logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: WHEN THE NIGHT IS OVER

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: WHEN THE NIGHT IS OVER

characters: everyone.
location: Everywhere
date/time: March 15
content: The World Eater arrives.
warnings: probable violence, gore, death; mark threads as needed

Everyone here was brought to Beacon for this one reason: to try and find a way to strike back at the thing that threatens to end the world entirely. You've spent the entire time learning, preparing, and for many, making this dead world your home. You've made friends with each other but also with the forest spirits, you've discovered much of the town's past and have set out to ensure its future.

This is the moment that every decision, and every person, shall finally come together, or be lost forever.

i feel the weather change

At the missile silo, Weaver and those helping her have been busy for over a week straight hammering scrap metal into place, wiring the controls to the launch system, and running new cables from the silo to Solis' lab to get the place set back up onto the Beacon power grid - a feat possible only because several batteries were recovered from the power station some time ago. Disassembled drone pieces lie scattered for easy repurposing, and networked tablets allow easy network chatter between the silo and anyone at the Helix Station who has offered to observe from the lake.

In the distance, those around the missile silo begin to hear an eerie droning hum. Weaver's eyes go wide and her ears lay back against her head. "It's here," she says with a shudder, then quickly bounds over to the control system. "That's the sound that the lighthouse used for the reset. If I don't need you down here, get up top, and get ready to fight."

At ground level above, the snarls and warbled growls of spirits call back, but immediately, there's rapid movement in the trees and some of those calls are cut short with a gurgle. Masked figures with green eyes dart through the brush, giving the silo a wide berth as they move in to fight, but those who would be allies must be outnumbered as aggressive forest spirits, both green-eyed and otherwise, break through into the clearing and seek out the people of Beacon. Their many-eyed leader has been kept occupied, but these ones are still looking to pick off every creature with a lantern. It's time to stand and fight before they make it to those still below, who are preparing to aim and launch the largest bomb Weaver has ever built. If this wasn't difficult enough, the green-eyed spirits are up to their usual tricks - you may find yourself suddenly fighting someone who looks just like your best friend, or perhaps your own animated, dismembered body - a cruel vision of what might soon come to pass. They are fast, they are ruthless, and only with the effects of the potions will you be able to shake off these horrible visuals, so make good use of them.

i hear the river say your name

Those at Helix notice it first - the droning hum that had first been noticed as a minor vibration in the hull swells in volume until it can be heard throughout the station. Thanks to the tablet network, they hear when those at the silo do that the sound is the speech of the World Eater - and it must be very, very close.

Inside the station there's little means to act directly against it; however, you'll find yourselves plenty occupied anyway. The little spirits (and the large corpse-wearer, shrouded in decaying bodies) that had previously been docile and had tucked themselves into hidden corners in the station scurry boldly out of hiding, with teeth and claws at the ready to devour and dismember anyone they find. And proximity to the World Eater once again has its effects - you may feel nauseous, disoriented, or despairing; you may find that it's hard to breathe, that your fingernails fall off their digits, or that sabotaging your fellows is the only way to survive. The potions help substantially, even if the effects aren't completely removed, so drink up, stand your ground, and keep an eye on those tablets to help let those at the silo know when to fire, and if they've succeeded.

Because eventually the creature itself is visible against the night sky over the lake, a void in the place where stars should be, and that means it's close enough to be targeted.

i watch the birds fly by

Soon, Beacon Square and the harbor as well as the general reaches of town become a dangerous place to be, but perhaps you feel you need to brave the run - to get supplies, to check on your friends, to flee and hide as spirits emerge to do the World Eater's bidding. There aren't many, thankfully - for those who care commanded by the many-eyed spirit are busy fighting those at the silo and the green-eyed allies, and nearly every friendly spirit seems to have gone missing. But alone and in the open without anyone to back you up if you need help is a frightening prospect, made even worse when you see the distant figure silhouetted over the lake, vastly taller than anything else you've seen since arriving.

The disruption from all the fighting must have delayed the launch, or perhaps something else went wrong. Just looking at the World Eater from a distance creates a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as it takes one long stride after another, drawing nearer to the town and singing that eerie song that drives the spirits to hunt you and to destroy everything you've built.

And then, suddenly, you hear something else. A counter-drone, a song like birds, like cicadas, like howling wolves and the strange whistle-warbles of the spirits, all merging into one. It's sung from every tree all around, and it drowns out that jarring hum of death.

The spirits so bent on drawing blood and viscera slow, and listen.

The World Eater slows, one foot raised into the air, then swings its head, seeking the source and finding it everywhere. And that's when it happens.

At the missile silo, Weaver has been successfully defended, but just barely. One of the spirits got to her before it could be killed, and a horrible gash has ripped through her clothing and the fur of her back. Her lantern is flickering desperately when she presses the button, and the makeshift missile roars and arcs into the sky.

From the square or the lakeshore, or for those watching monitors at Helix, the streak of vapor from the bomb's tail vanishes somewhere high above. And then moments later, it drops - landing not on the World Eater, but into the lake at its feet.

Rather than a blinding light, the tablet monitors go fully black as an intense roar and rush of water fills the audio channel, and the Helix Station shakes horribly, creaking and groaning as the rush of water from elsewhere in the lake strains every element of its construction. The noise and the confusing darkness persist for several minutes. It feels much longer.

But eventually, the darkness diminishes as stars shine through the mist and ongoing falling rain. There's still a tall column of water vapor in the air over the lake - it stays for nearly half an hour, slowly dissipating as powerful waves smash into the shore, triggering a small series of tsunamis that swallow the harbor and threaten, but never fully inundate, Bonfire Square.

The towering void has buckled where it stood, and only a few pitch-black spines jut out from the surface of the lake before they are slowly swallowed by its returning waters.

i see an emerald in the sky

When the spirits stop singing, the rain persists. Clouds billow up into the sky over the lake, and fall back down. The droplets are warm - warmer than the frigid air, than the ice and snow that surrounds the town.

The damage has been limited - most of the buildings still stand, for there were too few spirits that sought to attack, and those that did now sit in place or pace around curiously as if they hadn't just tried to tear out your intestines and dismantle The Invincible - which, actually, hasn't even seen a single scratch, as suits its optimistic name.

Many of Beacon's people may be injured, and many may be dead. But those whose lanterns still burn bright now find themselves in a slowly thawing world, as the deep and endless winter seems ready to launch into a new spring. Cautious and curious, spirits watch from the trees, then point out at the lake and chitter with excitement.

There is light in the water. It funnels upward from the foam left by the bomb, and with each ever-gentler wave, it touches the shore. And in a few tiny patches of sand, sheltered between rocks, green grasses begin to sprout.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Misty, no, I. I have to do my job." They do ease down, though, using the tree for support, since they can, and since it's right there. The last couple inches go in an uncomfortable slide and thump. Once sitting, though, they bring their lantern around to their lap with their bloody right hand... and the lantern hanging from the same strap. Pudding's. "Got to get it to the lab. Where it'll be safe. And the others can bring her back."

"How good are you gonna be at it if you bleed out?" She shoots back, a deadpan meant to bite while lacking any real teeth. The sentiment is too selfless to hate, after all. "I'm guarding the pack of you right now, those aren't going anywhere."

All the while she's appraising his leg, as best as one can without touching or turning it.

"First thing once you're bandaged, alright? You need it."

"Not gonna bleed out, Misty. Not even really sure if I can." They do kind of flinch at the word bandaged. But it's Misty. Misty's fine. She's not gonna hurt them. "I have some. In a pocket. Needle and thread for stitches if it needs it." They're pretty sure nothing needs stitches, though if anything does, it's the leg.

"Still weaker, still slower, so I'm still right."

Almost, almost a joke. Doesn't make her feel any better at his flinch. The tear in his pant leg is carefully pried further open - not so much that there's direct contact, but enough to assess damage. Lanterns in his lap are a help, at least.

"No stitches," she concludes, shaking her head and digging into her pack. "I'm going to give it a once over to clean it, and then just a bandage, alright?" He should know what to expect. Minimize surprise as much as possible. "Want to grab me whatever wrap you've got on hand?"

While he's working, a scrap of cloth is soaked and passed quickly and carefully over the wound. Another pass, a third, and it's clean enough. She pulls back, affords him space while she waits for bandages.

They make a little whine between their teeth, not from pain. Pain doesn't matter, they can ignore pain. But fear is harder to hide, these days. (Not afraid of a goddamn horde of spirits, but afraid of somebody cleaning you up. Christ. You're not much better! I'm a little better! Then you get out here and do it!)

The metal hand digs into the ground to keep it from shoving her away, and they fumble with the flesh one for the bandages in their tac vest's utility belt pocket. They don't hand the bundle of gauze and ace bandages over, though. "I can do it. I can. I can do it."

It hurts to hear, but she perseveres.

"Let me get salve on them, at least?" She asks with a sigh, nodding down at the bandages. "Something to speed it along, I want you back to you."

Okay. That's acceptable. They can do that. They hold them out, finally, resting on their hand. The edges are a little bloody, but most of the blood on that hand is dry, now, so it's not too bad. "I need a whole goddamn bath. Is what I need."

"Like I'd get you to so much as look at a bathtub until everyone's accounted for," she huffs, and for a second it's almost like the closest they've got to normal. No great potential success or failure looming overhead, no other shoe to dread dropping to shred the almost-peace.

Quick work is made of the bandages, nothing more complicated than lining the half that'll go to his skin.

"Wrap."

They look maybe pitifully relieved, and wipe their hand off on the dim gray grass as best they can before accepting it back. "Thank you. Guess you're right. Though. There's not many people to check on." They know this drill, propping their knee up a little and starting to wrap, tight enough to bind but not enough to restrict blood to the rest of their leg.

"Weaver?" they ask. "Will?" Because Will, to the mun's great surprise, was down with Weaver to help with the bomb.

"Fine the last I saw them." Needless to say, not long ago. Not that she keeps an especially close eye on Will to begin with. "And you don't get to thank me when you're the one doing the aid, there."

"Thank you for letting me do it," they correct. "And for the salve. Anything you put on bandages helps, I know that." It's a quick, deft, practiced motion, wrapping up and taping down. They stay put for a second, after, testing the depth of the cuts on their abdomen. The bleeding there seems to have stopped.... "Did we do it? Did you hear?"

"Did it."

And there's no particular joy in that - she's still processing it herself. It's relayed like weather, if with a touch of awe.

"I think we're done. I think it's...cleanup, and we're done."

"And we're still here." They hurt too much to believe they might not be here. That either means the spirits were wrong about only the dead existing on a dead world, or killing the World Eater didn't bring the world back from the brink.

They have no idea what that means. And they're... not going to think about it right now, or they think they might not do anything else.

Instead, they grope behind them for the tree they'd leaned on before, and start levering themselves to their feet once they find it.

"Easy-- easy. Careful." Her hands hover all the while, but she's used to him; they never threaten to make contact. "Was everyone out here alright? Other than-"

A glance to the extra lantern already present. A grimace.

"No one else. Died," Soldat says. They're taking it slow, they promise, mostly balancing on their good leg and the tree until they're all the way up. "Everyone is hurt but no one else died." Just Pudding, poor Pudding, they're going to apologize so much when they get her lantern repaired. When, not if. It's going to happen. "Some are hurt worse than me."

"Dying-worse, or just rougher-than-you worse?" Tempting as it is to internally divert to cursing the lack of awareness on this plane, she refrains. "Big difference in what to brace for."

"Rougher than me. I don't think anyone's in danger of dying. Probably." They're a pretty good judge of what's going to kill a person, but sometimes wounds are... weird. Like Kuai's weird acid boils and Law apparently doing surgery on himself. "We should help." Pudding's lantern can wait a little. Nobody's in the lab right now to repair it, anyway.

"Where?" A quick demonstration of willingness, there.

Then, with more focus, "You gonna be good for it?"

Wounds, Soldat.

Soldat straightens up the rest of the way, testing their leg, testing their balance. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good for it. We'll just go slow."

And they start towards the nearest of the other injured. First aid, maybe Misty's magic if she needs to.

After that, it's the lab, where they'll let Misty bring the lantern inside for the crew to repair, once they actually get a crew in there to do repair. And then... then they can be done. For a little while, at least. They'll let Misty lead them back towards the house.

Lead she does, caught between residual tension, the need to be aware and vigilant and prepared to defend them both - him - from some imagined residual threat that doesn't come, and the increasing need to rest. The more cautious want to rest.

She makes it in, shutting the door gently and with more focus than the task requires.

Makes it eight more steps before collapsing onto the couch.

"Come sit?"

They lean a moment on the back of the door, aching and shaky from all that work while injured. For now, it's just the two of them. Javert gone, Sora gone, Pudding's lantern at the lab... the house feels empty and lonely.

They push up from the door again and stagger over, suddenly unable to bear being even as alone as being across the room from a person. They don't quite make it onto the couch, folding into kneeling in front of it and burying their face on one of Misty's knees.

It's hard not to be aware of as much herself, silent as it is. Silent as everything is.

The kneel prompts a fretful shift in expression - waiting for a sign it was actually the result of injury - but he doesn't indicate a worsening condition. Must be exhausted, of course. That's a much more comforting thing to assign responsibility to.

Carefully, she sits up straight. Rests one hand atop his head, then strokes, replacing it quickly with the other. Aimless repetition. Soothing. Hopefully for both parties. It's sinking in that she's never been present for a significant aftermath before.

"You did this, you know. You contributed so much. You've done so much, for everyone - rest right now. We all need to take these days slow." Of course she means especially him; and Pudding, once she's roused. It feels almost shameful to have slipped through unscathed, but she'll make herself useful. "We're okay and we'll stay that way. I love you."

They shudder out a breath into her knee, bringing the flesh hand up to twine into her skirt, holding on, letting her pet their hair. She's always taking care of them....

"We're still here," they say quietly. "We killed it and we're still here."

"We are." Voice surprisingly steady for someone feeling as lost in the wake as she is, but the company helps. Her hand doesn't stop moving. Long, gentle strokes. Slow. "We're gonna...just breathe, for awhile. Take it easy. Enjoy this."

Town's still here. They're still here. Pudding's lantern seems by all counts salvageable. There is, for possibly the first time in her life, no looming threat.

What a thing.

"I'm glad you're here. You know? I'm really--" something thick in her throat, cleared back, "I'm really glad you're here."

They lift their head, so they can look up at her. They're not sure if they're glad they're still here-- there had been some small part of them, maybe, that had hoped they'd win but then fade out into nothing, just to end at long last, going out doing something that mattered. But they won't, they can't, hear that thickness to her voice and not be glad to be here for her.

So they say, "Me, too, Misty. Glad you're here. And we're still together."

If she hadn't been here... if she'd disappeared, like everyone else... they heave themselves up onto the couch properly, mostly by virtue of the metal arm and one good leg. And from there they pull her into a hug. A real one, both arms and everything. It hurts a little, but that kind of helps to keep it from being too much.

EVENT LOG: WHEN THE NIGHT IS OVER

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