Deceased Songs (Quark and Cio)

It was a busy yet kind village, bigger than most around the general area. Most shops were two stories instead of the usual one and several make-shift shop stands had been built as well. The streets were of light brown dirt that, surprisingly, wasn’t filthy. There were a few grooves of wagon trails but not deep enough that they would trip anybody that didn’t see one. People bustled around but didn’t shove and jostle each other to get to wherever they were headed. They gave each other simple nods of acknowledgment and smiles of courtesy. It almost made Adonis forget about his own troubles. Almost. The bard moved quietly through the crowds, his head held low so no one would really be able to get a good look at his face. He did give a few nods here and there just to show that he wasn’t a rude person. In the middle of the marketplace was a medium-sized fountain that had crystal water gently flowing from its top and down two basins to the bottom where it started the trek over. The fountain area seemed rather popular to children and young couples as the undead made his way through. Letting out a small sigh, Adonis sat on the edge of the bottom basin and ran his fingers through the liquid. It was slightly cool to his touch but refreshing. If it’s cold to my touch, then it must be like ice water to a living person, he dully observed. His sense of touch was only a shadow of what a normal person’s was. Thinking of that made him sigh once more.

“Hey mister, do you tell stories?” a child suddenly asked. The bard only gave the young one a glance. The kid was a boy of around ten years with plain brown pants and a white shirt. His blond hair was short for work purposes but the shine in his green eyes told Adonis that he liked working hard.

A shame I can’t take pride in anything, he thought soberly and then answer, “Well, yes. I do know a few stories.”

“He’s a singer, idiot,” a girl said as she ran up to the boy, “And why’d you leave? We were just getting the game started.” She, like the boy, was dressed in plain clothing and also had the look of someone who worked hard. Adonis comically entertained the notion that the girl was probably stronger than he was. The bard had never exactly been one for physical work.

The boy partially ignored the his friend, “Can you really sing?”

“It’s what I mainly do,” the undead replied meekly, “But I haven’t been too good of one lately.”

The girl walked closer, “Oh yeah? Why’s that? Can’t you sing well? If it’s what you do, you ought to be good at it.”

Adonis chuckled at the female’s forwardness, she slightly reminded him of Lucia, “Well, I can sing alright but... my songs have been sad ones. Not very many people like to hear sad songs.”

“Well, if people don’t like sad songs, sing happy ones,” the girl retorted by putting her hands on her hips.

“I know,” the boy interjected, “If you sing a sad song, I’ll take you to another person in town who sings really well and she can teach you some happy ones.”

He smiled, “I think... I might like that.” It always had surprised him how accepting children could be. He was sure that they had already gotten a good look at him and especially his murky eyes and yet they still wanted to help him. Amazing.

“Adonis...” came an all-too-familiar voice. The voice of Flauros, his demonic protector, which only he could hear at the moment. “Adonis, this villages needs to hear your songs,” he stated. The bard cringed knowing that the command was one of the Mistress’ otherwise Flauros never spoke in complete sentences.

Turning his attention back to the children, he managed a smile, “I think I will sing a song for you. I hope you don’t mind if it is sad, though.”

“Naw, as long as it’s good,” the girl replied.

+======^*^======+

The undead plucked a string of Naraka dully. His hand that played, the right, was covered with blood along with the strings. But that always happened whenever he sang. It may as well seeing as there was blood on the bard’s hands. Bodies littered the streets in a macabre fashion. All had committed suicide through various ways. Some had a sharp object protruding from their chest while other were dangling from make-shift nooses. A few corpses floated in the fountain’s pool as the water was stained with red. Another few had managed to cast themselves off the tops of buildings to end their life while other had, and Adonis was quite sure how, choked themselves. The only thing that did matter was that they were all dead. Well, except for one person. He wasn’t sure how but a little girl, maybe only four or five, was sitting against the wall of a shop. Her parents laid beside her with knives sticking through their throats.

Adonis plucked another string. He couldn’t do anything for the girl. In fact, it probably would’ve been better for her to have died along with her parents. I suppose a few people can resist it, he decided but this was the first time he had actually confirmed a survivor.

“Adonis,” Flauros relayed from the bard’s shadow, “There are some people headed towards this village. Strong ones. I would appreciate it if you would sing for them.” Swiftly running his hand and harp through the water to wash off blood, he stood up and started walking deeper into town. He needed a place to sit so he could sing his songs without being found quickly. The undead even knew what song would be perfect for a prelude. Elegy for the Dead would work nicely.

OoC: Short? Yes. Bad? Yes. Cioish? Hell, yes!

BiC:

But an average day, much like all her others days of drifting. Meghana couldn't help but almost feel frustrated with this continual boredom. Sure, her stories were never ending, providing a relief from the pointlessness of life, but they could only entertain for so long. The endless drone of town, after town. None differentiating from the other.

Another town, another one night stop. No one to see, no new character. These were the thoughts that plagued the illusionists mind. As usual, life had no meaning other than to maintain the world which she so carefully built somewhere in her mind. She pressed on to see what more to add. It wasn't necessary to assume that there would be a significant new subplot as soon as the first bloodstained brick came into view.

The crimson liquid spewed out of a poor dying victim's abdomen, the cause of his death lying next to him. Bending down to better observe what would be the first of dozens of gruesome deaths, the tamer recoiled, the bitter scent of the blood overcoming her senses. “What happened here? How could I miss such an epic event, it would have caused mass mayhem in my mind... along with inspiring dozens of stories.”

As she continued down the stained streets, which seemed to have once been thriving with life, Meghana took back this thought. Everyone seemed to have been brutally slaughtered, the only plausible cause would be a plague, or a an onslaught of warriors. But the writer knew better. Most, if not all of these people, looked to be killed on their own accord, the weapons of massacre in their grasps.

“A suicide epidemic? Also unlikely,” she said, beginning to think aloud, “something, a force... it must have caused this.”

Her mind worked as she walked, absorbing in the setting, one of the most important elements to a good story. Or, as in the illusionist's case, a good chapter of a grander scheme.

She seemed to have reached the center of the town when she encountered an exciting thing, to her anyway. Next to a fountain and surrounded in carcasses, stood a man.

“A stranger, a survivor, or the cause of all this?”

The air was moist and foggy, a heavy feeling in the sky. It carried depression along with it, weighing the very heart. This day was a sad one, but it was not clear why. The scent of blood was carried on the wind, and instantly it was apparent that something horrible happened. Surge knew it; the smell of death was all-too-familiar to him. Throughout the various wars he experienced, the scent of blood was common. As the giant walked along the dirt road, he tried to ignore the familiar smell, but as he trudged on he realized where the smell was coming from. Was it coming from the village he was planning to stop at?

The Gordothian grabbed his map, unraveling it quickly. Glancing around the chart, he saw that he was where he needed to be. He returned the map to his side. Something was definitely wrong: Just over the hill before him was the city, but there were no sounds of activity. Not a shout, not a word, not a whisper. Surge didn’t have to see it for himself to know that everyone was dead. Gripping the hilt of his blade, he walked forward preparing for anything. It had been quite some time since he last fought anyone.

He walked steadily up the hill, the sound of his feet hitting the dirt road barely loud enough for normal ears to hear. As soon as his eyes peaked over the hill top, he could see the carnage. Bodies littered the streets, the roofs, and the markets. Some hanging from nooses, others impaled on pitchforks. As Surge got closer, the grim scene only got worse. He had seen many morbid images in his past, feeling half of them, but this was unlike anything he had ever seen. Everyone in the village died by different means. Anyone trying to annihilate a city would usually do so in one or two different ways, not personalize each death. It was almost as if everyone there killed themselves.

The tightened the grip on his blade; the blood was fresh in the air meaning the killer couldn’t be far off. The sight of the dead innocents wasn’t the thing that bothered him, but the thought of someone capable of killing an entire settlement in such a strange manner. If need be, he would draw blood as well.

His eyes scanned the large city closer as he walked. Near the center, he could make out the form of a man. He wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t grieving for the dead. He just stood there as if he was waiting for someone. Either he just got there, or he was the one who caused this catastrophe. Surge’s eyes didn’t leave the man as he got closer to him. He would try to determine this person’s intentions before taking his course of action.

OoC: Apologizes if character portrayal sucked.

BiC:

I wish I had been given an ealier warning, Adonis stated at he regarded the woman who addressed him. Her posture, tone of voice, and elegant dress showed that she was definitely someone of importance. The undead’s eyes narrowed. People with significant positions hardly ever travel when they can simply have a person come to them and rarely take notice of peasant villages. Moreover, to see one traveling by themselves, without any assistance or guardians, was a strange sight. Either she much more adventurous than most nobles or deluded, he decided.

In response to her question, Adonis bowed slightly, “I am but a simple bard, miss, Adonis Ronen. My only talent lies in weaving songs.”

“A bard,” she repeated quietly and slightly tilted her head to one side. The minstrel could almost feel the woman’s eyes scrutinizing him. It was slightly uncomfortable. At least it was until the lady’s eyes left him and gazed upon something behind the bard. Turning around, Adonis saw another being.

Another demon? Adonis queried, not quite sure what to make out of the newcomer. His skin was gray with turquoise tattoos with golden eyes that didn’t appear to have any iris or pupils. Whatever the stranger was, he wasn’t human.

“What happened here?” he barked out, glaring at both Adonis and the woman, “And who are you?”

The singer’s eyes darted between the two of them, Caught between a rock and a hard place, he muttered. If only the Mistress had just said to leave before these two came instead of trying to sing for them, he could’ve simply lied his way out of here or at least tried to run. But now he had to think of a way to lie so he could at least start one song. Adonis was almost certain that, unless he had a good excuse, he would be cut down when the first note came out. “Just a bard,” Adonis repeated, “As to what happened, the most I can say is that these people suffered... something horrible,” his voice choked. Now was not the time to have emotions running rampant, “If you please, I would like to sing for these poor souls. While I don’t enjoy chortling for a funeral, they deserve at least that much.”

“Is that the only excuse you have?” the being replied, his cold eyes never leaving the minstrel.

Adonis bowed slightly, “I apologize that I have no more information to offer you. But, if you may, I would like to send off these souls with a song.” Letting out a grunt, the creature walked away and started examining some more of the bodies that were strewn around the center. The undead pluck a few of Naraka’s strings for notes and, Flauros, be prepared, started singing. This songs was, while mournful, filled with command and power, Elegy of the Dead. A strong song that was meant for something quite opposite of allowing the dead to rest. A few moments into the song was all that was needed as a shuffled was heard from the corpse that laid at his feet. Soon enough, the dead rose, slowly, with only one command: kill those who weren’t already dead.

OoC: Sorry for the wait, but Cio is blind to posting order apparently. Also holidays take up time... and, well, the list of excuses could go on. ^^;;

BiC:

An odd feeling crept over the illusionist. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. The bard was not who he claimed to be, or, in this case, who he claimed not to be. Someone had to have caused all of this, and I highly doubt that the perpetrator has left. The blood is still fresh, for the most part.

Meghana turned to see his fingers elegantly moving across the harp in his hands, emitting a sound, penetrating and deep. The music played on, the feeling it gave the tamer was not a soothing one, but an uneasy one.

I can't help but feel like something is going to happen... It seemed that her feelings got ahead of the game because she had just taken a few steps back when a clammy hand reached out for her ankle. Her eyes widened with disgust. She didn't hesitate in yelling out, “What's this?!”

Immediately, the woman turned to the bard, seeing that his hands continued to play as the corpses around her began to rise. She looked to the blue skinned being to see the bodies surrounding him were doing the exact same thing. Her eyes darted, needing to think of a plan quickly.

It must be that song... Meghana's mind worked, trying to find a solution, but all the same, she couldn't help but find this as more of a story than a battle or a challenge to survive. But, any attempt to reach the musician was futile, the bodies preventing moving much anywhere impossible. Only one thing to do... Her voice rang through the air, screaming the name of her dragon, in a hope that it would hear her, “Mindgleam!”

Having such a strong connection with the creature, it was only natural that the dragon came, circling the air above the city within seconds, all the while Meghana was avoiding the undead beings that approached her. Happy to see the winged silver streak in the sky, she whistled it over, much like one would do to a dog.

It landed, promptly, crushing a several corpses with a sickening 'squish' sound.

Not caring about the lack of subtly, the tamer smiled, patting the dragon's head gently. “Mindgleam, I've managed to get myself into a new chapter...”

It snorted a puff of smoke and its eyes, seeming like slits at the moment, surveyed at all the walking bodies. It turned to its master and bent down, offering its back.

“No, Mindgleam, I think this chapter is too good to miss, but I'll probably still need your assistance with all the enemies we're facing...”

OoC: Lalala... songs are fun. 'Specially when it involves dead people. :]

Surge’s eyes widened at the sight. How could this be possible? The dead woman at his feet began to stand. She rose to her feet, her eyes rolled back in her head. She gripped a hold of Surge’s leg, digging her nails into it. He didn’t move at first, pure shock taking over him. He had seen worse before in the heat of battle, he snapped out of his trance quickly. With a quick slash from his sword, the corpse of the woman clattered against the wall of an old shop, falling to the ground in multiple pieces.

“Bloody hell!” Surge hissed at the sight, he turned back to the minstrel, but the tunesmith was gone. The music was still playing, but where from? Surge tried to tune into the environment, but before he could get a right sense of direction a frightening sight caught his eye. Countless undead bodies were moving his way, all holding various tools to fight with. The ones who died from more severe deaths limped slowly while others moved quickly, still holding much of their muscle and energy inside their dead corpses.

“Alright, walking corpses.” Surge smirked. He saw a girl run off to his right, the other woman who confronted the minstrel with him. He kept her in mind as he made his next move. Ok, what was his next move? His blade was long enough; he could probably jump through the hoards of zombies and take a good deal of them out with several strikes. Then again, he could use his lightning attack. Or maybe his tentacles would be a good choice for taking on such a large force.

Before the Gordothian could make his decision, a large shadow took his attention off the hoard. He jumped back against the side of a building, watching as an enormous dragon landed in the midst of the undead villagers. The walking dead flew in every direction, not so much as a grunt escaping their lips.

Surge didn’t know where the beast came from, but it gave him enough time to find where the music was coming from. Behind a large house across the street. Surge clenches his hilt and began to make his way toward the musician.

Ooc: Sow bluddy showart! <_<

Adonis’ powerful cords swept through the air and commanded the dead to obey. The air, once filled with the smell and silence of death, now carried movement in it, even if only an iota of the movement was created by actual living beings. The undead bard had whisked off into an alleyway not far from the central square. Running and singing at the same time was much harder than it looked, each step slightly altering a tune that had to be perfect to carry its magic. Lucky, it wasn’t too hard to sneak away from the woman and creature. Even if they were battle veterans, seeing the dead suddenly rise wasn’t the most common occurrence.

A few blue-skinned corpses ambled past them. Having leaped from buildings, it appeared that their legs were damaged in some way. Not that it stopped them from doing what was required of them. Then the singer felt a small thud come from the direction of the travelers. I wonder how they are engaging the dead? he thought.

Powerful came, Flauros stated in his incomplete talk. The bard understood him perfectly. Something powerful had entered the battle, most likely called by one of the two travelers. And if the familiar commented on its strength, it must be strong indeed.

You must protect me when they find my hiding spot, Adonis told the demon even though no reminder was needed. It wouldn’t take long, either.

A high-pitched scream of terror rent through the air, almost causing the lifeless man’s song to falter. He knew what voice that was, The girl! The only person to have survived the power of Thanatos’ Desire was now facing a horde of undead. He recalled seeing her slumped against the wall by her parents’ corpses. It was somewhat surprising that she had not just allowed herself to be killed by the reanimated. After all, she would hardly retain any sanity after this event. Still, to hear her cry plucked his own emotional strings and he about changed his tune slightly to command the dead not to kill her.

All, hissed the demon. Closing his eyes in grief, Adonis refrained from changing the song. Yes, it was the Mistress’ desire that all the people in this village die and he was unable to go against her will.

OoC: Inteeeeeeeeresting. :3

BiC:

A shrill scream echoed through the air, it's sound lingering in Meghana's ears. Someone other than myself and the blue man is alive? If that was the case, she would have to at least attempt to help this poor lost soul. She turned to her dragon, “Let's go.”

Taking the illusionist's lead, they walked through the dead, Mindgleam whacking them with its tail to fend its master as they went along. The tamer walked as though she were just taking a stroll, ignoring the several, stumbling corpses. Now, her main focus was to find the girl that had emitted the shriek from before. It was impossible to find anything among all the bodies, especially since they continued to rise, no matter how many times Mindgleam would beat them down.

I know this isn't the nicest thing to think, but I really wish that girl would scream again... It's taking forever to find her... Almost as if on cue, another scream could be heard. “Mindgleam! This way.”

She waited, patiently, as the dragon paved a small path through the flesh craving bodies. Immediately, she ran through, expecting to see the young girl cowering there, waiting for the dead to devour her. Such was not the case, and Meghana was pleasantly surprised.

Well, at least she's not a pansy, the illusionist thought, smiling, Good, good... let's just hope she hasn't gone insane yet.

She was staring at the young girl, kicking at the people who she once knew, and probably associated with. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with a mix of fear and insanity. The girl turned to the tamer, “Who are you!?”

“I'm Meghana, I'm here to help. So, no need to kick me...” every word she said felt like a dream, like this world wasn't real.

“Please... help,” came the strangely calm plea.

She looked at the girl, tenderly, “I shall help.” Meghana extended a hand, yet, just as the girl was to take it, a loud explosion filled the air. The tamer groaned, “What now?”

The Gordothian plowed his way through the street toward his target. He strained his ears through the din the undead village was creating. He tried to pick out the distinct plucking of a harp, but even his trained ears were struggling. He knew that the bard was somewhere behind the building in front of him. The trick, however, was trying to keep the zombies from killing him in his pursuit.

A scream tore through the sky. The giant froze suddenly at the sound of the all-too-familiar noise. Was it the woman he saw earlier? No, it sounded far too young. It sounded like a little girl. Surge clenched his jaw; he couldn’t go back and help her now. If he turned to find her, the bard would surely get away. With the slight feeling of reluctance, he turned back to the hoards of ravaging villagers.

The building in front of him was three stories tall, about twenty meters or so away. Between him and the building were countless walking corpses. Surge’s eyes searched the street for a quick escape. Leaning against the three story building, apparently a pub, was a wheelbarrow stacked with barrels full of alcohol. That would do.

Flipping his hand around to his side, he whipped up his pistol and fired a single shot toward the wheelbarrow. Direct hit. The explosion wracked the side of the street, sending limbs and blood spraying across the block. Surge found his opening and dashed forward, holstering his gun as he ran. Leaping hard, he soared for the pub’s wall. His claws latched deep into the wall of the building, connecting with success. Without slowing himself down, he climbed effortlessly up the wall.

Moving quickly, the Gordothian tossed himself over and upon the roof like a pouncing tiger. He slid to a stop, craning his head over the side of the building. No bard. Below him was nothing but a hoard of zombies, just like the rest of the city. These undead were beginning to become an annoying nuisance.

Surge brandished his blade, leaping down with a quick diagonal slash through multiple hostiles. Swinging his sword one way, then the other, then back again, he took as many down as he could. He would never get anywhere if these monsters continued attacking like this. As he fought he tried to strain his ears again for the minstrel. The sound of the music was nearby, down the alleyway possibly? Surge dispatched two more former villagers before working his way toward the alley. He felt something latch onto his back, knowing it was another living corpse.

Now was about time he used his tentacles. The long muscled appendages tore from the mutant’s back, ripping the zombie on his back to nothing but a few bloodied limbs. Surge ripped his tentacles through the surrounding crowd while he ran for the alley. No, the bard wasn’t in the alley; he must have moved his position. Smart, this guy knew not to stay in one place for too long.

Adonis ran down the streets in an attempt to keep away from the two travelers. That one explosion was too close. Apparently, killing the people of this village doesn’t affect them too much. And why should it, they are already dead. His step jolted the notes that came from his mouth, creating a dissonance of Elegy for the Dead. In response, the deceased periodically quivered as their command to move was lost. But the notes mostly reached them unaltered.

A group of dead villagers suddenly piled out of a house, knocking the bard to the ground. Flauros, with his duty to protect, leaped out of the shadow and ripped the corpses to pieces. What passed for a smile crossed the demon’s lips as blood already partially coagulated dripped off his claws. The undead singer sat up in somewhat of a panic. Because he had been knocked over, he had lost his song. Now the corpses were truly corpses with no hint of movement. I suppose I could start singing Elegy of the Dead again, he thought, No, the deceased were barely holding them off me. I need to find another place to hide and think of a different strategy, he continued running down alleyways.

The demon followed easily, “Go after?” he questioned with glee.

“No, I need you to stay with me incase I am found,” the song weaver replied. Barely his teeth but doing nothing more threatening, the familiar complied and fell back into Adonis’ shadow while he continued running. Hopefully, in the confusion that the suddenly motionless bodies brought, he would be able to put distance between him and the pair of travelers. While he wasn’t the most physically fit person, the fact that he was dead meant that he could run as long as needed without getting tired. It didn’t mean that he was fast, however.

Stepping over a pair of bodies that held broken glasses as weapons, he stepped inside a building. The undead came upon a small pharmacy with rows of bottles lining the shelves behind the counters. He almost noticed that a few of the bodies had foam around their mouths and several medicine bottles where lying near them. It was obvious how they died. There was also a back entrance for shipments that he could slip through if caught here. This place should do nicely, he decided and held his harp in playing position. He plucked a few strings, Everybody has sins, including those two, and began to sing. This time, the notes came out soft but miserable like a person who was full despair. The melody of Lamenting Requiem drifted out the store windows and floated through the town.

OoC: Sorry for the wait. ^^;;

BiC:

After the boom suppressed, Meghana assumed it didn't mean anything too grave for her. But, she wouldn't take any chances. She gripped the girl's wrist, making sure not to hurt her. She spoke to the child, unsure if any of this was actually getting through to her, “Come on, we haven't much time.”

The girl nodded, still crying a bit as the mangled bodies quivered, almost as though expressing the pain which they once could feel. The illusionist grimaced, but pushed the child along, trying her best to shelter her from this undoubtedly painful sight.

They ran, not exactly sure where they were going. Mindgleam whacked at the corpses, bringing more and more pain to the girl's expressions. Yet, Meghana could tell this girl was strong, strong enough to get past this, eventually. She looked at her reassuringly, “We'll find that bard, together.”

A weak smile of sorts came over the child's face. Suddenly, a small cry escaped her caked lips and her hand trembled, pointing. The illusionist followed the direction of her finger, only to see bodies scattering the ground. “They've stopped!” came the girl's shrill reply.

“So they have...” Meghana smiled, “come on,we have to hurry up. After all, who knows what's coming next.” Unfortunately for the tamer and the child, the new wave of torture was quick to begin.

Music flooded the streets, entering their ears, invading their minds. The young girl screamed, “What's this!?”

“I... I don't know,” the tamer's voice was shaky and her heart was stricken with fear. “how can this be... again?”

Memories of old seemed so vivid and lively. Like they were directly in front of her. She gripped the girl's hand harder, and bit her lip to the point of outpouring blood.

Mindgleam seemed to be unaffected, having no real memories to be effected by. Yet, Meghana called out, frantically, “Mindgleam!? Where are you?!”

It roared, booming, and yet the illusionist didn't seem to recognize it. She merely stumbled through the streets, flailing and hoping that it would stop. The dragon looked down at her, mournfully, almost. It's head nudged her body, shoving it forward and leading it the right way. For once, the master had less power than the servant.

Still, Mindgleam knew what was going on, somehow in its feeble mind. It simply continued to push its master toward the building from which the music came, the girl coming along too. Yet, in her dazed state, Meghana kept calling out, “Mindgleam?”

Surge skidded to a stop at the end of the alleyway. He took a quick whiff of the air, but he couldn’t make out any distinct smell of the bard. The air lingered with the heavy stench of rotting flesh. The minstrel seemed to blend in with the reeking carnage, almost as if he was part of it himself. He strained his ears next, his nose not availing him. He concentrated, if there were footsteps they would most likely be the minstrels seeing that the corpses stopped walking moments earlier. Two sets of footsteps he could pick up, one significantly smaller and lighter than the other; a woman and a child no doubt.

With no scent, no sight, and no music to follow, Surge was lost for once in his life. But, the music, it had returned? The bard must have been playing his song once more. Surge had to get to the source of the sound before the dead corpses rose again.

The giant sprinted down the street, paying no heed to the bodies his clawed toes lashed as he ran. He was getting closer, he could hear it. Just a few more—

What happened? He began to panic. Was he dying? It hurt so much! Blood! Blood was surrounding him! No, it was water. Water dyed red with blood. He tried to escape, but he couldn’t move! He screamed, but his voice didn’t respond. It didn’t take long at all for him to understand what was going on. The realization hit him like a dagger. Mutations, they were performing more already? They already experimented on him just a few months… no wait, this was too familiar. Did this all happen before? No, this wasn’t a memory, it was far too real: The smell, the sight, the lack of sound, and the impending pain that was to come. This couldn’t be a trick, he could sense everything.

He strained his eyes through the murky water, staring up at the masked scientists above him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even blink. They had already paralyzed him; there was no stopping this, they were going to do it again. Surge’s adrenalin began to pump as the sharp tools submerged under the red water. He desperately tried to turn his head or at least close his eyes, but he knew the drugs they gave him wouldn’t allow him to move. He would have to watch the whole thing as they dug their instruments through his eyes.

Their delicate tools carved through the Gordothian’s retinas. He didn’t move, but the look of shock was still on his face. He appeared as if he was dead.

How did this happen?
His vision faded to black, but he was still conscious, just blind.
How was this even possible?
The pain.
How did he even get here?
A sudden stinging spread through his face, they must have applied some sort of toxin to his eyes.
The sounds of his beating heart and the slicing of the tools through his sensitive eyes were diminished by the distant notes of a harp. He would have to wait for the mutation to finish, no matter how unreal it seemed… but it felt so real.

Ooc: If you don't get what's happening, this is Surge's worst memories and fears, the mutations that is. The result of Adonis' song.