yuggoth | ( EXECUTION - THE BEGINNING OF AN END )

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ic: execution

( EXECUTION - THE BEGINNING OF AN END )

At 8:00 AM, Heather, Girge and Andersen will be gently roused awake like all other Sunday mornings. Akane Kurashiki is nowhere to be found, but the faceless men will stop by to serve each of the survivors a grand breakfast to start their day. They will be allowed to do as they please until 9:00 AM, when Craftly's voice will be heard over the static filled P.A. system.

"Good morning, residents. I hope you were able to sleep, despite... the unfortunate circumstances surrounding this day. I will be waiting for you in the parking lot. Please do try to be hasty. My men will escort you if necessary."

And as promised, Craftly will be waiting for all three of them in the parking lot. A brightly lit torch will be held in one of his hands, and he motions for them to follow him with a tilt of his head. Without hesitation, he approaches the fog — and watches as it parts to create a narrow path. Any resident that's unwilling to follow him will find their body moving on their own, and within the next fifteen minutes, all four of them will be threading down unfamiliar paths. More specifically, the path that leads to Lake Crotin.

It doesn't take long for them to reach the clearing next to the lake. And once they do, the fog surrounds them once again, blocking off their only exit.

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... This is it. [Craftly's voice is quiet as he extinguishes the flames while the faceless men slowly march into the clearing. Akane is still nowhere to be found, and an eerie pressure surrounds the area.] With this final death, this final payment — the ritual will be over. I had hoped to see this session come to an end before it could progress to this point, but that is only a thought of the past now.

[The faceless men assume their usual position, blocking off the platform despite it currently being empty. They link their hands together, raising them towards the sky. The sun shines impossibly bright over the horizon.]

Heather. [The Innkeeper turns to look at her, pausing for a moment.] ... Do not hesitate. The fate of your friends is in your hands.

[And it is at that moment that everyone's vision goes pitch black.

When they come back to, Akane Kurashiki has joined them... but not voluntarily. For she is now bound at the top of an impossibly tall stake, arms held above her head by a thick rusty nail impaled through both of her hands. Her legs are similarly held in place by a nail impaled through both of her feet, her torso freely leaning forward and causing the nails to slowly rip through her flesh, but that should be the least of her worries. After all, she's drenched in oil, hair matted to her face as the substance drips down her skin and mixes with the blood on her arms and feet. Large pieces of wood surround her, and it doesn't take much of a genius to know what must happen here.

Faceless men block access to the platform, with Craftly standing a couple paces away from the group, keeping anyone who might want to interfere out... as well as keeping those inside the perimeter in. Trapped on the platform is Heather Mason. She'll find two things next to her: a large canister of lighter fluid, and a lit torch set upon a stand. The wooden sign this time displays clear instructions of a man dumping the lighter fluid on the wood, before tossing the torch into the fray to immolate another man. The art style may seem familiar to some.

Coming from both nowhere and everywhere at once, an unpleasant, nauseating voice speaks all those who are present. It is not Craftly's voice. It cannot even be classified as a human voice. The longer it's heard, the worse the sensation becomes.]

Ờ҉NE ̀MO҉R͏̶̨E̷̛͜ ̛DE͜͠A̶T̷̶H͠
̶
TO̴ ̸E̴ND̷̨ ̛͠҉T҉H҉EM̴̢ ͠A̧͠L̨҉̕L̷̕͡

[The message is clear. Now it's up to the Executioner to decide what to do.]

( This thread is for the majority vote and executioner only. If you wish to react, feel free to post your own top level. )

Edited 2017-06-25 17:03 (UTC)

N—No—Why'd it have to be.. why is it like this..?

[ heather grips at her head the moment she looks up at akane — seeing her at her impossible height, drenched from head to toe. she takes a step backwards and hits her ankle just right to make her stumble down to her butt. she doesn't try to stand again for a second — she's trying to process everything, and the oppressive heat from the sun just makes it worse. she wipes at some sweat that's started to accrue on her forehead, trying in vain to brush the heat and the panic and the carnal fear she feels right now — not just for akane, but for herself. ]

I can't, I can't, I can't.. [ she repeats this a few times to herself, wrapping herself in her arms. this is too much, and her mind is flooding with images and memories she forgot she had — a kind of nostalgia for something she had never experienced. her eyes wander up to akane again, to which she whips her head away in an effort not to see her, then out to the very tiny gaggle outside the platform — just girge and andersen now.

she made a promise to andersen. she had to do this. but how.. how could she do something so cruel? incur on someone the pain she felt residually every day? it was like knife-pain every time she so much as looked over at the stake, like a wrenching, gutting pain all over her skin and insides. her mouth feels acidy and burns when she talks again. ] H—How.. what should I do?

[ said to akane. it's a simple question, one without a real, typical answer expected in response. ]

[It takes a moment for Heather's words to reach Akane. She hadn't really noticed the others there, barely even registers the pain from being strung up like this. She knows what's about to happen, what has to happen, and the terror of it overpowers everything.

She burned so many times in countless histories. She spent so long stuck between the fire and freedom, taking nine years of hard work and broken trusts to escape from that fate. It's not right that it has to happen again, after everything she's gone through. It's not fair.

Life is simply unfair, isn't it?

She imagines Zero II's voice and almost laughs through the tears mixing with the oil on her face. In a horrible kind of way, it's actually appropriate. After everything she's done, perhaps it is only right that she earns salvation for her world by passing through fire once more.]

Do it.

[Her voice is weak, cracking with fear and pain, but she hopes Heather can hear it.

There's only one way this is going to end.]

[ a plain answer, one that gives her very little direction — but it at least told her that akane was complacent to this. that she wanted it to end, and for it to be swift. she could pick up on that much, and she had to do her best to deliver that. it'd be selfish to leave her hanging there, for her trial by fire to be extended any longer.

she rises to her feet, using her wristband to wipe away snot gathering around her nose. she hobbles towards the supplies, and picks up the lighter fluid. she stares at it for an overlong moment, like she's in a daze or unresponsive, then flips the cap off. this was almost like cooking. it made her think of making soup every week with hajime and sharing it with quer — akane had tried the soup once. she weirdly hoped she liked it, and wished she could be sitting near the pool sharing another bowl with her.

almost methodically, she pours some lighter fluid onto the wood, flicking her wrist to send it a little farther — she's not looking while she does it. it hurts too much. right now, her insides were alight with fury and unfulfilled wishes, and she's on the verge of vomiting fire and emptiness.

ironic, she thought, that her death by fire brought about the end of a town's splendor, and this fire would bring about the continued prosperity of another. but now wasn't the time to dwell on things like irony and asceticism. it was time to kill someone.. to make them into martyr. she keeps flicking the lighter fluid until the canister is empty, her way of stalling.. she was still so scared, and her hands were shaking like a wet dog.

before she grabs the torch, she rustles through her pockets and pulls out two things — a butterscotch candy and a cigarette. her very last one. she plops the butterscotch in her mouth and tears up a little more as cloying sweetness melts into her melancholy. she wished akane had a free hand so she could have given it to her instead. she deserved it. ]

Okay. Is there.. anything you wanna say? Or should I just.. y'know.

[ as she says this, she puts the cigarette in her mouth and leans close to the torch, then takes a drag that melts her mind like the butterscotch in her mouth.

she grabs the torch. ]

[Every second waiting is full of agony. Accepting her fate brings no relief, just a sharper awareness of what's happening: the nails through her hands and feet, the strain of her position, the tearing of skin and muscle with every movement. And, of course, the fire. It's so close she can almost feel the heat already.

Is there anything she wants to say? She wants to curse the Unclean for forcing them to go through with this. Curse every stupid murderous cult in every world everywhere. Curse herself for volunteering for execution instead of just dying with everyone else, curse Heather for taking the role of executioner.

She wants to apologise to everyone she's hurt, in games of her own design as well as in this one. Perhaps Quer might even hear her if she did.

She wants to call for her brother, for Junpei, even though they're universes out of reach. She wants to tell them she loves them.

She says none of it, because it doesn't matter. She's coming back soon anyway.]

P-please... just...

[The words are even fainter than before, barely more than sobs.]

[ she feels like an idiot for even asking. for extending akane's pain. it's like another knife in her gut. she wanted to give akane something honorable, something painless, but with fire? she knew that was impossible. it would be painful, and agonizing, and shameful — burning at the stake was not only done for witches, but as a way to display wrongdoing to the masses, to dissuade others from committing the same crimes. it was.. making an example out of someone.

she would say something to akane to reassure her, tell her she's so fucking good at dying and resurrecting that it'd be over in an instant, but it didn't matter. she was sure akane didn't want to hear it, and she wasn't sure she had the words or wherewithal to organize them into a coherent phrase. moments like this? they were without language.

without hesitation, she chucks the torch as far as she can throw it — she doesn't want to have to go get it, to prolong this horrible situation. she wanted this to end. she wanted it all to end. that was coming next, she reminded herself. this was just today's appetizer.

instead of running away, she finishes her cigarette. she's almost catatonic for a moment. what was the point of getting out of the way? of hurrying? even if she died, well.. she knew it wouldn't matter at this point. she'd throw caution to the wind for now. just.. exist, and be. the smell of her cigarette's filter burning intermingled with the wood's flame and the rapid decay of the giant stake. it was so hot. oppressively hot. but somehow, she felt cold right now. ]

[The flames consume the oil-drenched wood, eagerly climbing the stake higher and higher. Fast as they're coming, Akane is hung high enough that the heat and smoke reach her first. It's enough to break what composure she'd managed to hold onto, and she cries out in terror in the brief moment of anticipation before the fire catches her.

As the oil covering her immolates, her cries turn to agonised screams. She's no longer here - she's in the incinerator again, just a terrified child dying for the sake of a madman's curiosity. She screams until there are no screams left, but no one can come save her.

It feels like an eternity for her, but in reality it does not take long at all before there's nothing left of the pyre but ashes and charred remains. Akane Kurashiki is dead.]

(reply from suspended user)

[Girge has nothing in particular to think over this—Akane and Heather are essentially strangers to him. In the end, this is one, last step before everything is brought to its finale.

He doesn't bother to watch, instead looking into the distance as he waits for it to be over.]

[Even after Akane is gone, the stench of burned flesh remains. It serves as a reminder of this last death; of this last sacrifice to the Unclean. Unreasonably cruel, just as everything else in the past five weeks has been.

The faceless men break the circle around the platform, one of them rushing over to steady Heather and bring her back to Girge and Andersen. The sun continues to shine impossibly bright, only adding to the heat released from the charred remains of the stake. Craftly does not move from his current spot, instead taking a sip from his ever present drink and glancing up at the sky.]

Unclean, horrid name to be whispered among mortals. Old One, key to the past, future and present. Take this offering. Take our filth into yourself, and be satisfied with the blood that has been repaid. [Said like a mantra. Like something he's had to repeat over and over again.] I show to you the three survivors of this session. Please, offer them the deal if it interests you.

[As Craftly ceases to speak, the ground beneath Heather, Andersen and Girge begins to shake. The sun disappears, plunging our three survivors into total darkness. Only the embers of Akane's resting place provide illumination, but it's not enough. Whispers fill their ears, relegating them with tales of survival and triumph. Familiar names and voices are among them; names and voices of people from their own worlds, explaining how they killed, survived and took the deal. The influence of the gods is eternal. There is no hope of destroying them.

The whispers cease as light returns to the clearing — but it no longer comes from the sun. For the first time in five weeks, night falls on the City of Yuggoth. The Unclean's avatar ripples, tendrils swaying as her body casts a blue glow over the realm. There is nothing but silence, the faceless men prostrating themselves on the ground to worship their goddess.

And then she speaks.

To Girge, who is one of her Prophets, her voice is gentle and soothing to his ears. He will suffer no ill effects as she speaks.]

I asked for entertainment, and my facilitators did not disappoint. To honor this success, I come to you with a choice. You already know your options. I won't bother to mince words.

[Heather and Andersen, on the other hand, won't be as fortunate as Girge. The Unclean will sound like this to their ears:]

I̛͡҉ ÀŚK̀͜Ę̵̶D͏ ͠F̀̕͠O̴R ̶́͜E͡N͏͡T̷E͡R̸͠TA̕͡IN҉M̷͡E̛͠͏NT͞,́ ̴̧͢Ą̵Ń̸D͞ ̨́M͘͢Ý͜ ͏F̕҉ĄC͏҉I͘LI̡̢̧TAT҉O҉R͢Ś ̶̨D̕͘͢I̵D̵͜ ̨̢͜N͞O͞T͏͝͠ ͏D͏IS̵A͢Ṕ̴҉P͝O̶I̵̶͢N͟͏T̶̨.̵̶ ̨T̶̸͘O̵̕ ͜͡H̨͘O͞Ǹ̀͡O̵̧Ŕ̢ T̸͞HÍ͟S͡ ̀͟͢SU̶̕C̀C̸E̷̛SS̛͞͡,҉̕ ͟͞I ̷C̛͡O̵M̛Ę͜ TO͟ ̶͠Y͢O͜͜͝U͏ ̵̢W̧IŢ̕H͏͟͟ A͟ ̨͏C̡͝HO̧͜Ì̢C͏E҉͏҉.͝ ̸̶Y͠Ờ͠U͞͡ ̷̀A̸̴L̢͘RE͘͝A͝Ḑ͠Y̶͟ ͢͞K͜N̕͡͝O͟W̨͟ ̶͘͟Ỳ͜Ò͞U͞҉̢R̨̀ ̡͏O̡P͢͡T̡͢Í͟͏O͞͠N̵S̵.̸͜ ̷͜I̷̷ ̸́͟W͏͞ON̢'T̴̴ B̀͠O̸T̨͘H̵È̴͠R̵͠͝ T̴O͢͞ ̶͟M͘͏͢I̡̛͞N͝C̸̸̡È W͠͞͏O͘R҉̕D͞S.̶̨ ́͏

[It's painful enough that it will give both of them either a nosebleed or cause them to bleed out their ears for the next few hours. On top of this, they will both begin to experience nausea and a mild fever the longer they speak to her. Whoops.]

(reply from suspended user)

[ she recognizes one of those voices. the world is full of distortion, it's skewed and jumbled like a cubist painting, but heather can pick that voice out — it always rang true for her. ]

Dad.. [ for the first time since coming to yuggoth, she feels complacent. almost peaceful. she dabs at the blood spewing from her ears as if its a familiar experience, because it is. this wasn't the first time it had happened to her here. but she felt nothing in regards to it. she merely sobs at hearing her dad's voice, pools of tears swelling and turning her face as red as the fountain of blood from her ears. ] So this is the Unclean, huh? This is.. a God. A real one.

[ not a fake. not a demon. not one that hadn't finished gestating. heather grips at her chest, letting andersen say his piece. this was his moment, and he was willing to make this sacrifice for them. she'd let him say what he needed to. ]

[Inwardly, Girge thinks that it was mostly Mira and Tsurugi who didn't disappoint, given the body counts they racked up, but if the Unclean chooses not to smite him where he stands, he's not complaining.

He rolls his eyes at Andersen's speech, though unsurprised that he gave one. Likewise, he knew to expect the ill effects that Andersen and Heather suffer now; the Hunters had so kindly demonstrated that last week. (Or, with Mira's eloquence: Holy shit, what the fuck happened to them?)

But he waits, quiet and patient.]

[Well. Girge didn't get a single vote despite being the first one to be outed, so honestly? He did well. 10/10, would take his soul on loan again.

While Andersen moves in front of Heather, it won't really spare her from any ill effects the Unclean may wish to deal to her. The blue light intensifies, each movement of her tendrils causing the breeze to change directions. The putrid smell of rotten fish guts invades the air, overpowering whatever remains from Akane's execution — though, as always? Girge won't perceive a thing. These are the benefits of having no soul to resonate with the horrors of this realm.]

I don't really care.

[Bluntly, her voice still as horrifying as it was a minute ago to both Heather and Andersen. Pretend everything is in zalgo text from here on out.]

If you wish to bore me, I could very well leave and void the sacrifice of your peers. [Yeah.] But to honor my little one [thank fuck for Girge], I'll refrain. For now.

[There's something of a pause here, and if eldritch abominations can laugh? The Unclean is definitely laughing.]

I have a better idea to make up for your flaws, Andersen. Kneel.

[And before Andersen can even properly process the Unclean's words, he's going to find his body moving on its own. More specifically, he prostrates himself on the ground with enough speed and force to potentially break his glasses — along with his nose.

Sorry, my dude.]

(reply from suspended user)

Ander— [ she reaches out towards him, but pulls her hand back in after. heather's brows contort into a raged face, but she bites at her tongue. quite literally. she's getting mad, hates seeing andersen abused and used like a puppet, but this wasn't just for their sakes. he was doing this for everyone.

either way, she'll take a step forward and crouch down besides him, just in case he needs her somehow. ] You got this.

[Idly, he wonders if he should've warned them that Unclean is kind of super testy, but he figured that that was already obvious.

Like Heather, he takes a step forward, though he remains there, standing. He's not sure if he's in a precarious position or not, with two "loyalties" here—not that he has any love for the Unclean, but she does happen to be in possession of his soul at the moment.

Still:]

You'll have eternity to do with him as you please. [Which isn't a thought he likes, but Andersen decided this for himself.] May we please get a move on?

It was funny. [Shocking news: The gods are pieces of shit.

Regardless, Andersen will regain control of his body after a moment. He'll be free to accept Heather's help should he desire it, to get back on his feet. His fashion statement^TM glasses are fucked up, though. Sorry.]

Respond with one word, or lose your tongue. Will you accept the contract, knowingly subjecting yourself to me in the role of Game Master in exchange for reclaiming the dead? Yes, or no?

(reply from suspended user)

[ heather would give andersen a high five for that divine clapback, but given the situation they were in, she decided to refrain. her mouth doesn't know what to do, whether to smile or laugh or frown or chide andersen. so she just says nothing. she stands here like an easily moved audience member at a play, briefly wondering it everyone could see this. everyone who was dead.

so she'll wait, close to andersen in case he needs her.. even though she knew there wasn't much she could do in the face of a God. ]

[Well, Andersen's possibly doing better than Tsurugi did—although Andersen would probably take that as an insult, given the standard there.

Time to see how the Unclean reacts, though.]

[Yeah. The glasses are just going to boomerang around and smack Andersen in the forehead if he doesn't duck fast enough. If he does, they'll hit Heather on her arm instead. Not hard enough to cause pain, but definitely as a "fuck you."]

Good.

[A beat, and then—]

Craftly, drown him in the lake.

[None of the survivors will have enough time to react before one of the faceless men unceremoniously picks Andersen up, rushing him over to Craftly. If Heather and Girge try to follow, they'll find themselves restrained by the other staff.

Fun times for all. What now?]

(reply from suspended user)

Hey—

[ heather echoes andersen, as it's finally time for her to speak up. she does try to run after him, but her arms are immediately grabbed. doesn't stop her from kicking. ]

What the hell are you about to do with him? Don't you need him for your dumbass ritual?

[Likewise, Girge moves by instinct, though once he realizes that this is a no-go—what with being restrained and all—he gives up the resistance.]

... The Unclean's rituals tend not to be very pleasant.

[He can guess where this is going.]

Would that be the case here, oh Unclean?

[Please don't just murder Andersen for fun, at least.]

Yes. [So, Girge is right on the money.] Have patience and you'll see.

[And with that, both Heather and Girge are pulled into an impromptu prayer circle around the lake, holding hands with the faceless men as they raise their arms towards the Unclean. With how tall they are, both of them might... uh. Find themselves dangling from their arms, feet inches away from the ground. Sorry for the seven feet tall Oompa Loompas.

In the meanwhile, Andersen is handed over to Craftly without a hint of delicateness. Much like a child's stuffed animal, he's held up by Craftly's hands under his armpits. Ew? Regardless, the Innkeeper seems a little apologetic about it. He'll even speak to him as he walks into the lake, deep enough they the water reaches his elbows.]

... My apologies, Mister Andersen.

[He's then dunking him into the waters, holding him down with no intent of letting go until Andersen chokes and drowns.]

(reply from suspended user)

[ well the unclean probably thinks heather looks really funny right now, with how disgruntled she is during this prayer circle business. she's lifted completely off the ground, boundless and kicking like a child. ]

N—No! I thought this shit was over! I'm so sick of this.. [ it takes everything for her not to blaspheme against the unclean. she knows it wouldn't end well. once andersen's body floats to the top like a dead tadpole, all she can do is sigh. a long, weary sigh. ] Is it over yet..? Can you let go of us now?

[Being held up like this is decidedly uncomfortable, though Girge supposes he can put up with when Andersen is by far getting the short end of the stick here.]

...

[After watching what few friends he had kill themselves yesterday, he can't say he enjoys watching Andersen die (?), but if nothing else, he's too tired for the pain to be anything but dull.

They just have to wait for it to be done with, for the Unclean to give permission—for Andersen to come back.]

[That's all folks. Andersen is super duper dead.

Except, nah. Not really. Craftly lifts him up by the back of his shirt, shaking him like a wet rag, and then gives him a good smack between his shoulders. Once, twice, thrice—]

The time for dramatics is over, sir. Wake up. We haven't all day.

[—And Andersen will abruptly start coughing up the lake waters. As well as... other things. Oops. Once he's alive(?) again, however, Craftly sets him down so he can paddle to the shore by himself. Fortunately for Heather and Girge, the faceless men set them down at the same time.

Craftly looks up at the Unclean one last time, narrowing his eyes.]

Unclean, I present to you a new facilitator. May this be enough to satisfy you.

[The blue glow casting illumination to the clearing dulls, and Heather will no longer feel nausea. The faceless men will file out, the fog parting again to create a path towards the motel.

The two survivors and the new Game Master are free to linger if they wish. Andersen may need help getting back to the motel, though, with. Well. Everything.]

(reply from suspended user)

Gross.

[ that's the first thing she thinks, becaues, well, that's fucking disgusting. sorry andersen. she does bound over to him, though, happy to have full faculty over her body again. ]

We need to get you a bucket or something. And maybe the wheelchair.

[ it looked like this was going to go on for some time. heather looks over to girge. ]

Can you help me? Don't just stand there.

[Unlike Heather, Girge refrains from any commentary.

... About the vomit, anyway. He'll still be a little shit about everything else.]

It does seem like he's going to be useless for a while... Ah, well. I'll carry him back if need be. I assume you left the wheelchair at the motel?

[But yeah, he'll reach over to pick Andersen up (lightly, at least, so as to not jostle him) unless someone feels the need to stop him.]

(reply from suspended user)

Aren't you a little.. under the weather, so to speak, to be feeling petty?

[ like, literally under the weather. like, that's the god in the sky. she wouldn't like that. either way, andersen is in girge's hands now — it'd be up to him whether he wanted to take him some place like that. she'd follow regardless. not like she had anything better to do, other than give herself a nic fit or play tic tac toe by herself. ]

Well, Girge, you should know all about that. Wanna do the honors, O Captain?

I can take you there, though you might not appreciate a trip through the mirrors.

[Holding onto Andersen, he begins walking (and resigns himself to the fact that Andersen's probably going to throw up on him).]

(reply from suspended user)

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( EXECUTION - THE BEGINNING OF AN END )

EXECUTION

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THE DEAL

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cw drowning in gross lake waters

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