09-25-2015, 11:38 PM
There was a swirl of motion and her stomach churned.
Christa had taken a step forward, only to feel the thrash of a jarring tug, lurch her backward. She was being pulled in all directions. Or rather, the directions which she turned had mixed results. She couldn’t help but to think of the absurdity of it all. They had spiraled along walls, things that shouldn’t have happened occurred with massive collateral impact and now it was all turning to shit.
They were following the yellow brick road, but no! Clayton shot the fucking wizard. The Oververse was supposedly beyond this place, if it even existed. They strode on forever, following a single line that held no promise to deliver them anywhere. However, a good leader never revealed her doubt, especially to those loyal enough to follow her this far without question. She was relieved they had not persisted on the topic of her sister, and more or less sauntered on with a tremendous amount of reliance on the lines that made scape of the infinite room. A glance over her shoulder only resulted in the cascade of her feet as she tripped over “nothing.”
Christa heaved a sigh and summoned the strength to stand after falling face-first into the flat ground. Dismay clouded her eyes. Her mind wandered as she tried to clear her head and better face the task at hand. There had been a creature, a deity donned in azure white, and adorned with radiant and full wings. Then, Clayton had shot at it and everything merged into a sickening blur. Dizzying motion filled her with a sickness in her stomach. That was when it all fell to shit.
A flinch and everything happened around her simultaneously, and to her distain, nothing bent to her will. Protest, movement, and forceful retaliation, all filled the actions she had hoped would have consequence. Neither did.
She pushed, she shoved, and narrowly avoided some dangerously close shots, aimed by her truest friend, Isaac.
“You trying to fucking shoot me?” Christa challenged, another shot rang out, startling her.
Her shocked face turned to Isaac, who had coincidentally found a pistol. Already, he had shot at her three times. His clip was almost empty. Almost.
“Thought you didn’t like those, Isaac.” His aged face looked weary, his eyes dodged invisible shapes. Whatever had made him wield this weapon, was not something she could see. “Or don’t you recognize me?” She challenged the illusion behind his eyes.
“Fight it. I don’t want to shoot you, old man.” She warned and held her pistol cocked too, no idea if he could actually see her.
Clayton came round after spying their showdown. He only watched, hoping he wouldn't have to take down his now-enemy, Isaac, who -he read- seemed to have intent on killing Christa.
Shadows continued to form in Isaac’s eyes. Christa took her chance and extended her leg in a well-swung kick, disarming the man. She thought she had prevailed -as maybe he could not form his blood into bladed shapes and elongated whips in his current state- but that theory was completely obliterated by what happened next.
Never had she been more wrong.
A long, slithering whip of blood caught Christa a little too close. Along her arm, a deeply embedded gash began to form. A rush of hot blood tumbled from the widening wound, but still she could feel no pain. Numb, as her reaction had been that Isaac had attacked her.
“Mother. Fucker.” she cursed and now wielded her revolver in her left hand. In her right, she was beginning to lose all feeling. Her lip quivered into a livened snarl at the molten feeling of her own raw wound as she could do nothing to cover it without lowering her weapon. The scarlet tears gushed from her arm while her eyes remained iced and cold. She faced a friend, and an enemy. A traitorous situation. She damned Omni. She damned herself. She damned them all.
“I don’t want to shoot you, damn it.” She warned him angrily, through closed teeth. But his gaze was elsewhere and hard, while his lips remained stern and unmoving. As though he was not seeing her as she was. Christa could only imagine the horror he was enduring. His body here, his mind there. She could only guess what -or who- he had raised the gun to.
All of this chaos and literal insanity. And there was nothing she could do about it.
There was a calm that fell upon them and while the room whirled around them at a hundred miles per hour, between the small ten yards that spanned before them, Christa saw a doubtful hesitation in Isaac’s eyes. His gut -his intuition- something was telling him this was wrong.
“Trust it.” Christa hoped out loud, and now saw his wavering gaze glance at her gun. Suddenly she wondered if he saw her unarmed -that was, if he saw her at all-. But she wasn’t shooting, which was probably why he was not telling the coils of blood that surrounded him in a tangle of thin webbing, to, well, rip her apart.
“I’m not an enemy.”
Doubtful as Christa was, she lowered her defense. “There’s no point if you don’t make it, old man.” She muttered to Isaac, “Remember we started together, in that dingy old saloon? Then we hauled ass out of that fuckin’ desert and we are closer than ever. Don’t you dare get compromised on me now.” The girl held up her able hand after holstering her pistol. “See? No tricks...”
Liar. Nagged her conscience, but she reminded herself that:
This. Wasn’t. Isaac.
Determined eyes trailed with careful calculation, and the trajectory of her target neared. Christa dared to take a step closer to Isaac. His body coiled back, tense.
“I don’t know what you are seeing, Isaac. But I know once you had a wife. I can’t imagine to know what it must have been like to carry on without her. Worlds apart. Hell, I don’t even know if you can hear me right now. But, I will say, this...” Her tone leaned in, and she edged closer.
“Isaac, we’re almost there.” She reminded him, noticing the fresh tightness pull on the lines of his face.
Her hand reached out, as though to shake on it, the trust she had in their alliance. But Christa shoved him, and felt another skewer slip into her flesh. Suddenly, Isaac was caged in a durable glasslike jail cell, and Christa fell to the floor, grasping the urgent pain that flashed hot in her shoulder.
...
Christa looked up to see Abner’s face, distinguished and shadowed by his hair. His eyes distraught with rage and swirling with conflict. She saw his pistol raise toward her closest ally but shook her head only at the heavy weight of shame and disappointment she felt in herself for letting this happen.
“Fuck. Not you too.”
Christa had taken a step forward, only to feel the thrash of a jarring tug, lurch her backward. She was being pulled in all directions. Or rather, the directions which she turned had mixed results. She couldn’t help but to think of the absurdity of it all. They had spiraled along walls, things that shouldn’t have happened occurred with massive collateral impact and now it was all turning to shit.
They were following the yellow brick road, but no! Clayton shot the fucking wizard. The Oververse was supposedly beyond this place, if it even existed. They strode on forever, following a single line that held no promise to deliver them anywhere. However, a good leader never revealed her doubt, especially to those loyal enough to follow her this far without question. She was relieved they had not persisted on the topic of her sister, and more or less sauntered on with a tremendous amount of reliance on the lines that made scape of the infinite room. A glance over her shoulder only resulted in the cascade of her feet as she tripped over “nothing.”
Christa heaved a sigh and summoned the strength to stand after falling face-first into the flat ground. Dismay clouded her eyes. Her mind wandered as she tried to clear her head and better face the task at hand. There had been a creature, a deity donned in azure white, and adorned with radiant and full wings. Then, Clayton had shot at it and everything merged into a sickening blur. Dizzying motion filled her with a sickness in her stomach. That was when it all fell to shit.
A flinch and everything happened around her simultaneously, and to her distain, nothing bent to her will. Protest, movement, and forceful retaliation, all filled the actions she had hoped would have consequence. Neither did.
She pushed, she shoved, and narrowly avoided some dangerously close shots, aimed by her truest friend, Isaac.
“You trying to fucking shoot me?” Christa challenged, another shot rang out, startling her.
Her shocked face turned to Isaac, who had coincidentally found a pistol. Already, he had shot at her three times. His clip was almost empty. Almost.
“Thought you didn’t like those, Isaac.” His aged face looked weary, his eyes dodged invisible shapes. Whatever had made him wield this weapon, was not something she could see. “Or don’t you recognize me?” She challenged the illusion behind his eyes.
“Fight it. I don’t want to shoot you, old man.” She warned and held her pistol cocked too, no idea if he could actually see her.
Clayton came round after spying their showdown. He only watched, hoping he wouldn't have to take down his now-enemy, Isaac, who -he read- seemed to have intent on killing Christa.
Shadows continued to form in Isaac’s eyes. Christa took her chance and extended her leg in a well-swung kick, disarming the man. She thought she had prevailed -as maybe he could not form his blood into bladed shapes and elongated whips in his current state- but that theory was completely obliterated by what happened next.
Never had she been more wrong.
A long, slithering whip of blood caught Christa a little too close. Along her arm, a deeply embedded gash began to form. A rush of hot blood tumbled from the widening wound, but still she could feel no pain. Numb, as her reaction had been that Isaac had attacked her.
“Mother. Fucker.” she cursed and now wielded her revolver in her left hand. In her right, she was beginning to lose all feeling. Her lip quivered into a livened snarl at the molten feeling of her own raw wound as she could do nothing to cover it without lowering her weapon. The scarlet tears gushed from her arm while her eyes remained iced and cold. She faced a friend, and an enemy. A traitorous situation. She damned Omni. She damned herself. She damned them all.
“I don’t want to shoot you, damn it.” She warned him angrily, through closed teeth. But his gaze was elsewhere and hard, while his lips remained stern and unmoving. As though he was not seeing her as she was. Christa could only imagine the horror he was enduring. His body here, his mind there. She could only guess what -or who- he had raised the gun to.
All of this chaos and literal insanity. And there was nothing she could do about it.
There was a calm that fell upon them and while the room whirled around them at a hundred miles per hour, between the small ten yards that spanned before them, Christa saw a doubtful hesitation in Isaac’s eyes. His gut -his intuition- something was telling him this was wrong.
“Trust it.” Christa hoped out loud, and now saw his wavering gaze glance at her gun. Suddenly she wondered if he saw her unarmed -that was, if he saw her at all-. But she wasn’t shooting, which was probably why he was not telling the coils of blood that surrounded him in a tangle of thin webbing, to, well, rip her apart.
“I’m not an enemy.”
Doubtful as Christa was, she lowered her defense. “There’s no point if you don’t make it, old man.” She muttered to Isaac, “Remember we started together, in that dingy old saloon? Then we hauled ass out of that fuckin’ desert and we are closer than ever. Don’t you dare get compromised on me now.” The girl held up her able hand after holstering her pistol. “See? No tricks...”
Liar. Nagged her conscience, but she reminded herself that:
This. Wasn’t. Isaac.
Determined eyes trailed with careful calculation, and the trajectory of her target neared. Christa dared to take a step closer to Isaac. His body coiled back, tense.
“I don’t know what you are seeing, Isaac. But I know once you had a wife. I can’t imagine to know what it must have been like to carry on without her. Worlds apart. Hell, I don’t even know if you can hear me right now. But, I will say, this...” Her tone leaned in, and she edged closer.
“Isaac, we’re almost there.” She reminded him, noticing the fresh tightness pull on the lines of his face.
Her hand reached out, as though to shake on it, the trust she had in their alliance. But Christa shoved him, and felt another skewer slip into her flesh. Suddenly, Isaac was caged in a durable glasslike jail cell, and Christa fell to the floor, grasping the urgent pain that flashed hot in her shoulder.
...
Christa looked up to see Abner’s face, distinguished and shadowed by his hair. His eyes distraught with rage and swirling with conflict. She saw his pistol raise toward her closest ally but shook her head only at the heavy weight of shame and disappointment she felt in herself for letting this happen.
“Fuck. Not you too.”
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus