damned_institute | Nightshift 21 - Stairwell at Lobby/Dr Offices/Medwing

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Nightshift 21 - Stairwell at Lobby/Dr Offices/Medwing

If there was one thing Rufus Shinra had had enough of, it was Landel’s twisted monsters. Blood was drying to a tacky mess across his back, the two strikes the woman with the hot iron had gotten at him enough to make him regret fully going upstairs. At least it was a learning experience in that he knew better now. Going upstairs meant taking at least someone else with him.

After the way tonight had been and the damage he’d taken so far, Rufus gave serious thought to returning to his room, barring the door, and hoping nothing got in there. His shoulder and arm had settled into a mass of pain, the scent of burnt him still hanging around him. His cheek throbbed where that woman’s weapon had caught when going down to that blow on his shoulder. He hadn’t felt any blood when he’d touched it, but the skin there felt burnt.

Leaning against the wall as he stepped off the last stair, he stayed quiet, listening to the night. The question now was go back to his room or stay out here. They needed weapons still, and if Reno were babysitting Elena, the Turk wouldn’t have much of a chance to get anything. Then again, he’d been wandering since the doors opened and accomplished absolutely nothing.

Damn it.

Eyeing the halls, he sighed to himself. As good as it sounded to just go back to his room and try to be safe, he had to help his people. Reno needed his EMR and Elena… well, who knew what weapon he could find for her. Something had to work. Ahead of him were three directions that he could barely see. Left, right, or straight ahead.

What he wanted was his flashlight, damn it. He was so billing his Reno for one. For now, he listened, waiting a few moments before deciding. Whatever direction sounded the most dangerous, he was promptly taking the opposite one.

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screeeech thump

screeeech thump

screeeech thump

There was hardly any time for Rufus to look around before Pyramid Head appeared, looming out of the darkness of the hallway leading straight ahead, his sword clutched in his right hand and his helmet pointed straight ahead.

Straight at Rufus.

For the first few seconds, Rufus couldn't move. His first night at Landel's he had met this creature along with Reno and the others who had encountered him in the cafeteria. That night he had been uninjured. Tonight he was already torn up and bloodied. His mind blanked staring at the thing that came out of the darkness. A slow step was taken backwards, his mind still not catching up with him yet.

I already faced that thing upstairs. I already dealt with that. More? There's more here?

His gaze slid down to the sword. That was what finally woke him up like cold water thrown.

"Damn it."

Rufus turned for the stairs, starting up them. Getting past it wasn't an option.

Maybe he 'saw' Rufus, somehow, through the solid rusted metal of his mask. Maybe he tasted or smelled him with that flickering tongue-like thing that was darting in and out of the slit in the right side of the mask. Or maybe he heard him, heard that soft whisper in the dark and those footsteps making their way up the first stairs. Regardless of how, Pyramid Head knew Rufus was there, and he struck.

screeeeeee

He hefted the knife up into the air and brought it crashing down on the stairs - not on top of Rufus (was it a blessing, or was he doing it on purpose?) but missing the man by the matter of a foot or less, the blade gouging into the stairs and clattering back off what it couldn't cut into.

Everyone in Landel's was treated to a sound that had never been heard on Gaia. When he heard that whistle of the descending sword behind him, Rufus screamed. Dropping to the stairs, he tried to cover his head, seeing in the mind's eyes his father's corpse with Sephiroth's blade pinning him to the wood beneath. After meeting Pyramid Head that first night, Rufus had developed a fear of the thing, it symbolizing all that was wrong with this insane place.

It picked up those men that night and tossed them like dolls, its skin was on fire and it kept coming.

That terror pushed his mind into working. It was either that or die. Rolling onto his back, Rufus' mind tried to stutter again and go blank when he saw the creature's tongue or whatever it was.

That's not normal... that can't be skin it's wearing...

Kicking out, he tried to push the creature's helmeted head, remembering something about them trying to overbalance it that night. Maybe that would buy him time unless it lifted that blade again.

The blade screeeeed its way down off the steps, back behind Pyramid Head. But he didn't lift it again, then, didn't take the moment of advantage it had to slam the blade across Rufus' stomach and bisect the man utterly. Instead, when the foot lashed out, he grabbed at it with his left hand, his free hand; the fingers wrapped around it and yanked him forward. Closer.

Pyramid Head took one step forward. Now he was looming over Rufus, hand having moved to his ankle and gripping it fiercely.

The thin tendril escaped the helmet again, this time slithering across the top of the rusted metal for a few seconds too long before slowly returning inside.

The shriek of the blade hurt the ears and the mind, Rufus almost able to imagine just how much damage that thing could do to a person. The damned thing looked to heavy for even the likes of Sephiroth to lift. When the creature grabbed his ankle, Rufus' eyes went wide. His nails tried to bite into the stairs and pull even as he was jerked towards the creature.

Oh no... no... what is that thing?

Kicking at Pyramid Head's hands with his free leg, Rufus struggled to hold his fear in check. His right arm refused to cooperate with him, the damage Daniella did to him leaving bloody smears on the stairs. Lifting his left hand, he tried to grab onto that helmet, wanting to push it away. That tongue thing was horrifying, hurting his ordered mind where things like that simply didn't exist.

He made no attempt to block the second hit, and the kick connected with his helmet; Pyramid Head staggered back a little, but kept his footing and his grip. In fact, the grip only got tighter; it would most certainly be hurting at this point, almost approaching unbearable.

But still he loomed. He leaned down, paused, and abruptly relinquished his grip on Rufus' foot only to have that hand clutch his neck in a vice-like grip. Then he lifted the man up off the floor, brought him closer to the helmet than anyone would ever want to go.

And the black tongue slithered out again, flickered against Rufus' face, touching it and leaving behind the feeling of rotting flesh.

Rufus finally did give voice to a real scream as the creature’s hands tightened around his ankle, gripping it like a vice as the bones grated against each other. His right hand twitched, wanting to lash out at the creature. Trying to sit up send a sick wave of pain down his shoulder and back, stopping that motion right there. The creature that loomed over him seemed to fill up the world, a presence that filled up everything and blotted out all else. Never before had he allowed anyone over him like this, in a position of power where he was weakened.

When his ankle was relief, Rufus drew in a breath of relief only to find that hand fastening around his throat. Drawn upwards towards the creature, his hands clawed at its hands, unable to take his eyes off the thing’s metal helmet. What was underneath that? What did its face look like? Did it even have one?

One hand fell away from Pyramid Head’s fingers, instead trying to grip onto the creature’s helmet and steady himself. His feet pressed to the stair, not wanting to strangle. This close, his eyes strained to make out something, anything in the darkness shrouding the thing’s face beneath the huge metal covering. What could a person possible look like beneath that if they were even a person at all?

The tongue sent Rufus’ level of fear shooting upwards. He loathed being touched, no one having dared do such to him before. The scent of maggot-churned flesh clogged his senses. All he wanted was to get away from that slick appendage, rub his face clean (or at least try to… would it ever be clean again?), and wash all over. That thing had licked him! His mind stuttered on that fact refusing to accept it. No one licked him or touched him. No one. He would never allow such.

Trying to draw in a breath, he hissed out what words he could. “Let… go…”

Just don't lick me or touch me again. Don't.

If there had been eyes, or at least eyeholes, in the helmet, it would have been apparent that Pyramid Head was studying his prey. As it was, the metal helmet merely stayed perfectly still, the front of it aimed directly at Rufus, whose face was likely almost touching the rusted edge. The grip didn't tighten or loosen; so far, it would be easy to breathe, but the hand (gloved in what felt like stiff leather, or chickenskin, or human skin) itself was likely to cause no small level of panic. After all, it was disgusting. (And this wasn't the first time tonight that this hand had grpiped someone by the throat and squeezed.)

Then something changed.

Pyramid Head lifted his sword again, but instead of slicing Rufus apart with it, he slammed it into the wall, where it cracked the wall's very being and stuck. Then he ran his newly-freed hand along what of the blade that was sticking out of the wall. He jerked, yanking his hand back; and what was left there was a thick cut on his palm oozing coagulated blood.

Black blood.

With a speed no creature with a helmet like his should possess, Pyramid Head swung his arm back and tore away the left sleeve on Rufus' shirt. This was followed by him gripping the man's arm just below the elbow, palm down, bleeding wound oozing onto the skin.

And he pulled, slowly, leaving behind a mess of sticky, gooey black blood along his arm, so very reminiscent of the stigmatic bruise Rufus had suffered not long ago ...

Rufus stared back at the helmeted creature, refusing to give anymore cries for it. If this was to be his death, then he was going to go silently to it as best he could. Determination and fear were in the blue eyes that stared back at the thing, goosebumps breaking out along Rufus’ skin. The thing was watching him. He could feel it. Whatever this thing was, it was sentient enough to think.

That in itself was terrifying. Mindless was much easier to accept than that whatever this creature was, it was capable of reasoning and thinking.

Breathing in, Rufus could nearly taste the metal from Pyramid Head’s helmet, trying to hold his head back from the vicious looking edge touching him. The gloved hand that held his throat was repellant enough. He refused to let himself think about what that glove or the creature’s apron could be made of. It felt too much like skin of some sort, tanned and fitted to be worn. He wanted to believe it was animal skin of some sort. His hands stayed around Pyramid Head’s wrist, pulling despite it being useless. Better to do something than nothing.

When the blade was lifted, he expected a death stroke, readying himself for such. He jumped involuntarily when it was slammed into the wall, confusion flickering across his face before being concealed as best he could. What was the thing up to? What did it want him for? Horror displaced fear as the creature’s hand ran across the blade, slicing open skin. The plain fact that Pyramid Head showed no pain increased that.

It’s worse than Sephiroth. At least he had reason, a method to his madness. This…

Thought was broken off as the creature reached for him. The grip on his throat kept him from going anywhere, but his struggled increased, trying to kick or pull at the thing even as part of his sweatshirt was ripped away. A noise of disgust couldn’t be helped, Rufus’ lips drawing back from his teeth as the hot blood was slathered across his skin. The heat of it alone was too much like the Geostigma, dragging that thought back up no matter how much he tried to bury it.

Fear, self-loathing, weakness… being so weak and that blackness leaking out of his betraying body

Never, ever, would he be that weak and broken again. He wasn’t weak! Yesterday’s discussion with Reno had brought all that back up and seeing that black spreading stain across his skin again was nightmarish. Trying to wriggle in Pyramid Head’s grasp, his teeth snapped at the creature’s gloved hand, wanting to harm it as it had him by dredging up that memory.

When Rufus tried to bite Pyramid Head, he succeeded. If he managed to keep his hold on Pyramid Head for more than a few instants, he would feel his teeth sink into the glove, pierce it, and hit the skin. And more than just the feeling (like soft, wet tissue paper, with a slightly harder consistency and a hideously leatherly texture), there was the taste, the smell. (So interconnected, so one and the same.)

Those ... were worse. So much worse, it was almost indescribable. Both would be like maggots, squirming and living and breeding inside ages-decayed flesh. And not just one body, either; thousands of bodies, piled together haphazardly and left in a dank warehouse somewhere chilly and rainy. Ages of this, more and more bodies, rotted insides spilling out of decomposing skin, flies and maggots writhing among them, the rare few birds slinking in through empty rafters and pecking at the long-popped eyeballs.

It was enough to make a normal person retch.

And there was a burning sensation, too, as if the bodies had been set on fire at one time, doused with gasoline and had a match thrown on them. But it was faint, as if the flames had died down too quickly. (Was this from some hideous past, or from the encounter in the kitchen?)

Pyramid Head jerked his hand away only to grip Rufus' other arm, this time not bothering to tear off the sleeve before dragging his bleeding hand down the lower arm. His helmet remained stiff and still, as if the bite had hardly registered; and when he had soaked Rufus' sleeve with blood, he brought his hand up, close to Rufus' face, palm towards the man and dripping that stinking black blood.

There was a sense of victory at biting his tormenter, of getting some sort of vengeance. That was quickly drowned out when the fetid taste of the creature flooded his mouth. Jerking back as far as Pyramid Head's hand around his throat allowed, Rufus dry heaved. That stink and taste flooded his mouth and nose, wanting it gone no matter if it meaned emptying his stomache on the floor or not. Things like embarrassing himself paled when faced with that. The stench of burnt flesh clogged his nose, mixing with his own burnt smell.

Gagging, acid flooded his mouth, insides trying to become outsides and failing for the moment. Hanging there, he panted for breath, a few false alarms coming and going without bringing anything substantial up. He would have welcomed it at the moment if it would have gotten that taste out of his mouth. His lips and tongue felt covered with it, mouth tingling from the touch.

If he licks me again, I might very well vomit.

As more blood soaked through his clothing, Rufus Shinra gagged again. He was going to be covered in this creature's odd blood before this was over, but even now he was aware this could be worse... so very much worse.

What if it was? What if this thing was somehow reinfecting him with Geostigma?

Eyes flicking in alarm to his hand, he tried to tell if there was Geostigma... the sign of all he had done to draw down that disease on himself... were blossoming beneath the ichor. The hand being brought back before his face made Rufus' hands close tightly once more on Pyramid Head's wrist.

"No," he snarled, trying to find eyes of some sort beneath that helmet. "Don't."

Whatever it had in mind next couldn't be good. He could deal with his clothing being ripped and coated in whatever made up this things fouled blood. What it had planned next, he didn't want to know.

Maybe Pyramid Head heard Rufus' entreaty. Maybe he didn't. Regardless, he seemed to ignore it - ignored the dry heaves, the rough swallows, the gagging. He simply finished bringing up his hand and brought it closer, ever closer, palm nearly touching Rufus at this point, the blood dripping off his palm and onto the man's shirt and collarbones.

Then he pressed the bloody wound onto Rufus' forehead, fingers digging into the man's scalp fiercely, the lower part of his hand nearly covering Rufus' eyes.

Certainly the blood would leave the same stigmatic mark on Rufus' forehead as it had on his arms. But it was also dripping down, sliding into his eyes, down across his face, maybe even into his mouth if he didn't get rid of it quickly enough. And the stink - it was even worse now, as if the stench of the flesh was actually buried in the blood. And still Pyramid Head kept his grip on Rufus' neck, refusing to release him, even through the clawing that was being bestowed on him. He wouldn't let him go, wouldn't release him, wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't.

Rufus snarled again, breath hissing from between his teeth as he tried to jerk his head away. If there was one thing he hated it was to be touched unless he allowed it. As the hand drew closer and closer, his feet scraped uselessly on the shattered stairs as he made his best effort to avoid that gore-streaked hand. That foul taste of Pyramid Head’s flesh rose up in his mouth again, feeling that wet paper-leather flesh giving under his teeth again with sickening ease.

I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to eat again.

He was sure he wouldn’t be, not ever. He’d be tasting that for the rest of his life. The blackish blood slid over his skin in drips and blots, hot at first and cooling to a snail’s slime. Beneath it, was that Geostigma eating into his flesh again? Was it sinking down into his skin and bones, Jenova’s revenge on him and the world for all Shin-Ra had done to her? Wasn’t Sephiroth enough? Was this the punishment for his father’s actions that created Sephiroth in the first place? The dead of Nibelheim that had been killed? Those who died during Meteor’s ripping apart of Midgar? For when the plate fell? When he refused to give into the remnants and Edge suffered?

His list of sins and the dead from his own actions or Shin-Ra Company’s totaled could have gone on forever. What of the orphans he had caused, the bankruptcies, the people he’d sent his Turks to kill, the families he’d destroyed?

Rufus bit back the scream that wanted to start as Pyramid Head’s hand pressed to his forehead in some obscene benediction, spreading that soured blood across his face. Even with his mouth tightly shut, he swore that some of it crept between them, staining across his tongue and down his throat. It was eating through him, spreading faster than that disease ever had.

“NO!”

The shriek finally worked its way out of him as Rufus felt the sting of that ichor in his left eye, the one he had nearly lost to Geostigma and had to bandage. He couldn’t lose it again, wouldn’t lose it. His hands let go of Pyramid Head’s wrists, trying to grapple on the mask itself or claw at the creature’s shoulders.

He couldn’t lose his left eye again. Wouldn’t… couldn’t. To bear that mark again of half-blindness in public with the black stain of Geostigma spreading over it…

No.

Perhaps that was what he was waiting for: the admission of guilt, spoken or unspoken. Maybe it was the scream, finally released after being held back by pride for so long. Or maybe it was something else, some smaller factor disregarded by a casual observer. Regardless of what caused it, something happened in Pyramid Head.

The blows to his helmet and shoulders seemed to mean nothing to him. He dropped Rufus as if the man had simply been hanging there limply, letting his bleeding hand stay exactly where it had been (the grip had not been tight enough to hold on to Rufus even if it had wanted to). A few more drops (were they drops, or splotches, or ... ?) of hideous black blood fell onto the man below before that hand clenched into a fist (once, twice, three times, four times) and snatched the blade out of the wall. With one sharp jerk, it came out and the edge clattered back onto the floor, re-arming Pyramid Head. (It wasn't as if he had been unarmed before.)

He stared down at Rufus for a few long moments, or at least his helmet stayed pointed at the collapsed man. He didn't move, didn't shift in the slightest, almost contemplatively.

And then he moved on up the stairs, leaving Rufus behind to contemplate

his guilt, his suffering, the stigmatic blood, his guilt, his anger, his guilt, his guilt his guilt guilt guilt guilty GUILTY

what had been left for him.

screeeech thump

screeeech thump

screeeech thump

Falling to the stairs, Rufus scuttled back some, enough to stare up at the monolithic creature above him. More splatters of blood caught him in the face, joining the mass that already slicked most of his upper torso. He could feel it winding in cold snail trails down through his hair, over his face. One hand that was as gore-streaked as the rest of him scrubbed at his eye. He had to be able to see out of it! HAD to be. Blinking furiously, another droplet ran into it, robbing him again.

When he saw PHead reaching for his blade with his good eye, Rufus braced himself. Surely the creature would kill him now, and in truth, death might be better than living with the Geostigma he was sure it had infected him with. He couldn’t do that again, let everyone see the black stains that coated his skin and showed the world what Shin-Ra had done. Far too often he’d seen the disgust in people’s faces when dealing with him then.

Go ahead.

When Pyramid Head passed him by to go up the stairs, Rufus wanted to call after him, dare him to finish the job. The coldly logical part of his mind took over then, clamping down on that desire. Suicide was not his way. He couldn’t and wouldn’t let his enemies defeat him so. He had lived through this, and he would again. Struggling to his feet, Rufus leaned against the wall. It hurt to consider, seeing that flicker of eyes even when he closed his own of all the people he had destroyed or had destroyed, a list unending of lives ruined, a planet nearly destroyed, and a company in ruins.

Tiredness weighed on him. All he wanted to do was get back to his room and rest, change out of these rancid smelling clothes. Running a hand through his bloody hair, he rubbed his face in an attempt to get more of it out of his eyes. His couldn’t have lost his vision. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

((Went here (http://community.livejournal.com/landels_damned/58316.html?view=2790092#t2790092)))

(from here)

They reached the stairs without further problems. Renji didn't have any trouble finding them, since they'd used them the previous night. He slowed to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, though, squinting against the darkness. Something was not quite right.

He pulled out his flashlight, because this, he wanted a better look at. He made sure to keep it close to what he was looking at, down low. Better safe than sorry.

Big gash in the wall. Big gash in the stairs. Black stuff splattered on the floor, still quite wet, though starting to dry. And some scrapes that may or may not have been there the night before. He hadn't looked that carefully, then. But a big freaking hole in the wall, yeah, that would have been hard to miss.

"Looks like someone had fun," he said. That was all he needed to see. He turned his flashlight back off. "We'd better be real careful." He wasn't about to let the signs of battle (if one-sided) stop him. The whole place was a war zone; if this kind of stuff scared them off, they'd never get anything done.

He started up the steps more slowly, though, concentrating on being quiet instead of quick. That blood had been pretty fresh.

Quick to notice the tell-tale signs of destruction as well, Ichigo could only wince as he saw the deep, craggy sections of the drywall torn away, imagining just what sort of horror was responsible. Out of the creatures he had encountered so far, there only seemed to be one monster fresh in his mind with that kind of physical power, and Ichigo did not want to run into it again.

"I hope they didn't have too much fun..." Ichigo muttered, nearly stepping in a small pool of the blackened fluid. Taking up a more defensive position towards the rear, Ichigo constantly peered back over his shoulders; it was his experience that these nightly encounters more often came from the rear, where he would be in a perfect position to intercept.

"I think I know what did all this." he added, keeping his voice calm and low. "If it is what I think it is, we're going to have to make a quick retreat. Unless one of you is hiding a lot of power, we just can't fight it."

Nowe stepped up behind Renji and Ichigo, his blue eyes widening as he spotted the black stuff all over the floor. His hands clapped to his face, covering his nose.

"Aw, it stinks..." he said, slightly muffled behind his hands. He stepped forward, carefully hopping over the pools of the stuff and moved over to the hole in the wall, peering into it, and then looking up the stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever horrid creature (or human) had done this. There was nothing. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Ichigo.

"What do you mean, 'what you think it is'? Have you meet this... whatever it is?"

Keeping close behind Renji, Sora was not delayed and smelling and seeing the leftovers of some sort of destruction. He was also careful to mind where he was stepping. He hadn't seen this sort of gore since his earlier days at the institute. He remembered that wall that used to bleed endlessly.

He didn't need to be reminded to be quiet. The air was full of tension and for the first time in a while, he was almost scared. He'd never had to worry before - the Heartless were monsters he was used to and could usually get rid of without much trouble, but in this place...

Nowe had asked the question he'd had swimming around in his head, so he kept quiet and waited for Kurosaki to answer. Hopefully he could at least prepare them for what was to come.

Renji paused as he listened to Kurosaki. "I can't tell which way it went," he said. "It's just as likely ahead of us as behind. Fifty-fifty. Let's keep moving." He looked at Nowe, then Sora, then Kurosaki. "I trust you," and he meant 'all of you,' "to keep track of an escape route. We stick together, we won't be defeated."

Because in his mind, running didn't constitute defeat. You didn't survive as long as he had without knowing when to run. Real defeat was splitting apart, losing someone.

"Tell us what you know about it," he said. "I'll follow your lead when the time comes." And even if following Kurosaki's lead just meant running like all hell had broken loose... well, it was still meant as a compliment.

Renji continued his slow ascent of the stairs as he listened to both Kurosaki... and for any tells of trouble ahead.

If the others knew the circumstances, they might understand why Ichigo looked, and felt, so reluctant to indulge their curiosity. This thing - whatever it was, Ichigo had no name to give it - had proved to be nothing short of an armored tank with a bad attitude.

"I ran into it a few nights ago, with that guy you just met, Cliff." Ichigo began, glancing poignantly at Renji first, then back at them all together. "It's big, with lots of muscle, and wears this rusty metal triangle helmet on its head."

Slow, but threatening, the monsterous figure swung a large, decayed blade around, just as big as Ichigo's Zangetsu. It never spoke, only making thunderous footsteps whenever it moved. Ichigo had punched it, with no effect; Cliff had stabbed it, leaving an ignorable wound; they set fire to it, but it continued to stagger forward, undeterred; they had even tried to use the weighty metal helmet against it by tipping it over backwards, but getting so close to the creature had only left them vulnerable...

"...right when we had pushed the thing backwards, it grabbed me by the neck." he explained, still able to remember those horrid, grimy fingers constricting his throat like a vice. "Whatever it is, we can't seem to hurt it. It's not very fast, thankfully, so getting away isn't a problem, as long as we don't get cornered somehow."

Nowe scowled at the thought, glancing to the huge hole in the wall again. A thing that didn't seem to be able to be harmed by anything? That diagnosis didn't sound too good. Especially if it got the better of someone as strong as Ichigo.

Still... they couldn't just run away and stand here forever. Nothing would get done if they just waited around. Nowe wanted to go home. Despite the fact that he was not usually the one to take the lead, Nowe hopped comically over a few more puddles of the black goo until he was standing on the first few steps.

"No use wasting time. We'll just take your advice and not get cornered," he said with a nod, and then headed up the stairs.

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Nightshift 21 - Stairwell at Lobby/Dr Offices/Medwing

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