[NT] - Rage
Later, long after they wake one by one, from the edges in, washing back in to fill the gap, Rio will talk about a rash epidemic of sleeping sickness, or volcanic gasses leaking, or blame it on global warming, on aliens, on angels.
"It was the Holy Mary," some will say, crossing themselves fervently, eyes glittering with the manic force of their faith. "Mary, mother of God. She walked in our thoughts and left her footprints in our minds. We are blessed!"
Before this, and he's already forgotten them, rising out of the world at impossible angles, blazing across the spiral. Limbo repels him at every gate, sends demons and monsters to dog every footstep, no matter how many he kills, no matter what runes he carves in their blood and with it.
"Fine," he says finally, on the edges of everything, talking to no-one and everyone. "Fine. You wanna play?"
We'll play.
*
Shaw tries to speak when the Red King comes exploding through the doors and finds himself suddenly choking and sliding in perfect, frictionless vacuum. There's nothing to carry the sound, but as his vision darkens, he sees the Red King's mouth move, can read the summons to action, knows what has begun.
Twelve, he thinks. The twelve--
There is only silence.
*
Something wakes Longshot. There's no obvious sign of what, but he knows to trust his intuition, that part of his mutation that makes sure the world bends in his direction. He dresses quickly, making sure his leathers are well stocked with knives, before letting himself out of the house currently serving as their headquarters. It's a cool morning, the air crisp, and he takes deep breaths, marvelling at the cleanliness.
There's something sitting in the middle path, a shiny glowing something. Feeling no threat, he picks it up curiously, turning it this way and that in his hands, trying to discern its meaning or even just its actual shape. It's warm and soft and fuzzy and, "What are you, little thing?"
He doesn't see the blow that lays him out, nor hear the voice labelling it as a stochastic field generator.
Even luck has its limits.
*
"Mister Toynbee," he says, just there, leaning against the wall, doing that head-tilt smile thing. "Time to pay."
"It was the Holy Mary," some will say, crossing themselves fervently, eyes glittering with the manic force of their faith. "Mary, mother of God. She walked in our thoughts and left her footprints in our minds. We are blessed!"
Before this, and he's already forgotten them, rising out of the world at impossible angles, blazing across the spiral. Limbo repels him at every gate, sends demons and monsters to dog every footstep, no matter how many he kills, no matter what runes he carves in their blood and with it.
"Fine," he says finally, on the edges of everything, talking to no-one and everyone. "Fine. You wanna play?"
We'll play.
*
Shaw tries to speak when the Red King comes exploding through the doors and finds himself suddenly choking and sliding in perfect, frictionless vacuum. There's nothing to carry the sound, but as his vision darkens, he sees the Red King's mouth move, can read the summons to action, knows what has begun.
Twelve, he thinks. The twelve--
There is only silence.
*
Something wakes Longshot. There's no obvious sign of what, but he knows to trust his intuition, that part of his mutation that makes sure the world bends in his direction. He dresses quickly, making sure his leathers are well stocked with knives, before letting himself out of the house currently serving as their headquarters. It's a cool morning, the air crisp, and he takes deep breaths, marvelling at the cleanliness.
There's something sitting in the middle path, a shiny glowing something. Feeling no threat, he picks it up curiously, turning it this way and that in his hands, trying to discern its meaning or even just its actual shape. It's warm and soft and fuzzy and, "What are you, little thing?"
He doesn't see the blow that lays him out, nor hear the voice labelling it as a stochastic field generator.
Even luck has its limits.
*
"Mister Toynbee," he says, just there, leaning against the wall, doing that head-tilt smile thing. "Time to pay."