In For A Pound
JP with Redsword, Jaxx, Trustno1 and Cindy
Sung stepped in front of everyone, stopping them. "OK, kids, think about what just happened. That thing just controlled the situation, your mind, all your senses," explained Sung, pointing out a few things. "So what do you think you're going to do next time? Have you ever thought this through? You have no plan, no strategy. Sure, go after him, and I will have to explain how I let you all get killed," said Sung with some frustration in his voice.
Agent Powers reached into his pocket and pulled out two grenades and smirked. Then he said, "Shall we go with plan B then?”
Alyssa held up her hand, and responded to Max. "No. I'm not sure grenades will do much against things that are already dead. Besides we do need to find out what's going on here to possibly help keep the world from ending." She paused. "Well, I got caught up in the moment, but our plan had been to try to get the hell out of here, and come back tomorrow with an actual plan, more research done and more weapons. What happened to that plan?”
Agent Powers gave Alyssa a smolder and a shrug then replied, "Well my guess is that something does like that plan and is trying to keep us from leaving. So as I see it, we either fight our way out or I break a wall and scale down the building while carrying you all down. I am used to improvising since my targets tend to panic. So what plan do you all prefer?" Ekaterina elegantly looked at Agent Powers and asked, "Can you really carry us down the wall safely?" Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder before replying, "Well there is a risk either way but I am confident in my muscles.”
Then it came—another message. The faint chime of the encrypted Illuminati intranet broke the stillness, a single line of text appearing on her screen. The header was innocuous, just a timestamp and an alphanumeric string. No sender. No identifiers. "Prudence watches, Alyssa. Her gaze piercing the gilded lies of crows. The red star glimmers.—only the faithful can see the path before it burns . The Labyrinth splits, and with it, the soul of the Illuminati. Join us, and together we will fulfill what was foretold, not what is fabricated. Seek Prudence, for she awaits you at the edge of the storm.”
The storm approaches. Those who watch must now act."
The cursor blinked as the screen refreshed, the rest of the message unfolding slowly, line by line, as if the very network carried its words through a labyrinth of unseen eyes and silenced tongues.
The hourglass tips, Alyssa. Sand slips through unseen hands. What remains? Not empires, not power—only faith, stripped bare. The red star rises, bloodied by smoke and ash. Its light reveals the storm's edge, where Prudence lingers, her wings outstretched. Seek her, and know this: the Labyrinth fractures. The Crows caw of gilded dominion, but they cannot unweave the tapestry of truth. The Ravens take flight, guided by the unseen hand of prophecy. They are the stewards of the Elect, the keepers of the sacred cycle.
Find the artifacts. They hold the keys to the path, though the keyholes have been hidden in time and fire. Seek the symbols carved into the flesh of history—the six-pointed stars, the eclipsed suns, the blackened roses. Beware the Crows; their cries will deafen those who follow blindly. But know this: the gatekeepers are few, and their strength wanes. The heralds of the Four will soon stride the earth. This is your task: discern the true herald from the false. One of them walks among you already."
The Watchers await your choice.”
Alyssa read the text outloud as it appeared on her phone. It didn't seem like something private, besides they were all in this together.
"Alright, I supposed we're going in then." The hacker turned to Sung. "I know you're trying to keep us from getting killed but we have little choice but to move forward." With that she headed further down. There were more clues but also more of a puzzle.
"Alright, let's just keep going. This time Max, lead the way." Alyssa didn't have firepower and thought it not advisable that she be the one leading.
"I will grant you protection from evil," Sung replied. He turned his sword to the broad side and tapped her lightly on the head. "You are protected against creatures like aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and the undead. Attacks against you will be a disadvantage. Alyssa, you can not be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them." Sung explained as he went through the motions. Alyssa, you are the center of this, so I will help you as best I can.”
Agent Power watched as Sung performed his magic of sorts. Then he remembered he had holy golden knuckles in his pocket and dug them out before putting them on his hands and reloading his guns before moving forward. Ekaterina made sure she had reloaded and put the extra ammo in her pockets. Then Agent Powers said, "Well looks like we are pressing on then.”
Max descended the stairs into the basement with deliberate caution, his broad shoulders casting jagged shadows on the walls as the faint glow of Alyssa’s flashlight danced ahead. The darkness pressed against him, thick and suffocating, as though the air itself resisted their intrusion. His instincts, honed through years of conflict and survival, screamed that this was no ordinary place. The stairwell felt like a descent into some unholy underworld, each creak of the wooden steps reverberating through the silence like a warning.
As his boots hit the basement floor, Max’s piercing gaze swept the space, his senses sharpening as the room’s grotesque details emerged from the murk. The walls were lined with warped paintings, their frames jagged and twisted as if pulled from some fevered nightmare. The images depicted demonic figures cloaked in grotesque theatricality—faces painted in stark contrasts of black and white, with tongues like crimson blades and eyes that burned with an unholy light.
Max’s jaw tightened as his flashlight illuminated a mural stretching across an entire wall. The sheer scale of it made his pulse quicken—a horrific masterpiece that seemed alive in the flickering light. Four towering figures dominated the mural, each one grotesquely distinct. One, a crimson-skinned beast with curling horns, seemed to sneer at him directly. Another, cloaked in an aura of starry light, loomed with an almost regal menace. A feline monstrosity bristled with needle-like fur, and the final figure, angelic and infernal in equal measure, held a shattered star aloft as though mocking the heavens.
Between the figures were smaller, more chaotic images—disjointed glimpses of torment and ruin. Elizabeth Short’s face stared out from the chaos, her infamous mutilated smile etched with chilling precision, her hollow eyes filled with accusing silence. The words scrawled across the mural clawed at Max’s mind: "The Red Star Rises," "The Tainted Elect," and others too fragmented to comprehend.
He moved further into the room, the beam of his flashlight catching strange artifacts littered across the floor. A shattered bass guitar, its strings coiled like serpents, lay in a pool of congealed black ichor. Towering platform boots, encrusted with shards of glass and obsidian, stood upright as though their wearer had vanished into the ether. One wall was adorned with masks, their exaggerated, grotesque expressions frozen in eternal mockery. Each one seemed to watch him, their hollow eyes following his every step.
The flashlight’s beam passed over an effigy at the room’s center, and Max felt his stomach tighten. The totem stood like a sentinel of nightmares—four grotesque figures twisted together around a central pillar of bone and rusted metal. Their faces were frozen in expressions of anguish and rage, their forms so detailed they seemed to writhe beneath his gaze. At its base lay a heap of old newspapers, the topmost emblazoned with a faded headline: "Black Dahlia Murder: The Untold Secrets."
Max crouched, his flashlight casting harsh light over the papers. The pages were smeared with dried crimson handprints, the text partially obscured but still readable in fragments: "ritual," "sacrifice," "divine convergence." A photograph of Elizabeth Short was pinned beside the pile, her haunting beauty defiled by the addition of black stars crudely inked over her eyes.
He straightened, his broad frame tense as he scanned the room again. A mural on the opposite wall caught his attention—a city consumed by flames beneath a blood-red star. The burning skyline seemed to pulse with malevolent intent, and the figures writhing in its shadow were more monstrous than human. His knuckles whitened around the grip of his flashlight as a low, discordant hum filled the air, a sound that seemed to rise from the very foundations of the room.
Max’s flashlight landed on an altar at the far end of the room. Its surface was a tableau of horror—an ancient, serrated dagger rested atop a blackened tome, its cover embossed with an intricate sigil that seemed to shift and twist under the light. The sigil felt wrong in a way that made his breath catch, as though its very existence violated the natural order.
Beyond the altar, a half-open door revealed another staircase descending further into the earth. From it wafted a foul stench, a mix of sulfur and decay that made Max’s stomach churn. The air grew colder with each passing second, the chill burrowing into his skin and settling in his bones.
Max’s every sense was on high alert as he advanced, his flashlight tracing the macabre scene. The flickering light illuminated fleeting glimpses of torment and madness etched into every corner. Somewhere ahead, the unknown awaited, its presence coiling like a predator ready to strike. He tightened his grip on his weapon, his breath slow and controlled as he prepared to confront whatever horrors lay hidden in the depths below.
"Thanks," Alyssa said to Sung. She followed Max, trying to keep track of all the spotted clues. "Does this feel like the preverbal trail of breadcrumbs to anyone else?" The hacker asked, in a hushed tone. She continued to follow Max, keeping one hand on her knife and the other on her flashlight.