Toni
What remained of the afternoon sun was now auburn remnants under thick canopies of palm and other trees that cascaded the thickened forests of Akari, uneven splotches of golden rays scattered to the ground to faintly surge coloration to the fallen leaves and other debris that resided there. A certain darkness that already crept into the woodwork even as the sun reigned high in its final defiance to night, the horizon agape and barren for its claim in the receding hours, yet still did the black seep into the woods without agency or care for what time took the rest of the world. Still winds encroached the cowering leaves, branches idly quaking against the hushed reverberations, a sign of a coming storm perhaps, or some primeval unrest that so deeply infested whatever truly was at fault here. Regardless, all of this and more, the land was quiet. Life went on as it did, the animals that toiled in the day recessed to their homes and habitats while the nocturnal few were roused by the yearning calls of the moon as it reared its own domain into the sky. The archipelago was known for its more sinister existence and utilization, but this fetidness seemed more brazenly natural than anything caused by some mad lords and their raving antics to exploit and ransack. For a land typically so alive with the suffering of others, this little patch of green and black was so eerily distant from those sensations, as if intentional, as if it was always made to be. Whatever it was, there was no one here to seek out the answer, to move beyond the sinister guise that perturbed the body and spirit if they traipsed these damned woods, naught but the noise of nothingness and the haunting stillness of a land so normally alive for good or the bad of it.

Then, a discordant sound echoed beyond the greenery, something abhorrent in its reverberations one might believe it to be some malformed nature spirit or some other anguished elemental. The guttural discourse bled out to several twisted hymns, a great struggle in each syllable. Though as whatever the thing was had its cant, no one resounded back to this clarion call, instead, the returning destitute of quiet returned. It only made these startling cries all the louder, each bewildering hack, gurgle, and some other inane squelching. Could mortal tongue even conjure these rhythms? Whatever it was, the irritation of its intensity grew apparent, until finally: Nothing. The forest returned to its dread isolation, an ironic sanctity now in the quietness compared to the insipid speech heard moments before. Sanctuary was as fleeting as it emerged however, for what followed the calm of none was another set of voices, this time, grossly human. It could perhaps be some facsimile of speech, but the hymns now were soothed, albeit oddly stunted. Was it now singing? Whatever was making this mockery of music, it was now echoing out a serenade that shook the disturbed palm trees, the singing voice carried by the lingering wind that ached them in odd intervals. This patch of forestry darkness now carried a new life that surged out from it, calling, celebrating, beckoning. Many legends often speak of monsters calling out to man through song, where the sweet guise of their dulcet hymns were only a facade behind their intentions to feast and partake in the bodies of mortal man. Sirens and harpies both held these intentions to dissuade and misdirect, but their vocal palpitations were intentionally smooth and sweet to the ears. This voice, this song or whatever one might describe it so, was certainly different in its effect. It held a certain beauty in its cadence, but still each echo seemed lifeless, as if the originator grappled with something coming each new breath. It never felt complete, ghastly and strained, but the imperfections were captivating in their own ways. The faults brought out the greater serenity of the music, haunting hymns guiding the inclined deeper and deeper within the fetid sanctuary the song emerged from. Something lingered here, something unknown, something inhuman.
Richard
Days where the sun shined out bright, gorgeously displaying it's overwhelming rays, made Viktor sick to the stomach. It was only natural, for someone who had spent almost a majority of his life either in hiding or in a shaded area. The Akari Islands, not many travel to it, at least not many that he's seen. The islands in of itself seemed to have such a welcoming, yet, threatening presence to it. Rumors have been spread left and right about these isles, some talk of psychotic lords and their desperate attempts to exploit these bits of land. Only to be destroyed and sent empty-handed. He didn't mind these rumors very much. Viktor sat in the very back of his creaky wooden boat, he didn't have enough to afford a regular boat. Not to mention the person he haggled over pricing with, wasn't the friendliest about his familiar. The familiar in specific, a basilisk about the size of a school bus, was lazily coiled in the front of the boat. Viktor could feel the frail boat shake under it's weight, he questioned how it even kept afloat under both of their weights. The godforsaken creature basked in the golden sun, it's slimy scales soaking up every inch of sunlight it could get. Hours passed and the boat halted to a sudden stop as it arrived on the shore of the islands. Viktor tapped the head of the leisurely serpent. When the basilisk moved it's full weight from the boat and making it's way onto the shore, the boat let out a sickening creak. Koslov's head whipped around to the boat, watching it splinter into bits and pieces. As irritating and disappointing as it is, Viktor expected it. The shrink of a boat that was resentfully sold to him seemed to be barely holding onto it's final straw of hope.

_ _ 
He sighed, putting his gloved hands to his forehead and massaging it gently. Viktor then looked back to the snake, which was buried snug in the sand. Not too many minutes passed since the arrival of Viktor onto these unpromising shores, a noise was heard. A chilling, discordant song bellowed from the deep of the forest. He'd never heard anything like it and the more he listened, the jarring melody seemed to morph into cries. He stood there, his body frozen. Was there a creature in there? By god's mean, what was it. The shrieks were gut-wrenchingly human, the more he listened, a bleak tone overcame these horrifying cries. It bounced through so many melodies from a discordant and ear-bleeding sound to a mauling cry to a beautifully lifeless off-key melody. Viktor was motionless, staring deep into the forest, contemplating whether to explore or not. Just from hearing those sounds it haunted him, echoing in the back of his mind as if it were right there next to him. He looked towards the lethargic snake who seemed to be surprisingly unbothered by these sounds, it was fast asleep. It certainly wouldn't wake up within in the next few minutes, and for his own sake, he couldn't risk the death of his familiar.

_ _ 
Upon these circumstances he decided to explore what in god's name was the source of these bleeding guttural cries. As he ventured deep into the forest it seemed to cave in onto him, the jagged branches seemed to form into arms right before his eyes. He hastened his pace, his chest was tight and it felt as if he were about to burst. Never in the past few years had he felt panic like this, he couldn't focus. Hearing those cries grow louder didn't make anything better, it simply worsened it. Viktor stumbled through the dreadful forest, he felt as if there were something watching him through the forests. His breath hitched as a tree grazed past him, he turned around quickly and as he did so he fell into a grotto. A muffled cry of pain came from him as he sat on the bottom of the barren grotto, the disturbed forest sitting about 30-40 feet from where he sat. There was no time to check for injuries as for when he turned around all he could see were bodies. Completely mauled and torn apart, some sort of savage animal. Not even he could imagine killing a person like this, but it wasn't just one. There were hundreds, god know's how many, but it seemed to all pile on top of one another. He was completely out of it, he was disoriented and spiraling down the rabbit hole of insanity quicker than he thought he would.
Toni
Who knew who else came to the islands, not that any man cared for the appearance of another on an archipelago of sin, manipulation, and the more ill affairs of modern man. Another slave, another slaver, another willing, another willed, innocent or not, the process was now yours as you subsided yourself in the lark for whatever purpose guided you so. Most of the curious never made it beyond the sands, they found themselves elsewhere by then, for better or for worse. Yet there lie another intrepid soul, one too bewitched by the advocacies of the great world even when their bodies thirsted for the darkness of shade and home both. He wandered still, guided by the whims of the self or by situation, and found refuge in the mires of a scrappy boat and the stark islands it took him too. Another victim to the cycle, another new face in the fold. He was not welcomed, there was no one there to denounce him or embrace him, nary a soul to call out to this newcomer. The sands were bleak in an otherwise brimming humid heat, destitute as the conscious. That did not speak of the nonexistence of human tracks and their ability to remain ever-deep within the soft, malleable rustles of sand, for he did spy many a-wandering footsteps. Their tracks were numerous, treaded and flat, they marked the bed of sand with their chaotic arrangements, trailing to and fro, around and around one another, but the most obvious correlation was that they all led to the forest beyond the shores. It was by then that the revelation of movement came alongside the harrowing screech beyond the burgeoning woodwork, which alerted him to whatever lay beyond. Already in a land with no welcome, the only invitation to Akari life was the sharp, uncertain jowls of some creature deep within the mainland. Puzzlement though, made action, and it was not as though that ship could easily last itself another voyage so soon. The man was stuck, forlorn as he was at the coast connected to some questionable darkness, abandoned to the whims or whatever twisted nature designed to grant him so. Thus the crossing came, not with preparation, but the abandon of any and all readiment.

Even to the tepid line of trees rooted alongside the sandy extents, a sinister air took heed all throughout where he walked, creeping ever deeper with the shaky steps onwards that followed. Palm leaves that rustled to the uneven gusts of tree-battered winds turned to thick oaks that cascaded their deep ebony hues beneath them, branches oblong and scattered in all directions, spanning their jutted spines to sup upon whatever light they contest over. The receding afternoon rapidly turned to brimming darkness barely dotted with the orange light above, leaves rustling angrily to the might of the outcrier that deemed to make the land all the more otherworldly. It was as if the woods itself was contending against him, trapping him within as the trees grew larger and larger, drearier and drearier to the ever-worrying march towards the most-perplexing noise within. Darker and darker, quieter and quieter, the only noises now that unearthly song and the malformed gargles that came before, not even the leaves flittered to the might of it. He was alone to the sickening melodies that battered his ears in its odd, soothing flow. Alone in a forest not meant to hold someone such as him within it. Alone in a forest with naught but his thoughts and his anxieties. Alone in a forest that by now the light had been so consumed behind him that direction had never existed at all. Alone.

There it was, the precipice. He stood beyond the source, some feet away to whatever damned song had lured him to, to whatever being designed this mess to enrapture his spirit and his fears together, to whatever wanted him. He collapsed to the floor after scaring himself with the trees, his body guided to a clearing that seemingly opened for him, swallowing him within the shaded opening as the disturbed trees bore eye-like shapes within their branches, beading down at him as he rose to witness the conclusion to his stumbling. At this point, who knew if it was his own delirium or the truth, but in his eyes he witnessed the remains of a massacre. Panicked, sunken eyes spanned his surroundings to see a cacophony of corpses strewn in odd heaps all around him, some stacked atop one another, others distant, their final moments of life attempting to hold onto one another for some vain comforts before their passing. Many of them were torn to indescribable remains, flesh torn alike to the fabrics on their bodies, the all-encompassing iron stench of blood in the air as viscera crept around him in thick, coagulated globs. Sinew trickled the grotto's dead, grassy bed, so many frayed human parts scattered to the four winds here, broken off, barely a whim to their movements as whatever created this mess had a certain twisted innovation in its work. It was beyond the practice of some savage creature, with how detailed the death and disaster was for these hundreds of people, it was the work of something with human thought, with the anatomical understanding to gore the most vulnerable spots to create a rain of crimson and hail of gore. The only part that was never harmed in any of these corpses were their faces, and he could see the same disturbed, ghastly expression on each of their. Eyes were glazed with milky recession, lips bloated with their mouths agape. Their throats were stiff, sunken in as they used all their mortal essence to merely scream out in fear or whatever hunted them down and left behind the perfect remains of their countenance. The eyes stared at him the deepest, their lost gaze, glassy fixations that never could be forgotten when he stared at them. Even in death did they cry out for him, for sanctity, for help, for hope. Hope he could not give, help he could not provide, sanctity he did not even have for himself. The madness of uncertainty and the aromas of death beguiled his rationale so as he gripped with the scenes, and as reminded he was of the true dark madness of this world, he was once again enraptured by the song that led him here.

As if it was some retreat now, comfort in something that struck his nerves as deep as it did before, the scratchy melodies were sanctuary for his teetering mind. His gaze away from the dead that yearned for his unable, mortal assistance turned skywards, he loomed in ever-desperate eyes to a sight that shone pale in the encroaching darkness. It looked to be a mannequin, seated upon the largest spire of discarded flesh and corpses both, seated without recourse of what its seat was. It strangely looked ornamental on the spire of bodies it sat upon, as if it was meant to be some final piece to the riddle of uncertainty and uncanniness to his perplexed mind. The mannequin's body was covered by a most gorgeous dress, patterned with a design that to him or whatever remained of his more cognitive side could not indicate its origin. It was completely unblemished, nary even a stain on the purple silks that were so elegantly dressed its figure, even as it seemed so at home to the violence that they both resided within. It had a face beyond the mere shape of one, porcelain sculpting a most beautiful countenance, smooth and symmetrical. Its eyes were shut, or maybe it only had closed eyes as its expression, not that he could presently decipher which, but it was less the eyes and rather something else that caught his attention. Where the mouth of this doll would be, instead what resided there was a bed of ghostly extremities, strange, tendril-like shapes that speared out from its mouth, flowing to its own rhythms in the air. They danced fervently to the song that by all accounts came from the doll itself. They were these void-like, opaque colors, they seemed as otherworldly as this whole situation was, some deeper darkness attempting to break out from the beautiful porcelain confines it found refuge or prison within. The more he stared, the more his mind gave way to the finer details, and strangely enough, clarity. The world around him ground itself to a halt as naught but the doll seemingly existed now, the final rest in what ailed him so deeply, and it was then that he noticed those phantom-like chords actually were the scattered hymns of a lyrical song.

***"WaLK wItH Me, To tHe sCaTtERed enDs.
AS cOuraGE leAvEs YOU, youR sTreNgTH pReTeNDs.
DiLaTEd aNd dOWnTrodDeN, yoUr BodY GrOwS.
AbAnDonEd bY aLL, ResT yoU'Ll nEvEr kNoW.
YoUr MInd laId BaRe, fOr All to sEe.
FoRloRn anD fOrsAKen, SET in mIsGuiDED sanCtiTy
FinD cOmfORt iN tHe dArK, For it Is YOur hOmE.
FOR I maY bE wITh YoU, yEt sTiLL YOU aRE alOnE.
As yOU stAnD thERE WitH mE, at The scAtTerED endS.
KnOw tHat I Am WitH you, EvEn aS youR mINd PlAYS PretEND."***
Richard
He sat there on the rubble. All of a sudden he could feel his senses heighten, everything was suddenly loud. The silence it pierced his ears so horribly, the mud clenched his fingers too tight as if it were trying to drag him straight into the underground. All the scars plastered over Viktor's body seemed to rip open simultaneously or at least it felt like it. Everything was going so rapidly, his mind was breaking in two. The silence it was too loud. Too fucking loud, he had to make some noise or anything some please break it. He couldn't he simply sat there, here he was sitting in the middle of a pitch black grotto. The trees that hung over the grotto seemed to glare at him, their prickled branches reaching out for him. Branches slowly entangled with one another, alive and snaking around. Reaching out to him slowly, he backed away. He couldn't handle this he had to get out, move do *Something.* 

His free hand searched around in the dark, all he could feel was mud. The mud... It felt liquidy. He looked up at his hand and squinted at it, his leather gloves were tainted in a dark red ink. He was sitting in a pool of blood. Whether it was his own or someone else's didn't concern him. Pool of blood he sat in, memories flooded and came back. Memories he wished to forget, that day. The day he lost it all and fucked himself over. He was the cause of it, the day he sobbed over the bodies he himself had maimed and killed. His own brotherhood. But didn't they deserve it? Did they abandon him first? Why does he still feel sorry. He has no right to feel sorry. He shouldn't. He scooted back away from the blood of sticky thick blood that seemed to latch onto him, calling him back. It called to him?... Blood shouldn't do that.

He's imagining it, this is all a dream. He's not in a stupid fucking grotto. He could never, he's sitting back in the boat he simply fell asleep. He drifted away and is stuck in the middle of the ocean. He can't be here he couldn't, he shouldn't. It was all too similar to that day. Viktor shakily stood up, barely being able too as he felt a sickening rip in his body. The fall had indeed opened up one of his old scars. A big one too, a scar he was given by his own fucking father. Placed on his left leg, it went from his ankle to kneecap. A big scar. As he stood up he collapsed back the floor, biting down on his tongue to not yell out. But he couldn't a muffled yell came from him, it hurt. So fucking bad. He couldn't take this shit.

_ _ 
His eyes soon adjusted to the darkness, he limped over a few feet to where he could see a few strands of light from the snake of branches that seemed to mesh together to create an overhanger for the grotto. The rocks seemed to be formed in strange ways, he's never seen anything like it. He hobbled over to touch one of these rocks, it was.. Smooth... Like human skin. The blood seemed to be splattered over here to... Not too long after he stared at the rock for a few moments. It was so strangely shaped he just couldn't grasp the feeling of it. He felt around it for a few seconds more, moving his hand up and down until he felt a squelch. He retracted his hand immediately, disgusted. What he had touched was a rotten human intestine. This was a pile of human bodies. The cold glassy eyes of these bodies stared at him, all wearing the same fear of horror on their face. All these bodies had their throats ripped out and it still seemed as if they were alive. As if they were crying out for his help even in death, they all seemed to fixate at him. Staring at him. Waiting for *Him* To do something. But what could he do? Absolutely nothing. He turned around, another pile. Again. Another pile. More, more, and MORE. A massacre, a genocide, wide-spread murder, all the people killed here was enough to create a well developed town. What the fuck could've caused this? He didn't know. In the middle of the grotto lay almost a throne of dead bodies, and on top of this morally traumatizing throne sat a mannequin.

A mannequin? What the fuck was that doing here. Why was it there? Was it alive? Is he hallucinating? He can't be, it's all too real to be one. Viktor hobbled over, genuinely wishing he had brought the basilisk with him. It would've calmed him at least, having his familiar by his side. His eyes focused again on the dark, it strained them so. It was practically pitch black, it would've been a nice time to have light than fucking venom for an elemental ability. He never took the time to learn of light. He blinked slowly as he stared at the doll. It was... Surprisingly well modeled. The flowing and beautifully intricate design of the dress it wore seemed to shine in the pile of dead bodies that it sat upon. It's eyes were shut, he didn't expect these nightmarish things to be coming out of the doll's mouth. The tendrils looked like numerous snakes all reaching out towards Viktor, trying to bring him in. He took a step back out of fear. For the first time in almost 20 years he had felt true fear once more, this horrifying bringer of PTSD. As he stared more he heard that the *Doll* Was the one in fact speaking the horrid cries he had heard from the shore banks. The bleak tone and gut wrenchingly shrieks had come from this porcelain doll.. He stood in disbelief. Viktor didn't even have the strength to cover his ears when the doll sung again it's off-tone melody of mankind's final venture. A small whisper came from him, as if he were talking to himself. 

"What are you..." He said in disbelief, he didn't even know if the doll would respond. It had to, unless this was some mythical god he'd stumbled upon. The rotten smell of bodies overpowered his nose, he scrunched up his nose as he stared at the doll. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Toni
How could the earth turn against him so? It was so peaceful at the coastal edges, the glimmery waters softly fluttering that rocky mess of a boat towards the islands. The receding horizon brought comforting orange hues in the sky, an autumnal landscape intermixed the vast oceans that surrounded this burdened landmass. It was a sanctuary compared to this. Everything was a sanctuary compared to this. Now the soft sand had turned to callous dirt, and callous dirt had turned to disparate mud. It trapped him here, ever deeper within the forest-turned-mire. There was nothing but the continued sinking feeling in his chest despite its erratic heartbeats. The silence that echoed louder beyond any noise was enough to feel the reverberating fear within his core, each hurried pulse of his heart, each nauseating exhale nearing hyperventilation. It was as if his own blood was alive within him, gushing to and fro, barely holding the strength to return to his panicked heart as desperation turned to weakness. Was this really mud? In a coastal forest? No, he soon found what truly laid within his dreadful mixture: Blood. It soaked the ground with its coagulated slough, gloved hands and cloak both stained by its viscous residue. Another dreadful reminder, just as everything else turned to haunt him incessantly here. The world was out to get him, finally, condemnation within this strange secular patch of the kingdoms meant to be solely chosen for him. Such was often what the mind considered in times of great peril and continued anxieties. The world was often a canvas for the mind, shadows turned to visages of great things and greater threats, and the clouds formed most curious shapes often veiled as rudimentary things coexisting under their boundless heights. Yet for whatever attempt at sanctity here, it led him to think what was truly real here. Was it merely dread at finding himself within disconcerting shadows? How long did those freights chase him still? Questions gave way to other speculations, and thus did the mind wander ever still in its erratic attempts to capture the scene in a way not meant to disturb it, if only it were that easy.

Sharp pain typically grounded those in their delusions, the reminder of their mortality claiming heed when enough of a wounding force was applied to any madman. He was no different in this case. Many old scars found themselves opening today within fleeting moments of each other, the mental typically followed the physical, and the physical mellowed out the mental. In some twisted sense of relief, perhaps the visceral jetting of scarred tissue to distract him was enough of a relief to surmount the discovery that continues to evade him in that momentary delirium. Each breath was sourced by the necromantic tinges of death he could even feel on his tongue, an all-too familiar scent, and his vain attempts and steadying himself was met with a deeper collapse into the bloody mire festering around him. His body was baptized in the dirt-laced blood, it clung to him like his past, and would take ages to cleanse himself of it, if he ever could. Yet he journeyed still, he clambered and dredged his failing body ever deeper into this shadowy trap, deeper and deeper the body hobbled. He was called here after all, channeled to wander to Akari for whatever wonder he still had within that burdened mind. His clarion call came in due time, a decrepit body was about to join the others that had similar fates as he, or he who knew others who had similar fates as them. Rationale quickly left again as veteran eyes gazed longingly at the scene once again, and thus did the panic of past and present return. Innumerable was the carnage, indescribable was the remains, instability was the sensations. There was no patterned thinking here, no means to this torment, no goal. Nothing came here to feed, nothing came here to free these people from their fates as slavers and debtors, nothing came here to do any good but ravage the downtrodden and the damned. But why? Why would anyone, anything do this? What good came out of this pain, this suffering? These questions must have dawdled in his mind for years now, tired gazes and anxious head-turns both brought upon these uncertainties. He was grounded in another of these moments now, and no reprieve tended to be quite the common element in each harrowing encounter.

Though there was always a difference in each situation, a catalyst, a deliverance of action. It could be a monster, it could be human, it could be something else entirely. It could be him. Whatever it was, it stood before him as it did this entire time, watching his weary motions, his discerned stares, each pained twitch of his body. It remained captivated by the tormentous indignation he had against giving up and merely laying in this mess that enveloped him so. Despite how his mind broke and so too his body, he lingered on still, as he always has. Finally his gaze would intersect amongst his glancing at the messes made by its origin, and he was once again reintroduced to the idea of bewilderment. It was a doll, a quite beautiful one at that, finely-crafted and undisturbed of any messes on its silken garbs. Pale, perfect porcelain refracted the tiniest pangs of the dying evening sun, the only light in this place to bleed down from the otherwise conquering treescapes above, as if made intentionally to display this crafted thing. The bodies were stacked in a considered way, meant to elevate them, to demonstrate, to present. It sat on them as one snobby exalt would, looking down upon their subjects with discontent over their feeble lives and this squabbling issues. The doll was above him in every single way, and all he could go was remain agape as it went about its harrowing melodies. This was the source of it all, the noises, the music, the scenery, a crafted show meant to disturb and revile, and he was the centerpiece, the audience. It unfolded as it was meant to, another body traipsing out of curiosity, now serving to lure another, and another, and another. The cycle continued as it always did, why would he be any different? The spectral tendrils that jetted out from the doll's mouth began to hang low near where he lay, their singsong sway dead to mere twitches in the wind. They leered at him so without eyes, for they did not need sight to know he was there. The signal was enough to make him lurch back, and thus did those serpentine tethers shiver forward, ever close, moving to his motions. They rattled now, or at least their incessant writhing might as well be taken as such, for the doll had finished its revelry too. With one unpleasant action did all the worms slush back into the doll's mouth, and everything had returned to a dreadful quiet, the ambience of unsettled winds no longer present as he watched two finely-crafted slot opened up to reveal starry gems for eyes now leering down at him.

Their radiance was unmistakable, their eyes shimmered even in the pitch that hung from beneath them. Pause was between them both, but at least he would speak first, even if it was hushed confusion. Strangely enough, as it was only a whisper, the doll reacted to him. It steadied itself up into a standing position, guided by unseen movements. Its jointed legs flowed as its resting hands settled to its sides, standing quite revered over its kingdom of corpses. The sight was enough to mistake it for some ancient necromantic deity, or some other sinister force unknown or forgotten from the world, and it would now grace his presence with its descend down in ever dignified steps. At least, he might have at least ascertained its intentions to walk haughtily down its kills, for what quickly transpired was the doll not lifting its left leg enough past an outstretched arm, slipping over it, and completely and utterly falling face-first into the stack it presumably took quite some time to situate for itself. The rather atonal situation continued as the blood and the soft-skinned mortised bodies provided the doll quite the slide to awkwardly slip down the entire way from the head of the throne to right before him in one fell swoop, no intermissions or unnecessary pauses. The entire strangely comedic process now left a face-planted doll right in front of him, arms up and forward, legs scrunched, simply lying there in its own accident as poor Viktor, bless his heart, was left standing to stare at just whatever he witnessed.
Steven
Omw to write a response 🔥🔥🔥 ]]

Im going to get to it ]]

When im done w finals this week]]

Then i shall be free (for only two days but whatever 💀 ) ]]
Richard
His mind didn't have the brainpower or energy to process this situation. His eyes were widened, they had already adjusted to the darkness but now it was pandemonium. It was all that was in his eyes. His lips quivered as he opened his mouth to say something, yet, no words were attained. For hell's sake why even try, his brain was in such a traumatic frenzy it would require a miracle for him to form a proper sentence that wasn't a mixture of gibberish, english, and russian. Maybe he was dreaming? This wasn't real. It couldn't be. This doesn't exist, it *Shouldn't* Exist. How could it? But what would he know, he is blind to the modern aspects of the world as a consequence of forcing himself away from the world and its strange rules. He would watch the doll stand upon its throne of bodies, as if to elevate itself above him. Noticing the way the doll sat upon the throne, typically he would've said something against its snobby advance. As he took a step forward towards this spectral deity his body crumbled. He doubled over, his hand quickly fled to the side of his weakened body. Groping around, attempting to find the injury which had reopened once more. The once healed mangled reminder of his past, his mistakes, had ripped open.. No that was an understatement. It tore open, his hand could feel a slimy secretion that seemed to lace and wrap itself around his ribcage. The wound opened further with each slight movement, it moved with Viktors erratic breathing but in a discordant motion.

As if it were its own mind, yet, that's silly. Scars can't do that. He's simply dying! Or more... Just.. Re-experiencing a forgotten memory. We all do that at some point though no? Under his layers of clothing the scar suffocated, it clawed against his gloved hand which further prevented its journey of bleeding out. Blood shoved and choked against his hand, the overflow of blood that would've happened was protected by the glove. Though it wasn't the best idea putting a hand ridden with bacteria of other mutilated bodies and properties of this god-forsaken island, over a wound half as old as he. His gloved hands kept a firm grip on the wound, it was simply a matter of time that the others would catch up and bleed out. What was it to him though. Viktors eyes frantically searched around for a main point of focus, the bodies were out of the question, the only thing in sight was the god forsaken doll. A creature of hell? By god's name even with his past experience of his delirious father and psychopathological mother, he couldn't figure out what this feud of ancient wraithlike power stood in front of him. He attempted to move from his crouched position but his body was lodged in it, it simply wouldn't allow him to stand up. This puts him at the height and within even eyesight of the doll. He watched as the serpentine fetters bend forth, prevailing on in an hypnotically tainting motion. The necromantic tendrils which retracted and shoved themselves back into the doll's mouth in such an aggressive manner was enough to twist his stomach tenfold. Such a sweet innocent seeming doll now, as if it weren't a spectral hell-born child just a few moments ago. Without the torturous, crooked forked tongues of the unknown wavering out of it's mouth it was harmless seeming. It was benign looking. He took a second now to look at it's perfectly defined features.

The pale perfect porcelain glowed in the pitifully distributed pathetic rays of radiance that creeped in through the grotto of deceased trees and lifeless bodies. It was so finely-crafted, the silken garbs of it were tailored to the finest detail as the soft fabric gently danced through the few whims of wind that blew every now and then. The stare of the doll was intimidating to say the least, there was no time to make any foolish or idiotic choices. To fight this creature or even THINK about it was fatuous and black despondency. It would've been suicidal despair, the feeble condition he was in left him only one choice would be to choose a pacifistic route. Shakily he gestured a hand forward, which each pained twitch of his body he could feel the disfigured scars gape and extend more. Should he say something? What would he say.. Could this thing speak?.. The one question scrambled in his mind, running laps in it. Over and over and over. *What is it?*

His body jolted back a bit as he watched the doll slowly creak towards him, it's perfectly fashioned legs and arms moved in such an elegant motion over its throne of corpses. As he watched it descend down the division of bodies, he didn't expect it to collapse forward. The knees of the doll buckled forward as it splashed into the mixture of blood and dirt. Staining the poor creature's face, it lay right in front of him, face-planted. Viktor couldn't even fathom words to describe how disturbed and staggered he was by this, now it was simply the both of them lying down along with the remaining wearisome carcasses. One was lying by its own lack of control. The other lay for the sake of the delicate tissue which covered the body. The body's intricate tapestry which had been unraveled, exposing the tender underbelly of past trauma and reminding the bearer of the fragility that lay beneath the surface of clothing. What to do? The injured Viktor had staggered to a halt, laying on the floor along with the doll. His chest heaving as each breath came in slowly through ragged heaves. The effort of movement clearly visible in the way he winced with each twitch of his body or small gesture, even breathing hurt. His furrowed brow and furiously blinking eyes betrayed a mind still actively processing the situation at hand.

Maybe he should help it?.. He could barely help himself but maybe the way to get on the good side of this.. Doll. Viktor was able to help himself up to his shoulders, his body quivering aggressively as he did so but his hands reached out to the doll. Gently, he picked it up and propped it up in a sitting position. This thing hadn't attacked him, so it gave him no reason to be so harsh to the doll or disregard it's struggle even if it would end up killing him in the end. But so far, it hasn't struck him or done anything in particular. So he would help. He dusted off some of the dirt from the porcelain skin of the doll, taking off his gloves to do so. His hands were horribly scarred, mangled bits of skin tissue flared up and black splotches seethed through. His skin was puckered and discolored, with jagged lines tracing a path of ruination across the palms and knuckles. The fingers were gnarled and misshapen, no longer able to perform tasks as delicately as they once could. Patches of venom that had once seeped into the very bones, left behind a permanent reminder of the agony endured. His hands were rough, as expected but he still tried his best to be gentle. Once finished with his job he slumped back to the floor, exhausted. His bodily injuries didn't help much with his exhaustion, but now all he could do was pray this thing didn't kill him. He stared up at the doll, which he had propped up to a sitting position. In a barely audible whisper he inquired, **"Do you.. Talk?—"** Viktors voice was hoarse and raspy, it was practically a wheeze at this point. The thick accent didn't help much with his words either.
Steven
The word limit doesn't help much w the paragraph spacing 💀 ]]

Sliughldufshg ty :( ]]