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Snippet #2687129

located in Ekland Farm, a part of The Spirit Detectives, one of the many universes on RPG.

Ekland Farm

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Duncan McAlister Character Portrait: Briella Adair Character Portrait: Leon D'Artagnan Character Portrait: Tom Passano Character Portrait: Cassandra Artemis Character Portrait: Monk Dawa
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Tom listened to Leon. He focused on the sound of his voice, since it was the only thing that was keeping him from listening too hard to that noise the thing was making. It's not that he could understand it; why would've he asked Leon about it in the first place, if that was the case? No. But it felt like something to him. It resonated in his bones, as if it was trying to get in him somehow-- the same cold air he inhaled was inside of him, through the voice of the wraith. Tom never lets his guard down, nor does he loosen his stance, but he's frozen in place. His hazel eyes are dulled-- he's struggling not to show that he's working on not giving into the feeling of losing control that the creature in front of him is just begging him to accept. The worst part?

It feels calm. Gentle. Sort of like falling asleep in a snowstorm, Tom thinks. The gist of it? Don't you dare fall asleep.

He shoots upright, just missing the knife that flies past his head dangerously, and catches the salt packet in midair. Gaze still fixed to the middle figure, Tom tears the packet open with his teeth, spraying the contents at the demon. The objects in the room seem to rotate a little faster and falter erratically, and the humanoid body of the one he had a standoff with earlier in the corner suddenly wildly distorts. Tom grits his teeth. "Too late for me to apologize about that." He grunts, the bridge of his nose creasing. "This place is far past any renovations. Right, Duncan?" Without a reply, he turns and views the unconscious body of the leader of their party and arches an eyebrow. "This got interesting real fast." He murmurs, pulling out his gun and shooting rounds at the morphing figure. As he shoots, he swiftly ducks to Leon, latching on tightly to his arm and shoving him behind him, stepping right in front of Duncan, as he understands he's too occupied with something else to focus too hard on the task at hand. They...must have done something to him. But what?

All at once, the form slowly takes shape again, rising up. Tom slides his foot back--the same mist it's made of begins to billow across the floor. It doesn't feel like much. It's just cold; sort of like the tingling sensation from dry ice. Tom holds his head for a moment, unable to keep himself from reacting from a couple flashes of imagery in his head. It's...bones? Flesh? Sort of like what you would see through a surgical camera. Some sort of a message, since Tom doesn't usually have these sorts of visions...His eyes dart to Duncan in surprise, noticing the shocked expression on the man's face as he woke up. Did they see the same thing? Tom quickly hoists him up as well. "We can't stay here any longer." He warns the two of them, before--

Tom turns around, and the figure from before is standing right in front of him.

He stares into its eyes-- if you could call them that-- and is once again unable to move. Until it grabs his wrist. Pain shoots up his arm instantly; there's a reason why nobody should touch those things, after all. It's almost as if it's eating away at his flesh; Tom's got a high pain tolerance, but he can't stifle a gasp of agony.

Before the creature can open its mouth, brimming in another eerie scream, Tom steps forward, the room vibrating with...a different type of intensity. The creature seems to falter, and its usual form starts to glow with a strange outline of light. It doesn't seem to be aware that it's happening. The arm that was burnt by the creature forces itself back, and Tom forms his hand into a fist. "You thought the door was bad?" He hears himself bark directly into its face. "You better watch your back!" In an instant, Tom's hand moves to the front, flattening into a shield-like stance-- and the mist, including the wraith, is forced back in a beam of psychic energy. It's as if he repelled it. Whether it was with his voice, or his body, every type of noise in the room is suddenly sucked away with the single pulse of the force from Tom's action, and they're left with a normal silence, plates clattering and breaking on the floor.

Tom slumps, rolls his neck awkwardly, and heads out through the doorway without turning around. His arm is bleeding through his dress shirt. He's very quiet.