08-10-2016, 07:21 AM
The fleeing minutes encompassed an age unto themselves. A pall of silence settled over the devastated city, broken by the wail of distant sirens, and then the closer stuttering of gunfire as the battle began. Shivers ran the length of her arms despite the heat. Her thoughts were fragmentary invaders against the calm she tried to impose upon herself. What would her mother do if she died here? Would her father even notice or care? Natalie forced her eyes closed, ran her hands over her head until the breath wisping from her lips was the only thing she could hear. She reached out for the light, longing to burn, but hit the cool glass of the barrier. Again and again.
Desperation oozed into her composure. The panic pawing at her toes hooked in, inching its way up her body.
The gift had never abandoned her like this before. When she'd needed it, it had been there - a heady cascade, brilliant and brutal, even when it wasn't welcome. She'd always thought it was danger that ignited it in her like brush fire; could count every reckless situation it had flamed to life. She had been so sure this would work. The only exception to her rule had been Jay, and therein must lie her mistake. It was too late to work out why now.
She didn't even have a gun.
The scream of police sirens pierced her heart, shattering the remains of her concentration. Her pale gaze wrenched up to watch as the vehicles fanned beyond the decorative gates, a scant handful of men pooling out. Beyond them came the dark cloud of approaching cars, kicking up a swarm of dust. Gunfire punched her ears and the acrid stink of smoke looped and coiled around the dark fears in her heart. An old, familiar taste of panic dried her tongue.
Smoke?
It took her a moment more to realise the scent came from behind. She spun, confused at the realisation; at the same time as someone screamed from within the bowels of the embassy. Her nails raked into the concrete as she clawed herself up, horrified, and ascended the stone steps.
After the baking heat of outside it was cool and dark within. Natalie's heart beat loud in the empty hall. The air was hazy, jamming in her throat, stinging her eyes. From the far entrance-way the girl with the braids crawled out of the darkness, clutching bloody fingers to the floor tiles before her scrabbling feet found purchase and she propelled forward. Her pallor was sickly, her gait unsteady as she hurtled her way towards the open doors leading outside.
"Not that way!"
Natalie hooked her elbow to yank her back. They tumbled away, slamming into an ornate desk that had been swept to the side of the room. Arms and hands tangled as she tried to pull away, leaving a long smear of blood along Natalie's wrist. The sounds of battle beyond seemed not to reach her ears. Else she chose the lesser of evils.
Smoke plumed into the lobby, black and angry, and from its midst a figure. He clutched one sleeve to his mouth, the shoulder of his other arm red as bloody and dripping meat. Black hair buzzed close to his scalp, ebon skin stretched over high cheekbones; Natalie recognised him as one of the camp's volunteers, but found no familiarity in the severe cast to his gaze.
Natalie clawed her grip into the girl's fingers to stop her fleeing into the gunfire. Heart hammering. Time slipping away. Wariness snared her gaze as he coughed and spoke, never breaking his gaze from the woman, his boots echoing a steady march across the hall. He spoke in Mende, and the words curled in Natalie's ears, elusive. Duty. And death.
It is your duty to die.
Behind him the first flames began to lick at the door frame. Natalie realised abruptly that soon they would be trapped between the fire ahead and the soldiers behind.
The girl shuddered. Crinkled wisps of black hair floated to the ground as her burned braids began to crumble at the ends. Sweat masked her face; beads of it prickled, and ran with the tears.
Her hand jerked.
The ground rumbled, a network of light unfurling on the floor, knotting down into the earth. Suddenly the tiles burst into a gout of sharp ceramic pieces. A stinging shower of it rained down, ripping neatly through flesh. The man roared, and in the cloud-burst of pain Natalie lost her grip. The woman spun, half slipping. A shaft of light limned her surprised expression as she reached the open doors.
A burst of power shuddered out from her body, like uncoiling springs. The whoosh sent everything in a circular radius slamming back. The soldiers cramming the steps. The bloodied man behind. And Natalie.
Her head snapped back, smashing the wall. Pain burst stars. The half-healed wound split and hot blood gushed down her neck. The world shivered and blurred as she fell, catching her grip on the edge of a table. Something on it wobbled and smashed. Blood slicked her hand. Support slipped away. Suddenly she was staring into a carpet of broken tiles, fists clenched, desperately summoning the coordination to stand. Her consciousness was slipping out through all the cracks in her skin. Her knees crunched under the debris. Her ears rang.
The Light never came. But the dark did.
[[NPC channeler and Atharim man are free to use and/or kill off.]]
Desperation oozed into her composure. The panic pawing at her toes hooked in, inching its way up her body.
The gift had never abandoned her like this before. When she'd needed it, it had been there - a heady cascade, brilliant and brutal, even when it wasn't welcome. She'd always thought it was danger that ignited it in her like brush fire; could count every reckless situation it had flamed to life. She had been so sure this would work. The only exception to her rule had been Jay, and therein must lie her mistake. It was too late to work out why now.
She didn't even have a gun.
The scream of police sirens pierced her heart, shattering the remains of her concentration. Her pale gaze wrenched up to watch as the vehicles fanned beyond the decorative gates, a scant handful of men pooling out. Beyond them came the dark cloud of approaching cars, kicking up a swarm of dust. Gunfire punched her ears and the acrid stink of smoke looped and coiled around the dark fears in her heart. An old, familiar taste of panic dried her tongue.
Smoke?
It took her a moment more to realise the scent came from behind. She spun, confused at the realisation; at the same time as someone screamed from within the bowels of the embassy. Her nails raked into the concrete as she clawed herself up, horrified, and ascended the stone steps.
After the baking heat of outside it was cool and dark within. Natalie's heart beat loud in the empty hall. The air was hazy, jamming in her throat, stinging her eyes. From the far entrance-way the girl with the braids crawled out of the darkness, clutching bloody fingers to the floor tiles before her scrabbling feet found purchase and she propelled forward. Her pallor was sickly, her gait unsteady as she hurtled her way towards the open doors leading outside.
"Not that way!"
Natalie hooked her elbow to yank her back. They tumbled away, slamming into an ornate desk that had been swept to the side of the room. Arms and hands tangled as she tried to pull away, leaving a long smear of blood along Natalie's wrist. The sounds of battle beyond seemed not to reach her ears. Else she chose the lesser of evils.
Smoke plumed into the lobby, black and angry, and from its midst a figure. He clutched one sleeve to his mouth, the shoulder of his other arm red as bloody and dripping meat. Black hair buzzed close to his scalp, ebon skin stretched over high cheekbones; Natalie recognised him as one of the camp's volunteers, but found no familiarity in the severe cast to his gaze.
Natalie clawed her grip into the girl's fingers to stop her fleeing into the gunfire. Heart hammering. Time slipping away. Wariness snared her gaze as he coughed and spoke, never breaking his gaze from the woman, his boots echoing a steady march across the hall. He spoke in Mende, and the words curled in Natalie's ears, elusive. Duty. And death.
It is your duty to die.
Behind him the first flames began to lick at the door frame. Natalie realised abruptly that soon they would be trapped between the fire ahead and the soldiers behind.
The girl shuddered. Crinkled wisps of black hair floated to the ground as her burned braids began to crumble at the ends. Sweat masked her face; beads of it prickled, and ran with the tears.
Her hand jerked.
The ground rumbled, a network of light unfurling on the floor, knotting down into the earth. Suddenly the tiles burst into a gout of sharp ceramic pieces. A stinging shower of it rained down, ripping neatly through flesh. The man roared, and in the cloud-burst of pain Natalie lost her grip. The woman spun, half slipping. A shaft of light limned her surprised expression as she reached the open doors.
A burst of power shuddered out from her body, like uncoiling springs. The whoosh sent everything in a circular radius slamming back. The soldiers cramming the steps. The bloodied man behind. And Natalie.
Her head snapped back, smashing the wall. Pain burst stars. The half-healed wound split and hot blood gushed down her neck. The world shivered and blurred as she fell, catching her grip on the edge of a table. Something on it wobbled and smashed. Blood slicked her hand. Support slipped away. Suddenly she was staring into a carpet of broken tiles, fists clenched, desperately summoning the coordination to stand. Her consciousness was slipping out through all the cracks in her skin. Her knees crunched under the debris. Her ears rang.
The Light never came. But the dark did.
[[NPC channeler and Atharim man are free to use and/or kill off.]]