Robert Elias
JP with Jaxx, Redsword, Trustno1 and Cindy
From the yawning void of the open basement doorway, a figure emerged, his silhouette slicing through the faint chaos of muzzle flashes and writhing shadows like a blade of malice. Robert Elias, the occultist, wizard, and self-proclaimed harbinger of doom, stepped forward. His presence was suffocating, an aura of dread radiating outward as if the air itself recoiled from his being. He was draped in a tattered black coat that hung like funeral shrouds, the hem trailing through the accumulated grime of decades on the stairwell floor. His pallid skin gleamed faintly in the intermittent light, his sunken eyes pools of fathomless blackness.
He raised his arms, his bony fingers clawing the air as he began to speak, his voice a dark symphony of madness and prophecy. Each syllable slithered through the darkness, sharp as glass and heavy with unspeakable knowledge. His words coiled around the investigators like serpents, burrowing into their minds with a weight that felt inescapable.
"Do you feel it?" he intoned, his voice a vile blend of reverence and despair. "The veil between worlds grows thin, stretched to its breaking point by the sins of man and the whispers of the cosmos. The air stinks of ash, blood, and regret—perfumes offered to the Black Goat of the Woods, She is the mother of a thousand horrors, her spawn weaving their tendrils into the cracks of your fragile existence."
Elias took a step forward, the darkness seeming to cling to him like a living thing. His presence radiated unease, and the very floor seemed to groan beneath his weight, as though the earth itself rejected him.
"The fires that consume Southern California are no mere accidents of weather or greed. They are her breath, her exhalation of fury and fecundity, consuming all that dares to stand defiant. Do you see it in the flames? Do you hear it in the cries of the damned as the smoke chokes the life from their lungs? She stirs, awakening, and with her comes the end of this world."
He raised a hand, skeletal and trembling, as if offering it to some unseen force. "You think of yourselves saviors, warriors against the dark, but you are nothing more than blind lambs, herded toward slaughter. Already, her heralds walk among you. Did you think the Black Dahlia was merely a murder, a tragedy of one woman’s end? No, it was a rite—a wound carved into the flesh of Los Angeles, a scar that festers and births corruption. Elizabeth Short was her sacrifice, her blood staining the soil, her body a map for the unholy to follow."
The team was frozen in place, the oppressive weight of his words binding them to the spot. Elias's voice rose, now a fevered crescendo that reverberated through the stairwell. "Soon, you will meet them. The precursors to the Four Horsemen. The Harbingers of Ruin. They come, trailing pestilence, war, famine, and death in their wake. You will taste their wrath, and it will be glorious in its despair!"
Abruptly, Elias turned, his coat billowing behind him like a shadow come to life. Without hesitation, he descended into the basement’s open maw, the darkness swallowing him whole. The silence that followed was deafening, a gaping void left in the wake of his venomous proclamation. Somewhere deep below, the sound of a heavy door slamming echoed, and then all was still, save for the lingering chill of his words.
"Let's chase after him," said Sartre. You lead the way Alyssa."
Alyssa shined her light towards where Elias had just gone. "No, I shouldn't be the one leading the group, that should be someone with more fire power. Max or Ekaterina, why don't one of you lead?"
Agent Powers gave Sartre a smolder, then a raised eyebrow, before he replied, "Stay behind me and guard Alyssa." Then he and Ekaterina reloaded their guns and got ready to move. Agent Powers then led the way with his shotgun, ready to blast the next creepy target they moved.