Night 44: Main Hall, 2-West

[should-be-dead.livejournal.com]

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After reaching the top of the stairs, Tenzen slipped into the next hallway. This time, the hallway consisted out of a normal floor, ceiling and walls, as opposed to the pulsing flesh from last night.

Sliding his hand along the wall, the ninja kept his flashlight switched off as he headed East.

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[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

Dark, cold eyes stared into his face, staring in a way that would have been curious were it not for that alien inhumanity within them. Was it even capable of being curious? Like Pit it mattered, Depth Charge wasn't about to wax philosophical while he was still caught and- "S-scrap!"

Those same delicate white fingers he'd felt, vicelike, against his head, were suddenly forcing their way into his head, through flesh and bone. His processor was on full alert and telling him it wasn't real, but reasoning could only go so far while his senses burned.

And then suddenly release, and the hands were away from his face and the pain was subsiding, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Scarecrow's horrified face.

"Sorry," he managed to hiss out- much to his annoyance, when he realised barely a moment later. Geeze, this guy was better than a quart of oil at getting him to say things he didn't like saying. Next thing and he'd be admitting that, actually, he might be out of his depth. Which he wasn't.

But before he could recover the figure had moved again (Too fast for any alien I've ever heard of, what the Pit is that?!) and the next thing Depth Charge knew, the Scarecow's face had been impaled on its hand. Distant memories stirred, ghosting across the the Scarecrow's face with mech fluid and exposed circuitry; but she wasn't X. He wasn't going to just stand by.

Tearing the shears out of his back pocket he charged, points held together like a dagger and aimed at her neck.

[scarefaux]

All his thoughts came to a halt as the Scarecrow found himself face-to-face with the witch, and then faced with another new sensation- one far more horrible than any he'd felt before- as she seemingly reached right though his head.

His body flew into panic as his mind desperately told him to do something: call for help, whack her again, flail arms about- anything! Still trying to comprehend what was happening to him, he tried to pull away from the witch, only to feel her hand gripping his hair from the back of his head.

He froze, knowing he was in trouble. He finally managed to sort his thoughts into a statement: "D- do something!"

[deathrattling.livejournal.com]

Kayako's features remained locked into the same almost-curiosity as she stared into the Scarecrow's face from scant inches away. Her height meant that she was staring upwards to catch his eyes, but as with Depth Charge there was something strange about the physics of the situation: those wide empty eyes kept coming closer and closer, the hair that partially covered her face shifting with some unseen movement. The rattle of her endless dying breath was interrupted now and again with a sharp twitch of her head on its broken neck --

And though it seemed like she was satisfied with her handful of hair for the moment, the sheer rage that the Scarecrow would feel building in the air around him was heavy enough to be felt -- a furious lust for blood vengeance irrespective of the target. Though her attack had lulled for the moment, the promise of violence could all but be tasted.

But the one who fulfilled it first was not Kayako. The shears found home, digging into the back of her neck and sliding straight through with barely any resistance beyond a few faint crunches as the blades met and pierced her pharynx and larynx. The points burst out from the front of her neck, scattering a few stray drops of dead blood onto the Scarecrow.

And the rattle filling the air distorted, sputtering into something closer to a gurgle as blood leaked into her already-ruined windpipe.

Slowly, she turned just her head around to focus her gaze on Depth Charge again, bones and organs cracking and popping in her neck until her head was fully facing the opposite direction from her body. If the Scarecrow were to attempt to pull away now, he would find that her hand -- and a fistful of hair with it -- would pass right through his skull. Agonisingly, but without leaving behind any visible wounds.