[HH PRP] Have It Out (FIN)

[medigel]

Quote:

Rolling a 4: NO HEALING IS ALLOWED IN BATTLE. Someone is whispering to you about something, but you can't place out what, it is hard to focus. Everything distracts you, even the tiniest flash of light or flicker of movement.

It was hard to describe what was going through Mort as he took Bells by the hand out and away from the tent, mostly because it was a host of things all vying for center stage of this developing drama. Horror, rage, fear, frustration, and overwhelming sadness clawed at his insides all at once, and even if there wasn't already a gaping wound he was trying to ignore Mort would have struggled to walk under that collective burden.

Their bodies below the waist were devolved into a misty mess, and already he could feel tendrils creep up his spine to his shoulders and a seeping numbness caress his face. What was the point anymore?

That was the thing: he was starting to think there wasn't any.

Maybe his feet remembered the way and brought him to the same room he had first manifested to kill them in, or maybe the house had decided that they hadn't had enough whispers of Home yet. Either way, he led Belladonna into a room of ever changing furniture once more, foggy hands forming at the perimeter to reach for them weakly before fading. And when they reached the center of the room, he at last turned to her and her graying hair, anguished and angry. He floundered for a moment, forgetting how to talk.

Then: "D-Did I cause . . .?"  

[AyeAvast]

The simple act of breathing had become a laborious thing as fog gathered in the witch's lungs, a thick substance she could feel as it roiled around within her chest and quietly fell down into her stomach. The fog did not lay at peace within her, but continued to twist and curl in on itself, hitching around her elbows and knees until she felt she would go limp at any moment. Even the chill hand around her's felt far away, as though a threadbare blanket separated them. Pink eyes had the faintest ring of silver to their edges, to the point that Belladonna could only trip after Mort back to the room with shifting furniture, the strange shapes in the corner not even a concern. They all looked like clouds of nothingness, so why bother trying to concentrate on them.
For a long time she stood in the room and stared down at her feet, waiting to sink down into the floor like an ill trained ghost, unused to its new body. An odd numbness had settled within her, a feeling that dulled the fear that had made her actions hurried and quick before. Now they were sluggish, delayed.
At least, they mostly were, until...

Both hands reached forward as the witch took the appropriate amount of steps that brought her right underneath Mort. Her fingernails had lost their color, their pinkness and look of health, but both hands still cupped his face, desperate for one last touch of that jaw she so loved.
"Oh darling, no... It wasn't you at all..." Belladonna attempted a smile, but it suddenly felt foreign and unnatural on her face. Still, whatever vestige of herself remained kept it there, though her eyebrows crumpled up in sadness. "After I lost you I wandered around until I found Alexander, and some others... We were pulled into a room with other students..." For one brief moment she almost mentioned the Hunters, but she could see the anger that resided in the clench of his hands and left it out. They were fading and Belladonna would not further taint her love with such awful knowledge.
"Another student had gone all fuzzy and she attacked us... I did so well." Her warm voice finally cracked with a shake of her head. "But I got hit once too many and dissipated... I thought, I thought I was alright! I reformed alright and Alexander found me again... But... I must not have."
To finally speak this out loud, to finally say that the witch had not conquered what she thought she could have, made the smile finally fade. That numbness grew a little larger, but a deep sadness welled up too. This was not going to end well, there would be no scary tale ending for the two of them she suddenly found in a thought that almost made her cry. But she was so tired, just so ready to lie down and be at peace.  

[medigel]

It was little comfort to know he wasn't the culprit, even though his memories, which were still in working order, would have easily told him this wasn't the case. What was the point if it only led until now, where her hands felt as insubstantial as smoke and as cold as his own? When even that was slowly becoming a numbness that deprived him of the warmth he so longed for? Where overprotective notions and care once were, now white and gray were beginning to take ahold of.

Something else was creeping in him the more Mort listened to her tale, however, the same whispers that he tried to drive out but found more and more difficult as the seconds ticked on. Every flicker of movement, every wordless hiss or curl of mist, all of it served to distract him - all of it was utter noise, and the witch would feel his jaw tense as his teeth were grit in frustration. "Must not have," he echoed distantly, Thor twitching beside him before both hands were brought up to hers in what would have been a comforting motion -

- only to peel them off and let them go back to Belladonna's sides. "Lost me so fast after promised would keep safe . . . But when wandering, didn't call for me? Never heard your voice." His tone grew accusatory as a madness briefly took over. "Mrrr, went to look for Alex instead. Needed new zombie so soon huh?"  

[AyeAvast]

Perhaps it was best that the fog was slowly crawling into her body, replacing what once had been Belladonna with some poorly made copy. She hadn't even reformed complete, all broken and grayed over, like some strange monster not yet fully realized. Perhaps it would be best to hand herself over to that, to just close her eyes and let something else take over so she could just have a little rest. Where she could sleep for a bit, comfortable and finally feeling safe.
The voices that had once been, had always been, whispered in her ear, caressed her cheek and neck and hands were Mort would not. They comforted her when he only tensed underneath her, an action that made the witch tense too, made her begin to dig her fingernails into his skin until her hands were pulled away. Some sound of substantiality should have echoed in the witch's ears as her hands unceremoniously flopped down against her skirt and thighs, but there was nothing, only a sweep of more mist as it billowed up from the sudden action. The sadness in the witch's face did not keep as it normally would have, normally should have, but instead turned into something confused, something untrustworthy.
"Yes..." Belladonna hissed in a voice that sounded strangely unlike her own. "Because it was I who lost you, and certainly not the other way around." That hiss kept up, all hard edges where honey used to be, and viciously laced in sarcasm.

Since he had not wanted her touch, the witch only brought her hands forward to grasp at the front of his strange, gray shirt and tug him down toward her.
"How could you hear anything with all these voices?" Belladonna asked, some part of herself struggling to rise. But she was so sleepy, she just wanted to close her eyes. "N-no..." The witch stammered out, her voice finally ebbing of that hiss. "Not... Not Alexander... I was... I was looking for you!"
But if he were to push, if he were to want to fight, Belladonna knew she would not win. A thickness had crept into her arms, a heaviness that she held on to because it meant she could feel. Her shoulders were chill, her neck touched with fog and her face still warmer than this room. If she could just keep her hands up, keep them above this creeping fog... She could save them, she could save her Mort.
"Mort...Please..." The gray struggled in her eyes, tried to override the pink as her voice broke on his name. This was all wrong, this wasn't how things were supposed to go. But... But for whatever reason she couldn't remember how things were supposed to happen...  

[medigel]

Bitterness fed bitterness, suspicion bred suspicion. "Of course is your fault," he hissed in return, bristling at both the clutch on his shirt as well as her insinuation. "A-Always bouncing away like everything's fine when is no such thing; always acting like is no big deal when world is crashing down around you, always moving away and expecting me to follow! It's your fault we separated, your fault I was taken by fog!" And he looked ready to pry her away forcefully, yet as they locked gazes and as he lifted a hand and grasped at one of hers, the impulse to fight faltered and the angered look faded away.

Had she been looking? A part of him wanted to believe that so badly and struggled with all its might to clutch at its logic and security of such loyalty - but it was engulfed in whispers and mists, and eventually he could no longer remember why such a notion had come to him. He was a creature that needed no other comforts, wanted no other comforts . . . Nothing beyond Home.

And with that came a pang of intense sorrow, for he knew that this ghoul was something as important, if not moreso. But for the life or lack of life of him, Mort couldn't remember what that feeling was anymore. She was pleading him for something he couldn't begin to fathom, so he supposed he could give one in turn while his brief clutch on sanity was there. "Make it right. Kill me. P-Please," he whispered, numbness overwhelmed with melancholy for a few moments as he gazed down at her with weary sadness. "I-I don't . . . want to hurt more than need to. Need to go Home. Is only way."

HP: 13
Damage: herpage  

[AyeAvast]

The words spoken in bitterness and anger rankled somewhere within the witch, but it was in a place already overtaken with the fog. Her collarbone had gone numb, so her heart could remember nothing. Eyes dulled with a longing for something so far away and so close, Belladonna only stared up at the zombie. The pink had faded, quietly bleaching as she stared up into his face and considered his words.
"Because I am not strong enough? Because I am not enough?" The witch questioned with a dull, nearly passionless voice. Unsummoned by the part of her that seemed to be watching this exchange from the corner of the room, her cards slowly rose from the mist, all grayed and frayed at the edges. One hand moved up from his chest to wrap thin fingers around the zombie's neck, her nails doing their best to puncture his skin.
"Because I am not worthy of your affection?" She asked, not even bothering to talk or think like herself. A card dove forward to slice at his cheek while the witch pulled her hand down, pulled his neck and therefore him down to her. A great emotion had welled within her, something that would devour her whole should she give herself over to it. But whatever emotion it was had gotten mixed up, had been drowned by all this fog so that it was only a shade of intense emotion. Further diluted and polluted by the mist it morphed into a sort of anger, but an anger the witch still knew as strange affection.

"Kill you? Because you deserve to go home when I must stay behind?" Belladonna asked in another hissing voice.
Somewhere within her, where the little pink still flickered and tried to hold on, the witch cried out. For a moment she paused and much like a dream, tried to recall so long ago when something like this had been asked of her before. This moment felt familiar, felt as though this favor had been asked of her and the witch had refused once before. But had it really? And what were the circumstances? What had each of them said?
The tendrils of remembrance were so flimsy, small ribbons that fluttered away from the witch's hands as she tried desperately to recall them. Yet why did it matter? This creature was still trapped in her grasp and he asked something of her.
No wicked smile graced her lips as the witch rose up and bit into his neck, delighted to feel skin give way under her teeth. For a moment she tugged, but quickly let go to tilt her mouth back so that she could whisper into his ear.
"Oh darling, if you're going to go Home, its going to hurt."

HP: 17
Damage: 8

Ol-j-man

Aaaaaaand I've lost Bellsie. That sure didn't last long. neutral

 

[medigel]

On many levels the bite shocked him, but the growing Insanity wouldn't let Mort understand why. The damage wrought had brought him closer to the brink, everything below the neck now fluidly changing between solid shape and monochromatic fog, and creeping still. A feature of that condition Insanity was to be illogical, and while one moment he might have asked her to take him Home, the next he was most certain that the only way he could get there was to destroy her. She was in the way.

But there was something in the familiarity of the action, of a hand pressed to his neck and a mouth sinking in, that gave him a brief pause even as blood continued to flow out from the new wound. Where did she ...? Why? Mort dug his own fingers into her hand, pried them off, and shoved her away, uncaring if the witch's nails tore more scratches in his haste. Physical pain was the only kind that couldn't hurt him now.

"You were once worthy," he found himself saying, somehow in his voice and yet not, and his now gray gaze met hers with unreadable emotion. Instinct wanted it as anger, but a little uncorrupted piece of him was fighting with its last bit of strength to say something; yet he couldn't remember the words, so much like smoke in his hands they were. It had been something deep, something strong, something that had said so much with so little.

"S'your fault," he hissed in a whisper. "You make me weak so you don't feel weak either. Always in the way, always in the way somehow! Can't even finish job've killing me." More and more most was gathering around his arms, Thor moreso than his other one, and claws were slowly being fashioned at their ends which he gripped into tight fists. "If you weren't in way all the time, would both be Home now!

"Now you aren't worthy of anything!"

She was in the way. And so he sought to remove that obstacle with a bestial growl, lurching forward to rend at her with his misshapen hands.

HP: 5
Damage: 12

AyeAvast

DDD: at least now they share the same HP? Oh dice~

 

[AyeAvast]

That odd, insatiable longing for Home made the witch dig her sharpened nails into the zombie's neck a little harder, for another odd feeling had risen up. Desperately she wanted to go Home, to rest and finally be at peace, but some unnameable thing had decided that perhaps maybe this creature was the path. This boil before her, whose name fluttered on the edges of her being, because she knew him, she was involved with him, she lov--
And then a yank of her hand pulled her away from him, snapped her from the realization that might have saved her. His words stung, but Belladonna couldn't recall why. Everything had become so distracting, the chill on her warm hand, the way the mist moved in the corners, the way Mort looked so angry and hurt and tired.
"M-Mort?" The witch asked, as she looked up into his face. The fog had taken so much already, had taken her love once before and she'd... "N-no... No, I fought for you... I do not want you to die, I want you to--" The sound of his raised voice interrupted the witch and Belladonna closed her mouth. She struggled to fight this fog, to rise above it but there was no handle to be had. It was too insubstantial, and there was no way she could swim in this. One hand rose above the roiling mist but it was too late. Already she was drowned.

When the attack came, Belladonna greeted it with open arms, as though it was a much fiercer hug than the ones she was used to. Each tear of her thin, beginning to billow form brought out a new scream, but they were not nearly as fierce or bright as they would have been had not the Insanity already wound its way deep within her body. Had this actually been Belladonna he was fighting and not some strange, morphing monster, the witch would have cried out harder, would have said any number of things. As it were she only gave him the satisfaction of noise when she was struck or dug into or pulled at, and even that grew less noisy with time.
Finally he was done, finally she lay on the ground, covered up by fog but still able to see the form on top of her. Grey eyes with on the barest bit of color left gazed up at him as bleached-looking blood seeped from her body.
"Oh? I see I am worthy of a slow death... Worthy of you pulling every last bit of life from my body..." Once again her hands reached up, to pull him down. Even when she was lost in something foreign, some part of her still replayed old vestiges of action.
One bloody hand twined in his hair and tugged a little, because obviously her last action had spurred this on. But she was so tired, so ready to sleep, that the tug was playfully weak. Still, the grayed out figure of the witch tried to rise up, to sit up a little so that she could be closer to the zombie who pinned her down.
"What else am I worthy of, darling?"

Perhaps for the last moment of this exchange, Belladonna actually managed to resurface, to pull through and color her eyes with a bit more pink for a moment. The hold on his hair became gentle as she stared up at Mort, as she felt her body broken and bruised beneath her. A shaking, quivering fear took over her in a flash as she tried to recollect what was going on but only found her memory covered over with gray and colorless actions.
So weary in body and soul, her head fell back against the wooden floor with a dull thunk as she tried to find the strength within her to push back up. Tears pricked forward, thick, cloudy things all swirled over with what now resided inside her body instead of the pure, cleansing substance they should have been. The wetness down her cheek brought her back momentarily and with a surge Belladonna pushed herself up and managed to press her mouth to Mort's for one brief moment.
She could not recall why they were fighting, or why he had so thoroughly sought to damage her, or why if he kept on he would destroy her. She only knew that at least for one more moment, she wanted to remember the melancholy sweetness of a last kiss before she finally lost herself.

HP: 5
Damage: None this round

Ol-j-man

The dice knooow ;3;

 

[medigel]

"Nothing. Worthy of nothing!"

Savage glee grew within him with each new tear into the witch. Weakling! She was welcoming this like a gift as she rightly should have, for he was going to take her Home. Not that piece of s**t zombie, not any other monster, but him. What more could either of them want?

So as she fell, he leered above her and broke into a mirthless grin, a cowl slowly coming into formation where his hair had once been. This thing kept calling him names he didn't understand - ploys to confuse him from his goal no doubt - but she still had some fight left even when pinned. Her hand broke the forming hood and clung to the remaining solid strands of hair he had left, eliciting a a raised claw poised to strike her one final time. But he wanted to see what this thing had left, wanted her to writhe and plea and give in so that they could both go Home; he wanted to be Home's protector, vanquishing all insects who stood in his way or threatened his Home.

It would have been so easy. But in his moment's gloating the witch surged forward and caught him off guard, and all he could do was stiffen in surprise. The action was so foreign in meaning to him that he didn't know how to react at first; fury, surely, for thinking this was enough to stop him . . . But for a brief moment something sparked within him and brought back a flicker of warmth that made him shiver violently, and as he yanked her back by the hair the witch was met with a perplexed look.

"B-Bells..." He didn't know what to say because it was all being taken from him as quickly as it came: names, memories, faces, reasoning. His hand curled tighter around what hair of hers still remained in a controlling grip. His brow furrowed darkly as he bared his teeth. "Why are you always in the way? Why won't let me t-take Home without distraction? What d'you want from me...?"

There was more than a little hurt and bitterness registered in his questions. Whispers told him he should finish the job, but this ghoul, this wounded creature...He still had just enough of a mind to want to know why.

AyeAvast

 

[AyeAvast]

Nothing.

It was easy to let go when such a thing was given to the witch. To let go of his hair, to not even bother to marvel at the cowl that formed around his face or the strange shift of his eyes from green to blue. It was too easy to just let her hand fall back onto the floorboards, to become nearly limp as he grabbed her hair and tugged at her. To let her entire body go, so that she fell backwards save for the clutch on her hair that left her neck fallen in a way that it was exposed and pulled at a strange angle and looked nearly to breaking with the force of her surrender.
The little witchling that tried so hard to hold on only caught the last little bit of her name from Mort before she closed her pink eyes and let herself sink into the cool comfort of oblivion. With that, Belladonna was gone, Bells had been lost and Bellsie all but forgotten as the mist creature took over. It longed for Home, to be reunited with the safe, comforting arms of an intangible idea that promised far more than it could ever really provide. But that was all conjecture, that was all silly doubts about the place the witch wanted to go. And here she was, ready and waiting to return to such a place when she had such a handsome monster offering to take her there. Not only take her there, but bring her with him. Why, it was enough to make the monster confess her adoration to this fellow fog creature, this opposing being.
Instead, she pulled against the force on her hair, which had begun to move on its own, to wisp out and to curl of its own accord. If he offered, then she would gladly take. But somehow she knew he would fight her flat out request, would refuse her should she ask. First, she had to push him further, always push him into something he pretended he didn't want. With an attempt at a smile that looked more like a sneer, the foggy witch pulled at his hold again, more as a way to anger him rather than actually be free.

"Because you're the hero who needs the challenge." The monster replied in an imitation of her voice. "Because a proper hero needs distraction, a gloriously beautiful distraction to test the conviction of his cause. A distraction to bring him down to the floor and make him weak with lust." Her hands shot forward to clench at his front, to bring him further down to her as she hissed more words to him. "I want you to destroy me, body and soul. End me with yourself and take me Home."
It was the request she had always wanted to make, even back into all those memories that stretched out colorless and vacant, for she could not actually recall them. All that mattered was the return, the want to be in the safety of irrational comfort.
The blood that leaked from her now became insubstantial mist, nearly colorless save the variation of grays as it seeped from her body and didn't even bother touching the floor. One good hit, one good little tear or rip or even an altogether too fierce yank of her hair and she would be gone. Freed of this tether, unbound and ready to get her wish. So with a look that otherwise would have been wholly Belladonna, the fog creature looked up at the one who offered to bring her home, her head tilted and her glowing eyes wide and curious and waiting for a thing she wanted, and knew he wanted too.

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

And with that the flicker of light inside was blown out. The perplexed look, the vague sense of familiarity, the insistent need to say something on the top of his tongue - gone. What was left of Mort started to crumble away into the nothing that swirled around them once he realized that the person the candle he had held out for was gone. Better to face waking darkness than the lonely void, better anger than nothing at all.

And she was mocking him, he realized. Rage welled within the creature as he tossed her hand aside, and it built all the more when she tugged him close in a mockery of an intimate moment, the shirt her hands clutched at now seamlessly molded into his chest so that there was no difference now. "I. Am. Not. Weak, you miserable little b***h," he hissed, digging lengthy nails into her vicegrip as he glared at her with icy blue eyes. Gloriously beautiful? How pitifully vain. She meant nothing now and barely counted as a distraction, and he was going to prove it.

"M'not your servant boil," the thing spat viciously, his body fading at its edges as he slipped her grip and stood back up. "Will not let you order around anymore. You're not worth it. Want to be destroyed? Do it yourself, weakling." And as he wiped off the sensation of her disgusting fingers on his body, he turned as if to leave, to march back into the mists in hopes that the room would devise a way out to him and him alone.

Denial was something he was good at after all.

HP: 5
Damage: pfffff nope

AyeAvast

more troll dice ahoy

 

[AyeAvast]

Without a care the witch let her hand fall, let it thump uselessly against the floor and let little wisps of gray glide up from her fingertips in false attempt at claws. They tapered off, but she remained on the floor, her other hand caught in a painful grasp. When names were called, when an otherwise too harsh set of words were applied to her, the monster only cackled loudly in a close approximation of the previous witch. When her hands were punctured with his claws, she only laughed all the louder, her face broken and loosing its characteristics until only the sharp blue eyes and a gaping black maw remained, laughter pouring from it in high, keening and broken pitches.
"Oh, but don't you see? You are!!"
All too easily he escaped her desperate clutch, but only because she did not even bother to fight. Where was the point if she could continue to cajole, and name call and badger this fellow monster into returning her to Home? She had reformed incomplete, but it would take a dissipation to render her fully monstrous. And all she wanted was for him to be the one to do it.

"I am ordering you around now! You are weak with want of me, weak with want of returning us both Home! Take us out together, you pathetic excuse for a monster!" She called to him, still on her back on the floor. Her cards rose up, misty little bits of fog, and impeded his path, floated in his view and combined en masse to push him back toward her. If he had really wanted out, if he had really not been neck deep in her power, he would have been gone by now. The witch monster knew this as surely did the mist zombie before her. So entrenched in her powers, so unable to leave, the cards acted out what their mother told them and pushed and pulled at him, directed him back to the creature she knew he could not leave.
Both arms rose above her, palms up in supplication of the end. A dramatic gesture as glowing blue eyes found a matching pair, stared back into something so similar and yet so opposite.
"Look at you, just even look at you! Too weak to take out a fallen ghoul, too noble in his cause to lower himself to what he really wants." Another burst of cackles as she lay on the floor, delighted to watch the little tendrils of mist rise around her. Home was so close now, only one little more push and she'd be there. "Take what you want and stop hiding behind false ideals! You're a coward and lonely! I offer you companionship, bravery and the promise of Home! Weak, sad, useless b*****d boil. Come and take what you want!"
Take us Home.

Ol-j-man

Dice, no, stop it

 

[medigel]

Maybe there was a final vestige of the zombie still embedded within him, or maybe the way the room was shaped and covered with mist made her voice echo even more loudly - either way her cackles tore at him as easily as her cards could have. He growled as the cards impeded his path, throwing dagger eyes at the creature who both so openly welcomed him and yet grew barbed words his way.

Every syllable out of her mouth made him hate her more. Lies! He was the one in control, the one still standing rather than staying on the ground like a groveling worm. She couldn't even bother trying to attack him, only further goad him more and more until the awful noises rang in his head and made him see red.

"Shut up..." The air grew tense as something began to crackle in his hands with intense green light. "Shut up. Stop -" But the words keep coming, bouncing in his heard and stinging like so many hornets, and the green lights solidified into tangible bolts. "Shut up!" he howled as he tore through the cards one by one, each collision of mist with energy resounding with a small thunderclap - ""Shut up shut up SHUT UP!" And they continued to mock him -

"I am not -"

Weak, cowardly, lonely -

The last card was torn asunder, leaving only her left -

Homeless, lost, forgotten -

He summoned another bolt and fell into her welcome arms -

Unloved, unwanted, useless -

"I AM NOT WEAK!" he roared as he plunged the lightning bolt into the center of her face, every fiber of his being seething and roiling as he created another, and another, and more still. "You're nothing! I AM IN CONTROL HERE!" It wasn't enough to shut her up, no: the rest of his Fear went towards carving a blackened hole where the thing once had a shriveled little heart, each bolt swiftly hammered into her breast with savage snarls and driven by an intense need to silence this wretched charlatan once and for all. And oh did it give him great pleasure to watch the mist boil forth, made him hasten his efforts to go deeper with each piece of Fear-manifested bolt left in him, harder, faster, twitching and burning and making her suffer every second for her desire.

HP: 5
Fear: SS Y3
Damage: 19 x .8 = 15

AyeAvast

o-o;;

 

[AyeAvast]

The first murmur of "shut up" was rewarded with a small, sharp giggle. The "stop" replied to with a louder, longer laugh and when he began to really shout, to really raise his voice, the witch monster did the same.
"Make me!" She sing-songed, her voice twisted and too high. With glee she watched her cards dissolve into clouds of mist and fog, with a triumphant cackle she watched him return to her, return to finish her off and finish this job. One card was left, a sneaky, hiding thing that waited until the boil had thought himself done with them, thought he had destroyed them all. Instead it waited in the fog, disguised and patient, until the green light began around him. With a snap of her fingers the card sprang to life as the monster fell upon her. A loud shriek was the only warning to her foggy Death Knight's attack, but it was also her only reply as she was unceremoniously struck in the face with a bolt of green energy.
The Death Knight only had chance enough to lunge forward and stab at the creature that attacked its mistress, leaving behind its lance through the monster boil's chest before it burst into a cloud of smoke and was gone.

Though her face had turned to mist, though each strike against her left her more and more insubstantial, the scream of pain still pervaded through out the room. It kept on, as insubstantial as her body became, but still it keened and wailed. And for what? Being returned to her home? Or for the knowledge that this was her lover, that he had finally given into her demands and done exactly as she wanted in exactly the manner she'd asked?
Finally, after she'd been so thoroughly damaged by his hands, the creature that had been formerly Belladonna dissolved into one giant explosion of mist before it dissipated too, free of its bonds to this life and prepared to start anew as something far more viscous and unkind.
The mist did not reform, nor did it even bother to pretend to reform. But it did dance, in a manner, around the once zombie. It twirled and cajoled still, and with the faintest of whispers, told him:
"Come Home with me."

HP: DEAD
Damage: 12

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

Every peal of laughter, every brittle cackle, every Jack damned noise out of her mouth made him redouble his efforts to rip her apart. Nothing else mattered except for the tearing of flesh and the way it gave him purpose again, warded away the numbness -

- no, the pain. Something had burrowed through his chest cavity.

There was no startled cry or scream of pain as he looked down and recognized the lance embedded in him: only a silent stare that at length was broken by, of all things, a soft, wry laugh. And here he thought she was going to be selfish and leave him alone . . .

Even though the weapon disappeared along with the witch creature beneath him, the damage had been done. His body couldn't hold its form any longer and began to stretch and loosen and ignore all semblance of shape or form, as if the lance had cut through a Gordian knot that made him come completely undone. On his knees, he lifted his head to view the lovely gathering of fog around him, his mouth opened slightly; blood trickled from one corner but evaporated into black mist as the rest of his body unravelled to join her.

M'coming . . . M'com i n g H̨̀͜ ̶̴͠o̶ ́m̕͝ ̀͞e͟ . . .

He seemed to sigh in contentment as the last of him disappeared into thin air.

HP: DEADED

AyeAvast