Offtopic: Continued from Dear Reaper, part 2.

Following the uneasy lurch that transport seemed to always provide anymore (the techniques used to keep them stable seemed to be progressively weakening and becoming less efficient over time), Eldridge Tsukimono would find himself smelling the ocean-- but not seeing it. Rather, he'd find himself in a near grassless field.

Only a hint of Geldero village could be seen up north, and that was just a slight notion of a large building, but that was all . . .

Geldero village was small. It, like all seaside villages in Igoras, thrived entirely on fishing. It's houses were scattered with no real order; it wasn't a large village in the slightest. The beach was even abandoned, sans one hut. In the evening, it didn't seem like anyone was outside. It was almost like a ghost town. There were people; Eld would be able to feel them, but they were all in their homes, or in the large central hut, where a large gathering seemed to be partaking in festivities. The closest Scott Thompson could get Eld was a little over a mile south of the village, inland, on a rolling plain that looked more the part of a savanna than anything else-- scattered trees, scattered stone formations, and rolling hills in-between long flatlands.

The lurch brought by the transporter was another reminder of the thin line the Reapers walked; the way things were going, they'd break down entirely, and he didn't know what the Dirige would do then.

He took survey of his surroundings, but he was still at least a mile out; nothing out here terribly concerned him. He headed for the village.

Geldero, while quite different from his home of Hillcrest, was still small and rural, so he couldn't help but be reminded. Something seemed...off, however. There wasn't a single outside that he could see. He could sense presences, but they were all inside...and a large mass of them were in one in particular, in part of some kind of celebration as far as he could tell.

He still had around half a day, and it wouldn't take long to get to the beach. Perhaps he was just being paranoid (though perfectly justified, considering all he'd been through), but he wanted to make sure everything was alright in the village. Even if it was just a peek to reassure him that it was a normal, innocent village that he wanted to avoid drawing into whatever was about to happen down on the beach.

Once within the village's borders, Eld would be hard pressed to miss the cause of such alarm for the village: it appeared as if there was a storm on the horizon. Dark clouds loomed within the sky, an omen for any seaside resident, whether they live in a big modernized city, or a quaint nearly-mobile village like Geldero.

The storm didn't stop the festivities from happening--but it wasn't a wall of clouds close to the surface of the ocean, after all. That . . . that was the sign of a hurricane, which would be more than enough alarm to Of course, outside activities seemed to have been originally planned, with tables all set out. Once they saw the storm, they must have gone inside.

The wind was still, no doubt; eerily so. This was a normal storm-- yet, it wouldn't feel like it. Everything was normal, everything was copacetic-- this was how villagers in places like this treated storms, yet it couldn't feel normal. Nothing could. Nothing would. Nothing did, for the closer Eld got to the seemingly empty settled upon the northern beach of the village, his heart would beat harshly against his chest-- involuntarily, as a pain would settle itself within the confines of his skull, only to worsen with each step towards his proposed destination . . .

Ah, a storm. Good, everything looks normal, otherwise...

Though, news of a storm certainly wasn't good; was there any worse luck than a hurricane hitting the village right when he needed to be on a beach? Then again, the nagging, paranoid voice in the back of his mind said, maybe luck has nothing to do with it. And he'd never heard of the air being perfectly still as a storm was approaching.

He was still feeling uneasy as he approached the beach, and it only worsened as he got neared to the hut, to the point where it was no longer uneasiness. His head and heart pounded equally hard, and he wasn't sure which was more distracting. He wasn't sick--no illness he knew of set on this suddenly. And he couldn't sense any Qi being used in the area. He knew he was walking into a trap, but if this kept up he could have very well been walking to his death, especially if he needed to fight.

But there was no choice but to continue--for all that he didn't want to go further, to potentially face yet another maniac either seeking to use the powers of the Remnant of Death or destroy him, he couldn't turn away and risk letting something happen to Areva's family.

And so against all common sense, he strode forward, no doubt heading straight into the storm...

And the closer he came, the worse he'd feel. Indeed, Eld's stomach wasn't going to turn in on itself, but that didn't mean the rest of his body would not progressively wish it. Closer, and it would feel like pressure, like the gravitational pull on his body suddenly skyrocketing. The headache continued to worsen. His heart continued to thump harder. Each step he took towards the door was another pain. His arms would begin to feel heavy, his back would crack and weigh under pressure-- there were no minor aches and pains. There was only exponential pain.

It was unavoidable, as he chose to continue. Halfway trudged down the beach, he might find his leg refusing to work. Another few steps, he might find his nose bleeding. Three more steps, and his head may well hurt terribly enough to merit giving up, throbbing enough to bring a man grown up in a slum, fighting his entire life, to his knees in utter agony.

Close enough, though, Eldridge Tsukimono would see something within the window. A shadow-- a dark shadow, looming--

static

static

static

static

Something happened. One moment, his eyes were open, and the next, he'd find himself collapsed upon the ground. The storm was closer. His eyes would be closed. There was no longer a shadow within the window. The pain would be worse, but the door would be close. Closer than before. Something had happened. Something horrible. Something that may make Eldridge Tsukimono's stomach want to turn in on itself and release its contents. But of course, much of it depended upon his constitution, and his will to continue moving.

What...what is this? The closer he got, the worse he felt. Something was very, very wrong. The pain was nearly unbearable; not since that fateful night, when he'd come within inches of dying, had anything hurt this much. One of his legs locked up and refused to move, so he had to drag it forward. Feeling the taste of iron on his lips, he raised a hand to his face, only to discover his nose was bleeding.

At this rate...I'll be dead before I even make it there... He closed his eyes. He really wanted to run. To turn around and run away. Whatever was happening to him, for all his strength he was powerless to stop it. What good was this power? He'd wanted the strength to protect others, but all this power did was put him and everyone around him in danger. Why should he have to continually face psychopaths, just because of what he was?

But if I go...dammit... There was no getting around it. He couldn't be sure that Scott would get agents there in time, and even if he did, how long were they supposed to stay? What if they were detected, and whoever set this up waited until they were gone to make good on his threat? Or worse, what if they were more powerful than whoever Scott sent?

And so he trudged forward, keeping his eyes on the hut, focusing his mind by asking himself questions: what was in the hut? Why was there this lone hut on the beach to begin with? Who was waiting for him here--if, indeed, anyone was actually in there?

That was when he saw it...something was there, a dark figure...or maybe his shadow--

And then his head was spinning, his stomach lurching, and it wasn't until he turned onto his side that he ever realized he was on the ground. Feeling like he was going to throw up, he did what he always did--recited in his head all the reasons why it was bad for him until his stomach calmed...relatively, anyway.

What's going on? What happened?

He sat up and looked to the window, but there was no longer anything there.

Needing to move forward, but lacking the strength to stand, he was reduced to crawling. He'd never defend himself, and the chances of him successfully using Qi in his state were slim.

I hope...this doesn't count as suicide, he thought grimly.

The storm was close to the island, now. The stillness in the air was just recently ousted by the oncoming storm. Flashes within the clouds begot thunder claps and a gentle breeze quickly showed signs of violence. Sand kicked up into the air and spread like smoke following an explosion-- the debris of the heaven and earth's eternal fued--

As Eld crawled, he'd find something new. The door was opening. Initially, it was merely ajar, but slowly, it started to open wider. Behind it, however, whilst it was still merely cracked open, was only an inky shadow, but upon the floor, half-boots could be discerned, dark, black like the rest of its attire, but--

static

-- it was staring at him. All he'd see beneath the cowl of his hood would be his eyes, piercing green eyes, and a feeling--

static

The door was open. The figure stood within. It was waiting. By that point, it was unlikely that Eld would be able to move, let alone speak . . . or even breath, for that matter. The pressure and the dragging force that demanded he become one with the earth had taken hold over his lungs. Breathing would cease instantly. A lung collapsed-- no, two lungs collapsed-- or would it feel as if they'd collapsed at all? Would the numbing sensation of the figure's eyes put it all at ease?

But not a blissful numb-- never a blissful numb-- a foreboding numbness, an imposing lifelessness, the only kind of horror that could come from within--

And that's when he'd feel it: immense spiritual pressure. The gravity he felt before-- it was masked all along. But he might find it familiar-- not the figure; no, in fact, it wouldn't feel like the spiritual energy was coming from the dark figure in the doorway at all. Rather, it would feel like Eld's own energy. It wasn't out of control. It was out of his control, but not out of general control. It wasn't tearing up the beach or generating a storm within a storm-- it maintained, and effected Eld all the same, as if it wasn't his power to begin with, while the figure remained standing, undaunted by the pressure.

The figure bent down.

By the time the door opened, Eld could hardly move at all. There was someone inside, a shadow...no, a figure, dressed in all black, and it was impossible to make out any distinguishing features, other than bright green eyes...

He gasped--suddenly, getting air was harder to get...and then it became impossible. He tried to turn around, tried to crawl back, but it was too late; without air, he didn't have the energy to leave. And now his body was growing numb. If he had the energy he would have screamed, would have cried...he knew this feelings, it was burned into his brain, the feeling of his body shutting down...what it was like die, to know he was dying. Except this time he didn't even know what was killing him...

And then, clarity. He hadn't been able to tell before, but now he could--the reason he couldn't feel the source of this power. He was the source. And his power wasn't going out of control, as he often feared it would someday...this was intentional. Somehow, someone was using his own power...his own Qi...he was sure such a thing should be impossible...unless...could it be...?

Before he could finish his thought, his mind was assaulted by flashes...voices he knew, but nothing that he actually recalled...it was all new to him, but how? Etsu, Scott...maybe more?

But no more clarity would come to him. His death was approaching quickly, and this time he was sure there'd be no god waltzing in to save him.

Etsu...Kageko...I'm sorry...

And the darkness engulfed him, for what he was sure was the final time...

Eldridge Tsukimono would wake uncomfortably. His entire body would ache, although not nearly as much as it should have, considering the possibility that he nearly died. No, it would be a minor ache, but it would come alongside absolute physical exhaustion. It wasn't that a burst of strength would kill him or send him over the edge--but that he was far too exhausted to use one. Even if adrenaline sent him reeling, he'd still be without it . . .

Not like he had any Qi left to use it, anyways.

Which set the Reaper in a bad position. Upon waking, however harsh or slow it may be, he'd find himself sitting down. The steel chair would be cold against his skin, and the chains that kept him there would be even colder. Around his arms, his legs, and his body, thick steel in the form of chains would have him held down indefinitely. The chains were padlocked tight, and on his wrists and ankles, padlocked onto shackles.

He was in the hut. Outside, the wind was beating against it mercilessly, clattering the shutters against the window repeatedly, and sometimes shifting the dim light within the hut. The storm was passing through, and it was far from over. Rather, it had just started. Inside of the hut, an oil lantern hanging from a hook in the wall dimly illuminated the surroundings.

Eldridge wasn't alone. There was a distinct sound of scraping-- of smooth metal sliding across soft stone. The man he saw was there, standing before Eld, his back to him-- the same man Areva had encountered and vaguely described. He stood at a large workbench, a smorgasbord of tools laid out before him, some sitting on the bench, and others hanging on the wall behind it. Knives of all kinds were hung upon the wall, from saws to kitchen knives-- even skewers of all lengths nearby, as well as tools like pliers, wrenches, and hammers set out upon the tall work bench.

The results of looking at the figure-- of static filling his mind, and blurs of sound and images --was beginning to die down. His vision would still blur slightly, and his mind might go blank at times when he stared at the cloaked figure, but nothing as drastic as the last couple of times.

Rather than holding the sharpening stone in one hand and dragging the knife across it with the other, he had the stone anchored to the workbench, and from underneath of his cloak, he had his right arm out with a giant's shaving razor in hand, running it gently across the sharpening stone. He meticulously ran one side across first, and after the satisfying sound of smooth steel across soft stone, he turned it to its other side, and swiped it again. In the light of the oil lantern, it seemed as if he had done the same to every knife across the wall. They were all sharpened to perfection. What comprised them mattered little. They were all like sharp enough to cut leather without significant difficulty.

The figure didn't seem to notice, or at least respond to, Eld's inevitable awakening--but that didn't mean he had a means of escaping. After all, with his body physically exhausted and innate Qi sapped to nothing, Eld was nothing more than a normal human being . . .

I'm...alive...?

Before anything else, the uncomfortableness of his situation, his exhaustion, or the sights before him, that thought struck his mind--once more, he'd been dying, felt it, knew it...knew in the way only someone who studied medicine could know, identifying the signs of death even as life was leaving him...and yet he was alive.

But as consciousness fully returned, and he became aware of his surroundings he almost, almost wished he wasn't.

He was tied, no, chained to a steel chair. He could not feel Qi--that was distressing. He had none, either totally drained, suppressed, or maybe even sealed like it was at one time. There would be no Qi blasts, no shifting into Purgatory to get out, no sudden bursts of superhuman strength to break his bonds. Whoever the man was, he knew him, or at least knew of his powers--the fact that it was metal and metal, not wood and rope binding him made him sure that he had a healthy respect for what Eldridge Tsukimono could potentially do.

Unable to look right at the man for some reason, he looked around the shack itself, and he was very, very disturbed but what he saw. Weapons--nothing but weapons. Or maybe that wasn't quite the word. Instruments was a better word, because everything he saw suggested that they weren't being prepped for battle, but another use entirely:

Torture.

Suppressing a shudder and deciding he didn't want to dwell on that thought, he forced himself to finally look at his captor, but every time he did he got dizzy, lost his focus, both physically and mentally. It wasn't some power, it seemed...something about his very body caused his mind to not want to see it.

He wanted to ask a question, tried to ask something: who the man was, what the man was, and the question he dreaded most, what he intended to do, but when he opened his mouth, only coughing came out...

Just a second after Eld coughed, the figure stopped sharpening the blade. It was the first prompt that he recognized that Eld was awake--which was unlikely to fall into the Reaper's favor.

"Oh, you're up," the man remarked as he hung the razor up on the wall, neatly, just like he had everything else. Perfectly organized, perfectly neat. Arranged by type of tool, with no single tool off to one side or the other. "You're resilient. Even without any outside assistance."

Male-- perhaps around Eld's age, even, but much more feminine. Not quite in an accented (lisp) fashion, but in a genuinely ambiguous manner--



It happened again. It would seem as if time was lost, as the cloaked figure had his back turned to Eld before static inevitably filled the Reaper's mind, static and words spoken by a familiar voice-- difficult to pick out in the static, and impossible to name. To Eldridge, it'd seem like a voice he had never heard before.

The figure was standing before him, facing the Reaper, just three feet from his person. Everything was covered by his cloak. As it lacked sleeves, all appendages were kept within the confines of its darkness, and with the hood up, it was only possible to make out the piercing green eyes of the figure-- but not for any dire length of time. Still, just looking at him would cause the empty delirium of a mind, trying to receive and replay thoughts that were once there, and finding nothing at all. Or were they ever there at all?

"What's the longest time you've ever held your breath?" The posed question seemed random, but in Eld's position, refusing to answer a question simply wasn't an option.

What are those voices? Am I going crazy? No, he must be doing something to me... But it was hard to tell--he'd spaced out or something again, and it seemed to happen every time he tried looking right at the man.

The question made no sense to Eld; he understood it, but why this was at all relevant to his current situation was beyond him. "M-My breath?" He was awake, but still out of it--and frequent blanks his mind encountered weren't helping him recover his senses.

"I-I don't know...maybe a minute or two?" He saw no reason not to answer the question or lie...what value this information could have, he had no idea. "W-Who, or what, a-are you?"

"What? You don't remember me?" the figure asked as if he didn't believe Eld.

He turned his back to him again. The wall of tools awaited him, staring him in the face-- for almost a minute, he stared at them, moving his head slightly, moving whenever he looked at a different option. He was . . . surveying his options, of which he had many. Using these tools for anything else shy of gardening, demolition, construction, or cooking was indescribably inhumane, but left a horrendous supply of options. Limitless, possibly-- restricted only to the amount of pain the human body could take before going into shock.

Light flickered throughout the hut. Thunder clapped. Raindrops pounded on the wood comprising the outside of the hut and dripped through the holes in the roof.

The figure reached his right arm out of his cloak, bending forward a bit to take hold of something laying flat on the work bench. It was unclear what exactly he grabbed for, only that he took a moment with it. "Here. Let me refresh your memory . . ."

Without warning shy of his declaration, the figure turned to Eld, knife in hand. It was a long blade, made specifically for cutting meats, with serrated edges-- but Eld would only be able to see it for a moment, before the figure reached his arm back and let it fly-- straight down, straight at Eld's left foot, shackled where it was, aimed perfectly down, with enough force to sink straight through without the slightest resistance . . .

In response to the man's question, Eld shook his head. While there were a few people he could think of that might have a grudge against him--enough to set him up and capture him--what little of he could see of the figure didn't match any of them.

The lightning flashed, and he couldn't help but wonder how long it had been. Every time he blanked out, some time passed. How long would it be before the Dirige sent someone to investigate?

I need to talk to him...find out what he wants. It wasn't a matter of just wanting him dead, like Sergei did, or he'd be dead already. Did he want his power? Was he trying to get him to do something?

As the man spoke again, Eld realized he needed to speak, now. "Wait, what--AAAAAAHHHH!" His body strained against the chains ineffectually, not letting him jerk his foot away, nor bring his arms down to check. The knife sank through without the slightest resistance.

He gasped for breath, trying to ignore the pain, but this wasn't a battle, he had no goal to focus on, nor did he have any Qi to help him resist pain. Right now, he was no more powerful than any other seventeen year old.

"What...what..." he panted, trying to ask, "what do you want" but not being able to draw enough breath for it.

There was no laughter at Eld's pain--not even the slightest snicker. He seemed patient, standing before Eld, recalling his arm back into the confines of his cloak. Eld's pain was expected. Eldridge Tsukimono, at his core, was no god. He was human. He was perfectly human. Humans felt pain. Whether or not it was satisfying to cause that pain was of little consequence. It was just a part of life.

Satisfaction was not required.

The figure paced briefly. he was waiting, it seemed, for Eld to collect his bearings. When the body is stressed, it pumps adrenaline quicker than usual. This reduces pain. Pain was maximized when breaks were taken. It could very well have been his reasoning, but it was unclear. He could have even just been trying to psyche Eld out just a bit more--but that seemed to have already happened.

In his pacing, he paused only to stand before the work bench. It seemed he reached for something, again using his right arm, but it was unclear what, and when he paced again, there was no sign of it-- his arm was once again inside of his cloak.

After a moment of waiting, the figure turned again to face Eldridge. He stepped forward, now directly before the chair--no distance between them. His feet rested between Eld's. Light flashed throughout the darkened sky-- light illuminated his face, ever so briefly--



"One minute, you said?" he asked as he bent forward. Without the illumination of lightning, it was impossible to see what was under the hood, even when he was close. "That's how long you can hold your breath. One minute. Eldridge Tsukimono, I'm willing to spare you-- you know that? I can spare you everything I've wanted to do to you for the last three months, if you can just do that. If you can hold your breath for exactly sixty seconds. I'll count for you, too. I promise, if you can, I'll unchain you and bring you to your Reaper friend up in the village. All you have to do is hold your breath for sixty seconds. Can you do that?"