Seven

I’ve been spammed with bullshit comments. I didn’t realize that until this morning.

If you’re reading this, my anonymous commenter who thinks you’re being a freaking comedian – I will hunt you, too. And I will do a very thorough exploration of your skin, with my knife, until you’re singing those song lyrics you’ve been posting.

Follow that up with an explanation, or better yet – tell us where the hell Blair is. You obviously know something. Either cut the bullshit, or get ready to be cut.

A Controlled Explosion.

It seems, no matter where we go or what manner of person we encounter, there will be activity from the PREs.

Alyssa was acquainted with the woman we encountered; an exhausted woman, middle-aged, and probably looking older than she is, in actuality.

One could see that she was in the beginning stages of alcoholism (cracking lips, dry hair, face ruddy and wrinkles deepened; I apologize for my less-than-complimentary description, if she is to ever see this).

Her name is Sheryl (I shall withhold the last name), and her issues as with a group known as ‘the Scarlet-Marked’. When I looked to The Archive, online, I found nothing, but Alyssa seems knowledgeable on them.

Apparently, Alyssa has been communicating with this woman for some time, now, regarding her missing daughter, Darcey. While I have the utmost certainty Alyssa does not trust Sheryl (she would have introduced herself with her real name, if there was trust), she certainly seems to be acting the part in a way that is nearly admirable.

From our initial meeting, we formed a plan; we would return to Sheryl’s house in order for her to change into something less conspicuous, locate any sort of weaponry, and from there we would figure out how best to go about our search.

Upon reaching Sheryl’s house, she excused herself to shower and invited us to take advantage of her kitchen; I’d yet to see Alyssa react with such enthusiasm about anything.

It had been quite a while since she had cooked, she confided in me (a sign that this was indeed taking her mind off our dismal situation, for her to talk to me) and I only knew how to cook in theory. Between the two of us we managed to prepare a decent meal.

After dinner, we began to discuss our next course of action…which was when we were interrupted.

A collection of these ‘Marked’ had been seeking Sheryl out, it seemed – five of them. Alyssa visibly twitched to attack, and after some conversing, it came to be a necessity.

I’m shamed to admit it, but not surprised to do so; I was all but useless. In contrast, Alyssa was…fierce.

I would hesitate to tell her so, but the way she fought was very much comparable to the way those Martyrs did, when they attacked Blair and me in that alley.

When I asked how she had managed to eliminate the threats (a couple were quite a bit bigger than she) Alyssa simply told me, “Bleeders are just fucked up humans. Dealt with worse.”

The damage from the attack was more than physical, however. Sheryl was very visibly shaken, and despite having my sympathies, I had to urge her to prepare a bag to leave, and quickly. Our next destination was a store – ‘Curious Fantasies’ – to look for a Doll, of some kind.

Sheryl found what she needed, prepared a bag, and we were leaving the house.

However, somewhere along the line – and I still maintain my unsupportive position – it was decided that simply gathering intelligence from this store would not be enough.

Sheryl was (or, rather, is) convinced of nefarious goings-on, and Alyssa, perhaps irrationally, was supportive of Sheryl’s bloodlust.

We took to an enclosure, as private as we could make it, and they commenced a highly illegal discussion.

It only became more violent when Sheryl spotted the Doll they had been first discussing. She was briefly verging on hysterical, claiming it was ‘haunting’ her.

I grabbed the Doll, proposed we hang onto it for evidence’s sake – this was all the more reason to destroy Curious Fantasies, they argued.

Alyssa suggested the launcher, but we dismissed it; it had too much potential to destroy more than the store.

“Moltov cocktails,” she offered, instead. “Easy to make, in theory, way smaller blast radius. We could look up how to make them -”

“I know how. Even the best instructional guide is dangerous for a beginner to use.”

Both women were looking at me strangely, then, and Alyssa sounded disbelieving when she asked, “You’ve made Moltovs before?”

“Not to my recollection,” I answered, “but I do know how it’s done.”

She favored me with an even odder look, staring at me very hard. I began to list what I would require – something I will not do here, because I do not want to give anyone the means to create a weapon.

The materials were simple to gather, and it took me very little time to assemble the amateur explosives. We located the store, hurled a stone through the display windows, and tossed the cocktails inside.

We have only just finished fleeing the scene of our crime.

I hope, for Sheryl’s sake, that the nothing else was destroyed and that the authorities don’t linger.

I hope for Blair’s sake, and my own, that the three of us didn’t commit a crime for naught. I feel badly for Sheryl…but I feel worse letting even an hour pass where we are not focused entirely on xim, and if we’re captured and put behind bars, Blair is as good as dead.

If xe isn’t, already.

Six point five

I hate them. Beyond hate. They’re disgusting and if anyone so much as touches me, I am going to rip their spine out through their throat. Ugh. I hate that feeling so beyond hate that UGH. No. I’m focusing.

We started with the most obvious Fear to track. It’s so easy to find them that you’d think they want to be found – actually. Euh, they probably do. So, we armed up and I tried to run Curtis through…the basics. No letting anyone touch, no looking anyone in the eye. They’re all twisted, no matter how they might come off. He was all, “Twisted in what sense?” and by god I am NOT giving an Archivist the sex talk.

I was beyond tempted to use the grenade launcher, when we got close. Getting the police involved, though, was something I’d successfully avoided my entire life. I wasn’t about to start now. Besides, if there were any strays…they may not be stronger than any other normal human, but they could still get the jump on us due to sheer numbers. That meant barging in was also out of the question.

We didn’t get much of an opportunity to plan, though. We were getting close, and then suddenly the door flew open, and this woman – bloodsoaked – was running out. With them following, being led by

Ugh, the creepiest part is, I swear I recognized that one in particular. The sadistic fuck, I’m sure I’ve seen that one before. Then again, maybe all Vessels just look the same to me, now. Whatever, I’m getting back to the point – Curtis and I couldn’t do much more than keep out of the way. I couldn’t focus and even in Archive-mode, he couldn’t hold up against a group that big. Instead, we pursued the woman.

The Marked didn’t take all that long to clear. Guess I’m still better at tracking – and if I’m managing to sound proud through text, you’re freaking right I am.

She was all curled up by a dumpster, sobbing… She hid from us, too, at first. We weren’t exactly subtle, once I signalled to Curtis we were clear. Windmill isn’t easy to hide.

I was prepared to just interrogate her. She had to be Marked, to be in there…maybe she just didn’t want to be sacrificed today, or something, because she had big weekend plans. I did ask a few questions, about the party – why she was there, was the first one to come to mind.

She said she was just looking for her daughter, and that’s when it occurred to me that something about this situation was hitting me as being familiar.

I asked what her daughter’s name was, she said it was Darcey.

Freaking hell, I’d been communicating with this woman over a blog for at least a few weeks, now.

I got Curtis to help her up…and from here, we’re helping her get cleaned up. We’ll find somewhere to hide out for the night, and then we’ll see if she knows anything about Blair. It’s too bad I can’t trade her information; I haven’t found jack relating to Darcey.

Dispute Against Madness

Six

I’ve been alone for so long that I forgot what it was like to miss someone. It’s been at least seven years since I stopped having friends and about four that I quit all human contact altogether. I don’t know why I haven’t gone Numb, by now, and part of me is wondering if it was because this is still in me. The ability to care.

And the ability to sound like an angsty teenage girl. I’m making myself sick, but the idea that Blair might be dead or worse just won’t leave me alone. When we finally admitted to ourselves that searching was no good if we were exhausted, and tried to sleep – it was there. Woke up, and it was there. All day, it was THERE. Blair’s horse is anxious and neither of us know how to really take care of a regular horse, much less one from a different time.

Curtis is observant, at least, he’s giving it a shot right now. Trying to feed Windmill despite the fact that the horse seems to hate both of us. At least, he isn’t fond of us.

The only clue we’ve got to go on was a bit of rope, left behind. Other than that…who knows.

We’ve decided the best course of action is to look into any and all Fear activity in the area. See if any of it is linked to Blair, the Vision, or this Willing Doll. If need be, we can get help – I’ve tortured proxies for more than just information, before, and they can be freaking sure I’ll do it again. Even if Blair was killed, it’s better to know about it.

Blair had better not have been killed. But, it’s selfish for me to think that. Death can be better than…some things.

Dispute Against Madness

Please Read This.

Blair is gone.

There was no body left behind. We hope this means xe is alive somewhere.

All we found were scraps of bloody clothing, Blair’s knife, and the gun.

Alyssa is furious with me.

She can’t hate me more than I do.

If anyone sees anything related to Blair’s dream, or Blair, ximself – please contact us. Immediately.

I’m unaware how many people know what Blair looks like; xe is dark-skinned, with distinctive tear-shaped scars on xir cheeks, longer scars along the sides of xir face. Xe stands at perhaps 5’9, xe has dark eyes and hair that is quite closely shaved to xir head, and xe was last seen in a dark gray shirt, a brown hooded sweater, jeans, and a long scarf. At night in colder weather, xe also sometimes wears a hat.

For obvious reasons, we cannot go to the police to file a Missing Persons report. So I instead implore anyone who reads this to look for Blair, instead.

Most of you probably won’t. To you, I only ask that you send us any information you happen upon, even if you don’t seek it out.

This includes any information you may have on this Willing Doll, who may or may not be someone Blair knew as ‘The Hanging Man’.

Taking the Hit

Sometimes, you’ve gotta do things. For their own good. Made my choice for a reason. If they can’t respect it, got to take matters into my own hands.

Deliberated real long about it. If I knocked ‘em both out, I couldn’t be sure they’d be safe. I figure, the Vision would’ve shown me, if they get killed in this one. She’d want me to know. Sadistic whore. She ain’t hiding things from me. Wouldn’t fit with what She wants. Still, couldn’t knock ‘em both out.

Waited until the watch changed. Alyssa’s a lighter sleeper, more experienced at dealing with Fears. And, no offence to Curt, he’s right decent. But, I figure he can take the hit better. Hate having to justify it, like that. He’s a proxy, though. Archivist. So, I waited until Alyssa fell asleep to take her shift, and then I knocked Curtis unconscious. Left all my weapons, except the knife, and the Mauser.

I figured, if  it’s honest-to-god him – the Hanging Man – the deed ain’t done yet.

Taking out Windmill to graze. Maybe just wander. He’s a smart horse. If there’s trouble, he’s got instincts. He’ll be safe.

We’ll see how safe everything else turns out.

Five

We found the campground. Blair’s sure s/he recognizes it from the dream, and we’re going to be coming back after sunset to crash here tonight.

Curtis and I are trying to figure out how to keep Blair from being killed, and from what we can figure, Blair will be fine as long as s/he doesn’t go off alone. If one of us stays with hir all the time, there won’t be an opportunity for hir to be dragged off.

Blair won’t talk about it – s/he just shrugs or stays quiet and it’s driving me crazy. It’s like s/he’s gone numb towards the whole thing and hir mind’s a hundred miles away.

I guess I can’t blame hir. We’re still not about to let this vision go down the way Miss Cleo wants it to. If that bitch is so determined to take Blair, She’ll have to go through me first. What good are Hunters for, if not dying so the people better than us can survive?

Dispute Against Madness

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction.

Now that Blair was ‘chosen a path’, the three of us have fallen into a fairly consistent pattern of searching for a campsite, passing it over if it’s daylight, and returning once it’s dark unless any of us feel we know of a similar site not too much farther.

Since making that decision, none of us were certain how Blair would sleep, afterwards.

There’s a ray of hope in that The Vision’s haunting appear to have stilled, for the time being; either She is recognizing xir choice, or simply sitting back to work on a new approach.

However, when xe woke up as wild-eyed as before, pulling xir knife and looking as though xe expected to be murdered right then, I questioned.

“Nothin’,” xe exhaled, trying to calm ximself. “It was. I thought I was somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Was She showing you something new?”

“Nah. Somethin’ old. Not even Her, I reckon,” xe was putting on a brave face, for my benefit, an almost-smile that didn’t entirely reach xir tired eyes playing on xir lips. “Feel almost like…got so caught up worryin’ ‘bout the future She was showin’ me, my brain only just now remembered that it wants’t’ get in on makin’ my nights Hell, too.”

“Are you alright?”

“’ll be fine,” Blair muttered, and xe was lowering xir voice, giving Alyssa a considerate glance. “I just – sometimes I blink, and the sky ain’t the right color. Or the grass ain’t so green, and my eyes play tricks, like it’s checkered. We’ll pass strangers, and for a sec – I’ll think they got masks on their faces…”

Blair went silent for a moment, and Alyssa’s breathing was the only thing breaking the stillness. I had nothing to say, being uncertain as to what was appropriate.

“Sorry. Don’t mean to dump my issues on you,” Blair broke the silence after a while, rubbing xir face with the palm of xir hand. “Ain’t had the time to get back to real life, is all.”

“The situation doesn’t feel much like ‘real life’, does it?”

Blair laughed, a little. “You c’n say that again.”

Four

Blair has more honor than I do, or Curtis does. So after I did a bit of reading and caught on to Curtis’s developing crush, we decided to make it official between the three of us: we don’t read what the others wrote. It’ll be OUR private thoughts, and not how we find out about each other.

Do I actually think Curtis will follow through on that promise? Of course I freaking don’t, he’s an Archivist. Even though he’s not a bad guy, he’s still too curious for his own good. Yeah, hello, Curtis.

But Blair? There’s something about hir. You just know – if s/he said s/he would never touch a weapon again, even to save hir own life, I’d believe hir. S/he’s so honest it almost hurts me to think about.

It’s a refreshing change, though. No one else I’ve ever met has been like that. The only people I knew before my life became this were liars, cheats, or skipped all the interaction completely, handed me a fifty, and told me to get in their lap.

Anyway… Curt’s crush aside, I’m taking this time to check online for Fear news and to update the world on my own. ‘Our own’, I guess. Blair is sleeping, and has been for the past three hours, which is an amazing change. We’re back to sneaking into campgrounds, but since there weren’t any, we found a roadside motel and checked in for the night. We questioned it, but Blair insisted, saying things like, “It’s not the same one from the dream; She ain’t done showing me my choices.” Things like, “Won’t matter, I made my choice already.”

I asked what s/he meant, and why s/he’d chosen the campground. I’ve read that dream – it’s awful.

S/he said it was the only one where Curtis, Windmill, or I didn’t get hurt or killed, too.

Like I said. So honest it hurts me.

Dispute Against Madness

Out of the Question

Been shown two more options. Been making us camp out in places I know I ain’t seen. She’s getting rid of my safe choices.

Dream number three. Empty house, broken locks. Guessing we were the ones to break in. We’d barricaded, but it was no good when the time came. I watched, Curt and Alyssa lyin’ on the bed, me skulking about when I hear something from downstairs. I go to check.

Windmill’s down there, and I ain’t got time to catch a glimpse before someone’s caught me by the scarf and hauled me back – the me in the dream ain’t got time, but I do. Watching, I do see. Martyrs again, and Windmill’s head is lopped off clear. They know better this time. They don’t fuck around.

Upstairs, I hear loud noises. Crashing, someone being dragged. Hear Alyssa yelling for me, more crashing. Don’t know what’s goin’ on, because the Oracle ain’t showing me. She just makes me watch myself.

I’m struggling against the Martyr’s that got me. Grappling. What I do best, I reckon. But he’s got the jump on me, and he’s got weapons.

I see the knife go through my back, and he’s sawin’. Right through the spine.

Ain’t simple enough to stab me. I watch him use that blade to tear at my bone, and the sound is ungodly, and that was when she let me wake.

Night after was worse.

Camped out on the edge of these trees. Big patch of ‘em, not big enough to be considered a forest, though. The road ain’t too far off, but we’ve used the trees as cover. Mistake. Stupid mistake.

This time, Alyssa ain’t sleeping. Curtis ain’t either. Think it ain’t for lack of trying, we all look dead exhausted. Windmill’s quiet, pawing the ground like he’s anxious. Don’t blame him.

I saw Him first. Not in the dream, though, that was Alyssa. But outside what’s goin’ on, with me watching – I see him. First I thought I was seeing the moon. Hanging too low, in the trees. Too gray. Too oval. Realized – too late – it was a face.

No, lack of a face. Only a few feet behind me, in the dream. Alyssa turns, she sees, and things have gotten darker. Then

Sorry, I can’t.

I ain’t choosing that death. Can’t stop shakin’. I can’t. Won’t let it happen like that.

Four choices, total, now. I’m making it three, ‘cause that last one ain’t an option.

A Strong Person.

I experienced the strangest conversation with Blair, and I’m unsure of what to make of it.

While discussing xir latest dream (which I will allow xir to regale you with, if xe sees fit to do so), we had the following conversation (written as closely to the facts as possible, though I’m afraid it may not be word-perfect).

“Alyssa has expressed her theory that The Vision is tormenting you with these dreams to force your hand,” I said. “If you become her Scion, she’ll leave you be, is that correct?”

Blair hesitated, but xe began to nod, “That’s the impression I’m gettin’. No other reason we can think of for her trying to look me in the eye like that.”

“My knowledge about Scions is limited – Alyssa knows more, no doubt…”

“Maybe. She said there ain’t too much out there.”

“Still, what I do know is that they serve The Vision through premonitions. I’m sure there is, of course, a grander agenda… What I mean to ask, though, is this: would it be so terrible to give in?”

Not for a moment did I want to condone such a thing. Merely, I was curious about the answer.

Blair had been through so many sleepless nights that a weaker man would have given in, I’m certain. Why not xim?

Xe didn’t take very long to consider.

“I don’t think I’m like you. I ain’t a strong enough person to run away once they’ve got me, I reckon.”

Xe said it so simply that…I couldn’t doubt, xe honestly believed that. That I am a strong person.

‘Strong person’, not proxy.

I could have kissed xim for that.

I nearly did.

Second Option

She’s cornering me. Bitch.

Slept longer than usual. Ain’t a good thing. Just meant she had more to show me. Dream started like usual, with me and Windmill, leading off from an RV campground. No sign of the others. The rope snares me out of nowhere, and I’m damned sure it’s the Hanging Man hauling me in. I’m bloody, and every time I watch I see more injuries. Twisted wrist from trying to catch on something, as I’m bein’ pulled. Fingers snapped as I’m trying to shield my face.

Like usual, I thought she would reach for me, and I’d wake myself up. I was wrong. Got to that same point, and then it all just stopped. Rewound like a movie. And, somehow, I was able to see it going on in my mind’s eye while She showed me something new.

What would happen if I don’t wind up at that site, I reckon.

Sleeping in a motel. Three of us, in one room – ain’t sure where Windmill’s supposed to be. Still late at night. I ain’t asleep, though; must be my watch, in the dream, ‘cause Curt and Alyssa are both passed out good on the same bed. Maybe not fighting, anymore, for them to be that close together. Anyway, I hear something outside. A growling. Pawing at the door.

Me in the dream, and me watchin’, we both know what it is. I grab the Mauser, start hauling things in front of the door. It wakes Curt and Alyssa up. They don’t ask questions, they just start helping. But it’s no good.

The Black Dog bursts through the barricade, jaws gnashing, and I see everything. Fragments of bone and reeking flesh stitched together under this mass of dark, and I can make out their faces. All of their faces. They look like the two men, and Georgia, and Kallaway, and everyone else I killed.

And for a second, before I watch ‘me’ fire the gun into the Hound’s face, I can make out Ambrose and Clara’s faces, too.

I shoot, and the sound makes my ears ring so bad I feel like my ears are bleeding. No sign of the Hounded. Don’t relax, ‘cause I know better. And I’m right.

From the wall behind, the Dog rips through it like it’s tissue. Snarling even more, big bleeding hole in its face, but it ain’t stopping.

Charges right past Alyssa and Curtis, and it starts tearing into me. Piece by piece. Clawing through my stomach and dragging intestines out by the teeth. The other two, they’re trying to pull it off. They can’t.

And once it’s done with me, it starts in on the two of them.

Back in my mind’s eye, that’s the exact point I get close enough to see that silhouette, the one that might be the Hanging Man. I don’t know what to think.

The Vision giggled from behind me, and this time I turn. Look right at her. Don’t quite meet her eyes, but I see they ain’t natural. Blank, like. Pupils are giant, like gapin’ black holes trying to suck me in. And she whispers at me, urging me to give in to her. Says I can end it now, before she shows me what else I could expect, tomorrow night.

She’s closer than I know how to deal with, and I force myself awake before she can grab my face.

Seems like I’m being shown my choices. Get to pick my poison.

Those are two options. Whenever that time is, when it comes, I’m gonna be in one of the places she’s showing me.

Choose my own death.

Unable To Find An Alternative Explanation.

The worst part about knowing what I (most likely) am is knowing what I am.

My lapses in memory are not points of curiosity for me, anymore; they’re burdens I have to carry around, wondering what I’ve done and whether it was sinister or not.

These fugue states might be the key to healing myself, but now I wonder whether or not it’s better that I’m oblivious.

It just makes so much sense, and I can’t think of a single alternative explanation that seems to fit with the plain facts of which I am aware, and Alyssa and Blair’s accounts.

There is Dissociative Identity Disorder, once referred to as ‘Multiple Personality Disorder’, which would account for the fugue states, but not necessarily the complete lapse of memory from when I was younger (while I am certain I did things such as attend high school, learn to drive, etcetera, I have no recollection of being anything other than an adult, which is inconsistent with DID).

PRE involvement seems certain; Alyssa and Blair both told me what they have seen me do, and it stretches the limitations of the human body…to put it lightly. I am not, nor can I believe that I’ve ever been, strong, fast, or athletic in any way. I certainly don’t look it, either.

However, they told me that I was capable of outrunning a horse, and throwing two attacking Martyrs off of me without so much as breaking a sweat. Today, I attempted to do similar things (Blair offered to spar with me, and try as I might, I was unable to fend xim off. Xe is an impressive grappler) with no success.

I have looked into PREs who appear to take over one’s mind – my strongest suspicion was that I was playing host to a shard of the Dying Man – but it still would not explain other things.

Such as, how did I come across the term ‘Phobic Representational Entities’? How was the term ‘The Grandfather’ already in my head?

Lastly, of course (the clincher): why would members of the Archive be intent on killing me?

I hardly blame Blair for beginning to doubt me. I’m doubting myself.

Three

Blair’s getting these scratches down hir face and arms. I don’t usually doubt much, when it comes to Fear movement, but freaking hell. If there was any skepticism about this being the Vision’s work there sure as hell isn’t anymore.

I don’t know how s/he’s even standing. I got a taste of what it’s like not to even get my regular four hours, thanks to what happened last night. I hate to admit it, but it’s my own fault, what happened. Blair got this idea, from this blog, that if we need to sleep we could stick by campgrounds, but since that dream, s/he’s looking for something similar, but an alternative.

So, when we got to the highway and saw smoke further out, I suggested we go. You could hear the noise from where we were, and that was almost a quarter mile away. Evidence said, bush party. People always get drunk, high, or both, and pass out at those things. They wouldn’t question it, if we showed up…and if they remembered us the next day, they’d just remember the horse. And, probably think they were so fucked out of their minds they imagined it.

I walked us right into danger, because apparently I’ve been so focused on thinking Curtis is going to kill us that I’ve forgotten not to be an idiot. There are other things to be wary of.

We got close enough to see all the bodies. We stopped a good distance away, because it looked like a slaughter, and Blair was like, “If they’re dead maybe whatever killed them is still around.” But it was worse than that.

We realized it because Curtis pointed out, they were moving in one giant mass, rutting against each other and covered in red. Some of them were definitely dead, but it sure as hell didn’t seem to stop the bleeders. And, in the middle of it all, this man. Buck naked in the pyre they’d built. I feel like a freaking amateur – I saw him, standing in the middle of a fire, apparently burning to death and though, “Maybe I should call the fire department.” Fuck, even when I didn’t KNOW, I wasn’t so fucking blonde.

He wasn’t burning. He was having a threesome. Ugh, not even ‘he’ – IT. It was in some kind of fucked-up…fuck it was so disgusting that it won’t stop replaying in my head. Screwing the fire and the smoke, with all his loyal little bleeders around him, and I should have figured. Ugh, if things had gone a little differently in the past, I could have been in that pile. It’s making me nauseous.

Blair thought quickest, s/he was up on the horse’s back before Curtis or I could really think, and urging us up too. They’d seen us, so we didn’t have a lot of time.

Curtis didn’t give me much of a chance to protest, he was already helping me up. And then he got this look. Normally, his expression is a little…vacant, but within that second it was like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He ran, and he was chillingly fast. Blair got Windmill to take off running.

The bleeders weren’t chasing us, but the Vessel was. This one had to have been really comfortable in its body, now, because I’ve only ever seen one move like that. He was nearly catching up, and we had to either kill it or slow it down.

Since there’s no killing one of those things, not if you’re human, that only left ‘slowing it down’ as an option, so I pried open the guitar case on Blair’s back, turned, and blasted the gun off in Its face.

The recoil sent me back against Blair, and if it hadn’t, I would have fallen off the horse. The Vessel’s face had been blown apart, leaving a hollow wound with flesh and bone hanging in the gap. It stopped and grabbed at the hole in its face, all panicked – vain fucker.

We kept running all night, set up camp by day after we found somewhere hidden enough. I won’t describe the place, obviously. We all took turns napping again, but I didn’t manage it much.

Bizarre freaking night, and now I’m even less sure of things than ever before.

Dispute Against Madness