11-02-2025, 04:12 PM
i'm torn from the truth that holds my soul
i'm down in the grave where I belong --
As he stood in the small room he could feel his breathing returning to normal, though his heart still thrums unsteadily. His nerves are alight, every perceived sound and shifting shadow causing him to spin, his knife-tail lifted and ready. It is during one of these rapid turns that he feels his tail connect roughly with the cell wall, followed soon by the sound of stone and dirt showering to the floor. His gaze narrows in on where he had made contact, stepping close to inspect the gouge left behind by the impact. His eyes move upward, following a crack that snakes its way from floor to ceiling, and where it spider-webs out across the full length of the wall.
It feels too easy, and his mind plays back every other part of this wretched conquest.
But hope tentatively flares to life; perhaps it is not so easy for the rest of them. Perhaps he is lucky and this only seems easy for him because he had been born armored and monstrous.
He hits the center of the crack again, and again, and again, until his bones, clear up to his spine, begin to ache. He does not allow himself to rest, afraid that should he lose momentum he will not find it again.
Finally, the wall caves, leaving behind a gaping hole just big enough for him to squeeze through. He does so without a second thought, bursting out into the dimly lit hall. He stands, trying to gather his bearings, looking to one end, and then the other. Just as his head turns, a flash of movement catches his eye. The creature is tall, with an eerie green glow, and sharp points of armor jutting from its back. Ripley. Her shark-black eyes meet his, and without even thinking Fret leaps forward to follow her — just as he did as a child.
And just as when he had been a child, he cannot keep up.
Ripley’s form remains several paces ahead of him, darting around corners and winding up and down strange hallways. There are several times he thinks he has lost her, only to find that faint glow emanating from down a corridor, and darting after it. His breathing came quick and sharp, panic trying to claw up his throat. She was leading him somewhere, he could tell, and some foolish part of him thought that maybe she was guiding him out.
Around another corner she disappears, and so does her glow. Fret slides to a stop, confused, turning in a circle. There was nowhere else she possibly could have gone, and it is as if the walls have swallowed her up. Frustrated, he walks around another corner, and is greeted with a different kind of light radiating from somewhere at the center of the maze; a glow, like daylight.
Before he can move closer, the entire place seems to shudder.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He realizes it is footsteps, and from somewhere in the dark emerges a creature unlike any he has ever seen.
Tall and upright, it appeared to be made nearly entirely of shadow and flame, with a pair of wings and large horns that curled down towards its nearly indistinguishable face. Before he had the chance to react a whip made of fire snapped at him, causing him to stumble backwards, scrabbling for his footing without turning his back on the advancing beast. Fret, despite his design, has never really fought anyone. He did not need to hunt the way the rest of his family did, and the hybrid part of him had caused his feral-born side to slowly bleed away, leaving behind a normal mind trapped in a monster’s body. But that light in the center calls to him — he knows, somehow, that this is it, that all he needs to do is get by this thing and he will be home.
He walks in a slow half-circle, his body curved towards the creature, head lowered and knife-tail raised. Whatever this thing was though was not interested in a dignified, fair fight, and it blasts at him with a fiery hand. The strike makes contact with his side, his armor taking the brunt of it, but not even his armor is impervious to flame and he smells the acrid stench of something burning as smoke wafts up from the mark. He darts in, swiping his tail down toward the lower half of the creature, but the impact seems to have little effect.
They go like this for what seems like ages, neither of them gaining or losing ground. As they move Fret remains ever conscious of the glowing portal, trying to position himself closer with every strike.
It’s pure chance that the shadow-demon lowers its head and makes a move towards him, and that Fret is perfectly positioned to slam his poison barbs directly into its face. He is not foolish enough to think this will kill it — in fact, he is beginning to think nothing could kill it. But the creature, it appeared, could at least feel some pain, and as it clawed at its face and tried to move a barb that had wedged into its glowing, fire-filled socket, Fret finds his opening, and heads fast for the light.
i'm down in the grave where I belong --
As he stood in the small room he could feel his breathing returning to normal, though his heart still thrums unsteadily. His nerves are alight, every perceived sound and shifting shadow causing him to spin, his knife-tail lifted and ready. It is during one of these rapid turns that he feels his tail connect roughly with the cell wall, followed soon by the sound of stone and dirt showering to the floor. His gaze narrows in on where he had made contact, stepping close to inspect the gouge left behind by the impact. His eyes move upward, following a crack that snakes its way from floor to ceiling, and where it spider-webs out across the full length of the wall.
It feels too easy, and his mind plays back every other part of this wretched conquest.
But hope tentatively flares to life; perhaps it is not so easy for the rest of them. Perhaps he is lucky and this only seems easy for him because he had been born armored and monstrous.
He hits the center of the crack again, and again, and again, until his bones, clear up to his spine, begin to ache. He does not allow himself to rest, afraid that should he lose momentum he will not find it again.
Finally, the wall caves, leaving behind a gaping hole just big enough for him to squeeze through. He does so without a second thought, bursting out into the dimly lit hall. He stands, trying to gather his bearings, looking to one end, and then the other. Just as his head turns, a flash of movement catches his eye. The creature is tall, with an eerie green glow, and sharp points of armor jutting from its back. Ripley. Her shark-black eyes meet his, and without even thinking Fret leaps forward to follow her — just as he did as a child.
And just as when he had been a child, he cannot keep up.
Ripley’s form remains several paces ahead of him, darting around corners and winding up and down strange hallways. There are several times he thinks he has lost her, only to find that faint glow emanating from down a corridor, and darting after it. His breathing came quick and sharp, panic trying to claw up his throat. She was leading him somewhere, he could tell, and some foolish part of him thought that maybe she was guiding him out.
Around another corner she disappears, and so does her glow. Fret slides to a stop, confused, turning in a circle. There was nowhere else she possibly could have gone, and it is as if the walls have swallowed her up. Frustrated, he walks around another corner, and is greeted with a different kind of light radiating from somewhere at the center of the maze; a glow, like daylight.
Before he can move closer, the entire place seems to shudder.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He realizes it is footsteps, and from somewhere in the dark emerges a creature unlike any he has ever seen.
Tall and upright, it appeared to be made nearly entirely of shadow and flame, with a pair of wings and large horns that curled down towards its nearly indistinguishable face. Before he had the chance to react a whip made of fire snapped at him, causing him to stumble backwards, scrabbling for his footing without turning his back on the advancing beast. Fret, despite his design, has never really fought anyone. He did not need to hunt the way the rest of his family did, and the hybrid part of him had caused his feral-born side to slowly bleed away, leaving behind a normal mind trapped in a monster’s body. But that light in the center calls to him — he knows, somehow, that this is it, that all he needs to do is get by this thing and he will be home.
He walks in a slow half-circle, his body curved towards the creature, head lowered and knife-tail raised. Whatever this thing was though was not interested in a dignified, fair fight, and it blasts at him with a fiery hand. The strike makes contact with his side, his armor taking the brunt of it, but not even his armor is impervious to flame and he smells the acrid stench of something burning as smoke wafts up from the mark. He darts in, swiping his tail down toward the lower half of the creature, but the impact seems to have little effect.
They go like this for what seems like ages, neither of them gaining or losing ground. As they move Fret remains ever conscious of the glowing portal, trying to position himself closer with every strike.
It’s pure chance that the shadow-demon lowers its head and makes a move towards him, and that Fret is perfectly positioned to slam his poison barbs directly into its face. He is not foolish enough to think this will kill it — in fact, he is beginning to think nothing could kill it. But the creature, it appeared, could at least feel some pain, and as it clawed at its face and tried to move a barb that had wedged into its glowing, fire-filled socket, Fret finds his opening, and heads fast for the light.
-- f r e t
Tldr: Fret sees a hallucination of his mom that leads him directly to a balrog. He is taking back the #1 Mom cup he got her for her birthday.