damned_institute | Nightshift 32: Room of Fire

Entry tags:

leon kennedy,
mark

Nightshift 32: Room of Fire

[from here]

"You've gotta be kidding me..." Archer had initially thought that the warm air felt welcoming, but upon entering the room, he was clearly wrong. The unbearable heat from the lava below and off to the sides were gargoyle heads spewing flames, quickly began drying his clothes and warming him up. He took a moment to take this all in and evaluate the situation.

"First it was earth, air, and water. Now it's fire," he spoke calmly. "Hopefully this is the last one."

Despite his depressing words, Archer remained stoic on the surface. He couldn't allow his team to see any weakness in him; it wouldn't be good for morale. While he wasn't really depressed, Archer was annoyed at this little obstacle course they'd been dragged into.

Looking at the small platforms floating in the air in front of them, Archer surmised they could only carry about one or two people from their size, but two people was really pushing it. Not to mention the "floating" part really didn't inspire his confidence in them. He wasn't even really surprised that they were floating and didn't care how either.

As if that wasn't enough, their path was obstructed by infrequent bursts of fireballs, courtesy of the golden gargoyle heads along the walls.

This really sucks. One wrong step and we're crispy critters.

"I think we should try to cross one at a time, like the last room," he said before shifting to slightly more sarcastic tone. "Unless, you guys don't want to see me test run this little death trap first?"

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Mark stared at the scene in something not unlike bewilderment for a minute. Then he looked up toward the ceiling, and commented as loudly as he could manage, "You have a very low sense of humor, you know!" At this point, there was no doubt in his mind that they were being watched or at least recorded somehow. A set of rooms this sadistic would require a sadist to appreciate his work later. And if the others thought he was yelling into the sky for no reason, fine.

Though he added, in a calmer tone, "Unless it's one of those belief systems with five elements instead of four." But then they'd have been missing one of the ones they'd passed, replaced with something else... air, wasn't it? Or was it earth? He couldn't remember clearly. "It doesn't seem to be."

Floating, wavery platforms, small and untrustworthy. Mark took another deep breath. "Archer, before you go, I think we should change order. I ought to take this one last. I'm slower and less able to maneuver than either of you, and if I fumble and knock some of the platforms..." He would bet Betan dollars to sand that they weren't designed to stay up long or very sturdily. "... it's best if I'm the last one trying to get across the path anyway."

He wasn't willing to give up his life for these men, he barely knew them. But Mark also didn't want to be responsible for killing them, by damaging the path too much. He added almost cheerfully, "You know, that's not real lava. If we were standing even this close to actual lava, we'd be dead already from the heat. It must be some sort of dramatic substitution. Not that it's important."

Leon surveyed the room, probably looking the least surprised out of all three of the men. "Must be the furnace room," he commented dryly. He sighed, and shook his head. "This looks rather like a room I was in not long ago... although there probably aren't undead cultists in here. Which is a bonus."

He raised an eyebrow at Mark's suggestion to switch places. He'd been thinking about offering to go first, as he had quite recent experience with a place like this. There'd been plenty of jumping and flame-dodging and the like in that room of the palace, as well. Hopefully he'd get more than a stone goat head for his trouble, here. "If you want, I can go first," Leon said. "Like I said, I was in a room pretty similar to this about a week ago." Well... more like two weeks, now, adding in the time he'd been here. Recent enough that he felt rather confident about getting through the room. Hopefully there wasn't anything nasty waiting on the other side. Like an El Gigante. That would be bad, especially as he was without guns.

Archer listened quietly to his teammate's input, analyzing it. Mark was certainly less mobile, and Leon seemed confident in his experience. "Alright. If you both insist. We'll change the order to Leon, me, and then Mark."

If Leon wanted to run the deathtrap first Archer wasn't going to stop him. Who knows? It might be fun to watch someone else run it for a change. After completing the previous obstacle courses, Archer usually rested at the end instead of watching his teammates follow behind him.

Turning to Leon, he gave the man a half smile. "Looks like you're up first, good luck."

"Good luck," Mark echoed the team leader, leaning back against the door and just slightly away from the oppressive heat. He looked over the room again, considering that Leon had apparently faced something like this before (not counting the previous rooms) and was unfazed by it. Something as ridiculous as this. What kind of world did he come from?!

No time to worry about that. Just watch Leon, and Archer, make it across. After that, and after seeing how they did it, he could try to work out some way for himself. His legs were shaking still from the efforts of standing sturdy in the previous room, but they were moving. He wouldn't die in a place as ridiculous as this.

Leon nodded at his teammates, then carefully eyed the distance between the surface they were standing on and the first small, floating platform. He moved towards the door, tucked his bat under his arm, and took a deep breath. Then he broke into a run, trying to build up as much speed and momentum as he could to carry himself over to the first platform.

It worked; he landed hard in the center of the platform, wobbling a bit but managing to stay balanced. The first gargoyle head was shooting fire about even with the next platform. Sadly, unlike Salazar's furnace room, there weren't any cultists controlling the flames; no targets meant he'd just have to time things out right. Luckily, there seemed to be a pattern here. Leon waited on the first platform, counting the seconds between bursts of flame. He glanced down, and noticed the platform was slowly descending towards the lava.

"Time to go," he muttered. He waited for the gargoyle to stop spitting fire, then leapt at the next platform. He landed a bit less carefully this time, falling hard to one knee and scrabbling at the platform to stay on top of it. He quickly got to his feet, knowing that he didn't have a lot of time before the gargoyle started spewing fire again. The next platform hovered just within range of the fireblast coming from another gargoyle. The fire on that one ceased, and Leon heard an oddly familiar wooshing sound. He glanced over to see the mouth of the gargoyle aimed directly at his platform fill with fire. His eyes widened, and he dove at the next platform, just barely making it across.

Leon wiped sweat out of his eyes, cursing a bit at the stinging pain in his arm. "Just a couple more," he muttered to himself. "Almost there..."

The space between his current platform and the next was covered by two gargoyles. The bursts of fire seemed almost perfectly timed to make sure that the area was always filled with flame. Almost always, anyway, Leon noted. There was a brief, maybe ten-second break when neither gargoyle was breathing fire. Leon readied himself for the jump, watching the two streaks of flame. As soon as they stopped, he pushed off the platform and jumped.

He very nearly made it unharmed, but the right-hand one clicked on a second earlier than he'd planned, sending a stream of white-hot fire across his left leg. Leon landed clumsily, the bat nearly skidding off the edge of the platform. He only barely managed to grab it. He'd passed through the fire too quickly for it to do much damage, though his left pant leg was smoldering a bit. He tapped the warmer places a couple times, making sure he wouldn't spontaneously burst into flame, then stood and eyed the jump between his platform and the solid surface in front of the doors. It looked a bit farther than the others had been.

Leon moved back to the edge of the platform, his heels actually hanging over the side, to give himself just a few steps of a running leap. He took another deep breath, focused his eyes on the door, and pushed himself into a flying dive that hopefully would carry him to the door.

There was a brief moment of panic as Leon looked down and realized he was going to fall just short. He threw his arms forward, hoping to shift his momentum just the tiniest amount. It worked; Leon met the solid platform chest-first. The impact knocked the air out of him, but he was otherwise intact. He laid there for a moment, catching his breath, then got to his feet and waved across the room at his partners. Hopefully they'd have as good of luck-- and timing-- as he'd had.

Oh, this was gonna be fun. Archer took notice of how Leon cleared the obstacle course, specifically the fact that the platforms sank. Well, if it worked for Leon then...

Archer followed his teammate's actions and moved towards the door. Running towards the edge, he tried to build up as much speed and momentum as possible before leaping.

Sailing through the air, he landed on the first platform, to the right of Leon's. He looked up and saw the next nearest platform, hovering in front of him. A breath of flame licked the surface, and Archer followed the flame to its source, a gargoyle head on the side. Glancing to the left, he could see another gargoyle head rearing up, ready to go, aimed directly at him. Oh shit, would have been his response if he hadn't seen it earlier. By the time the second one was ready to burn him, the first had begun to die down, so Archer leaped.

He couldn't stay on this one very long, the interval for this gargoyle head's flaming breath wasn't very far in between. Luckily the next platform was nearby, several in fact, spaced closely together, but they were all covered by gargoyle heads from different angles. Unfortunately, he only had two seconds to plan out his strategy before he got burned.

This really sucks. Well, it was a good thing I work well under pressure.

Regardless, he jumped onto the first one. After he landed, he took a step back, just as a fireball crossed in front of his face, close enough for him to feel the heat wash over him.

Moving onto the next one, he turned his head, avoiding a searing fire from blowing off his head.

The third one was close enough that he didn't even need to jump. As soon as his foot touched the surface, he ducked, dodging the fireball aimed at his back.

Unfortunately the next part was particularly tricky. The last platform was covered on several angles by gargoyle heads at different intervals. The real problem was that the flames weren't letting up long enough for him to cross. Whenever one stopped one of the other two, or both, took its place. That was the bad news; there was good news though. According to his calculations, a one second window should open up, unfortunately it wasn't possible for a normal human to move that quickly.

Good thing I'm not exactly normal.

His trump card was reinforcement, a spell that was his specialty. He pumped mana into his body, enhancing his reflexes beyond human limits. Normally this would be enough to move faster than a train, but that was just a shadow of his former prowess in Landel's. He desperately hoped that whatever he got would be enough.

He jumped, believing fully in his calculations. If he was wrong it would be a short trip. The flames died down and a window of opportunity opened, but by the time he had landed the flames were already converging on him. He could see them coming, and his only response was to smirk.

Too slow.

His legs pushed off from the ground, and from an on looker's point of view, it looked like he barely made contact with the platform. He sailed to the other side with Leon, clearing the gap easily. However, he couldn't control his momentum, and instead of landing on his feet he fell onto his side, rolling a few feet along the ground, feeling a searing pain on his back.

"Ugh," he groaned, rolling onto his stomach. "Shit."

Archer took deep heavy breaths as he pushed himself up onto his knees. Using his magecraft seemed to be exceptionally difficult here. Perhaps the mana was thin in the environment? But then again he could just use Od since it was inside of his own body.

Feeling the ache in his shoulder, he was pretty sure his wound opened up again. That is if the pain in his back was any indication.

Lord Mark stayed on the other side a long time, watching the other two in a semi-daze as they dashed and jumped across, dodging the fireballs (well, mostly) and finally landing on the other side. Singed, but triumphant. He looked down at his legs.

If we do this, we're going to die. We're going to die! He wasn't sure who was talking... one of the Gang, or maybe a few. Grunt or Gorge, who were more inclined to worry about being set on fire.

We can't stay here. We'll slowly cook even if nothing else arrives to make us move, like the monster before. This wasn't as sudden as a change incurred by shock. Lord Mark felt himself submerging beneath the sub-personalities slowly, and welcomed it, let his little army take over. He'd done all he could, and they were happy to be alive (if not so happy at being dragged in here) but now it was time to let the shock troopers take on the last dash.

We may be crippled, but we'll live. The Other was firm, even though he'd bowed out of the complications before. If Lord Mark couldn't handle it, well, he was the closest, and the next-best choice. And he would keep them alive. He would always make sure they survived. This room was just a very strange opponent, to be overcome even if it couldn't be killed. We have skin. We have blood. We aren't bound, we've even lost weight. This is possible.

That determination was matched with an eerie glee from Howl, who hadn't been able to come out like this in a very long time, not since Baron Ryoval, and Mark's face split into a grin as he pulled himself up to standing, then backed away to the door before beginning a dash on the half-crippled legs.

Timing, speed, agility. They had the first, and Howl would let them keep the second so long as the muscles remained whole enough, but the last was impossible. Mark's body wobbled at each platform, but he kept jumping, the smile staying on his face while his eyes looked properly assassin-like, cold and determined. A fireball caught him in the arm halfway through and he let out a scream that sounded like pleasure, but didn't slow down even to quench the fire that had been set on his shirt.

A platform or two fell entirely under the force of his weight, just as he passed. It was good he'd chosen to go last, Lord Mark thought from deep within his own mind. The Gang didn't care, preoccupied with the task at hand. Finally, the fire still creeping across his shoulder and back, he flew across the last gap and hit the ground rolling, quenching the fire, spasming uncontrollably at the pain signals shooting up from his legs, arm and back.

At last he sat up slightly, far enough to vomit up his dinner on the ground, not yet looking at the other members of his team, barely aware that they were present. Just stay quiet. I'll take care of the rest. the Other promised Lord Mark in an almost gentle tone.

Archer had made it across fine, mostly. He looked like he did something odd when he jumped, kind of like what Krauser had been able to do-- that insane speed and agility. It made Leon a little wary. He crouched down next to Archer, noticing the growing, dark stain on his clothes. "Looks like you tore it open again," he said. "Want some help?"

He was distracted from whatever reply Archer might have made by Mark's trek through the room. He made it across faster than either of them, though something seemed rather wrong with him. He seemed to be enjoying it, even the pain, and the look on his face... Leon didn't have much of a physical reaction, but internally he recoiled. Mark was badly burned, and before Leon could check on him, he rolled over and puked. "Shit," he muttered. "You okay, Mark?" he asked, louder, not exactly keen on the idea of approaching the other man. Both his team members had shown different sides of themselves, and he wasn't quite sure what to think about them.

"I'm good, thanks," Archer choked out, clearly not okay.

Even he could feel the wetness on his back and immediately knew it wasn't sweat. He turned around just in time to see Mark traverse the gauntlet.

"Oh, now that's different."

He was a little perturbed by Mark's apparent display of masochistic howling, but he wouldn't really hold it against the other man. Different people had different tastes.

Archer kept his eye on Mark until he made it across and decided to puke his guts out. Turning away to give his teammate some privacy, he looked towards the exit, tilting his head as he spied something in front of the doors.

"Is that a pedestal?" he asked, moving towards it even as he spoke.

When he reached it, he saw a meagerly decorated, miniature, silver sword. Despite its less than ornate appearance, the sword was wonderfully crafted, a true masterpiece in itself. An expert like Archer could definitely tell; he'd spent most of his life studying them. Being only a foot long, it was more of a dagger than a sword. There were also engravings on the side of the blade, reminding him of the fairy language drawn on Excalibur. These symbols were clearly different, but Archer couldn't recognize them with his knowledge.

"So this is our reward for coming all this way?" he asked, somewhat disappointed.

Hey, he appreciated swords, but this much pain and agony just wasn't worth it. Now maybe something more powerful and bigger was a different story.

He picked up the sword so he could examine it more closely.

Leon's question was heard, but Mark took several more shaking breaths before trying to answer. That last sprint had damaged his body too much; Lord Mark could ignore pain, Howl would eat it, but he couldn't ignore facts of biology. The Other was shy, he didn't like speaking, really didn't like working with others at all (and see what working with a group got us?) but he knew if he didn't answer Leon, it might inspire the man to walk over to check on him.

"O... okay." Mark's voice came out raspy, and he was still shaking. Blood loss, burns, damage to his lower body... he'd come through the Institute nearly unscathed until he'd been asked to run this gauntlet. The Other rolled their body over carefully, avoiding the mess, looking at Archer through squinted eyes with a slack jaw as he panted for breath. Something silver, something small, bladed...

Lord Mark was too weak, there was a small struggle, but he surfaced again and for a moment his face twisted in more natural pain. "Guh... give it to Hitsugaya." More struggle, showing in wincing movement and a shift in weight that didn't help the shaking or the pain. "Hitsugaya's... sent teams down... some idea, connection... if someone else got through..." Here, or another of the trails out of the round room. How strangely far away that staircase seemed from here. He'd never make it, so it was fortunate his life didn't depend on it. "Maybe patterns, maybe code, key, something..."

A massive shudder and the Other took over again, Mark's expression going limp despite the shivering state, Howl advancing again to assist in his own role. That was more than enough for now, his deepest alternate thought with some concern. Their body struggled against the edges of the wall, using that weight to force themselves up one last time. They had to get out, surely the others would know that without Lord Mark needing to explain it.

"Yeah, Hitsugaya should get it," Leon agreed, keeping one eye on Mark as the badly injured man forced himself to his feet. He didn't look right. Something about the eyes, or the face. It wasn't right.

Of course, the fact that he was shaking in pain wasn't a good sign either. His suspicions about the others aside, it was clear that Mark-- no matter what strange things were going on-- wasn't going to be much of a threat to anyone at the moment. Leon cautiously approached. "Come on," he said, holding out his uninjured arm. "I'll help you walk." He glanced at Archer, then nodded at the door. They needed to get out of here, and upstairs. There had to be someone who could help take care of Mark up there.

Even though Archer was a little roughed up, there was no way he could miss Mark's change. First it was the revelation of his masochistic side, and now Mark suddenly became strangely quiet after a few shudders. He wasn't quiet sure what to attribute Mark's mood swings to, but his physical condition was a more pressing issue.

"Alright," he replied. "I'll take care of it in the morning. Don't worry about it." He moved towards his teammates, taking in Mark's condition. "Hold on Leon. Let me take a look at Mark first."

In the middle of his stride, something pulsed inside of Archer. "What the..." A familiar feeling was spreading throughout him; its warmth encompassed him. "This is..." Avalon. One the world's greatest Noble Phantasms, but what was it doing inside of him? Archer had thought the Institute had taken everything away from him. If they had enough power to cut off his connection to Gaia and limit his power then surely they knew about Avalon. How could they possibly miss this?

Looking at Mark's heavily injured body, now wasn't the time for theories. His teammate needed treatment badly; it looked like he could make it to the clinic, albeit painfully, however, why bother when there was an alternative right here.

He glanced at the palm of his hand, faintly seeing the familiar, golden sparks of mana. "Mark, you look pretty banged up. I've got a healing technique that I'd like to use. Is that okay with you?"

He eyed both of them, Leon's offered arm and Archer's glowing hand, with suspicion rather than the hesitant trust of temporary comaraderie. Leon was incorrect, he was more dangerous at the moment than he'd been since he'd arrived. But neither of them were his enemy, just... strangers. Strangers are unknowns, and could become enemies. But they'd have nothing to gain from harming him further, would they?

The Other was not very good at dealing with strangers. That was Lord Mark's job. But he'd promised to carry them through this, so Lord Mark could rest. After a long inner debate, he extended his hand towards Archer silently, a gesture of acceptance. He still didn't like talking. But...

"I'm not built for obstacle courses." It was personally true, and true of their body as well. It felt odd to apologize for his weakness, and the Other wasn't even sure it was appropriate, but Lord Mark seemed to think so. Who was the last person he'd spoken to? Ryoval, wasn't it? Even the therapist on Beta, whom the Other didn't trust at all, only heard of his opinion through Lord Mark's intervention. His voice was low and even despite the shaking of his body. "Thank you." That should be enough, shouldn't it? If this worked.

If this were a trick... he could still kill either of them, if he moved quickly enough, they wouldn't expect it. His arms hurt but the muscles functioned, could be driven on the way his legs had before. The Other braced their body a little away from the wall now, hand still extended, waiting to see what was coming.

Okay, definitely weird. Mark was still acting off, and now Archer was offering to heal him with some kind of... magic? Leon knew that people were coming from different worlds, but this was just wrong. There was so such thing as magic. Did not exist. The weird things that happened were the result of science gone wrong, but there was always an explanation. A rational, logical explanation.

Despite all this, Leon still halfway lowered his arm and nodded at Archer. Healing magic. Okay. Leon decided to keep an eye on Mark. The man did not seem to be well at all; he was still acting very strangely. He didn't seem quite like himself. Granted, Leon didn't know the man very well, maybe this was just how he acted when he was under stress.

"No problem." If Archer could've heard Leon's thoughts he would've told the man that he was in denial, but that didn't really matter. To be perfectly honest, Archer was more interested in seeing if Avalon still functioned properly than healing Mark.

"Alright, here I go." Slowly, in a nonthreatening manner, Archer approached and grasped Mark's hand. The golden aura surged down Mark's arm, soothing his pain and healing his wounds. The burnt patches of skin regenerated easily enough, turning from a burnt to a crisp black to a medium rare pink.

However, when he tried to heal Mark's leg, Archer felt something different, almost rejection. The only logical explanation was that there was something different about the structure or makeup of Mark's legs. If this was regular healing it would've been futile for Archer to try and fix something he didn't know the original makeup of. However, the one doing the healing was Avalon, a Noble Phantasm crafted by the faeries, whose thaumaturgy transcended anything Archer could make. Healing Mark was a fairly simple task for it.

Still, Archer's powers were limited here, and a complete healing was impossible, but it should be enough for Mark to move around considerably easier. After a short while, Avalon stopped, leaving Archer out of breath, bending over slightly.

"Sorry, it looks like that's all I got," he gasped between short breaths, his vision fading in and out. "How do you feel now, Mark?"

That had been... very strange. He was used to the proper sort of medical science, involving tubes and blades and sterilization and a lot of pain. This just felt gentle and slow, and he watched it carefully, but it really seemed to be helping. Letting an energy he didn't understand ease over his body made him tense and nervous, but Archer's intent did seem all right.

The pain receded less in his legs, but he'd already known he'd blown those out--apparently there were limits to what these sorts of abilities could do. Or maybe the artificial legbones made it harder; should he have said something? Surely the fact that he was running on crushed legs without any bones broken spoke for itself? Maybe they didn't have such things in Archer's world.

Archer wanted to know how they were feeling. Howl was sated, although the difficulties for the legs would keep him fed and keep them all slowed for a while despite the help. Lord Mark was resting, for now, with nothing to contribute but mild pleasure that it's over. "... it's better." How strange to be speaking like this. The Other stood up straighter, though his expression only changed slightly. "I'm able to walk. Are you?" Archer looked quite weak himself, now.

Whatever Archer did seemed to help, as the wounds on Mark's upper half visibly healed. Leon decided he was going to have to spend some quiet time tomorrow wrapping his head around the concept of what appeared to be magic.

He looked at his two battered teammates, and sighed. Hopefully Archer wouldn't take offense at this. "I think I'm probably in the best shape right now," he said. "Do you want me to take the lead? If we get attacked from the front, neither of you are in the best condition to be fending it off." He glanced back and forth between Archer and Mark, waiting for their replies.

"I'm just a little winded; that's all," Archer said as he slowly regained his breath.

He would've been a little offended at Leon's suggestion if he didn't realize how pathetic he probably looked just now. In a few more moments he would be fine, but for now, all he could do was consent.

"That would probably be best. Mark and I will follow behind you." Rearing up to his full height, hands on his hips, he took long deep breaths. "We should head to M35, it's a clinic setup by our fellow patients. From what I've seen they have a few medical specialists and limited resources. At the very least, I can confirm that they have pain killers and clean bandages."

Really, he felt much better, practically as though he'd just passed through a Durona clinic. Well, the legs weren't perfect, but he was no longer convinced he'd be paralyzed for life (or until escape and proper prosthetics could be obtained.) Archer was still a bit distracted by gathering his breath again, and giving orders. Leon was in the best shape, but if they moved quickly, neither would expect...

Okay, back off. Lord Mark pushed up and out again, now that the situation wasn't critical. Killer was hesitant, but with the return of his name realized he'd already started to submerge again, and surrendered control of their body. There's a reason you guys are a gang and not the boss, y'know.

A deep breath like Archer's, then, "That sounds like a good plan. Giving us a prize to put us off-guard in case of the next attack or trapped room is still a possibility. Thanks again for the help thus far." True, he'd run on his own feet, mostly, but Archer had saved him from the icicle, and healed him.

"Reaching the Saint Francis Club will require a trip through either the Sun Room or over the wall again, however. We've been at this a while. Injuries obtained during the night are bandaged and treated after the time that we're all knocked out. It might be a safer option to find a hiding spot until then, rather than risk another encounter with a crazed patient or monster. We know the wall pathway was not safe when we last went through, and the Sun Room never is; then again, by this time of night, they may have been cleared by other patients." Information analysis was a specialty of his, one he liked much better than killing, and it was much easier to do when he didn't feel as though he were about to die. They were only suggestions, of course.

He nodded at Archer, realizing it probably wasn't the easiest thing for the man to give up point position. Mark had a good point. He didn't much like the idea of trying to face that crazy girl with the hyenas again.

Leon dragged a hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat yet again. "Let's at least get out of this room," he suggested. "We can figure something out when we're not in danger of being burned to a crisp." He walked to the door, and pushed it open.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/376698.html)]

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Nightshift 32: Room of Fire

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