The Demon Plot: DEATH OF GRINDING MADNESS [July Player Event]

[pillz]

Who: Ensemble production, all individuals who opted in to the plot
When: July 9-21
Where: Two inhabited planets around the Ingress
What: The demon plot kicks off, in which malevolent shadow beings, copies of existing characters, begin to materialize and harass the PCs across the worlds. Plotting post is here, and a network post will go up within the next 2 days from several PCs advising on how to end the plot.
Warnings: Violence, psychological themes, possibly past trauma, etc.

Death of Grinding Madness
The Demon Plot
(mild spoilers for The Raven Cycle)

On July 9, a demon begins to make its way through the Ingress, summoned through by a shitty teenager.

July 9-12
Harrying

It's innocuous in the beginning. A movement in the corner of your eye, a shadow through a curtain-- merely a tree. But then the shadow figures begin to emerge into full being. Black-eyed wraiths that look like enemies, friends with whom you've had past conflict, or even you yourself. At first, it's merely harrying, minor harassment. Threatening gestures, broken gestures, jump scares.

Pursue them, and they disappear-- you might even catch a glimpse of how. They melt down into black slime, racing away across floors, through sewer grates, up walls, impossible to follow. By now, the worst of the climate freeze is over, but residual ice does pose a needles extra obstacle.

July 12-15
The Violence Escalates

In the days that follow, the situation only gets worse.

Sporadic harassment turns into outright attacks. The targeting is unmistakable. The shadow beings who can speak tell cruel tales of animosity, spite, even hatred. They are as deadly with their hands or strange powers as their doppelgangers are, and worse, they're functionally indestructible. Rip off one's head and it merely reforms out of sticky black ink. Limbs regenerate just as easily. The being might dispell for a few hours, but no doubt— it'll be back, if not to hurt you then someone you know.

The Savrii begin to notice. It's hard not to. While there is hardly an epidemic of panic, the disruptions are hard to miss-- broken windows, screams, random violence. Soon, the authorities begin to open safehouse facilities at which characters can seek shelter.

July 15-18
The Golem

On July 17, something horrific begins to happen— several shadow beings merge to form a massive golem in Kauto R1. It is a grotesque, horrifying spectacle, of limbs and eyes and pulsating flesh. It reaches almost sixty feet in height. Combined together, this shadow creature is considerably less intelligent than the individual beings were. However, it is also immensely strong and regenerates just like the smaller ones did.

Within the mall, hundreds of daytime shoppers are trapped within. Luckily, they have food and climate control. Perhaps you're one of them-- or perhaps you're trying to get in to provide medical care.

In the meantime, the attacks from the individual shadow beings don't stop. Despite the intelligence exhibited by some, all of them seem mindlessly bent on tormenting their targets until they are killed.

July 18-21
The Sacrifice

On the 9th day, a network post goes up (link pending, will be OOCly forward-dated to July 10th latest) revealing how to remove the invincibility of the attackers.

And by the 21st, the remaining beings utterly vanish without explanation— unless you happen to bear witness to the events that take place at St. Monmouth.

Comments

FRISK

[squadgoals]

[There's a quietude about the Aquarium, even with several customers passing through. A calm peace, suggested by the white noise hum of filters, pumps, whispering water through several pipes.

Shepard is there, when she can be. Frisk is there when she can't. Today, it's the latter.

Or perhaps, the former, too.

It's just after the quiet lunch "rush" — when a few tired employees from nearby companies come through to struggle with issues, try to center themselves before heading back into the grind — when the footsteps start. They're loud, pointedly so. Military-grade hardsuit on inexpensive (but easily cleanable, and definitely waterproofed) flooring.

It's heavier than usual, but it's definitely Shepard's gait.]

[gainedlove]

[Even with the chaos the shadows are causing, Frisk refuses to abandon their duties. They do everything they can, from cleaning tanks to feeding to tidying up after visitors come through, sweeping up trash and other leavings.]

[The sound of footsteps approaching makes them pause and look up, broom held loosely as they pause to identify the sound. It takes a few moments, but when she rounds the corner Frisk's expression blooms into a smile and they move towards her.]

Shepard! 'Re you doin' better?

[Just so trusting, are they not?]

[squadgoals]

[No reply. But it stops, staring (or seems to, with the black, empty spaces), considering the small child.

The silence hangs, standing out amongst the buzz of filtration systems, tense.

And the shadow that is Shepard raises its arm, holding a gun.

This Shepard is doing very well indeed.]

[gainedlove]

[It takes a few moments before Frisk sees the black void where her eyes should be. The shock that takes hold steals a moment more from them, and when they hurl themself out of the way of the blast of gunfire, it's not quite fast enough.]

[The tearing pain in Frisk's leg causes them to stumble, and even a small clip like that is enough to knock a sizeable chunk of HP off. They waste no time in trying to * Talk again, instead taking off down the hall away from their foe. They've got better to do--like find cover, and fast.]

[squadgoals]

[The moment they're moving, she is, too. Running down a child is hardly a challenge, though — and the shadow is nearly caught up in a flash.

Another round fires off, this one much more accurate.]

[gainedlove]

[Pain tears through Frisk's side, but their throat is too tight to cry out even in fear. The smell of dust and blood rises in their nostrils, and the tanks for a moment seem filled with LCL.]

[They hit the ground hard, coughing up red and they have nothing, no SAVE and no * Hope, nothing--]
[And yet they still can't QUIT.]
[Frisk barely has time to look back before the shadow is looming over them.]

I'm sorry...

[squadgoals]

[No reply. Never any reply — only more shots, each one finding its point-blank target, buried deep in Frisk's body. But even then, it's leaning over them, crouching down, multitude fish swimming behind it, a peaceful contrast to the violent actions taking place.

One of the lower tanks has sprung a leak — the product of a stray bullet — the fish inside panicking at their sudden, dramatic water drain, pH-balanced fresh water pooling out on the floor, surrounding the two figures, soaking in and mixing with the blood-soaked garments. Mixing with... something else.

If Frisk hasn't yet let go, they might feel something burning, acrid, acid, the shadow in the shape of Shepard blurring into a living pool of ichor, melting over their body.]

[gainedlove]

[1/20]

[.01/20]

[.000000000001/20]

[It hurts so much. Their chest is on fire, like bones and daggers and vines and tridents but they don't shatter so quickly. Flickering, broken red still clings out of some instinct, some necessity, can't let it be seen or Tabris will be found out, can't mess things up any more than they have, can't do it, can't--]

[Something hot drops onto their cheek, burning as they stare weakly up at the black, melting form. Tears blur their vision, and they can't even scream as a splash of void-dark mass blots out their vision entirely.]

[Soon after, they follow with it.]

[squadgoals]

[As the last of the life force fades from Frisk's body, the shadow pulls back, apparently content. Another target eradicated. Another mission complete.

Leaving nothing more than blood, stains, and scraps, it fades away, moving through walls like so much nothing.

...







...







...







...

It's days later, when Shepard finds them. The blood, the stains, the horrific scraps — on the floor of the aquarium. The acid burns in the floor would need to be replaced. The blood, she'd scrubbed out. It had taken a while. Or she'd taken a while.

The fish residing in the shot aquarium, struggling in their few inches of water, had somehow managed to hold on, despite everything. She'd transferred them to a medical tank, laboring over them as if they were speaking, emoting to her. Drops of medicine, balanced pH, salinity. They weren't dead yet.

Some time during all of it, there had been some network post about how to kill a shadow. She'd let it play in the background as she'd scoured the floor, pouring measures of bleach into a bucket of water. Sacrifice.

How much more did she need to give?

How much more did any of them need to give?

Hadn't they all given enough?

With a flooring knife, she carefully cuts into the floor, ripping up segments of waterproofing, focused solely on the task at hand. Focused on anything but thinking about the bullet holes that matched only her own pistol's slugs.]

[gainedlove]

[It's not a very long trip, from the medical center, but it still takes far too long. It's been ages, and the fish have been left all alone while Shepard is wrestling with whatever the intermediaries had done. It's not fair, to put the stress to taking over their duties onto her shoulders. They should have been back sooner.]

[They should have never been gone. That's how it's meant to go.]

[Boots far smaller than Shepard's tap along the hard floors, soft enough to go unnoticed in her state. Frisk has been checking the tanks as they go, making sure that everyone inside is doing well, and all their charges are accounted for. When they turn the corner around the broken tank and see her, they pause for a moment.]

...

[Calmly, and with a small smile, they step forward. As if Shepard were just cleaning up a sticky spilled drink, and not removing the remnants of their own grisly death.]

Um, 'm sorry for bein' so late.

[squadgoals]

[At the sound of footsteps, she freezes — and inhales sharply, recognizing them before the small figure even comes into view. Mid-removal, she stares, expression a raw cocktail of sadness, guilt, shame, deepening at Frisk's words.

Dropping flooring, she swallows, hands shaking, voice stumbling, over just a simple name.]

Frisk.

[It's relief, it's sorrow, it's glad, it's regret.

For a moment, it seems as thought she might reach out to hug them-- but she stops, staying her body, swaying in place.

No one wants a hug from their killer.]

[gainedlove]

Sh...Shepard...?

[They pause for a moment, unsure, before hurrying to close the gap between them and put both their small hands around hers. Something's wrong, they don't know what, but they have to try and help.]

What's th' matter?

[squadgoals]

You're not late. You're not... [Her voice stutters, falters, as they wrap their hands around hers.]

Frisk. [Shepard repeats their name like a prayer.] I'm so sorry. [Shaking her head, she barely stops herself from pulling her own hands away, so Frisk isn't forced to touch them, forced to make contact with their own murderer's shape.]

I should have been here. Should've... had more security. [Something, anything.

But it's all would-haves, should-haves: the damage has long been done.]

I know I'll never be able to make it up to you. But I'll stop my shadow. No matter what it takes.

[gainedlove]

[Is she...?]

[Oh. Right. People remember here.]

'S not your fault.

[Frisk smiles gently, moves forward to wrap their arms around Shepard's shoulders and hold her tight. It's okay, see? They're here, they're alive. They aren't hurt anymore.]

I'll run faster next time. It's okay.

[squadgoals]

[Shepard is at a loss for words.

It doesn't often happen; she's made something of a side job out of always having the right words — or at least, having words, period.

But as Frisk wraps their little arms around her, holding her tightly in them, she can't think of a single thing to say.

For a while, they stay like that, the hum of aquatic equipment filling up the space between them. After a minute, Shepard wills her own arms up, around Frisk, returning the gesture, her own grip hesitant, but warm.

Finally, voice muzzy with strains of remorse, she manages to push out:]

None of this is your fault, Frisk.

[gainedlove]

[That's a lie.]

[It's a kind lie, one Shepard doesn't know she's making, but a lie none-the-less. There's always another way, a path where no one has to die and everyone can be saved--and they should have known it. But they don't, and they can't go back to try again, and everyone is left with their mistake.]

[All they can do is walk forward.]

Not yours, either. Okay?

[This, at least, they can be sure to find the right ending to.]

[squadgoals]

[Her voice is a lump, heart screaming — but she swallows down, past it, slowly moving her hands to their shoulders, looking as much into their eyes as she can. Some things needed to be said, before something else became the status quo.]

No. This is-- you're-- Frisk, there is no run faster. You-- your death isn't something you can claim as a personal mistake, it's not a chore you forgot! It was out of your control, it was-- and If it wasn't for the technology here, then...

[Shepard trails off, hands still holding on to Frisk. Then they'd be dead for good. Like the others you've destroyed with a touch. With a word. With a choice.

With a sound almost like a sigh, she gathers her arms around them again, a strong, protective envelopment.]

You're worth more than every fish in this room, to me.

[gainedlove]

[Frisk blinks up at Shepard with solemn eyes, faint confusion writ on their face. They understand in theory, what she means, but...it doesn't apply to someone like them. They learned that a long time ago, didn't they?]

[But Shepard's arms go around them, and...they remember Toriel holding them close when she learned. Sans's weak insistence to heal their wounds after he was SAVEd. Things are different, here. Things are...]

[They can't do everything anymore, no matter how they try.]

[Frisk holds on tight to Shepard, and nods.]

...love you.

[squadgoals]

[She wouldn't be able to forget their face. That look of vague bewilderment, at the idea that their death couldn't be their fault.

What had they faced? What had they shouldered, accepted as a matter of course? How had it become so run-of-the-mill that it could be faced with the same apologetic shamefacedness as a forgotten item on a shopping list?

At Frisk's words, her arms tighten of their own accord, as if to secure them further.

Never again.]

I love you too, Frisk.