((Damien continued from Poet of the Fall))
The moonlight graced the greasy, blood-matted hair of what initially appeared to be a girl stepping out of a half-collapsed school building onto the pavement. It was a full moon, of all things, but the girl didn't seem to mind at all...though the glitter of the blood on the chrome of her revolver was mesmerizing, to say the least, as her sneaker-clad feet trudged against the withering grass. The netless goals loomed to either side, but this girl was not out to play soccer tonight. Of course, that wasn't hard to tell given that she wielded a pot lid in one hand, a revolver in the other, had a Beretta and a combat knife sticking out of her top front pockets and a barbed-wire-wrapped baseball bat slung around her back.
It was also important to note that it wasn't actually a girl who stepped onto the field, it was an androgynous boy dressed in girl's clothing. It was clothing that he'd enjoyed wearing (or at least felt very comfortable in), almost as much as working on filling out a special list in his notebook. And oh, how he loved the list. He'd put his heart, soul, and what was left of his sanity into ticking off every item on it. Of course, he'd had a little unexpected help removing those items, but it was all worth it, and it made the boy happy. All too happy. Perhaps it was because all of the items on that list were not actually items but names of people that had died in the last week, some at his own blood-stained hand. In fact it was mostly his blood that stained his body and clothing, and he didn't wash it off. It was his sash of honor.
The little boy couldn't stop giggling and trembling. His eyes barely blinked, and when they were open, they almost seemed like they were about to bug out in utter anticipation of something that - if he were a normal 14-year-old boy - he'd enjoy like an all-expenses-paid day at Coney Island.
Save for Reneé Valenti, the last remaining target (albeit not the most "emphasized" one on the list), Damien Carter-Madison's list was already complete. All he had to do was finish off the few crazies left on the island and he'd be home free. Of course, then he'd have to deal with Nicole, but he knew she'd be scared stiff of him (she certainly was in real life) before Reneé...he'd have to worry about tracking her down, surviving police manhunts and police checkpoints, but if he could survive here, how hard would it be back in good ol' Trenton?
His head tilted to one side to briefly purge those thoughts from his mind, though his facial expression didn't change. He'd worry about that later on. For now, he had others to take care of besides Reneé and Nicole. The bullets he'd stored in his cargo pants hadn't been used since they'd been slipped into them, and they made muffled jingles as he moved on.
The Field of Dreams
...otherwise known as Limbo...
The Field of Dreams
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From: Born as Ghosts
Mariavel Varella had seen a lot during her stay on the island. She'd witnesses countless deaths, Most by her own hand. She'd seen people lose themselves to the game, herself included. She'd lost friends, Lavender and Seth. She was going to lose so much more too... She had decided that she had to kill one of her remaining friends. Bryan Calvert had to die if she was to win... she felt awful for it, but there was no choice. If he was allowed to live, he might kill HER. She couldn't have that,m now could she? She had to win.... no matter what.
She approached the school in a daze. It didn't even faze her that around half of the building was missing. So much of her soul was missing, that the school's destruction was the least of her worries. She walked onto the football field, but stooped when she saw another body walking across the grass. It was faint, but she could see that the person was holding some sort of gun. It looked like a girl. She smiled darkly. It was always fun to fight with girls.... at least they weren't going to try and rape her. She raised the crossbow and stalked closer to the figure. It the darkness, she doubted the other person could see her, but she was still cautious and tried t stay behind them.
She fired a shot quickly at the person's leg. If they were lucky the shot would hit the ground behind them and merely startle them.
"Hello there... nice night to die, don't you think?" She giggled innocently and pointed the rifle's barrel at the girl. "Be good and you'll die quickly, Hun. Unless you'd rather do it the hard way like the rest of them... What's your name? I'm Mariavel... Heh, not like that's something you'll know for long." She smiled darkly, this would be fun.
Mariavel Varella had seen a lot during her stay on the island. She'd witnesses countless deaths, Most by her own hand. She'd seen people lose themselves to the game, herself included. She'd lost friends, Lavender and Seth. She was going to lose so much more too... She had decided that she had to kill one of her remaining friends. Bryan Calvert had to die if she was to win... she felt awful for it, but there was no choice. If he was allowed to live, he might kill HER. She couldn't have that,m now could she? She had to win.... no matter what.
She approached the school in a daze. It didn't even faze her that around half of the building was missing. So much of her soul was missing, that the school's destruction was the least of her worries. She walked onto the football field, but stooped when she saw another body walking across the grass. It was faint, but she could see that the person was holding some sort of gun. It looked like a girl. She smiled darkly. It was always fun to fight with girls.... at least they weren't going to try and rape her. She raised the crossbow and stalked closer to the figure. It the darkness, she doubted the other person could see her, but she was still cautious and tried t stay behind them.
She fired a shot quickly at the person's leg. If they were lucky the shot would hit the ground behind them and merely startle them.
"Hello there... nice night to die, don't you think?" She giggled innocently and pointed the rifle's barrel at the girl. "Be good and you'll die quickly, Hun. Unless you'd rather do it the hard way like the rest of them... What's your name? I'm Mariavel... Heh, not like that's something you'll know for long." She smiled darkly, this would be fun.
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Damien flinched slightly, but stopped abruptly as the arrow lodged itself firmly in the ground mere inches from his left foot. His giggling also stopped, but only for a few seconds...after which he resumed in a slightly more noticeable chuckle. He didn't seem to care if it was his blood loss...or his bloodlust that was driving him on so maniacally. The only thing in his head clearing was the path to the end of his quest, and whatever happened after be damned. He really wasn't expecting any opposition this soon, in fact he'd hoped he'd already have made it to the final stages of the tournament.
He looked up to face the girl who had just walked onto the field, grinning sheepishly. The name Mariavel rang a bell, but it wasn't someone he'd encountered before, and certainly not someone on his list. The only thing he knew - the only thing that mattered - is that she too had made it this far, and now Nicole was loosing her upon him in a last-ditch effort to get rid of him before he got to Nicole. It was now or never, and Damien was not going to settle for never.
He didn't speak a reply, none was necessary now that everyone watching at home knew who he was, and what he'd done and what he was hellbent on doing. Instead, he took his revolver and fired a very noticeably loud shot at the intruder. If one listened closely, one could hear him laughing behind the shot's echo.
===
Somewhere on the West Coast of the United States, the shot awakened a Panamanian-American teen who had been sleeping on the couch in his living room with the screen on. He didn't jolt up as if out of a nightmare, though his eyes seemed pried open. He gulped and slowly sat up, feeling a sense of utter dread.
He looked up to face the girl who had just walked onto the field, grinning sheepishly. The name Mariavel rang a bell, but it wasn't someone he'd encountered before, and certainly not someone on his list. The only thing he knew - the only thing that mattered - is that she too had made it this far, and now Nicole was loosing her upon him in a last-ditch effort to get rid of him before he got to Nicole. It was now or never, and Damien was not going to settle for never.
He didn't speak a reply, none was necessary now that everyone watching at home knew who he was, and what he'd done and what he was hellbent on doing. Instead, he took his revolver and fired a very noticeably loud shot at the intruder. If one listened closely, one could hear him laughing behind the shot's echo.
===
Somewhere on the West Coast of the United States, the shot awakened a Panamanian-American teen who had been sleeping on the couch in his living room with the screen on. He didn't jolt up as if out of a nightmare, though his eyes seemed pried open. He gulped and slowly sat up, feeling a sense of utter dread.
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Mariavel didn't get an answer in words. The boy (it was indeed a boy now that she saw the face) shot at her instead. Why did they always want to die the hard way? More fun for her anyway... Mariavel dodged to the left and fired a volley of shots from the rifle at the soon to be deceased boy. She smiled manically as the bullets flew from the gun's barrel at the boy. It was so thrilling... to be in control of a situation... It was something she thrived on... power.
"Just die, worthless pig!" She laughed giddily and fired another volley at the boy.
"Just die, worthless pig!" She laughed giddily and fired another volley at the boy.
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The dodge to the left didn't do much to help her accuracy, in fact Damien raised his shield and tried to dodge as fast as his reflexes could allow as soon as Mariavel started to shoot. One of the bullets actually hit the shield dead on, creating a rather sizable hole as it went through and tore through the edge of Damien's jacket, just missing the flesh. The boy holding it would have been fairly impressed that it was the shield's first action since his encounter with another psychotic blonde earlier in the week, had he not shrieked a bit from having a bullet graze the shoulder of the same arm.
His face reformed into its grin as he spotted the girl running across the field. He put his free fingers on his revolver arm to steady it as he fired off two more shots in her direction. His aim still wasn't quite perfect although he actually fired ahead of where she was running in order to anticipate his target somewhat...but he wasn't exactly guaranteed a hit.
His face reformed into its grin as he spotted the girl running across the field. He put his free fingers on his revolver arm to steady it as he fired off two more shots in her direction. His aim still wasn't quite perfect although he actually fired ahead of where she was running in order to anticipate his target somewhat...but he wasn't exactly guaranteed a hit.
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Mariavel began to run around the boy after hearing his scream. It was hilarious. This boy thought he had a chance against her. He didn't know. He didn't know how much it hurt her. How much she wanted it all to end. This boy... he couldn't end it for her. And that made her mad... VERY mad. She'd kill him.... she'd kill him because he was unworthy of ending it for her! He fired a few shots at her from his own gun. The first few were way off target, but the last one hit her. It flew straight into her stomach, passing through without hitting any organs. Another sign to her that he was unworthy, but that didn't stop her from falling to the ground in pain.
She screamed louder than ever before during her week on the island. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and started to laugh. She felt herself crying but she was laughing. It was ecstasy... pain... it was beautiful... she loved it... she was intoxicated by it.
"Bad boy.... bad, bad boy.... didn't mommy tell you not to hit girls? Bad, bad boy..." She rose to her feet and smiled maliciously at Damien. If she had been able to see her own expression she would have screamed. She was ready to kill him. She was SO ready. She swung the rifle behind her back and stored the crossbow in her daypack. From the daypack she pulled the shotgun she'd just recently acquired. This would be fun.
"Die, you fucker!" She screamed as she fired a shell at the boy. No matter what he'd still be at least singed by the shot. He was dead meat.
She screamed louder than ever before during her week on the island. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and started to laugh. She felt herself crying but she was laughing. It was ecstasy... pain... it was beautiful... she loved it... she was intoxicated by it.
"Bad boy.... bad, bad boy.... didn't mommy tell you not to hit girls? Bad, bad boy..." She rose to her feet and smiled maliciously at Damien. If she had been able to see her own expression she would have screamed. She was ready to kill him. She was SO ready. She swung the rifle behind her back and stored the crossbow in her daypack. From the daypack she pulled the shotgun she'd just recently acquired. This would be fun.
"Die, you fucker!" She screamed as she fired a shell at the boy. No matter what he'd still be at least singed by the shot. He was dead meat.
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((Meg temporarily cancelled the time limit so we can go a little longer with this.))
Damien continued to move as he watched Mariavel hit the ground. Perhaps it was sheer luck that a .44 Magnum bullet didn't manage to fatally damage any organs...but being hit with a bullet like that, shakily-aimed as it was...would not be without its detrimental effects. Of course, these were effects that weren't quite shown on the blonde just yet.
Mommy never taught him to hit anyone. In fact, he learned to hit people all by himself. The one thing he hadn't quite learned - something he'd had to deal with all his life - was what to do when people hit him. It was something he'd only remembered as soon as Mariavel's shotgun let loose.
Damien let out a scream whose cacophony seemed almost monstrous as the buckshot tore into his right arm, re-opening the knife wound from his fight with Garry and taking a good amount of flesh, muscle and fabric with it. The sheer momentum of the blast on the pathetic excuse for a masculine figure was enough to send him twirling to the ground, and the shield clattering to the grass, his right hand trembling as it started to lose its motion. Tears started to seep from his eyes, but he knew he wasn't crying as his legs and working hand started to work.
He started to remember what had happened as he lay on the floor of the classroom, bleeding out from slaying a Viking of a man, only moments before. His special silhouette of a friend had come to visit him one more time in that world of endless white. His friend sat down beside him and looked him in the face with that reassuring Cheshire smile and told him that his trials were almost over, that the rewards for the seeds he had sown were already sprouting. It was a short vision compared to his others...but when it was over he found himself standing fairly upright with the determination that brought him to this moment.
Even if it was determination that came at the cost of his sanity.
He could imagine his friend helping him up once again, one last time, as he got to his feet with his free hand. With a burst of strength he directed himself to accelerate again, this time in the opposite direction. His right arm was searing with pain, but it had kept him going. Still, the moment before he started to move, he looked straight into Mariavel's eyes.
If Mariavel saw her own face, she would have screamed. Who knew what reaction Damien's mutating smile would have had on her as it was illuminated in the moonlight.
"Three...bullets...left..." he whispered in a gurgle that was almost Gollum-like as he started to move again. He probably wouldn't be able to reload with one arm effectively dead, which made him thankful that he still had a loaded Beretta and a combat knife in his pockets in case his revolver failed him. The baseball-bat slung around his back thumped uncomfortably against his jacket...but it didn't hurt that much anymore.
He knew he'd be dead meat sooner or later. He just wanted everyone to get infected by his rancid actions before he was disposed of.
Damien continued to move as he watched Mariavel hit the ground. Perhaps it was sheer luck that a .44 Magnum bullet didn't manage to fatally damage any organs...but being hit with a bullet like that, shakily-aimed as it was...would not be without its detrimental effects. Of course, these were effects that weren't quite shown on the blonde just yet.
Mommy never taught him to hit anyone. In fact, he learned to hit people all by himself. The one thing he hadn't quite learned - something he'd had to deal with all his life - was what to do when people hit him. It was something he'd only remembered as soon as Mariavel's shotgun let loose.
Damien let out a scream whose cacophony seemed almost monstrous as the buckshot tore into his right arm, re-opening the knife wound from his fight with Garry and taking a good amount of flesh, muscle and fabric with it. The sheer momentum of the blast on the pathetic excuse for a masculine figure was enough to send him twirling to the ground, and the shield clattering to the grass, his right hand trembling as it started to lose its motion. Tears started to seep from his eyes, but he knew he wasn't crying as his legs and working hand started to work.
He started to remember what had happened as he lay on the floor of the classroom, bleeding out from slaying a Viking of a man, only moments before. His special silhouette of a friend had come to visit him one more time in that world of endless white. His friend sat down beside him and looked him in the face with that reassuring Cheshire smile and told him that his trials were almost over, that the rewards for the seeds he had sown were already sprouting. It was a short vision compared to his others...but when it was over he found himself standing fairly upright with the determination that brought him to this moment.
Even if it was determination that came at the cost of his sanity.
He could imagine his friend helping him up once again, one last time, as he got to his feet with his free hand. With a burst of strength he directed himself to accelerate again, this time in the opposite direction. His right arm was searing with pain, but it had kept him going. Still, the moment before he started to move, he looked straight into Mariavel's eyes.
If Mariavel saw her own face, she would have screamed. Who knew what reaction Damien's mutating smile would have had on her as it was illuminated in the moonlight.
"Three...bullets...left..." he whispered in a gurgle that was almost Gollum-like as he started to move again. He probably wouldn't be able to reload with one arm effectively dead, which made him thankful that he still had a loaded Beretta and a combat knife in his pockets in case his revolver failed him. The baseball-bat slung around his back thumped uncomfortably against his jacket...but it didn't hurt that much anymore.
He knew he'd be dead meat sooner or later. He just wanted everyone to get infected by his rancid actions before he was disposed of.
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Mariavel flew to her back as the shell blasted from the barrel of the shotgun. She had no idea the recoil would be that bad. She'd have to me more cautious when using it. She saw as the shell blasted off a good portion of the boy's arm. She smiled darkly as she watched him struggle to stand back up. She placed the shotgun down on the ground and stood herself up. She grabbed the crossbow from the pack. She raised it up and prepared for the inevitable. He would come at her. She could tell. She felt a smile forming on her lips... She was having fun with this.
'Die.... die, die, die! You don;t deserve to live!" She screamed as he began to charge her idiotically. She could still feel the pain of the wound to her stomach. She'd have to wrap that soon. That means this had to finish. She fired a bolt form the crossbow at the oncoming maniac. She threw the crossbow down and pulled the rifle from behind her back.
She lined up her vision quickly and fired bullet after bullet at him as he ran towards her. This was going to end now.
"Just die already! I'm tired of this game!"
'Die.... die, die, die! You don;t deserve to live!" She screamed as he began to charge her idiotically. She could still feel the pain of the wound to her stomach. She'd have to wrap that soon. That means this had to finish. She fired a bolt form the crossbow at the oncoming maniac. She threw the crossbow down and pulled the rifle from behind her back.
She lined up her vision quickly and fired bullet after bullet at him as he ran towards her. This was going to end now.
"Just die already! I'm tired of this game!"
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The crossbow arrow went sailing past Damien's head - or rather, it poked a rather insignificant hole through his blood-matted black locks. Of course, an arrow was nothing compared to the flurry of high-caliber assault rifle fire that subsequently rushed his way. He could briefly hear popping in his ears from bullets that came ever so close. With that wound in her gut, the blonde's accuracy wouldn't be much better than his, but it was just good enough for her to land hits across his frail 13-year-old body. The bullets hit with velocity to cause him to jerk and spasm before they exited.
It was the short bursts of blood and viscera ejected from the exit wound that kept him from spinning like he did in front of that mirror, so pretty, witty and disturbing. It was also the only way he could steady his aim as he raised the revolver toward the blonde. He still had his Beretta in his pocket in case he still had the strength to pull it out, but the only thing on his mind was sweet, sweet revenge.
As the bullets sheared into him, Damien - for fleetingly short moments at a time - felt like Tony Montana in drag as he let the last Magnum bullets fly. He wanted to scream all those lines Tony shouted as he made his last stand on the balcony of that mansion. Instead the only things out of his mouth were screams of painful pleasure. Had he been further into the throes of his now-denied adolescence, he would have been seriously sexually aroused just by the mere sound of the gunfire.
It was the short bursts of blood and viscera ejected from the exit wound that kept him from spinning like he did in front of that mirror, so pretty, witty and disturbing. It was also the only way he could steady his aim as he raised the revolver toward the blonde. He still had his Beretta in his pocket in case he still had the strength to pull it out, but the only thing on his mind was sweet, sweet revenge.
As the bullets sheared into him, Damien - for fleetingly short moments at a time - felt like Tony Montana in drag as he let the last Magnum bullets fly. He wanted to scream all those lines Tony shouted as he made his last stand on the balcony of that mansion. Instead the only things out of his mouth were screams of painful pleasure. Had he been further into the throes of his now-denied adolescence, he would have been seriously sexually aroused just by the mere sound of the gunfire.
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((Okay, this has gone on for way too long. You have seventy-two hours -- that's three days, kids -- to finish this fight. You've had more than enough time, and Endgame has come to a complete stop. It's been ten days since the last post. Failure to abide by this deadline may result in characters being forfeited.))
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Mariavel stopped her onslaught of bullets. The boy was still standing! How the hell do you stand after being hit by so many damn bullets?! She was seriously getting ticked off now! She'd wasted far too much time here, messing with this boy. She was going to shoot him in the face and high-tail it out of here. After all, he didn't deserve to live... neither did she.... she'd kill them all, and then kill herself. It was the only way to see them again. Grant... Lavender... Seth... they were all waiting for her on the other side. She just had to finish clean-up down here first.
"Die mother-fucker!!!!" She screamed and aimed the rifle's barrel straight at the boy's face. She fired.
She turned swiftly, not careing as to weather the bullet hit him or not. She grabbed the crossbow and shotgun from the ground and shoved them into her daypack. She sprinted off, not bothering to look back. It was time to kill the rest of them...
"All of you... will rest in peace... I swear it..." She whispered to herself as she escaped the school.
Mariavel continued: Hospital
"Die mother-fucker!!!!" She screamed and aimed the rifle's barrel straight at the boy's face. She fired.
She turned swiftly, not careing as to weather the bullet hit him or not. She grabbed the crossbow and shotgun from the ground and shoved them into her daypack. She sprinted off, not bothering to look back. It was time to kill the rest of them...
"All of you... will rest in peace... I swear it..." She whispered to herself as she escaped the school.
Mariavel continued: Hospital
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The revolver had one bullet left. And it too was aimed in the blonde's face, or roughly in the same region. Damien's eyes were practically bugging out and his grin from ear to ear as his finger started to depress the trigger. The blonde's aim was wavering from her injuries, if she fired she probably would not even hit him. This was it, the shot that would finish it all.
And then there was a gunshot.
There was nothing but silence as he fell to his knees from the bullet, dropping his gun and his shield. No sounds, no pain. No smile. He could feel cold air circulating into his body from the wound...the cold air of death. He didn't notice the blonde girl running away.
No...God no...
Nicole back in Denton sat frozen on her sofa, rosary clasped in her hands. But she wasn't praying for Damien to live. At least not since she last visited Damien's room. Eduardo, watching this entire event go down from his home on the West Coast knelt before the television as if he too had been shot.
The bullet had pierced through his torso just above his heart, clipping open a critical valve. Damien was now bleeding out, and there was no hope for medical care as he fell face-first to the ground. As the grass approached his face, everything started to go white. And as soon as everything went white, he found himself looking up at a now-familiar silhouette.
Don't worry, Damien. You're almost done, his friend told him, before he slid out of Damien's field of vision.
But wait...I'm... Damien reached out. With his mind still at relatively full strength he could move around in his visions like he was in good physical health. Not that he'd find it hard though as the ground underneath him started to rumble.
Just follow me.
Damien woke up in reality and slowly sat up, his back to the school. He could feel himself breathing, each motion at least as painful as the last. But he wasn't crying.
Without a word, he shakily got up one more time - one last time. It was nigh impossible for him to stay on his feet let alone stop himself from shaking, as the one thing that had kept him going through his wounds - his sheer willpower - was now running out. He would not be able to kill Reneé or Nicole anymore. He probably would not even be able to walk even a quarter of the distance of the island.
The school had fully crumbled, and all he wanted now was simply to get away. Away from the ghosts that emerged from it and were crawling like zombies toward him. Away to safety as he took off every weapon and bag on him and started to hobble off, coughing blood.
But when he had already alienated everyone from his own schoolmates still at Jersey to his own mother...what place was safe anymore? The only way to find out was to follow someone he couldn't see.
((Damien concluded in The Last Gilroyal))
And then there was a gunshot.
There was nothing but silence as he fell to his knees from the bullet, dropping his gun and his shield. No sounds, no pain. No smile. He could feel cold air circulating into his body from the wound...the cold air of death. He didn't notice the blonde girl running away.
No...God no...
Nicole back in Denton sat frozen on her sofa, rosary clasped in her hands. But she wasn't praying for Damien to live. At least not since she last visited Damien's room. Eduardo, watching this entire event go down from his home on the West Coast knelt before the television as if he too had been shot.
The bullet had pierced through his torso just above his heart, clipping open a critical valve. Damien was now bleeding out, and there was no hope for medical care as he fell face-first to the ground. As the grass approached his face, everything started to go white. And as soon as everything went white, he found himself looking up at a now-familiar silhouette.
Don't worry, Damien. You're almost done, his friend told him, before he slid out of Damien's field of vision.
But wait...I'm... Damien reached out. With his mind still at relatively full strength he could move around in his visions like he was in good physical health. Not that he'd find it hard though as the ground underneath him started to rumble.
Just follow me.
Damien woke up in reality and slowly sat up, his back to the school. He could feel himself breathing, each motion at least as painful as the last. But he wasn't crying.
Without a word, he shakily got up one more time - one last time. It was nigh impossible for him to stay on his feet let alone stop himself from shaking, as the one thing that had kept him going through his wounds - his sheer willpower - was now running out. He would not be able to kill Reneé or Nicole anymore. He probably would not even be able to walk even a quarter of the distance of the island.
The school had fully crumbled, and all he wanted now was simply to get away. Away from the ghosts that emerged from it and were crawling like zombies toward him. Away to safety as he took off every weapon and bag on him and started to hobble off, coughing blood.
But when he had already alienated everyone from his own schoolmates still at Jersey to his own mother...what place was safe anymore? The only way to find out was to follow someone he couldn't see.
((Damien concluded in The Last Gilroyal))
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