Pursuing Death (OPEN)

[>Flighty<]

"She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before. She said that I don't look like me no more."

The rainbow stained waves lapped gently at the pale white sands. There was no wind, but that made the strange fog in the air pulse with the gentle beat of the waves. This place was the heart of so much chaos, but right then there was nothing but calm. Typically one could stand along this endless beach and hear the cacophony of a thousand worlds bleeding through the thin veil that separated the metaverses, the planes of existence and all the myriad realities that existed. Today it was unusually quiet.

Rorschach was here today, as he was on many of his free days, to continuing mapping the Intersection. In the last century, he had managed to map a large portion of it and was thus able to move between many, many worlds. Today he had begun mapping a section he’d not yet been to previously.

Here the pale white sands began to give way to jagged black rocks that shimmered ominously in the pale, rainbow light of the sky. He stood very still; a jet black figure in the paleness of the place. His teal eyes shimmered from the strange rainbow light of the world around him and he stared at the display screen of his sensor. Gods damn, I love this thing! he thought to himself.

The device was about six inches and square at the far end with various appendages sticking an inch or two out from the end. The thick square tapered into a handle at the opposite end and it had a flip up display screen and several buttons of various shapes. It had been a gift from Acacius when Rorschach had told his friend that he’d begun mapping the Intersection. With it, Rorschach could see radiation levels, an endless slue of atmospheric readings, seismic activity, bio-signs, dimensional energy and much much more. It even had FLIR imaging and could detect radio waves. Today he had it set to read atmospherics and dimensional abnormalities. With it he could find the various rifts into other dimensions that littered this place.

He took slow, measured steps forward, slowly swiping the sensor through the air in front of him with each step then stopping to read the display. When the sensor found a rift, he made a note on his map and stood in front of the rift. The handheld sensor array was equipped with a miniature drone. He pressed a series of buttons and the sleek silver drone dropped from the bottom of his device and shot into the rift; it too was equipped with its own sensor array and delivered the data back to his device. He jotted down a few notes and the drone zipped back into the Intersection and clipped itself in place.

Meticulously he sketched out the shape of the rift and jotted proportions down as he used the sensor to get a full “view” of it. Before moving around it he double checked that the sensor did not detect any other rifts. Sometimes they were stacked on top of each other and nearly impossible to get around. Satisfied with the readout he moved around the rift carefully and began to glance down at the sensor display after each stride.

A radiation warning screeched for a brief second. Rorschach halted immediately and double checked all the readings. Flickers of radiation were not uncommon in the Intersection. There was no sign of a rift though, so he continued forward once more.

And within half a stride there was suddenly no ground.

One moment he was on the bright beach and the next he was in semi darkness. He fell forward and before he could even begin to react or try to catch the edge of the rift he saw a grey and black cobblestone street coming flying at him. He barely managed to tuck his shoulder and pivot midair when he smashed against the the cold stone. There was a flash of light and then pain as his head whipped against the stone street. Everything went black then.

He was sure it was only a moment later when his senses slowly crawled back to him. First he felt something warm and soft under his legs, then he heard the rapid breathing of another person. Human female he thought, by the smell in the air but he was not certain. The cold street was beneath his back; he was certain his shoulder was broken, but there was a strange ringing in his head too. His eyes fluttered open and he saw in the dim light that he had half landed on someone.

Her legs were pinned beneath his and she was trembling as she struggled to catch her breath. She was lying on her stomach. She wore a thick ruffle-skirted dress that covered her completely and a bonnet covered her head. At a quick estimation he appeared to have fallen into an 1800s era Earth-type world. He sighed and sat up slowly; pulling his legs off of her, glad that he had at least not fallen into the vacuum of space. He had to grit his teeth against the sharp pain in his hip as he moved. That might be broken too. Damnit.

"Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked the women in english first, it was a strangely near-universal language with a fuck ton of dialects; probably because of its utter simplicity. He tucked his sensor device which luckily seemed intact, into a pocket and pulled his injured arm onto his lap with a snarling groan.

He reached toward the women - who appeared human - with his good arm and gently squeezed her shoulder as he rolled up onto his knees. It was quite dark, but he was not hindered much by the lack of light. “Miss?” he said slowly, as she had not yet answered him. Even if she didn’t understand him she should have given some sort of response. He reached toward her again; and grabbed her arm more firmly and tried to pull her round so he could see her face.

She was tense under his hand, but she didn’t resist. She was an older women, her black hair spilling from beneath her bonnet and laced with a few silver strands. Her eyes were deep brown and her pale skin wrinkled from smiling it appeared. She wasn’t smiling now. Blood was seeping from her nose. She looked terrified. Normally that sort of look happened after he shifted, but he had just fallen from the sky and tackled her, from her perspective.

He smiled kindly at her, even if she didn’t understand his language, she should be able to understand that. “Are you hurt?” he asked, speaking slowly in several languages he knew and pausing after each time he asked. Still no response came from her; just that wide eyed look of terror. He was certain she was in shock. He squeezed her arm a little tighter and shook her gently, trying to get her to respond.

“Oči tvoje, hudobne oči!” she whispered; her voice trembling.The language wasn't one he was fluent in, but it was familiar enough for him to translate; something about 'eyes of evil'. He sighed and shook his head, releasing her arm and holding his hands up in entreaty; trying to assure her that he meant her no harm. His eyes alone were enough to terrify the poor women, so he hoped that he could sooth her with his voice.

He answered her in her own language, sort of. “Not evil, ma’am. I’m not going to hurt you.” he assured her. He stood up stiffly and she didn’t take her eyes off of him. He could smell her fear of him; she was so terrified. He moved slowly, in part not to scare her more, but also because he was in a great deal of pain. His left arm hung limp at his side and just the weight of it pulling on his shattered shoulder made his teeth grit. It would take hours to heal, maybe days by the feel of it. He swallowed down the pain and stepped back to give her space.

The movement seemed to spur her suddenly and she rose and slapped his face then scrambled backward and away from him. The briefest moment of her skin on his was enough. Pain rocketed through every nerve ending in his body and made him forget his shattered shoulder. Fuck! He fell to his knees as he felt his body being torn apart and reassembled at the molecular level. He screamed and the sound that came back to his ears was unnerving even to himself. Despite the number of horrid changes he had undergone in his life it never got any easier. The world went dark and fear pulled him down deep.


His senses came back to him quickly though; aided by the adrenaline of fear, most likely. It was always unsettling and this time was no different., though he was a bit more worried than usual due to how utterly unfamiliar this world was. His body felt strange, which was usual, but he did as he had learned to do some time ago and moved his fingers and toes first, then his arms and so on, until he could feel all of himself. He opened his eyes and though he had seen rather well in the darkness before, he saw now that he had practically been blind then. He could see everything now; the grains of dirt and drops of mud on the street, every tiny crack across the street and every piece of garbage along the edges of the buildings that lined the alley.

He was unsteady as he got up, and though his shoulder was still aching he was somehow able to compartmentalize the pain differently now. He must not have been out long at all because just as he looked down at himself he caught sight of lights coming on in nearby buildings and people moving their window coverings aside. They had likely heard that awful screaming he'd done or the women screaming; she was no where in sight.

He assed himself quickly. Two legs, his shoes utterly obliterated and laying in shreds; his feet three-toed and somehow reminding him of a camel. His skin was jet black with all of his scars showing as a vicious, glowing red in his skin. Four arms - that was a first - ending in massively clawed hands; three fingers and an opposable thumb on each hand. His shoulder was still in pain, but it was a dimmer ache than it had been.

The women was gone, he reminded himself, she had been afraid of his eyes alone. She may be getting some sort of authority involved. He'd never be able to diffuse his situation now. Before he bothered assessing anymore of himself he reached for the syringe in his coat pocket that would undo the transformation.

His heart sank as his hand found the small case in his pocket. It was almost flattened. He jerked it out of his pocket; fumbling because though his upper left arm was broken the pain translated to the lower limb as well. He fumbled more when he finally got it out and tried to open it. His hands were shaking and his claws were too long to manage the delicate movements required. He growled and the sound came out so forcefully that he felt it in the ground beneath his feet. Before he could even worry about how much his voice had changed, his claws retracted at will and he popped the small case open. Terror gripped him anew. He fell back to his knees and just stared at the shattered syringes. His last two vaccines had leaked out of the shattered vials; completely gone.

Fuck! Get yourself together. he yelled at himself. He shoved the case back into his pocket and stood up. He quickly glanced around; making sure he hadn’t dropped anything that could contaminate this world. His sensor was in his pocket still; there was nothing else around. He took a deep breath and assessed his surroundings more thoroughly.

He could hear people moving around in their homes and heard the gasps, whimpers, screams and low whispers as people looked out windows on either side of the alley and saw him. It was still dark for them, but the light from their combined windows added just enough glow to where he stood that they could see his form. Not to mention his scars were giving off subtle red light and his clothes were shredded enough to expose most of his skin.

There was a puddle of water just a few steps away and he moved toward it, becoming steadier and more comfortable in this new form as the seconds ticked by. He looked down into the black puddle and stared at himself for a moment. He had to force himself to breathe after a moment. He reached up to trace the sharp edge of his cheek bones. He had two sets of eyes and both were faintly glowing and there were no signs of a pupil or sclera, just solid, deep teal. The contrast of his eyes against his now blackened skin was unnervingly intense.

His face was utterly unfamiliar; all the bones looking sharp beneath the skin and making him look utterly violent. His skin was shiny, smooth and completely hairless with an almost reptilian sort of look. A massive set of ridged, serrated horns curled from his temples and twisted outward. There were a few smaller sets of horn-like ridges along his forehead and jawline as well.

He looked down at his body again; his new musculature was massive and had stretched and torn much of his clothing; the remaining shreds that clung to his frame barely maintained his modesty. Beneath the rags of his clothes there were ridges and spikes over much of his body; a sort of armor, but it didn’t seem complete; likely a part of his scars in this form.

Suddenly he heard footsteps converging toward him. A crowd of approaching people on three sides. Fuck. he snarled inwardly. He was trapped. There were three ways out of this alley and all three were being converged upon. The first of the approaching crowds came into view then. All were men, all dressed in deep, dark blue uniforms and holding an assortment of guns. There was fear shining in their eyes and he could smell it thick in the air, but there was also determination. Clearly this world had faced whatever creature he had become before.

“Your evil not welcome, besomar.” one of the men snapped in that strange but slightly familiar language, his deep voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. Every one of the men’s guns were aimed at Rorschach as they all came to a stop about fifty feet away. Rorschach couldn’t translate the word the man called him, but he assumed it to be some sort of demonic beast, because thats what he looked like.

He hadn’t had a lot of practice getting fully adjusted to knew forms in a long time, not since Acacius had made the vaccine for him. He was unaccustomed to trying to learn to control any new supernatural abilities, if he had any at all. Even with their weapons pointed at him all he could think about was their safety. Their guns were crude, primitive by his standards, but they could certainly do damage. It would be painful, but it wouldn’t kill him. But if they hurt him, whatever natural defenses he now had could kill them. He had no way of knowing what he could do in this form.

He turned to try to flee, but his last two escape routes closed off with policemen and their guns. Some of them snarled angry words at him, but every single one of them had eyes filled with savagery and fear. Rorschach let loose a snarl in hopes of bolstering that fear. These men were not built for flight though, they were men of the fight and just kept coming closer, their fear only intensifying their hatred.

“Stay back!” he snarled. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!” The words were slightly slurred because he wasn’t prepared for the length of the forked tongue in his mouth nor the viciously serrated teeth that line his jaws. The men halted, clearly unnerved that he could speak their language, but none of them backed down.

It was all Rorschach could do to keep himself from falling apart before them. He hadn’t changed at all in more than two decades, and hadn’t been trapped for more than a few minutes in a form that wasn’t himself for near a century. He was off balance. Their fear thickened the air around him; he could taste it on his tongue. The natural instincts of the beast churned in him; tasting that terror in the air and wanting to taste it in their blood. He was still himself, but some creatures had such primal instincts that they imprinted on him with the forms he took.

“You shouldn’t have come back here, monster.” one of the men snarled then. Rorschach whipped toward where the voice came from and he nearly lost his balance, but caught movement right at his side. His upper eyes remained darting back and forth between the men. His second set of eyes, that sat further toward the side of his face, slid round to look beside and slightly behind him. He saw and felt at the same time that he had a set of wings; two actually, but where the large upper set would have been their was a viciously scarred stub of an appendage coming from his back. His scars always transferred to every form.

“Surrender and die, beast.” the first man shouted at him.

Rorschach’s glowing, teal eyes narrowed and all four focused on the men surrounding him “Don’t you mean surrender or die?!”

“No, besomar.” the same man responded; the more he spoke the more confident he became. “Your kind was spared once, you knew the laws when you came here.”

Rorschach shoved the pain and all the other emotions that he was struggling with away; it was easier in this strange new form than it usually was. He took a deep breath and a deep, vibrating rattle sounded in his chest out of frustration. The sound was so deep and powerful that it was practically physical as the men caught the sound and stumbled slightly.

“Then why not open fire?” Rorschach’s snarling voice somehow managed to sound defeated.

“I follow the laws of the treaty, unlike you.” that same man snapped.

Rorschach crouched down slightly and leaned toward the man; his new and primal instincts urging him to rip the man apart. He maintained control of himself, though just barely. He wasn't keen on surrendering. Either way they meant to try to kill him - though he could not fully understand why - and either way they would not be able to end him.

He knew he had to get away from them. He had only ever had a certain amount of self-control in any of his unnatural forms. He knew that at some point, if he did not get away, he would become nothing more than a primal thing that wanted to survive at all costs. He could feel the instincts pressing in on him already; urging him to taste their blood. He could easily become the demon he looked like. He was completely aware of the danger for these people, but though they thought he was dangerous, they didn't know how to kill him as they might the creature he looked like.

He was not in a dimension he knew, he couldn’t fly back up to the rift he fell from, and he couldn't become himself again without his vaccine. He had to get away so that he didn’t lose himself to the rising bloodlust.

“On your knees.” The man ordered then and his voice had lost all its shaking qualities. “Die easily, or die ugly, but die you will.” he threatened.

Fuck! Rorschach snarled yet again. At the same moment his entire body burst into flames. Fuck me! There was a moment of utter silence as the men struggled to recover from the sight and Rorschach did what he could to try to withdraw the flames that clearly meant to devour the men.

The alley filled with the deafening sound of gunfire suddenly. Bullets zinging past him and slamming into the brick behind him, but others slammed into him. Pain filled almost every inch of him, far too much to compartmentalize. A keening roar of absolute agony ripped from his throat; echoing down the alley and beyond. Rounds slammed into his armor and cracked it while others ripped into the already scarred areas where the armor was gone. The flames disappeared from him, but viscous, glowing, red-orange blood poured from more than a dozen bullet wounds.

Only one group of the men was firing; avoiding crossfire, he realized as he fell to his knees. He tried to crawl toward a wall, looking for a spot where the shadows might be thick enough to hide him from their weaker eyes. The pain was hard to think through though; unconsciousness beckoned him. He shoved at it and kept crawling, willing himself forward.

He managed to pull himself out of the line of sight for the men firing at him. The bullets stopped flying, and the men started shouting. Two of the groups could easily see him still; his glowing blood was like a beacon for them. The yelling continued; too many voices to hear any one of them clearly. Rorschach felt the pain drifting away somehow; he kew he was injured badly, but this form's survival instincts were intense. He somehow willed himself to stand; pathetic, mewling snarls and whimpers spilling from his mouth with every movement he made. The men went silent suddenly.

“Is it crying?” a new voice asked.

“What is this beast?” another man called.

“Please?” Rorschach managed to say and despite the deep, gravely nature of the sound he sounded terrified.

“Sir?” someone shouted.

“Besomar don’t ask for mercy!” someone hissed.

“Its still a monster!”

Murmurs rushed through the men and Rorschach fought the hope with all of his might and latched on to his fear. He had no idea what he could do in this form; what he was capable of. He let his grip on his new instincts slip though, just a bit, and suddenly he leapt toward the roof of the three story building above him.

He launched like a loaded spring and flew up; easily clearing the roofs edge. His landing was seriously skewed though and his small wings desperately tried to catch the wind and failed. He tumbled through the air and crashed onto the roof. Another wave of pain wracked through him and he began to slide off the slanted roof. A few men fired their guns and started yelling before they were stopped. They couldn't risk their bullets ripping into the building and hurting innocent people.

Before he slipped off the roof completely his claws dug into the shingles and wood and halted his descent, his legs and lower body dangled over the edge. There was no way he could hang on, get the sensor out, find the rift and jump through it, not with his blood pumping out the way it was and the pain ricocheting through him with every movement.

Fleeing was the only option which clearly his instincts already seemed to know. He pulled himself back onto the slanted roof; aided by his massive black talons and launched himself at the next roof. He slipped again, but managed to stop himself sooner and leapt toward the next building. The policemen yelled behind him and he was certain they would be getting reinforcements. He could hear some of them give chase though.

It took him almost ten minutes to get any sort of distance between himself and them. His injuries were slowing him down despite the advantages of this form. Still, the men trying to follow him were only human, or something very, very similar. Another ten minutes passed as he scaled across the rooftops before he was sure that he had lost them, but the weakness had spread through his limbs. He felt cold in his extremities and he didn't have to fight the pain anymore; he was sort of numb. He had lost a lot of glowing blood in his escape, but he had noticed right away that the glow faded quickly as the blood cooled.

Soon there wouldn't even be a trail for them to follow. He knew he had to keep going, though. He couldn't let them find him passed out somewhere. No matter what they did to him he was not going to die; he was only going to suffer. He knew that he had to find shelter.

He crawled along a roof that was only slightly steeped and easier to grip. The buildings were different here. Homes gave way to warehouses and factories; all sorts of industrial type buildings. All of the buildings had flat rooftops and by the cold smell in the air he was sure that many were abandoned. He saw no one on the street below; there were no street lights anywhere nearby; his glowing blood was the only light for several blocks in all directions.

Rorschach jumped from the building and landed in the street; eyes darting quickly to be sure no one had seen him. All of his senses were on high alert, but he knew that he had to keep fighting unconsciousness so he rushed into a dark, narrow path between two buildings. Quickly he headed for the dustiest scents he could detect.

He came out of the alley onto a wide, unlit lot. At the other end of the empty lot was a warehouse with shattered windows and chains on the doors; it was abandoned and by the smell of it, it had been for years. Some of the windows on the second story were completely gone; just a crumbling hole covered in dusty, torn plastic remained.

Rorschach leapt up through the window without even really stopping to think about it. The second he was through the threshold he saw that the floor he was barreling toward was old, and rotted dusty wood. He slammed into the floor and it collapsed and he plummeted down onto the first story. More pain filled him, but it was dull.

He struggled to rise from under a pile of debris; barely managing to do so. His sharp eyes easily pierced the utter darkness. He spotted an old rusted metal door in the floor and headed for it. He needed to get underground. Once he was healed, he could worry about getting home. Until then, he needed darkness; somewhere where he could see them coming up on him, but they couldn't see him.

Thank fucking god. he sighed when he pulled the large steel door up, admittedly with some difficulty, to reveal a stairway leading down.

Growing weaker by the second he managed to shove himself down the stairway while holding the door. Several painful whimpers escaped him, but he closed the door and headed slowly down the stairway.

It was just a massive, empty, brick lined room without any windows. No other exits save for what appeared to be a below ground loading dock. The metal doors were closed and mostly intact. He moved toward a corner midway between the loading door and the one he came through. He continued to fight unconsciousness but his glowing eyes were growing heavy.

He collapsed against the wall finally and slid down to the floor. He knew he had to get the bullets out or he wouldn't completely heal. It had happened before. If he didn't get the rounds out, the wounds would close, but the pain wouldn't end until they were all out. He knew he couldn't afford another pain hazed run-in with the locals.

He started with the most shallow entry wound in his arm, the round lodged between his cracked armor. His long claw dug into flesh and nicked the lead round. A string of pathetic mewling sounds poured from his lips as he tried to pinch the bullet between his talons. Sleep called to him, but he snarled and ripped part of the cracked armor off his skin and roared in pain. A fresh round of burning, aching, stabbing pain wracked his entire body. He somehow managed to take hold of the round though and ripped it out with another roar.

He was not going to be able to get them all out and he knew it. Fuck my life. Fuck it hard! his bitter thoughts echoed around in his head. He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but that only caused the gunshot wound in his ribs to protest so violently that everything suddenly blurred around him. It took him several seconds to clear his head of the pain and bring the world back into focus. He realized that if he couldn't get them all out, he would have to settled for getting the worst; the deepest bullet out first.

Forcing himself to breath slowly and shallow to limit his movement as much as possible he closed his eyes. Carefully he pressed his lower hands to the floor to steady himself; ignoring the wounds in his arms as best he could. His remaining good arm moved slow, he knew it was a matter of the pain overtaking his will power and his lips pressed into a thin line. He forced himself to get it over with. His finger pressed into the jagged bullet wound; stretching the entry wound open and tearing his flesh more. Pain that easily compared to the agony of his transformations pressed against every nerve ending in his body. His claw tapped against the bullet lodged against a shattered rib and before he could even stop himself he pulled his finger out of the wound; trying to stop his pain and giving up.

Everything went dark and cold and numb and he threw himself into the relief of unconsciousness.