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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2578558" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Funeris' Entry: Checkmate</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>ROUND ONE</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>Funeris vs. reveal vs. Macbeth</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><strong><em>Checkmate</em></strong></p><p></p><p>Out of a leather pocket, I pulled the worn white and green box. The cheap cardboard snapped open revealing the always precious devil sticks. Grasping one, I shoved the package back into its pocket.</p><p></p><p><em>Eric’s Grandma had always told me to quit because it made me a bad role model</em>. The thought was quick and vanished barely after it registered. My choice wasn’t difficult; never was anymore. The cigarette rested on my lips as the small fire scorched the tip, releasing the putrid scent and the light, menthol flavoring. <em>Let the kids find another role model</em>.</p><p></p><p>Above, the darkening sky’s miserable, overcast clouds spit angrily at the cracked and parched earth. The moisture coalesced after splattering upon the black trench coat then streaked down the sides and back, nothing more than clear, quick worms of motion. </p><p></p><p>Glancing down, a brief count showed a minimum of fifteen snubbed butts. I reached for the cell, taking another long drag. With a click, the display flashed 8:49 pm in the pure, neon blue hue and I smirked. <em>Two hours of waiting now, D-man. Where are you?</em></p><p></p><p>The reverie ended with the soft click of a basement door closing. D-man hobbled up the steps and into the waiting rain. His hair, black and edged white, dulled the beady but observant eyes. He had thrown a rain-proof poncho over his clothes. Now his head took the brunt of the drizzle.</p><p></p><p>D-man’s eyes caught mine so I slid closer through the soggy grass of his rear yard.</p><p></p><p>“I see you got through the gate alright.” He smiled warmly, his eyes burrowing greedily into the Marbox in my mouth.</p><p></p><p>“No lock could ever keep me. Grandfather was a locksmith, you know. Your woman around?”</p><p></p><p>“Nah. She went out with her friends. Typical Wednesday night, ya know?”</p><p></p><p>“You want one?” Before the question was out of my mouth, the near-empty pack of Marboxes was open and staring the man down.</p><p></p><p>He shrugged as a large grin across his face. “You know me.” He slid one out and waited for a light. “How long you been here?” </p><p></p><p>“Nearly two hours now, D. You get lost in your basement?” Another cigarette from a new pack danced magically through my fingers and up to my lips. <em>Another one down, that’s seven minutes less of bad luck I’ll have.</em> The lighter clicked, sparking cautiously in the drizzle.</p><p></p><p>“I forgot you were coming over.”</p><p></p><p>“You called me two hours ago, D. Don’t give me that BS.”</p><p></p><p>“You caught me, Ronaldo. I was playing chess again. I’m an addict you know.” That calming grin spread across his face again. </p><p></p><p><em>Must be business and not pleasure</em>, I thought. “Hear from Yeti, recently?”</p><p></p><p>“Nah, Cthulhu ate him.” </p><p></p><p>“I’m sorry, what did you say?” My smoking devil stick fell into a puddle, drowning.</p><p></p><p>“Huh. Oh, I said Cthulhu ate him. You know that computer virus programmed by that RPGer. It crashed Yeti’s computer.” </p><p></p><p>“Oh. I was wondering what was up. So, enough small talk, what’s the job?” </p><p></p><p>“Right. You ever been to West Virginia; Charles Town I think, half an hour from here?”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah. I used to live there, remember?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh yeah. I forgot that.” For a moment, D appeared to smirk. “Anyway, a girl spontaneously combusted in the high school today. I want you to check it out.”</p><p></p><p>“You know I don’t do paranormal.”</p><p></p><p>“We don’t think this is paranormal, per se. We think its just some cultist activity. Wanna check it out?”</p><p></p><p>“I can probably handle it. Which cult?”</p><p></p><p>“The Cult of Sebek.”</p><p></p><p>“Wasn’t he. . .”</p><p></p><p>“The Egyptian god with a crocodile head, yeah. Could I have another?” I handed the Marbox over, allowing him to light it and take a drag before continuing. “Anyway, the councilors came across some papers in her backpack about the god Sebek and something about a nearby quarry. I thought you’d like the job.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, I’ll take it. I can start in the morning.”</p><p></p><p>“Good enough for me.” D pulled some paperwork from under the poncho and I transferred it to the leather coat. “Do yourself a favor, Ronaldo. Don’t wear the coat. Try to be inconspicuous this time.”</p><p></p><p>“Will do.”</p><p></p><p>“Good. And here, you might need this.” A black, unmarked nine millimeter Beretta appeared in his non-smoking hand.</p><p></p><p>“Just a possible cult investigation, right?”</p><p></p><p>“May as well be safe.” He slapped the gun into my hand and disappeared down the stairs, back into his basement.</p><p></p><p>---o---o---</p><p></p><p><em>Morning of the eighteenth, back in my old high school. Joy, joy.</em> The yellowed hallways of the poor, white-trash, river-rat, hillbilly school had not changed much in the last decade. Outside, trailers for the ever increasing population of the county housed additional classrooms. The county was in a boom; real-estate continued to claw farther and farther away from Washington D.C., bringing with it upper middle class families. Families that with their very presence pushed the lower class population, the ‘natives’ farther from their homes. Families pushed farmland and native population farther and farther from their origins replacing it with their cloned housing, different only by the type of façade smacked on their faces. And yet, the high school remained yellow and overcrowded. <em>That’s progress</em>.</p><p></p><p>Walking down the hallways, I lit the first cigarette of my second pack. Students quickly ducked out of my way, staring gape-mouthed at my open disregard of the law. Well, it was that or the nine I wore openly. Ditching the trench coat, I had donned a ribbed turtleneck sweater, black as my mood. The combination of the shirt, the dark, loose blue jeans, and the black, military-issued, fleece hat probably gave me the appearance of a mercenary for hire. <em>That’s right. I rolled a natural twenty on my Intimidation check this morning,</em> I thought. My smirk just caused the seas to part faster.</p><p></p><p>I pivoted sharply and into the principal’s office. I moved past the assembled line of do-gooders, boot-lickers, and troublemakers without as much as a complaint. The principal glared angrily at my cigarette, which I snubbed happily on her desk.</p><p></p><p>“Look, I’ll be brief about this. I need to know about Ms. Jackson’s spontaneous combustion yesterday. I want to review her file. And I need a list of her closest friends and where they’ll be in an hour or so.”</p><p></p><p>“And you are?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m a private investigator. I work for a private client. The sooner you get me the info, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.” I took a moment to light another death stick, before grinning charismatically.</p><p></p><p>The principal reached for an unmarked manila folder on her desk, never removing her cautious eyes from my face. She pushed it toward me. I snatched the folder and moved quickly back to my car to review the file.</p><p></p><p>---o---o---</p><p></p><p>“Ms. Divico?” I stared hesitantly at the young brunette that sat in one of the plain, blue metal desks. In front of her desk, a large sign read ‘The Prez’. Another sign was taped to her gray shirt; again reading ‘Prez’. “Uh, Ms. Divico I’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Ms. Andrea Jackson. If you could step outside for a moment. . .”</p><p></p><p>“No.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p></p><p>“No, I’ll stay right here. Anything you ask me I can answer right here, in front of my friends.” Her eyes, a faint blue, seemed glossed over, the pupils dilated. Her hands twitched nervously, drumming slightly upon the metal desk.</p><p></p><p>“Very well, Ms. Divico.” Scooting an empty desk around to face her, I sat down. “You and Ms. Jackson were friends?”</p><p></p><p>“You could say that. We grew up together. We went to school together. We still hung out on occasion.”</p><p></p><p>“You don’t seem very saddened by her death.”</p><p></p><p>“As I said, on occasion.”</p><p></p><p>“So you wouldn’t know if she were involved in any. . .cult activities?” </p><p></p><p>The Prez shuddered and stammered before spitting out the lie of a response. “No. . .”</p><p></p><p>“And you’ve never heard of the Cult of Sebek?” Releasing a putrid cloud of smoke, I grinned. Another piece of the puzzle just fell into place.</p><p></p><p>“I. . .” she stammered, but was easily silenced by the wave of my hand.</p><p></p><p>“Why are you wearing a necklace with the god Sebek on it?” Her eyes completely dilated, her teeth grinding. “You know; that little gold necklace around your precious and innocent neck. The one with a crocodile-headed man dangling preciously above your. . . ‘Prez’ sign.”</p><p></p><p>Her teeth still grinding, something snapped. The pop was loud and nearly deafening. I instinctively dropped to the floor, pulling the nine from its resting spot. But the girl shuddered again, spitting an arc of blood into the air. Half a molar hit the floor.</p><p></p><p>The proverbial dung hit the ceiling.</p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22226" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: red"> <span style="font-size: 12px">Her shirt expanded outward, her flesh following quickly after. Within seconds, her eyes bulged from their sockets. Her arms twisted unnaturally backward in a mock <u>Exorcist</u> pose before her body exploded. Ms. Divico’s remains, what little was left anyway, smoldered harmlessly on the floor.</span> </span></span></a> </p><p></p><p>I pulled myself off the floor, wiping the muck from my face as calmly as possible. “Well, that was entertaining,” I said to the horror-stricken class. With a deft swipe, I grabbed “The Prez’s” bag and the Sebek necklace. Then I returned to the safety of my car.</p><p></p><p>---o---o---</p><p></p><p>“Well D, I’ve been to the high school. Are you there?” White noise hissed over the cell connection. </p><p></p><p>“Yeah. . .m. . .here. Where. . .?” </p><p></p><p>“Look, I’m parked at the quarry. There is definitely something going on here. Both girls were excellent students. Both spontaneously combusted, if it can be called that, for some reason. I think they were connected to this possible cult. Evidence points that way.” Static looped eternally through the earpiece. </p><p></p><p>A crackle and then the words “Quarry…safe” and a final, hollow click. The phone went dead. Drawing the nine, I threw the worthless cell in the glove compartment. Then, I made my way into the quarry.</p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22225" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: red"> <span style="font-size: 12px">The piles of gravel, clay and sand were stacked carelessly high. Traversing the loose earth was like walking into a carefully plotted death trap; one that allowed no saves. Carefully, I stepped sideways down the mountainous face, walking normally only when absolutely necessary. Below, an ancient blue machine sat idle. Because of distance, my imperfect eyes couldn’t make out specific detail but it looked like a machine that shifted through the earth.</span></span></span></a> </p><p></p><p>The important detail was the small shack beside the machine. It housed rotted wood and broken windows, made clear when my descent was complete. I stalked up to the house, peering through the windows. Unfortunately, somebody had covered the inside sill with aluminum foil perfectly obscuring the view. From inside, a clanking sound issued. Glancing at the chimney confirmed the detail. Fresh smoke billowed from the stone tunnel. Somebody was home.</p><p></p><p>Using a trusty serpentine movement, I darted to the door, pausing beside it. The metal-on-metal sounds grew louder, nearing the door. With a thrust of my foot, the door shattered inward. A dull wet thud resounded and I ducked in gun blazing.</p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22223" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: red"> <span style="font-size: 12px">Three then four shots at the body I had slammed with the door. Then five. Then six. I stopped squeezing the trigger and tried to make sense of the scene. Crumpled impotently on the floor was a man, naked from the waste up. Blood dripped from a single gunshot wound in its chest. His head was. . .unnatural. It was a crocodile’s face complete with spidery veins and the vertically slit pupils surrounded by red. One eye rolled limply backward into the reptilian skull, the other lolled sickly back and forth in its socket.</span> </span></span></a> </p><p></p><p>A soft hissing poured from the wound, lost air. From within the crocodile head, a soft murmuring sounded. Careful to keep my gun on the man-beast, I crouched and moved closer to its twisted face. </p><p></p><p>Closer inspection revealed rough, ragged edges along the reptilian neck scales. Sliding the nails of one hand underneath the scales, I ripped the mask off. </p><p></p><p>“Cthulhu Fhtagn. . .” the discovered man hissed.</p><p></p><p>“What?! Mike! What are you doing?! Why?” I clutched at my skull, a sudden migraine engorging the veins in my skull. Stumbling backward, I noted the corpse of a dead teenager strapped to the wall. He had been gutted, one of the blades still embedded in his open abdomen.</p><p></p><p>“Cthulhu Fhtagn,” Mike whispered again, his eyes wide, crazed and dull. </p><p></p><p>“Cthulhu?” But before the once gamer-friend could respond, his eyes glazed over, lifeless. I stood and moved back, hands shaking, gun quivering.</p><p> </p><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22224" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: red"> <span style="font-size: 12px">Beside the dead teen sat a old, three legged stool. Upon the stool rested a brass censer. Smoke billowed around the object, lazily dancing and spiraling out of control. The faint, white clouds twisted and turned and were absorbed by the metal object. Following the trails with my eyes, they ended roughly at the teen’s open abdomen. <em>What in the infinite layers of the abyss?</em> </span></span></span></a> </p><p></p><p>Mike’s body jolted upward, his eyes wide again. As I watched with disgust, smoke poured from the bullet-hole I had inflicted. The smoke was faint, white and spiraling. It snaked upward and toward the brass censer. Before my eyes, the metal devoured the smoke, the soul of my now departed once gamer friend.</p><p></p><p>Clapping broke the unfathomable scene. Turning wearily, D-man walked through the open doorway. His hands beat together while his lips parted in a maniacal smile. He casually pulled out a Beretta and aimed it at me.</p><p></p><p>“Well Ronaldo, stand up.” I did as he said.</p><p></p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p></p><p>“Cthulhu.” He smiled again when I smirked. “You see, that censer is a key of sorts, my dear boy. The city of R’lyeh is due to rise again soon. To unleash Cthulhu upon the world, the key must be present for the re-emergence of the ancient city. But,” he raised a finger, “here’s the kicker. You see, the key can’t be used, unless it has been filled with souls. Thanks to you the final four souls have been devoured. The ritual is now complete. The key can be used and Cthulhu can be released from his deathless prison.”</p><p></p><p>“Destan, why?”</p><p></p><p>“So many questions, Ronaldo.”</p><p></p><p>“And what do you mean the final four souls?”</p><p></p><p>“Let’s break this down for you. Ms. Divico was the last soul number one. That teenager behind you was soul number two. Mike was soul number three, and you make the fourth. As to the why, I’m tired, very, very tired. I’m ready for this world to end. I’m ready for an age where I can break away from the penname ‘Destan’. I’m ready to be a ruler.”</p><p></p><p>“You’re insane. Wait,” everything finally clicking, “Yeti?? Bill!?” I raised my own Beretta, finger on the trigger.</p><p></p><p>“Cthulhu ate him. And if you want to get personal. . .maybe I was tired of you constantly switching characters during my game, Ronaldo. Maybe, you should’ve let me kill you once or twice. <strong>Would that have been too much to ask, really!?!? I was kicked out of the RBDM club because I couldn’t kill you. Couldn’t KILL YOU!</strong>” D-man paused to wipe the spittle from his lips “But I can now.</p><p></p><p>“And then, you constantly beat me at chess, adding insult to injury. Would it have been too much to show a little <strong>damn</strong> mercy? Instead you took every one of my pieces, every time; ruthlessly slaughtering me. <strong>I didn’t even win when I liquored you up!</strong>” D-man wiped the spittle from his lips. “But I’ll win this time. The pieces are on the board, set, and it’s a forced mate in one.”</p><p></p><p>“Do I get one last request?”</p><p></p><p>“What?”</p><p></p><p>“A cigarette, of course.”</p><p></p><p>“Go ahead but slowly, Ronaldo. Why don’t you lower that gun, while you’re at it?”</p><p></p><p><em>Last one in this pack of Marboxes; that’s a bad omen</em>. The cigarette lit quick and smooth, burning all the way down. The gun rested, aimed toward the floor while I puffed away, searching for a way out. Lightning fast, I jerked the nine upward and depressed the trigger. . .one, two, three squeezes. Three bursts of deafening sound followed. Destan only smiled.</p><p></p><p>“I had one real bullet in the magazine, Ronaldo. The rest were just blanks. Checkmate.” His gun exploded; a flash of light and sound. The world faded to black.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 2578558, member: 22792"] [b]Funeris' Entry: Checkmate[/b] [b]ROUND ONE[/b] [b]Funeris vs. reveal vs. Macbeth[/b] [b][i]Checkmate[/i][/b][i][/i] Out of a leather pocket, I pulled the worn white and green box. The cheap cardboard snapped open revealing the always precious devil sticks. Grasping one, I shoved the package back into its pocket. [i]Eric’s Grandma had always told me to quit because it made me a bad role model[/i]. The thought was quick and vanished barely after it registered. My choice wasn’t difficult; never was anymore. The cigarette rested on my lips as the small fire scorched the tip, releasing the putrid scent and the light, menthol flavoring. [i]Let the kids find another role model[/i]. Above, the darkening sky’s miserable, overcast clouds spit angrily at the cracked and parched earth. The moisture coalesced after splattering upon the black trench coat then streaked down the sides and back, nothing more than clear, quick worms of motion. Glancing down, a brief count showed a minimum of fifteen snubbed butts. I reached for the cell, taking another long drag. With a click, the display flashed 8:49 pm in the pure, neon blue hue and I smirked. [i]Two hours of waiting now, D-man. Where are you?[/i] The reverie ended with the soft click of a basement door closing. D-man hobbled up the steps and into the waiting rain. His hair, black and edged white, dulled the beady but observant eyes. He had thrown a rain-proof poncho over his clothes. Now his head took the brunt of the drizzle. D-man’s eyes caught mine so I slid closer through the soggy grass of his rear yard. “I see you got through the gate alright.” He smiled warmly, his eyes burrowing greedily into the Marbox in my mouth. “No lock could ever keep me. Grandfather was a locksmith, you know. Your woman around?” “Nah. She went out with her friends. Typical Wednesday night, ya know?” “You want one?” Before the question was out of my mouth, the near-empty pack of Marboxes was open and staring the man down. He shrugged as a large grin across his face. “You know me.” He slid one out and waited for a light. “How long you been here?” “Nearly two hours now, D. You get lost in your basement?” Another cigarette from a new pack danced magically through my fingers and up to my lips. [i]Another one down, that’s seven minutes less of bad luck I’ll have.[/i] The lighter clicked, sparking cautiously in the drizzle. “I forgot you were coming over.” “You called me two hours ago, D. Don’t give me that BS.” “You caught me, Ronaldo. I was playing chess again. I’m an addict you know.” That calming grin spread across his face again. [I]Must be business and not pleasure[/i], I thought. “Hear from Yeti, recently?” “Nah, Cthulhu ate him.” “I’m sorry, what did you say?” My smoking devil stick fell into a puddle, drowning. “Huh. Oh, I said Cthulhu ate him. You know that computer virus programmed by that RPGer. It crashed Yeti’s computer.” “Oh. I was wondering what was up. So, enough small talk, what’s the job?” “Right. You ever been to West Virginia; Charles Town I think, half an hour from here?” “Yeah. I used to live there, remember?” “Oh yeah. I forgot that.” For a moment, D appeared to smirk. “Anyway, a girl spontaneously combusted in the high school today. I want you to check it out.” “You know I don’t do paranormal.” “We don’t think this is paranormal, per se. We think its just some cultist activity. Wanna check it out?” “I can probably handle it. Which cult?” “The Cult of Sebek.” “Wasn’t he. . .” “The Egyptian god with a crocodile head, yeah. Could I have another?” I handed the Marbox over, allowing him to light it and take a drag before continuing. “Anyway, the councilors came across some papers in her backpack about the god Sebek and something about a nearby quarry. I thought you’d like the job.” “Yeah, I’ll take it. I can start in the morning.” “Good enough for me.” D pulled some paperwork from under the poncho and I transferred it to the leather coat. “Do yourself a favor, Ronaldo. Don’t wear the coat. Try to be inconspicuous this time.” “Will do.” “Good. And here, you might need this.” A black, unmarked nine millimeter Beretta appeared in his non-smoking hand. “Just a possible cult investigation, right?” “May as well be safe.” He slapped the gun into my hand and disappeared down the stairs, back into his basement. ---o---o--- [i]Morning of the eighteenth, back in my old high school. Joy, joy.[/i] The yellowed hallways of the poor, white-trash, river-rat, hillbilly school had not changed much in the last decade. Outside, trailers for the ever increasing population of the county housed additional classrooms. The county was in a boom; real-estate continued to claw farther and farther away from Washington D.C., bringing with it upper middle class families. Families that with their very presence pushed the lower class population, the ‘natives’ farther from their homes. Families pushed farmland and native population farther and farther from their origins replacing it with their cloned housing, different only by the type of façade smacked on their faces. And yet, the high school remained yellow and overcrowded. [i]That’s progress[/i]. Walking down the hallways, I lit the first cigarette of my second pack. Students quickly ducked out of my way, staring gape-mouthed at my open disregard of the law. Well, it was that or the nine I wore openly. Ditching the trench coat, I had donned a ribbed turtleneck sweater, black as my mood. The combination of the shirt, the dark, loose blue jeans, and the black, military-issued, fleece hat probably gave me the appearance of a mercenary for hire. [i]That’s right. I rolled a natural twenty on my Intimidation check this morning,[/i] I thought. My smirk just caused the seas to part faster. I pivoted sharply and into the principal’s office. I moved past the assembled line of do-gooders, boot-lickers, and troublemakers without as much as a complaint. The principal glared angrily at my cigarette, which I snubbed happily on her desk. “Look, I’ll be brief about this. I need to know about Ms. Jackson’s spontaneous combustion yesterday. I want to review her file. And I need a list of her closest friends and where they’ll be in an hour or so.” “And you are?” “I’m a private investigator. I work for a private client. The sooner you get me the info, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.” I took a moment to light another death stick, before grinning charismatically. The principal reached for an unmarked manila folder on her desk, never removing her cautious eyes from my face. She pushed it toward me. I snatched the folder and moved quickly back to my car to review the file. ---o---o--- “Ms. Divico?” I stared hesitantly at the young brunette that sat in one of the plain, blue metal desks. In front of her desk, a large sign read ‘The Prez’. Another sign was taped to her gray shirt; again reading ‘Prez’. “Uh, Ms. Divico I’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Ms. Andrea Jackson. If you could step outside for a moment. . .” “No.” “I’m sorry?” “No, I’ll stay right here. Anything you ask me I can answer right here, in front of my friends.” Her eyes, a faint blue, seemed glossed over, the pupils dilated. Her hands twitched nervously, drumming slightly upon the metal desk. “Very well, Ms. Divico.” Scooting an empty desk around to face her, I sat down. “You and Ms. Jackson were friends?” “You could say that. We grew up together. We went to school together. We still hung out on occasion.” “You don’t seem very saddened by her death.” “As I said, on occasion.” “So you wouldn’t know if she were involved in any. . .cult activities?” The Prez shuddered and stammered before spitting out the lie of a response. “No. . .” “And you’ve never heard of the Cult of Sebek?” Releasing a putrid cloud of smoke, I grinned. Another piece of the puzzle just fell into place. “I. . .” she stammered, but was easily silenced by the wave of my hand. “Why are you wearing a necklace with the god Sebek on it?” Her eyes completely dilated, her teeth grinding. “You know; that little gold necklace around your precious and innocent neck. The one with a crocodile-headed man dangling preciously above your. . . ‘Prez’ sign.” Her teeth still grinding, something snapped. The pop was loud and nearly deafening. I instinctively dropped to the floor, pulling the nine from its resting spot. But the girl shuddered again, spitting an arc of blood into the air. Half a molar hit the floor. The proverbial dung hit the ceiling. [url="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22226"][font=Times New Roman][color=red] [SIZE=3]Her shirt expanded outward, her flesh following quickly after. Within seconds, her eyes bulged from their sockets. Her arms twisted unnaturally backward in a mock [u]Exorcist[/u] pose before her body exploded. Ms. Divico’s remains, what little was left anyway, smoldered harmlessly on the floor.[/SIZE] [/color][/font][/url] I pulled myself off the floor, wiping the muck from my face as calmly as possible. “Well, that was entertaining,” I said to the horror-stricken class. With a deft swipe, I grabbed “The Prez’s” bag and the Sebek necklace. Then I returned to the safety of my car. ---o---o--- “Well D, I’ve been to the high school. Are you there?” White noise hissed over the cell connection. “Yeah. . .m. . .here. Where. . .?” “Look, I’m parked at the quarry. There is definitely something going on here. Both girls were excellent students. Both spontaneously combusted, if it can be called that, for some reason. I think they were connected to this possible cult. Evidence points that way.” Static looped eternally through the earpiece. A crackle and then the words “Quarry…safe” and a final, hollow click. The phone went dead. Drawing the nine, I threw the worthless cell in the glove compartment. Then, I made my way into the quarry. [url="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22225"][font=Times New Roman][color=red] [SIZE=3]The piles of gravel, clay and sand were stacked carelessly high. Traversing the loose earth was like walking into a carefully plotted death trap; one that allowed no saves. Carefully, I stepped sideways down the mountainous face, walking normally only when absolutely necessary. Below, an ancient blue machine sat idle. Because of distance, my imperfect eyes couldn’t make out specific detail but it looked like a machine that shifted through the earth.[/SIZE][/color][/font][/url] The important detail was the small shack beside the machine. It housed rotted wood and broken windows, made clear when my descent was complete. I stalked up to the house, peering through the windows. Unfortunately, somebody had covered the inside sill with aluminum foil perfectly obscuring the view. From inside, a clanking sound issued. Glancing at the chimney confirmed the detail. Fresh smoke billowed from the stone tunnel. Somebody was home. Using a trusty serpentine movement, I darted to the door, pausing beside it. The metal-on-metal sounds grew louder, nearing the door. With a thrust of my foot, the door shattered inward. A dull wet thud resounded and I ducked in gun blazing. [url="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22223"][font=Times New Roman][color=red] [SIZE=3]Three then four shots at the body I had slammed with the door. Then five. Then six. I stopped squeezing the trigger and tried to make sense of the scene. Crumpled impotently on the floor was a man, naked from the waste up. Blood dripped from a single gunshot wound in its chest. His head was. . .unnatural. It was a crocodile’s face complete with spidery veins and the vertically slit pupils surrounded by red. One eye rolled limply backward into the reptilian skull, the other lolled sickly back and forth in its socket.[/SIZE] [/color][/font][/url] A soft hissing poured from the wound, lost air. From within the crocodile head, a soft murmuring sounded. Careful to keep my gun on the man-beast, I crouched and moved closer to its twisted face. Closer inspection revealed rough, ragged edges along the reptilian neck scales. Sliding the nails of one hand underneath the scales, I ripped the mask off. “Cthulhu Fhtagn. . .” the discovered man hissed. “What?! Mike! What are you doing?! Why?” I clutched at my skull, a sudden migraine engorging the veins in my skull. Stumbling backward, I noted the corpse of a dead teenager strapped to the wall. He had been gutted, one of the blades still embedded in his open abdomen. “Cthulhu Fhtagn,” Mike whispered again, his eyes wide, crazed and dull. “Cthulhu?” But before the once gamer-friend could respond, his eyes glazed over, lifeless. I stood and moved back, hands shaking, gun quivering. [url="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22224"][font=Times New Roman][color=red] [SIZE=3]Beside the dead teen sat a old, three legged stool. Upon the stool rested a brass censer. Smoke billowed around the object, lazily dancing and spiraling out of control. The faint, white clouds twisted and turned and were absorbed by the metal object. Following the trails with my eyes, they ended roughly at the teen’s open abdomen. [i]What in the infinite layers of the abyss?[/i] [/SIZE][/color][/font][/url] Mike’s body jolted upward, his eyes wide again. As I watched with disgust, smoke poured from the bullet-hole I had inflicted. The smoke was faint, white and spiraling. It snaked upward and toward the brass censer. Before my eyes, the metal devoured the smoke, the soul of my now departed once gamer friend. Clapping broke the unfathomable scene. Turning wearily, D-man walked through the open doorway. His hands beat together while his lips parted in a maniacal smile. He casually pulled out a Beretta and aimed it at me. “Well Ronaldo, stand up.” I did as he said. “What? Why?” “Cthulhu.” He smiled again when I smirked. “You see, that censer is a key of sorts, my dear boy. The city of R’lyeh is due to rise again soon. To unleash Cthulhu upon the world, the key must be present for the re-emergence of the ancient city. But,” he raised a finger, “here’s the kicker. You see, the key can’t be used, unless it has been filled with souls. Thanks to you the final four souls have been devoured. The ritual is now complete. The key can be used and Cthulhu can be released from his deathless prison.” “Destan, why?” “So many questions, Ronaldo.” “And what do you mean the final four souls?” “Let’s break this down for you. Ms. Divico was the last soul number one. That teenager behind you was soul number two. Mike was soul number three, and you make the fourth. As to the why, I’m tired, very, very tired. I’m ready for this world to end. I’m ready for an age where I can break away from the penname ‘Destan’. I’m ready to be a ruler.” “You’re insane. Wait,” everything finally clicking, “Yeti?? Bill!?” I raised my own Beretta, finger on the trigger. “Cthulhu ate him. And if you want to get personal. . .maybe I was tired of you constantly switching characters during my game, Ronaldo. Maybe, you should’ve let me kill you once or twice. [b]Would that have been too much to ask, really!?!? I was kicked out of the RBDM club because I couldn’t kill you. Couldn’t KILL YOU![/b]” D-man paused to wipe the spittle from his lips “But I can now. “And then, you constantly beat me at chess, adding insult to injury. Would it have been too much to show a little [b]damn[/b] mercy? Instead you took every one of my pieces, every time; ruthlessly slaughtering me. [b]I didn’t even win when I liquored you up![/b]” D-man wiped the spittle from his lips. “But I’ll win this time. The pieces are on the board, set, and it’s a forced mate in one.” “Do I get one last request?” “What?” “A cigarette, of course.” “Go ahead but slowly, Ronaldo. Why don’t you lower that gun, while you’re at it?” [i]Last one in this pack of Marboxes; that’s a bad omen[/i]. The cigarette lit quick and smooth, burning all the way down. The gun rested, aimed toward the floor while I puffed away, searching for a way out. Lightning fast, I jerked the nine upward and depressed the trigger. . .one, two, three squeezes. Three bursts of deafening sound followed. Destan only smiled. “I had one real bullet in the magazine, Ronaldo. The rest were just blanks. Checkmate.” His gun exploded; a flash of light and sound. The world faded to black. [/QUOTE]
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