Kingdom Hearts Eclipse - Chapter 2

[Ordeith]

From the moment Quel'loyen loosed his spell, Animus had mapped out his next kill.

Disarm the opponent; send him into disarray. A flick of his wrist, and a gust of Aero sent the disguised Marshal stumbling backwards—and Louie to the ground. It fanned the flames of Quel'loyen's magic, lightly scorching the man in the shadows. Attain the best position for attack. Animus's inverse Gravity was silent, and allowed him to leap high above his opponent.

From that vantage point, he could view the sidestreet in its entirety:

Quel'loyen was vigorously working away at the Cage Reaver, attempting to pry Ogen out.
The elemental dragon-spell continued to wash the alleyway in flame, though it was quickly losing its shape.
Louie scrambled across the black asphalt, his white-haired friend urging him to his feet.
The Marshal, now with less of a smile, scanned through the darkness in vain.

Animus smiled, watching that split frame in time. This is why my work can be considered art.
The beauty of perfect planning, perfect synchronization . . . Order out of chaos.

His coat rippled quietly in his descent, which sent him behind the Marshal.

His opponent heard the footfalls—but Animus had worked those trills into his symphony.
Strike without mercy, where the opponent is most vulnerable. A boost of Aero sent the assassin flipping over his prey, to where the Marshal was previously facing. The stolen Caduceus swiped outwards, and the Marshal had barely enough time to rally his defenses.

His steel tray reverted to its original form—a silvery shield, an orb of darkness at its center. Animus's blow was able to break the Marhsal's guard with ease, as he had been unable to set his feet and stance. Caduceus hooked behind the shield, slapping it downwards while the assassin's free hand—radiating Blizzard magic—moved towards the man's neck.

To the Marshal's credit, he was able to avoid a frozen airway: An outpouring of darkness from the center of the shield allowed him to break free of Animus's Keyblade; he leaped backwards, raising the silvery disc in front of his face. As he did so, black orbs separated from the center of his weapon, surrounding his person. Animus understood the Marshal's strategy, but had little time to counteract it.

He used a broad sweep of Aero to push the uppermost orbs further up, then made a hasty Magnega connection between Caduceus and the Marshal. His opponent raised his shield, knowing that its dark properties would deflect even a Keyblade. Animus chided the Marshal in his thoughts. Shatter the opponent's confidence; shatter any hope and determination. Let his fear produce his own demise.

A sharp tug of Gravity sent the orbs back down on the Marshal—who panicked, raising his shield to catch and realign the darkness. The Keyblade, held steady and aloft by the Magnega bond, struck home.

Animus stood over the crumpled form of the Marshal, examining his work.
Louie's cries of terror were the perfect crescendo. Fin.

. . . . . .

The maestro raised his head to match the orangutan's gaze. Smile of satisfaction on his lips, his greeting was cordial and pleasant, as if they were still in Louie's office: "I hope you find a restorer for that painting, Louie. I just hate to see good art without a home . . . " He left their encounter at that, knowing that Louie would be just a senseless kill—and that would not do. Everything for a purpose.

Animus returned to Ogen and Quel'loyen, the fire spell having since died down.

"Are you both unharmed?" He gave Ogen a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Not shaken up too terribly, I hope? We ought to leave soon—and use 'soon' as a substitute for 'now'." Animus grinned at his little quip, hoping to set Ogen at ease, if only a bit. It was partly because he didn't care to see him needlessly harmed, but also for a distinct purpose:

Veiling his heart as much as possible, Animus quickly searched Ogen's own heart for the entity, Umbra.

Hmm . . .

The creature was too powerful to hide altogether, but it seemed to have retreated deep into Ogen's heart—a place where Animus's presence would be too hard to conceal. Only show your face for certain threats, hm? Animus retracted his mental probes, checking the group's well-being all the while. Recovering from the shock of the attack, they immediately started planning their next move.

[OmniChaos]

Ogen sat on the cold street, his right leg bent upward with his pant leg rolled up. The boy examined his leg, softly touching his reddened leg, tindered by the Reaver's previous grip on it. He winced as his finger touch his skin and pulled it away with great haste. He turned his gaze behind his shoulder and reached for his greatcoat, which had somehow managed to make itself free from the boy's body during the scuffle. He pulled the coat toward him and straightened back up.

"I'm okay," Ogen mumbled, brushing the dirt loose from his greatcoat. "Just a little tender where it grabbed me. That was far too close to a Reaver for my comfort." Ogen turned and looked back at the remains of the Reaver, little more than a harden clump of sludge now. "That thing had me. For a moment, I thought I was a... goner..."

Ogen's voice trailed away into little more than a whisper, his eyes widening with terror. His mouth hung open, and while he tried to form words--warnings--for the two men standing before him, nothing but dry gasps rose from his lips.

Behind the backs of the two men who had been focusing on the boy, the Marshal sprang upward, his torso slunched forward. Like a marionette in the hands of a poor puppeteer, the Marshal clumsily rose to his feet, his knees barely supporting his weight and his arms hanging limply. His hand, still limply wrapped around the shield, managed to drag it upward and pulled it, with some apparent difficulty, to his chest, where it hung for a moment. The Marshal lifted his head upward--no longer the far too warm smile back from The Swingin' Vine, but a twisted, painful look of pure, gleeful insanity.

The Marshal with the crazed face let loose a black orb from his shield at the backs of Ogen's companions with a gleeful chuckle. Ogen, loss for words in his state of terror, moved without thinking, his mind, which was screaming--pleaing--at him to stop, was cut off from his body, which was moving with some sort of primeval bravery that sat deep within Ogen's being. Before he realized what he had done, the boy found himself between his companions--his friends--and the Marshal's attack, his arms stretched out as far as they could reach. The boy closed his eyes as the attack connected with him.

The attack struck Ogen in the chest, dissolving into a black flame as it did. The fire burnt a hole through Ogen's shirt, continuing on to his skin. The darkness burnt a hole through the boy's skin, which gave way to a flood of blood to pour down his body and soak into his shirt. Ogen dropped to his knees, a trickle of blood running from his lips and the Marshal's crazed laughter echoing in his head.

"You bastard!" a voice cried out. Darkness erupted from Ogen's bleeding wound and arced toward the Marshal. The darkness gave shape to Umbra, now more defined since his appearance in Radiant Garden. A giant hand clasped around the Marshal's face, and the Marshal, still in an exalted state of crazed ecstasy, let loose another gleeful cry. A dark flame erupted from Umbra's tightened fist and the Marshal let out a painful scream before falling limp. Umbra tossed the Marshal aside, his face still burning with the dark fire. The darkness, as well as Umbra, retreated back into Ogen's body, releasing a sickening slurping sound as it did. Upon his re-enterence, Umbra unleashed another dark flame, this time to Ogen's bleeding hole, and cauterized the wound.

Ogen let out a painful cry as smoke rose to meet and block his vision. His cry grew to a screech before he slumped backwards and collapsed into a crumpled mess, wrapped in his greatcoat. Ogen's vision gave way to black as he slipped into unconsciousness.

[Professor Ven]

Animus began to probe Ogen, searching for something. You shall not have him, worm. His Heart is not yours to take, nor ever will. Remember, Scholar: In the greatest Light, there is always a deep Darkness. Within every Darkness, there is a quaint Light.

Dear, sweet, luminescent Light, take me under your gracious wing, as you did before. Then Tal'shendar felt the twinkling of feathers, as if all his sorrows and fears had faded into the dirt and grime of this forsaken World. Surely now, if ever, was the time. The Voidling's eruption from within Ogen will be enough to perform what I have intended.

Willing the moon-light weapon away, Quel'loyen took a swift look at Animus, and hastily picked up the unconscious Ogen, cradling the boy in his arms, shifting back before DeCavis would realize what was to happen. Sweet, merciful Light, I beseech thee! Take your dedicated servant, your lost child! Bring us from this tragic land of despair, whisk us away from this prison!

Soft motes of iridescent light began to snow down about him, Ogen silent in Quel'loyen's grasp. Yes, dear Light. A single tear trickled down Tal'shendar's cheek, as a warm smile enveloped his lips - he would have thought to laugh in joy, had this not been the situation it was. Quel'loyen felt a soft, delightful burning within him, charring his soul in its angelic touch. He could faintly hear what might have been a snarl from Animus, a vengeful cry of disbelief, and anger.

The World about Quel'los'telkare'loyen and Ogen shifted, mirrored, warped as the Light plucked them from the dismal rathole alley. Stars veiled overhead, passing by in mere ticks of a waterclock, and every moment felt an Age upon the mortal earth.

Then, the great cascade of celestial beings ceased, and he fell upon hard cobblestone, clutching to Ogen, amid piles of boxes, Tal'shendar's back against a solid wall. Tired, so tired. It drained me, as before, that sweet Light. Robbed me of the shadows I cast, once again. The Voidling needed to surface for the Light to be more attracted to our presence. Regardless, we are free of DeCavis, for now.

Quel'loyen's last, lingering view was of a star-lit sky, red shingled roofs overhead, white smoke rising from a nearby chimney. Tal'shendar drifted to sleep, his haggard face solemn as he slumbered, Ogen cradled by him still.

[Endless Strategy]

Well, you know what they say, no rest for the weary. Galom had just lied down when Vanessa called him back to help bandage the injured boy. It was at that time that Calpurnia, a member of his search group, had arrived (Seriously, why haven’t the Marshals found this place yet, it’s practically a magnet). Then the red haired man had volunteered that he was being chased by Reavers. As fast as you could say “Hockety Pockety Wockety Wack,” which was apparently all Merlin need do to compact his entire room into a handbag, the group was off to find shelter at the castle Pendragon. A bit indignantly, Galom had asked Merlin to heal his arm first, and Merlin had obliged, making it good as new.



They walked in silence, all the while a moderate rain pattered against the ground. The lack of chatter was a relief to Galom, who was absorbed in his own thoughts. They’d seek shelter, but then what? Would Merlin know what to do next? No point in worrying about it before we’re safe though… All the while his eyes shifted around, weary of an attack by the Reavers. When they finally reach the castle, the sun had set and the bits of sky that peeked through were a dull purple.


As they approached, guards burst forth, drawing swords and spears, while archers drew their bows atop the walls. Vanessa reached for her belt and pulled out a group of throwing knives. Wasn’t this an allied castle?!

"Stop!" Kay cried, shouting over the heavying rain. "Stop! It's Kay! Let me through! It's Kay! I have Arthur, king of the Britians! Let me through! He needs medical attention!"

Upon hearing his pleas, the guards threw down their weapons and rushed to Kay's side, relieving him of Arthur and carefully taking him inside. One guard stayed behind and helped Kay, whose sudden relief of Arthur caused his legs to give out, slowly limp into the castle. The others weren't too far behind him, when, suddenly--

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCHHHHH!!!!!!!

Through the pouring rain, Vanessa managed to see a black form dropping from the sky toward them. She pushed Merlin into the castle, who stumbled forward before tripping over the stone and landing in a tangled mess, and quickly jumped back, just as large, metallic claws tore through the wooden drawbridge floor where the wizard had just stood. The wood began to give way and the group was forced to retreat to outside the moat as half of the drawbridge fell into the moat.

The large metallic creature regrouped and settled before the group, flapping two great wings as it did. Vanessa was able to make out the creature--no, the machine--perfectly now. It was a Reaver, the largest Vanessa, in all her travels, had ever laid eyes on. It had two incredible wings, which looked much like knives, which were able to keep the construct afloat. Below them hung the two claws that had been clutching for the old wizard but just a moment ago. Between the claws hung a long tail, equipped with a large ax blade, stained red with blood. The Reaver threw its long neck back, letting loose another screech through a massive, tooth-filled mouth. It dropped its head down and eyed them through a single, red eye, which seemed to rotate as Vanessa stared at it.

"Give us the old wizard!" a voice cried out from behind the Dragon Reaver's neck. Vanessa scanned the construct and found the outline of a person--a marshal, no doubt--hunched behind the Reaver's form. "Hand over the wizard and you will be spared!"

"Ha!" Vanessa spat, readying her throwing knives. "Not a chance!"


Before the Marshal had quite finished his declaration, Galom was already running. What else was he to do when faced with such a behemoth? He had learned from his encounter with the Eclipse King, he wouldn’t bite off more than he could chew a second time. As Vanessa spat a retort Galom was twenty feet away, closing distance back to the forest clearing. He’d just keep on running, all the way back to the ship…
Before Galom could get further the air distorted around him. It happened in an instant, the air folded and twisted like made of some transparent fabric, then it quivered and the marshal once standing on the Reaver blocked Galom’s path. The black haired man unsheathed his sword and swung in one quick motion. Galom lurched back to avoid the curved blade, staggering a few steps before regaining balance on the muddy ground. Galom summoned light to his hand to form his Keyblade, but the man was faster and slashed Galom across the chest.


Galom screamed in agony and lashed out with his now formed Keyblade. The Marshal expertly parried and swung again. Galom stepped back as fast he could, reaching for the black sphere on his belt. “Smoke Bombs” Galom thought, and quickly pulled them from the black sphere while clashing his blade against the Marshal’s. He was being pushed back, losing his footing. He threw his handful of small black bombs at the ground. Smoke burst all around him, and Galom ran through it towards the drawbridge while the Marshal was disoriented. There was no escaping this mess!
“Think you escape on the sly? Not a chance!” The marshal said in a proud voice “Aerora!”


Galom’s back was turned so he couldn’t see exactly, but he soon felt wind against his back like razors. The brunt of the blast shot past and carried Galom with it, rocketing him into the air. He was going too high, too fast. Galom could already see his point of impact: right into the dragon Reaver’s right wing.

[Orion]

Daedalus extended the invisible tendrils that were his electromagnetic senses to the water around them as noticed a plethora of readouts bump so slightly in a consistent way: something gliding past them, ever so slightly redirect their course, and causing very slight fluctuations in the overall level of power that was being delivered consistently through the Ulysses. Daedalus was willing enough then and there to call his time on the gigantic submersible concluded, and so he moved over to Milo, gesturing for his companions to follow him.

Approaching the nervous paleolinguist, Daedalus brought him aside with his arm over the younger man's shoulder. "Something big might be about to go down, and I want to know I have a friend on this expedition. You're in it for the knowledge and because you're passionate. I'm here because I want to prevent whatever wondrous gift Atlantis holds from falling into dangerous hands. Aside from my apprentices I doubt I can currently say the same about any other member of the crew. Some for the fame, others for money. Ultimately, they want the treasures of Atlantis taken out of there and brought to the surface."

Daedalus now extended his gloved mechanical hand to Milo, silently dropping an earpiece into his hands. "This'll let us at least be able to hear each other. Just shove it into you ear and a couple of excretions thereafter will mean you won't even know it's there. I'll remain in touch whenever it's not inconspicuous, but for now my troupe and I will be elsewhere." Daedalus finished, turning as he did so. When Milo looked on in dumbfounded silence, Daedalus turned and gestured with a gouging point to his own ear. He let out a little smile when Milo took a few seconds to get over the initial bizarre sensation of having something fill his ear canal, before the earpieces gadgetry took effect, numbing and making malleable the flesh within, giving the little orb a perfect place to nestle.

When they weren't passing crew, Daedalus relayed to them his own thoughts of coming events. The Leviathan that Milo had spoken of - or maybe a cousin or spawn of it - was probably stirring somewhere outside, and would likely strike soon, hence they would make their way to the escape vehicles in anticipation of some form of attack. Daedalus was posed a question: If his craft, Icarus, was designed to follow the Ulysses where it might go, what would happen if it was destroyed? Daedalus quickly replied - "I hadn't mentioned that the earpiece I gave Milo was also a transponder. Unless it receives commands otherwise, Icarus will now follow Milo's signal, though maintain a safe distance and always follow his movements a couple of hours behind him. I doubt we will be in much trouble given our abilities, but a safety measure, the transponder will detect the phisio- and and neurological signs of when Milo's most in need and Icarus will come to him. All just-in-case stuff, really," he finished, as they arrived at the escape pod bays by the rear of the sub.

===================

Outside the Ulysses, a giant mechanic something-like-a-lobster was swimming about in a manner equal parts lazy and menacing. Its sheer size guaranteed that even the slightest movement would displace a few Olympic swimming pools. As it stood, its steady gliding through the water pushed aside a few lakes per second, and the Leviathan hardly felt it. The little toy that was buzzing about its domain would have warranted hardly a glimpse had the Leviathan not been programmed - or was it taught? - since its creation to destroy any intruders. It had twisted up from its resting place, a few sub-surface vortexes popped up and disappeared with the force to level buildings as it moved.

It probed the Ulysses as best as it was able to while still remaining hidden - catching glimpses as it flitted between undersea mesas and canyon walls, probing invisibly with electrical senses. The little submersible was pulsing with electrified veins, a discovery only slight in itself, but past experience had taught the Atlantean sentinel that electricity hinted at weaponry. Had it free will coupled with an unerring devotion to Atlantis, it would have still acted to take out the intruder. As it stood, the Leviathan made no choice, no though was processed in its synthetic answer to a brain. It moved swiftly, and with calculated coldness that bellied its sheer size and the destructive force it could wield.

It extended one of its superior claws forward, the destructive force of a dozen tornadoes ripping through the dense water as it swatted at the Ulysses. The vehicle - absolutely dwarfed by the Leviathan - listed significantly, almost tipping past ninety degrees from upright before a flurry of mechanised automations kicked in to right the vessel, by which time the Leviathan now had it gripped by the smaller and more dextrous claws in front of what might have been the Leviathan's mouth, had it been an organic creature. Within, a panicked paleolinguist made some exclamation about Jiminy Christmas and the fact that the creature assaulting them was mechanical. Elsewhere, Rourke ordered the launching of all the Ulysses' offensive pods, each bullet-shaped and roughly the size of a truck. They swarmed about the sub before turning on their attacker, and unleashed a volley of torpedoes at Rourke's order to fire.

Underwater explosions rippled over the Leviathan's metallic shell, each concussive blast tickling over the impervious exoskeleton in a fashion irritating enough to see the behemoth let loose the Ulysses, but not before unleashing a concentrated beam of blue-white energy that pierced the sub's hull effortlessly from one side to the other. Fortunately, it missed important internal systems, and the Leviathan's attention - now shifted to the cloud of assault pods that swarmed it - gave the damaged sub the chance to limp away with a last great effort. A swipe of one of its claws cleared away the majority of the subs in a trinity of fashions: those struck by the claw itself were quickly pulverised; those pulled into the wake of the claw rushing through the water were crushed by the whirlpooling forces that followed it; and those that were the most immediately fortunate quickly found themselves tumbling away from the sheer force of rushing water or had any steering implements wrenched off, leaving them dead in the water.

The remainder of the pods were ignored by the Leviathan as it let loose a second bolt of underwater lightning, this one nearly slicing through the width of the sub. It was at this time that the two largest evacuation vehicles - those that carried precious cargo and vehicles - were shot out the rear of the sub and rapidly depart the scene of the opened hulk, now beginning to collapse and bend from the external pressure of the water. All of which was, of course, meaningless when the Leviathan decided to simply charge straight at the wreckage, causing it to detonate in an explosion, the debris of which obscured the entirety of the Leviathan's form for but a second before continuing the relentless chase, ruthlessly acknowledging the not-yet-total destruction of the intruder and its spawn.

[OmniChaos]

Vanessa moved in a blur, launching herself into the air with little to no effort. With the calmness of a women performing a routine acrobatic stunt, Venessa flew toward Wolf Scraps and grabbed him from the air, using her momentum to advert his path from the Reaver's wing and safely off to the side. As they approached the ground, Vanessa rotated their combined form so that he would take the brunt of the impact. They hit the ground with a great deal of force and, just as they began to skid across the mud, Vanessa pushed against Wolf Scrap's back, launching herself back into the air.

"Hon, you are just too slow," she chuckled, readying her throwing knife in her fingers. She brought in her form as tightly as she could and spun as she flew through the air, her hair a chaotic mess in the darkness of night. She touched the earth gracefully, her momentum continuing her spin in the mud. As she rotated toward the Marshal's direction, her cold eyes and callus, thin smile told all that was needed to know.

With wicked speed, Vanessa threw her arm forward and let the knife fly, a whistling missile in the dark. It flew with unwavering speed and pinpoint aim, striking the Marshal clean between the eyes. The speed of the knife drug the Marshal's head back, pulling with it his body. He fell backwards, dead before he hit the muddy, rain-soaked ground.

"Don't let off yet," she called toward the other two just before a bellow of thunder blotted out all sound. "The Marshal may be down, but my knives won't take down this monster with equal ease. Stay on those toes of yours!"

[Endless Strategy]

As the rain pattered down, Galom scrambled to his feet from the hard landing he had taken. He could feel his ribs cracked in a couple places, searing pain coursing through him. Vanessa had let him sustain the brunt of the fall, but at least he wasn’t dead.

Galom shot a glance back just in time to see the Marshal fall to the ground, a knife through his skull. How strong was this woman?

"Don't let off yet, the marshal is down but-" Vanessa’s words were drowned out by thunder, but Galom understood. Galom turned back at the Dragon in time to see its axe bladed tale sweeping towards his torso. Galom leapt up to dodge but came up short, settling for blocking with his Keyblade in midair. The force of the swing sent him flying back to the side, landing him besides Calpurnia.

“Go in, I’ll cover you” Galom said as the creature let out another screech. Its claws hit against the ground, propelling it forward. Galom reached for his Void Keeper, willing the bazooka to appear. The creature swung both wings down like guillotines on Galom’s position. Galom blocked, but the wings crushed him down, pushing his Keyblade into his chest and creating large, parallel slices from his chest down. It pulled back, slicing through flesh and bone marrow as the wings receded.

Galom couldn’t feel pain anymore. Time seemed to slow down around him as blackness clouded his vision. The blood was coming out so fast, flowing against his hands. He could feel the Bazooka sitting on his chest, newly formed. Unable to lift his body, he lifted it with his arms, aimed it in the Reaver’s general direction. Then he fired four shots, absorbing the recoil before letting the bazooka fall to the ground. Four bombs in the shape of pumpkins rocketed towards the Reaver, each having enough power to blow down a steel wall. Galom saw the explosions go off in bursts of orange and red, but he couldn’t see where they hit. Everything was out of focus, his eyes were open but he couldn’t see, everything was fading…

Galom submitted to sleep, his Keyblade disappearing in a sparkle of light.

[Rhapsody]

The trek to this “Pendragon” quarter was begrudgingly pursued with the drag of a heavy gait. In truth, she had no business with these characters. Possessing naught more importance to her than this trifling ongoing war between the key wielders of light and the black Eclipse King (to which she loathingly believed this whole sudden venture to be tied with). The dreadful rain only dampened her dreadful mood, but at the very least the young woman took solace in the quiet atmosphere permeating this rag-tag group in which she had inadvertently become familiar with.

The announcement of their arrival to the castle stirred quite the charming welcome. The ceremonious greeting of armed arrows, withdrawn swords and the like made Cal feel on par with that of royalty. Well, she supposed her being constantly on the run inured her to some of the most hostile of standoffs and receptions, this being none too different.

Ah. Well, no. Scratch that. This was a bit different.

It wasn’t everyday she came toe to toe with a some-story tall metallic Reaver. Marshals, yes, they were common threats, and the one hitched atop the creature’s back did not concern her at that moment. (He seemed like a novice anyway, what with his boorishly straightforward demand for the wizard in their group. Really, no one cherished the art of refinement these days...) But this dragon-esque minion was far more equipped than the humdrum metal warriors, those small fry and their devastating riots and marches through towns, villages, and cities. With them, the only fear Calpurnia had to face was not serious injury to her psyche or body, but yet another headache from the restless metal warriors.

Ah, but this was no ordinary Reaver, of course. And her first reaction to this disturbing event? Why, to run, of course. Run; run as fast as those scrawny little legs could carry. And so she did. Was this cruel? Cowardly? Traitorous? No, not an ounce of humility or cowardice or infidelity seeped through her veins as she sprinted toward the wooded area. What duty had she to courageously soldier through the snarling metallic beast, to come to the aide of the struggling? No duty whatsoever. Indeed, Calpurnia was capable of those rare and few bouts of sympathy. Random acts of kindness. Yes, she saved the boy from the crumbling Garden. But in the end Calpurnia only acted as the impartial overseer, not shackled to one force over another. Her mien that of perpetual nonchalance of a passive observer. She lacked any allegiance to a higher authority; she harnessed no personal malice toward a certain adversary. In the end everyone could still die.

Oh! Such malevolent wanderings she had drifted off to…

Seeking refuge against the trunk of a tree, Calpurnia tucked herself within the wooded area’s embrace, out of sight from the duel that raged on near the front of the Pendragon’s keep. She found herself at a front row seat of the marvelous spectacle between man and machine, marshal and rebel. The desperate long swipes of a key blade. The graceful swing of a hand, utmost precision in the nimble digits that released the blade, striking right between the sockets of the marshal’s eyeballs in a spew of blood. Brilliant displays of red and orange bursts from a bazooka. And then, screeches. Like metal grinding against metal, erupted from the beast, the province rolling and quivering in apparent fright. It collapsed into a dust cloud of debris and smoke, shimmering with what little life force was left in it. A fallen angel, wings molten and crippled, gleaming radiance now reduced to a diminishing flicker. In its last moments the metal beast shuddered and groaned, its metallic creaks similar to the slowing of gears once in full clockwork. A lasting blow would end the creature indefinitely. May it rest in peace.

The battle was over. Finished. Calpurnia approached from the cover of the thicket. Calmly, with the gait of a casual passerby undeterred by the cold sting of the frosty rain, she eased toward the crippled, bloodied, beaten figure of the boy, the one with the bazooka. Splashes of crimson marred his pale and ghastly flesh; flesh like the apparition of a wailing ghost, though Calpurnia hadn’t nary a doubt there surged the fierce fire of the living underneath this sickly looking exterior.

Tilting her head to the side, she nudged his unmoving body with her foot lightly. The boy had taken quite the beating. Was he dead? No, no. Just unconscious, it seemed… She set to work. Rummaging for any sort of cloth in sight, her brief search ended exactly as it began: empty-handed. Next best thing then. On to her knees she went, applying pressure to the most severe of the wounds.

My. What a troublesome guy.

[OmniChaos]

He had done it. By god, he had done it. The mechanical monstrosity, which now lay twitching, clinging to life, had been brought down by Wolfscraps' rocket. However, it came with a hefty price, as he now lay in the field, slowly, but surely, bleeding to death, the blood rising out of his large wounds. If someone didn't help him, that is.

However, before she tended to Wolfscraps' wounds, Vanessa planned on finishing off the Reaver. His rocket dealt a great deal of damage to the construct, but he had not killed it, leaving it still quite the risk should it decide to activate some hidden self-destruct operation in a last-ditch attempt to kill its targets. The woman moved in a blur, zig-zagging around the burning debris and unearthed mounds of mud. She moved with the sharpened eye of a hawk, closing on the twisted form of the Reaver. Vanessa launched herself over the Reaver, its venerable innards exposed to the woman's wrath.

"Worthless scrap..."

Vanessa launched a true-aimed knife downward into the heart of the construct. The sound of breaking glass sounded, followed by a high-pitch screech sounding from the Reaver's mouth. A hissing erupted from the creature's exposed innards, followed by a large explosion. After a small arc of hissing electricity, the creature fell silent perminately.

The woman continued on without missing a beat, hitting the ground and starting off at a full run, circling back around and running straight toward the bleeding Wolfscraps. She placed her left foot out to slow her advance, quickly building a mound of mud in front of it. She came to a stop in front of the man (or boy, as Vanessa saw him), took off her shirt, and pressed it against his wounds, taking over for the recent "addition" to their marry little group. The blood soaked into her shirt, then washed to the ground by the rain.

"You're not dying on me, you dammed fool!" she shouted, placing more pressure onto the boy's body. "You aren't allowed your eternal rest yet! You've still got some use in you!"

The rain beat against her head, pounding like a thousand drums. It stung against her skin, it poured into her eyes, it assaulted her very soul. Every drop felt like a thousand pounds dropping against her back, threatening to break it with each blow. Vanessa muffled a cry of agony, pressing and pressing against the bleeding boy. Light-headedness began to take her as the world grew fuzzy. The beating rain began to let up, the ever-present overcast of the Eclipse King's rule still hanging above the world. The last thing she remembered was the blue shape of the wizard as unconsciousness overtook her.

[The Lionheart]

((gonna quote a bit here, because my last post was on the last page... oh man))

"Class," it seemed, resided in at least one of the other Marshals. Though it was hard for Marcus to tell whether or not this one was putting on an act, the man's demeanor was too relaxed, his actions too effortlessly executed, for it to be anything but habit. The man definitely treated others like this, whether or not it was genuine, well, only time would tell.

Darakai, Svether. First Marshal and shadow to his liege, The Eclipse King, but you can call me Seven as the familiar. To whom do I have the pleasure of consorting with?

Taking a step towards the chair offered him, Marcus began to lift up his hand for a shake, "The name's-"

"Marcus." A voice rang out from the head of the table, "His name is Marcus Gerrison."

Marcus continued the upward motion of his hand, placing it behind his head and chuckling in an attempt to mask his surprise. He could hardly believe somebody knew his name, and what's more, that somebody was only about four feet tall. "Yep, that's-"

"He's some third-rate loser the king must have felt sorry for and decided to make him a marshal out of pity! He won't even last a day in the field! Some junior keyblade wielder will come along and...BOOM!! Hehehehehahahaha!!!"

Though his laughter had faded, Marcus tried to maintain a calm demeanor. He had to control his emotion - Marcus didn't need to act "hard" in front of these guys during their first meeting - but it wasn't easy. Things at the Eclipse King's court weren't quite what he had expected, it certainly was nowhere near the legion of mute, hooded men he had expected. And now, this kid was going straight for his throat. Well, if he didn't stand up for himself now, when would he?

"Don't you agree, Seven?" the boy tittered, grinning like a Cheshire Cat at Marcus. "Doesn't he just look so stupid?"

Cracking a slight smile, Marcus decided to take the seat offered him, grabbing a glass and raising it to the kid. "You're right, if the keyblader's are anywhere near your size," pausing, Marcus took a drink from his cup, "I'll probably never see them coming."

Bold, yes. But Marcus could only hope the kid would bounce away from the joke, as he had with everything else. Of course, he could be dead wrong, but the die had been cast; there was no turning back now.

((not my best, sorry, but I wanted to at least try to get things moving. I figured if I was procrastinating studying for finals, I may as well throw something up))

[Kid A]

((apologize for the late reply, glad you got around to replying TL))

The recruit had no true means or necessity to worry, kinship and loyalty as such was a mutual thing amongst the marshals. Abel's rambunctious nature for one was to be expected. Seven enjoyed this, genuinely it made him far less dull, serious, and polite when around his influence or erratic commentary. Practically speaking for the marshal, he referred to him in such a degrading manner.

As he'd mounted Seven's back, the timely old man held him up by the legs as his arms were slung around his neck. He could already see where this was going, if Marcus had a sense of humor he'd play along with Abel's jest and pessimistic merry making.

"Now now Abel. He is our comrade, new or old. We all carry a mutual connect amongst one another." he spoke sternly, but in kind.

He placed his hands on Abel's legs, and rose him up to mount him on his shoulders. Truthfully, he had this odd connect that a parent would with their child, even if their very child didn't acknowledge the parent's care for them at first. Seven's right arm pulsed, and he balled his fist. Standing at this end of the table, Marcus had finally taken a seat.

"Tell us about yourself, Marcus. What brings you to the Eclipse Army?"

[Eva]

[Haven't seen the movie in a while so I don't remember in detail how this happens ._. ]

"Ever get the feeling you're being watched?"

Letting out a clearly irritated sigh, Leilani lightly whacked her sister's shoulder, eyes focused ahead. "Don't go jinxing us, things are going alright." She told her, wagging a finger in a disaproving manner.

While it seemed like a joke, Aiyana couldn't shake it off--maybe because it was her first time underwater, or the pressure was getting to her head, or the fact that Daedalus even mentioned 'just in case'. There's no such thing as 'just in case'--if something was going to go wrong, it would. Especially considering the past turn of events, she was waiting for something to happen. Maybe the ship would start leaking. Or she would get seasick. Or maybe she'd somehow lose her earpiece. Or trip.

The feeling of her stomach rumbling made Aiyana feverish and nervous, and suddenly she was sticking to the group like glue. Of all the times to panic, this was definitely it. She definitely trusted everyone, but the though of being trapped in this hunk of metal with no way out except maybe through a pod was driving her insane, to say the least. It was very unlike her. Then again, she was just as nervous on Gummi Ships. On solid ground you can move and dodge and fight, but in ships you're stuck. You can't do anything. Anything...

Aiyana suddenly inhaled deeply, clinging onto her sister's arm for dear life when the Leviathan was brought up. Oh no. Her already pale skin turned whiter and she felt faint. "Oh no." She repeated, her voice a high squeak to say the least. "We...we could be attacked...?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Leilani, on the other hand, while also anticipating the worst, couldn't believe the freak out her sister was going through. "That's my fighting arm." She told her, wriggling out of Aiyana's death grip. Almost on cue, it came--just as Daedalus had expected. "Sometimes I wish you were wrong, just once." She told him with a bitter tone, dragging her sister into a pod.

It was chaos, to say the least--crew members immediately leapt into action, what with Rourke's orders blasted out every second.

"Get us out of here, Sinclair!" Rourke insisted, eyeing the creature.

Aiyana let out a scream as the ship seemed to swerve from getting hit, and once the pod had moved, she couldn't see straight. "Please oh please oh PLEASE let us make it out of here alive!" She was absolutely terrified, head in her hands. As she looked up, she watched the creature destroy the previous ship and almost cried. She hadn't thought about it until now, but who hadn't made it?

"Hang onto something!" Sinclair barked as she pod began maneuvering through the rocks. Despite the woman's piloting, the giant mechanical son of a bitch was very close behind, giving chase. Biting her lip, Leilani looked around, desperate for something. They couldn't sit there and do nothing, they were going to get themselves killed at the rate they were going. She racked her head, trying to remember what Milo had said.

"There! Go there!" Milo had suddenly popped up, pointing to a strange looking cavern. "Just trust me!" Without a moment's delay, the pod had done exactly as Milo had told; the underwater tunnel was filled with numerous out of place rocks and what looked like statues of some sort. Before anyone could guess at where the hell they were going, the Leviathan took one swing--the pod shook it off and kept going, Sinclair driving towards two mounds very close to one another.

Sure enough, the idea worked; the pods safely swam through while the Leviathan had attempted to crush through, only ti crash itself against it. To say they were safe wasn't enough, because at that point, the pod had hit air--the pocket of air Milo had been talking about. With a huge sigh of relief, Leilani clapped Milo's shoulder. "Good thing you know what you're talking about." She commented with a huge grin as the crew began piling out.

As everyone got onto dry land, Aiyana looked back at the water. Just like she thought before, it was Radiant Garden all over again--they were safe, but at what cost?

[OmniChaos]

"You're too kind for your own good, Seven," Abel mumbled, his lips pressed together into a pout. He laid his arms across the man's head and slunched forward, a look of boredom on his face. " I was just playing with the newbie."

A golden Guardian Reaver, his body upheld by two sets of legs, entered from the hall the king had long since exited, letting out loud clangs as its golden legs hit the floor. The Reaver's arrival quieted the large dining hall; everyone knew it was one of the Eclipse King's personal Reavers and dare not risk angering the tyrant. It approached Seven and Abel, its arms held behind its back akin to a butler. The image brought a chuckle to Abel's lips.

"His Majesty requests the audience of young master Abel and master Darakai. And yours as well, master Marcus." The Reaver spoke with a fine tongue, one that belied the fact that, at its core, it was still a weapon for killing and control. "I have been instructed to escort you three to his chambers immediately."

Abel let out a sigh, not one quite of frustration, but more of a childish sigh that sounds more playful. The former was his intent. The boy tapped Seven's head in a " Let's go!" manner and released his grip of the man's head, falling backwards and flipping over once to land gracefully on his feet. Abel jumped into the air, gathered wind around him, and began flying down the hallway, his arms held out to his side. The Reavers and the Marshals followed.

---------

When Abel reached the King's chambers, he found them to be empty. No king, no Reavers. Nothing. So, the boy made himself at home, jumping on the Eclipse King's bed as if it were his own, laughing all the meanwhile. By the time the others arrived, a large vortex opened in the room and the tyrant stepped through.

"Very good," he said in a mild tone. "You have arrived perfectly on time." The king spared a glance at Abel, who had dropped back onto the King's bed and was panting heavily. The King smiled at the sight. "Most of you, at least."

The Eclipse King stepped from the spot he arrived at and approached the large window that overlooked his "kingdom", a cesspit of human life that had gathered to where they did not belong. As he looked down, his eyes caught sight of a man attacking a woman over a scrap of metal she has found. He ripped the metal from her hands and used it to beat her to death, blood covering the jagged metal. When she was dead, he embraced the metal greedily, a crazed look on his face. However, his face warped into a grimace of pain, a large blade--a Scuttler scythe--sticking out the front of his chest. The man collapsed, bleeding out, and a small boy, no older than Abel, dislodged the scythe from the man's body and took the scrap metal, leaving the man to die.

"Vultures," the King spat under his breath. How he hated them. "Damned leaches who steal and kill for our metal. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps these vermin who had traded their humanity for greed should be taken care of."

The king turned from the window and returned his attention back to the Marshals. As he walked back toward those he had summoned, he reached toward his lip, wiping at something in the corner of his mouth. It was blood, but not his own.

"Now, down to business," he spoke, his tone showing a touch of sternness in it. "I have summoned you here to inform you all that you will be sent on missions. Surveillance has shown that those who escaped from Radiant Garden have been spotted in three different worlds, leading to the conclusion that they have divided themselves into three different groups.

"Our objective is for them to lead us to one of their few remaining nests. As such, it would be in our best interests to speed them along in their search. Therefore, I am sending you three out to... 'motivate' them however you see fit. Avoid killing them for now, but make your points clear."

The Eclipse King turned his attention back toward the windows. "Are there any questions?"

[Orion]

When a basic camp was set up at the edge of the water, Daedalus had his own group set up their temporary hospice at the very edge of the small collection of tents. Their separation from the larger group gave them a touch more privacy, but he wondered how risky it would be to generally congregate with the group when a social occasion would arrive, a time to share stories of their past "Where are you from? How'd you find out about the expedition? How about that fancy arm of yours?"

Daedalus reckoned he would need only minimal information on the world - after all, they would not be immersed in the wider culture, but only an extremely tiny portion of it. Had they proceeded without the loss of crew, equipment and supplies, he guessed they would be fine and able to avoid opportunities like the one forming around a small gas fire in the centre of the tent town. However, with such losses, these people would look to raise each other's spirits, focus on other things. Daedalus knew that the specialised core of the crew had all been on the Icelandic expedition to locate the Shepard's Journal, and so already had a basic idea of each other. The same could not be said of the one they knew as Holtz, or his assistants.

As quickly as he could, Daedalus corralled his party away from the rest for consultation. It was generally accepted that knowledge of other worlds or the events transpiring on or between them was best kept from young worlds that had yet to discover such things were going on. He explained that although their presence there wasn't strictly in violation of such a principle, virtually anything they could do beyond the entirely mundane would by necessity point to it - magic, advanced technology and more. He further elucidated that if the Leviathan was just the gatekeeper to Atlantis, there were bound to be more of such machines in the city itself, though probably not on such a scale. He reasoned that if such technologies were hostile to the presence of the expedition, then to counter such a threat would involve using the magics and technologies at their disposals, thereby giving themselves away.

Looking over his shoulder towards the congregation around the fire, he continued, saying that any social opportunities that might arise could very easily lead any one of them to inadvertently reveal that fact. He also guessed that, if need be, they could trail the progress of the team in the Icarus. With all this in mind, he concluded - "We need to leave the expedition." Others were somewhat taken aback by this, but Daedalus quickly clarified that they would be at the ready to rejoin the group, but just for now they should part ways. Once they reached the city itself, which was no doubt of decent size, they could probably safely go about the city as they would, flinging around magic or what-have-you without risking that knowledge to others.

Eventually, they each agreed with this course of action, and an hour or so later they all moved to a dark, silent corner of the massive cave and boarded the running-dark Icarus. The next couple of days were boring by comparison to what they could have been doing alongside the expedition, but Daedalus assured them the freedom and covertness their decision provided them would outweigh any temporary boredom. However, he did wish it could somehow alleviate it. The five of them didn't ever see much of what the expedition actually accomplished because they only followed after the last vehicle trailing the convoy, and even then a couple of hours or so behind to guarantee their stealth.

The first - and admittedly greatest - moment of excitement and anticipation came when the communications bead in Milo's ear picked up on comments of natural light filtering through, in addition to the roaring sound of water flowing hard. Between the five of them in the cockpit they collectively argued and speculated about what would be on the other side for the next three hours, after which the last vehicle passed through the gateway into the illuminated and massive cavern. Half an hour later, hovering under manual control, Icarus slipped through that same gateway.

Atlantis was impressive, to say the least. Thriving, surviving, dying or dead, its grandeur was uncompromised. Sitting on a massive circular mesa, the disk-like plate upon which the city sat poured water out of all points of its perimeter, forming a perfect curtain of cascading water around its base. Even as he observed the city itself, Daedalus could only wonder what lay in those lower reaches. Like a wheel set flat upon the disc, the city of Atlantis was centered around a towering and densely-packed hub of impressive buildings. Such a collection of structures decreased in height and density going out from the centre, into what Daedalus equated to the suburbs. The various 'spokes' of the wheel jutted out to connect what looked like satellite towns to the main city, although it looked like over half of those had either sunken or been destroyed.

All in all, it reinforced Daedalus' notions. The city was simply too large for them to handle on their own, and he guessed the local population - if it existed still at all - would have enough trouble dealing with the expedition, let alone off-worlders. As much as they hated to, they would bug out and as quickly as possible seek numbers to add to their team before proceeding, if not let others take over entirely.

[OmniChaos]

Long after the man named Animus left the dark alleyway--after he left the char-faced Marshal to his own, painful cries--a man dressed in black, his face shrouded by a hood, entered the dark alleyway, whistling a happy, upbeat tune. He walked toward the crumpled Marshal, threatening to trample him at his cheerful pace. He proceeded to take a step, but halted, his foot hovering ever so slightly over the blackened face of the man that had once had too warm of a smile. All that was there now was a twisted, gaping mouth of agonizing pain.

"My, my, my," the man said, his voice a soothing angelic melody that sounded right, but also horribly, horribly wrong. His voice trailed off into a light purr that sounded inhuman. The man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth twice, mimicking the sound of the swaying pendulum of a clock. "Had I not noticed you but a few seconds later, the bottom of my shoe would have firmly been placed onto that thing you once called a face. How fortunate you and your fates must be." The man tittered a twisted laugh, something one would hear from the most cruelest of monsters. "However, given your recent run-in with those keybladers, I suppose 'fortunate' is a fairly inappropriate term. Yes, in fact, I believe it may have actually been unfortunate, as putting you out of your misery would be an act of kindness."

The man drew back his hovering foot, placing it beside its twin. He repositioned his feet then squat down next to the Marshal, both his knees letting out a loud, unified pop. Like a child tracing the outline of a picture or intricate lettering, the man ran his finger along the black, charred skin of the Marshal.

"Who are you?" the Marshal managed to whisper, the very act of moving his lips seeming to drown him in pain. "What are you?"

"Me?" the man asked, almost as if taken back. He tittered his chilling laugh again. "Why, I'm just a man. A happy man, a joyful man. A laughing man, a smiling man." The man pulled back his lips to reveal his pearly whites, smiling like a shark who had found dinner. "I like last. You may refer to me as such, if you so pleasure. I mind not."

The Smiling Man wrapped his fingers around one of the chunks of burnt flesh and quickly pulled it away, a harsh ripping sound accompanying it. The Marshal let loose a cry of agony as blood poured from the fresh wound. The Marshal brought his hand to his face, trying to cover the growing warm spot on his face. The Smiling Man pulled another chunk of flesh from his face and drew another bout of blood and screams from the man. He tittered yet again.

"Come now, it hurts now, but it fades quickly," he said, his smile weakening a bit. He offered his hand toward the Marshal, like a devil offering his in an agreement for the soul. "Rise, friend. Time is short (tick-tock goes the clock) and we've still much to do with you. Our friend the king would be quite disappointed to see you sleeping on the job, so he would. Quite.

"No time for rest now, friend. Now is the time for revenge and the preparation leading up to said glorious moment of sweetness. Now quickly, let us go. You've doddled on for quite long enough. Quite. Yes, quite quite quite quite quite quite quite quite. QUITE! NOW COME ON! MOVE! WE MUST GO! NOW! QUITE! YOU'VE DODDLED ON FOR LONG ENOUGH AND TIME'S HANDS ARE EVER BUSY! TICK-TOCK! TICK-TOCK! GOES THE CLOCK WHOSE TIME HAS YET TO STOP! COME! COME! COME!!!"

The Smiling Man grabbed the Marshal's hand and pulled, dragging the man up with him as he rose. With his other hand, he steadied the Marshal's limp body, like a rag doll. Supporting the Marshal's weight, the Smiling Man dragged the man who had had the too warm smile away into the shadows from which he had came.

---------

Don't worry...

Darkness. Black, flowing; a sea of stagnant oil that encompassed everything. Time, space, existence; one and all folds to it and becomes of it. A virus, growing and infecting and growing and infecting and growing and infecting and growing...

I'll help.

A ripple. First small, insignificant even. But it grew. The ripple grew (growing and infecting and growing and infecting and growing...), assaulting the sea of darkness, which trembled beneath its power. A light pulsed from its center, a purifying (evil) light that chased away the darkness, pushing it to the edge of existence and beyond. It grew (and infected), encompassed everything.

Growing and infecting and growing and infecting and growing...

And infecting...

They are the same, aren't they?

If you believe it to be. What is and what isn't is all that is or isn't. Light. Darkness. Me. You. Anything can be everything and everything can be absolutely nothing. But that is unimportant. All that matters is that its growing and infecting and growing and infecting and growing...

What is? The light?

The infection. But not yet. The infection comes second. First comes the wound. From the wound will rise the infection. Growing and infecting... But not yet.

I don't understand.

Don't worry. I'll help.

---------

Ogen's eyes fluttered open. He was greeted by the sight of the dull, overcast sky of a world enslaved by the Eclipse King. A bell rung and startled a flock of birds, which flew from their perched location along the the bell tower in hastened surprise. They flew over Ogen, white specks across a canvas of grey. Ogen hated them.

As he rose, his body heavy like bricks, an intense, sharp pain stabbed at his chest and forced him to double over, grabbing at the pain. The boy looked down and saw through the large hole in his shirt a large, black wound across his chest. He touched it (tentatively, fearing the pain to undoubtfully ensue) and winced prematurely, the ensuing pain not occurring.

The boy pushed himself upwards, hissing a painful cry through his clinched as fresh pain rushed his body. Once on his feet, Ogen staggered forward twice before catching his balance enough to stand still. He looked around and saw Quel'loyen, unconscious, on the ground near where he had been. Animus was nowhere to be found.

Ogen walked--staggered--around, trying to get an idea of where they were, but not wanting to wander off too far from Quel'loyen, should something happen. He reached the side of a building and struggled to focus on a small sign, his eyes still trying to regain focus after the darkness (growing and infecting and growing...) of his sleep.

Wanted!
A Mr. "Honest" John

Ogen knew there was more, but in his weary state, the rest of the words jumbled and blurred together into a massive mess that the boy was forced to look away from. He turned and staggered again, throwing out his left arm to equal out his balance. His next few steps managed to get him back to his unconscious friend, afraid he might stagger forward and step on him. He leaned forward, drawing breath in through clinched teeth, and placed his hand on Quel'loyen and shook him lightly.

"Quel'loyen," he managed. "Quel'loyen, wake up."

---------

When dawn--at least the time of dawn, the overcast skies of the Eclipse King's rule still firmly blocking out any light from the freshly risen sun--came, their party had set out. Archimedes had been sent by Merlin the night before to search for the gummi ship, but came back with no sight of the ship. Black Bart solidified the owl's claim, stating he had seen the floating chariot fly away shortly after the dim, overcast sky turned to the black of night. As such, Merlin suggested they take the road to the crossroad city (or what was left of it, he murmured) and make their way to the next world on their path, adding: "Whether you call yourselves allies or enemies, you all face a foe that none of you can survive alone. There is strength in numbers and silly squabbling should not interfere with what must be done. My young friends, you would do well to stay together."

With that, the group set off, leaving Merlin to find his books and the inhabitants to their usurper king. Though it sounds cruel and heartless, their group had done all they could for the world at that time and trying to do more than their abilities would allow would simply end in death. Merlin knew it, Vanessa knew it, and the others (assuming they didn't already) would know it soon enough as well.

They walked along the empty road, with nothing but grass to keep them company, for what must have seemed like days, yet were but hours. Vanessa held Galom--Wolfscraps--around her shoulders, carrying the still unconscious man across the vast, empty lands that tie the worlds together, the other girl (Cal, was it?) walking next to her. The woman held a great deal of power in her reserves, but with the passing time and weight of the man, her reserves were quickly deminishing, and it showed. But she carried on all the same.

As what could only be judged as dusk began to set on, the party arrived in the crossroad city or, as Merlin had accurately pointed out, what was left of it. The buildings that stood were nought but husks, brittle and threatening to fall at the slightest breeze. The streets were bare, save for a random piece of trash that inched by.

Upon Vanessa's insistence, the group set camp in the middle of the abandoned city. Except it wasn't abandoned. She thought it might be at first, but after seeing something move within the shadows of the ruined buildings, she thought--knew--otherwise. The woman figured they would be left alone, but slept with one eye open just in case.

When the sun's light brightened the overcast skies enough to see, the group set off once more, taking the southern route at Vanessa's lead. With the man still on her shoulders, Vanessa and Cal put the ruined city behind them and set out again for the great, empty lands. They continued on for near an hour before Vanessa felt the man stir and set him down (at her relief) to see if he would awake.