just call, we're all connected

[unbr8kable]

[It is a long, long sail to Hachijojima, but at almost 300 kilometers south of the Imperial Palace, it's one of the most remote places within the city limits, making it perfect for both urban exploration and other dubiously wise pursuits. Surely anticipation and boredom from the trip is the only reason for the frisson of nervous energy Nemesis can't shake even after an afternoon on what even in Hell TV form are gorgeous black sand beaches and lush, tropical greenery that verges on overgrowing the buildings of the port town.

That said, soon enough it's time to get to business, and after a dinner of fresh-caught fish and fruit to supplement the food they'd brought along, Hurricane and Nemesis begin setting things up.

The hotel they'd scoped out for the ceremony (thanks Yahell! Maps) was run down and abandoned even by Tokyo-F standards, its bubble-chic French Baroque architecture salt stained and half covered in vines and ferns and established greenery. Its sprawling beach patio opens straight to the sand and beyond that the ocean, though the promenade of graceful statues are now crumbling, and rather than cafe tables or lounge chairs, only moss and bioluminescent mushrooms venture over the once ornately tiled floor.

There is still plenty of space for candles and salt and whatever else one might need to do with the space, and Nemesis dumps her bag of supplies right there on one of the benches carved into the railing; turns to Hurricane beside her.]

Ready to summon an elder god?

Comments

[unbr8kable]

[She nods, offering it, as well as her own hand]

The more the merrier, right? That's what I'd want if I was an all-powerful tentacle monster.

[crossmyheartandhope]

Guess so.

[He draws the blade across her palm, as well, to form a shallow cut that mirrors his own]

Time to make this altar look like the real deal, I guess.

[He holds his hand out over the carved wooden block, palm still facing skyward - glances her way]

Wanna count us down?

[unbr8kable]

Yeah... We add this offering of ourselves though we are definitely not elder gods that need smiting or whatever to prove our commitment to this humble request.

[And she nods, waiting a three count before letting the gathered blood spill to the altar as well, joining the rest of the offerings]

[crossmyheartandhope]

[He turns his own palm as well, the blood gathered there pattering down onto the carved wood, now that gravity has its way]

I know you're, like... sleeping under the sea, but we'd be real grateful if you could give us a couple minutes, o great dreaming one.

[He hesitates - digs into his superhero belt pouch]

[Slides a pack of Pocky onto the altar, to sweeten the deal]

/2

[errours]

[ Maybe it's your heightened intent—that edge of desperation like the edge of the knife. Maybe it's the smell of blood, mingling with the salty innards of the still weakly-twitching crab.



Maybe it's the pocky.



There's a faint crackle of flame as the snuffed candle flares back to life. And you think you can hear something else, like a rustling or maybe a whisper— ]

[errours]

[ Something in the air smells off—old and rotting, like mildew. On the makeshift altar, the cardboard pocky box is going black with mold. ]

—o͡f͜ ą ̢mon̸s̕tru̷ct҉ arca̧d͜ias ͟t̕o r͟evel͠at͘įǫn wa̧s ͘to ͟forge͝t m̢y̢se̴lf̴:͘ w͝ashed̀-̢o̴ut,̶
c̡ol͜d, ͢p̶o͠n̨d̡w̕eèd҉ ta̛ng͟l̨ed in ͏t́he͝ me̛mb̀er҉ wer҉e ̀s̨ha͜l͟l ͡còm͝e ͢to ̸r̷eve͞l͡,̵ iǹ fl͡o͟w͝e̡re͢d͢ éxit ͡w҉ou͢n̡ds—

[ There's a damp squelch beneath your feet at the shifting of your weight, and you see the source of it in the flickering candlelight: those same mushrooms you saw before, inside the decaying hotel. Were they always growing this close to the shore?

—No, no, these mushrooms are definitely spreading even now, mycelia sending out filaments that weave together to form more words: ]

T҉h̛a̛t wh̵i҉ćh͝ ̡sh̡all̶ ̨be ́wr̛i͘t̴e̡
͏ ͘ ́ ͢ ͘ ̧ ͘ ̛ ͡ ͞ ̡ ̕dest҉inies ̴a̴ro̷u̡nd̀ ̨wit̵h à
leth͠a̸l̷ ̸b̀egging,̧ ͞a ̸th͘ou̢şed and ͡càp̢t̴ưr͟ed͝, t́h͞at wheth͟er i̵t ìs̀ n͏o͝t̨
f̵o̢rgív̶e̛n...

[ You're definitely calling something.



What do you do next? ]

[unbr8kable]

[They are definitely calling something, which--for some reason Nemesis had not exactly expected despite them having summoned a demon her first month here?

Of course, there is a big difference between the so-called demons of TV's idol hell and something like this. She backs a bit toward Hurricane, suddenly feeling very exposed here on the shrinking sliver of patio]

Hello?

[This comes out unexpectedly tentative; a breath later she follows up]

--Who's there?

[crossmyheartandhope]

[He takes a half-step toward her, in the same breath - some age-old instinct, maybe, to have her back if things start to go south]

[His hand is a little shaky, as he gets his phone out to snap a pic of the mushrooms - as he smears blood onto the screen and doesn't notice]

Is this, uh... you, dude?

Cause, like. All hail the Great Dreamer. Uh. Iä, iä...?

♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNfrwqxKRTQ

[errours]

[ The cardboard pocky box collapses in on itself, tiny mushrooms unfurling from the bases of the twiggy cookies. The whispering voice grows—well, not louder, exactly, but more present. ]

...e̢v͘en ̴t̡he̡ ͟an҉g̴e̷l w̸h͢o̴ ̡i̛s͠ ̷l͞i̵ke̢ à ̶s͠l҉ab
̨of̴ fl͟ami̵ng͟ m̴ea͟t, hov͏e͘ring
ųp t͘h̕erę is ą ̡sui̧c͘id͢e̢
̀ ̨ ͜ ͜ ͜ ͏ ̢ ͘ ҉ ͡ ̷ ̴ ̀ ͠ ̡ ͡ ̴ ̢ ̢ ͡ the s̷oft̢ ̧a͏ir,͘ aļĺ s̕h͟all ̡s͜til͟l͝
͏ ̡ ̀ ͠ ͞ ҉ ͞ ̧ ͡ ͞heŕe̡, e̛v̀e͠r̛y͟ v́i̵ne ͜& r̢oot dęm̕ands͏ b̛l͡oo̷d̡—

[ At your feet the trail of words continues, the lines occasionally flickering an eerie bioluminescent blue. ]

her͞e, ̡ever͞y͡ ͜v̛i̧ne͘ ͢& ͟root͏ de̕mands ̨bl̸oo̡d͘ ̷–
̛ ̵ ͜ ̡ ͘
̡
͠ ͏ ̷ h͟eré,͡ ̧év̴eŕy l̨i͏fe͞ i͘s͢ ̴biŕthed ͡f҉r̢om hơlloẃ ̡a͟b͟s̢enc͞e ̧–
̴
̀Be̢twe͜e͜n th͟e ͝rib̶ca̷g̛e͏ ͏tur̷ned ͞vi̵n̨e͠ riv̀u͘let, ͞survived
͟ ̕ ͟ ͝ ̴ ͜ b͏ef̛o̸r͜e̷ you̶ ͡s͜lidé ҉down ̸i͘n͏t̴o your ̡fin̕g͠ers.͏ ͠I̡ ̶h̀ave ͘s҉e̴en̴ t̀h͠ȩ m͡e͜m̕b̕ra̢n͠es of ͏d́įs̛eas̵e͟
̕clos͘e ̶ov̨e̛r̸ y͞o̢ur ͏hèa̴d,̷ ánd his͜tor͠y̕
óccur̨s̛ ͠to͢ y͞o͞u̢r bod̨y̕ a͟s͏ a ̴f̕a҉l͝l҉i̵ng ͞i̸nto̶ ͢h̛ot ̷m̴ud.

[ The crab finishes twitching—only for its innards to seem to burst into a roiling boil, spreading and spilling out over the altar to join the gathering mounds of fungus. ]

Re: ♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNfrwqxKRTQ

[unbr8kable]

[Nemesis quickly steps back from the altar, tugging Hurricane as well, (hopefully) out of the mushrooms' immediate range, at least]

Okay--okay. We have--we can get more, hold on, but first--

[But first, what? What sort of deal could they possibly propose? She glances over to Hurricane and presses on anyway, attempting to keep as much eye on their backs as on the words, and as much authority in her voice as possible]

--What's that about the angel?

Re: ♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNfrwqxKRTQ

[crossmyheartandhope]

[Snaps another picture, posture decidedly more wary, and lets Nem tug him away]

That's - yeah. We got - yeah.

You need a bigger sacrifice, I don't mind cutting myself a couple more times.

The angel's, uh - the angel's what we're here about. You know where he is?

[errours]

Y͟o͘͞u̸͏ ̶͡cąn̡’҉t̀͞ ̛̛ĺi̵v̶e ͜amo͝n͟g͟ ͠͏a̧ ̨̀҉s̵̛ic̷̡k̸͠n̶e͝͝s̛s̀͜.

[ It is the mound of flesh and blooming mushrooms which seems to answer. The smell of decay thick in the air—one moment the rich earthiness of composting leaf litter; the next, rotting meat. Each is equally overwhelming.

The voice goes on in a hoarse whisper, in words that only may or may not have anything to do with your question. ]

Y̸ou c̢a̛n͡’t̢ ͞li͟ve̶ a͝m̧on̕g̕ ͟a s̵i͝c͞knes̢s͝ ͢a҉n͢d̨ ̵ìn̨ t̷h̢e p͡lantìn͠g
i̸n thé k̕n̛ow҉l̢éd͏gè ҉o̴f t́he ́earth or͞ ͜a͡bove o̷n g͘ree͝ǹ ̴f̨ięlds͢,̛ or̛ ou͘t t̢o sea ̸o͘r ҉iņ ̶ligḩt
͢th͠at͞ t͝he͟ ҉s̷ee̴d͞s of ̸t͠h͢e pet̡als ̶o̕f ̢th̢e̴ ̕abys̡s ̸a͜r̶é ̵l̡ike tḩe͝ ͞p͢etals ̷of ̵a ͟b̕o̧d̴y ̢b҉ut̸ a hea͞rt
torn͝ ͟oùt͢ ̕ǫf̨ t̛h̕e̛ ̵snake ͞is͘ ͘o̧f͝f͟e̕r͡i͝n̢g:
̴de̵ath ̕up̀on ͜d͢ea̸t͞h
as̢ ̛ìt̵ ̸iş tơ f͏a̵ll of ̷t͢h̵at ͟whi͢c̶h is ch͘o̶o̧si͠n͏g҉,͠ the͟ ̢bla͟c̨k͢ ̀and ̷k̨n͟i̕ves̴ ͠b͘loomin͞g ͟no͡o̷n—

[ Whatever the thing is, it is on the cusp of manifestation. Its mycelia attempt to weave more of its strange gospel up around your legs for every moment you stand too long in one place.

So, the final question, the same as before: What now? ]

[unbr8kable]

[She looks to Hurricane again, gently pushing him back--somehow stays put as the fungus twines up her ankles and calves]

...Okay. What more offering do you want? There's no sickness here, you know? So--fertile field for planting, or whatever. No need for the abyss just yet.

[crossmyheartandhope]

[It's his turn, this time, to tug her back out of the reach of those grasping mycelia, not one step, but three, buying them some space]

Look - look. Can you speak, like - not poetry? We wanna make a deal here, but I don't... I dunno what you're saying.

We ain't - we ain't gonna do death, but I can do more blood.

[He uses the sacrificial knife to slice his palm open again - winces, because it's much deeper than before. He swings his arm in an arc and the droplets land among the fungus]

Just - give us a straight answer, okay? Where's the angel.

[errours]

[ The mass heaves towards Nemesis, mushrooms twining around one another outstretched. ]

T҉he móut̷h ͘&͏ a̵ll oth͡ér͜ t̨hi͞ng̵s s͠ha͟r̛e͟ wi̧th̕i͘ǹ? ìn̨ t̷h̢e p͡lantìn͠g
i̸n thé k̕n̛ow҉l̢éd͏gè ҉o̴f t́he ́earth or͞ ͜a͡bove o̷n g͘ree͝ǹ ̴f̨ięlds͢?

[ It's looking for a confirmation, isn't it: to be told that yes, this is our offering. ]

[unbr8kable]

Cross--

[Soft, and she sucks in a breath, looking from the mushrooms and the words and the darkness over to Hurricane and back--takes another breath, and casts for his hand. Squeezes tight, hoping her grip is steadier than it feels, or at least the clamminess can be chalked up to the open wound. Then she gestures with their joined hands, staring straight into the mass of fungi]

...Promise not to hurt him. Ever.

[Then she releases Hurricane, expression set; takes a step forward, stopping just short of the shrooms]

Then--then all other things we can share...within. The planting of the knowledge of above or whatever else.

[crossmyheartandhope]

What? No. You ain't - no.

[He reaches out to take hold of her, to try and pull her back]

She ain't the sacrifice, we'll - we'll get you more fish or something. A goat. We can do that one scene from that one dinosaur movie, you'll get plenty of blood.

1/2

[errours]

[ It is spoken, and the thing—the demon?—does not wait for another answer. The whisper (and it is somehow, still, a whisper) reaches the volume of a roar. ]

To d͘evo҉ur a̕n͢d͡ ȩx͏p̧and̛ing ̛g̵enom͜e͝ –̕ ͝the͜ ͞s̵tra̸n̷gl҉i̕ǹg͟ ҉f͞r͝u̢ìt͜—́aǹd͜ ̷t͏h͜é ̸wo̢rld ͏wįt̨h́ ͞th͟e̢ ҉powęr͏ o҉f t̕h҉èi͞r ͝b͠ody ̡and ͏t͞urne̢d ҉v͢in͠e͏ ri͝vulet̷,͜ ͞s͘u҉r̢vivȩd̵
͝ ̷ ̷ ̶ ̷ ̢ ̀ ̴of͡ ͜re̡s̸t͟les̸s; i̶ ͢c̵on̶fe͢s͢s, i͢ t͡o̕o ha͘ve͠ bee͞n. ́In̛ the b͡l͏ís͏s͢ of not-know̴in̛g.͘ An̴d th͝én ̵t͡hèŗe̛ ҉i̷s n̵o ͢sįn̴ i̛n͟ ͢s̢h҉a̶d̵o͏w o̷r̕ in t͟he̸ ͞śi̵n͡ner͟ ̀s͡h́àĺl r̵ęjo͡i̶ce͜, ́for̶ t͠he͡r͞e͘ ̕s̢h͝al͘l̴ ac̀q̸ui҉r̨e every ̛ĺi̴fe i̴s̴ ͠a qui͠et͠
k͞in̸d ͞o͜f dying ̡i͠n̴ ̵t̕he p͢lant͝ing ̨in al̵way͏s wai̴t̶i̧ng
͏ ̨ ͢ ́ ̶ ҉ ͝ ̢ ͏ ́ ͞ s̴k̸in̸;̢ ҉what̵ ͜pa͞rt̵s ͠óf ́us ͠w̸er͜ę ̀b̡orn ̵i̴n̕t̸o͢ a ͡h͞ist̡ory ǫf̀ s̢elf̶ ̛is ͏a̛ ̷s͞uìc͠id̨e
̵ ̢ ͏ ͢ ͢ ̸ ̧ ̵ ̶ ҉ ͝ ͝ her͝e͝, ̢ev́e̴ry áir, ̵w͡e͏ari̴n͝g͘ w̕ings͟ ͏o̶f the̛ eąrt̨h, I am̛ rot҉ted̕ ̷o͟u͏t by ͘bee͝s. ̴T̸he̶y ar͡e͝ c̵hai͟n̢e͠d̶ u̸p
̷& ̶na̸rr͟ow̧ęd̷ ́down,҉ ͢viśi̕on̵ ҉fill̡ed w͠ith̶ a͢ ̀st͞r̢a̵įǵh͘t hor̶i͢z͝on

a̢n̕d̛ the f̸ear̷

♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb83zpkAIg8 (cw: opening is loud and jarring)

[errours]

[ The growth—if you can call it that—around the altar goes wild, fungus and meat piling on top of itself, blooming into pustules or sloughing away to reveal what looks almost like bone.


It is gathering itself.
It is becoming. So is its retinue, which swarms, ratlike, over the ruined terrace.

Already, some are reaching the sea, spreading over the waves like an oilslick. ]

i ̕c҉o͟n̕fes̷ş,̶ i too ͜have seen҉ t̀he ̵ja͟ẃbone ̀e̕ru͡pt i͘n̕t͠o ̀a͘mbr͜os̸i̷a͜
̷ ̷ ͡ ͠ ͘ ̡ ͘yǫu ̴h͟avę ͢s̷een͝ ͟the̛ r͞íb͠ćagé tu̶r̢ne̴d ̶v͝i͜ne̵ r̴i̸vule͜t, ͟s̵ur҉viv̨ed̵
́ d͡és͏tinieś ̧a̴r̢e ̸wr̡i͠t͠ten̨ i͠n ̴the̶ ̀ga͏rden̴
̸i̢n̡ wh҉įc҉h̀ de͠a̷th̀ s͡hąll ͢c҉o̸me ri̶pe ̛and̨ a ͞m̶e̢r̨cy.͟

[ The rot around you is still swelling—halfway up your calves; writing words on stone for only a moment before the mold is too dense to read. ]

Re: ♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb83zpkAIg8 (cw: opening is loud and jarring)

[unbr8kable]

[She opens her mouth then closes it, not to avoid the smell or to keep from inhaling anything (a pretty silly action now), but what is there to say against it--against them? The mold and rot crawls up higher, and still she forces herself still, even though she is still far closer to where the ???demon??? is manifesting itself than she would like.

Another stolen glance at Hurricane (and she tries very hard to keep her expression blank but her shoulders are far too stiff nonetheless) and--she pushes out words nonetheless, as if not doing so will let out something worse]

--Written in the garden...up above...?

Re: ♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb83zpkAIg8 (cw: opening is loud and jarring)

[crossmyheartandhope]

You hear me? She ain't the sacrifice.

We got, like - fish, and crabs and stuff. We can get you more.

[Takes hold of her arm and tries to tug her free,]

[errours]

[ The fungus doesn't try to hold her—or either of you, really; it sloughs away easily, leaving behind a fine coating of slimy putrefaction. But you catch its attention, the mushroom-crested head turning your way.

It—she?—leans over to Hurricane. She is whispering again. ]

A͘n͜d t͡he ha͟nd͝ of̵ t͘he st͝ru̸gg͠l͞e̴ wit͢hin͠?͡ th͢e ̨fatal̛ ̴so͞fţn͏e̸s̷s in ţhe̷ ga̴r͘d͟ener̸’s ̕p̶almś –͢
͝ ̛ ̕ ̛ ̧ ͏ ́ ̶ ̀ ̨ ̸ ̢ ̧ ̕ ͏ ͜ ̴ ͟ ͟ ̢ ͞ ͘yo̡u l͜earn ͞t̡o revel҉, in t́h͏is̷ you͞ swo̡re͏ t̨o ͟c͡arry ̧i̷n͢ y͞o͠u, sw̸or͠e̴ ̴y̡ou s̡ẃo͏r͝e͘.

I ̶c̸òn̕s̸tr̕uct ar̡c̨a͜di̷as̷ ͘to fo̸rgȩt ͘my̷ ̷ach̡e,͠ ͠I d̕ec͝orat̛e͘ t̵he͢ l̵i̧g͢ht̕,
̡havin͘g ͜s̷o̷ ́l҉itţle o͘f i҉t.

[ The words aren't really an answer. Perhaps, to this demon, they are simply the next best thing.

...And still, that slick of rot and spiderwebbing tendrils of mycelia is growing, extending out past the beach, out over the sea...
What was it that Nemesis offered, exactly?

There is more than one way to interpret the word "here." ]

[unbr8kable]

[From her expression, Nemesis does not know what exactly she offered herself--at least, what she'd thought she'd offered doesn't seem to have been accepted, at least not yet... In the meantime, hopefully the mainland is fully stocked with Damp-Rid,]

Cross-- Don't.

[Her tone is low, however, and with his grip on her arm it's easy enough to take his hand again, though she still tries to keep herself between him and the mushroom princess. She addresses her next:]

...I swore, not him. And you swore, too. So-- What happened to planing the knowledge of whatever? ...What...are you doing, actually?

[crossmyheartandhope]

[His hand closes down on hers, cold and clammy; he's caught sight of the fungus spreading out over the water, finally]

Looks like it's taking whatever it can get.

Dude - that ain't part of the deal. You ain't answered nothing, and even if you did, you ain't just free to do whatever. You understand me? That ain't the deal.

/3

[errours]

[ She turns to you both again, the brows of her uncomfortably human face furrowed in what might be confusion.

Her fungal fingers reach down; briefly cup each of your cheeks. There, there.

She opens her mouth— ]