized several vines had snaked slowly and surreptitiously around his legs, arms, and torso until the plants had tightened their grip on him. They draw him inexorably into the dark depths of the bushy walls, even as he begins to struggle violently, a shout of fear escaping his throat.
Killian stares at him passively for a long moment (an eternity, more like), before finally reaching forward and grabbing Shahrizai’s shirt. Pulling him forward, he draws a knife from where it had been stashed at his waist. For one terrible moment, Shah thinks he means to stab him. His last encounter with a knife wielding creature had been less than pleasant; he has no desire for a repeat. But rather than stabbing him, he hacks roughly at the vines holding him prisoner. Within moments, he is able to pull him free, only to toss him (none too gently, he might add) to the moss covered earth with a disgusted snort.
Shahrizai lands with a thump, breath leaving his body on a swift exhale. When he finally regains his ability to breathe and staggers to his feet, Killian is standing at the maze entrance, gazing into the dark interior. He doesn’t even wait for Shah to reach him before he starts forward into the maze, leaving Shah to follow on his heels like a whipped dog.
Slowly, inexplicably, Shahrizai feels himself growing angry at the man. He might feel guilty about Mick’s death, but it’s not really his fault that the Brit had died. Mick had been perfectly capable of making his own damn choices after all. Besides, wasn’t it Shah that had come up with the key that got them out of the mess anyway? With each step that he takes, he can feel himself growing angrier and angrier at the lumberjack (he can’t think of any better term for the fellow. Stupid lummox, maybe).
As they are walking, Shahrizai feels a faint rumble underfoot. The sensation distracts him from his anger long enough to make him pause. Apparently, Killian had felt it too, for he stops as well. With no further warning, a spray of dirt and moss flies into the air, spattering the two men with grime. A massive, worm-like creature erupts from the earth, squirming in their direction as it snaps at them with a gaping maw full of vicious looking teeth.
Shahrizai stumbles backwards in surprise, nearly falling on his ass as he does so. Killian crouches low, knives appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, into both fists. Shahrizai glances around, searching wildly for something with which to defend himself. There is nothing, only those deceptive maze walls and the moss and dirt beneath their feet.
Killian, however, does not hesitate. He launches himself at the disgusting creature, knives flying as they puncture the thick, pasty hide of the worm. Droplets of viscous yellow blood arc through the air, landing far closer to Shah’s leather clad feet than he might have preferred. The creature shrieks, a high, piercing sound that causes him to slap his palms over his ears. The worm, meanwhile, thrashes wildly, a chance blow knocking Killian back into the leafy wall of the maze. The vines waste no time, snaking out to grab at the dazed man. This time, Shahrizai doesn’t hesitate. Darting forward, he grabs Killian’s ankles and attempts to drag him away from the wall. Unfortunately one vine has already twined itself around Killian’s left arm, holding him tightly. He struggles weakly, still woozy from the blow to the head (though what he had hit his head on, Shahrizai cannot see).
Glancing around, Shah spies one of the knives that had fallen from Killian’s hands when he had been struck. The creature seems to have recovered however, and has turned back towards them, vicious and unrelenting. Launching himself forward, Shahrizai snatches the knife before hastily rolling away from the creature, distracting it from the prone man. It turns towards him, gnashing those razor teeth in frustration. Dancing backwards, Shahrizai encourages the beast to follow him. It does, far faster than he might have given it credit for. He panics for a moment, wondering how the hell he is going to dispatch the thing. As far as he can tell, there are no eyes, no ears, no nose. Nothing except a gaping, tooth-filled maw.
And, a short distance behind the creature, more vines are curling their way around a groggy Killian. He is struggling harder, trying to reach his remaining knife, but the plants have him well and truly bound now.
In a moment of madness, Shahrizai darts for the squirming monster, knife slashing wildly as he does so. Razor teeth graze his arm as he stabs repeatedly at the thing, rage and bloodlust consuming him until he is nearly unaware of his actions. The creature is shrieking that ear-splitting shriek, but Shahrizai doesn’t hear him. He sees only yellow blood, feels only the satisfaction of the kill.
When the creature’s faceless head is nothing but a ruined puddle, Shahrizai slowly comes to, drawing out of his reverie into a state of horror. What the hell had just happened?
He gapes at the decimated worm in shock as canary bright liquid drips from his hair, his fingers, his clothing. A low shout draws him back, pulling his attention to Killian, who had been pulled almost entirely into the hungry hedge wall while Shahrizai had battled the worm. Dragging himself over to Killian, he chokes back the bile that threatens as what he had just done sinks in. He couldn’t think about that. Not now.
In a state of almost numbness, he hacks at the vines holding Killian prisoner, splattering citrine blood over the other man as he does so. Finally Killian is free, and he jerks away from Shahrizai before lumbering to his feet. He gives the blood covered man a speculative glance as he steadies himself on his feet. Shahrizai remains on his knees, staring at the ground for several long moments after the other man has risen. He can’t regret killing the vile creature, but the unknown and vicious quality of his attack had astounded him. Sickened him.
Finally, at Killian’s urging, Shah clambers to his feet. He is unable to meet the other man’s gaze, instead stumbling awkwardly after him as he continues down the maze corridor.
They make several wrong turns, run into dead ends, back track, and all the while, Shahrizai shuffles along behind the more competent man in a haze. That is, until he realizes that he is growing hungry. A hunger that gnaws at his belly and turns his stomach into an empty pit. It is hard to describe, this feeling. One that is far more intense than any hunger he has ever before experienced. He slowly comes to realize that his senses are sharpening, scents are stronger, sounds louder. Like the sound of Killian’s heart thrumming a steady beat in his chest, pushing the smooth, crimson blood through his veins.
He is not aware of the physical changes being made to his body, and Killian does not turn around to see them. He is oblivious. So delightfully oblivious. Even as his skin grows pale, the tan leaching from him, his canine teeth lengthen and his normally chocolate brown eyes turn yellow, the pupils expanding rapidly. A small, cruel smile curves his lips. A smile he does not even realize is there.
He is hungry. So damned hungry. And Killian smells so delicious. Without realizing it, he speeds up, easily catching up to Killian as he walks briskly across the carpet of moss. Shahrizai grabs Killian by the arm, halting him in his tracks. Killian jerks to a stop, swinging around to face Shah with anger in his hazel eyes. Eyes that suddenly widen with alarm. His arm swings up, reclaimed knife already clutched in his fist. But Shahrizai is faster. He attacks with a swiftness he hadn’t know he possessed. Latching on the other man’s neck, he ravages his veins with brutal efficiency. The blood is sweet in his mouth, a copper tang that is more divine than clover. He drinks, uncaring, unaware of the other man’s life force as it slips away all too quickly. That is, until his stomach is full and Killian falls limp in his arms.
Blood lust fading, animalistic instincts retreating, Shahrizai abruptly drops the man as horror takes hold. He stares in shock at Killian’s pale face, fists clenching and unclenching by his side.
No. Oh god no. This can’t be happening.
Dropping to his knees, he clutches desperately at the man’s flannel shirt. Shakes him.
Killian!
His shout rings out, desperate and pleading.
Killian. Oh god, Killian. Please wake up. Please.
The last word escapes on a horrified sob. There is nothing. No breath in his lungs, no life in his wide-open hazel eyes. He releases his shirt suddenly, scrambling sideways as he wretches into the moss. Nothing comes out, not even the smallest drop of blood. His body is too greedy to let go of its prize so easily. He sobs in shame, in revulsion, clutching at the damp earth as he heaves.
He is so distraught, so caught up in his own torment that he does not hear the footsteps, the heavy breathing, does not smell the fetid breath of the hairy beast bearing down upon him. He doesn’t even realize it is there until it leaps into him, sending him sprawling. And even that does not draw him from his grief. His body, the monster inside of him, takes over. With agility and strength beyond anything he has ever known, he leaps to his feet and grabs the creature, unseeing and uncaring, and heaves it into the looming hedge. The vines grasp at it greedily, sucking it into the murky depths.
Stumbling forward, he leaves the scene of his crime, blind to what is before him. Tears stream from his eyes, carving tracks into the drying mixture of red and yellow on his cheeks. He doesn’t feel the blood staining his chin and neck, doesn’t see the bright crimson splashes down his once white shirt. He doesn’t want to.
In a daze, he stumbles into the heart of the maze. He doesn’t realize at first what he has found. Not until he sees the pedestal and basin filled with clear liquid.
Water. That is the only thing he can think of as jerks forward, intent upon that liquid. He needs that water. To clear the blood from his mouth. To quench this terrible thirst.
He is almost there when something drops from the sky. Sharp talons dig into his back, scoring his flesh and lifting him several feet off the ground. He twists in the winged creatures grip, bloody hands grasping for the misshapen bird. A woman bird, he thinks, with savage claws, a beaked nose, a massive wingspan, and large, sagging breasts. He snarls as he writhes in its grasp. The action causes the harpy to drop him, and he falls to the earth with a thud. It comes for him again, but this time he is ready. He leaps for the ugly bird as it comes at him, talons extended. A ferocious snarl displays his lengthened canines as they tangle, his hands gripping, twisting, her claws gouging flesh. In the end, he prevails, breaking her neck and sending her skidding across the carpet of moss.
He doesn’t hesitate, unwilling to lose his precious prize. He doesn’t even bother with his hands, instead plunging his face into the liquid and gulping for all he is worth.
He can’t help but glance around, looking wildly for the odd woman from the gilt room. That is, until her voice rings inside his mind, reprimanding him for such foolishness. He blushes, a faintly ruddy color staining his tan cheeks. As she continues, he gazes surreptitiously at his surroundings, taking in the high, leafy walls of the maze surrounding him. They are at the entrance, an ominous opening into a dimly lit interior. But it is the only way out besides the door. And there is nothing that could convince him to go back that way.
An anguished roar suddenly sounds out just as Shahrizai is forcefully lifted and slammed into the wall of the garden. It is an impressive feat, considering that the black haired man is not, by any means, small. Shah’s wild gaze finds the furiously angry and aggrieved eyes of Killian, who is holding him pinned against the densely entwined foliage of the maze.
“YOU KILLED HIM.” The words seem to be wrenched from the man’s throat, a statement so full of grief and rage that Shahrizai winces reflexively. He has no words for Killian. As far as he is concerned, it is his fault that Mick is dead. He had been so stupid. So disbelieving. If only he hadn’t doubted them, hadn’t delayed. But if wishes were horses…
He nearly snorts in laughter at that thought. Of all the times his inappropriate humor had to turn up, it would be now. But the thought of the dead British man is sobering, one that keeps the tasteless grin off of his features.
I’m sorry, Killian.
Shahrizai’s guilt is self-evident, worn (as every other emotion is worn) directly on his sleeve for the world to see. Killian, however, looks as though he is about to pop a blood vessel. “You’re sorry? You’re fucking SORRY!? …”
Killian does not get a chance to finish that statement, for Shah is abruptly jerked from his grasp into the massive wall behind him. Shahrizai had been so focused on Killian that he had not realized several vines had snaked slowly and surreptitiously around his legs, arms, and torso until the plants had tightened their grip on him. They draw him inexorably into the dark depths of the bushy walls, even as he begins to struggle violently, a shout of fear escaping his throat.
Killian stares at him passively for a long moment (an eternity, more like), before finally reaching forward and grabbing Shahrizai’s shirt. Pulling him forward, he draws a knife from where it had been stashed at his waist. For one terrible moment, Shah thinks he means to stab him. His last encounter with a knife wielding creature had been less than pleasant; he has no desire for a repeat. But rather than stabbing him, he hacks roughly at the vines holding him prisoner. Within moments, he is able to pull him free, only to toss him (none too gently, he might add) to the moss covered earth with a disgusted snort.
Shahrizai lands with a thump, breath leaving his body on a swift exhale. When he finally regains his ability to breathe and staggers to his feet, Killian is standing at the maze entrance, gazing into the dark interior. He doesn’t even wait for Shah to reach him before he starts forward into the maze, leaving Shah to follow on his heels like a whipped dog.
Slowly, inexplicably, Shahrizai feels himself growing angry at the man. He might feel guilty about Mick’s death, but it’s not really his fault that the Brit had died. Mick had been perfectly capable of making his own damn choices after all. Besides, wasn’t it Shah that had come up with the key that got them out of the mess anyway? With each step that he takes, he can feel himself growing angrier and angrier at the lumberjack (he can’t think of any better term for the fellow. Stupid lummox, maybe).
As they are walking, Shahrizai feels a faint rumble underfoot. The sensation distracts him from his anger long enough to make him pause. Apparently, Killian had felt it too, for he stops as well. With no further warning, a spray of dirt and moss flies into the air, spattering the two men with grime. A massive, worm-like creature erupts from the earth, squirming in their direction as it snaps at them with a gaping maw full of vicious looking teeth.
Shahrizai stumbles backwards in surprise, nearly falling on his ass as he does so. Killian crouches low, knives appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, into both fists. Shahrizai glances around, searching wildly for something with which to defend himself. There is nothing, only those deceptive maze walls and the moss and dirt beneath their feet.
Killian, however, does not hesitate. He launches himself at the disgusting creature, knives flying as they puncture the thick, pasty hide of the worm. Droplets of viscous yellow blood arc through the air, landing far closer to Shah’s leather clad feet than he might have preferred. The creature shrieks, a high, piercing sound that causes him to slap his palms over his ears. The worm, meanwhile, thrashes wildly, a chance blow knocking Killian back into the leafy wall of the maze. The vines waste no time, snaking out to grab at the dazed man. This time, Shahrizai doesn’t hesitate. Darting forward, he grabs Killian’s ankles and attempts to drag him away from the wall. Unfortunately one vine has already twined itself around Killian’s left arm, holding him tightly. He struggles weakly, still woozy from the blow to the head (though what he had hit his head on, Shahrizai cannot see).
Glancing around, Shah spies one of the knives that had fallen from Killian’s hands when he had been struck. The creature seems to have recovered however, and has turned back towards them, vicious and unrelenting. Launching himself forward, Shahrizai snatches the knife before hastily rolling away from the creature, distracting it from the prone man. It turns towards him, gnashing those razor teeth in frustration. Dancing backwards, Shahrizai encourages the beast to follow him. It does, far faster than he might have given it credit for. He panics for a moment, wondering how the hell he is going to dispatch the thing. As far as he can tell, there are no eyes, no ears, no nose. Nothing except a gaping, tooth-filled maw.
And, a short distance behind the creature, more vines are curling their way around a groggy Killian. He is struggling harder, trying to reach his remaining knife, but the plants have him well and truly bound now.
In a moment of madness, Shahrizai darts for the squirming monster, knife slashing wildly as he does so. Razor teeth graze his arm as he stabs repeatedly at the thing, rage and bloodlust consuming him until he is nearly unaware of his actions. The creature is shrieking that ear-splitting shriek, but Shahrizai doesn’t hear him. He sees only yellow blood, feels only the satisfaction of the kill.
When the creature’s faceless head is nothing but a ruined puddle, Shahrizai slowly comes to, drawing out of his reverie into a state of horror. What the hell had just happened?
He gapes at the decimated worm in shock as canary bright liquid drips from his hair, his fingers, his clothing. A low shout draws him back, pulling his attention to Killian, who had been pulled almost entirely into the hungry hedge wall while Shahrizai had battled the worm. Dragging himself over to Killian, he chokes back the bile that threatens as what he had just done sinks in. He couldn’t think about that. Not now.
In a state of almost numbness, he hacks at the vines holding Killian prisoner, splattering citrine blood over the other man as he does so. Finally Killian is free, and he jerks away from Shahrizai before lumbering to his feet. He gives the blood covered man a speculative glance as he steadies himself on his feet. Shahrizai remains on his knees, staring at the ground for several long moments after the other man has risen. He can’t regret killing the vile creature, but the unknown and vicious quality of his attack had astounded him. Sickened him.
Finally, at Killian’s urging, Shah clambers to his feet. He is unable to meet the other man’s gaze, instead stumbling awkwardly after him as he continues down the maze corridor.
They make several wrong turns, run into dead ends, back track, and all the while, Shahrizai shuffles along behind the more competent man in a haze. That is, until he realizes that he is growing hungry. A hunger that gnaws at his belly and turns his stomach into an empty pit. It is hard to describe, this feeling. One that is far more intense than any hunger he has ever before experienced. He slowly comes to realize that his senses are sharpening, scents are stronger, sounds louder. Like the sound of Killian’s heart thrumming a steady beat in his chest, pushing the smooth, crimson blood through his veins.
He is not aware of the physical changes being made to his body, and Killian does not turn around to see them. He is oblivious. So delightfully oblivious. Even as his skin grows pale, the tan leaching from him, his canine teeth lengthen and his normally chocolate brown eyes turn yellow, the pupils expanding rapidly. A small, cruel smile curves his lips. A smile he does not even realize is there.
He is hungry. So damned hungry. And Killian smells so delicious. Without realizing it, he speeds up, easily catching up to Killian as he walks briskly across the carpet of moss. Shahrizai grabs Killian by the arm, halting him in his tracks. Killian jerks to a stop, swinging around to face Shah with anger in his hazel eyes. Eyes that suddenly widen with alarm. His arm swings up, reclaimed knife already clutched in his fist. But Shahrizai is faster. He attacks with a swiftness he hadn’t know he possessed. Latching on the other man’s neck, he ravages his veins with brutal efficiency. The blood is sweet in his mouth, a copper tang that is more divine than clover. He drinks, uncaring, unaware of the other man’s life force as it slips away all too quickly. That is, until his stomach is full and Killian falls limp in his arms.
Blood lust fading, animalistic instincts retreating, Shahrizai abruptly drops the man as horror takes hold. He stares in shock at Killian’s pale face, fists clenching and unclenching by his side.
No. Oh god no. This can’t be happening.
Dropping to his knees, he clutches desperately at the man’s flannel shirt. Shakes him.
Killian!
His shout rings out, desperate and pleading.
Killian. Oh god, Killian. Please wake up. Please.
The last word escapes on a horrified sob. There is nothing. No breath in his lungs, no life in his wide-open hazel eyes. He releases his shirt suddenly, scrambling sideways as he wretches into the moss. Nothing comes out, not even the smallest drop of blood. His body is too greedy to let go of its prize so easily. He sobs in shame, in revulsion, clutching at the damp earth as he heaves.
He is so distraught, so caught up in his own torment that he does not hear the footsteps, the heavy breathing, does not smell the fetid breath of the hairy beast bearing down upon him. He doesn’t even realize it is there until it leaps into him, sending him sprawling. And even that does not draw him from his grief. His body, the monster inside of him, takes over. With agility and strength beyond anything he has ever known, he leaps to his feet and grabs the creature, unseeing and uncaring, and heaves it into the looming hedge. The vines grasp at it greedily, sucking it into the murky depths.
Stumbling forward, he leaves the scene of his crime, blind to what is before him. Tears stream from his eyes, carving tracks into the drying mixture of red and yellow on his cheeks. He doesn’t feel the blood staining his chin and neck, doesn’t see the bright crimson splashes down his once white shirt. He doesn’t want to.
In a daze, he stumbles into the heart of the maze. He doesn’t realize at first what he has found. Not until he sees the pedestal and basin filled with clear liquid.
Water. That is the only thing he can think of as jerks forward, intent upon that liquid. He needs that water. To clear the blood from his mouth. To quench this terrible thirst.
He is almost there when something drops from the sky. Sharp talons dig into his back, scoring his flesh and lifting him several feet off the ground. He twists in the winged creatures grip, bloody hands grasping for the misshapen bird. A woman bird, he thinks, with savage claws, a beaked nose, a massive wingspan, and large, sagging breasts. He snarls as he writhes in its grasp. The action causes the harpy to drop him, and he falls to the earth with a thud. It comes for him again, but this time he is ready. He leaps for the ugly bird as it comes at him, talons extended. A ferocious snarl displays his lengthened canines as they tangle, his hands gripping, twisting, her claws gouging flesh. In the end, he prevails, breaking her neck and sending her skidding across the carpet of moss.
He doesn’t hesitate, unwilling to lose his precious prize. He doesn’t even bother with his hands, instead plunging his face into the liquid and gulping for all he is worth.
shahrizai
hestoni x scorch