Anomaly Upon the Battlefield || FeMorgan & Armin
As she was swept along in the current of time-space infinity, Morgan’s thoughts were on her destination and whether or not she’d ever get used to traversing the Outrealms. As exciting as it was, she never could quite prepare herself for the worlds she would enter, nor could she really get comfortable with this feeling of powerlessness as she hurtled through the void. Well, she had done her best to prepare. That was all to be done. As the light signifying the other end of the Gate flared into existence, the girl braced herself and shut her eyes.
The moment she blew through, Morgan knew there was something wrong.
The air was rank with the stinging choke of fire, the metallic tang of blood, and the cloying stench of bodily fluids. Sporadically, distantly, there was the sound of activity: indistinct screams, cannon fire, breaking buildings. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end even as adrenaline began pumping into her system. War. No, not war. Something worse. Far worse.
Morgan knew she wasn’t the only one who felt it; she could feel her dragon’s hackles rising at the sheer pressure of death hanging heavy on their heads. Cautiously, mouse quiet, the tactician crept along the narrow alleyway she was in, sword drawn. The make of the buildings weren’t alien to her. White wash walls, tile roofing, wood for windows and supports. Cobblestone under her feet. If she hadn’t known any better, the raven would have thought she had merely stepped into a less friendly version of Ylisstol, or any major city for that matter. But something told her something was inherently wrong with this place.
The answer came the moment she peeked out of the alleyway. The streets were deserted, but were littered with shrapnel and corpses. Morgan felt the bile rise in her throat. Those that hadn’t been crushed by fallen debris were rarely whole; indeed, many of them were missing limbs, or were limbs missing bodies. The girl stared at the one lying across the street from her. The man looked as if he had been flung there with terrible force, the entire left side of his body from neck to hip sheared away as if… as if something had taken a bite out of him. A thrill of fear coursed down her spine. What manner of creature existed in this realm that ate humans?
Shrinking back into the shadow, she remained there, studying the corpse from afar. He looked to be wearing a uniform of some sort, for as she scanned the area the tactician noted a few other corpses that donned the same tawny-brown cropped jacket that this one wore. White breeches, boots with a knee guard, and a myriad of belts that held a peculiar metal contraption at their hips. It was metallic from its glint in the ruddy light, two hulking boxes, one at each side of his hip. There were wires attached to them that were linked to two blades. Why attach blades to yourself? The concept was strange.
What was going on? Who was fighting – or rather, slaughtering – whom? Morgan knew she would find no answers from the dead here. After taking a careful scan around, she slipped out from the cover of her alleyway and began to set off, only to hesitate and backpedal to the fallen man. No, not a man, she realized as she drew closer. A youth, a lad, perhaps only a little older than she. On his remaining shoulder, she noted offhandedly, was the emblem of twin crossed swords superimposed over a grey shield. Her eyes lowered in respect and sorrow.
"…Naga take your spirit, friend. I’m sure you died a warrior’s death. You will be remembered."
She lay a hand on his head, and then in a swirl of black she was down the street. Morgan kept close to the walls and shadows, ever alert for any movement outside her own. Her path took her along body-strewn avenues, all of them echoing the same grisly scene she had encountered upon her arrival. Many of the younger ones bore a sigil similar to the boy soldier she’d met, though she often saw a similar symbol where it was two roses rather than swords. Different companies of the same army, then. Her heart clenched tighter with every soldier she passed. This was just like… Pay attention, Morgan, or you’ll end up just like them.
Something stung her nose, a sour stench that irritated her senses above the smoke and blood in the air. Rounding a corner, she skidded to a stop as the source of the scent came into view. Morgan almost threw up. Before her was a large mucous-covered glob, the size of a boulder. Through the translucent amber-coloured slime the half-taguel could see people, or rather, bodies and body parts. It took her only a moment longer to realize what it was she had smelled. Bile. This was something’s vomit. Whatever was out there, not only was it carnivorous and dangerous, it was big.
Morgan couldn’t stand it; she was forced to turn around and find another way towards the sound of combat. Everything in her screamed it was suicide to do so, but combat meant there were people still alive, and if she could get a grasp of the situation, she could better understand the world she had come into.
A whirr overhead, and the sound of footsteps and people’s voices calling commands. Morgan froze and flattened herself against the wall, her head snapping up. From the gaps of the rooftops several figures blurred by. She caught the glint of metal, and that same tawny brown. Soldiers. Somehow they had the means to move quickly and almost gracefully through the air. Morgan was given no time to marvel and wonder.
The ground beneath her shook, and a head came into view from over the rooftops. Morgan stared, frozen to the spot in shock. She’d expected something big, but she had not expected an enormous human. Nude from head to toe, it was decidedly masculine in structure, but she could see no genitalia to differentiate. It sported a rotund sagging pot belly and moved with with a surprising speed given its pondering gait. Her breath caught in her throat even as cold sweat broke out on her back. This. This was what had eaten that boy, had vomited those people. A giant, one that stank of blood and rot. And it was chasing those people.
Or rather, it was. Now, even as she stared at it, hardly daring to breathe, its drooping eyes lowered to stare right back at her. It bared its teeth as if to smile, and then it reached down towards her. Instinctively Morgan reacted with a howl born of fear and defiance, lashing out with her sword at the massive fingers that groped towards her, even as she twisted out of the way for more mobility. To her utter shock, her blade barely nicked the skin of one finger, and then broke. No way… this was new! And in perfect condition! No time to think. With a grunt she rolled out of the way, abandoning her shattered sword and racing the same direction she’d seen the soldiers glide off. As her boots pounded the ground, Morgan reached for her magic tome but realized that action slowed her down and refrained. Behind her, she could hear the giant’s footsteps closing in on her, feel its hungry gaze on her. If physical attacks barely damaged it, would magic distract it long enough for her to put enough distance between it and her so she could escape…?
Gerome hissed and squawked out a warning, and with a desperate yell she threw herself to one side again, barely dodging the enormous hand. No time to arm herself, just run. Panic giving her feet wings, the raven ran, fleeing for her life even as she called out, knowing it was a gamble to let her presence be known.
"Help! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!"
