Encounterlogs
Konstantins Odd Encounter Sr Rachel 240901
Konstantin, a seasoned operative, is abruptly roused from his rest by an urgent request to recapture Elias Grant, an escaped experiment subject with enhanced supernatural abilities and underlying instability, currently roaming the Arcadia Management Area. Recognizing the gravity and delicacy of the situation, especially given the failed containment efforts by the initial group, Konstantin decides to personally handle the situation. He summons his trusted associate, Artyom, and prepares to confront the transformed Grant, an independent occult researcher now wielding dangerous dark magic and physical enhancements following gruesome experimentation by The Black Circle.
In the dense, shadowed woods, Konstantin, alongside Simonov and Artyom, engage in a perilous search, marked by an ominous silence and the encroaching grasp of nature turned hostile. The team, relying on their expertise and supernatural strengths, locates Elias in a grotesque state, partially merged with the forest's very essence. The confrontation is intense: Elias's body, overgrown with bark-like protrusions and emitting a foul stench, proves resilient against physical attacks, forcing Konstantin to employ a blend of brute strength and otherworldly flame to subdue him. The struggle culminates in a harrowing decision - to physically sever Elias from his unnatural anchor to the earth, a gruesome task that tests Konstantin's resolve. The operation, though successful in its aim to recapture Elias, leaves Konstantin and his team profoundly affected, the horrors of the encounter a poignant reminder of the untold consequences of meddling with the dark reaches of supernatural experimentation.
(Konstantin's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sat Aug 31 2024]
In a Foreboding, Glass-domed Master Bedroom
In this foreboding room, darkness reigns as a recurring theme. The walls, painted in sleek satin black on all sides, greedily absorb every ray of light, casting a dim glow over everything within. With its immense size, the room offers everything one might need for a restful night. A king-sized, four-poster bed dominates the southern wall, draped in dark gray shades and accented by crimson-tinted pillows, all highlighted by a silken deep-maroon coverlet.
Yet, amid the intention to shroud the room in darkness, there's a subtle luminescence emanating from carefully placed artificial lights. Bedside tables, flanking the giant, orgy-sized bed, boast black-shaded lamps that cast their brightness onto the black marble floors, where silver streaks within the stone glimmer. In the southwestern corner, a small sectional sofa faces a large-screen television, offering a cozy spot for relaxation.
The ceiling boasts a simulated skyline, affording a celestial view day or night, while allowing morning sunlight to gently kiss the bed, encouraging a peaceful awakening. Interrupted only by the glass dome's protective metal beams, the seamless light casts a delicate criss-cross of shadow across the room, blending into the dark backdrop of the of it.
It is morning, about 74F(23C) degrees,
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Konstantin's phone never sits quiet for long. It's just barely morning and already, the screen flickers from black to white, white to black, over and over again as notifications fly across the screen. Most of it is within the norm: daily reports, filled with long, mundane rows of numbers explaining resource depletion.
Then: Missing: Escaped Demonborn - Wanted Dead or Alive
SUBJECT: Elias Grant
STATUS: Escaped Experimentation Subject
CURRENT STATE: Transformed (Non-Human Classification)
AFFILIATION PRIOR TO CAPTURE: None - Independent Occult Researcher
LOCATION: Last traced in the vicinity of the Arcadia Management Area, moving unpredictably.
INCIDENT OVERVIEW...
Elias Grant, a former human occultist captured for experimentation by The Black Circle and our allied operatives has successfully escaped containment. Prior to escape, was subjected to extensive fleshforming and ritual magic intended to activate latent supernatural potential. Experiment exceeded expectations. Grant now exhibits substantial supernatural abilities.
Escape occurred during transition phase between the fourth and fifth rituals. Security breaches indicate he either overwhelmed or circumvented our warding spells and physical restraints. Initial attempts to recapture him have failed due to his unpr`#
... his unpredictable movements and new capabilities, which include enhanced strength, agility, and the ability to channel potent dark magic.
THREAT ASSESSMENT:
Supernatural Potential - Extreme. Control may be lacking, and exposure to magic during experimentation has given him significant power over dark magic, including curses and psychic influence.
Psychological State - Unstable. Cannot be reasoned with. Displays erratic behavior and deep-seated hostility.
Loyalty - None known. Unlikely to ally with any faction willingly and may pose a direct threat to our operations.
ACTION REQUEST:
Given the threat Grant poses to our ongoing projects and the potential for him to expose or disrupt our operations, we request immediate authorization to initiate a high-priority retrieval mission. The primary objective is to capture Grant alive for reconditioning and further study. However, if containment proves impossible, lethal force is authorized as a last resort to prevent him from becoming an asset to our enemies or a rogue force.
RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:
Deploy specialized retrieval unit - Our best operatives with experience in dealing with rogue supernaturals.
Set up containment perimeter - Around the Arcadia Management Area.
Employ distraction tactics - Use lures or decoys to draw him out of hiding and into an ambush.
Secondary objective - Gather intelligence on current abilities and psychological state to better understand weaknesses.
There's a follow-up text expressly asking for Konstantin's permission to act. It's from the group that botched experimentation, then containment in the first place, which might instill little confidence. They've recommended sending in operatives who, while skilled, themselves have a tendency to act independently.
Sits up, groaning, his phone disturbing his nap. He can weather the constant buzzing of standard notifications but the loud tone of an urgent alert from his phone rouses him. Squinting groggily down at the screen, Konstantin reads through the stream of fresh information.
"Fucking mages", Konstantin growls frustratedly with a roll of his eyes upon finishing digesting the news. He looks aside then at the woman sleeping in the bed beside him, warily, but finds she has slept through the alert and his admonishment of the arcane. For a moment he considers waking her, staring at the side of her face for a few seconds but then decides against it, instead opting to slide out from beneath the covers and take a pause tuck them in around her unconscious form tightly.
He dresses swiftly and steps into his boots, lacing them as he reaches for the earpiece on his nightstand; another source of constant disturbance. "Simonov, Artyom. We have job to do; bring van to my place as soon as possible", Konstantin radios out in Russian, all while tapping out a quick response to Dispatch; "Handling personally. Do not let the circle send these amateurs."
With that, Konstantin heads for the door, already retrieving a cigarette from the packet in his pocket.
Konstantin heads down to the entrance, awaiting the van
It'd be ironic bringing her. This runaway subject and that woman have a little too much in common, where precision and control are unconcerned. She'd be as likely to demolish the surrounding forest as to solve the problem. She doesn't wake - and yes, doesn't respond to that particular insult. If he's back in the next couple of hours, he might get away with not having been missed at all. Some people have all the luck, and none of the responsibility that forces an early waking.
"Da, boss," one of the two men answers with a crackle. Just before the sound cuts off, he'd hear the rev of an engine.
Outside the exit, there's no one -- but for only five or so minutes. His men, unlike those mentioned over the report, are competent. The van swings into view, its back door sliding open to allow for Konstantin's entrance. From there, it's not a long drive. Maybe an hour, give or take a few. It's even pleasant, if pleasant involves austere silence, a cracked window, and - if Konstantin wants - the smell of cigarette smoke.
The urban landscape moves away from bustling streets and fades to a more rural setting. The transition begins with suburban neighborhoods, where tidy houses with manicured lawns give way to older, more weathered homes set back from the road. These then become rolling hills and dense woodlands. Towering trees line the road, their branches forming a green canopy overhead.
The closer they get to the target area, the more remote it becomes. The roads narrow, intervening between marshes. It's obvious when they've arrived:
The forest wraps around the road, choking it off, and sunlight all but vanishes.
Konstantin greets his henchmen with a nod and a lift of his lit cigarette, taking two hard drags before dropping and crushing what remains of the smoke. Simonov doesn't like driving when Konstantin smokes, and Konstantin respects the usefulness of not tainting the van's interior with an identifying scent. All about the efficiency.
He sits back, briefing the two quickly as the van takes off and cruises outwards into the forest, following the intel provided roughly. There's a moment of annoyance from the President as Artyom presses play on the CD player but he lets it slide. The boys have to have their bangers. What are they listening to that Konstantin reviles so much, oh narrator?
Eventually, upon arrival, Konstantin reaches back and recieves a kevlar vest from Artyom in the back, joining the other two in kitting up for the job. A minute or so of preparation and they all hop out, suited and booted to deal with yet another runaway demonborn arcanist. Atleast he doesn't like this one.
Slowly, Konstantin starts to progress through the forest, listening carefully for any sounds while he holds his phone out infront of him to employ its GPS. Flanking him on either side, Simonov and Artyom bear carbines at the ready.
They're listening to heavy metal; while there's skilled involved in executing that particular genre, it mostly sounds like screaming, all the same.
When the music cuts and the trio treads into the forest, there's little noise, but for the crunch of twigs and leaves -- unless, of course, our skilled professionals left the volume up on their phones.
The GPS, alongside the intel they've received, guide them toward the heart of the Arcadia Management Area. There's evidence that someone's been here:
Disturbed soil, a footprint, the smell of smoke. It's subtle, and requires another hour or two of time - no chance now of having his absence gone unnoticed at home - before the target is found.
There.
There's a faint, acrid odor: rot.
He's there, in a small clearing. His papery skin stretches tight over a thin frame. His hollowed face - the side of it visible to Konstantin - recedes in some places to bone. What clothing he had been wearing is now mostly scraps, and reveals rough, bark-like growths, as if he were in the process of himself becoming a tree. It'd have been easy to mistake him for one of the copse, were they not paying attention.
Leaving the memory of the song Dig by Mudvayne behind, Konstantin pushes on.
Skilled professionals keep their phones on silent, and Hand HQ -only- sends goons that know that. It's one of the main career requirements, even. Broadly speaking. These particular goons remain on alert for a while but as the search draws out they relax just a little though they never quite lower their weapons fully, eyes never entirely ceasing their scanning of the treeline around.
Pausing to kneel and inspect the footprint, glancing aside as Artyom (possessing the supernatural olfactory sense that Konstantin lacks) picks up on the smell far before the other two, Konstantin catches the more metaphorical scent. The joys of outsourcing. Carefully, they pick their way onwards, carbines raised again and eyes sharp.
Spotting the man in the clearing, Konstantin raises a hand and motions downwards with a flat palm, the three of them sinking to a crouch almost simultaneously. "Alive if we can", Konstantin murmurs, drawing a dart pistol from a holster on the back of his belt, and once given a nod of readiness from the other two, moves forwards. Creeping up.. creeping up.. creeping up. Artyom and Simonov fan out left and right after the leader gives a hand signal, putting some distance between themselves and Konstantin.
Stepping forwards into the clearing alone, Konstantin calls out with the dart gun readied; "Elias. You look lost. This is dangerous place; you are going to get hurt if you stay out here." He doesn't expect to have any success disguising himself. He's dressed like a goon, but he holds the pistol behind him, primed. "I am with the Hand", Konstantin continues, "Not the circle. I'm here to talk business for my people, not them."
Konstantin remains tense, ready to draw and fire at a moment's notice. He perhaps doesn't expect much from the negotiation attempt, but he gives it a reasonable effort.
The stench worsens with the heat. It's like garbage, swarming with flies and ridden with maggots. Like... death.
Not like death. It IS death.
Wherever bark overtakes Elias' body, the flesh gives away, skin sloughing off in strips. He turns toward Konstantin.
Both eyes are missing.
He hadn't seen them. He hadn't, perhaps, even heard them, for he provides no answer. There's only the rattling of labored breath, and then an odd creaking. The ground beneath sinks, sending stomachs lurching. The tree line drops an inch.
In front of them, there's a great swell of soil, and then...
A spindly hand - no not a hand - roots, grasp at Konstantin's pants legs, clenching hard. They pull at him, entwining with fabric, tearing, raking for purchase. They pull him toward the depths of the earth.
The intelligence was wrong.
This isn't dark magic.
"BLYAT!", Konstantin calls out, arm flicking forward. He tries to snap off a shot at the figure with the dartgun but there is no way in hell he's landing it. Not at this distance, not with the roots yanking at him. He reaches for his blade, hacking at the roots reaching up around him. After a moment, he draws in a sharp breath and purses his lips, exhaling a narrow stream of crimson flame that roars like a jet and burns at the tendrils coming for him. Between gouts of infernal heat, Konstantin manages to roar out; "He's fucked! Kill him! Tranqs are useless!"
Ever eager to get the job done properly, Konstantin then continues to focus his attention on breaking free so he can go on the offensive, bogged down by the rogue mancer's efforts. What of Simonov and Artyom, however? Do they fare better, remaining out of sight, or has our freak-off-a-leash spotted them too with his eyeless pits
Elias has surely discovered Simonov and Artyom. As the reports indicated, though - and this they have right - his control is sorely lacking. Roots emerge in abundance now, some of them from nearby trees that topple, one after another, as if surrendering to quicksand. They lurch forward, a thicket of gnarled limbs that chase at speed after the minions.
At Konstantin's feet, the knife does little, but the fire? The fire does plenty. The 'hand' that grasps him shrivels, peeling back, and blackens.
It doesn't like the heat.
While its hold remains, Konstantin's strength would be enough to wrest himself free. His pants are ruined; his skin suffers some minor scratches, but he's done it.
...Only to find that the roots have now reached his own doorstep. They're closing in, a wall compressing from the back and from the sides. The only way to go is forward, toward Elias, unless he means to send an inferno raging through all of the forests.
He could.
It'd catch, and there'd no doubt be a blaze that would send rangers and firefighters his way to deal with later -- and the clock's a-tickin' if that's the case. They can't come and find Elias here. How would he explain this?
Konstantin yanks his right foot up, quadriceps straining for a moment before the roots snap away. Next the other leg, and he's free.. but only for the moment if he doesn't act. The trees around him have turned from welcoming and protective cover to the method of his demise. Indeed; only one way. Forward.
Forward Konstantin goes, calling on his heritage. Demons were made to be machines of war and little more, something that Konstantin draws from gladly as his bloodstream flushes with a heavy hit of oxygen, his alveoli drinking in oxygen from the air like its the last they'll ever taste. His nerves fire with the impulse to move and his muscles comply with freakish speed and strength, sending him hurtling into the clearing at breakneck pace.
Things are about to get icky for Konstantin, but for the moment he seems unconcerned. See; this is the merit of dressing practically; no suit to ruin with the filth of some rotten green-mancing freak. Konstantin attempts to pile into Elias and lifts him up only slam him down into the ground hard. He reasons if there's any human function left in Elias' body, maybe he can stun him.. and if not; he probably wont like the flames any more than the roots. The question is does Konstantin reach his mark?
Konstantin's advance is fast enough that the roots can't catch him. They snap forward, waves surging, and lick his heels. If he were to have let up a single moment, they would have snagged him by the ankle and dragged him back.
He reaches Elias. He hurtles toward him. He...
...hits a wall, hard enough to bruise. Where he makes impact, his skin abrades; his sweater thins, a portion of it evaporating.
There's nothing between them.
No thorns, no branches, no nothing. Elias hasn't even moved. The smell of his rancid flesh is unbearable now, so close. The heat of his breath is upon Konstantin, oppressive in the humidity.
No, it's not that nothing is between them. If Konstantin were to look closely, he'd see a distortion in the spot where Elias breathes. Light bends, creating a shimmering that turns that little space between them into an unfocused image.
Elias, as it turns out, can bend air to his whim. It's formed a hardened barrier between them.
Fighting hard against his gag reflex and the turning of his stomach, Konstantin tries to draw in a breath and prepare his next gout of flames but unfortunately, he does that just as someone reinforces his barrier. A lungful of the rotten half-corpse's own lungful. He barely keeps himself from throwing up; losing focus now could be fatal.
Thinking quickly, Konstantin presses his hands against the and reaches forwards more gradually with a slow pressure that doesn't lose any of his supernaturally-endowed strength as though trying to reach through liquid cornstarch to grip hold of the mancer's throat within and close his fingers around its throat with black intent.
Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Konstantin can do little to call out to his friends, praying that they're faring will enough with the horrors that unfold out of his eyeline in the trees beyond.
Fighting hard against his gag reflex and the turning of his stomach, Konstantin tries to draw in a breath and prepare his next gout of flames but unfortunately, he does that just as Elias reinforces his barrier. A lungful of the rotten half-corpse's own lungful. He barely keeps himself from throwing up; losing focus now could be fatal.
Thinking quickly, Konstantin presses his hands against the and reaches forwards more gradually with a slow pressure that doesn't lose any of his supernaturally-endowed strength as though trying to reach through liquid cornstarch to grip hold of the mancer's throat within and close his fingers around its throat with black intent.
Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Konstantin can do little to call out to his friends, praying that they're faring will enough with the horrors that unfold out of his eyeline in the trees beyond.
Artyom's not faring well. He's stuck back and to the left of Konstantin. It's as if a nearby tree had come to life, only momentarily, to wrap him up in an embrace. There's a cage of branches holding him in, entombing him. It's constricting, slowly, surely, in a way that promises a painful death by constriction if Konstantin doesn't soon make his way out. Every bone would snap; his organs would crush under the pressure. It'd be a question of whether asphyxiation or internal trauma would kill him first -- and neither would be pretty.
Simonov, though, has just about made it to Konstantin. It doesn't seem as though Elias has the capability of keeping all three of them under control. Perhaps even two of them. Konstantin's making it toward someone.
A millimeter.
The force against his fingertips hurts. It feels like his bones should snap.
An inch. Two inches.
The wall sunders in its entirety, leaving Konstantin to barrel forward at will.
Artyom's not faring well. He's stuck back and to the left of Konstantin. It's as if a nearby tree had come to life, only momentarily, to wrap him up in an embrace. There's a cage of branches holding him in, entombing him. It's constricting, slowly, surely, in a way that promises a painful death by constriction if Konstantin doesn't soon make his way out. Every bone would snap; his organs would crush under the pressure. It'd be a question of whether asphyxiation or internal trauma would kill him first -- and neither would be pretty.
Simonov, though, has just about made it to Konstantin. It doesn't seem as though Elias has the capability of keeping all three of them under control. Perhaps even two of them. Konstantin's making it toward Elias.
A millimeter.
The force against his fingertips hurts. It feels like his bones should snap.
An inch. Two inches.
The wall sunders in its entirety, leaving Konstantin to barrel forward at will.
It's strange that Elias isn't moving.
His hands do. His neck does. His head did, when he turned to regard Konstantin.
Not his feet, though.
Konstantin reckons he figures out the deal pretty quick when the man's feet stay rooted. He he. Rooted. Konstantin stumbles forward into an embrace with the freak, the sloughing outer layer of his already rotten flesh clinging to his face and chest. No time for further revulsion though; if Artyom goes down then Simonov will never stop whining, and frankly he's grown fond of the Russian, Arytom being a fairly new supernatural himself.
Konstantin acts fast, only one of his hands going to grip about Elias' windpipe as his right draws back and goes to slam into the mancer's face once, and then again, twice. Shoving Elias back by the torso, Konstantin wrenches his shortsword free of his hip again and stabs it deep into his target's leg just above the ankle, twisting the blade and wrenching it outwards to hack clean through the mucle and tendons. Plant yourself into the ground all you want, Elias, but you're coming with us one with or without your feet.
If Konstantin can hold the contents of his stomach in, he's made of stronger stuff than most. Up close, the skin is wrinkled, sagged, and disturbingly loose. Where it comes away, there's exposed muscle and yellowed fat. Touching Elias isn't like touching a human. The texture is slimy, soft, with a mushiness that the mind might only associate with boiled eggplant. There's a greasy residue left upon Konstantin that's unlikely to come off with a single round of washing.
The roar that comes from Elias sends the last birds that remain in this wreckage flying -- and then it cuts off as Konstantin holds and beats him.
The knife that goes through twists easily.
The roots collapse from around Artyom. Simonov is, by now, at Konstantin's side and at liberty to help with what Konstantin intends next.
Konstantin's right.
He's going to have to hack off feet to bring Elias home. This is fleshforming and magic gone horribly wrong. He's more plant than man, now.
As it turns out, narrator, Konstantin is a bit of a fleshform himself. Atleast he plays at it now, with his knife in his hand. What happens next is a sickening sixty seconds of butchery and brutality; the rest of the flesh about the ankles is removed and with the heel of a boot and Simonov bracing the upper body of the freak (in no shortage of disgust himself), Konstantin snaps the anklebones low to the ground where Elias' body has meshed with the earth itself. The knife, headed with hellfire and pressed to the ruined flesh, cauterises any major bleeds should the twisted creation still be capable of that.
Zipcuffing the wrists of whatever remains of the man tight enough for the plastic ties to cut into the skin past the mushiness down to whatever solid flesh does remain within, if any, the operatives secure the subject along with a bag over his head and a neutralising collar about his throat.
Konstantin sends Simonov over to free Artyom, the other man covered in far less of the gunk, while Konstantin watches over the prone Elias (if he even survives the ordeal). Watching over is an overstatement, really, as Konstantin spends most of his time scraping his face and neck clean of the filth with his equally filthy gloves, while voiding the contents of his stomach all over the clearing. No man could keep it down forever, especially coated at he is. This is the kind of experience one has nightmares about, after the fact. It's certainly made Konstantin' narrator a little hesitant to eat eggplant next time he goes to the Local Greek restuarant.
Shivering, Konstantin carries the mark back to the van and sets it in the back as carefully as he can before climbing into the front, waiting for his operatives. The heavy metal's blaring would be a nice distraction now, perhaps, or just a magnified annoyance. He couldn't know without trying.
Konstantin would seek a lift back to his apartment, and then send the two off to meet the black circle's nearest representative with the cargo. Konstantin has some cleaning up to do after this..
In the dense, shadowed woods, Konstantin, alongside Simonov and Artyom, engage in a perilous search, marked by an ominous silence and the encroaching grasp of nature turned hostile. The team, relying on their expertise and supernatural strengths, locates Elias in a grotesque state, partially merged with the forest's very essence. The confrontation is intense: Elias's body, overgrown with bark-like protrusions and emitting a foul stench, proves resilient against physical attacks, forcing Konstantin to employ a blend of brute strength and otherworldly flame to subdue him. The struggle culminates in a harrowing decision - to physically sever Elias from his unnatural anchor to the earth, a gruesome task that tests Konstantin's resolve. The operation, though successful in its aim to recapture Elias, leaves Konstantin and his team profoundly affected, the horrors of the encounter a poignant reminder of the untold consequences of meddling with the dark reaches of supernatural experimentation.
(Konstantin's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sat Aug 31 2024]
In a Foreboding, Glass-domed Master Bedroom
In this foreboding room, darkness reigns as a recurring theme. The walls, painted in sleek satin black on all sides, greedily absorb every ray of light, casting a dim glow over everything within. With its immense size, the room offers everything one might need for a restful night. A king-sized, four-poster bed dominates the southern wall, draped in dark gray shades and accented by crimson-tinted pillows, all highlighted by a silken deep-maroon coverlet.
Yet, amid the intention to shroud the room in darkness, there's a subtle luminescence emanating from carefully placed artificial lights. Bedside tables, flanking the giant, orgy-sized bed, boast black-shaded lamps that cast their brightness onto the black marble floors, where silver streaks within the stone glimmer. In the southwestern corner, a small sectional sofa faces a large-screen television, offering a cozy spot for relaxation.
The ceiling boasts a simulated skyline, affording a celestial view day or night, while allowing morning sunlight to gently kiss the bed, encouraging a peaceful awakening. Interrupted only by the glass dome's protective metal beams, the seamless light casts a delicate criss-cross of shadow across the room, blending into the dark backdrop of the of it.
It is morning, about 74F(23C) degrees,
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Konstantin's phone never sits quiet for long. It's just barely morning and already, the screen flickers from black to white, white to black, over and over again as notifications fly across the screen. Most of it is within the norm: daily reports, filled with long, mundane rows of numbers explaining resource depletion.
Then: Missing: Escaped Demonborn - Wanted Dead or Alive
SUBJECT: Elias Grant
STATUS: Escaped Experimentation Subject
CURRENT STATE: Transformed (Non-Human Classification)
AFFILIATION PRIOR TO CAPTURE: None - Independent Occult Researcher
LOCATION: Last traced in the vicinity of the Arcadia Management Area, moving unpredictably.
INCIDENT OVERVIEW...
Elias Grant, a former human occultist captured for experimentation by The Black Circle and our allied operatives has successfully escaped containment. Prior to escape, was subjected to extensive fleshforming and ritual magic intended to activate latent supernatural potential. Experiment exceeded expectations. Grant now exhibits substantial supernatural abilities.
Escape occurred during transition phase between the fourth and fifth rituals. Security breaches indicate he either overwhelmed or circumvented our warding spells and physical restraints. Initial attempts to recapture him have failed due to his unpr`#
... his unpredictable movements and new capabilities, which include enhanced strength, agility, and the ability to channel potent dark magic.
THREAT ASSESSMENT:
Supernatural Potential - Extreme. Control may be lacking, and exposure to magic during experimentation has given him significant power over dark magic, including curses and psychic influence.
Psychological State - Unstable. Cannot be reasoned with. Displays erratic behavior and deep-seated hostility.
Loyalty - None known. Unlikely to ally with any faction willingly and may pose a direct threat to our operations.
ACTION REQUEST:
Given the threat Grant poses to our ongoing projects and the potential for him to expose or disrupt our operations, we request immediate authorization to initiate a high-priority retrieval mission. The primary objective is to capture Grant alive for reconditioning and further study. However, if containment proves impossible, lethal force is authorized as a last resort to prevent him from becoming an asset to our enemies or a rogue force.
RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:
Deploy specialized retrieval unit - Our best operatives with experience in dealing with rogue supernaturals.
Set up containment perimeter - Around the Arcadia Management Area.
Employ distraction tactics - Use lures or decoys to draw him out of hiding and into an ambush.
Secondary objective - Gather intelligence on current abilities and psychological state to better understand weaknesses.
There's a follow-up text expressly asking for Konstantin's permission to act. It's from the group that botched experimentation, then containment in the first place, which might instill little confidence. They've recommended sending in operatives who, while skilled, themselves have a tendency to act independently.
Sits up, groaning, his phone disturbing his nap. He can weather the constant buzzing of standard notifications but the loud tone of an urgent alert from his phone rouses him. Squinting groggily down at the screen, Konstantin reads through the stream of fresh information.
"Fucking mages", Konstantin growls frustratedly with a roll of his eyes upon finishing digesting the news. He looks aside then at the woman sleeping in the bed beside him, warily, but finds she has slept through the alert and his admonishment of the arcane. For a moment he considers waking her, staring at the side of her face for a few seconds but then decides against it, instead opting to slide out from beneath the covers and take a pause tuck them in around her unconscious form tightly.
He dresses swiftly and steps into his boots, lacing them as he reaches for the earpiece on his nightstand; another source of constant disturbance. "Simonov, Artyom. We have job to do; bring van to my place as soon as possible", Konstantin radios out in Russian, all while tapping out a quick response to Dispatch; "Handling personally. Do not let the circle send these amateurs."
With that, Konstantin heads for the door, already retrieving a cigarette from the packet in his pocket.
Konstantin heads down to the entrance, awaiting the van
It'd be ironic bringing her. This runaway subject and that woman have a little too much in common, where precision and control are unconcerned. She'd be as likely to demolish the surrounding forest as to solve the problem. She doesn't wake - and yes, doesn't respond to that particular insult. If he's back in the next couple of hours, he might get away with not having been missed at all. Some people have all the luck, and none of the responsibility that forces an early waking.
"Da, boss," one of the two men answers with a crackle. Just before the sound cuts off, he'd hear the rev of an engine.
Outside the exit, there's no one -- but for only five or so minutes. His men, unlike those mentioned over the report, are competent. The van swings into view, its back door sliding open to allow for Konstantin's entrance. From there, it's not a long drive. Maybe an hour, give or take a few. It's even pleasant, if pleasant involves austere silence, a cracked window, and - if Konstantin wants - the smell of cigarette smoke.
The urban landscape moves away from bustling streets and fades to a more rural setting. The transition begins with suburban neighborhoods, where tidy houses with manicured lawns give way to older, more weathered homes set back from the road. These then become rolling hills and dense woodlands. Towering trees line the road, their branches forming a green canopy overhead.
The closer they get to the target area, the more remote it becomes. The roads narrow, intervening between marshes. It's obvious when they've arrived:
The forest wraps around the road, choking it off, and sunlight all but vanishes.
Konstantin greets his henchmen with a nod and a lift of his lit cigarette, taking two hard drags before dropping and crushing what remains of the smoke. Simonov doesn't like driving when Konstantin smokes, and Konstantin respects the usefulness of not tainting the van's interior with an identifying scent. All about the efficiency.
He sits back, briefing the two quickly as the van takes off and cruises outwards into the forest, following the intel provided roughly. There's a moment of annoyance from the President as Artyom presses play on the CD player but he lets it slide. The boys have to have their bangers. What are they listening to that Konstantin reviles so much, oh narrator?
Eventually, upon arrival, Konstantin reaches back and recieves a kevlar vest from Artyom in the back, joining the other two in kitting up for the job. A minute or so of preparation and they all hop out, suited and booted to deal with yet another runaway demonborn arcanist. Atleast he doesn't like this one.
Slowly, Konstantin starts to progress through the forest, listening carefully for any sounds while he holds his phone out infront of him to employ its GPS. Flanking him on either side, Simonov and Artyom bear carbines at the ready.
They're listening to heavy metal; while there's skilled involved in executing that particular genre, it mostly sounds like screaming, all the same.
When the music cuts and the trio treads into the forest, there's little noise, but for the crunch of twigs and leaves -- unless, of course, our skilled professionals left the volume up on their phones.
The GPS, alongside the intel they've received, guide them toward the heart of the Arcadia Management Area. There's evidence that someone's been here:
Disturbed soil, a footprint, the smell of smoke. It's subtle, and requires another hour or two of time - no chance now of having his absence gone unnoticed at home - before the target is found.
There.
There's a faint, acrid odor: rot.
He's there, in a small clearing. His papery skin stretches tight over a thin frame. His hollowed face - the side of it visible to Konstantin - recedes in some places to bone. What clothing he had been wearing is now mostly scraps, and reveals rough, bark-like growths, as if he were in the process of himself becoming a tree. It'd have been easy to mistake him for one of the copse, were they not paying attention.
Leaving the memory of the song Dig by Mudvayne behind, Konstantin pushes on.
Skilled professionals keep their phones on silent, and Hand HQ -only- sends goons that know that. It's one of the main career requirements, even. Broadly speaking. These particular goons remain on alert for a while but as the search draws out they relax just a little though they never quite lower their weapons fully, eyes never entirely ceasing their scanning of the treeline around.
Pausing to kneel and inspect the footprint, glancing aside as Artyom (possessing the supernatural olfactory sense that Konstantin lacks) picks up on the smell far before the other two, Konstantin catches the more metaphorical scent. The joys of outsourcing. Carefully, they pick their way onwards, carbines raised again and eyes sharp.
Spotting the man in the clearing, Konstantin raises a hand and motions downwards with a flat palm, the three of them sinking to a crouch almost simultaneously. "Alive if we can", Konstantin murmurs, drawing a dart pistol from a holster on the back of his belt, and once given a nod of readiness from the other two, moves forwards. Creeping up.. creeping up.. creeping up. Artyom and Simonov fan out left and right after the leader gives a hand signal, putting some distance between themselves and Konstantin.
Stepping forwards into the clearing alone, Konstantin calls out with the dart gun readied; "Elias. You look lost. This is dangerous place; you are going to get hurt if you stay out here." He doesn't expect to have any success disguising himself. He's dressed like a goon, but he holds the pistol behind him, primed. "I am with the Hand", Konstantin continues, "Not the circle. I'm here to talk business for my people, not them."
Konstantin remains tense, ready to draw and fire at a moment's notice. He perhaps doesn't expect much from the negotiation attempt, but he gives it a reasonable effort.
The stench worsens with the heat. It's like garbage, swarming with flies and ridden with maggots. Like... death.
Not like death. It IS death.
Wherever bark overtakes Elias' body, the flesh gives away, skin sloughing off in strips. He turns toward Konstantin.
Both eyes are missing.
He hadn't seen them. He hadn't, perhaps, even heard them, for he provides no answer. There's only the rattling of labored breath, and then an odd creaking. The ground beneath sinks, sending stomachs lurching. The tree line drops an inch.
In front of them, there's a great swell of soil, and then...
A spindly hand - no not a hand - roots, grasp at Konstantin's pants legs, clenching hard. They pull at him, entwining with fabric, tearing, raking for purchase. They pull him toward the depths of the earth.
The intelligence was wrong.
This isn't dark magic.
"BLYAT!", Konstantin calls out, arm flicking forward. He tries to snap off a shot at the figure with the dartgun but there is no way in hell he's landing it. Not at this distance, not with the roots yanking at him. He reaches for his blade, hacking at the roots reaching up around him. After a moment, he draws in a sharp breath and purses his lips, exhaling a narrow stream of crimson flame that roars like a jet and burns at the tendrils coming for him. Between gouts of infernal heat, Konstantin manages to roar out; "He's fucked! Kill him! Tranqs are useless!"
Ever eager to get the job done properly, Konstantin then continues to focus his attention on breaking free so he can go on the offensive, bogged down by the rogue mancer's efforts. What of Simonov and Artyom, however? Do they fare better, remaining out of sight, or has our freak-off-a-leash spotted them too with his eyeless pits
Elias has surely discovered Simonov and Artyom. As the reports indicated, though - and this they have right - his control is sorely lacking. Roots emerge in abundance now, some of them from nearby trees that topple, one after another, as if surrendering to quicksand. They lurch forward, a thicket of gnarled limbs that chase at speed after the minions.
At Konstantin's feet, the knife does little, but the fire? The fire does plenty. The 'hand' that grasps him shrivels, peeling back, and blackens.
It doesn't like the heat.
While its hold remains, Konstantin's strength would be enough to wrest himself free. His pants are ruined; his skin suffers some minor scratches, but he's done it.
...Only to find that the roots have now reached his own doorstep. They're closing in, a wall compressing from the back and from the sides. The only way to go is forward, toward Elias, unless he means to send an inferno raging through all of the forests.
He could.
It'd catch, and there'd no doubt be a blaze that would send rangers and firefighters his way to deal with later -- and the clock's a-tickin' if that's the case. They can't come and find Elias here. How would he explain this?
Konstantin yanks his right foot up, quadriceps straining for a moment before the roots snap away. Next the other leg, and he's free.. but only for the moment if he doesn't act. The trees around him have turned from welcoming and protective cover to the method of his demise. Indeed; only one way. Forward.
Forward Konstantin goes, calling on his heritage. Demons were made to be machines of war and little more, something that Konstantin draws from gladly as his bloodstream flushes with a heavy hit of oxygen, his alveoli drinking in oxygen from the air like its the last they'll ever taste. His nerves fire with the impulse to move and his muscles comply with freakish speed and strength, sending him hurtling into the clearing at breakneck pace.
Things are about to get icky for Konstantin, but for the moment he seems unconcerned. See; this is the merit of dressing practically; no suit to ruin with the filth of some rotten green-mancing freak. Konstantin attempts to pile into Elias and lifts him up only slam him down into the ground hard. He reasons if there's any human function left in Elias' body, maybe he can stun him.. and if not; he probably wont like the flames any more than the roots. The question is does Konstantin reach his mark?
Konstantin's advance is fast enough that the roots can't catch him. They snap forward, waves surging, and lick his heels. If he were to have let up a single moment, they would have snagged him by the ankle and dragged him back.
He reaches Elias. He hurtles toward him. He...
...hits a wall, hard enough to bruise. Where he makes impact, his skin abrades; his sweater thins, a portion of it evaporating.
There's nothing between them.
No thorns, no branches, no nothing. Elias hasn't even moved. The smell of his rancid flesh is unbearable now, so close. The heat of his breath is upon Konstantin, oppressive in the humidity.
No, it's not that nothing is between them. If Konstantin were to look closely, he'd see a distortion in the spot where Elias breathes. Light bends, creating a shimmering that turns that little space between them into an unfocused image.
Elias, as it turns out, can bend air to his whim. It's formed a hardened barrier between them.
Fighting hard against his gag reflex and the turning of his stomach, Konstantin tries to draw in a breath and prepare his next gout of flames but unfortunately, he does that just as someone reinforces his barrier. A lungful of the rotten half-corpse's own lungful. He barely keeps himself from throwing up; losing focus now could be fatal.
Thinking quickly, Konstantin presses his hands against the and reaches forwards more gradually with a slow pressure that doesn't lose any of his supernaturally-endowed strength as though trying to reach through liquid cornstarch to grip hold of the mancer's throat within and close his fingers around its throat with black intent.
Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Konstantin can do little to call out to his friends, praying that they're faring will enough with the horrors that unfold out of his eyeline in the trees beyond.
Fighting hard against his gag reflex and the turning of his stomach, Konstantin tries to draw in a breath and prepare his next gout of flames but unfortunately, he does that just as Elias reinforces his barrier. A lungful of the rotten half-corpse's own lungful. He barely keeps himself from throwing up; losing focus now could be fatal.
Thinking quickly, Konstantin presses his hands against the and reaches forwards more gradually with a slow pressure that doesn't lose any of his supernaturally-endowed strength as though trying to reach through liquid cornstarch to grip hold of the mancer's throat within and close his fingers around its throat with black intent.
Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Konstantin can do little to call out to his friends, praying that they're faring will enough with the horrors that unfold out of his eyeline in the trees beyond.
Artyom's not faring well. He's stuck back and to the left of Konstantin. It's as if a nearby tree had come to life, only momentarily, to wrap him up in an embrace. There's a cage of branches holding him in, entombing him. It's constricting, slowly, surely, in a way that promises a painful death by constriction if Konstantin doesn't soon make his way out. Every bone would snap; his organs would crush under the pressure. It'd be a question of whether asphyxiation or internal trauma would kill him first -- and neither would be pretty.
Simonov, though, has just about made it to Konstantin. It doesn't seem as though Elias has the capability of keeping all three of them under control. Perhaps even two of them. Konstantin's making it toward someone.
A millimeter.
The force against his fingertips hurts. It feels like his bones should snap.
An inch. Two inches.
The wall sunders in its entirety, leaving Konstantin to barrel forward at will.
Artyom's not faring well. He's stuck back and to the left of Konstantin. It's as if a nearby tree had come to life, only momentarily, to wrap him up in an embrace. There's a cage of branches holding him in, entombing him. It's constricting, slowly, surely, in a way that promises a painful death by constriction if Konstantin doesn't soon make his way out. Every bone would snap; his organs would crush under the pressure. It'd be a question of whether asphyxiation or internal trauma would kill him first -- and neither would be pretty.
Simonov, though, has just about made it to Konstantin. It doesn't seem as though Elias has the capability of keeping all three of them under control. Perhaps even two of them. Konstantin's making it toward Elias.
A millimeter.
The force against his fingertips hurts. It feels like his bones should snap.
An inch. Two inches.
The wall sunders in its entirety, leaving Konstantin to barrel forward at will.
It's strange that Elias isn't moving.
His hands do. His neck does. His head did, when he turned to regard Konstantin.
Not his feet, though.
Konstantin reckons he figures out the deal pretty quick when the man's feet stay rooted. He he. Rooted. Konstantin stumbles forward into an embrace with the freak, the sloughing outer layer of his already rotten flesh clinging to his face and chest. No time for further revulsion though; if Artyom goes down then Simonov will never stop whining, and frankly he's grown fond of the Russian, Arytom being a fairly new supernatural himself.
Konstantin acts fast, only one of his hands going to grip about Elias' windpipe as his right draws back and goes to slam into the mancer's face once, and then again, twice. Shoving Elias back by the torso, Konstantin wrenches his shortsword free of his hip again and stabs it deep into his target's leg just above the ankle, twisting the blade and wrenching it outwards to hack clean through the mucle and tendons. Plant yourself into the ground all you want, Elias, but you're coming with us one with or without your feet.
If Konstantin can hold the contents of his stomach in, he's made of stronger stuff than most. Up close, the skin is wrinkled, sagged, and disturbingly loose. Where it comes away, there's exposed muscle and yellowed fat. Touching Elias isn't like touching a human. The texture is slimy, soft, with a mushiness that the mind might only associate with boiled eggplant. There's a greasy residue left upon Konstantin that's unlikely to come off with a single round of washing.
The roar that comes from Elias sends the last birds that remain in this wreckage flying -- and then it cuts off as Konstantin holds and beats him.
The knife that goes through twists easily.
The roots collapse from around Artyom. Simonov is, by now, at Konstantin's side and at liberty to help with what Konstantin intends next.
Konstantin's right.
He's going to have to hack off feet to bring Elias home. This is fleshforming and magic gone horribly wrong. He's more plant than man, now.
As it turns out, narrator, Konstantin is a bit of a fleshform himself. Atleast he plays at it now, with his knife in his hand. What happens next is a sickening sixty seconds of butchery and brutality; the rest of the flesh about the ankles is removed and with the heel of a boot and Simonov bracing the upper body of the freak (in no shortage of disgust himself), Konstantin snaps the anklebones low to the ground where Elias' body has meshed with the earth itself. The knife, headed with hellfire and pressed to the ruined flesh, cauterises any major bleeds should the twisted creation still be capable of that.
Zipcuffing the wrists of whatever remains of the man tight enough for the plastic ties to cut into the skin past the mushiness down to whatever solid flesh does remain within, if any, the operatives secure the subject along with a bag over his head and a neutralising collar about his throat.
Konstantin sends Simonov over to free Artyom, the other man covered in far less of the gunk, while Konstantin watches over the prone Elias (if he even survives the ordeal). Watching over is an overstatement, really, as Konstantin spends most of his time scraping his face and neck clean of the filth with his equally filthy gloves, while voiding the contents of his stomach all over the clearing. No man could keep it down forever, especially coated at he is. This is the kind of experience one has nightmares about, after the fact. It's certainly made Konstantin' narrator a little hesitant to eat eggplant next time he goes to the Local Greek restuarant.
Shivering, Konstantin carries the mark back to the van and sets it in the back as carefully as he can before climbing into the front, waiting for his operatives. The heavy metal's blaring would be a nice distraction now, perhaps, or just a magnified annoyance. He couldn't know without trying.
Konstantin would seek a lift back to his apartment, and then send the two off to meet the black circle's nearest representative with the cargo. Konstantin has some cleaning up to do after this..