Encounterlogs
Khajahs Odd Encounter Sr Claudia 241224
In a haunting encounter at an abandoned chapel, a determined investigator finds himself embroiled in a chilling confrontation with Khajah, a menacing and supernatural entity. Amidst the decay and desolation of this forsaken place of worship, the investigator's initial exploration is cut short by the startling appearance of Khajah, emerging like a monstrous specter from the rubble. Cloaked in darkness and wrath, she issues a bone-chilling warning for him to leave, her voice amplified by an ear-shattering screech that sets the stage for an otherworldly conflict. Surrounded by a maelstrom of sinister insects summoned by Khajah's command, the atmosphere turns palpably tense, with the investigator caught in a struggle for understanding and survival against a force beyond the realm of the known.
As Khajah's fury manifests into a terrifying, insectile behemoth, the investigator's situation grows increasingly dire. His attempts to stand his ground, driven by both duty and curiosity, are met with ferocious resistance, embodied by the monstrous entity's daunting presence and relentless assault. Despite his efforts to combat the creature with his available tools and training, he quickly realizes the futility of his actions against such a formidable adversary. Khajah's haunting chants of abandonment and resilience only add to the investigator's torment, moving the encounter from a physical to a profoundly psychological battle. In the end, the investigator's harrowing escape from the chapel marks not only a physical retreat but a deep, unsettling realization of his own limitations in the face of the supernatural, leaving him forever altered by the night's eerie events.
(Khajah's odd encounter(SRClaudia):SRClaudia)
[Mon Dec 23 2024]
In the altar of an Abandoned Chapel
At the far end of the chapel, the altar area remains a poignant relic amidst the encroachment of nature. Overgrown with moss and framed by the intruding arms of forest vines, it stands as a stark reminder of the chapel's sacred past, now fading under the relentless march of the wild. Behind it once stood a beautiful, mirrored altar piece, but now it's cracked and broken.
It is afternoon, about 35F(1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
The air inside the abandoned chapel is colder than the biting winds outside, as though the stone walls and crumbling beams hoard the chill of decades. Shafts of pale light cut through the shattered stained-glass windows, painting fractured images of saints and martyrs on the uneven floor. The snow from the outside world dusts the edges of the stonework, creeping in like an unwelcome guest.
At the far end of the chapel looms the altar, a mournful relic of a forgotten sanctity. What was once an intricate centerpiece of worship now seems devoured by nature's slow reclamation. Vines crawl up the walls and reach like skeletal fingers over the altar's surface, their sinewy forms entwined with patches of moss that cling stubbornly to the cold stone. The mirrored altar piece, once polished to a gleaming perfection, now bears deep cracks. Splintered fragments of glass catch the meager light, reflecting a broken kaleidoscope of the decay that surrounds it.
An oppressive quiet rules the place. No birdsong pierces the air; no rustle of small creatures disturbs the heavy silence. Only the sound of distant, crackling frost on the wooden beams breaks the spell, faint and sporadic, like a dying heartbeat. The heavy scent of damp earth mixes with the faint tang of rusted iron, an unsettling aroma that lingers just enough to make the breath catch in the throat. The weathered pews, rotted and tilted, seem frozen in mockery of the worshippers they once supported.
Near the altar, the remnants of human activity stand out in stark contrast to the wild encroachment. Faint boot prints mar the layer of dust on the ground, leading in circles, a dance of indecision or dread. A tattered bag slouches against a column, its contents partially spilled: a flashlight, a notebook, and what looks like an old map. These items- left haphazardly, as though their owner either fled or succumbed to distraction- add to the suffocating tension.
The chapel doors creak with every icy gust of wind, sending faint echoes skittering along the stone walls. Despite the evidence of recent visitation, the atmosphere carries the weight of something ancient, malignant, and unyielding. The forest outside- a tangled mass of skeletal branches and evergreen sentinels- presses against the cracked windows, casting jagged shadows that dance when the light shifts. The shadows don't behave as they should; at times, they seem to stretch against the beams of light, clawing toward the chapel's core, as if they too seek communion with whatever secrets the altar keeps.
The investigator's arrival breaks the fragile peace of the scene. The crunch of boots against frozen earth stops at the doorway. There is no immediate attempt to enter. Instead, the figure lingers just beyond the threshold, a silhouette framed by the dim grayness of the outside world. One gloved hand rests on the doorframe, the other clutching something unseen- perhaps a weapon, or perhaps something more mundane. The breath of the lone officer puffs out in white clouds, steady, measured, and patient. Whoever they are, they are no stranger to these situations, though it is unclear if that steadiness comes from confidence or fear kept tightly leashed.
The chapel seems to respond to the presence of an outsider. A sudden shift in the air brings with it the faintest whisper- a sound like the brushing of silk on stone- though the source is invisible. The mirrored altar piece catches a flicker of movement, but when the investigator steps into the chapel proper, the fractured glass shows only warped reflections of the shattered interior.
In the stillness, the oppressive cold becomes almost tactile, pressing in from all sides. The altar, with its cracked mirror and mantle of vines, dominates the scene, as if daring the investigator to approach. The faint remnants of candles sit atop the stone surface, their wicks long burned away, yet one might almost imagine the flicker of a flame in the corner of the eye. The atmosphere thickens with every step closer, and the faint scent of rust seems to sharpen, becoming almost metallic.
Beyond the altar, the rear of the chapel holds nothing but darkness, where Khajah presumably is, for now out of sight, of the investigator's flashlight beaming this way and that. The forest's vines have made greater inroads there, weaving through the cracks in the stone to form a natural lattice that obscures whatever lies beyond. The light from the investigator's flashlight reveals little; the shadows pool too thickly, as though resisting illumination. From time to time, a faint sound emanates from the darkness- a soft, rhythmic tapping, barely audible, but insistent. It is not the sound of dripping water; it carries a deliberate cadence, like knuckles against wood.
Time stretches thin, the cold seeping deeper as if trying to drag the investigator into the chapel's frozen grasp. Whatever has drawn them here- supernatural reports that they've reclutantly agreed to look into after some incessant prying from the higher-ups, or the hunt for a fugitive- is almost forgotten in the suffocating weight of the place. The air itself seems to murmur warnings, the faint whispers dancing just out of comprehension. Still, the altar waits, unyielding and patient, like a judge awaiting the condemned.
Far beyond the veil of trees outside, the distant sound of an engine stutters into silence, the lone investigator's backup vehicle faltering before its driver comes too close. No help will come soon, though they can't have known it yet. The chapel holds its secrets tightly- and will not let go so easily.
Slow and sinuous like the serpents she decorates herself with, Khajah drags herself out of the rubble she had been left behind in, her joints too flexible to be human and her long black hair scattered over her too-perfect visage. She is covered in blood and stone dust, yet without a scratch on her, like a beast rising from the demolished bones of the chapel. Or like a Grudge, undying and delivering curses upon those who dare to come this close to her vicinity. Something, or someone, has scorned her, and so it is the investigator's unfortunate luck that her kohl-black stare befalls him, deadly and infuriated by something that surely cannot be his fault. "Leave this place..." is her only warning as the tattered remains of her bandeau fall from her shoulders, unveiling full, dark breasts as much as it unveils the stygian black wings of an angel fallen from grace.
Black spittle drools from between Khajah's lips as she glares up at him, her body shivering, her teeth stained black by its consistency, and then she repeats, her volume ear-shattering, as is her pitch: "LEAVE!!!!" The sheer force of her screech causes rubble to fall from the abandoned chapel's ceiling, and as though they had always been there, a plague of winged and biting insects takes flight at her call, enshrouding her like a tornado before starting to take some unholy shape in amalgamation of them all. Scarabs, wasps, locusts, biting flies, all congeal upon her at her tormented demand.
The investigator stands frozen at the threshold of the chapel, the fragile peace of the desolate place shattered by the emergence of the figure from the rubble. The cold air carries the screeching reverberation of Khajah's warning, a sound that seems to reach not just the ears but the marrow of the bones.
As the debris shifts and falls away from her form, the investigator's breath becomes visible, shorter and quicker than before, clouding the space between them. His flashlight shakes slightly in his hand, the beam of light cutting across the swirling haze of dust and landing on the darkened wings that now unfurl from her back. The beam catches the sheen of the black spittle dripping from her lips, highlighting her inhuman elegance and rage.
The words she utters- "Leave this place"- echo in the cavernous space, mingling with the sudden flurry of movement that accompanies her. The walls tremble, the vines quiver, and the stone seems to groan as though the very foundation of the chapel takes offense at her fury. Her second command comes like a detonation, her screech tearing through the silence and causing the investigator to instinctively shield his ears. The sound is relentless, unnatural, and all-consuming. The roof answers her call with a groaning protest, dislodging rubble that crashes to the floor with deafening finality.
Then come the insects.
They rise from the shadows as if summoned from the depths of some primal abyss, a swarm of shimmering black wings and chittering legs. The sound of their collective flight is a chaotic symphony, a high-pitched drone that drowns out the investigator's own thoughts. Scarabs with iridescent shells, wasps armed with venomous stingers, and locusts that buzz with unsettling speed all converge on Khajah, cloaking her like a living shroud. The air itself becomes a battlefield, thick with the writhing, crawling, stinging mass of creatures.
The investigator takes a step back, the light from his flashlight barely penetrating the swirling darkness. He tries to keep his composure, his breathing shallow as he scans the chaos. His training kicks in, and he raises his free hand to fumble for the device clipped to his belt. Static bursts to life as he presses a button, but the sound is garbled, the signal seemingly smothered by the unnatural energy in the chapel. Whatever he tries to say is lost to the ether, drowned by the relentless buzz of wings and the echoes of Khajah's voice.
The swarm shifts, condensing and expanding, taking on a shape that defies comprehension. The amalgamation of insects seems to writhe with purpose, forming grotesque patterns that flicker like something alive and deliberate. For a moment, the investigator's flashlight beam catches what looks like an almost humanoid silhouette within the swarm, but it dissolves into chaos before his eyes can make sense of it.
The temperature in the room plummets further, frost spreading in jagged veins across the altar and the floor, creeping toward the investigator's boots. His breath comes faster now, plumes of white fog that mingle with the dust and insect wings. The oppressive atmosphere presses in on him, making the act of standing his ground feel like an impossible feat. Yet, something in him- whether it's training or sheer stubbornness- keeps him from fleeing outright.
The chapel itself seems to conspire against him. The walls pulsate with a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat, faint but growing louder, and the shadows lengthen unnaturally, reaching toward him with clawed fingers. The investigator's gaze darts toward the altar, which now looms larger and more menacing, as if feeding off the chaos. The fractured mirror catches glimpses of the scene, reflections that don't align with reality. In those shards, Khajah's form appears twisted and exaggerated, her wings casting grotesque shapes that defy the geometry of the space.
The investigator adjusts his stance, grounding himself as best he can. He's no fool; he knows he's outmatched, but retreat is not yet an option. His flashlight flickers once, then twice, before stabilizing, and he lifts it higher, the light a thin but defiant beam against the encroaching darkness. His hand brushes against the sidearm at his hip, but he hesitates to draw it. What good would bullets do against something like this?
The swarm begins to coalesce more purposefully now, swirling tighter around Khajah as though responding to her fury. The chapel hums with energy, a frequency felt in the chest more than heard. The investigator's thoughts race, piecing together fragments of information, trying to make sense of the impossible. This isn't just a supernatural event; it's a manifestation of something far older and far angrier.
He forces himself to take another step back, his boots crunching against the frost-covered floor. His eyes remain locked on the figure at the center of the storm, every instinct screaming at him to run. And yet, even as the swarm threatens to consume everything in its path, the investigator's jaw sets, a grim determination flickering in his eyes. He doesn't leave- not yet.
"GET OUT!!" Khajah screams at the top of her lungs at a pitch high enough to ooze the blood from the man's ears, her hoard of creepy crawlies finally congealing into one semi-solid mass; it is a hulking behemoth with a vaguely humanoid shape, like a sludge monster crawled out of the sewers and constantly oozing a black dribble of bugs. Its hollow eyes and empty mouth fixate upon the man who refuses to leave, the man who dares to reach for a gun rather than saving his own life by fleeing. Now the monstrosity bellows, too, an echoing roar that rattles the bones of those present before its massive right arm lifts above its head, then swings down hard in the direction of the flashlight-wielding intruder. Perhaps he will survive this. Perhaps he won't. But if he is unwilling to risk that chance, he has a split second to flee before the impact will inevitably crush his bones.
"He left me.. They all leave me.. They all think I'm weak. I'm not weak. I'm not.." Khajah whispers repeatedly under her breath like a chant, her eyes unfocused and her mind elsewhere as she mulls over her own thoughts and weaknesses- but this beast is certainly not one of them. This monster could level a building if only it were commanded to do so.
The investigator's flashlight trembles in his grip as Khajah's shriek slams into him with a force that feels physical, a vibration rattling through his skull. Blood trickles from his ears, warm trails running down his neck, but the agony of it barely registers compared to the overwhelming terror surging through his chest. The mass of insects, once chaotic and swirling, now takes on a grotesque shape that towers above him- a nightmare given flesh, or something worse. Its hollow, insectoid eyes fix on him, its yawning, empty mouth an abyss that threatens to swallow his soul whole.
He doesn't have time to think, barely time to react, before the beast roars. The sound crashes over him like a tidal wave, shaking his very bones and threatening to unmoor his sanity entirely. He staggers back, his free hand instinctively clutching his sidearm as the creature's massive arm rises. It's a swing that could end him, a crushing force that would shatter his body into so much meat and bone against the frost-rimed chapel floor.
The flashlight beam wavers wildly, catching glimpses of jagged teeth formed from the shifting swarm of bugs, slick and glistening with an unholy sheen. Every fiber of the investigator's being screams to run, but his feet remain rooted for one moment too long. The creature's shadow falls over him, impossibly vast, and the air around him seems to constrict, dense and heavy with dread.
A primal instinct finally takes hold, and he dives to the side just as the massive arm crashes down, splintering the stone floor where he'd stood. The impact sends shards of debris flying in all directions, a concussive wave that throws him farther than his dive intended. He lands hard, the air knocked from his lungs, his flashlight skittering across the floor to rest against a moss-covered pew. The light flickers but doesn't die, casting a dim, trembling glow across the ruin.
"God God, what is this?!" he wheezes, his voice trembling and barely audible over the cacophony of buzzing wings and Khajah's relentless, muttered chant. His hand scrabbles for his radio again, but static screeches through the device, the unnatural energy in the chapel reducing it to a useless hunk of plastic.
"Damn it!" he curses, his voice cracking as he pushes himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. He grabs for his flashlight and twists his head toward the creature. It hasn't moved yet, its hollow eyes fixed on him with an almost mechanical malice, its dripping maw hanging open like a guillotine waiting to fall. Its black, oozing body shifts constantly, scarabs and flies falling from its surface only to be replaced by more, the swarm never diminishing, only evolving.
It's not just terror that grips him now but a sickening certainty that no weapon he carries could harm this thing. His sidearm feels like a child's toy against the monstrosity. He staggers back further, every step feeling like a lifetime as he struggles to find balance in the chaos. The chapel, already an oppressive ruin, feels alive now, its walls breathing with shadows and its roof groaning in response to the creature's roar.
The investigator makes for the door, his instincts overtaking his training. His boots slip on frost and debris, sending him sprawling once, his palms scraping against jagged stones as he scrambles back to his feet. Behind him, the beast shifts again, its arm lifting with agonizing slowness for another strike. The sound of its movements is a guttural, wet slurp, like tar being dragged across stone, and the chapel seems to amplify it, turning every sound into a deafening symphony of dread.
"No, no, no, no" he mutters under his breath, each repetition a desperate prayer as he stumbles toward the exit. The light from the outside world- cold, gray, and unwelcoming as it is- seems impossibly distant, the door far further than it had been when he'd first stepped inside. His flashlight catches glimpses of movement in the pews: smaller shadows, perhaps rodents or perhaps something worse, stirred by the chaos and darting away from the monstrous presence.
Khajah's chant grows louder, each word like a nail driven into his psyche. "He left me They all leave me" Her voice carries a venomous edge, but her attention seems momentarily diverted, her gaze turning inward as though lost in the echoes of her own torment. It's a fleeting reprieve, one the investigator doesn't dare waste.
The monster's arm swings again, the sound of displaced air a thunderous rush, but this time the strike is less precise, crashing into a support beam and sending a cascade of ancient wood and stone tumbling to the floor. The investigator doesn't look back. He's running now, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing as adrenaline floods his veins. The door looms ahead, still impossibly far, but he focuses on it with a singular desperation.
The buzzing of the swarm grows louder, a relentless tide that seems to follow him. The creature doesn't need to give chase; its very presence dominates the space, filling every corner with its unholy essence. The chapel seems to shift around him, the walls closing in, the light dimming further as though the building itself conspires to trap him.
He reaches the doorway at last, his hands slamming against the warped wood as he stumbles through. The cold air outside is a shock to his system, but it's a small mercy compared to the suffocating dread within. He doesn't stop running, his boots crunching over snow and frost as he puts as much distance as possible between himself and the chapel. Behind him, the buzzing begins to fade, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the forest. But the image of the creature, of Khajah's wrathful gaze, burns into his mind, a scar that will not fade.
The investigator knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's insi
The investigator knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's inside that chapel, it's beyond his understanding, and it's something he prays he never has to face again. It's another night in Haven, where the natural is thwarted - by sheer will at that, and animosity lingering. There isn't possibly much a lone investigator could've done in the first place when faced with something on the caliber of Khajah - whether he knows or not, aware of the scopes or otherwise. His heels are torn in his escape, and it is a night he won't forget. Not only that, one that will spell certain ruin. A man lost in the grip of his understanding, of insanity manifesting because of a close encounter of the supernatural kind; the Khajah kind.
That flashlight kept trembles in the man's grip as Khajah's shriek slams into him with a force that feels physical, a vibration rattling through his skull. Blood trickles from his ears, warm trails running down his neck, but the agony of it barely registers compared to the overwhelming terror surging through his chest. The mass of insects, once chaotic and swirling, now takes on a grotesque shape that towers above him- a nightmare given flesh, or something worse. Its hollow, insectoid eyes fix on him, its yawning, empty mouth an abyss that threatens to swallow his soul whole.
He doesn't have time to think, barely time to react, before the beast roars. The sound crashes over him like a tidal wave, shaking his very bones and threatening to unmoor his sanity entirely. He staggers back, his free hand instinctively clutching his sidearm as the creature's massive arm rises. It's a swing that could end him, a crushing force that would shatter his body into so much meat and bone against the frost-rimed chapel floor.
The flashlight beam wavers wildly, catching glimpses of jagged teeth formed from the shifting swarm of bugs, slick and glistening with an unholy sheen. Every fiber of the investigator's being screams to run, but his feet remain rooted for one moment too long. The creature's shadow falls over him, impossibly vast, and the air around him seems to constrict, dense and heavy with dread.
A primal instinct finally takes hold, and he dives to the side just as the massive arm crashes down, splintering the stone floor where he'd stood. The impact sends shards of debris flying in all directions, a concussive wave that throws him farther than his dive intended. He lands hard, the air knocked from his lungs, his flashlight skittering across the floor to rest against a moss-covered pew. The light flickers but doesn't die, casting a dim, trembling glow across the ruin.
"God God, what is this?!" he wheezes, his voice trembling and barely audible over the cacophony of buzzing wings and Khajah's relentless, muttered chant. His hand scrabbles for his radio again, but static screeches through the device, the unnatural energy in the chapel reducing it to a useless hunk of plastic.
"Damn it!" he curses, his voice cracking as he pushes himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. He grabs for his flashlight and twists his head toward the creature. It hasn't moved yet, its hollow eyes fixed on him with an almost mechanical malice, its dripping maw hanging open like a guillotine waiting to fall. Its black, oozing body shifts constantly, scarabs and flies falling from its surface only to be replaced by more, the swarm never diminishing, only evolving.
It's not just terror that grips him now but a sickening certainty that no weapon he carries could harm this thing. His sidearm feels like a child's toy against the monstrosity. He staggers back further, every step feeling like a lifetime as he struggles to find balance in the chaos. The chapel, already an oppressive ruin, feels alive now, its walls breathing with shadows and its roof groaning in response to the creature's roar.
The investigator makes for the door, his instincts overtaking his training. His boots slip on frost and debris, sending him sprawling once, his palms scraping against jagged stones as he scrambles back to his feet. Behind him, the beast shifts again, its arm lifting with agonizing slowness for another strike. The sound of its movements is a guttural, wet slurp, like tar being dragged across stone, and the chapel seems to amplify it, turning every sound into a deafening symphony of dread.
"No, no, no, no" he mutters under his breath, each repetition a desperate prayer as he stumbles toward the exit. The light from the outside world- cold, gray, and unwelcoming as it is- seems impossibly distant, the door far further than it had been when he'd first stepped inside. His flashlight catches glimpses of movement in the pews: smaller shadows, perhaps rodents or perhaps something worse, stirred by the chaos and darting away from the monstrous presence.
Khajah's chant grows louder, each word like a nail driven into his psyche. "He left me They all leave me" Her voice carries a venomous edge, but her attention seems momentarily diverted, her gaze turning inward as though lost in the echoes of her own torment. It's a fleeting reprieve, one the investigator doesn't dare waste.
The monster's arm swings again, the sound of displaced air a thunderous rush, but this time the strike is less precise, crashing into a support beam and sending a cascade of ancient wood and stone tumbling to the floor. The investigator doesn't look back. He's running now, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing as adrenaline floods his veins. The door looms ahead, still impossibly far, but he focuses on it with a singular desperation.
The buzzing of the swarm grows louder, a relentless tide that seems to follow him. The creature doesn't need to give chase; its very presence dominates the space, filling every corner with its unholy essence. The chapel seems to shift around him, the walls closing in, the light dimming further as though the building itself conspires to trap him.
He reaches the doorway at last, his hands slamming against the warped wood as he stumbles through. The cold air outside is a shock to his system, but it's a small mercy compared to the suffocating dread within. He doesn't stop running, his boots crunching over snow and frost as he puts as much distance as possible between himself and the chapel. Behind him, the buzzing begins to fade, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the forest. But the image of the creature, of Khajah's wrathful gaze, burns into his mind, a scar that will not fade.
The investigator knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's inside
He knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's inside that chapel, it's beyond his understanding, and it's something he prays he never has to face again. It's another night in Haven, where the natural is thwarted - by sheer will at that, and animosity lingering. There isn't possibly much a lone investigator could've done in the first place when faced with something on the caliber of Khajah - whether he knows or not, aware of the scopes or otherwise. His heels are torn in his escape, and it is a night he won't forget. Not only that, one that will spell certain ruin. A man lost in the grip of his understanding, of insanity manifesting because of a close encounter of the supernatural kind; the Khajah kind.
As Khajah's fury manifests into a terrifying, insectile behemoth, the investigator's situation grows increasingly dire. His attempts to stand his ground, driven by both duty and curiosity, are met with ferocious resistance, embodied by the monstrous entity's daunting presence and relentless assault. Despite his efforts to combat the creature with his available tools and training, he quickly realizes the futility of his actions against such a formidable adversary. Khajah's haunting chants of abandonment and resilience only add to the investigator's torment, moving the encounter from a physical to a profoundly psychological battle. In the end, the investigator's harrowing escape from the chapel marks not only a physical retreat but a deep, unsettling realization of his own limitations in the face of the supernatural, leaving him forever altered by the night's eerie events.
(Khajah's odd encounter(SRClaudia):SRClaudia)
[Mon Dec 23 2024]
In the altar of an Abandoned Chapel
At the far end of the chapel, the altar area remains a poignant relic amidst the encroachment of nature. Overgrown with moss and framed by the intruding arms of forest vines, it stands as a stark reminder of the chapel's sacred past, now fading under the relentless march of the wild. Behind it once stood a beautiful, mirrored altar piece, but now it's cracked and broken.
It is afternoon, about 35F(1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
The air inside the abandoned chapel is colder than the biting winds outside, as though the stone walls and crumbling beams hoard the chill of decades. Shafts of pale light cut through the shattered stained-glass windows, painting fractured images of saints and martyrs on the uneven floor. The snow from the outside world dusts the edges of the stonework, creeping in like an unwelcome guest.
At the far end of the chapel looms the altar, a mournful relic of a forgotten sanctity. What was once an intricate centerpiece of worship now seems devoured by nature's slow reclamation. Vines crawl up the walls and reach like skeletal fingers over the altar's surface, their sinewy forms entwined with patches of moss that cling stubbornly to the cold stone. The mirrored altar piece, once polished to a gleaming perfection, now bears deep cracks. Splintered fragments of glass catch the meager light, reflecting a broken kaleidoscope of the decay that surrounds it.
An oppressive quiet rules the place. No birdsong pierces the air; no rustle of small creatures disturbs the heavy silence. Only the sound of distant, crackling frost on the wooden beams breaks the spell, faint and sporadic, like a dying heartbeat. The heavy scent of damp earth mixes with the faint tang of rusted iron, an unsettling aroma that lingers just enough to make the breath catch in the throat. The weathered pews, rotted and tilted, seem frozen in mockery of the worshippers they once supported.
Near the altar, the remnants of human activity stand out in stark contrast to the wild encroachment. Faint boot prints mar the layer of dust on the ground, leading in circles, a dance of indecision or dread. A tattered bag slouches against a column, its contents partially spilled: a flashlight, a notebook, and what looks like an old map. These items- left haphazardly, as though their owner either fled or succumbed to distraction- add to the suffocating tension.
The chapel doors creak with every icy gust of wind, sending faint echoes skittering along the stone walls. Despite the evidence of recent visitation, the atmosphere carries the weight of something ancient, malignant, and unyielding. The forest outside- a tangled mass of skeletal branches and evergreen sentinels- presses against the cracked windows, casting jagged shadows that dance when the light shifts. The shadows don't behave as they should; at times, they seem to stretch against the beams of light, clawing toward the chapel's core, as if they too seek communion with whatever secrets the altar keeps.
The investigator's arrival breaks the fragile peace of the scene. The crunch of boots against frozen earth stops at the doorway. There is no immediate attempt to enter. Instead, the figure lingers just beyond the threshold, a silhouette framed by the dim grayness of the outside world. One gloved hand rests on the doorframe, the other clutching something unseen- perhaps a weapon, or perhaps something more mundane. The breath of the lone officer puffs out in white clouds, steady, measured, and patient. Whoever they are, they are no stranger to these situations, though it is unclear if that steadiness comes from confidence or fear kept tightly leashed.
The chapel seems to respond to the presence of an outsider. A sudden shift in the air brings with it the faintest whisper- a sound like the brushing of silk on stone- though the source is invisible. The mirrored altar piece catches a flicker of movement, but when the investigator steps into the chapel proper, the fractured glass shows only warped reflections of the shattered interior.
In the stillness, the oppressive cold becomes almost tactile, pressing in from all sides. The altar, with its cracked mirror and mantle of vines, dominates the scene, as if daring the investigator to approach. The faint remnants of candles sit atop the stone surface, their wicks long burned away, yet one might almost imagine the flicker of a flame in the corner of the eye. The atmosphere thickens with every step closer, and the faint scent of rust seems to sharpen, becoming almost metallic.
Beyond the altar, the rear of the chapel holds nothing but darkness, where Khajah presumably is, for now out of sight, of the investigator's flashlight beaming this way and that. The forest's vines have made greater inroads there, weaving through the cracks in the stone to form a natural lattice that obscures whatever lies beyond. The light from the investigator's flashlight reveals little; the shadows pool too thickly, as though resisting illumination. From time to time, a faint sound emanates from the darkness- a soft, rhythmic tapping, barely audible, but insistent. It is not the sound of dripping water; it carries a deliberate cadence, like knuckles against wood.
Time stretches thin, the cold seeping deeper as if trying to drag the investigator into the chapel's frozen grasp. Whatever has drawn them here- supernatural reports that they've reclutantly agreed to look into after some incessant prying from the higher-ups, or the hunt for a fugitive- is almost forgotten in the suffocating weight of the place. The air itself seems to murmur warnings, the faint whispers dancing just out of comprehension. Still, the altar waits, unyielding and patient, like a judge awaiting the condemned.
Far beyond the veil of trees outside, the distant sound of an engine stutters into silence, the lone investigator's backup vehicle faltering before its driver comes too close. No help will come soon, though they can't have known it yet. The chapel holds its secrets tightly- and will not let go so easily.
Slow and sinuous like the serpents she decorates herself with, Khajah drags herself out of the rubble she had been left behind in, her joints too flexible to be human and her long black hair scattered over her too-perfect visage. She is covered in blood and stone dust, yet without a scratch on her, like a beast rising from the demolished bones of the chapel. Or like a Grudge, undying and delivering curses upon those who dare to come this close to her vicinity. Something, or someone, has scorned her, and so it is the investigator's unfortunate luck that her kohl-black stare befalls him, deadly and infuriated by something that surely cannot be his fault. "Leave this place..." is her only warning as the tattered remains of her bandeau fall from her shoulders, unveiling full, dark breasts as much as it unveils the stygian black wings of an angel fallen from grace.
Black spittle drools from between Khajah's lips as she glares up at him, her body shivering, her teeth stained black by its consistency, and then she repeats, her volume ear-shattering, as is her pitch: "LEAVE!!!!" The sheer force of her screech causes rubble to fall from the abandoned chapel's ceiling, and as though they had always been there, a plague of winged and biting insects takes flight at her call, enshrouding her like a tornado before starting to take some unholy shape in amalgamation of them all. Scarabs, wasps, locusts, biting flies, all congeal upon her at her tormented demand.
The investigator stands frozen at the threshold of the chapel, the fragile peace of the desolate place shattered by the emergence of the figure from the rubble. The cold air carries the screeching reverberation of Khajah's warning, a sound that seems to reach not just the ears but the marrow of the bones.
As the debris shifts and falls away from her form, the investigator's breath becomes visible, shorter and quicker than before, clouding the space between them. His flashlight shakes slightly in his hand, the beam of light cutting across the swirling haze of dust and landing on the darkened wings that now unfurl from her back. The beam catches the sheen of the black spittle dripping from her lips, highlighting her inhuman elegance and rage.
The words she utters- "Leave this place"- echo in the cavernous space, mingling with the sudden flurry of movement that accompanies her. The walls tremble, the vines quiver, and the stone seems to groan as though the very foundation of the chapel takes offense at her fury. Her second command comes like a detonation, her screech tearing through the silence and causing the investigator to instinctively shield his ears. The sound is relentless, unnatural, and all-consuming. The roof answers her call with a groaning protest, dislodging rubble that crashes to the floor with deafening finality.
Then come the insects.
They rise from the shadows as if summoned from the depths of some primal abyss, a swarm of shimmering black wings and chittering legs. The sound of their collective flight is a chaotic symphony, a high-pitched drone that drowns out the investigator's own thoughts. Scarabs with iridescent shells, wasps armed with venomous stingers, and locusts that buzz with unsettling speed all converge on Khajah, cloaking her like a living shroud. The air itself becomes a battlefield, thick with the writhing, crawling, stinging mass of creatures.
The investigator takes a step back, the light from his flashlight barely penetrating the swirling darkness. He tries to keep his composure, his breathing shallow as he scans the chaos. His training kicks in, and he raises his free hand to fumble for the device clipped to his belt. Static bursts to life as he presses a button, but the sound is garbled, the signal seemingly smothered by the unnatural energy in the chapel. Whatever he tries to say is lost to the ether, drowned by the relentless buzz of wings and the echoes of Khajah's voice.
The swarm shifts, condensing and expanding, taking on a shape that defies comprehension. The amalgamation of insects seems to writhe with purpose, forming grotesque patterns that flicker like something alive and deliberate. For a moment, the investigator's flashlight beam catches what looks like an almost humanoid silhouette within the swarm, but it dissolves into chaos before his eyes can make sense of it.
The temperature in the room plummets further, frost spreading in jagged veins across the altar and the floor, creeping toward the investigator's boots. His breath comes faster now, plumes of white fog that mingle with the dust and insect wings. The oppressive atmosphere presses in on him, making the act of standing his ground feel like an impossible feat. Yet, something in him- whether it's training or sheer stubbornness- keeps him from fleeing outright.
The chapel itself seems to conspire against him. The walls pulsate with a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat, faint but growing louder, and the shadows lengthen unnaturally, reaching toward him with clawed fingers. The investigator's gaze darts toward the altar, which now looms larger and more menacing, as if feeding off the chaos. The fractured mirror catches glimpses of the scene, reflections that don't align with reality. In those shards, Khajah's form appears twisted and exaggerated, her wings casting grotesque shapes that defy the geometry of the space.
The investigator adjusts his stance, grounding himself as best he can. He's no fool; he knows he's outmatched, but retreat is not yet an option. His flashlight flickers once, then twice, before stabilizing, and he lifts it higher, the light a thin but defiant beam against the encroaching darkness. His hand brushes against the sidearm at his hip, but he hesitates to draw it. What good would bullets do against something like this?
The swarm begins to coalesce more purposefully now, swirling tighter around Khajah as though responding to her fury. The chapel hums with energy, a frequency felt in the chest more than heard. The investigator's thoughts race, piecing together fragments of information, trying to make sense of the impossible. This isn't just a supernatural event; it's a manifestation of something far older and far angrier.
He forces himself to take another step back, his boots crunching against the frost-covered floor. His eyes remain locked on the figure at the center of the storm, every instinct screaming at him to run. And yet, even as the swarm threatens to consume everything in its path, the investigator's jaw sets, a grim determination flickering in his eyes. He doesn't leave- not yet.
"GET OUT!!" Khajah screams at the top of her lungs at a pitch high enough to ooze the blood from the man's ears, her hoard of creepy crawlies finally congealing into one semi-solid mass; it is a hulking behemoth with a vaguely humanoid shape, like a sludge monster crawled out of the sewers and constantly oozing a black dribble of bugs. Its hollow eyes and empty mouth fixate upon the man who refuses to leave, the man who dares to reach for a gun rather than saving his own life by fleeing. Now the monstrosity bellows, too, an echoing roar that rattles the bones of those present before its massive right arm lifts above its head, then swings down hard in the direction of the flashlight-wielding intruder. Perhaps he will survive this. Perhaps he won't. But if he is unwilling to risk that chance, he has a split second to flee before the impact will inevitably crush his bones.
"He left me.. They all leave me.. They all think I'm weak. I'm not weak. I'm not.." Khajah whispers repeatedly under her breath like a chant, her eyes unfocused and her mind elsewhere as she mulls over her own thoughts and weaknesses- but this beast is certainly not one of them. This monster could level a building if only it were commanded to do so.
The investigator's flashlight trembles in his grip as Khajah's shriek slams into him with a force that feels physical, a vibration rattling through his skull. Blood trickles from his ears, warm trails running down his neck, but the agony of it barely registers compared to the overwhelming terror surging through his chest. The mass of insects, once chaotic and swirling, now takes on a grotesque shape that towers above him- a nightmare given flesh, or something worse. Its hollow, insectoid eyes fix on him, its yawning, empty mouth an abyss that threatens to swallow his soul whole.
He doesn't have time to think, barely time to react, before the beast roars. The sound crashes over him like a tidal wave, shaking his very bones and threatening to unmoor his sanity entirely. He staggers back, his free hand instinctively clutching his sidearm as the creature's massive arm rises. It's a swing that could end him, a crushing force that would shatter his body into so much meat and bone against the frost-rimed chapel floor.
The flashlight beam wavers wildly, catching glimpses of jagged teeth formed from the shifting swarm of bugs, slick and glistening with an unholy sheen. Every fiber of the investigator's being screams to run, but his feet remain rooted for one moment too long. The creature's shadow falls over him, impossibly vast, and the air around him seems to constrict, dense and heavy with dread.
A primal instinct finally takes hold, and he dives to the side just as the massive arm crashes down, splintering the stone floor where he'd stood. The impact sends shards of debris flying in all directions, a concussive wave that throws him farther than his dive intended. He lands hard, the air knocked from his lungs, his flashlight skittering across the floor to rest against a moss-covered pew. The light flickers but doesn't die, casting a dim, trembling glow across the ruin.
"God God, what is this?!" he wheezes, his voice trembling and barely audible over the cacophony of buzzing wings and Khajah's relentless, muttered chant. His hand scrabbles for his radio again, but static screeches through the device, the unnatural energy in the chapel reducing it to a useless hunk of plastic.
"Damn it!" he curses, his voice cracking as he pushes himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. He grabs for his flashlight and twists his head toward the creature. It hasn't moved yet, its hollow eyes fixed on him with an almost mechanical malice, its dripping maw hanging open like a guillotine waiting to fall. Its black, oozing body shifts constantly, scarabs and flies falling from its surface only to be replaced by more, the swarm never diminishing, only evolving.
It's not just terror that grips him now but a sickening certainty that no weapon he carries could harm this thing. His sidearm feels like a child's toy against the monstrosity. He staggers back further, every step feeling like a lifetime as he struggles to find balance in the chaos. The chapel, already an oppressive ruin, feels alive now, its walls breathing with shadows and its roof groaning in response to the creature's roar.
The investigator makes for the door, his instincts overtaking his training. His boots slip on frost and debris, sending him sprawling once, his palms scraping against jagged stones as he scrambles back to his feet. Behind him, the beast shifts again, its arm lifting with agonizing slowness for another strike. The sound of its movements is a guttural, wet slurp, like tar being dragged across stone, and the chapel seems to amplify it, turning every sound into a deafening symphony of dread.
"No, no, no, no" he mutters under his breath, each repetition a desperate prayer as he stumbles toward the exit. The light from the outside world- cold, gray, and unwelcoming as it is- seems impossibly distant, the door far further than it had been when he'd first stepped inside. His flashlight catches glimpses of movement in the pews: smaller shadows, perhaps rodents or perhaps something worse, stirred by the chaos and darting away from the monstrous presence.
Khajah's chant grows louder, each word like a nail driven into his psyche. "He left me They all leave me" Her voice carries a venomous edge, but her attention seems momentarily diverted, her gaze turning inward as though lost in the echoes of her own torment. It's a fleeting reprieve, one the investigator doesn't dare waste.
The monster's arm swings again, the sound of displaced air a thunderous rush, but this time the strike is less precise, crashing into a support beam and sending a cascade of ancient wood and stone tumbling to the floor. The investigator doesn't look back. He's running now, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing as adrenaline floods his veins. The door looms ahead, still impossibly far, but he focuses on it with a singular desperation.
The buzzing of the swarm grows louder, a relentless tide that seems to follow him. The creature doesn't need to give chase; its very presence dominates the space, filling every corner with its unholy essence. The chapel seems to shift around him, the walls closing in, the light dimming further as though the building itself conspires to trap him.
He reaches the doorway at last, his hands slamming against the warped wood as he stumbles through. The cold air outside is a shock to his system, but it's a small mercy compared to the suffocating dread within. He doesn't stop running, his boots crunching over snow and frost as he puts as much distance as possible between himself and the chapel. Behind him, the buzzing begins to fade, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the forest. But the image of the creature, of Khajah's wrathful gaze, burns into his mind, a scar that will not fade.
The investigator knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's insi
The investigator knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's inside that chapel, it's beyond his understanding, and it's something he prays he never has to face again. It's another night in Haven, where the natural is thwarted - by sheer will at that, and animosity lingering. There isn't possibly much a lone investigator could've done in the first place when faced with something on the caliber of Khajah - whether he knows or not, aware of the scopes or otherwise. His heels are torn in his escape, and it is a night he won't forget. Not only that, one that will spell certain ruin. A man lost in the grip of his understanding, of insanity manifesting because of a close encounter of the supernatural kind; the Khajah kind.
That flashlight kept trembles in the man's grip as Khajah's shriek slams into him with a force that feels physical, a vibration rattling through his skull. Blood trickles from his ears, warm trails running down his neck, but the agony of it barely registers compared to the overwhelming terror surging through his chest. The mass of insects, once chaotic and swirling, now takes on a grotesque shape that towers above him- a nightmare given flesh, or something worse. Its hollow, insectoid eyes fix on him, its yawning, empty mouth an abyss that threatens to swallow his soul whole.
He doesn't have time to think, barely time to react, before the beast roars. The sound crashes over him like a tidal wave, shaking his very bones and threatening to unmoor his sanity entirely. He staggers back, his free hand instinctively clutching his sidearm as the creature's massive arm rises. It's a swing that could end him, a crushing force that would shatter his body into so much meat and bone against the frost-rimed chapel floor.
The flashlight beam wavers wildly, catching glimpses of jagged teeth formed from the shifting swarm of bugs, slick and glistening with an unholy sheen. Every fiber of the investigator's being screams to run, but his feet remain rooted for one moment too long. The creature's shadow falls over him, impossibly vast, and the air around him seems to constrict, dense and heavy with dread.
A primal instinct finally takes hold, and he dives to the side just as the massive arm crashes down, splintering the stone floor where he'd stood. The impact sends shards of debris flying in all directions, a concussive wave that throws him farther than his dive intended. He lands hard, the air knocked from his lungs, his flashlight skittering across the floor to rest against a moss-covered pew. The light flickers but doesn't die, casting a dim, trembling glow across the ruin.
"God God, what is this?!" he wheezes, his voice trembling and barely audible over the cacophony of buzzing wings and Khajah's relentless, muttered chant. His hand scrabbles for his radio again, but static screeches through the device, the unnatural energy in the chapel reducing it to a useless hunk of plastic.
"Damn it!" he curses, his voice cracking as he pushes himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. He grabs for his flashlight and twists his head toward the creature. It hasn't moved yet, its hollow eyes fixed on him with an almost mechanical malice, its dripping maw hanging open like a guillotine waiting to fall. Its black, oozing body shifts constantly, scarabs and flies falling from its surface only to be replaced by more, the swarm never diminishing, only evolving.
It's not just terror that grips him now but a sickening certainty that no weapon he carries could harm this thing. His sidearm feels like a child's toy against the monstrosity. He staggers back further, every step feeling like a lifetime as he struggles to find balance in the chaos. The chapel, already an oppressive ruin, feels alive now, its walls breathing with shadows and its roof groaning in response to the creature's roar.
The investigator makes for the door, his instincts overtaking his training. His boots slip on frost and debris, sending him sprawling once, his palms scraping against jagged stones as he scrambles back to his feet. Behind him, the beast shifts again, its arm lifting with agonizing slowness for another strike. The sound of its movements is a guttural, wet slurp, like tar being dragged across stone, and the chapel seems to amplify it, turning every sound into a deafening symphony of dread.
"No, no, no, no" he mutters under his breath, each repetition a desperate prayer as he stumbles toward the exit. The light from the outside world- cold, gray, and unwelcoming as it is- seems impossibly distant, the door far further than it had been when he'd first stepped inside. His flashlight catches glimpses of movement in the pews: smaller shadows, perhaps rodents or perhaps something worse, stirred by the chaos and darting away from the monstrous presence.
Khajah's chant grows louder, each word like a nail driven into his psyche. "He left me They all leave me" Her voice carries a venomous edge, but her attention seems momentarily diverted, her gaze turning inward as though lost in the echoes of her own torment. It's a fleeting reprieve, one the investigator doesn't dare waste.
The monster's arm swings again, the sound of displaced air a thunderous rush, but this time the strike is less precise, crashing into a support beam and sending a cascade of ancient wood and stone tumbling to the floor. The investigator doesn't look back. He's running now, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing as adrenaline floods his veins. The door looms ahead, still impossibly far, but he focuses on it with a singular desperation.
The buzzing of the swarm grows louder, a relentless tide that seems to follow him. The creature doesn't need to give chase; its very presence dominates the space, filling every corner with its unholy essence. The chapel seems to shift around him, the walls closing in, the light dimming further as though the building itself conspires to trap him.
He reaches the doorway at last, his hands slamming against the warped wood as he stumbles through. The cold air outside is a shock to his system, but it's a small mercy compared to the suffocating dread within. He doesn't stop running, his boots crunching over snow and frost as he puts as much distance as possible between himself and the chapel. Behind him, the buzzing begins to fade, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence of the forest. But the image of the creature, of Khajah's wrathful gaze, burns into his mind, a scar that will not fade.
The investigator knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's inside
He knows one thing as he flees into the woods: whatever's inside that chapel, it's beyond his understanding, and it's something he prays he never has to face again. It's another night in Haven, where the natural is thwarted - by sheer will at that, and animosity lingering. There isn't possibly much a lone investigator could've done in the first place when faced with something on the caliber of Khajah - whether he knows or not, aware of the scopes or otherwise. His heels are torn in his escape, and it is a night he won't forget. Not only that, one that will spell certain ruin. A man lost in the grip of his understanding, of insanity manifesting because of a close encounter of the supernatural kind; the Khajah kind.