daybreakacademy | [Open] The Mark of the Herald

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[Open] The Mark of the Herald

Mark of the Herald Part I
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Despite certain disruptive events and ominous visions in the preceding month, August is seemingly still free of any problems.

That’s quick to change, however. Starting from the third of the month, strange, circular marks begin to appear on human students around the school - and, indeed, humans around the world. Those affected begin to feel incurably drowsy, something that no magical or mundane solution can seem to cure or relieve; eventually, they’ll fall asleep entirely, whether they want to or not, and enter a state of magical stasis. Not even nonhumans are immune, though whether they’re marked seems to be much more erratic.

Those who remain awake or are otherwise spared by the mark are free to do as they wish - the Academy won’t ask them to do more than keep themselves safe. But where each marked person falls in slumber, a portal will form; a strange tear in reality, offering glimpses of a surreal, nightmarish plane that differs vastly from individual to individual. One thing is certain; the cause of a victim’s seemingly endless sleep and these portals are linked somehow, and the only way to find out exactly how is to go through...and the only ones capable of doing so are those who are still awake.

This log can be used as a catch-all for event-related threads. The information for this event is here.

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The door groans loudly when it's opened but opens none the less.

When Sira steps outside they'll see they have a number of options to them. In contrast to the room they just exited, the hallway is spotless but devoid of anything to really give it life. More iron doors line both sides of the hallway and at the end of the hall is a wooden door. All of the doors are unlocked.

If Sira's hearing is particularly good, they might hear the sound of a few people walking overhead. Looks like there's something going on upstairs. But aside from the footsteps there are no other noises - not even the sound of the wind.

They don't like this. Besides the fact that it's enclosed and an obvious place of suffering. The sound of people walking above meant that it was a den of some sort. And every one of those footsteps might be a threat.

They walk along and lean against each iron door, listening to see if maybe, maybe, there will be a voice or an echo leading up or down from a staircase.

Perhaps hunting down tormentors is a stupid instinct, but it's instinct all the same.

For the iron doors there's no sound. From that alone it seems like they're all empty.

But for the wooden door Sira will be able to hear voices. A mix of men and women but it's heavily muffled even if the voices do sound close. It's almost as if there's a barrier between where Sira is and where the voices are.

Unless Sira decides to indulge that instinct and go upstairs, away. But who can say what's up there?

They start to push and then stop themself. If they go up, there's no going back. And they're unarmed. They should find something, if not those bloody torture tools in that first room.

The iron doors it is. They heave a breath and push the first one closest to them.

This room is quite the contrast to the room they started out in. It looks like a small study, with a desk and a bookshelf with a little potted plant on top. Cozy. Unassuming.

But if Sira's nose is good, they might catch the lingering whiff of blood and bleach. Evidently something happened here that was cleaned up.

There's pens on the desk so if they're looking for an impromptu weapon, there's one...? Although one has its cap removed so it's likely someone's been writing. But there's no paper on the desk itself.

Blood and bleach. It's not the first time but they've never been so in the dark. They always had memories, their hosts not yet reawakened leaving their minds open to flip through like old books, to study in preparation of the hunt. Here they had nothing.

"Who were you...?" They whisper. Who saw these things, dreamed this Hell? Who suffered it? Someone must have, and maybe that someone could tell them. But knowing the people back at school, they wouldn't.

They'll take the pen, as flimsy as it is. If they find something better they can go from there. Off to the next iron door. Whoever was writing had likely taken the paper with them. Maybe it's around.

The next room is exactly the same as the previous one, except there's no smell of blood and bleach. It's still pretty clean though.

As Sira guessed the paper is here. It's actually a part of a stack of paper that has a list of numbers and dates lined together. Some are crossed out while some simply have a check mark next to them.

One has a note beside it, however: 6234-01 is proving to be particular stubborn. Recommended to be moved to stage 6. If Sira does the math this series of numbers was dated back twenty years ago.

Outside of the room, something loudly creaks.

Their eyes, all four of them, narrow on the note. 62... wait. Those numbers. Adriel used those numbers. They used them for their username, it was how they met, it was...

They hear that creak. They don't breathe. Utterly silent, they move, positioning themself so that if anything walks through that door, they can swing the pen down. And if nothing does, they can listen and wait and see if it passes by.

Was Adriel still here? Were they the victim? Or...?

Whatever passes by does so slowly and with the occasional stumble and the sound of something splattering against the ground. It seems someone is having a hard time. But despite that they don't make a sound.

The person or thing passes by the room Sira is in without pause and a door swings open and shut with a loud squeak. It sounds pretty close so it might be one of the rooms with an iron door. Or maybe not.

But the coast's clear. Although if Sira chooses to look back at the paper, they'll find every single sheet has been ripped up and coated in this black sludge. Now how could have that happened?

Hopefully those numbers weren't important!

Slow, injured, likely bleeding. No sound. Something or someone that has long given up calling for help or doesn't want it, even on an instinctive level. But maybe there just hasn't been the right sort of help.

Maybe, what they really needed was something like themself.

They start for the door, prepared to seek the being out, when something catches their eye. Those papers. They pause, turning back to touch that blackness. They drag their fingers across and, deliberating only a moment, touch a bit of it to their tongue.

It doesn't taste bad but it doesn't taste like anything, really. Still, it's pretty slimy in its consistency.

Surprisingly though, it does vanish after a few minutes. Sinking into the desk without damaging it. However the paper remains torn up and if Sira looks it seems that the substance took whatever was written on said paper with it. Now it's basically confetti.

On the surface it doesn't seem like there's much left to look at in this room but there's nothing stopping Sira from exploring more or heading back outside to try another iron door or moving onto the wooden door and what might lie beyond it.

Slimy nothingness. They're not sure what they were expecting.

They step out into the hall and peer about, of course finding no one. It is then that they decide upon doing something extraordinarily stupid.

"Adriel," They call out in a whisper. "Hello...? Are you here...?"

They start for the next iron door, prepared to open it just a crack.

The door opens up to a room that's much like the one that Sira woke up in, although the chair and tools are gone. And judging by the bucket and still-wet (and bloody) mop suggests that someone was in the middle of cleaning up the blood.

But there's not a lot of time to examine this room. Calling out to Adriel provokes a reaction but it's not a good one. The room grows dark and seems to bend in on itself as if it's simply a cardboard box and someone is trying to crush Sira inside of it.

The feeling of needing to get out doubles. But it's no longer a feeling that Sira is experiencing but a feeling directed at them with a sheer hatred that may be staggering.

...but it's probably better to get out of the room before they're crushed along with it. Just a thought.

The blood doesn't shock them. At this point, it's more than a little evident something terrible is or had been happening. No, it's the dark that makes them gasp, and further, the way reality seems to fold.

That feeling of being unwanted his so hard they fumble the door handle in their frantic race to get out. They hear themselves make a faint noise but think nothing of it. The door is ripped open and they rush out into the hall.

They hesitate for just a moment, then finally cave and run back to that room of torture tools, taking up something sharp before running the other way for that wooden door.

Although the room collapses under the weight of whatever is crushing it, nothing stops Sira from running back to grab a makeshift weapon or going to the wooden door. The second they pass the threshold, the feeling goes away. Not completely but it's more like it was before, a desperate need to get out.

Before Sira is a long staircase with another wooden door at the top. The voices that they heard from listening a little while ago are going strong but even though logically they're closer, the voices are still muffled.

So they have two choices here. Go through the door on top and see what's there or take their chances in exploring the other rooms still left downstairs?

Something here wants them dead. That's not new. But in this case, there's the question of why.

This time, they heed the warning in their head. They race up to those distant voices. They have the sense of mind to at least be careful while opening the door.

When Sira opens the door, they'll see it leads out into a large area that clearly had no expense spared in building it. But while the speakers are still chatting away, there's nobody there.

There's an awful lot of mirrors all over the walls, though. And, if Sira chooses to walk near the mirrors they'll find they have no reflection.

But from where they currently are, three other doors are visible on top of a staircase that leads to another floor. The first door is a little larger then the other two and there's a sweet scent coming from it. The second is shiny and has a basket of laundry nearby. The third isn't as nice as the other two and looks out of place. Dirty, old.

Don't go there.

The absence of anyone cuts them worse than if they'd had to face a crowd. They stare out at the emptiness, hearing those voices. Uncaring voices that chattered above a torture chamber.

The surgical tool clatters to the floor from their fingers. They find the nearest curtain to wipe off the blood and that's when they notice the mirrors. Nothing. No one. They walk up and press their fingers to the glass, frowning at their absence... but not surprised. What were they without their hosts anyway? They press a moment longer, then move away, arms folding.

Across the chamber, they take in the three doors, one foreboding, one inviting, one plain. If being a daemon has taught them anything, it's that the inviting things are dangerous. They skirt away from that sweet scent, moving for the laundry room.

The laundry room is a simple affair, if a big one to accommodate the amount of people who probably live in this place. On the right side of the room are some washers while the left is lined with dryers. Judging by the loud rattling noise, there's something in one of the dryers - something that might not belong in there. If Sira checks then they'll see there's around nine minutes left on the cycle before it's done washing...but there's nothing stopping them from trying to pull the door open before the timer goes off.

In addition there's a few more baskets of wet laundry on top of the dryers that are not in use. Evidently someone was doing laundry and was called away or was otherwise distracted. Finally there's another door in the back.

They hear themself sing-song.

"Rattle-rattle, click and clatt-le~"

It doesn't help take the edge off their nerves as they go to that dryer. They stop at it. If it's running, they'll shut it off. If not... they whisper.

"Don't be hurt. Don't hurt me." They open it up.

It won't hurt them...well, it won't unless Sira is dumb enough to stick their hand in the dryer.

What's rattling around inside of it is glass. Lots and lots of glass. It looks like it was part of a mirror that someone broke and rather then clean up the mess properly, they stuffed it in the dryer. It's been rubbed away a little on the glass itself but if Sira looks they'll see the sides of the dryer have been stained a light red. Maybe there was some blood from picking up the pieces? The edges look very jagged, after all.

Curiously, despite being put through a cycle, the mirror pieces look no worse for wear. In fact, they actually look extra-shiny! Shiny enough that they can still reflect things...but still not Sira's reflection. In fact each piece is reflecting a different person. Different ages, different origins, different genders...there's no particular pattern to who shows up. Although their expressions are largely the same - simply neutral, as if they're all waiting for something.

And the longer they stare at the pieces, the more that feeling of needing to get out starts fading from Sira's mind. But is it a good thing to let it go...?

It would be simple, for the mirror to have blood just from being handled. But, in their head, they see a hand mirror swing and smash over a body.

They reach in and pull out a piece for themself. It's pretty. They like mirrors. They don't like being unseen in them but... but it's not empty, not this time. Face after face after face. The find themselves pulling out each and every little piece.

"Who are you?" They whisper, as they collect all the little pieces on the floor. The glass pricks them too, now and again. They bleed red, almost human. They don't stop gathering.

They touch some the flat of the glass of some of those neutral faces, enchanted. For a moment, the world flickers and they are in a dream of fracturing mirrors and faces they know and loved and lost. Then they're back and piling more.

"I want to find my friend... Can you help me?"

Nobody in the mirror shards has an answer for Sira. They don't seem to be paying the daemon much attention.

But the longer that Sira is with these mirror shards, talking to them or otherwise, they'll feel something creep up on them. It might not be a feeling that Sira is unfamiliar with, the urge to bend and meld themself to others. But the feeling builds more and more, piling onto their soul and their mind. This memory plays behind their--

--Eyes everywhere. Someone is always looking at you and you know what's expected of you. It's what you were made for and you will make others happy even if it means your fingernails are pulled off because someone else wanted them, even if it felt like your skin would tear itself off your body when someone touched you. There's nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong with you.

You were asleep. There was an accident. They wouldn't lie to you. You were loved so they wouldn't lie to you.

But your dreams are cold and there's something weighing on you. Something that's loud, bitter and ugly. An urge to scream, to lash out. Something in the darkness.

Blood bubbles past your lips when you look. Your eyes itch and you stick your fingers in your sockets to find nothing. You claw out the remaining bits of flesh and veins. There's a burn in your throat and you tear it out, but it doesn't stop the screaming. The feeling of your hands on someone else's throat, choking the life out of him.

A steady stream of crushing self-loathing. A powerful hatred for the world, for the people within it. I hate you. I hate you all. I want you all dead. I want to die. I-

But what started this all you wonder, as you lie in a bloody heap while "you" have to live a life you do not want. The answer is easy: you looked in the mirror.

And you wanted to be yourself for the first time in your life.

When the vision ends, the mirror shards are gone. Even the ones so small that Sira couldn't pick up out of the dryer have vanished.

But there's not a lot of time to muse on what they saw. There's a loud bang on the door that Sira came out of. It seems like someone's trying to kick the door down.

The vision ends and they feel themself quake from head to toe in a way they never have. They taste blood. They taste it like they've swallowed a fountain of it. Their body burns like it's been flayed, though that's impossible. If the glass had still been in their hands, they would have closed their fingers around it all and held it to their chest, pain or no.

They know pain. No matter how they skirted from it, they knew pain. They didn't know that desire. They've never wanted to be themself. They've never wanted to be this.

So they don't know why they get up. They don't know why they scramble for that far door, the one to get away from whatever's attacking. They could stay behind. It could make them happy. They could make their friend happy. They don't.

They fling that far wooden door open, but pause to look back.

[What breaks down the door Sira flees from is darkness, jet-black and moving like sludge. It's a darkness Sira has seen before when they shared space with Adriel.

It's that ugly, bitter feeling inside of the angel that wanted the daemon dead. And they still want Sira dead so getting caught is not going to end well for them.

But...it's not quite the darkness that's the problem when Sira runs away. If they don't look they'll find out the hard way that there's nothing beyond the wooden door they've opened. Just darkness, although harmless.

The drop's pretty far but at least it's not so high that it'll kill Sira on impact. But if they do look and don't fall in, they'll have to figure out just how to dodge the darkness advancing on them.

Because it sure doesn't look like it'll leave them alone any time soon.]

[Open] The Mark of the Herald

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cw eye injury/gore/suicidal idealization

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