tampered | Log: Ongoing

Log: Ongoing

When: 3:00pm
Rating: PG-13 for horror.
Characters: Pyramid Head, anyone around the opera house who wishes to participate.
Summary: The darkness swallows the outside of the opera house for about a 100-meter radius - Inside is safe, as pyramid head can't enter because his helmet was once harbored there.
log

Deep below the opera house, a low hum eminated from one of the myriad of tunnels that lay beneath the city. It could have been anything, to those who may have been close enough to hear it. A busted generator, a failing circuit. If one looked very closely, a black liquid was slowly seeping upwards, crawling up the bare tunnel walls, and disappearing into the earth above.

Above ground, it was probably business as usual. The only discrepancy was the rapid, visible aging of the manhole covers surrounding the opera house. One by one, they began to turn red with seemingly hundreds of years of rust.

Suddenly, with a crash, one of the covers corroded through, and fell into the tunnels below. One by one, the others followed suit, until only one remained. As it's metal bolts failed, and it finally plummeted into the depths, the organs of the opera house blasted an unholy cacaphony over the bustle of the streets, a hideous noise that sounded as if all keys had been smashed at once. As the monstrosity faded, a mew sound was heard - A frail wailing, a well-known warning - an air raid siren. At that moment, the cloudless sky began to darken, and the very air became heavy with a terrible impending dread. As the day became like night, and the very birds went silent, falling dead from the opera house's roof, a shrill screech of dragging metal began to make itself heard. A shuffling of heavy feet, and the coppery smell of spilled blood. The evil was here.

Such pretty music

Standing at the foot of the opera house's steps was seven feet of nameless horror. The massive blade was dark with long-dried blood, and the massive steel pyramid echoed with a low, hollow rasp. Breathing? Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps...a laugh.

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Christine was enthralled with the music from the parade, her mind twisted to believe that Belial's hypnotic violin-playing was that of her deceased father. Gustave Daae was a talented violinist when he was alive, and although he was very sick and dying, he was determined to fill the days he had left with his only daughter with stories, music, laughter, and happy memories. When he had passed away, Christine was most distraught, especially since her mother had died two years previous. Her mind was fragile, which enabled Erik to seduce her with his voice, and she became confused over what was real, and what her father had told her as a young girl.

As soon as Belial's music reached her ears with the familiar tune, Christine just knew it had to be her father. She was dead as well, after all, so wouldn't it be possible for her father to be in the City too? Any rational thought was far from her mind now, and the only thing that could possibly snap her out of her trance-like state would be Erik's voice; his own hypnotic voice could cancel out Belial's spell.

She opened the doors to the Opera House, descending the stairs one step at a time, enthralled by the music and overwhelmed with the desire to go and join the parade that was traipsing through the City. She was under the spell so fully that she did not even see the horrific figure in front of her with its blood-stained clothing and helmet, and the large knife in his hand that only guaranteed pain.

Ah, time to make beautiful music. A soul needs to be judged.

This thought passed through whatever horrible semblance of a mind rested beneath that red pyramid, right as the monster reached out with a pasty white arm, speckled with spots of dried blood, and enclosed five grisly fingers upon face of the defendant. He was careful not to crush the pretty skull as he lifted her into the air, rivulets of red trickling down his arm- not hers, though. Only she could decide for herself if she'd give the steel helmet another coat of red. It was time for judgement.

On those darkened steps, where neither the sun nor moon dared to tread, a mind twisted byond any reach of reality would decide if a young woman would be spared of the verdict upon which her mind had subconciously decided.

The moment the violin's seductive tone wove its way through the air, Erik the phantom felt himself float above his body. There were few pieces that pulled at the threads of sanity that he could tolerate, and this was unlike any other melody writhing and slithering. Perhaps he would have fallen under its spell if his head did not attempted to disect the melody. And the sudden movement of Christine from his side was enough to break the damned violinist's spell.

"Christine!" The way her eyes were shining and strangely euphoric furthur anchored him to reality. Something was not right at all. He reached for her but she did not seem to hear her voice.

What is this? What on earth is going on? She's transfixed... utterly bewitched. Like when--oh hell. Oh cruel and fickle fate! This won't happen, not this way and not with her with another!

Erik took a panicked breath and began to sing above the violin's melody that began to contort becoming "The Resurrection of Lazarus" at an alarming rate.

"What unknown emotion now fills me?
I feel that my whole being is in the grip of love.
O Marguerite, here I am your feet!" The phantom's voice grew to part the air, his words clear with beckoning passion and urgency he could only hope to lure Christine away from the steps.

Hear me, Christine. Hear only me.

As the monster lifted her into the air, she felt as if the Angel of Music had wrapped his arms around her, and was taking her to heaven. She looked down at the blood-red helmet, seeing him, but not at the same time. 'Papa...?' she whispered. Was the music coming from him? Was she going to go and join her mother in heaven now?

Wait! A sharp voice in her mind seemed to say. Something isn't right. You're here for a reason, remember?

Slowly, she heard a haunting voice drift towards her. She knew that voice. It was the voice of her Angel, the voice of....

A flicker of recognition passed her eyes, and although she was still slightly in a trance, she could feel the words to a song drift past her lips.

"I want to love and worship you!
Speak again!
I am yours!
I adore you!
I would die for you!"

She was caught in a crossroads of music; there were two paths she could take. She could follow her father, her childhood friend and companion, to the depths of heaven and the Underworld, or she could follow her Angel, her protector. She felt numb, frozen, the song coming automatically from her lips, confusion starting to ebb at her mind.

The woman dangled before the helmet, and though there were no eyeholes, or ports, only cold, blood-soaked rivets, a horrific consciousness was studying her. Or perhaps not her so much as her mind. How odd.

Why won't you play along?

It was as if her mind was guarded from him, kept from him. Furthermore, she didn't scream. Only the guilty ones screamed. What manner of deceit was this? Had he been bad? Had SHE put this poor creature here, a guarded soul over which he no power.

The great body spasmed, and with an unholy and unbridled rage, slammed the massive knife into the opera house steps, shattering the ornate blocks with a resonating smash. Slowly, he lowered his captive, until her feet met the ground. He began dragging her, stomping down the steps. A soul he could not punish was a good soul. A good soul was rare. Rare things became souveneirs. He'd keep this souveneir.

Erik's heart sank as his eyes fully adjusted to the darkness. She was not coming back to him for a reason. Another's hands were holding her. A creature more sinister and damned than himself was carrying Christine downward. If he allowed thought to take reign he would have most definately been afraid. But thoughts were not what were making his feet fly as he ran and jumped off of the wall.

His voice echoed and bounced through the stone around them, reverberating in all directions from the mastery of his ventriliquism, "Let her go!" From the dark dress coat, Erik brought out the deadly punjab lasso wishing he had also kept the dagger in his vest briefly.

I have to keep singing, that is what is keeping her calm. If I can only wrench her away from THAT.

The angel lowered her back to the ground. So I am not to go with my mother yet, she thought a little sadly. She would have liked to see her beloved mother again. It had been years since she had seen her mother's smiling face.

And then, her father - or what she thought was her father, being confused - began to drag her by the neck down the steps of the Opera House. 'Papa...? Where are we going, Papa?' she asked, puzzled. Why was her father's grip so tight? Why was he letting her legs drag across the stone? Why was he allowing the skin to rip raw from her knees through her dress? Her father would never hurt her without a good reason. Wherever they were going must be important.

But....

'Erik...?' Christine whispered as she heard her lover's voice reverberate across the walls. 'Erik, where are you...?
'Papa...Papa, we need to wait for Erik,' she told the figure in front of her. He wasn't stopping. Was he angry at her for something? Did her father not want her to be with the Angel of Music? 'Papa, I can't leave without him. I love him.' But with the grip on her throat, the violin still playing, and the blood going down her legs, she could barely find the strength to resist her supposed "father".

The beast turned, and the conciousness swirled around the helmet, drifting around the newcomer. A million eyes in the darkness studied him, each whispering back in unholy tongues to the monster. Voices filled the night, then stopped abruptly.

He released his souvenier, letting her drop to the concrete. He'd be back for her. Slowly, hauling the nine-foot blade around his body, the executioner turned to face the new defendant. Black-booted feet began their slow, determined gait, and he lurched forward to face this new creature.

The air reeked of the coppery smell, now. It was the pheromone that he craved, the stench of justice. Behind the newcomer, the walls of the opera house began to drip with blood, tears of crimson that splattered upon the steps, sending up whisps of steam.

Hell for you. Hell. Hell. Hell. Hell. Hell. SplityouopenletthecrimsonfreeuponthestepsIwillkillyouIwilljudgeyouIwillspillyoursweetintestinesacrossmylapandlickyourbloodfrommyfingertips

The silent monster's thoughts echoed through the choking darkness, spoken by the deaf tongues that only the night could understand.

Erik's eyes were locked on Christine as she was unceremoniously dropped from the monster's grasp. For a moment, it would seem that the situation had gained some simplicity. This was ultimately changed by the abomination's advancing steps toward the masked man. Without eyes and without a face, there would be no way to tell what the being would do from one moment to the next but it was clear it craved a confrontation.

The Phantom kept his body tense and stepped lightly, mind racing for options. The lasso could indeed fit over the monster's helmet but not with the same ease as an average human head. Perhaps pulling at once side, but that would not disable the monster for sure.

The trickling sound of liquid flowing threatened to break Erik's concentration. No need to look. He could smell just fine. The thick heady scent of blood. This was a nightmare, a horrid reflection of days passed and dark thoughts. His mind could not grasp this all as real but he could not dismiss the danger.

Tension upon tension, conflict upon conflict mounted. The violin's song and Erik's voice were dueling in the night air. Christine fighting her angels and ghosts. The Phantom and the creature.

Christine... Erik ran forward, his deadly lasso loosened and ready to fly.

Christine looked down at her legs numbly. Her legs were drenched in blood, and the achings of pain were starting to ebb at her. The violin music was fading, moving on in its journey, and Christine's rational mind was beginning to take hold of her. Blood stained the white gown she had been wearing that day, and she shakily reached out to touch her wounds.

'Ow,' she whispered, drawing her hand back. Her father....where was he? Was he even really there? She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts in order.

Erik...Erik is here. Where is he? she wondered, her brow knitting in confusion. She turned her head to see Erik rushing toward a...

Oh dear God. What...what is that thing? she thought, too shocked and frightened to cry out. Unspoken words hovered in her throat. Erik. Erik, what are you doing? That thing has a sword bigger than you are and can the Punjab Lasso even kill that, that....oh god, Erik, please don't die, please don't leave me, I don't want to be parted from you again, I wouldn't be able to take it, I couldn't handle it. I love you, I love you so much, I can't picture being without you...please don't die, please don't leave me!

Only the guilty, and the judges, hide their faces. This pitiful thing is not my executioner.

One line ran through the horrible consciousness under the helmet.

Guiltyguiltyguiltyguiltyguiltyguilty

With unholy strength, the two sinewy, pale arms hefted the Great Knife, and began dragging it in an arc across the ground, sparks flying from the griding blade as momentum began to build. Slowly, inch by inch, the weapon picked up speed, until finally, like the wing of some evil bird, grounded by God, the metal cleaver lifted into the air, displacing massive amounts of wind as it sailed ominously, it's metal tip closer with each step to the masked one.

It was truly happening now. All around the two combatants, tittering, grotesque bugs formed a ring, chirping a hideous cacaphony as the monster approached his foe.

The bugs and the sparks were becoming too much, still Erik ran in a charge. When the long ominous weapon ceased its gnashing it tore it's way down the dark flowing cloak, cutting through layers of clothing and cutting flesh. The phantom faltered and ceased to make any sound. Warm blood clutched to the fabric, and still he kept moving.

Pain threatened to send Erik reeling but he refused to bend to its will. Rather than grasping the helmet as planned, he looped the Punjab lasso around the closest end of the great knife and pulled. Perhaps he can't disarm the monster, but if he and Christine could run away it would be good enough. While the blade was pulled aside, he ran to the fallen chorus girl.

'Erik!' Christine found her voice at last, forcing herself to her feet, horrified at the wound she had seen him take. 'Erik, oh god, my angel...' She stumbled forward to his arms, wrapping one around his waist. The blood was soaking through, and she swallowed the panic that was threatening to rise as she felt the dark crimson blood slowly drench her arm.

'Hold on, Erik, we need to get back to the Opera House, we'll be safe there, and then we'll get you some help, all right?' She was babbling and she knew it, but although Erik was injured he was still in control. His strength seemed to radiate off of him as he clutched her to him tightly. The monster was still standing there, mute and frightening. What are we going to do??? she thought, frightened.

he demonic blade ceased it's flight, and crashed into the concrete. Slowly, long, white fingers slid down the blade, and met with red. Thick, deep crimson. It trickled down the blade and spattered upon the steps. A fresh coat.

You didn't scream.

The great pyramid turned, facing the masked foe as it rushed to the aid of the pardoned. This made no sense. Another executioner? Taking the souveneir?

There were things to be done.

She calls me home. But hard work is never done. This is a new crime. New judgement will pass

Slowly, the monster began lumbering towards one of the manholes, seemingly unconcerned now with the two upon the steps.

The lasso fell slack and fell from Erik's fingertips to the blood splattered stone work. His trembling hands grasped the delicate fabric covered body of Christine as his knees gave out. Now is not the time! We've got to get away! He did not see the creature's retreat and forced his body to move as fast to escape.

Christine Daae's pale face began to swim in his vision. "Christine...C-christine... Are you-are you alright?" He moved too much on once side and flinched as pain surged through him. With adrenaline gone, the deep, long, knife wound was agony. Erik panted and pawed to remove the mask to breath better.

"We...must get away. N-now!"

Erik dimly listened to Christine's song above the roaring in his ears. He couldn't understand why he was laying down while listening, but it felt better than his side. Faust tonight? This is a treat. His body felt heavy and sore, every time he attempted to shift his body was disabled by a harsh thick wave of agony. His face was cold and so was his upper body. Laying still was best.

His thin lips twisted in a pained smile at Christine and he feebly reached for her as darkness edged into his vision. "Bravismi...Christine..." Within moments, he let his weariness get the best of him and fell unconcious.

Christine ripped the mask from his face, using all of her strength to support him in her arms. 'I'm fine,' she reassured him, although it was not true. She was frightened for his life, but she knew if she got him to the Opera House, they would be safe and she could treat him.

He stumbled beside her as they raced as fast as they could up the blood spattered steps towards the doors. She wrenched them open and hurried inside, stopping only when they were in the main hall to help him lie down. 'Don't leave me angel, hang on...we're going to get you help,' she said, silently pleading to the wound to lessen its bleeding. 'Be strong, Erik, be strong.' She practically tore his cloak and shirt off to get a better look at the wound before her. It was a bloody mess, and she swallowed, fighting for control. If there was ever a moment you need to be strong and make your Papa proud, it's now, Christine, she told herself.

She ripped the end of her dress, applying pressure to the wound as she called for Rue and Ahiru to come to her aid. 'Listen to me, Erik. Hang on; listen to my voice,' she told him, beginning to sing a sweet love song from Faust, his favorite opera.

'There was in Thule olden
A king true till the grave,
To whom a beaker golden
His dying mistress gave.
Naught prized he more, this lover,
He drained it at each bout;
His eyes with tears brimmed over,
As oft he drank it out....'

The others had rushed to her side, and Rue immediately took charge of the situation whilst Christine kept singing, caressing her lover's head, blinking back tears, praying to whatever God was above to spare his life.

She took her time to wake up that day. In fact, she had only stirred and dressed for ballet practice minutes ago. The parade yesterday had left Rue tired, it had taken inhuman efforts from her part to avoid be pushed and stepped on by the crowds. It was a curse to be as slim and fragile sometimes. At least Ahiru hadn’t ‘quacked’ in an inopportune moment. The frenzied people would not mind to crush a duckling no matter how adorable she might look.

As usual, it appeared to be Mr. Erik wasn’t sharp for the rehearsal. Rue sniffed indignantly and whirled around to stride towards the kitchen. Eating before the practice may be a good idea since she missed breakfast. Halfway her destination, she heard Christine’s shattering cries and spun around, rushing to see what was happening.

From the windows, she could spot a large, bloodied being with a oddly-shaped helmet carrying a big knife. While the sight may be shocking, even frightening for most, Rue had seen stranger things during the Circus parade and had fought bigger monsters to feel strongly intimidated by that one. A Princess should prove to be as valiant as her Prince, peasants said.

She did not pay heed to the departing creature; however, her nostrils caught the smell of blood immediately. Glancing to the entrance of the Opera House, Rue’s eyes widened when noticed Erik’s state.

“Miss Christine!” Rue exclaimed, meeting Christine immediately as she finished singing and Erik lost his consciousness. “My goodness, what just happened?” Turning quickly to greet Ahiru, she instructed. “Bring clean bandages and alcohol, Ahiru. We should properly dress his wounds.” She positioned on the opposite side of Erik to help Christine in supporting the unconscious man.

Ahiru had only just made her way into the hallway from the bath when she saw Rue walking ahead of her. The petite red head sped up her steps. Before she could open her mouth to greet Rue she was given other instructions. Bandages? Alcohol? "Alright!"

She only glanced ahead to see Mr. Erik not at all looking well. In fact masked. Her stomach lurged a bit but she scampered off to get the needed things. What happened? Was there a fight? What's going on? With fresh bandages and a bottle of alcohol in hand, Ahriu ran back to them.

"W-what's going on?" She had more questions but felt that holding her tongue would be best.

Only when Erik's eyes closed did what little self-control Christine had shatter as sobs tore through her throat. 'This...this monster came and....oh god, it's all my fault, it was The Resurrection of Lazarus all over again, but he wasn't the one playing....it t-tried to take me and Erik fought it, and oh god...'

Tears streamed down her cheeks to fall on the man's pale face. 'Please Erik, please don't die...I love you, I can't...' Words stuck in her throat as she continued to sob. I can't lose you. Without you I'm nothing, I'm dead inside.

Hands shaking, she kept pressing the ripped part of her dress to his wound, which was starting to soak up the blood. Why wouldn't the cursed bleeding stop????

Rue tried to lead Christine and Erik the gentlest she could towards the nearest couch. She was not gentle by nature and the entire scene frustrated and exasperated her but she had to look after them and comforted them in such circumstances.

“Miss Christine,” she spoke aloud, trying to reason with the desperate woman. “You can’t die in this place. Calm down, your tears won’t heal his wounds.” It was ironic she suggested that when Rue was so emotional when her beloved Prince was involved.

Thankfully, Ahiru returned with the bandages and alcohol quickly. She snatched the bottle from her friend’s hand and soaked a piece of cloth with the content.

“I don’t know, Ahiru. But Mr. Erik is badly wounded,” she replied, recalling vaguely the creature but too focused in healing Erik to bring it up. He surely fought that monster. “Miss Christine, please remove your hands, we have to clean the area or he’ll get an infection.”

Rue had basic medical knowledge, nothing too fancy but enough. Having lived alone with a Monster as big as the town as loveless father, she had to learn to heal herself and her Prince in the streets.

At seeing Christine's tears, Ahiru took her hand. She almost flinched seeing blood on it, but rubbed it away from a kerchief in her pocket. "It's okay, Miss Christine. We're here to help. Don't cry just yet." She did her very best to smile at the older woman.

Ahiru turned to look at Rue, who as usually had a level head in the matter. "Ruechan, a-anything I can do?"

The monster stopped, inches from the manhole port. More souls were rushing to the aid of the two. This was unacceptable. Slowly, the being turned, the crimson consciousness washing over the two that entered his little arena. With a mighty pull, he hefted the massive knife into the air, and brought it down with a termendous cacaphony upon the concrete. At that, with the shreiking of a thousand dying children, his ring of the large, man-face bugs - thousands of them- began to surge forward, rushing towards the two newcomers.

Eat, my little ones. Eat the flesh of the curious. Show them. Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity ate the cate. Curiosity tasted the warm entrails slithering down it's throat as the cat screamed in anguish. Only I decide who lives and dies.

Christine fought to get herself under control. Rue was right, crying never helped anyone, and Erik needed medical attention. She gripped Ahiru's hands with her own as if her life depended on it, willing herself to stop the gasping breaths and tears that continued to stream down her face. Rue was intelligent, she was brave, and if anyone would be able to save Erik it would be her. She made that tentacled monster leave the Opera House, remember? she thought. Ahiru and Rue have a magic that is a mystery, but it is full of goodness. Erik will be fine, Erik will be safe, he's just tired...

Christine made the mistake of turning to look behind her, and she nearly fainted by what she saw. Thousands of bugs - beetles, praying mantises, ants, moths - with human heads, their eyes bulging and mouths gaping in contorted screams were surging towards the open doors. 'Ahiru. Ahiru, look,' Christine whispered, tugging on the girl's sleeve. The fact that they were still in danger snapped Christine to her senses, as she rose to her blood-stained legs shakily and made to go and close the doors. 'We...we can't let them in!' she declared shakily, dimly knowing that Erik would want his Opera House to be protected and untarnished.

Meanwhile, Rue was applying alcohol on Erik’s wounds and carefully cleaning them. Good Mytho once had a similar bruise; her Prince, being as restless to save all creatures of the world, got himself in so much trouble. She paused, wiping the sweat out her forehead and about to dress the bleeding hole when she sensed something was wrong.

Looking up Christine’s direction, she spotted the horrible bugs. She shuddered, how ugly, a princess shouldn’t touch that stuff. Why was a plague?

“Hmph. Ahiru,” she said, glancing at her duck friend. “Can you take care of that? Can Tutu mitigate them? I have to finish with Mr. Erik or he’ll die out blood loss.” If things come to worse, she would dance as well and if that her powers as Princess were not enough, she could summon the crows and the abilities of darkness.

Bugs! Bugs were in the air in a living cloud and on the ground covering the carpet. Ahiru flinched but then remembered that as a duck she perhaps would have enjoyed them as a meal if only they didn't have those-those faces!

"Miss Christine, please stay back!" Ahiru was encased in a warm golden glow and in moments she was no longer ordinary Ahiru, but Princess Tutu. Her white and pink accented costume glittered and with a calm smile, she was ready to dance.

Nimble on her feet, Princess Tutu stepped close to the swarm. With each step waves of flowers crested up over them. Few by few, the hideous human faced bugs were crushed yet still more pushed forward. I need to dance faster or else this will take forever! I have to protect my friends! Around and around she spun, faster and faster like a top flora pouring outward with greater range.

The monster slowly began to sink down into the darkness of the tunnels, and it was as if he pulled the darkness from the sky along with him. But by bit, the sun began to fight it's way through, until the pyramid head disappeared down the tunnel, and the thickness fell from the air. The bugs screeched as they broke into peices, and drifted away on the lilting breeze, leaving only smashed concrete, trampled flowers, and bloodstained walls.

Three now. So many trials for later. Such fun, Justice is.

The horrendous consciousness was pleased. It would toy with them now. In no waking moment would any of them be safe.

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Log: Ongoing

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