03-05-2023, 11:10 PM
The stairwell proved anti-climatic. Marcus channeled something, threads of power radiating strings around the space. Even if Ryker was awake and himself, he still wouldn’t care what he was trying to do. Suddenly a light blazed, and Ryker threw an arm over his eyes to shield himself from the sudden change. After a month in Butryka, even a flashlight would stun.
He mumbled curses in his native tongue, but they fell away shortly after. The jailor was practically shaking in his boots. Shadow monsters and now a channeler. If only he knew he was with a far scarier demon, he’d piss his pants, but even if Ryker could cut the kind of pain that he needed to access the power, Oriena’s block was still walled up around his head.
The Jailor squared his jaw and beckoned them back the other direction. Soon, they were in the underbelly of Butryka. Part of the prison where the blood was washed down drains and actual ghosts probably haunted. The prison was hundreds of years old, after all. Saw the worst of Soviet torture chambers and sadistic Tsars.
Ryker found himself led into what he assumed to be a boiler room. If Butryka had any heat, it shocked the hell out of him.
Basically, a concrete room. Pipes ran overhead. Broken florescent lighting flickered. Enormous boilers sat rusted. There were dead rats in the corner. The jailor pointed, but clearly didn’t want to enter.
“Arkady. A big man. He was found in the corner. All of his fingers were black like frostbite,” he shuddered.
Ryker snorted. “Nice.” He was leaning against the wall and picking at his nails at the moment.
He flicked away a bit of skin and looked at Marcus. ”Consul, what are you looking for?”
He mumbled curses in his native tongue, but they fell away shortly after. The jailor was practically shaking in his boots. Shadow monsters and now a channeler. If only he knew he was with a far scarier demon, he’d piss his pants, but even if Ryker could cut the kind of pain that he needed to access the power, Oriena’s block was still walled up around his head.
The Jailor squared his jaw and beckoned them back the other direction. Soon, they were in the underbelly of Butryka. Part of the prison where the blood was washed down drains and actual ghosts probably haunted. The prison was hundreds of years old, after all. Saw the worst of Soviet torture chambers and sadistic Tsars.
Ryker found himself led into what he assumed to be a boiler room. If Butryka had any heat, it shocked the hell out of him.
Basically, a concrete room. Pipes ran overhead. Broken florescent lighting flickered. Enormous boilers sat rusted. There were dead rats in the corner. The jailor pointed, but clearly didn’t want to enter.
“Arkady. A big man. He was found in the corner. All of his fingers were black like frostbite,” he shuddered.
Ryker snorted. “Nice.” He was leaning against the wall and picking at his nails at the moment.
He flicked away a bit of skin and looked at Marcus. ”Consul, what are you looking for?”