Log: Ongoing

[redhorror.livejournal.com]

When; mid-day, sept. 10th
Rating; R for excessive gore and horror
Characters; Pyramid Head, anyone who enjoys carnage.
Summary; Pyramid Head, feeling abandoned once more by Alessa, goes on a killing spree to prove his worth. He starts in the subway, and will work his way up until he meets resistance.
Log;

The man shook as he walked, his gait jerky and erratic as he approached the crowd on the subway platform. Were any to look at his eyes, they'd see only two pools of red. The man stopped at the edge of the crowd, then tilted his head back, and let out a tortured howl of pain. He then dug a scalpel out of his chest, and plunged into the crowd, slashing back and forth, coating the floor and ceiling in glorious sprays of red. The crowd surged forward, heading for the exit, when the now-familiar sound drifted down the tunnel. The air raid siren. Most of the city knew what it was by now, and horrified screams went up like cheers at a horse race. The crazed, scalpel-weilding man stopped, and jerked upright, his body trembling.

That's when the monster stepped from the shadows. The great knife was absent, but he was recognized all the same. One of the monstrous white hands was outstretched, the fingers moving... As he drew closer, his actions were clarified. He was holding the man's veins, manipulating him like a puppet. The monster's hand twitched slightly, and the man rammed the scalpel into his own forehead, and tumbled from the platform, trailing his veins behind him. The crowd was screaming, huddling in the corner. It was amusing, how they were paralysed with fear. It was all the same to him, however; they'd die either way. The monstrous hand reached into the squirming crowd, selecting a young woman, her makeup streaming down her face, and lifted her airborne by her hair. He dragged her out into the open, her pitiful pleas and screams echoing loudly through the tunnels. She screamed and screamed, right up to the point where he tore his hand into her flesh and gripped her spine. With a ferocious tug, he ripped her spine and skull cleanly from her flesh, letting the mangled corpse fall to the floor.

He now had a weapon.

Gripping the base of the spine, he waded into the crowd, slinging the grisly mace to and fro. How glorious! How proud she'd be! One man tried to scream as the skull's teeth took out one of his eyes. Another man could only gargle as the monster rammed the sharp end of the spine through his mouth and out the back of his neck.

Fifteen minutes later, the blood was trickling from the platform and onto the eletric rail lines, as the monster headed for the stairs.

Comments

[redhorror.livejournal.com]

The words flitted through the night air like the soft wings of dark butterflies, and met the horrenous conciousness.

She knew he was out. He couldn't stop now! He had to prove his worth!

The terrible monster lurched into Misery Square, where the myriad crowd seemed at first not to notice him. Suddenly, a scream, and the sound of a hand entering the back of a skull, rending the brain free.

The city had a big problem.

[velated-v.livejournal.com]

" Bloody hell" V muttered to himself, and leapt across the rail.

Climbing the platform, he had no trouble winding his way through the milling crowd, though a panicky person or two did attempt to push him away before he made it to the stairs.

Another push of speed, and he caught up with a woman leaning weekly agianst the rail.
She seemed to be injured already, but holding her own.

"Madam, you must get awa-" he started, and made move to carry her if she threatened to fall...when he heard her whisper the creatures name.

V knew that voice.

It had haunted his darker dreams for many weeks. Ever since he first heard Alessa declare him to be another avatar of her Red God.

"...Miss Alessa?" he asked, astonshiment.

The trance lasted only until more screams echoed from Misery Square.
Without further ado, and not waiting for her pardon or permission, V put one arm about her shoulders, and the other under her knees, and lifted her.

She was slightly built to begin, but enhanced strength made carrying her no burden whatsoever.

" Forgive me, Madam," he said to her as he climbed the steps two at a time, " but you must contain the beast with all haste"

Now at a flat-out run, V pushed thier way into Misery Square, and stopped dead at the sight that awaited them.

[alessalearnt.livejournal.com]

Alessa regarded V weakly; her body was still not very strong and it took every ounce of strength to stay on her feet. 'V...' she murmured. She glanced past him down the steps to the bloody massacre below. ...Xulchibara...is this what you wanted? she wondered. She recieved no reply from her God, and it worried her. He talked to her at least once a day, and when He did not, she knew it was because He was up to something. His absences had become more frequent since she came to this City.

She couldn't do or say anything as V picked her up in his arms. For a moment she wanted to use her power to give herself strength, but she knew to do so would result in exhaustion, and she couldn't afford that. So she let him hold her as he rushed through the streets. Another Son of Xulchibara...we could be comrades, if things were different, she thought. ...that's not true. He is like you, Alessa. Burnt, hurt, angry, a protector of the innocent. Yes, you achieve it different ways, but you can be comrades in arms still.

'I will try,' she said. 'I'm not as strong as I was...before. A lot of my energy has gone to the healing. But I will try.' And she would.

They stopped abruptly, and Alessa's eyes widened at the sight before her. People were maimed, torn, broken....Misery Square was a canvas that Pyramid Head had filled with blood and corpses. The stench was atrocious, and Alessa leaned as far away from V as possible to retch what food Lisa had given her out. Her senses were still being overwhelmed; she wiped her mouth and murmured an apology to V.

She took a shallow breath, easing her nausea away, closing her eyes and trying to find her Guardian. '...He's going towards the Opera House,' she told V. '...He wants his Knife back. He left it there when he gave the butterfly her wings.'

[bitingnightmare.livejournal.com]

There was a voice calling to him, the soft keening of the waking world, though whether this was truly the waking world or another dreaming he couldn't tell. There was a woman, huddling behind the turnstile as if metal was enough to stop the creature. Poor thing. Her mind fell into nightmare, of things she wished she'd never done, stealing at 12, an abortion at 17. Her great sin was coming to fruition. That must have been why the Red Pyramid was after her, for taking a little life. Her eyes reflected the executioner, no longer bearing the welded hood, no, he took on the form of a rotting teenaged girl, sores gaping over her pert breasts, dirty whore. She cried that it was for their own good, that the child would have been born into a dismal world, into misery. She wept as the corpse of a woman brought down the executioner's axe, a bit of metal shrapnel spearing her through her temples.

Every cry, every scream, a howl of pain silenced abruptly, The Corinthian couldn't keep the symphony out of his head. It led him by the loins, as it would have the first of his kind, but he was stronger. He had will and control, one could not be a good nightmare without seeing everything there was to see that fueled his work. He descended into the pit, the pungent odor of oil, metal, bodily fluids leaking over the electrically charged rails. Was this the smell of Misery?

Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out you weak little shit.

He thought to himself, these words, something an old friend would say. The raven would have been a voice of reason, blunt with his caw, a soul he would accompany to safety if only to serve as his protector. If Matthew could only see him now.

The Corinthian watched the massacre silently, the beast in blood, steam at the Red Pyramid's every footstep from the recently eviscerated. The masked man and the girl in his arms, if this was their battle. The nightmares of the dying... and the eyes. Eyes everywhere. Dying eyes, dead ones, eyes whose vitreous humor made the floor slick as they oozed out of the sphere--blood flicked across his face in a swift sweeping arc. Another dead. The nightmare seemed unfazed.

He pinched the arm of his spattered sunglasses and removed them from his face. A pink tongue slithered out his left eye to lick at the red, not to clean his skin but to taste it, to remember how good it felt when blood was on his hands. It stained the tiny crevices between his teeth, and he smiled.

"Time to play."