03-30-2023, 07:42 PM
Even as he listened to the explanation, he tried to duplicate the same awareness that Marcus described. The barrier seemed to have an edge, but all the stuff about gaps and knots was bullshit. He felt nothing of the sort, and the inferno on the other side had long grown cold.
Still, Marcus was adamant that something was there. Ryker might have ground his teeth to the gum trying to find it. Maybe? But it felt like padding the dirt for buried shell casings. If there were lumps, he was half-sure the sensation was imagined.
He might have balled his hands to fists if he wasn’t already holding the rifle. Then there was a thud, and he jumped to realize why.
Marcus was on the ground. Seemed that shadow had a hard-on for blackness. Like kind? Heh.
He backed away. Foot over foot. Rifle smoothly rising to aim at the body. This time a kill shot would have found its mark, but one, Ryker knew it might only piss off the shadow to kill its second host, and two, Marcus was his best chance out of here. If he fired the weapon now, guards would cascade downstairs like swarming bees. A few were annoying, but riling enough of the hive could be deadly.
So he stood there alone and in full command of the situation. At least for the moment. He tried to think of those knots and gaps. But there was nothing to feel. The power on the other side distant and unattainable.
And he knew why.
He slowly began to creep around Marcus’ possessed body. Could the shadow animate its host like some demon-infestation? If a zombie Marcus climbed to his feet, Ryker was going to shoot it no matter what his chances were with guards. At least he could shove a few extra meals forward and scramble the hell back into the light.
He made it around Marcus without disturbing the thing feeding on him. His breathing was ragged. Sweat poured off his ugly ass forehead. Bubbles of it mopped his shorn scalp. Ryker could practically smell the powerlessness.
Except Marcus was still hanging onto a thread of power. Could the shadow thing use it too? Like the ijiraq?
To his own fuckery, Ryker made it around Marcus and took off running the way they came. The dead guard was a minute back, but at a full sprint, only 20 seconds or so.
He adjusted the rifle strap so he could skid to his knees and check the guard’s belt.
Bingo. Why the fuck he didn’t think of this before?
When he got back to Marcus, he held an opened tactical blade. It was much preferable to shooting himself in the leg, which he seriously considered for about half a second until he remembered they'd left a guard behind.
One sleeve was shoved up. The skin of his forearm was criss-crossed with hatches of scar lines. Dozens upon dozens. Some so old they nearly faded to the flesh beneath. But they were there. Each one a reminder of the opportunity to channel.
And he added to their number a fresh red brother. It wasn’t without a grimace. The pain had to actually hurt for it to work, and for someone like him, who could take a lot of it, the freshness of it startled something awake in his head.
Suddenly, his awareness of that power on the other side of the barrier swarmed. He breathed a sigh of relief and balled up his fists even as the blood trickled a red stream down his arm.
It started to drip on the floor.
And he found the gaps Marcus described. Found them and wanted to tear it open with his bare hands. He almost stumbled when the power roared back into his grasp.
“Ahh,” he spoke to the darkness. Welcome back, it replied.
And he smiled to himself.
Then glanced down at the prone body of his captor. The power swarmed gloriously and if Ryker wasn’t underground with him, he would have buried Marcus beneath the building.
Instead, he decided to spin up something else.
Knife still clenched in one hand, the other dripping blood from his fingers, he stirred the thread fires into a cocoon around them. The brightness stung even his eyes, and in the light, Marcus’ skin shone wet as asphalt after a rain.
The shadow should flee, but engulfed in fire, it had no where to go.
He toed Marcus on the side. Willing him to nasty-vomit it out and help him incinerate the little bitch.
Still, Marcus was adamant that something was there. Ryker might have ground his teeth to the gum trying to find it. Maybe? But it felt like padding the dirt for buried shell casings. If there were lumps, he was half-sure the sensation was imagined.
He might have balled his hands to fists if he wasn’t already holding the rifle. Then there was a thud, and he jumped to realize why.
Marcus was on the ground. Seemed that shadow had a hard-on for blackness. Like kind? Heh.
He backed away. Foot over foot. Rifle smoothly rising to aim at the body. This time a kill shot would have found its mark, but one, Ryker knew it might only piss off the shadow to kill its second host, and two, Marcus was his best chance out of here. If he fired the weapon now, guards would cascade downstairs like swarming bees. A few were annoying, but riling enough of the hive could be deadly.
So he stood there alone and in full command of the situation. At least for the moment. He tried to think of those knots and gaps. But there was nothing to feel. The power on the other side distant and unattainable.
And he knew why.
He slowly began to creep around Marcus’ possessed body. Could the shadow animate its host like some demon-infestation? If a zombie Marcus climbed to his feet, Ryker was going to shoot it no matter what his chances were with guards. At least he could shove a few extra meals forward and scramble the hell back into the light.
He made it around Marcus without disturbing the thing feeding on him. His breathing was ragged. Sweat poured off his ugly ass forehead. Bubbles of it mopped his shorn scalp. Ryker could practically smell the powerlessness.
Except Marcus was still hanging onto a thread of power. Could the shadow thing use it too? Like the ijiraq?
To his own fuckery, Ryker made it around Marcus and took off running the way they came. The dead guard was a minute back, but at a full sprint, only 20 seconds or so.
He adjusted the rifle strap so he could skid to his knees and check the guard’s belt.
Bingo. Why the fuck he didn’t think of this before?
When he got back to Marcus, he held an opened tactical blade. It was much preferable to shooting himself in the leg, which he seriously considered for about half a second until he remembered they'd left a guard behind.
One sleeve was shoved up. The skin of his forearm was criss-crossed with hatches of scar lines. Dozens upon dozens. Some so old they nearly faded to the flesh beneath. But they were there. Each one a reminder of the opportunity to channel.
And he added to their number a fresh red brother. It wasn’t without a grimace. The pain had to actually hurt for it to work, and for someone like him, who could take a lot of it, the freshness of it startled something awake in his head.
Suddenly, his awareness of that power on the other side of the barrier swarmed. He breathed a sigh of relief and balled up his fists even as the blood trickled a red stream down his arm.
It started to drip on the floor.
And he found the gaps Marcus described. Found them and wanted to tear it open with his bare hands. He almost stumbled when the power roared back into his grasp.
“Ahh,” he spoke to the darkness. Welcome back, it replied.
And he smiled to himself.
Then glanced down at the prone body of his captor. The power swarmed gloriously and if Ryker wasn’t underground with him, he would have buried Marcus beneath the building.
Instead, he decided to spin up something else.
Knife still clenched in one hand, the other dripping blood from his fingers, he stirred the thread fires into a cocoon around them. The brightness stung even his eyes, and in the light, Marcus’ skin shone wet as asphalt after a rain.
The shadow should flee, but engulfed in fire, it had no where to go.
He toed Marcus on the side. Willing him to nasty-vomit it out and help him incinerate the little bitch.