hadriel_logs | Event Log: The Hills Are Silent

Entry tags:

Event Log: The Hills Are Silent

Who: Everyone!
What: The Silent Hill event
Where: Throughout the city
When: June 15th-20th
Warnings: Silent Hill comes to Hadriel, and with it, a few personalized monsters

On the morning of June 15th, a thick fog rolls into Hadriel. There's nothing quite terrifying about it yet, but it manages to drain the city of color, forcing a grey backdrop onto everything behind it. Feel free to go try to check it out if you want, just be careful, because it won't be too long until the sirens start blaring.

There's not exactly a reasonable explanation for where the sound is coming from: Hadriel doesn't have a speaker system, or any warning sirens in place for when something horrible happens. But you'd better find cover quickly, because shortly after the sirens start wailing, the city begins to change. Walls and furniture start to peel, revealing a bloody, hellish version of the city that you once knew. In addition, the monsters from the bestiary will roam the city, as well as a few other monsters that might hit a little closer to home.

Some characters may run into monsters which embody their own sins or insecurities. Some characters may be pursued by their friends' hellish mirrors. One thing is clear: you don't want any of these things catching you. Luckily, it isn't long before Hope makes a post, declaring the god temples as safe zones from all the creatures that are now loose upon the city.

The sirens will fade within a few hours, and the city will fall back to normal, the monsters will retreat back into the fog as if they were never there, and everything seems to be fine again, as if that terrifying experience was just some kind of twisted dream. You can tell yourself that, if you like... but that won't help much the next time the sirens start again.

► This log covers June 15th-20th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Any number of things could murder you here. If you wind up on the unfortunate end of Pyramid Head's chain, please remember to hit up our death post!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Glacius' assessment was right: Carlisle was panicky and nervous even on his best days, but at that moment, he had plenty of reason to worry. His apartment was infested by a monster he couldn't hope to fight; it was not safe, neither from the false gods, nor from whomever had summoned the fog. The temples were not an option either, for as badly as he wanted to find refuge, he couldn't stand for being manipulated. After his incident with the fireflies, he'd been wary of how he felt when he neared the temples -- even getting close, he could feel emotions that weren't entirely his own creeping in. He refused to give the gods any more sustenance.

Unfortunately, that left him wandering, trying to find safety as he paced the streets and fought with his own indecision. Through the mists around him, he heard a familiar voice, and turned to meet it.

"Glacius," he greeted, pausing immediately after. It occurred to him in that pause that he'd last seen the icy alien in his dreams, during the time the gods had been manipulating them, though he couldn't recall all the details. His memories were as thick as the fog at times.

It was of no importance now, he supposed. They had more obvious problems all around them. "I appreciate the offer, truly, but I cannot go to the temples."

Edited 2016-06-16 06:00 (UTC)

Glacius casts a few quick looks around, making sure nothing is immediately bearing down on them. He'd thought he'd heard something for a moment, and his nightmare had left him jumpier than he'd like. Shaking his head, he closes the distance between the two of them.

"I understand your reservations," the ice alien responds, "Few things are worse than having your mind infected by an outside force. But there are people in each of the temples that need assistance, and so I must put aside my personal grievances for the time to make sure they have access to supplies." Still, he'd been making only passing stops at Rage and Fear's temple. Hope's had been the safe zone he had been settling in the most, if only because the boost to that emotion had made it easier for him to push on when he was feeling weary.

"But... you cannot remain out here. Surely you've seen the way the world crumbles away... and all of the monsters that stalk the streets now are an ever-present threat. You've said it yourself, you are not a fighter. I cannot let you simply remain out here alone--so where will you go, then?"

Carlisle cannot deny that what Glacius says is true, especially since he admitted it himself: he is no fighter. He hasn't the bravery of his uncles, the skill of his father, the brawn of someone like Glacius, or even the practical, defensive magic of any wizard worth his salt back home. He doesn't want to die, but he'd argue that being manipulated by false gods, being controlled in a similar way to how he can control others because of his curse, isn't any better.

Of course, he can't attend to his goddess if he's dead, either. It is a conundrum.

"Let me travel with you," he suggests, "at least until you have finished gathering supplies. I promise to be of use in some way. Just... I'm not ready to go to the temples. And my apartment is not an option."

"Of course," Glacius blinks. Normally he might express some exasperation with having a human tagging along with him--particularly such a flighty one--in the midst of such danger, but he understands what Carlisle is going through all too well. Plus, the clergyman did stand up for one of his own people; that gives him a pass, a reason to be defended. "But you must be careful, quiet, and above all: defer to my judgement. If I believe we need to fall back, we will, even if that means returning temporarily to the temples to break from an enemy engagement."

Though he doesn't look particularly thrilled with Glacius' ultimatum -- the sound of it says he doesn't think Carlisle can take care of himself or make good choices when he's panicked, a point that is 100% true by all accounts -- he gives the icy alien a nod after a second's consideration.

"Of course. You need only say the word, and I shall oblige." Maybe not be happy with himself for it, but oblige all the same. "Where are we headed, then?"

He hadn't meant to make those implications, even if he hadn't seen enough of Carlisle in action to decide otherwise; he simply does not want to walk someone who is relying on him right in to the heat of a dangerous situation. Unfortunately he has no idea that is exactly what is about to happen.

"I was going to begin with--" Glacius began, but then his gills caught and fluttered. He could have sworn he heard something--a dripping, hissing sound underscored by a low, pained moan. The ice alien went completely still, his features twisting up as his eyes flicked this way and that, frantically scanning their surroundings for the source of the noise. Not here... how could it be here? Could it have been stalking him all this time? He backs up a step, distress beginning to break through his cool resolve as the sound grew louder, seeming to come from all around them; it's probably one of the first times Carlisle has witnessed such an emotion on from the normally confident and self-assured ice aliens, which is likely just about as unsettling as the sounds of whatever has been tormenting him.

Whereas Glacius freezes (figuratively) at the sound, Carlisle is alive with nervous energy, his entirely body straightening, stiffening in alarm. He looks to the icy alien for comfort, sure he's cool (also figuratively) and collected as always, unperturbed by danger. He could face anything but a bonfire and come out with hardly a scratch.

But he's not: as Glacius scans the area, the sound grows louder, nearer, and for the first time since he's known him, the alien looks as unnerved as Carlisle himself feels almost all the time. That's not reassuring in the least.

Leaning closer to Glacius and trying not to get in his way in case he backs up another step, Carlisle whispers to him. "Glacius. What is that?"

The ice alien doesn't look at Carlisle; his green eyes are darting this way and that, rapidly scanning their surroundings now that he at least has an idea of how his tormentor is going to emerge. And then all of the sudden the sinister noises just stop--but Glacius does not seem heartened by this. He remembers this--the eerie silence that filled the world around him, drilling a horrible sense of emptiness and foreboding straight into his mind. He feels like his hearts are thundering in his chest, waiting for the monstrosity to show itself...

It isn't a long wait, in the end. From the top of a building across the street from them, a viscous, murky-colored puddle seeps down the wall and begins to ooze towards them. Carlisle might note that it looks a lot like the ice aliens he's known do when they utilizes their liquidize technique, but wrong somehow-- more sinister. When the creeping liquid is just a few feet away from the frozen Glacius, it begins to roil and then rise up like a horrifying column of flesh melting in reverse. A familiar heat flare bursts forth from the forming monster; the ice alien turns away immediately to shield himself, and that's when his eyes fall upon the clergyman.

"We have to leave--" the ice alien gasps, dread clear in his normally calm and steely voice as he reaches for Carlisle. It's too late, though; his personal demons have already clawed their way up from the hell that's been rotting into Hadriel and are now fully formed, rising up behind him. A hellish abomination comprised of a disturbingly merged face and two easily visible bodies split straight down the middle now stands behind Glacius; one half is awash in searing flames and plasma, and the other might be strikingly familiar to Carlisle. It's the form of an ice alien, but it doesn't look quite like Glacius or even the other alien that Carlisle had known; its icy skin is an angry shade of red and massive curling spikes erupt from its pronounced trapezius and shoulders. Its arm is formed into a familiar icy lance that has punched its way through the fiery humanoid's back and out through the front of its chest; sizzling molten "blood" seeps from the wound, running down both fused bodies, searing the ice from the alien that it is joined from and burning its underbody.

An agonized, angry groan rises up out of the glowing slits that form the fiery humanoid's mouth. It raises its one good arm, aiming an opening in its palm that flickers and spits hot sparks at Glacius' back. The red ice alien twitches and growls in response, as if in conflict with the being it's been horrifically merged with, but the monstrosity advances with a struggling gait.

The moment Carlisle spots the murky ooze seeping down the building, he tenses -- rather than recognizing it as using a technique shared by Algidus and Glacius, he mistakes it for the inky abomination that's been following him, the one that whispers of guilt and regret. It's time to run. It's time to run now.

But Glacius doesn't move as the ooze draws near. Carlisle's instinct tells him to run anyway, that the alien will be fine on his own... but he finds his feet won't move, not due to his own terror, but because of concern. He heard the dread in Glacius' voice; he can't just abandon him, as he would for so many others. The alien has helped him before, and even now tries to help him again. He must repay his debts.

The creature manifests in front of them, taking the shape of a malformed pair of bodies. The first is horrific on its own; the one in the back, with its broad shoulders and large, curving spikes, is painfully familiar. The color is all wrong, but so was his, after a time. They could adapt. They could change.

But could they change this much? Carlisle only flinches at the heat exhausted toward them as he utters a name. "A... Algidus?"

The split being groans, drawing the clergyman from his stupor in time to realize it's aiming at Glacius' back.

"Glacius, move!"

A guttural snarl rumbles from Glacius throat as the clergyman's desperate shout rips his mind out of the memories that had been plaguing him. He moves automatically, aided by strong survival instincts, reaching out to tuck Carlisle up against himself so that he can shield him with his icy body as he turns quickly to the side. A jet of flame and sparks blasts from the monstrosity's palm, searing the air and scorching the ground where they'd been standing just a moment before. The alien loosens his grip on Carlisle now, looking into his eyes, seeming... trapped.

He doesn't know what to do. He wasn't able to bring himself to fight this thing the first time, despite the fact that it seems to have no hesitation when to comes to burning him down to nothing. How could he fight it? The lance through Cinder's chest is his own--he did that, he cannot deny it--and he'd promised himself that he would never do such a thing again. For that horrible, violent act is the one thing in his life that still haunts the alien to this day; the fear that the one time he was forced by humanity to stray from his peaceful nature marks him as an aberrant, an outsider even to his own people. That is what the form of the angry red ice alien that is running the fiery convict through represents: the peaceful ice alien's subconscious fears. Fears that he has the propensity to act violently, to incite great harm, to take a life.

He doesn't want to be a monster. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't want to suffer. He doesn't know what to do. The ice alien snarls again, dropping his head into his hands as he clutches tightly at himself. "I never wanted this," his plea wells up from his gills, tinted with desperation, turmoil and anguish.

Carlisle is petrified as Glacius releases him, his eyes on the spot where they'd been standing only a second before -- the ground is blackened from the fiery blast, the air around it filled with a terrifying heat. And yet, as relief fills him and he turns his attention to Glacius, prepared to thank him for his split-second protection, Carlisle is puzzled to find something he's never seen there before: indecision. But at what? This abomination is clearly a danger to them both, especially to the icy alien, given its volatile attack.

So why doesn't he defend himself? Is he afraid? Is it even possible for one of their kind to feel fear? Algidus seemed so immune to it -- so proud, so rash.

But it is there, rearing its head in his posture, in his words. And it doesn't seem to be a fear based around the fire, but around some inward torment, as though whatever demons are plaguing his mind are worse than the one encroaching on them. Carlisle isn't sure if Glacius is talking to him or the creature, but given how the latter just left the ground where they were standing smoldering, he's betting it isn't interested in talking.

He's not normally one for physical contact, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "Never wanted what?" he questions, grabbing for the alien's arm to pull him along, hoping to coax him into running.

Glacius allows his arm to be grabbed, but when he follows after Carlisle his movements are stiff, awkward--he stumbles like he isn't sure whether he should be fleeing from this creature. Not again. That's what he did the last time because he didn't want to fight, and yet still his past pursues him. Why won't it stop? He doesn't want it to keep advancing on him; it's exactly what happened the first time. Attack, attack, attack, that's all his foe did--until the ice alien's hand was forced.

He shudders, gives a groan. "I didn't--I don't-- want to hurt anyone," Glacius responds, having a hard time staying in the present. "Why won't they let me be? Can't they see I don't want to hurt anyone?"

Trying to move Glacius is like moving through tar, his movements more appropriately sluggish than they usually are for the ice that covers him; however, now is not the time for him to be freezing up. Carlisle shoots a glance around him to the fiery monstrosity, his own eyes laden with fear.

"Glacius," he utters quietly, still trying to pull him along. "You might not want to hurt anyone, but that doesn't mean they don't want to hurt you. Or hurt us, at the moment."

"Don't you think I'm aware?" Glacius snarls out, the bitterness to his voice not directed at Carlisle, but at the unhappy circumstances of his life that seem to keep repeating themselves. Cinder had never stopped wanting to hurt him, and neither had Ultratech, even when he protested and made every effort not to hurt his opponents. Instead they'd clarified the terms of their "agreement" and pushed him over and over again until he had no other choice. Why is it that his past suddenly refuses to stay in the past? First his imprisonment by Ultratech had been revealed to someone by the gods, and now his greatest sin and the fears that have taken root in him ever since he committed it are actively hunting him down.

"Cinder isn't going to stop," the ice alien realizes--not clarifying who that is, but since there's only one fiery monstrosity following him, maybe the name explains a part of who it represents. He'd run away from the unholy fusion of his fears and regrets once, when he'd been out with Kate, and that clearly hadn't solved anything. It was going to keep wearing him down until he faced it, wasn't it? There was just one problem. "Even if it might not hesitate to kill me, I promised myself I would never... let myself be... pushed so far again." Vague wording, but he can't bring himself to admit to what he did just yet. "I... I can't..."

Carlisle winces as Glacius snarls, assuming that reaction is for him. Such hostility and bitterness usually is. It's Glacius' words that draw him back, his eyes still darting nervously from the icy alien to the fiery specter.

"Pushed so far as to what? Fight back? Defend yourself when you've no choice?" At least someone like Glacius has offensive abilities, skills he can use; all Carlisle has is the ability to rob someone of their free will and force them to fight for him.

And yet, despite their different skills, it seems they are both filled with guilt all the same for using them, for turning their weapons upon others when the situation is dire.

Glacius stares at Carlisle, the expression on his face clearly torn. That is what he did, isn't it? He didn't kill any of his other opponents in the tournament, simply knocked them out or similarly disabled them... it wasn't until he was pushed by the corrupt people that captured him that he finally took a life. And even then it was not with his own safety in mind, but with the safety of his people of his homeworld... and even humanity's as well, despite all of the horrible things they had done to them. He couldn't let himself be killed, otherwise Ultratech would find his crashed ship, used its technology to develop weapons that they would turn against their own kind and maybe even use its navigational systems to find his people's homeworld and target them too...

He wants so badly to feel that what he did was justified, and yet he still cannot seem to reconcile it in his mind.

"Does that justify taking a life?" the ice alien grates out, and at that moment--as if angered by the reminder of his fate--Cinder raises his arm and lobs a large globule of magma at him. Swearing, Glacius throws himself to the side again to avoid the attack; the pyrobomb explodes just besides him, spraying heat and searing fragments everywhere. Bringing himself up onto one knee, Glacius levels another tormented gaze at Carlisle. "I have spent so much time ever since trying to prove that I am not a monster, but such a deed... what does that say about me?"

In an ugly coincidence, it is as the alien finally opens up on his deepest regret that the body of the monstrosity turns, revealing that it is a fusion of not two but three forms. The final body, intact only from the waist up, is that of Glacius himself--fused horribly to the back of the fierce-looking, red-skinned ice alien. It is a disgusting physical representation of the way he was shackled to an equally disgusting deed, one he never wanted to commit; even the glowing green eyes of this not-Glacius are filled with despair as they look up at Carlisle.

The fiery globule explodes with a searing flash of heat; Carlisle goes one way as Glacius goes the other, the cleric's eyes dancing back and forth between the icy alien and the aberration threatening them both. The creature turns from him as Glacius confesses his most deep-seated regrets, as though drawn to his guilt... and there, at its back, is the alien's own face, a mirror visage tormented with despair, with regret, with guilt. It is a reflection of the sins Glacius has taken upon himself, of deeds he cannot undo. He has spent so long trying to prove he isn't a monster, yet the weight of his transgressions have manifested into one before their very eyes.

Carlisle's gaze returns to his companion, his expression a mixture of pity and understanding as the pieces come together in his head. Where Glacius was before, the place that had made him so distrustful of humans -- he was pushed to kill or be killed. He'd had no choice, but he regretted it all the same.

"Atonement," Carlisle mutters to himself. While he hasn't taken a life in his darkest moments, he has stripped the free will from others. To some, that'd be considered a far worse sin, turning someone into a mindless tool -- a puppet bound by cursed strings. He might not consider what he has done in the past on the same level as what haunts Glacius now, but Carlisle knows compunction well.

"It says you were desperate," he responds. "It says you wanted to live. And that you feel grief over what happened? That says you are not a monster, not as much as one who wouldn't hesitate to harm you in the same circumstances. True demons are incapable of such remorse."

Carlisle's fingers curl upon themselves as he tries to reason with Glacius; he could very well be talking to himself in that moment, as he so often privately considers himself not much more than an abomination for what he has done -- what he continues to do when there's nothing left in him but fear.

What he has told himself for years to get by comes to mind, sits at the edge of his tongue before escaping. "You cannot make amends if you are dead, Glacius! You cannot make things right if you simply give up!"

Glacius gives another guttural snarl, listening to Carlisle but still clearly feeling torn. "Cinder is dead," the alien growls... or at least he should be. Yet here his old opponent is, resurrected to torment him again; the only difference is that his form has been warped and fused with other representations of his fears and regrets, and his face is contorted into a permanent grimace of pain and rage--not sneering at the ice alien like he had been back at the beginning of their fight. What's the matter, Glacius--can't take the heat? he hears a perfect echo of the convict's mocking voice in his own head as an equally clear memory floods his mind of his armor being forcibly blown apart by bombs exactly like the one the monstrosity had just lobbed at him...

Glacius gives a low moan, trying not to get towed under by the awful memories. He has to keep his mind in the present; now the ice alien finishes his thought, voice imploring Carlisle for guidance. "How can I atone for what I did if the one I sinned against is gone?"

Glacius' question pierces Carlisle like a knife; he freezes, hearing from someone else a question he has pondered for months now, turning it over in his mind until he'd thought a hole in the ground. Despite the looming danger, he finds his focus drawn from this Cinder, from the fog, from the threat of everything around them. The weight of his own sins, magnified somehow by Glacius' turmoil, is a heavy burden on his heart. How can he help someone with a problem he cannot solve himself?

"I..."

And he wants so badly to help -- he is a clergyman by trade, a listening ear for those who need it, someone to help ease the pain of a troubled mind. He serves his goddess by serving others. Even with the glaring flaws in his own temperament, he'd always felt... at the very least, adequate in his work.

But that was at home, where people knew they could rely on him in most cases. That was in Bear Den, where his fellow villagers knew his name and the legacy behind it. That was then, and this is now, in a city in another world where he has nothing: no lineage to tarnish, nor a reputation to give him credibility. All he has is what he makes for himself.

There's a knot in his throat that refuses to budge. "I, ah."

So what can be done? What can one do when he must make things right, yet those wronged are essentially gone? This Cinder -- the real one Glacius is speaking of, not this terrifying phantom before them -- is dead, literally gone. For Carlisle, those to whom he owes amends are only figuratively gone: Rey and Firo manage to be so close, yet so far, their lost memories -- or memories they never had at all -- keeping him from making things right. Is his goddess even watching from worlds away? Does she know what he has done, and what he has yet to do? If those he has wronged don't remember, why even bother?

Because it's not about them. It never was. It's about soothing his own conscience; it's about finding out if he truly is remorseful. It's about seeing if he is a monster worthy of his curse, as he's been told time and time again, or if he's still human under all that -- forgivable, redeemable.

Carlisle sighs, his shoulders slackening. "I have asked myself that many times since I arrived here," he admits, his voice wavering. "And there must be an answer to that. There must be some way to make up for what you have done. For what I have done. Perhaps it is in meditation. Perhaps it is in penance. Perhaps it is in helping others in a way I did not help them."

His eyes hit the ground as he draws in a shaky breath. This is not the time to be admitting his fears, to be confessing what torments him most; it is a storm that has been building, one spilling from the wound made by that knife of a question. Carlisle grits his teeth, angry with himself, vehemence boiling in his gut.

"I- I haven't yet found the answer," he starts, his voice picking up like a furious wind, "but I know if I just give up, I never will. And neither will you if you allow this thing to kill you or anyone else!"

Edited 2016-07-20 09:16 (UTC)

"So I just kill again," Glacius rumbles, tone dull and doubtful. He detests how he feels like he's being pushed here, in a way similar to how it had been back then--kill or be killed. There's a part of him that knows that this isn't the real Cinder, but being faced with such a clear representation of memories he regrets so deeply has everything raw. He's having a hard time making the disconnect and seeing it as just another non-sentient creature that's been brought here to cause misery and suffering. "I cannot keep making excuses for such a vile act..."

But this isn't what that is, is it? He's not attempting to act like the taking of a life isn't a grave matter, and he certainly isn't attempting to lessen the blame on himself for doing such a thing; he'd never stopped carrying that weight across his shoulders, had been harder on himself for it than perhaps anyone who would learn of this would be. He's seen evidence of that now: Carlisle knows what he did, and he has not judged him for it. He had justified it for the alien, explaining it as what it really was: an act of self-defense, done out of the desire to safeguard his own life so that he could shield his people and his homeworld from the cruelties in the universe. That was the crux of it: all his life, the only reason Glacius had ever lifted a finger against anyone or anything was to protect and serve the things he cared about.

He cannot lose sight of that now. He won't cower while people need him. He won't let the cruelty of the universe win--it is his job to bear these burdens so that others need not suffer. The otherworldly warrior drops his head to his hands, mashing them against his forehead as he does one final, ferocious war with his misgivings--then rises to his feet and raises his head, throwing it forward as all of his gills open to release a bellow. It's not a sound of challenge as much as it is one that sounds torn and angry with these wretched circumstances, but as least he seems to finally have found his drive...

The fiery fusion before him answers with a war cry of its own. The two fighters begin advancing towards each other, intent on settling this old battle once and for all.

With Glacius invigorated and Cinder distracted, Carlisle's feet finally tear themselves from the ground as he takes a step back. Glacius will handle it, he tells himself. He can head to somewhere safer. Stay out of sight and out of mind.

But he stops again, discontent working into his brow, disgust crossing him as he watches the two giants prepare to clash. Even after all that talk, he thought about running -- his first inclination was to get out of harm's way, to leave someone clearly conflicted with his own actions to deal with them alone. While Carlisle knows it's true that this abomination is not his, is not a creature born of his own turmoil, he has witnessed what effect it has on Glacius... and seen himself in the alien's self-condemnation.

Carlisle sighs. His uncles would be ashamed of his hypocrisy if they were still alive. He has to prove his word is good, that he has meaning both in them and in his life. And more than that, Glacius wouldn't abandon him in a time of need. He must do the same.

"I cannot help you with this fight any more than you can help with mine," he utters, words he'd often say to confessors still sharp in his mind, "as the demons we face are our own, and no one else's... but I will aid you in any way I can."

Willing himself to move a step closer to the conflict, Carlisle holds out his hands, conjuring a globule of his own -- water. Then comes another, and another, each one added to the first until he has a sizable sphere between his palms, an orb willed there by his concentration. He braces his nerves, ready to either hurl the sphere at the fiery abomination advancing on Glacius, or give it to Glacius himself, should he need the moisture to replenish his icy barrier -- whichever he deems more necessary.

Edited 2016-07-21 01:22 (UTC)

A part of Glacius had in fact expected Carlisle to fall back, now that a violent struggle was rapidly coming to a head--and he would not have begrudged the man for it, given that he said he wanted him to return to the temples at the first sign of danger. He'd already put himself at risk just by talking the alien through his regret and self-condemnation... even though this creature seemed to be targeting Glacius specifically, and only Glacius, it didn't seem to care who got caught in the crossfire.

So when he hears Carlisle's solemn words and turns to see the normally flighty clergyman stepping closer, he feels a surge of understanding and thankfulness. This battle should not have to be his to fight, and yet he rises on the alien's behalf... a flash of a memory comes back to Glacius of Kate, fighting alongside him in his dream. He sees the Fulgore unit's energy blades cut her leg open; he sees her shed blood for him. Growling, the otherworldly warrior tosses his head as he turns to face his demons, glaring at the abomination full force.

"These games end here," Glacius snarls, advancing towards the Cinder fusion; no one else will ever again suffer because of what he went through. As if sensing his resolve, the monstrosity chooses this moment to attack. In a sudden display of aggression and physical capability given how it had been shambling around before, it throws itself at Glacius bodily, flames intensifying around its form until it resembles a jet of flame more than anything else. The ice alien has seen this technique before, however, and is well equipped to deal with it; liquefying under the searing charge, he reverts back to his natural state as his opponent drops back to the ground. Then, with a wave of his hand, he pulls the large globule of water from between Carlisle's palms. Hovering above the ice alien's head, it begins to freeze solid, and its surface prickles outwards into long, sharp spears. A few seconds later and the massive makeshift chunk of hail launches itself at the Cinder fusion, formed and on its way before the monstrosity could even land and reform properly. The projectile catches its target in its horribly joined faces as it rounds on Glacius, striking with crushing force as it shatters into countless icy fragments.

The fiery abomination reels back with a sickening gurgle. The disgusting tendrils that had fused Cinder's face to the red ice alien's have all been severed, and now, with Glacius' fears of what the act of killing Cinder makes him dealt with, the aberrant's head droops back; it and the rest of its body slump lifelessly, weighing the fusion down. The twisted visage of the convict, however, seems to be recovering; its wasted face flows like magma, gradually mending itself. Glacius stares, shocked at how quickly that half of the body has recovered from what should have been a killing blow... and then watches in horror as it now rounds on Carlisle, recognizing the clergyman as the force that had stabilized its opponent's mind, assuaging the fears that had given it strength--and thus, makes him a threat.

Giving out a low groan, the Cinder fusion raises its arm. A circular opening in the palm of its hand begins to glow red hot, sparks hissing and spitting from it... but it doesn't get a chance to unleash the searing jet of flame it had been preparing. As it had turned from facing down Glacius to advancing on Carlisle, the ice alien had finally seen the third form that had been disgustingly melded into the mess of ice and fire: it was his own, if only partially intact. It morphed into the main body from the waist down, and disgusting fleshy veins shackled its neck and face to the abomination's back... and as it looked up at him with his own glowing green eyes, which were filled with despair and anguish, Glacius understood. It was his regrets that were literally sustaining this thing.

He knew what he had to do.

Mere moment's before Carlisle's assailant can unleash its attack, Glacius slams his full weight into its back, sending them both down to the ground. Using his knees and the two spikes protruding from just below them to keep it pinned to the ground despite the Cinder fusion's furious writhing, the otherworldly warrior draws his arm back, shifting it into a massive blade. He stares down at the face of his regrets, his own face for a few fleeting seconds--there is a moment where his expression matches the other ice alien's perfectly-- and then, under his breath, murmurs in his own native tongue: «It wasn't your fault.» Then his arm comes down with every once of strength he can muster, cleaving through the half-formed Glacius' front, splitting it nearly in two from skull to pelvis. A spray of clearish purple-blue blood coats his front, and now the fiery abomination finally goes limp, its life ended.

On top of the body, which is quickly turning to a blackening husk as the flames of Cinder's body die out, Glacius slumps forward as well. He looks nearly equally lifeless at this point, as everything that has just transpired catches up with him, weighing him down with sorrow and exhaustion. The limb that he'd formed into a blade now reverts to his form, but aside from that he is completely motionless.

Edited 2016-07-21 17:48 (UTC)

An odd feeling of elation wells in Carlisle as Glacius makes use of his watery orb against this Cinder character. It- it had actually been helpful? He hadn't conjured a globe's worth of water for nothing? He can't help but smile, even for just a moment: of course it had been helpful. Glacius is a skilled warrior, and has no problem with the concept of teamwork. He's someone Carlisle's uncles would have been proud of, as they never hunted alone.

Not that it had helped them in the end, but the thought was nice.

That fleeting moment of elation vanishes the moment the blazing abomination turns its attention toward him. Its eyes lock on him, its hand flexing, opening as it prepares an attack. Carlisle wants to run, but finds himself petrified with fear instead. Even if he did flee, outrunning a fiery blast would be quite a feat.

As it turns out, he has no need to worry. He isn't alone, after all.

Carlisle remains stuck to that spot as Glacius charges the phantom, knocking it to the ground. He watches, transfixed as the icy alien slices through the twisted creature with a blade made from his own arm. He's trapped in a stunned silence as the two bodies go motionless: one lifeless, the other unsure. It's several seconds before he manages to pry his feet from the ground and find his voice.

"G- Glacius?" He calls, quietly at first, then louder. "Glacius?"

He braves another few steps toward the collapsed alien, pulling his hands free of his gloves in case he needs healing.

The first time Carlisle calls out to him, Glacius does not respond nor move. The second time his breath hitches in his throat, and all of his gills catch... then a hoarse noise escapes him as he forces himself to look away from the bisected body underneath him. It's over, he tells himself. He has to move on.

"Carlisle," the warrior responds, for lack of knowing what else to say. His voice sounds almost... choked up, a tone the clergyman has likely never heard from either of the ice aliens he's known. At least he seems to be gradually coming around; he's got a resilient spirit, forged through a life spent enduring all kinds of adversity. "Thank you for your assistance in my battle. My battles," he adds after a moment's clarifcation--because Carlisle had not just helped him triumph in the physical conflict, but the conflict within his own hearts as well, hand't he? "You... are... unharmed?"

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