Ghosts of Dances Past (Noven)

[Amrita]

90th of Fall, 514 AV

Falling asleep used to be easy.

It took her a few years to figure out the perfect method. Within less than a chime, Amrita could quietly ease her mind and body into a blissful slumber using nothing but her fingers between her legs and her imagination. She’d come to find no other way to relax herself at night. Envisioning lascivious acts never made her feel guilty, especially when she believed that she did it with true love for the man of her dreams.

All that changed following the Benshira’s sentence. Having vowed a life devoted to mental and physical purity, she forbid herself from such kinds of ministrations. Restless nights filled with torturously lustful dreams became a norm for the first couple seasons without her nocturnal routine. She started to hate going to sleep, which then made her feel too tired to do anything during the day. The dancer needed a different solution.

What better way to break a habit than to create a new one?

Nowadays, falling asleep took a longer, more difficult method. Amrita created an intricate dance routine that she exercised every evening, a few bells before bed. Tonight, however, she had no time. After coming home late from a full day of planning for the seasonal performance at Dead Man's Tales, Amrita lazily slipped under her sheets. She felt too tired to even bother with changing out of her outfit, let alone a whole dance routine.

Slowly but surely, she drifted off to sleep; succumbing under the weight of a familiar world with no control…

…

……

………


“May I have this dance?”

Lutes, flutes and fiddles all wove together in a merry blend of music as Amrita beamed at the tall, dark man standing before her.

“Certainly!”

She took his hand and let him lead her into the overflowing flood of people laughing, singing, and dancing along to the beat of the song. Everyone was dressed up, but they looked as exquisitely ridiculous as the fake jewelry stall at the Yahebah markets.

“You look stunning tonight, m’lady.”

They were spinning. She giggled and blushed and wondered who he was and what he wanted and why they were here and—

…How she knew that she loved him.

[Noven]

He was back at Wolf Girl's party again, the familiar contours and furnishings of the Quay mere blurs in the background as people danced and laughed all around him. Food was being served, their enticing aromas wafting his way, and the crowd crew ever larger as more people showed up to the celebration.

Noven, however, had separated himself from the gaiety, ignoring both food and company with almost pained focus.

He was too busy gawking at all the dead.

Not every guest was one of them. But as the man's caustic gaze scanned the throng of party goers in no small amount of alarm, he could pick one out amongst the living with ease. Maybe it was the way their skin looked sallow as wax and showed patches of rotted flesh. Maybe it was how their eyes appeared clouded, stiff, and completely unable to blink due to rigor mortis.

Or maybe it was because he knew, in some fashion or other, he'd killed every last fucking one of them.

In that context, seeing this very specific sort of dead was down right unsettling. They weren't supposed to be here. Not at this party, not amongst the Scars. Bitzer would know, or perhaps One eye. Corpses hadn't been invited to this free for all.

As Nov's mind grappled with one incongruity after another, his eyes caught sight of something that halted all of his mental gears in mid churn. Out on the dance floor, he could see a woman with dark hair and sunkissed skin accepting a man's hand in invitation. For a moment, the cook's heart lurched, thinking he was seeing someone he knew. The couple was dancing now, turning gradually so that Nov could see their faces, and in the few ticks it took for this time happen he felt as if his body had frozen over.

Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't be de--

A shaky breath loosed itself from his lungs. Part of him was relieved that the woman was neither a corpse nor who he thought she was, with her achingly familiar features. But another part of him was rooted with horror moments later.

The man this stranger was dancing with...he was tall and dark, not unlike Noven himself. Smiling as well with ease and good nature, as he always did, and with a head of hair as dark and unruly as the cook's own. In fact, the two men looked similar enough that one might be mistaken for another in a bustling street, or trapped in the cold, death stained confines of a dead end alleyway...

Henry.

Without another tick's worth of hesitance, Nov rose abruptly from his isolated seat and shoved his way through the crowd. None of the party goers seemed to mind, merely shooting him an annoyed glare or two before continuing their dancing. The merc couldn't care less if Bitzer herself came to toss him out onto the streets. Whoever--whatever--this thing was, it had no place fooling the likes of an innocent bystander.

As soon as he got within two feet of the happy, twirling couple, Noven shot out his arm to grip Henry's and yanked the corpse off of the woman.

"We need to talk," he hissed before dragging the stiff-fleshed body behind him. Not to his surprise, Henry made no attempt at resisting, shooting his lady friend an apologetic smile before allowing his older--much older--friend to pull him off the dance floor and into the cold, evening air.

As soon as they were out, Nov stopped to let go of the dead man's arm and turned to face him with a mix of disbelief and suspicion. And after all these years, all this time of torment and unspoken words, the first thing to come out of his mouth was, "Henry...where the fuck have you been?"

[Amrita]

“Does it matter?”

With a voice so eerily calm, Henry smiled.

“You’ve got some nerve, Nov, pullin’ me away from a good time like that.” He shook his head in mock frustration, still smiling as he took step forward. “What’s up with you?” A swift arm came up to firmly clap his shoulder, shaking it with a grip as cold as ice. He started to laugh.

“Relaaax, buddy! No point in carin' about me now, ya idiot.” The abrasive insult was paired with a soft, yet stinging slap on his back. “How ‘bout we get back inside and grab a few drinks, eh? Come have some fun and stop killin’ the vibe for gods’ sake!”

It was almost as if the lad wanted to avoid having a decent conversation. He strode back into the party, presuming Noven would follow him as he searched for the woman he’d left behind. He spotted her standing by an empty table with a drink in her hand, grinning at the men and women twirling each other around.

Amrita had always enjoyed celebrations. They were a time of joy and frivolity; a chance to bond through boisterous laughter and belching stomachs. As fun as it was to be dancing and singing in this peculiar crowd, she struggled to dispel her growing nostalgia. Being reminded of home was never easy to handle. Home was a place of too many conflicting emotions. She took a swig of her drink and continued smiling, forcing back the tears in her eyes.

“Ah, there you are, sweetheart!” Amrita had almost forgotten about him. Which was odd, considering her overwhelming feelings of affection in his presence, just moments ago. A brief flicker of unease was immediately replaced by a strangely familiar certainty in undying love for the fine man.

“Allow my old friend here to apologize for so rudely interrupting us. I trust he’ll be friendlier this time – isn’t that right, Nov?”

Henry’s tone of bravado was identical to that which she’d been conditioned to admire. She could help but smirk in habit before realizing how flippant it would seem.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she chimed, offering a slight curtsey. “Both of you.” Amrita smiled coyly at the younger one.

“I’m Amrita, from the tents of Mizra and the sons of Rapa. And you are?” 

[Noven]

The corpse asked what served to be both a disarming question and mocking jest. Noven snarled in return.

It didn't seem to bother Henry in the slightest. Still playing the congenial, not-a-single-shred-of-ill-will-in-my-body old friend, he merely smiled and threw around some more light-hearted quips. Then his arm moved to grasp Nov's shoulders, hand clamping down in a frigid vise, and the cook fought a violent urge to snap his brittle bones in half.

It tore at the older of the two's conscience, seeing his friend so close to life. To how things used to be. For a tick, it felt like it was only yesterday when they were getting piss drunk by the fourteenth bell and making trouble down at the docks. They had no true concerns back then besides getting into fights, convincing pretty girls to spend time with them, and evading scoldings from Nona or Calyn. Nothing but foolish fancies for foolish boys. At the time, Nov remembered being a bit jealous of Henry, envying how free his best friend lived, with no mother to lecture him or cuff his ear anytime he came home reeking of trouble.

But those days had long since passed. Longer than Henry's still youthful--albeit lifeless--features let on, and accompanied by enough pain to pierce even a skull as thick as Noven's with the bloodied blade of truth.

Even still, hearing him talk like this...it twisted the merc's heart and stomach to see his old friend so vividly again. And the more he listened to Henry talk and tease, the more he wanted to believe the corpse wasn't a corpse. To believe that they could share a flicker of true camaraderie without remembering why Henry had died with his guts spilling out onto cold, uncaring stones.

And why Nov had gotten to live instead.

Rust colored eyes tracked the progress of Henry's back as it wove its way through the crowd. Cursing under his breath, Noven made to follow, long strides bridging the gap his friend had achieved in a matter of ticks. He couldn't decide for certain if Henry's corpse knew how it came to be this way, let alone if it harbored any resentment towards Nov himself. Only one way to find out.

As they carved their way through the throng--well, he carved, while Henry mostly glided with easy grace--voices seemed to fluctuate in volume, sometimes blaring against Nov's ears and other times fading to mere whispers, while the dancers themselves grew muddier and muddier in appearance. A snake with a human torso for a body slithered by, a plate of food propped on its head. But the cook was too focused on not letting Dead Henry out of his sight to pay much mind. It didn't even occur to him that no one else showed any signs they could recognize the difference between the living and the deceased. Nor notice full blooded Dhani's wrigging through the Quay. For all he knew, he could be the only one able to tell.

One thing was for certain: Henry's dance partner must have been seeing nothing but the most handsome and charming of men to be treating him so fondly.

In fact, she was so comfortable with the idea of being anywhere within a five foot radius of the walking cadaver that she gave a full introduction of herself. Amrita, from the tents of Mizra and the sons of Rapa. Noven knew enough to recognize her as someone from the Eyktol, but beyond that he only drew blanks.

"I'm afraid mine isn't quite as exotic and fascinating as yours, dearest Amrita," the younger man smiled with radiant warmth. "I go by the humble name of Henry, and this lump of a grump's name is Noven."

Nov said nothing. Showed no sign he'd even heard the corpse speak. He just stared at the woman Amrita with palpable concern, wondering if she, too, would turn up dead by the end of the night. Everyone and everything tended to whenever he was involved.

As his trail of thought grew darker, so did the dance floor. Somehow the various candles and torches that so gaily adorned the Quay's stone halls began to flicker and sputter. Flies were buzzing around the roast pork, broiled lamb shanks, and stuffed quails that had been heaped onto curiously rusted platters. And instead of following their hosts under natural law, shadows had begun to tear themselves free and slither up the walls in the background, as if they were trying to claw themselves free from the stones.

Nov caught only glimpses of it all in his peripheral. He shuddered visibly.

"We should leave," the merc suddenly announced, cutting Henry off mid sentence. His former friend had been complimenting Amrita, ever cloying and subtle in the ways he tried to cajole women into coming home with him. He did not look pleased to be interrupted a second time.

Turning his head halfway to frown at Nov, Henry responded, "What are you talking about, leave? We just got here."

"Not you," Noven all but growled, his voice fair rasping with conviction. "Her. You shouldn't be here in the first place...not after--not since Nona..." He warred with himself for a moment before finally blurting, "You're dead, Henry. You've been dead for years. Have you returned just to torture me? To make me pay? Because I--"

The man stopped mid sentence as every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Things had grown eerily silent. There were no more sounds of chatter, of food being eaten or tankards being filled or feet pattering against the floor. Just a total, deathly, hair raising absence of noise.

Nov turned very, very slowly to find every pair of eyes staring at the trio. Cold, clouded eyes with a spark of hunger lurking beneath the film of death.

"Henry...what..." he gaped as he looked back to his friend.

And that was when the first corpse sprung, teeth bared and nails raised like claws as it lunged for Amrita first.

[Amrita]

“NO!”

Her command was loud and firm as she pushed the men out of her way. The dancer instinctively raised her arms, palms facing the incoming corpse, and squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation.

I should’ve seen this coming.

The signs were all there. Blurry edges, swirling smoke, floating grace. Even the smell of rotting flesh had escaped her senses. She was so enamored by Henry that nothing else seemed to matter. Amrita inwardly cringed at her inability to reign in her lust just long enough to detect obvious danger. It was a weakness, and she knew it. And if the spirit was stronger than her limited training, it was a flaw that could endanger them all.

In one swift tick, the barred teeth and clawed nails diffused into a whirlwind of icy mist, shooting straight for Amrita’s chest. She felt it pierce through her skin and crawl within her limbs, quickly creeping up to her head. It wouldn’t be long until she’d lose control. With every ounce of strength she could muster, the dancer froze her body in place, resisting the ghost from possessing her completely.

She had to try and talk it out of her.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, or anyone else here.”

She kept her voice gentle and soft. “We don’t want any trouble – right, Noven?” The older man had been foolish to provoke a fellow ghost at what was clearly a mass haunting. She glanced back at Henry who stood with his arms crossed, a grimace plastered on his well materialized face. Amrita wondered whether the possessing ghost was a friend of his. “Henry, I’m not leaving,” she insisted with a smile. “I want to dance with you again. Don’t you want to continuing having fun, too?”

Amrita tried to pull at the side of him that served to mask his pain while she pushed against the will of the spirit.

Just let Henry do what he wants. He means nothing to you. The traitor needs to be taken care of. We can do it together.

Her eyes rolled back until her pupils could no longer be seen. Blank white sclera stared back, unblinking.

You’re wrong. Henry’s my friend now, and if he needs help, I’ll be there. I won’t let you take over until I talk to the man you call a traitor.

The battle of wills went unheard by the others. As Amrita twitched and jerked, struggling to break free, the stone walls started to ooze a dark, silvery fluid from every crevice. It glossed over every nook and cranny, forming a thick, smooth layer over all four walls of the Quay.

Alright. Talk to him. Find out for yourself, and then you will come to our side.

The mysterious ghost was ousted in a bright flash, causing Amrita to collapse on the floor. She was exhausted, sore, and thankfully conscious.

...But if the living planned on escaping, they were dearly mistaken.

A solid steel box trapped them inside, with no way out.  

[Noven]

Noven stared, uncomprehending, as Amrita's attacker dissolved into nothing more than harmless swirls of silver-white mist. For a moment, he thought the woman had somehow defeated the monster with sheer will. Or sorcery. Or something equally alien and mystifying.

But oh, how horribly, horribly wrong he'd been.

He watched as Amrita froze in place, as if she were focusing intensely inward. Nov couldn't tell if she was in pain or just concentrating. Maybe both, maybe neither. It wasn't until she began speaking, her voice gentle and cajoling, that he realized the woman was resisting. Was fighting. Then her eyes rolled back and suddenly things started to make more sense.

She was twitching now. Jerking and convulsing as if the smoky spirit that had tried to possess her was battling tooth and nail for control. But before a clear cut outcome could be determined, Nov found himself blinded by a bright flash. He raised his arms to shield himself from whatever had just exploded. Only to lower them again, blinking in confusion at the lack of impact and pain, as Amrita promptly collapsed onto the ground.

Ever the greater gentlemen of the two, Henry rushed to her side to check if she was unharmed. For the most part the woman seemed fine. Dazed and weary from whatever had just tried to usurp her will, but awake and undamaged.

Meanwhile, Nov stared at the oozing walls around them.

He had a bad, bad feeling about this.

The clink of metal locking into place drew his attention upwards. It sounded like it had come from above, though there was no physical evidence that it had. All the same, the noise injected an ill sense of foreboding into Noven's already blackened awareness. He couldn't shake the suspicion that they'd somehow been locked in.

What had once been the brightly lit confines of the Quay was now a giant, steel box. No doors, no windows, no latches of any kind. Just smooth, grey expanses of wall after wall in every direction he could see.

"The fuck is this?" Nov spat.

Still in the process of helping Amrita stand up, Henry glanced at his old friend before shaking his head. "Tact. Not a single shred, even after all these years."

Rearing his face in disbelief, Noven all but seethed, "Who the hell has time for that shyke? We're trapped in a gods damned box full of dead people and the only thing you can think of doing is telling me I don't talk pretty while you waste our last moments fondling that poor woman? What are we going to do, charm our way out of this sodding mess?"

That was probably the largest number of consecutive words he'd said in the past fortnight. But he was locked in a box, surrounded by folk who'd all died in some connection to him, and watching Henry blatantly hold onto Amrita like he was her bonafide lover. If ever there were a more fitting time to express angst, it was now.

"Funny you mention it," Henry smiled, still very much attached to the woman in his arms, "because that's precisely what you'll probably have to end up doing."

"Me?" Nov growled. "Why me?"

The younger man sighed, as if his third companion had the mental capacity of a two year old. "Really, Nov? You still haven't figured it out yet?" Finally releasing Amrita from his bodily grip, Henry waved his expensively clad arms about at the room and its openly hostile inhabitants. Strange. Noven never remembered seeing his friend in any sort of finery, except maybe the few pieces they managed to steal as gimmicks. When had he acquired such lavish tastes?

"This," Henry declared, "is the room in which you will be judged. And those, the people you stand accused of causing their untimely deaths." He wore the look of a tragic hero, all somber and eyes downcast as his hands turned inward. "Myself included."

Out of the corner of his peripheral, Noven though he saw some kind of dark patch amongst the walls and throngs of dead. Not bothering to sit around and wait for his victims to start their laundry lists of complaints, he spun on his heels, grabbed Amrita by the hand, and made a run for what appeared to be some kind of crack in the silvery stone walls.

Behind him, Henry only laughed.

"Aren't we a little too old for hide and seek, old friend?"

[Amrita]

“S-stop, p-please--” she rasped, her body screaming in pain as she was forcibly dragged across the floor. She tried to yank her arm from his grip, but her feeble effort was in vain against his determined strength. Amrita couldn’t understand why he’d want her to come with him. Hadn’t she made herself clear? She didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t leave. Not until she found out the truth, and not until Henry was satisfied.

Whether he heard her or not, it wouldn’t matter. They were soon halted by what had simply been a mirage in Noven’s eyes.

Amrita stood by his side, studying his darkened gaze still desperately searching for a way to escape. She sighed, terrified and baffled all at once. Here she was, trapped inside a room full of dead people, and their apparent killer. There wasn’t much she could do, other than work with the little that she’d come to know. And they were safe for now… well, that’s not true. Ghosts were fairly unpredictable.

Out of breath and in dire need of rest, the dancer shuffled over to a nearby seat. With presumably nowhere to go, she assumed the strange man would take a hint and join her at the table. The room was still quiet, all eyes watching the pair’s every move. It was annoying.

“You can stare all you want,” she yelled, hands combing through her hair as she arched her back. “But this man should not be touched until I find out what’s going on.” Pointing at Noven, the dancer surveyed the room, hoping with all her heart that these spirits would stay calm. It was certainly audacious to address the mass gathering with such an air of authority, despite being such an amateur. She reckoned that the demand would at least keep the weak ones at bay. The rest was a gamble.

A soft chuckle bubbled from behind her. “My love, I know you want to help,” said Henry, his words ever so sweet and tender. Palms pressed down on her shoulders, kneading out the tense knots around her neck. “But I’m afraid my pal here is a lost cause. He’ll try to win you over, darling, but it won’t change the truth. He killed us all. What more do you need to know?”

Amrita drummed her fingers against the cracked, wooden table. “Mhmm,” she paused, tilting her head to smile up into his eyes. “Henry dear, thank you, that felt wonderful.” She gently tugged on his shirt to bring his head closer to hers.

“I need to know what you want,” she purred, in honeyed innocence.

It was a ploy. The further she could take his mind off of Noven, the safer they’d be. But Amrita would be lying if she said her desires were solely focused on helping them leave here, unscathed.

Should Henry respond, Amrita would take his answer at face value and assure him that his wants were hers as well. He’d then ask if she was hungry before deciding to go fetch drinks and food for the woman who just quelled the wrath of a bat-shyke crazy ghost. She'd won with a will of steel, and she wasn't about to break it without meaningful answers.

Turning to face the man accused of being both a murderer and a traitor, Amrita held her breath, not at all confident that any of this was worth the trouble. That he was worth the trouble. Sure, she was kind and empathetic and generally incapable of hatred in any way, shape, or form. But how much mercy can you have on a serial killer?

“Noven,” started the dancer, hands folded on the table. “I know you don’t like ‘pretty talk’, so I won’t beat around the bush.”

She shrugged. “Just… tell me why you killed them.”

[Noven]

Nov stopped dead in his tracks as they arrived at the dark patch he'd spotted earlier. He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he wasn't seeing right. But when the man looked again, it was still just a solid stretch of wall, with no opening to show for. He stubbornly refused to believe he'd been wrong and stood there for a good tick or two, grip slackening enough for Amrita to extract herself from him.

Sodding hell. Nothing was going right tonight, and on top of it all he'd begun to hallucinate. Or maybe the room was taunting him on purpose. Because it could, and had been ever since it locked them in. Nov fought the sudden urge to fling himself into the crowd of cadavers and end this mess altogether.

But, even as this thought flitted through his mind, he knew it was not an option. Everything in his life up until then had shaped him to fight. His abandonment at Sunset, his survival on the streets of the Berth, Nona. There wasn't a single bone in his body that actually found the idea of surrendering appealing. Whispers of doubt occasionally plagued his mind, but they rarely if ever found true purchase.

The woman was speaking again. Blinking, Nov turned toward her, and realized the man she claimed should not be touched was himself. Amrita pointed at him as her confident gaze swept across the room, and for a moment he felt a flicker of hope that they might actually live to see morning. Why he assumed the worst possible scenario would involve their deaths wasn't something Noven bothered to analyze; it just seemed the logical end to a completely illogical and nightmarish debacle of a night.

He was still staring balefully at the undead party goers when Amrita's conversation with Henry took place. “What I want?” the ghost purred back, breath so warm against her bare skin it felt impossible not to be real. “I thought I'd made that obvious enough...”

Henry chuckled softly as he moved his lips to rest beside Amrita's ear. “I just want recompense. A little atonement for my sufferings and troubles. Nothing more, my love, and nothing less.” His tone suddenly shifted into something far more care free and doting. “Have you gotten enough to eat tonight, dear? You've barely managed more than a bite or two.”

Nov heard none of it, despite having taken a seat right across the table. He did, however, find his attentions returning to the woman as she shifted. By the time the merc had his sights on her again, all he could see was Henry's back weaving through the silent, staring crowd once more.

And the flush of desire right before Amrita turned to regard him as well. Noven felt a rising sliver of suspicion. Something had happened between the woman and his former friend, and whatever it was, he doubted it would work in his favor. Not to mention the way she held her breath as if considering something. Was she sizing him up, trying to detect all the falsehoods Henry had undoubtedly poured into her ears? Or was she deliberating whether she should cut her losses, retract her earlier words and throw him out like a bone to be chewed by a pack of rabid dogs? If Nov had been in her position, he might very well have considered the same. After all, the ghouls were connected seemingly to just one person, not both.

...Heh, who was he kidding? A leery, old friend, a beautiful woman, and a room full of bad news with no hope of escaping. He'd be crazy to pass up an opportunity to get himself elbows deep in unchecked, therapeutic violence.

The cook had every intention of fighting his way out of this shyke hole. Nevermind that the Quay was no longer the Quay and the once steel, grey walls of their prison was starting to pulse like it was somehow alive. Damn the lot of them and their unblinking stares. It was petching creepy.

But then came Amrita's unexpected question and Nov found himself caught in hesitation. She wasn't kidding about not beating around the bush. Who knew such a simple inquiry could so thoroughly thwart his belligerent plans?

As Noven furrowed his brow to consider her words, crimson veins began to branch out like thousands of needle-fine spider webs across the walls. Through their intricate pathways, blood gushed and pumped, and somehow the perfectly straight surfaces of their prison-box had begun to grow uneven. Slick, pudgy, like the inner linings of a freshly gutted pig.

After a handful of ticks, the man scoffed and shook his head. "Why I killed them? More like, why haven't I killed more."

Nov pointed at one of the undead onlookers. "See him, the bloke with half a skillet burn for a face? Yeah, that there's a more recent addition. He tried to rape a friend of mine right outside the orphanage after spending his day playing serial murderer." His finger moved one ugly, pale-blue mug over. "Oh, and don't forget his buddy right next to him. He didn't make it out alive either, but maybe the other two I didn't kill managed to give him a decent send off. Not that either of these fucking pricks deserved it."

Continuing to move down the row of glowering corpses, he muttered, "So that means him, him, him, her, him, definitely him, and hi--her? Er, didn't quite figure out by the end which one, the poor sod...

Noven retracted his finger for a moment to rub at his chin. Then he nodded.

"Yup, rapists. Every last one of them. Yes, even the broad in the fancy smock. Should I move on to the thieves, gangsters, two timing whores, slavers, and various other orphan-napping scum, or would that be enough to satisfy your curiosities, miss?"

He was angry now. He didn't even know why, he just was. Not at the woman, not at Henry. At himself. At the world. At everything that had burned him so close to the ground he was left with no possible way of remembering what it even felt like not to be hurting. To be wading relentlessly through the never-ending muck and misery of a living death.

"And how about the rest of you shit eating filth?" Nov snarled as he rose from his chair. "What's the matter, death got your tongues, or are you all just too damn happy to see me? "

None of them said a word. Just stood there staring, brewing with palpable tension.

"COME ON!" the man shouted in sheer frustration. "YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME? THEN COME FUCKING GET IT!"

He was halfway through hoisting up his chair and preparing to chuck it out amongst the crowd when one of the dead stepped forward. Noven wavered where he stood, chest heaving, furniture raised high above his head. Choking out something unintelligible, he set the chair back down as disbelief swallowed him whole. "Leania?"

His voice sounded meek and feeble, even to his own ears. But the girl child standing in front of him was no mirage. She looked so frail, so hungry...there hadn't been enough food at the orphanage, and Leania was ever the sickly thing...

"Why, Nov?" the orphan asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Why didn't you save me? Why are all the others alive and not me?"

She took a step forward. Her shoes were worn to the soles and patched over a dozen times, just like they had been real life. The cook stared at them as if they were the only things he could see anymore. He remembered how they'd been removed from her feet when she died, how they were redistributed to another child because Jillene could barely afford food, let alone new shoes.

"Why did you let me die?" She was so close now, near enough to see the pale, blue veins that ran up her stick thin ankles. "Was it because you thought I was weak? I know you look down on the weak...you always have..."

Noven shook his head feebly from side to side as he sank to his knees. The ground before him blurred. "No...all wrong...I didn't--Leania..."

[Amrita]

Amrita wasn’t prepared for his answer. She sat in silence as he spat every word with utter disgust and anger. Her stomach churned, realizing that this man was far more… rational than she’d expected.

If only he’d been an insanely depraved miscreant of sorts, things would’ve been far easier. Her conscience could’ve been clear while the ghosts used her body to their hearts' content. But as Noven pointed out the mass of degenerate vermin, she averted her gaze, cursing under her breath when she felt herself swaying to his side. He spoke with no signs of remorse for his deeds.

No. Stop. Focus. He’s a traitor. A killer. Atonement is necessary.

The reminder ran through her mind as she shut her eyes and heard the rage rising in his voice. Noven turned his questions to the crowd. She wanted to stop him, calm him down, say something, anything to prevent the man from causing any more trouble. But when she opened her eyes, Amrita relaxed. He couldn’t hurt them. A chair would barely make them flinch. Instead, she waited, knowing that he was probably too clueless to do any real harm. Noven just needed time to vent. To adjust. To understand that he had no power over the immaterial dead.

The walls throbbed as the mesh of crimson veins continued to grow thicker and thicker, concealing every spot of silver steel with sinewy flesh. It escaped Amrita’s notice. She was too focused on the little girl who managed to thwart the fury from Noven’s eyes.

…Was that guilt?

The once fuming madman was now reduced to a stammering mess. Slightly shocked, Amrita rose from her seat and slowly made her way over to the pair. She stood beside Noven, gazing down at the girl’s solemn, pale face. There was nothing she could say. She couldn’t answer her questions. She couldn’t help cure her misery. No matter how badly Amrita yearned to free the child's soul from suffering, she couldn’t. Not for Leania, and not for any other ghost in the room.

Only one person could relieve them.

“Noven… she needs you.” Amrita spoke softly as she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on the child’s cold cheek. She grazed her thumb over the flickering mist while she held back the tears in her eyes.

“They all need you. Can’t you see? If it weren’t for you, they wouldn’t be here. And without your help, every spirit in this room lives on in perpetual despair. Is that what you want?” Maybe he didn’t care about the rest of them. Maybe he believed that the others deserved to suffer.

All of a sudden, a mysterious beam of pure white light shone down on Noven, illuminating his kneeling frame. Booming laughter then broke through the muted whispers of the crowd.

It was Henry.

“Nov? Help? HA!” His voice was unnaturally amplified, echoing across the pulsing walls. He gulped down the intangible drink in his hand and tossed the mug to the side, grinning from ear to ear. “That selfish son of a bitch has never helped anyone other than himself!” Henry howled until he started to hiccup, slowly sauntering towards her as he materialized in full color. “You think -hic- he’s gonna start -hic- havin’ some sense of -hic- humanity NOW? YEA RIGHT!”

Amrita was stunned. Why was he so upset, so suddenly?

“Henry, please, just—”

“SHUT UP!” He yelled, making her wince in panic. “You -hic- have NO IDEA what I’ve been through. Just let me -hic- take care of this bastard, and then you and I can get out of here.” Henry blindly lunged forward, rushing straight towards them with increasing speed.

Whatever happened next, one thing was certain: Amrita wouldn’t know whether it was stupidity or bravery that made her instinctively shove herself in front of Noven.

[Noven]

A soft hand and softer words forced the overwhelming miasma of despair to recede. He'd never bothered to question it before, but Noven was suddenly very aware that Amrita was, in fact, part of the living and not the dead. The warmth of her palm attested to it, as did her compassion and reason.

"Me...?" he echoed in disbelief.

But why? Nov didn't want them here anymore than they did. If all of these lost souls were truly suffering, then why couldn't they just leave and let him be?

Before he could say as much to the woman, a blinding beam of white light shone over him, temporarily robbing him of his vision. Noven held up a hand to shield his eyes and fought the immediate urge to scramble away. He hated being put on the spot--it went against every instinct of survival in his body--and nothing said 'center of attention' quite like a giant, searing shaft of spotlight shining right over your head.

When he tried to look beyond his hand, Nov saw only white patches amidst a sea of black. The blasted light was making it impossible to open his eyes more than a crack. Fortunately, the brightness only inhibited his sight, not his hearing.

Henry's laughter echoed round and round the room. He spoke mocking, spiteful words, voice nearing as it rose in volume and animosity. At some point, Noven heard the clang of an empty cup being tossed haphazardly onto the floor. Dead Henry was drunk, which never boded well. Drunk Henry in life had been prone to bouts of extreme passions and emotions. He could just as quickly proclaim his undying love for a total stranger as he could start a brawl with a lifelong friend over some trivial joke.

But now, what they had on their hands was Dead and Drunk Henry. Every muscle on Noven's body tensed as he remained kneeling in the center of the spotlight.

From the sound of things, Amrita was doing her best to calm her dancing partner. But Henry would not be swayed and went so far as to order her to shut up. That single, crass phrase reminded Nov all too well of the violence that usually followed; it wasn't so much the words as it was the arrogant, brash tone that made the merc clench his jaw in reawakening anger.

Then came Henry's final words and a near inaudible woosh of something lunging forward. This was it, then. He finally meant to fight. Almost relieved, Noven rose to meet his opponent. Henry wasn't the only one itching to throw some punches.

And that was when the beam of light suddenly vanished, leaving black spots blossoming across Nov's eyes. He didn't even know Amrita had rushed forward to block Henry's path until it was too late. "Have you lost your mind, woman?" he shouted, "get out of the way! He'll--"

One tick Henry was plowing full speed toward them both. The next, his body dissipated into a fine mist, passing right through Amrita, before coalescing behind her once more. A terrifying leer stretched across his undead face.

And then he socked Noven right in the face.

The merc felt nothing, only a phantom of pain, like he was merely recalling a time he'd been punched long, long ago. But the force and unexpected arrival of the attack went unmitigated and sent him crashing to the ground. All around the crowd of specters went mad with approval. Nov barely had time to struggle back onto his inexplicably too-heavy feet when Henry went in for another blow. And another. And another. Until he had his old friend pinned to the ground, unable to do anything more than shield himself with his arms.

An eerily familiar voice cut through the din of jeering dead. It was preceded by a trill of chuckles and then sensuous sigh that had every fiber in Noven's being screaming for him to run.

"What's the matter, my pet?" Krysus, the Goddess of Murder and Pain, cooed as she floated into view in all of her breath-taking, horrifying loveliness. "Why don't you fight back?" She flicked back a gleaming strand of red hair, her skin-tight garments revealing her nubile, teenage body with almost sickening clarity.

He looked up at Henry, who had frozen in mid swing, expecting the malicious undead to be frightened. Nov certainly was. Out of his wits and about ready to piss himself kind of frightened. But, to his complete dismay, the leer on Henry's face only widened as he opened his mouth to augment the goddess's words. "That's right, Little Red. Why aren't you hitting back? Is it because you know you can't hurt me, or is it because you've finally accepted you deserve to die."

Noven dragged himself out from under Henry in silence. He wouldn't deign to answer either of them. He just needed to get the petch out of here. There were too many to fight, and his limbs were so damnably heavy. Every punch he'd tried to throw thus far may as well have been executed by an infant.

Together, the goddess and undead laughed at him, encouraging him to try and escape. Which was exactly what Nov did, heedless of their jibes and derision. He managed to get back on his feet at some point and made straight for one of the flesh-walls. Then, unsheathing one of his Tamos, the merc stabbed into the slimy, roiling surface, sawing away at it with single-minded determination.

"Ah, ah, ah." Krysus shook her flawless, molten head in disapproval. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, pet."

Noven ignored her. He was going to hack them an exit if it was the last thing he did. A sharp, stinging pain broke out along his abdomen, but he ignored that, too. Probably just some of his stitches feeling the strain of his vigorous escape plan.

Blood seeped through his tunic as he continued stabbing.