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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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.]

[Darkness, darkness. Consuming and promising. Furious and calm. The sight of Adriel's darkness feels like something twisted up in their guts. And now they understand it like they didn't before.

They pause in the frame of that door, before the pit to seeming oblivion.]

You're my dear friend. I'm going to help you. [They speak the promise to the writhing dark.] I'm going to make this better. I'll make them pay. And you won't suffer anymore. So you can't kill me until then. You have to wait, Adriel.

[They jump into the dark beyond the door.]

[Out of the darkness chasing Sira an arm reaches out, covered in horrible wounds. Although if they're reaching out asking for help or to catch Sira...

The drop is long but ultimately not one that will kill Sira. It will sting quick a bit if they're not careful though. The floor's pretty hard.

But the new place Sira will find themself in is...dark. Unsurprisingly. Looks like Sira might have to start navigating without sight for a little while.

At least it doesn't sound like there's anything down here?]

[They reach back, but it's too late, they've already jumped and they fall. The figure is gone from sight. And then, soon, everything is.

They land hard. They hit their feet, then their knees and hiss with the pain of it. It takes some stumbling to rise back up again and they blink within the abyss. It seems not even the glow of their eyes is illuminating much down here.

They walk. They listen for an echo in their steps. Their hands hover slightly out, to see if they can't feel anything in the dark. They've never been blind before. Not in any of their hosts. It's disconcerting.]

[For a long, long time there's nothing to see or touch. Sira can reach down and touch the normal floor if they want, of course, but that's about it. The only sound for an equal amount of time is the sound of their own footsteps.

And then there's finally noise. Wretched sobbing and the sound of something crashing into something else, glass breaking over and over.

It sounds pretty close so Sira can go see what it is. Or they could walk away. Somewhere in this darkness has to be an exit.]

[They left that writhing darkness behind. It pained them, but they did it. Now, they hear cries. Destruction.

They feel out for an exit, a way out of any kind, but whether they find it or not, they have to look. They have to. A cry in the dark is as much a thing to summon them as their sigil. They have always been a last resort of the desperate. This sounds like desperation.]

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[Open] The Mark of the Herald

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cw eye injury/gore/suicidal idealization

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