damned_institute | Nightshift 47: Church (Ruins)

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Nightshift 47: Church (Ruins)

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Like a ship emerging from the darkness of the ocean, the church slowly came into focus- the familiar loom of the main building, the dilapidated spire, the rainfall of bricks and debris scattered around the area. All around it, as far as the eye could see before the fog swallowed the glow from their flashlights, was just as still as it had been when they'd first arrived.

"It doesn't look like it's been touched since Laurier and I were last here," Lunge commented in a low voice, eyes traveling up and down the brickwork briefly. His expression darkened. "On the outside, that is."

The radio was mercifully silent as they approached the doors, but that probably didn't help their chances of moving undetected anyway. No matter what they did, they would be the ones at a disadvantage: if something was waiting for them they'd be walking into their hands, and all three of them had come expecting an ambush. Lunge was distinctly aware of the tension gathering in the corner of his mouth as he glanced around at L and Jones, nodding once when they both stopped walking. He reached out to push the doors open, and when his hand met cold wood it registered every knot and whorl under his fingers. The door opened.

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Before they approached the church, his right hand vanished behind him, up under the hem of his jacket. He squirmed a little, shifting his weight this way and that, and then his hand reappeared, holding the knife that had been strapped to his back. He adjusted his grip on the knife until it was firm, and clutched the flashlight in his other hand. Neither would be taken from him easily.

"If it is a clue," L replied, to Jones. "The trouble is that we can't know unless we find out for ourselves." A nod, and a shift in his stance, was his signal that he was ready to move.

He didn't like Lunge's insinuation that he was still, in some way, Daniel Laurier. It was a persona that had been wrapped around him like a straitjacket, one which he had cast off as soon as he was able to. What people thought of him didn't matter until the moment it interfered with his ability to do his work, but... Is this that moment?

-- No, but it may come. He let the comments pass with a look that was closed and unamused; too much interest had swirled around his identity already tonight. An argument about it now would be a poor use of their time.

As they walked along the dark street, the only noise was their breathing and the soft thuds of their footsteps and the soft rasp that came from the friction of their clothing as they moved. He was used to the silence of cities, which was not silence at all: there were the noises of his flat or hotel room, his equipment and all the little things that made the environment more livable; then, there were the noises of traffic, the noises of helicopters and airplanes, even sometimes the hum of the electric grid. Out here, the quietude in itself was unnerving, but the alternative would have been more so.

The church interested L in the specific sense that everything else here did: it hadn't existed, even in a vague dreamlike way, two nights earlier. He had to resist the impulse to exclaim in disbelief, or to kick the walls to be sure that they were tangible.

The three men paused before the door, and when Lunge entered the church, L followed him, doing his best to control the nervous energy that rose in his chest.

Clue or not, if there was anything new in that church other than one of Landel's pets, it would've been put there by someone who knew more about what was going on than they did, and that made it worth going after in Indy's book. But since they were going in anyway, he didn't waste time with the argument and instead followed close on the German's heels toward the church.

As they walked, he uncoiled the leash from his right shoulder (he still needed to rig up a better way to carry it) and held it at the ready, shifting the radio to the free fingers of his left hand. The weight almost made it possible to forget it wasn't a real whip most of the time, but suddenly the differences were glaring. Better than cutlery, but by how much was an open question.

Lunge was the first to the door. Let him, Indy thought. No point in trying to devise a coordinated plan of attack for whatever might be in there; they were going to have to make this up as they went along anyway. Someone should put that on his tombstone--"Indiana Jones (1899 - 2009[?!]): He just winged it."

Keeping a good grip on the whip and a good eye on the backs of the other two men, Indy followed them into the church.

The interior of the church was even darker than the fog-shrouded landscape outside, the weight of the shadows even more oppressive for the fact that they were confined within walls. There was nothing to be seen immediately by the door but the crumbled ruin of what was once a place of worship, and even the beam of a flashlight wouldn't be strong enough to penetrate far enough to reveal the far end of the building. For a moment all was silent, with only the sounds of their own breathing in the room.

And then -- echoing off the battered walls, making it impossible to exactly pinpoint the source of the sound -- a huff of breath, then a faint sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort, overloud in the silent darkness. Metal rasped against metal briefly, and then came a footfall loud enough, hard enough to shake the very ground beneath their feet. And another, shaking dust and debris from the fallen pews with its force.

Something in the church did not take well to visitors. And it was approaching.

[tiassa]

Going first wasn't the most logical decision to make, Lunge knew, but there was something in it that let him feel just that little bit more in control of the situation they had placed themselves at the mercy o- no. Not at its mercy. The situation that they had willingly inserted themselves into. And anyway, he was an expert in the art of self-deception.

Jones and L were at his back- he could hear them, even if he couldn't see them. Then again, he doubted that would have been possible even if they'd been in front of him; the darkness in the church was obfuscating, deeper than he had thought, and Lunge supposed that went double for L, who hadn't even had the luxury of seeing the church before. For now they would have to rely on their flash-

Something was in here. The sound of expelling air, followed by an almost animalistic grunt, the grind of metal. And then, in the second Lunge glanced briefly over his shoulder, to the other two, there came a thud that sent vibrations rattling through his back teeth. Two thuds.

He fell back next to Jones, part defensive and part staggering, catching his breath. "This is it." Before, the murmur his voice had sounded intrusive. By comparison now, it was positively silent. His hand crept towards the handle of his knife.

Inside the church, it was darker than L would have anticipated. His torch's beam did not penetrate as far as it seemed it should have; he cast it around, looking for the source of the weird snort and the rasp of metal on metal, and was unable to see far enough to find them. It had a wrongness about it, as if the laws of physics had taken an infinitesimal detour. He wondered if it had been this dark two nights earlier.

As Lunge stepped back, L did, also, until he stood beside the other two. "This is beginning to look like a bad bargain," he murmured.

Whatever was approaching, it moved slowly, but gave an impression of terrible size and power. L pressed his lips together and swallowed, grateful that they were close to the door, and tried not to let panic and dismay destroy his focus.

He cast his gaze around, looking for items close to them that might be useful, but always returning to the darkness, to the origin of the unsettling noises. Relatively nearby, there were the pews you'd expect in a small church and a few skeletons -- the bones could be used to bash and, if they broke, to stab, but it looked like the skeletons were still holding together. That meant that acquiring a bone would mean shaking or sawing it off of the skeleton and hoping that it would come away quickly enough to be worthwhile. They could also try to use the skeletons and pews as makeshift shields.

Edited 2010-02-26 19:24 (UTC)

Indy instinctively froze when he heard the first noise from the far end of the room. He began to run through a list of animals that might make those kinds of snorting noises: boars, wild hogs, even a bull. Something with tusks, anyway. But there was nothing in nature that made that metallic sound. And the stomp that shook the ground and triggered a rattle of small debris suggested something a hell of a lot larger than a pig. Too big to move easily between the crowded pews--unless it smashed its way through.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't be looking for a scratch behind the ears. If this thing was anything like King Kong, it probably hadn't been fed for days.

The other two pulled closer to him, practically radiating anxiety. Indy kept his mouth shut and peered into the darkness. He could only see partway down the aisle, not as far as the pulpit or the creature that must be lurking near it.

Well, if they were going to have to fight the guardian, might as well get it over with before it stomped the building down around their ears and buried any chance of their finding the prize. Indy took a cautious step forward.

A pair of red eyes gleamed in the darkness, burning like a pair of coals, as the thudding footfalls approached the group. The walls rattled with each impact, setting debris and dust into the air to further obscure vision in the dark church, and then -- a pause, and silence for a very brief moment. Then came a harsh scraping sound, of something very heavy being dragged across the floor, accompanied by rattling and crashing as though the movement was displacing several objects in the process. When the sound stopped the creature grunted once more, then continued to approach.

A few more steps brought it into view, but -- what exactly the creature was might still be in question. It was quite bigger than any of the three men, that was certain, looming a good foot over even the tallest of them. Its bull's head and legs ending in massive hooves certainly seemed reminiscent of the minotaur of legend, but unlike the mythological beast it was covered not with hair but with plates of metal, dull and rusted and battered but still quite solid. Most immediately alarming, however, was the fact that it was holding a broken-off half of a pew over its head as it stomped closer -- and almost as soon as it was close enough for that to be seen, it hurled it forward, sending the improvised missle toward the trespassers.

It was then that Lunge saw them: two red pinpricks, burning poker-ends against the black even through the showers of dust loosed from the ceiling. On top of that, they towered at least seven feet over them. The dread in the pit of Lunge's stomach curdled, but his hands curled tightly with resolve. Whatever it was here... they would find it. No matter the cost.

Jones didn't say anything, simply stepping out so that he was just a fraction in front of them- an impressive show of courage, but it was going to take more than sheer guts to bring down the guardian looming in the darkness before them. It wasn't until the creature stepped forward, though, that Lunge realised just how true that was.

Shadow played across the broad, piglike head, nostrils flared, that sat atop a thick, muscled neck and shoulders that were broader still- size was the immediately dominating feature here, size and girth. Even if it weren't for those thick horns they'd have been overpowered by brute strength alone. Focus, Inspector. There is no such thing as a foregone conclusion. Lunge took in a breath- and focused. It was almost minotaur like in a way, but not quite, because something was glinting dully on the creature's body: plate upon plan upon plate of metal, dark with rust and disrepair but--

The creature's arm's tensed and swung, and the next thing Lunge knew there was half of a pew flying towards them and he was throwing himself to the side. The cold stone of the floor met him with a painful crack as his elbow struck the floor. Dazed, he lay still for a moment before coming to his senses and struggling upright, eyes straining to see through the darkness while his hands worked to tap his flickering torch into submission. Jones. L. Where are they?

In the moment before their nemesis became visible, L recognized the red lights as eyes; fast on the heels of that realization, he doubted his interpretation of what he saw. The vulnerability of eyes means that it would make sense to shield them and create a decoy target, but --

He wasn't yet completely convinced that they weren't up against a man in some kind of suit. A strong man, or one who was armed well, or both, could do plenty of damage to three relatively unprepared opponents. Still, in order to be prepared to face the creature, it would be best to avoid underestimating both its intelligence and its force, at least until they knew more. The pause in its footsteps, then the heavy scraping sound... none of it boded well, but L still couldn't see precisely what it was doing.

The thing moved closer, and he had just an instant to catch a more accurate impression of it before it gave them a taste of its capabilities. Bestial -- yes -- a costume of that nature, moving so heavily, would be too cumbersome for a fight. His immediate conclusion was that what he was seeing was probably real, and he knew that the analysis came with such speed and ease because it was a way to stave off real terror.

It held half a pew above its head -- Of course. If we can use these items, it can, too -- It meant that the creature had an unusual degree of intelligence, for an animal, if that was indeed what it was. He had already gauged the thickness and probable strength of the wood that had been used in what he could see of the pews; he knew that he would be unable to kick a projectile out of the way with enough force that nobody would be injured.

Lunge, then, had the right idea; L barked, "Down!" and then leapt aside in the opposite direction, keeping his knife out of the way.

Hitting the floor knocked the wind out of him, but better that than being hit with a projectile. He retrieved his own light and looked around. They might have avoided being hit, but it was only an opening sally; they would still have to deal with the creature.

Minotaur, was Indy's first thought. He knew the story: the beast in the labyrinth on Crete, half-man and half-bull, which Theseus slew--with a sword or a club or his bare fists, depending on which version you went by. But Indy'd never heard a retelling in which the monster was bested by a dog leash and a pair of kitchen knives, and Theseus had never had to deal with a minotaur covered in metal plates. Only Landel would think to put armor on a bull. Briefly, Indy wondered what the odds were that someone had left a working set of welding equipment laying around with all the rest of the abandoned stuff here.

He was still boggling when the minotaur lifted up half a pew--Jesus Christ, so much for preserving the site--and hurled it in their direction. Indy didn't need to be told to get out of the way. He dove to the ground--missing the pews nearby, but not one of the skeletons--and brought his arms up to protect his head (and hat, incidentally) as the pew sailed toward them. Delicate bone fragments crumbled under his jacket; Indy swore under his breath.

He heard the sound of the wood crashing behind him, and didn't hear any cries of pain to suggest that one of the others had been hit. Thus spared, Indy shoved his new friend aside and shifted into a crouch, sweeping the space nearby with his flashlight. If that thing was covered in armor, blades were out, projectiles were probably out, and punching it was sheer suicide, no matter what Theseus was supposed to have done. There had to be something around here he could use.

They were still there, hadn't fled despite the warning they'd been given. In fact, it seemed as though they were planning to do something -- did they intend to try to get past it, to continue their trespass? The vile, nasty creatures couldn't be allowed anything of the sort; they shouldn't have even been allowed through the doorway at all, but it could only move so fast.

The minotaur watched them for a moment longer with eyes narrowed, its hands opening and closing as it silently wished to close them on flesh, to rend and tear and teach these intruders just how very unwelcome they were here. As a flashlight's beam played over the dulled metal of its armor the creature gave a short shake of its head, the tips of its broad, curving horns catching the light with a sharp gleam. Now thoroughly enraged, it gave a bellowing roar and began to stomp toward its prey, hooves pulverizing scattered bones beneath them as each thudding footfall set smaller bits of debris skittering across the floor.

Its movements were slow, but inexorable as an oncoming flood. And as it approached, nostrils flaring and eyes burning fiercely, it drew back its arms as though preparing to swing.

The pew crunched and splintered against the wall just as Lunge heard the sound of L's voice. Seconds later and he could see two lights orienting themselves, and his eyes picked up on the shapes of L and Jones nearby. Good. Both able to move. About the only thing they had over the creature was numbers; to lose that advantage so early on would have been disastrous.

But numbers alone weren't going to carry them through this unscathed. They had to think. There was no way Jill would have sent them towards certain death- it just wasn't possible to operate on that premise right now- which meant that there had to be a way for them to fight back. With his flashlight still shorting he forced his mind back into an analysis what he'd seen moments before: sheer size= cannot physically overpower. physical attacks are limited due to armoured plating: breaking through= unfeasible. Scan for weak spots. CONCLUSION: area of body left unarmoured=

The minotaur's roar scythed through Lunge's thoughts, jangling them into disarray. It only took a moment to rearrange them but in that time the creature was already heading towards them, and with it came thud after thud after thud of each mighty hoof. Speed. It was slower than them. A lot slower. They had time to think, to plan. God only knew, they needed a plan.

Lunge forced himself up onto his feet against the protest of his joints where he'd fallen, glancing in towards the other two. In the same glance the sputter of his light picked up arms tensed ready to swing in front of the. With an armspan like that getting hit would feel like being hit with a water cylinder. He darted to the far left, away from Jones and L, but one of them had to have figured out out by now. "The eyes-"

The two red lights dimmed a little, as if the creature was narrowing its eyes. Its movements were slow, but determined and powerful.

Those hooves are the size of dessert plates. Now that L was on the floor, he could see them well. He scrambled to a low crouch. A... minotaur?

There was no time for the skeptical disbelief that would have followed this identification at a more usual time. They could avoid the minotaur, spending the rest of the night chasing around the perimeter of the church's interior, getting behind it whenever it charged in front of them, and dodging whatever it might throw.

That plan would only be worthwhile if there was indeed something else for them to find in the church, and if they happened to stumble across it, and if the horned beast turned out to be stupid enough to let them get near it. The only way to be certain would be to split up and lead it on a chase, but that might be a serious error in strategy. They could be trapped.

Behind it. Leaping onto its back might be the best way to get at the thing's eyes while staying out of the way of its horns, but there would be serious hazards. It could still strike and tug with its arms, and it might try to smash its assailant up against something, by backing into a wall; he doubted that it would fall on its back to accomplish the same thing, because that would leave it vulnerable. Anyone attacking from behind would have to reach around and over its head, and would also risk being tossed up onto the horns. Getting close enough to hurt it also meant getting close enough to be hurt in kind.

He cringed a little as the bull's head roared. He didn't know if it could understand their words, but realized that they would have to assume that it couldn't until they knew otherwise.

As it charged, he shined the beam of his torch into its eyes as much as he could, and moved to the side, passing fallen bodies. A foot he stepped on snapped off of the skeleton it had been attached to.

"Behind it," he panted out, as he moved away from the charging beast. "Should we try to get on its back?" He wanted to hear what Jones would have to say.

The only things within Indy's physical reach were more skeletons, but mentally he was reaching similar conclusions. The minotaur was slow, it was heavy, and its eyes were unprotected--if you didn't count the two sword-like horns, which Indy optimistically didn't.

He'd put its height at around eight, nine feet, with what looked like a similar armspan. A bipedal bull: how the hell had Landel managed to build this thing? Indy couldn't help but wonder--but not for long, because it was marching right toward him.

"Worth a shot!" he grunted back to Ryuuzaki as he made his own break for it. But one of them could be the first contestant in the rodeo show; Indy had something else he wanted to try. He clambered as fast as he could through the nearest row, dislodging four or five dearly departed parishioners along the way, then turned and ducked forward on the outside aisle until he was almost parallel to the minotaur. Indy hesitated for about a second to judge the distance before making the jump up onto the seat of the nearest pew. If he'd made his guess right, he'd be close enough to hit the minotaur's eyes with the metal end of his whip, but just out of reach of those massive hands.

Only one way to find out. Indy raised his whip (http://www.fordogtrainers.com/index.asp?PageAction=VIEWPROD&ProdID=2618) and lashed out.

Every minute the three men stayed within the walls of the church the minotaur only grew angrier, the burning coals of its eyes glinting all the brighter for rage. So they wanted to fight, did they? It was entirely willing to show them the folly of such an action, and its fist drew back even farther as it thudded toward the nearest of the three. The other two were ignored for the time being, though if the skinny one intended to try climbing onto the minotaur's back that would change, and quickly.

For a moment it appeared as though the man was trying to escape, but then instead he simply climbed up a little higher, onto one of the benches. The minotaur gave an angry grunt and continued forward another step before registering what the man had in his hands. As it realized just what was about to happen the minotaur turned its intended blow into a grab at the whip lashing toward it, but as slow as it was the movement simply wasn't quick enough to take hold.

The metal tip of the whip clanged dully against the metal plating on the minotaur's head, striking the base of one horn instead of the intended target, but the creature was just as upset for that. Instead of drawing back for another blow it simply reached out to grab, seeking any part of the man that was within reach of its hands.

Lunge, still edging back out of the minotaur's path, only looked up again as L huffed out his suggestion. Get on its back? His first thought was that the idea was completely insane- the thing was more than capable of ripping anyone crazy enough to try to grab ahold of its back clean away.

His second, however, formed as Jones darted through the sea of bodies, was that they didn't particularly have any choice. Jones' arm pulled back, dog leash in hand, and-

Those thick hands hadn't reacted fast enough to the flash of Jones' 'whip', and while the clip had missed its mark it had more than proven Lunge's initial assessment. Good. Not only was it slow physically, it was also slow mentally, easily distracted. That meant they were in with a chance. Whether they'd get to take the chance was sill in question; before Lunge could agree with L, a stirring of movement in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention and forced it on the creature as it made to grab at Jones with what seemed like sheer blind power.

Distantly, it registered that his own outdoor sneakers were resting on a dark red-brown bloodstain. Right.

Inspector Lunge had never been especially given to heroic gestures of any sort. But logic dictated that having their most able team member brought down so soon would be catastrophic, and he didn't hesitate before he ducked, snatched up a skull by the eye sockets and hurled it at the creature's broad back, willing it not to disintigrate on impact. Distract it, draw its attention, then--

The clattering of bones might have been comical in different circumstances; it was good to compartmentalize and intellectualize scenes like this, but doing so made it easy -- easier than it should have been -- to forget that each one represented a human life. Under the current conditions, though, L wondered if they would be adding to the pile of skeletons, a few more anonymous bodies in the rubble.

No. The creature they were fighting was slow; that was their great advantage over it. If nothing else, they could give up and try to escape. It wouldn't be too difficult if they weren't cornered.

L was a canny and careful adversary, but he was not constitutionally compelled to forfeit a battle in the name of self-preservation. Instead, he was inclined to hedge his bets.

Shining his light into the minotaur's eyes had had no effect, but he didn't waste time on chagrin; it was on to the next possibility, which was quickly looking like the only one. He switched off the flashlight and pocketed it as Indy approached the minotaur. When L thought the minotaur wasn't looking at him, he leapt a pew, moving closer to the podium. It was difficult to find his footing in the darkness.

As the creature reached out for Jones, Lunge hurled a skull at it. That meant that it would most likely direct its attention in Lunge's direction; he and L were on opposite sides of the church.

With narrowed eyes, he watched to see what it would do next. The flashlight stayed in his pocket, for the time being.

Edited 2010-03-04 00:15 (UTC)

Damn! Missed. The leash didn't crack the way he was used to; he'd tried to compensate but ended up off by several critical inches. Now that huge hand (hand, Indy realized, not hoof--were those opposable thumbs?) was headed straight for him. Indy lurched back and just managed to avoid being grabbed; the hand sailed even closer past his jacket than the clip had been to the minotaur's eye. Good thing a near miss was still a miss.

Unfortunately, in his hurry to get out of the way he'd put his foot on the femur of the nearest skeleton rather than the pew. He might have expected it to crunch under his weight, but instead it shot backwards out from under his shoe. Before he could regain his balance, Indy found himself toppling off the pew. He landed on his rear end (and several small foot bones) on the church floor, nearly smacking his head on the back of the next pew. The position put him out of the minotaur's immediate reach, but if he didn't get up fast he'd be a sitting duck as soon as it took another step or two.

At least his hat was still on.

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Nightshift 47: Church (Ruins)

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