[EVENT] T.S.O.A.M.B

Just where in the hell did they think they were going?

Skewer’s pincers snapped shut and his head cocked, carapace crackling as he scuttled around to face the retreating pair, amused by their audacity. He had been momentarily surprised when they both charged him like that—as he was standing right in front of them—and he’d taken the precaution to step back and let them go when they attempted that, too startled to actually retaliate. He’d never been charged blindly before. People just did not do that. So of course it startled him. But now he shrieked with pain when a bullet drilled deep through his eye; his tail lashed out like a viper, slamming and thrashing its metallic bulk into the floor while his claws snapped open and shut in fury. The agonized cry that gutted from Skewer’s throat was enough to jumpstart Drivel out of his stupor and into action; his sibling roared and lurched forward, eyes locked on the one moving thing running his way—not Emmeline—but Canis. In fact, he didn’t even notice her, almost, but not quite, bowling her over as he charged forward. His bellow rocked the room as he swung his other arm back and whacked the poor kid in the gut, winding him of the words he wanted to say. Canis would have sailed a few feet after a hit like that, and he’d land awkwardly, recovering from his fall with more than just a giant, thunderhead of a bruise across his abdomen. No. His wrist would be broken.

But Kyoko would not escape unscathed either; Skewer was having difficulties recovering thanks to her bulls-eye accuracy and his shoddy healing abilities. He was blinded on one side of his face now, and slammed his large pincers into the ground out of frustration. Eventually he caught sight of her with his good eye and rushed forward. His tail arched over his back and shot forward.

The point at the end of his tail was more or less like a hooked blade. It stabbed the young woman in the shoulder, piercing deep to the bone and ripping her away from Emmeline and the stairwell. Skewer dropped her mere centimeters in front of him, daring her to face him now. Blood from the stab wound would likely be her primary concern, but her problems would not end there. She was suffering from a clavicle fracture that would require surgery. The bones would need to be repositioned by a surgeon and allowed to heal with plates and screws. She would not be able to use that arm or shoulder very much while it healed, but as long as she didn’t do anything rash during the healing process, she would make a full recovery.

[Your normally scheduled program may now resume. xD ]

[WARNING: LONG. BUT GUESS WAT. LAST POST AW YEAH. Don't need to make two posts now. xDDDD Rewards will be given out after your wrap up posts and explained in further detail.  Thanks for participating. Hope you had fun. ]

The first bullet pelted the corpse; it splattered some of the blood still drip-drying across the painting and the sticky liquid splashed onto Quid Pro Quo’s skin, causing it to ripple and hiss. If Q.P.Q. could scream, he would have, but not for the expected reason. He flicked his hand in fear, pain drilling through his blood soaked fingers and knuckles, but his arm shot forward, trembling hands caging DeTorres’ former paintbrush before a wayward bullet could shatter it into a million splintered pieces. That paintbrush was the key—the most magically potent item in this room. Q.P.Q. was torn between protecting the brush with everything he had and shying away from the ugly power pulsating from its center. That same force had bruised and cracked the bones of DeTorres’ hand in his last moments, and if Q.P.Q. picked it up, he knew it would do the same to him.  It was that powerful. The humans couldn’t feel it—but he could.

Even as he sheltered it, the second shot rang out and struck him in the spine, crippling him. He mentally shrieked and fell forward, shielding the brush with his own body. He would accept the third bullet on his master’s behalf as well, and slump, limp and exhausted onto the entire collection after that final hit. But as clever as Lucien had been in unveiling the most valuable object in the room, it was too late. Q.P.Q’s hand had prevented the brush from going anywhere; the painter’s blood finally dribbled onto the tail of the brush. It soaked through the inky hairs and though Q.P.Q. hissed with pain, he did what he was supposed to do. It was ready. His master demanded freedom. He grabbed the loathsome thing in his fingers, gnashing his sharp teeth together as his bones cracked and popped, breaking and bruising in an instant.

Trembling, the monster shoved his former creator aside to see the bulk of the painting, lowering the tip of the brush until it kissed a piece of the surface. The sprinkler systems cut on at the same second, but a quiet click resonated in Q.P.Q.’s ears over the din of the shrilling fire alarms and falling water. This time when he fell forward, the monster did not get back up again, content in the knowledge that he had done his duty. They would all die—but Accipiter was free.

It was over.



A molten, golden eye cracked open in the darkness. The black pupil shrunk, curled in on itself, simmering in the silence. The entity the eye belonged to felt the heavy chains slacken from his body and fresh, real air slither in from the massive, rune-engraved door that creaked open in front of him. He gulped it in. Light shimmered through and warmed his barren prison. Clouds of dust and smoky tendrils dissipated. A deafening click had filled the void only seconds before—he heard something large and clunky drop to the ground and then—at last—the door opened and he was free. Free. He could taste it in the air, he could feel the pressure dropping from his limbs and bird-like legs.  It felt as if he hadn't used his muscles in ages. He wriggled his toes, scraping his sickle shaped talons against the floor. Accipiter spread his feathered, black wings open in a whoosh of air, the clawed dactyls at the top flexing like the fingers of a human hand. He finally snapped his red beak open as the last of his restraints fell away.  Long, streamer feathers trailed behind him as he lurched forward, dragging  them behind him like the train of a woman's dress.

But he kept walking, his talons clicking against the ground.  Tak. Tak. Tak.  He could hear the other monstrosities--in some ways, his own creations--screaming and hissing with pain.  He could smell water in the air, he could feel their power melting and sloughing away with their bodies, their bellows and roars dying into wet gasps.  The humans it seemed, were spared.  Accipiter had not expected to lose all of his abominations, but pawns were meant to be expendable, and he would not miss them. He did not get angry either.  He breathed calmly and continued to saunter toward his freedom, thinking.

The painter was dead—the last of the bloodline that guarded his former, eternal tomb dripping lifeblood all over the gallery floor.  Ironic, he mused, that he had required a human’s aid to be free, to spill the blood of the guardian's descendant, DeTorres, for him.  How clever it had been for his former captors to enchant the key to his tomb, requiring that it be coated in the guardian's blood to unlock the seals.  After all, Accipiter could not kill the man himself, not from his prison.  He had gathered his power and magic for centuries, yes, but Accipiter himself did not have the capacity to possess the fool.  Not yet. So he requested help from a higher power--and finally, something answered.  Thus, the plan was set.  The painter would open a door directly to Accipiter's tomb, painting the prison itself to open the portal and borrowing Accipiter's natural power to do so.  Accipiter would unleash some of the artist's terrors (really, they were his own) to buy time for DeTorres to finish his product and of course, sow the seeds of desperation amongst the humans that were trapped and still alive within the gallery.  And most importantly, Accipiter himself would whisper a suggestion to one of the humans--make him believe that the painter would have to die, that there were no other choices available if he wanted to survive.  Desperation would do the rest.  One of Accipiter's monsters would take the paintbrush once it was soaked in blood, sacrificing his own health to do so, but it would finally release him.

A chuckle wheezed its way up Accipiter's chest before he froze.

His black feathers ruffled in the silence, and then in a flurry of motion his tengu form exploded into a flock of raucous, clawing ravens, each animal squawking and squeezing their way through the darkness and out the crack in the door. They exploded through the painting in waves of black beaks and talons, ignoring the lingering cries of the dying monsters; even Quid Pro Quo had dribbled into a soupy mess on the floor and not a single bird cared.  They batted the ragtag group of survivors with their many wings and one even sped down the stairs after Emmeline; it plucked at her hair and then attacked her shadow, disappearing into the dark depths of it as if plunging into a pool of dark water.  She was the only person that was free to leave at this point.  The others were still upstairs.  Still trapped. Water from the sprinkler systems drenched each raven's feathers but they quickly began to amass again at the front of the room near the exit, reforming Accipiter's outline; he almost looked like a true Tengu again before the form shifted.  His wings melted into pale human arms with draping black sleeves and and elegant robes.  His red beak and feathered face shifted into a crimson face mask with a long nose.  As human as he could get, Accipiter had silky black hair that fell in lines down to his waist.  His eyes glowed amber in the light and when he smiled his canines appeared unusually sharp.  He considered each person quietly, surrounded by a sea of corpses, the inky mess of his former creations, and blood.  The survivors might as well be tiny, weather worn lifeboats floating on choppy, angry waters.  At last, his eyes flashed.

"It feels so good to be free again," he said, his voice deep and gravelly.  "Some of you were more helpful than others." His gaze flicked to Kun Shui.  "You played your part beautifully.  I believe you deserve a present."  He reached under his robe and pulled a finger sized, black feather into the light. "I've kept this thing for far too long.  She is your problem now," he said, tracing lines with that feather on the air.  When his hands were done moving, a cloud of ink hung there.  He held out his arms and suddenly a sheathed miao dao sword dropped into his open palms.  He caught it, then flung the offending weapon, still sheathed, at Kun Shui's feet.  "If you are as smart as you are obedient, you will take it with you. And you." His gaze snapped to Lucien, contempt pooling in his eyes.  "You nearly ruined everything."

Accipiter struck before anyone knew any better.  He was strong and fast, and dragged Lucien away from Kun Shui, shoving Lucien back against the nearest wall, his hand pressed tightly to his throat.  He would not be able to break Accipiter's grip.  "I should kill you," the Tengu whispered, venom dripping from every word.  His eyes practically glowed gold behind his red mask.  "But I made a promise," he hissed. "In exchange for this--I will keep my word.  Disgusting human, I will give it what it wanted from me--you enjoy your gift.  Your curse.  And take that little rat with you when you leave."  Accipiter raised his free hand, the one with the black feather, and plunged the sharp tip of it into Lucien's chest.  It would rob Lucien of breath and make his heart jerk, but the feather itself vanished.  It was as if the damn thing had disappeared into Lucien's heart, but it left no scars.  No hint of pain other than that initial strike.  Then he dropped the man and snorted, stepping away.

Accipiter walked to one of the nearby windows.  He waved his hand and the muck covering the surface vanished; the glass shattered.  A fresh breeze burst into the room.  He snapped his fingers and some of the paintings began to rearrange.  Any still-surviving items and objects that had escaped their frames were pulled back in.  The only things that would be left behind after this were the corpses, the blood, and maybe a few puddles of paint pooling on the floor.  He cackled and as the laugh broke from his chest Accipiter exploded into a flock of ravens, each one flapping and cawing wildly as they zipped out the window and took to the sky.

Gone.

For now, anyway.