Teams 1, 2, 3: From the Hook in the Egalgina
You find yourselves in a strange, impossible dome. Enormous, with red ribbed peeling walls and a harsh red light streaming down from a hole at the very top of the thing. Your voices echo, though your footsteps do not, and there is the loud and distracting sound of a heartbeat coming from what seems to be all sides of you. On the wall ahead of
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He knows what caused it and why, possibly better than anyone here (save Henry). But thinking about what Walter's total control might mean for Eileen...it would crush him. Instead he's trying to figure out how he messed up and how to fix it. It's all he can do.
So he's not paying too much attention before the radio comes to life. He jumps as well. "Oh...guess we'd better get ready. You have any silver bullets? I'm o-"
There's that pain again. And it's really strong for not being able to see- Oh. Henry crumples as he feels the pipe hit him soundly in the back.
This ghost seems to be standing on solid ground, unlike the other one Derek's seen. He used to be a middle-aged man, and somewhat unsurprisingly, he's always had that pissed off expression. He doesn't walk normally, though- instead, he skips around, like a scratched piece of film. One second he's down the hall; the next, right behind Henry; and after that, he's five feet to the left of Derek.
Henry just scrambles up, as best he can. "It's Richard...just run!" he yells through the red haze in his head. He's too powerful for the two of them to take care of, even temporarily.
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Which looked to be about nil at the moment.
Derek has his sword drawn by the end of 'Richards' demonstration, but Derek knew that his sword skills was no match for what was apparently teleportation of some sort.
He could already feel the headache and slow numbing of his limbs from the ghost. He remembered those feelings from the burning man back at Wish House and knew that he wouldn't be able to move soon id the ghost kept going.
And they didn't have any of the swords yet, let alone the one that would harm this particular ghost.
"Shit," he hissed, then grabbed Henry's arm, already turning and running while still hanging on. He'd try to protect Henry with his own body best as he could.
Not that he thought it would do much good if this thing could get instantly from point 'a' to point 'b'.
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It's too bad Victim 19 can be faster. The ghost jitters after them, taking strides in ten-and-twenty-foot jumps. As long as they keep him at their back, they might be okay...maybe it'll wander off soon-
It appears in front of Henry, making him skid to a stop. He attempts to roll out of the way of the pipe blow he knows is coming. But instead, the record skips again, and the swing is coming down on Derek's head.
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There's a grunt and a sickening crack of bone from Derek as Victim 19 connects, and Derek's grip on Henry's shirt loosens just a little. But then the fingers clench tight and Henry is shoved out of range again, even as Derek stumbles and goes to his knees.
This close, the ghost has gotten into his bones, and the hunter is fighting an internal battle--both to keep hold of Henry, and to get any limb to respond even as they freeze and sink in rictus.
"Not...bowing...down...to...you," he whispers, glaring up at the ghost. The muscles in his thighs start to work as he attempts to break free of paralysis and stand again. There's the sound of grinding bone and snapping tendon as his shoulder starts to heal.
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Henry uses this opportunity to catch hold of Derek and pull on his arm, helping him run as best he can. He runs past fleshy walls and ducks into a corridor made entirely of rusty chain-link fence. It's not very long before he realizes that material isn't the best to be walking on. Looking down and doing his best to ignore the utter black below, he slows down and steps carefully. He's about halfway through the corridor when he realizes the pain in his head's faded. "He's not following us. Are...are you okay?"
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Still, when Henry had pulled, Derek had had no choice but to follow since his body was not obeying him. But the further away they got, the less Derek wanted a piece of the ghost--at least not in the very immediate and visceral way he had wanted it with Richard standing right in front of him. Derek still wanted to fight, but he wasn't feeling like a snarling dog straining at the end of a choke leash any more.
As they came to a stop, Derek took a deep breath, shaking his head. There was a loud 'pop' from his shoulder as it finished healing and snapped back into joint where it belonged.
"I'm okay," he responded, "I really hate those fucking ghosts."
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He does wonder if Eileen's come across any of them, though. The candle has to be worn off by now, she's probably being possessed while they speak. Damn, they shouldn't have used all the candles...
They continue walking until they finally reach a turn, which leads to a set of concrete stairs, leading down. Stained grey tiles seem poised to fall off the walls, and it looks like about half of them have already. Under a pale flourescent light on the lower landing, there appears to be a shiny green-and-silver box, topped with a bow. "A...a present?"
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"Oh god, this place takes the cake," he manages, and made his way to the present. He crouches, just inspecting the thing for a moment. If he had been in possession of a stick, it's likely he would have poked the thing.
Inside his head, the conversation was going something like this:
It's a trap. Of course it's a trap. It's like a sick joke that a vampire would use to lure its prey. But why this? A present? Something so obvious. Man, you're forgetting a video game was made out of this place. Things you need glow or some such shit in video games, right?...christ, will you listen to yourself? This isn't a video game; it's a trap. No it isn't. Yes it is.
Finally, Derek carefully picked it up, ready to scrambled to his feet and bolt if he'd just sprung something. When nothing happens, he looks down at the box again, then at Henry.
"What the hell, why not?" he says quietly, and starts to carefully unwrap it.
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It's a 9mm clip.
He stares at it open-mouthed for a moment, then shrugs and takes it. He slides it into his empty gun and then offers that to Derek. "I have a feeling you're better with these than me..."
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No, really, he does. Even though half his brain is willing to accept 'video game' as an explaination for the present, the rest of him is still trying to run on logical tracks. This? Not logical. The best stroke of serendipity he's ever seen short of meeting his wife in the nexus, but by no means logical.
Mutely, he accepts clip and gun, expertly expelling the empty clip already in the hand grip and replacing it with the one from the box with a minimum of effort. The movement is fluid, almost seemless. If Henry needed an answer, Derek's assurance with the weapon should be enough.
"Thanks," the hunter states quietly, then looks up as he sees something glint in the light down the hall a little ways.
"What do you think that is?" he says.
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To the question, he answers, "I have no idea...I'm just glad it's not a ghost." He walks towards it. The shape eventually defines in the low light as a black dagger. It's stuck into a flesh-colored bit of wall, and it makes a disgusting splorching noise when he pulls it out. He stares at the handle. "18121..." He says each of the digits separately. "That was Andrew DeSalvo, in the round prison..." He holds it sideways, not sure what to do with it.
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The name registers as information, but still doesn't tell Derek much. 'Round Prison' automatically gets shuffled into 'one of the places I don't want to know about unless we somehow end up there' then recognized as the place he and the others had first entered Walter's world through.
Henry's hestitancy with the dagger tells Derek he has no idea of how to use it. The hunter makes his way over to inspect the weapon cautiously.
Laying in Henry's hand, the numbers etched, almost like a small child had done it, seems to glow to Derek for a moment, even though nothing actually happens.
An ugly, horrid sensation unfurls from the small of his back, slithers up the nerve endings of his spine, and lodges in his heart as he reaches, almost unwillingly, for the knife.
As he wraps his fingers around it, he feels as if he's come home.
Right after his parent's death.
Derek shakes a little as he takes the dagger from Henry, still studying it with an odd look in his eye.
"You feel anything when you touch this?" he whispers quietly. His fingers spasm around the hilt then smooth closed in a steady fist, firmly, surely. It felt like an extension of him. An ugly, warped, corroded extension of himself. A part of him he'd rather stay buried.
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Derek shakes his head--once, twice, and the feeling fades a bit. The knife is still smooth in his hand, still cold and oily and far too familiar, but Derek knows it. He thinks he knows what it is, too. Because the poison it promises is only too familiar.
"It's not hurting anything I haven't hurt myself," his voice sounds far away, faint, like he's talking in his sleep. He closes his eyes and shakes his head again, violently. When his eyes open again, though, he seems all right, vision clear and steady.
The shaking has stopped. Derek answers quietly, now in full control and calm.
"No, it's all right, Henry. It's meant for me."
It's part of me.
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He bites his lip, then looks down the hall. "We have to find DeSalvo...he's pretty large, and he has these numbers written on his stomach. He...uh, rolls at you." He's still not sure what they're supposed to do with the dagger, but can't imagine it's much different than the sword.
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"I think we met him once, in the prison," Derek looks around them again, "Do you think the dagger will call him?"
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