"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
As his hooves sink into solid, if not mushy and slimy, land, Carnage's voice echoes in his head--all of their heads, he realizes as he looks around at the rest of them. He can make out the trees and a slight pathway ahead of them, and several of the horses have already began making their own way down it, towards the mysterious heart that the Dark God wants them to find. He glances at a few of the others, tipping his head curiously, but no one seems very interested in him. That is fine with him. He knows none of them.
The mud pulls at his hooves as he sets off, threatening to suck him down into Pangea. He has to battle with every step he takes, yanking each hoof out of the muck and trying to find any bit of solid ground to rest his feet upon; but then, the land has been sunk for so long that trying to find anything solid down here is almost laughable. No wonder the magician wanted nothing to do with this place.
Other than the pulsing green light in the distance, all light has faded. He can see the outlines of dead trees lit up against the glow of the heart, and the very hint of the path in front of him, but beyond that? He could very well be blind. His progress is slower than some of the others (some of them move so smoothly, so carefully through the mud, as if it is a second skin to them), but he is steadily progressing along towards the heart, though he is wary for dangers ahead.
Before long he hears those ahead of him locked in battle and he pauses for a moment, knowing his turn is about to come. But from where? He hears a squelch and turns to face it, and from the treeline comes a rotting corpse, tinged green by the light of the heart. Her dragon wings are ripped and torn, but the mark on her chest is unmistakable and Oxytocin stumbles backward, nearly falling in the that he has almost grown accustomed to. "Cress?" he manages to croak before the monster is upon him.
No, no, no, he thinks as she lunges at him and he shies away, out of reach of her gaping jaws and thrashing wings. I just saw her and the girl, she's not dead, she can't be dead. Before he can regain his composure and face his daughter, she is attacking him again, trying to breathe fire underwater.
The only thing that escapes her maw is scalding hot bubbles, but it burns and blisters just the same. Oxy cries out as his face and neck burn, and attacks out of instinct. His teeth meet her neck as her jaws scrabble for purchase anywhere they can reach until she finally bites down on the bit of his neck she had just burnt. Grunting in pain, Oxy tears away from her, pulling chunks of muscle and sinew away from her rotting body. Spitting out the mouthful of rotten flesh, he glares at his dead daughter. How can it be her? It can't possibly be her. "Cress, enough," he snaps, then lunges for her again. She would never find herself caught by Carnage again, not after the first time. She's smarter than that.
This time his hooves find her withers, where her damaged wings connect to her body. It only takes one hard blow to crush her withers, as her body is waterlogged and aged with rot. The not-Cress (because he can't think of her as his daughter, his daughter is alive and well, she can't possibly be dead) falls to the ground and begins to keen, and Oxy grimaces. As he steps toward her head to deliver the final blow--he can't look her in the eye to do it, though, that is just too cruel--she stops keening and looks directly at him. With her last breath, she pours more boiling water at him and he screeches as it burns away the hair between his front legs and up his chest, and then her skull caves and it is over.
He turns away from the corpse, grateful for once that they are underwater.
Find the heart.
Slower this time, because now he feels sick to his stomach and he burns all over, he continues along the path.The glow of the heart grows ever stronger with every step he takes, and he wonders if everyone else feels quite as awful as he does; he wonders if they all encountered something so terrible.
"You were always a terrible father to her anyways," a voice whispers in his ear, but he is too hurt, too sick to fight back. "A terrible lover as well, always leaving your girls behind for something bigger and better. Did I mention what a terrible king you made as well? Who would've thought that a child king would be a total flop? Uh, how about LITERALLY ANYONE?"
"Stop," he mumbles, knowing it's just his subconscious now, but the thoughts are rolling and he can't control them. It's been coming for so long now that he can stop it now and he wants to be physically ill but it's impossible. He knows it was inevitable one day for Cress to die before him--he's immortal, after all--but now? So recently? How could that have been her?
He arrives at the heart, bleeding and miserable, hardly taking in the others that have arrived before him. His eyes just focus on the light as his knees sink to the mud, unable to hold him up any longer. He'll get up when the rest arrive.
She is not alone in this dead land. She knows this with a certainty. It is only fitting though, to send an army into the unknown. But it is unnerving, to gaze into the eerie depths of ruin and decay and know the living have come to invade. This land is better left to death, she thinks. Better left lost to the sea. But it seems her choices are no longer her own, if ever they were. Perhaps she could turn now and flee, but something inside her prevents the instinctual action. Curiosity (a yearning for recognition, to be something more than just another forgotten face), a thing she had thought long since withered to nothingness inside her, rises and beckons.
And so she continues forward.
She swims, pale limbs cutting inefficiently (horses are not made for swimming, not in the way of the fish and sea creatures) through the dark blue until she has reached the path that cuts through the lifeless kingdom. Skeletal trees rise above her, limbs reaching spectral fingers towards the surface, as though they might still claw their way from their briny grave. It sends a shiver along her spine as she inches forward, pale blue eyes wary and wide.
Her hooves leave no impression in the silty ground beneath her feet, buoyancy giving her a grace and lightness that otherwise does not exist in her lanky frame. She continues on, following a path that seems to stretch forever before her, leading her to a ruinous end.
But then there is a figure in the distance, equine in form and unnatural in presence. That curiosity propels her forward. Perhaps she is meant to help, or perhaps it is merely a coincidental encounter with another soldier.
Soon though (too soon) she recognizes it as neither. The figure continues it’s shuffle towards her, it’s gait stumbling and halting. She slows, head coming up as confusion settles. And as it comes ever nearer, recognition hollows a pit in her stomach.
“Longclaw?” His name falls from lips silenced by the heaviness of the water, keeping the syllables from ever reaching his ears. Ears that droop with decay over hollowed, dead eyes, and a body that sloughs with rotten skin and withered muscles. “NO!” she shouts silently into the depths, disbelief clutching at her heart.
She reaches to him in a way she hasn’t done since she was a child, a comfort she had not allowed herself in years. But there is nothing, only death and memories. Only endless regret. Only a horrible, disastrous end. Tears gather invisible in the corners of her eyes, mixing with the salty water of the sea, as he drives forward. Denial stills her muscles, freezes her mind and stuns her heart. Even when he crashes into her, she does nothing more than cling to him until a wail echoes soundlessly from her lips.
She doesn’t even try to stop him when he takes her to the ground, as bones and teeth slice her skin and the red of blood mixes eerily with the blue of the water. For a moment, she thinks this could be her death. The best death she could ever hope to receive. To die at the hands of her twin would only be as much as she deserves.
But one thing stops her from giving in to the inevitable. One face she could not die without seeing at least once more, if for no other reason than to say goodbye. She had never said it before, and he, at the very least, deserves that much from her. And so she pushes back, letting the tears mingle into the ocean as grief screams from her lungs. Pushing with what little might she has, limbs working against the weight of his body and the weight of the water. But for once though, the water helps her, making his body light, almost weightless. Once, she never would have had the strength, but death had done no kindnesses to him. His flesh peels away with her hoof as she uses it to shove him away from her. The sight of his body falling away brings with it a heaving sob as despair curls sickeningly in her gut.
And then she runs.
She could not hope to fight him. She hasn’t the skill nor the desire. If he caught her once more, she fears she might allow him to take her this time. Allow him to end all of her agony. Instead she runs as fast as the weight of the water allow, refusing to look back, even if she could see through her grief. She could not watch him disappear behind her. And she knew he was not catching her. Perhaps, even in death, he hadn’t the heart. Or perhaps, he was simply too slow.
She continues until her muscles burn with fatigue, until the faint green glow she hadn’t even noticed in the distance has become brighter, burning the edges of her vision. When finally she stumbles to a halt and her pale eyes focus on the pulsing light, a faint sickness has settled over her. As she stares ahead, heart heavy, mind exhausted, she wants nothing more to do with this horrible kingdom. The light is there, not far ahead, her goal so close, almost close enough to reach. But she finds herself unable to take another step forward.
With a silent, keening cry, her legs collapse beneath her as the weight of her new knowledge settles upon her soul. Her body doesn’t hit the ground though, instead caught by the buoyancy of the water. She simply floats in wild disarray, strained features clouded by the shroud of her own locks. Longclaw is dead, and she hadn’t been there. She had taken the cowards path, had fled Beqanna in a time when he had needed her most. And now, she wants nothing so much as to disappear, to run again. To pretend none of this is real.
In that moment, it’s the only thing she knows how to do. The only thing her heart knows besides anguish. Pulling her feet beneath her, she turns to follow the path blindly back the way she had come. It isn’t until she has nearly reached the bend where she had first seen Longclaw that reason begins to reassert itself. Her heart pounds hard inside her chest as sudden fear clutches at her. She couldn’t see him again. Not now. Not like this. She doesn’t want to remember his face in death, the beautiful, iridescent blue muddled by decay. Stumbling brokenly, her gaze shutters as self-preservation finally overcomes her. Grief dulled by shock, she turns slowly, eyes taking in the path behind her. The beckoning call of the pulsing green light.
Only minutes ago, that light had repulsed her. Now, it calls to her. The only thing that makes sense in this senseless underworld. Turning slowly, she pauses only a moment before returning the way she had just come.
She makes a poor soldier, but now, it’s the only thing that matters.
She stumbles forward, ignoring the growing discomfort of her body. Everything in this land tells her to run, to escape. But even in this dark hellscape, shock renders her compliant, allowing her to continue forward. To reach the center of the kingdom. The sickly heart. Just as He had wanted.
Rapture
there is a pulse that echoes of you and I
Tldr: Rapture encounters/defends against zombie Longclaw. Shortly after she is overcome by grief and tries to run away. Goes into shock and continues on
09-17-2018, 06:00 PM (This post was last modified: 09-17-2018, 06:02 PM by Sinner.)
Home, he thinks again.
It was a strange thought and even sensation to come back to a place he had once called home. Pangea had been the ideal setting, the perfect place for the birth of a monster. He had come as an omen, in a land that reaped of a wasteland—consumed by death—and home to the most malevolent of monsters.
But Pangea was no longer the same when he had left.
As the mud settles beneath his dark paws, Sinner begins to take note more of the drowned and dreary kingdom. There are pieces of a decaying kingdom, scattered and crumbled as the land expands farther into the darkness. However, within the dark distance, there is a soft pulsating faint light of emerald green color.
He swallows hard as an ominous feeling slowly creeps up his spine. It makes his hair stand on edge, a fear almost overwhelming him that he has never felt before. It is almost too quite. Something did not feel right here.
The hound turns his gaze to the others, red-yellow glowing eyes carefully considering what the others are doing. There are familiar faces here (those from his present life and one from his own childhood). Rapture, it brings a large smile to his life, dark and humorous. He remembers when she had been his plaything, when the world had been a bright and beautiful place for him just as he began learning how to create chaos and destruction. It had only been child’s play; things were different now.
Focus, the voice reminds him.
The dark hound turns his attention back where the emerald green light faintly pulses in the ominous dark waters. Sinner’s eyes look over the murky kingdom once again, within the darkness, he catches the faint winding pathway that leads further into the kingdom.
Follow the path, the dark god commands him. Alone, or together. Find her heart.
Sinner obeys without thinking. There is a strength within the dark god that even the beast cannot revolt against. The claw mark on his shoulder from the dark god has already marked him as a servant. What Carnage commands, he does. He is a servant to the very darkness from the beginning of his creation. Molded by the very hands of sinful and chaotic creators of evil.
An abrupt sharp pain throbs within his right shoulder (the very place where he had been marked by Carnage). The cancer within him, the two remnants from the Mountain and Pangea, reminds him of the urgency of the task at hand.
The beast takes a step forward and then another until he finds his way to the faint path that leads into the darkness. The only path that will lead him to the heart of Pangea. It is the only thought that crosses his mind now. Find her heart. And he will.
His paws stick to the muck that caters to the path he follows. It weighs him down, slowly each of his steps, but he finds it best to keep moving forward.
One step.
Two step.
Three step.
He follows the path into the darkness. The pulsating emerald light is the only thing that gives light to the dark kingdom. It is his guiding light, the light that will lead him to finding what he has come for.
There is no sound beneath the pressure of the ocean. He cannot hear his paws lifting from the murky surface only to be replaced into the muck again. The quietness, an eeriness that has him glancing from side to side, consumes anything and everything around him.
Sinner searches the pathway, red-yellow glowing eyes looking for any familiarity within the drowned kingdom. There is nothing. He only sees a broken kingdom, long and forgotten. Pieces of the crumbled kingdom are scattered. Dark wood trees disperse throughout the kingdom. The branches are bare, but there is a soft howling in the distance. It comes closer and closer. He swears he can hear the wind, but he does not feel it. The sound of a nearby tree echoes of swaying branches and leaves but when he looks there is only a bare, dead tree.
He keeps moving forward though. Continuing to follow the winding pathway, shadowed by darkness and uncertainty. One could easily get lost within the drowned kingdom. The dead silence and darkness could consume anyone, eating them alive, and taking their very essence. It is only the ever-pulsing green light that lets him know he is still on the right path. The only path that will lead them out of the very darkness they all have found themselves in.
It draws them all forward, whether they have come alone or together. Sinner is not considered about the others. He has always been a selfish individual, catering to his own needs and desires. Even forgetting his very own sole purpose of creation and birth.
But they had not forgotten about him.
They never would.
Suddenly, the silence is broken. The sound of cracking bones and groaning joints disrupts the quietness. He no longer finds himself treading deeper into the heart, where long ago he had noticed the undersea life no longer existed. The shifting of bones against bone gets louder.
Sinner steps dead in his tracks on the pathway. His dark rounded ears perk forward, alerting him. The hair on his back stands up. Jawline slowly cracks open, baring teeth and sending out a snarl in warning.
The darkness remains still with only the wavering of water and the ever-pulsating emerald light. Movement all of a sudden stir to life. The sound echoes louder in the ocean now, and with the wavering shades of darkness and light—a figure appears.
It shuffles forward, a figure he cannot make out right away. The movement is slow but it feels like it is moving much faster, much more with ease across the muddy ocean floor than he has had. The wavering of light and darkness slowly begin to reveal the figure. The darkness evades the beast even, bringing the shadow figure into full view.
The red figure is already dead. Soft pieces of flesh dangle from open, rotting wounds. The eyes of the horse are hollowed, already the eyes of the monster have perished. It shuffles forward still, revealing more of its dead body. The mane and tail of the undead are matted and tangled, wavering through the water as if there is wind blowing. The flesh and bone have been pulled back in several places, revealing the muscles that once had power and strength within them and ivory that is delicate but broken.
He knows who it is already.
“Father,” his lips curl, teeth grinding together.
The dead horse’s ears, half-rotten, perk forward as if recognizing the dark beast before him. It continues forward, coming closer and closer. Sinner doesn’t move though, he isn’t sure how to react seeing his own father in flesh and bone beneath the ocean of Beqanna. But it couldn’t be his father. Surely his own father was alive and well above the ocean, somewhere in the god forsaken world.
“You have forgotten haven’t you,” suddenly comes a hoarse voice. It sounds identical to his own red devil father. It wasn’t though. “You thought you could run and live your own life.” The voice speaks again, obvious disappointment filling in the words.
Sinner’s ears lay flat on his skull, teeth grinding together again.
“We have not forgotten. We never will.”
The red, dead stallion suddenly lurched forward. He had become unaware of just how close the replica figure of his red father had gotten. Sinner lunges back as quickly as he can but the dead horse is upon him again, already leaping forward, determined to fight him. There is power and strength within the attempt of the red stallion despite being a dead body.
“You were created for one thing,” the voice cracks as teeth attempt to take a bite of his face, “To kill and serve.” Sinner leaps back from the attack, but the dead stallion bite at his ear. His flesh is ripped from the tip of his left ear. He is surprised by the quick grip and teeth ripping the flesh from his ear. Sinner grinds his teeth, biting the scream he wants to cry out. Jumping back from the dead horse, the dark hound frees himself from him. A deep, hoarse laugh is released from the dead horse. “You have failed! How pathetic you are!”
Sinner grinds his teeth. An impulsive snarl tears through his throat in fury at the words. The beast pounces forward at the putrefying red horse. He opens his mandible, exposing sharp white teeth. Sinner grips underneath the red neck of the dead horse. His teeth quickly sink into the decaying flesh and bone with ease. He tears the flesh and bone away with one bite. Then another bite.
The red stallion does nothing. It doesn’t even fight him back. It only laughs wildly at him. A manic laugh echoing through the stillness.
Then another bite. He bites and chews until the dead stallion begins to fumble while it only it continues to laugh hysterically. The dead horse then falls to the ground. Sinner continues to chew. “I will kill you!” he shouts through teeth gripped with rotten flesh and cracked bone. The red horse laughs again, it is softer and hoarser. It continues just as Sinner continues to devour the flesh and bone of the dead horse. Eventually the laugh dies away into a faint but hoarse sound.
Then there is nothing. No sound but the silence he had once been in.
“And you will”, the voice comes softly before diminishing into the quietness again.
Sinner takes several steps away from the lifeless red stallion that lays in a mess of rotten flesh and cracked bones than it had before. He is teeth and mouth are stained with small pieces of flesh and bone, cracking into a wide sinister grin. A hysterical laugh echoes through his throat and into the wide open silence.
He then swiftly turns, finding the path yet again. Following the ever-pulsating light as if nothing had ever happened before. Except this time, he is consumed by something else—a new life flows through his veins, filling the once empty hunger within him.
Find her heart.
The dark beast pushes through the murky earth beneath his paws. The command echoes clearly in his mind, causing his eyes to only focus on the light ahead of him. He is getting closer to the light now. It is brighter than before.
Closer.
You are so close.
Quickly now.
The voice encourages him, but he suddenly feels himself getting weaker. He is growing tired and starts moving slower through the murky mud. The feeling of weakening disrupts his thoughts, his focus to get to the heart of Pangea. He attempts to move forward, but he stumbles. He feels sicker now, the disease spreading from his right shoulder completely consumes his body. Yet, his eyes are still set on the stronger pulse of the green light in the center.
“You are so weak,” the familiar voice of his father echoes through the silence.
Sinner stumbles to the ground, body slamming against the muddy ground. His muscles have grown weak. The energy, the determination within him fades away. There is nothing left within him as the disease continues to spread and the sicker he is becoming.
His breathing becomes heavy. It feels like the water is filling into his lungs now. He chokes loudly, hacking and coughing.
“I can’t do this,” he whispers weakly.
“You never could. You are too weak to think for yourself. You are merely a servant, a little thing that does our bidding.” The voice comes again.
The hound lays there lifeless for moments to what seems like a lifetime. The feeling of weakness and stupor does not recede. He can feel the full effect of the cancer within him, finally overtaking every part of his body. “I am nothing,” his voice comes faintly, “I will always be nothing.”
Go to the heart, the thought comes in his mind. It sends a scorching pain throughout his body. it wracks his muscles and tissues in his right shoulder, festering his open wound even more than before when it had invaded his body. He groans out in agony, screaming through grinded teeth.
His body writhers in pain. The disease within him is angry and twisting with rage. Pulsating pain that sends him ripping with frustration, but fills him with strength suddenly. Get up. Get up. The voice within him demands, commanding him. “I cannot,” he fumbles back in reply. You will! It pulls his limbs, muscles working without his control.
Sinner’s limbs are pulled together, lifting him up from the muck on the ground. He stands slowly, shaking in attempt to find the balance on his paws. He puts his right paw firmly on the muck. It staggers, but he catches himself with his hind legs, firmly placing himself onto the murky ground.
You have a purpose.
Finish it.
He can feel the sickness subsiding as a new strength is found within the depths of his soul. The sickness remains within him, making him still feel weak and dizzy. He ignores it, shakes it off as he plants one paw after the other in the muddy path towards the crater that harbors the heart of Pangea.
The dark hound is closer than he had thought. He is more determined to fight the sickness off, to push through with more determination—a purpose. Sinner realizes he has something to offer, just as the dark god has something to offer him. He is not a servant—there is a choice and he will take it head on to get what he wants with a fight.
Ahead of the dark wolf, the green emerald light is pulsating softly. Like a heart, he can feel the thud of it beneath the murky earth. It pulls him forward, consuming him. Giving him more power than he had imagine despite how weak he feels still.
He falls to his knees once he reaches the overly glowing heart of Pangea.
“I am here.”
TLDR: Sinner encounters his father, but it is actually the dark gods/darkness that created him to come to Beqanna and remind his father that he has gone off his pathway of evil. Sinner is than faced with his own self-worth. He comes with terms that he has a purpose still and also realization that he may not just be a servant to do the bidding of dark creatures/gods.
The girl observes the gloomy underneath mostly in curiosity – she doesn’t judge it for it being, because sometimes gloomy and underwater things are nice. Or gloomy things are, anyway, she’s never been underwater before.
The mud is sticky, and she’s kind of glad she can’t smell underwater because it seems like it might be smelly mud. Bright eyes turn this way and that, looking at all the weird dead trees, but she focuses on the strange green glow that seems to beat in the distance, to pulse, and it pulls at her. Optimistically, she sets off to find the heart like the guy says. Already, Noah has forgiven him for the suffocating issue – how else was he supposed to get them here? She has no idea what he is truly like.
It's already mostly dark, but the shadows grow deeper when things move overhead. Huge things. She feels vaguely uneasy about them but presses on, stepping carefully because she can’t quite see where she’s going. It pulls harder at her, more insistent, but suddenly something grabs at her hind legs, making her stumble and her heart begin to race. She whirls around to find two bright eyes blinking in a roundish face; the shape resolves into a head the size of her torso, and it reaches for her again, long slithery tentacles. She’s intrigued, excited, and reaches out to touch and say hello but jerks back when the eight-legged creature jerks forward, an opening filled unmistakably with teeth snapping closed underneath just short of the end of Noah’s nose.
The girl scrambles backwards and spins around, bubbles escaping her mouth as she tries to squeal in fear, her legs starting to buckle when a heavy tentacle falls upon her back, a stinging sensation starting in big round circles on her skin where there are some sort of suckers on the bottom of the tentacle. She shies sideways, the leg slipping off, and takes off into the darkness, trying to find purchase on the muddy ground to move quickly but slipping and falling to her knees once, twice. The second time she gets up and tries to stumble back onto the path, tripping over a fallen tree but not falling. She has not even a breath of notice when the water moves to her left and it reappears, squirting over the top of a huge boulder and dropping into the space where she was a second ago, though she’s leapt sideways. It snatches at her legs, her neck, and she’s backed into a rocky corner with nowhere to go and no choice but to fight back.
Jumping forward, Noah sinks her blunt teeth into the squishy flesh of one outstretched tentacle, trying to ignore the stinging around the sucker she’s chewing on but it lashes at her with other legs, slapping and stinging, and after a few panicked heartbeats she’s forced to let go, the creature snatching its legs back and blinking in surprise. She follows up by spinning around and kicking out as hard as she can, one hoof landing with a solid thunk (as solid as underwater gets) and the other grazing it’s bubbly skin. It hesitates and then seems to conclude that she’s not easy prey after all; with a squirt of some dark substance that threatens to choke her, it disappears over the top of the rocks and doesn’t come back.
Noah stands stock still for a moment, breathing labored, eyes tearing up, and for a moment she intensely just wants to go home, or rather to her father, since they don’t have a home. But the insistent pulse of the underwater Kingdom’s heart is like a siren song and she turns towards it, picking tentatively up the path. She’s jumping at shadows now, at currents, at every deeper darkness that even hints at a hiding place for subterranean creatures. Her stomach churns and at first she thinks it’s nerves, but it gets worse and worse with every step she takes. Lightheadedness follows the queasiness and it’s sickly dizzying, harder and harder for her to place her hooves firmly on the path.
Meanwhile the light grows stronger, brighter, and she can feel the pulse in every fiber of her being. She hears it as deep as her soul, and it’s the only thing that keeps her stumbling forward. But now it’s right there and she’s about to lurch forward to find it when something hulking and misshapen steps into the path and she goes wheeling backwards, sideways, losing her footing and her sensation of what is up and down and for a moment the world is black. When she reorients herself, Noah is blinking up at the thing that has resolved itself into a horse. “Hello?” she forces the word out and somehow it hangs between them, but the stranger shows no sign of recognition.
On the other hand, she very much starts to recognize him, under the wrongness. And it’s all wrong. He’s dead, her father, half of his skin falling off and bone exposed, the rest a sickly color that bright chestnut turns deep underwater, backlit by gross green. “D-daddy?” she stammers, but there’s no light of recognition in the thing’s eyes. It lurches forward, maw opened in a snarl, and then lunges at her, teeth closing on the girl’s crest and he shakes her, violently. Noah cries out, fearful all over again, hooves not finding purchase as the much larger zombie-stallion lets go and she falls to the ground. He stomps, snorting, and she feels the hoof against her barrel in shooting pain. She can’t breath, can’t see, can’t think.
The creature draws back, rears up, clearly intending to finish her, and for a moment Noah just lays there, considering it. Maybe it’s all just a bad dream, and if she dies in the dream she will wake up tucked against her father’s side, warm and safe and loved. And if it’s not a dream, and Rhonen is dead, she’s not sure she has a life worth living. Her father is all she has. She takes a breath, and closes her eyes.
At the very last second she changes her mind. What if he’s not dead? It would destroy him, if she died. She doesn’t have time to get up, so she rolls out of the way – except she forgot about the cavern behind the zombie horse, and she falls right over the edge. Bumps and impacts and rolling and she is breathless when she fetches up against something at the bottom, hard, and she lays motionless for a moment before she realizes that there is green leaking in around her closed eyelids. She pries her eyes open, still dizzy and stomach threatening to rebel, to lock eyes on the pulsing green heart of Pangea.
Find the heart. What an ironic idea, a place like this having a heart. Hearts were for love and sweetness and caring, and this place was anything but. Everywhere he looked, others were striking out to follow orders, seeking the radioactive emerald light far off toward the middle of the island. The heart, as diseased as it was. It was his target, his mission, his goal. There was no telling what would come after, and so he didn't even try to plan for it. All of them were now at the mercy of a historically unmerciful god.
The buckskin colt was slow to leave the beach, watching the skies for the long since vanished pale form of his brother. It had been a long journey to reach this place, forcing his body to swim for far longer than he'd ever tried before. Even with the psuedo-gift they're been given, his muscles felt the strain he'd put them through. They ached with the effort, and he knew there was quite a ways to go yet. Still, just standing on the blackened shore brought no relief. The smell of rotting fish and seaweed hung in the air, along with something subtle and cloying. Hoping continued motion would help the pain in his joints, Raul struck out at last.
Following the path the others had taken, he considered calling out, trying to find someone to cross the darkness with. In no time at all, the grim beach was empty of all, leaving him no choice but to begin his own trek. As soon as the sand was left behind it became obvious just how wrong Pangea was. The scent of rot didn't dissipate as he moved further inland. Conversely, it seemed to grow heavier as he went, radiating thickly from the slimy black trunks of long dead trees, from the very mud beneath his feet. Time seemed to hold its breath here, the sky locked in perpetual dusk no matter how long the buckskin walked. The others had moved on quickly, spreading out despite the only being one obvious track through the marshy land.
No birds sang, no insects chirped... even the wind seemed to have died here. All was black and silent, leaving only the erratic sound of blood pulsing in his ears and sour air moving fitfully through his chest. Mulch beneath his feet deadened footfalls, the occasional sticky sucking of peat muck serving only to increase his nervousness. He hummed a few random notes, quickly stopping when the echoes mocked him eerily. Every step brought with it more soreness. What hope he'd held of moving relieving the ache in his bones vanished the deeper into the skeletal glade his steps brought him. Holding still was worse, though. Holding still brought waves of nausea with it, sending vertigo reeling through his head. Tired as the young stallion was, it was gradually becoming clear that the only option was to move toward the sickly throbbing glow that didn't want to get any nearer.
Grumbling to himself, Raul reoriented himself, facing the glow that seemed as far away as it had from the beach. Gods, but he was tired... he had not gone more than a handful of paces when he realized what had broken his reverie in the first place. His steps had an echo that had not been there before. An echo, or a mimic. The trees had been growing steadily more dense, making the gloom harder to penetrate than it had been at the start. It wasn't enough to hide his follower from sight when the flame colt spun on his heel to face them.
Elation filled his chest, quickly followed by grim realization. His steps had been shadowed for the last while by a pale, bony beast. Bone white tinged with gangrene, with tattered remnants of wings hanging by its sides and eyes sunken and milky with decay; it smelled as badly as it looked. He could have decayed much longer, and Raul still would have recognized him. Santana stared at his brother blindly, and it was clear that he had been dead for quite some time. "No... no! I just saw you. You flew away! I just... I saw you..."
Even as he spoke, doubt began to gnaw at his mind. How long had it actually been? The light hadn't changed, the sun hadn't shown its face. It could have been minutes, or hours. Years, even. He had no way of telling. The only evidence he had was the rotting corpse before him, grinning in the way that mummified skulls do. He had no sooner processed this when the cadaverous replica lunged forward, maw gaping open fade wider than should have been possible. Mossy teeth glinted in the weak light as he approached. The flame maned youth dodged, barely evading the zombified twin's initial assault. Sparring was a regular part of their lives back home, all in good fun. This was different. There was no laughter involved, no taunting jokes. The thin monster pursued, teeth gnashing and bones creaking while the buckskin backed away desperately. No clear path showed itself as gnarled branches caught his mane and dragged furrowed claws down his sides. Reptilian teeth dogged every step. This went beyond any nightmare or violent fantasy he could have conjured himself. The monstrosity tailed him every step he took, though it was notably slow and unsteady in it's movements. Instead it seemed to rely on pure persistence; to wear its prey to the ground through sheer exhaustion. That was no way to die.
Thick bracken and marsh weeds caught at his legs and chest. Wingless, fin-less, void of any means of escape beyond his rapidly weakening legs. It was too much. Raul could not even scream as he felt the sharp tearing of teeth into the skin of is haunch. Sweat slicked his hide and stung when it ran into the bleeding lacerations. At last his knees gave way, buckling beneath him as the earth fell away. They had come to a gully, and tumbled down it together in a mess of limbs and ghoulish faces until the basin came up to meet them abruptly. Still death did not come to the buckskin, though now more than ever he wished it would. Pain wracked every inch of his body, while sickness rolled his stomach back and forth. A high-pitched groan brought him to his feet, confirming that somehow nothing had been broken. The undead beast beside him had not fared so well on the way down. A foreleg was clearly broken, bone exposed and bent to unnatural angles. Still it's jaws worked to open and shut, sawing at the air in mindless hunger. This thing, that which looked so much like his own brother, now lay broken and trapped by whatever dark force had raised it from it's eternal rest. Maybe it was his brother, more likely it was just some sad golem meant to torment him. Regardless, he felt no remorse in his next action. A thrashing, frantic rear, landing squarely on the poor monster's skull. Bone cracked beneath his hooves, destroying what was left of its brain. It twitched and kicked a moment longer before coming to a final rest. Raul felt a kind of relief, twisted with sick satisfaction. One of them had needed to die.
Legs streaked with sticky fluid and flecks of brain, he stumbled onward toward the gully's edge. Green light bathed him as he slogged through the muddy remains of a creek bed. Noxious fumes pervaded the area. Reality itself seemed to ripple around him, distorting the edges of his vision into blackened figures. They fled from sight as soon as he turned his head to stare. "Hold still..." His words garbled themselves on the way out. There was none to hear them anyway, though he was quickly forgetting that. Shadows mocked him with leering mouths, eyes wide as white crab apples. Raul, Raul, thou hast wandered far, brother! A thready voice came from behind. His ankle twisted painfully beneath him as he spun about to find the source of the sound. Phantom laughter echoed off the stones and stumps. Run, run, little brother. Can't have you running away now, can we? More laughter, and the world began to tilt sickeningly. His head tossed violently, chasing ghosts across his sight. A whip of nettle vine lashed against the already damaged skin that spanned the muscle of his thigh, rocking him forward into a limping lope. Long-toothed shadows kept easy pace with him as he ran. They would not let him rest until the verdant light grew too intense to ignore. The gully had opened up into a small valley, the center of which pulsed with a macabre beat all its own. He had found it despite himself: the Heart of Pangea.
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tl,dr: Zombie Santana finds him, is killed at the bottom of a gully. Swamp gas gives him hallucinations, and drives him towards the Heart and also a bit crazy.
