algebra-of-infinite-night

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Hello Tumblr, I want to play a game.

You’re probably wondering where you are... I’ll tell you where you might be. Ask-mspaint-jigsquad is now officially open!

Welcome to the Gideon meat factory, where the realest bitches in town have committed to the bit a little too hard- accidentally making an askblog for the most devastating splatter-horror soap opera in the history of cinema.

Basic information is below the cut. 😈

Information:

General Ask/RP Stuff

Blog is 18+ because of the nature of the Saw franchise. Pretty sure it’ll be relatively sfw minus the occasional mspaint gore. We’ll be mostly crackish/fluffy here otherwise.

Asks, Interactions, and Roleplay is open and highly encouraged ^^ we accept both Saw and DBD muses, and if you have an oc feel free to check in with us if you wanna send em over! Shoot us a dm if you wanna plan something, whatever floats ur boat! We don’t bite… usually.

This is an extremely low effort blog on our side, so expect our art to be as such. Don’t feel the need to do ur best work around us, we won’t judge! Commit to the bit 🫡

We aren’t assigning ourselves to specific characters- however we do have favourites that we may write more often than the others. We answer on a first come first serve basis 😎

—

Mods & Associated Blogs:

Artemis/Moth/Feral

Main: @rabidgeneralgrievous

Philip Ojomo askblog: @algebra-of-infinite-night

Jake Park askblog: @corvidae-cowboy

Mxy

Main: @periwinklekryptonite

Sky

Main: @abananaisaweapon

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

hey buddy, how was your day)?

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

< prev || @ninetailedvulpecula

“Oh…” Philip trailed off. His strange eyes seemed to glimmer with concern at the sudden exhaustion from the spirit, but he decidedly didn’t reach out to support them— knowing that his presence would only set off fear within Kitsu, or else set off a chase in the worst-case scenario. It seemed he was prone to silence when unsure of something, and he shifted on his heels, looking at the ground in reluctance.

“…I guess that I should just… continue with the trial then?” Philip couldn’t help the disappointment in his voice, ending his words in a resigned sigh. He felt guilty now, after getting to know the survivor’s name. If The Entity didn’t care, then he was to hunt Kitsu down like any normal survivor. He felt as if he were tugging the lever of the old car crusher, with Azarov looking over his shoulder, that horribly smug smirk on his boss’s face. Dooming someone to a grave of crushed steel and tire rubber, or in this case, bleeding out on a rusty meat hook.

He felt the urge to run, to give them a headstart so that it would be a fair fight- of course nothing about this place was fair… but if it was in his ability, he would do his best to be their Angel of Mercy. The itch under his skin dug it’s claws into his lungs, and his breath hitched sharply before he rung his bell and disappeared into the shadows. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t hurt another normal person- spirit or otherwise.

He ran.

Not far enough, because the trial grounds were bordered by a suffocating wall- but it was at least a bit of distance.

Philip shuddered, and kept his eyes on the ground. Perhaps he could find a different survivor, leave the kitsune to a lucky escape.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Philip smiles once more- both amused at her bashfulness, and relieved that he wasn’t required for some dire situation or such other.

“Oh, absolutely no worries— come along and I’ll look through my supplies. You’re lucky, I was just tinkering around with Max on some generators the other day! I may have some spare parts.” The corner of his eyes crinkled lightheartedness, and he gently patted her on the shoulder. A habitual act of reassurance that he’d gained from spending time with Evan. Philip meant no harm, and he wanted to be sure she knew she was wholly welcome in this place.

He spun around, his poncho fluttering dramatically in his wake, and he moved to walk in the direction of the scrapyard office. He’d converted it into a sort of shed or storage. Where once-empty file drawers were now stuffed to the brim with scraps of varying shapes and kinds, and the building was neatly swept clean of The Entity’s viscera and debris.

Auto haven was a grim place, you can just feel it in the air - heavy with untold stories. Amanda normally did not come here often, she preferred to stay in her realm, where familiarity is but her gear supply was running low and Caleb had none to spare, she'd rather choke on a nail then ask Evan.

So, maybe Phillip will have some?

" Phhhiiilllliiipp... "

She called out into the night, she'd rather ask then steal, she didn't need more enemies.

There was a telltale shimmer in the air. A twist in the natural function of light that gave away the killer’s presence before he appeared in a swath of embers, as if burning into one’s very retinas. The somber wail of his bell echoed tauntingly, as if to warn his foes of danger before he swooped in deathly silent. Efficient in his hunt.

Instead of any immediate threat however, Philip appeared from the smoke with a genuine smile on his face. “Amanda. What brings you here?” The twin lights in his shadowed eyesockets glimmered cheerfully.

It was always great to see another friend. Despite her gruesome technique, the masked girl was one of the most tolerable killers in the realm, more distinctly human, and with a sort of pathetic aura that kicked in his apparent “doting mother hen instincts” as referred to by the others. In much the same way you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a sad, sopping wet kitten under your wing. She shared his sense of dry and ironic situational humor too, which he greatly appreciated.

“Are you well?” He asked, a look of friendly concern at the edge of his expression. The girl hasn’t visited for a while, and it always sparked a small bit of anxiousness in the observant man whenever a killer changed their routines or habits.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Philip feels a twinge of… fear? apprehension? sorrow? grief? All these ghosts— not truly surrounding them, but moreso… entangled. Twisted into something resembling a singular being. An Egregore of an entire community’s suffering. It was nearly overwhelming, such a presence, and all within the scale of something the size of a small dog. In his careful hold it seemed so vulnerable without any skin or fur. He felt the urge to cradle the thing, and shelter it from further harm— or else put it out of it’s misery like an old dog. It brought out a deep, festering guilt to the surface of his mind- and all he could do was gently pet the strange being. Uttering a quiet and soothing hush noise.

“You’ll fit in with us all just fine…” He murmured, bittersweetly.

“Oh! Well hello there, you’re new. Aren’t you just a little thing.” Philip smiles at the dredge, kneeling down to offer a hand as if he was beckoning to a cat. His eyes glaze over, staring beyond it for a moment, and Philip visibly blanches for a split second as if seeing something. He shows no change of heart, but the quiet contentment from before is gone- replaced by a cautious smile and haunted gaze.

“…What’s a little creature like you doing here in this place?”

@algebra-of-infinite-night

The little creature is delighted to make yet another friend! How interesting to meet someone who can see much more of what it is than most others! With a delighted shriek it crawls up into his arms for a proper hello!

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

hi philip! i was wondering what kind of things you like to do to pass the time in-between trials? :)

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

<prev || @glyphsinthefog

Philip sighed, feeling a tension in his chest retreating at the offered change of subject. He greatly disliked speaking about others, even when it was to someone like Dwight. He prided himself with his continued silence, and others confided in him because of it. He truly liked being a listening ear, someone to rely on, to trust. It made him feel important, and wanted.

“…Yes… We do— “hang out” —as you call it…” He spoke the word as if it were unfamiliar to his monstrous self, but there was a lighthearted edge to it. An ironic and dry tone… teasing even.

“I assume we actually live relatively similar lives to you survivors, except of course we have the realms- instead of the woods and the campfire. I live here in Autohaven, and the fog is constantly shifting so I tend to have a… variety of neighbors. Some killers don’t have a realm, and they either share with others or simply wander aimlessly. One of them I’ve taken in- Sadako. You may know her as The Onryō-” he paused, remembering that the knowledge of another killer around may be slightly alarming to Dwight. “…She won’t harm you if I’m here, so don’t worry…” He fidgeted with the seam of his poncho, again, expression meekly apologetic.

“Outside of the trials… it’s mostly pretty isolated. There’s no guarantee you’ll find the place you’re looking for if you head into the fog, and most killers don’t like having uninvited visitors. If you don’t share a realm, you could go anywhere between a handful of minutes to many weeks before another trial. If The Entity is displeased, she plays with your memories, and fuses them to your very flesh.” Another grimace from the killer. “When we do speak to each-other, it’s mostly to trade things we’ve learnt or scavenged. Supplies, scraps, offerings, perks.” He smiled. “Some of us make meals from the spare few things we have in our realms. Eventually you get tired of corn and smoked almost-venison… but it’s the thought that counts. We have our own hobbies as well, to pass the time. I enjoy painting, and sewing, and when I have the chance I like to stargaze- even if it isn’t the real thing.”

The realms have always left a bittersweet sting in Philip’s chest. They were a culmination of every killer’s memories, and yet each place was always the echo of something bad, a horrible massacre or a tragic end. Although- despite living such a bleak and isolated existence- they’d all managed to make the most of it. The killers cherished each and every good thing, and most lived their lives almost wholly separate from the trials. There were the few rotten apples of course, but those were the ones who revelled in their isolation- or were otherwise forced to leave the vicinity when everyone got too agitated at their presence.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Philip looked saddened for a moment, as if thinking the same of the ghosts as Dwight. Another moment of quiet passed before Philip spoke again, a very common occurrence. His voice was quiet.

“The virus-infected zombies are much different from the truly dead. From what Wesker had briefly mentioned to me, at least...” He grimaced at the thought of the smug man before continuing.

“The dead- Killers… here seem to share a lot in common. They seek vengeance, and were good, normal people when they were alive. Not every killer here has slaughtered in a way that bloodies their hands, and the only thing haunting them is a cruel injustice.” His voice swiftly grew bitter at his own words, either at the survivor’s assumption or that such violence from the others was a reasonable thing to think. He and the others did kill in the trials after all, even if sacrifices were temporary. He took a deep breath, sighing tiredly. It wouldn’t do to scare Dwight, as his anger at the Entity could be very easily taken the wrong way. “Rin and Sadako were only children when She took them. Lisa, Amanda, Max, Anna… So many more- were dealt a devastating hand by fate, and although they may be haunted, they’ve still paid dearly… Some of them simply swore an oath on their deathbed, a plea heard and answered by the wrong presence. Others were there at the wrong time, with the wrong people. Most don’t even truly understand what they are doing to your folk, or why… The Entity is cruel to both sides.” Another shiver wracked Philip and he looked to Dwight with sorrowful eyes. “It… It would be rude of me to tell their stories, and it’s not my place to speak behind their backs. I hope you understand.”

Philip picked at the seams of his tattered poncho. It’s rips and tears patched lovingly with medical thread and fabric scraps. “The real ghosts haunt those who’ve slaughtered in cold blood. Those who have committed atrocities against innocents... I hope you never have to see such brutality.”

<prev || @glyphsinthefog

Philip shuddered at the thought of experiencing multiple visions, when he’d reacted so strongly to only one. He was used to seeing the dead, and they haunted his every movement. Dwight’s vision however, had seemed to amplify his perception on a gargantuan scale. Alongside other things from the vision that hurt to think about, it had left him lost and confused, his world not flipped upside down- but instead flayed and inverted.

“Thank you.” He said, after a moment. “I… I would rather be here than living with my eyes closed. Don’t feel bad about this, if it is something beyond you.”

Philip paused to stare beyond a shuttered window with narrowed eyes, before shaking his head and returning to the conversation. “I think I may know why my vision was different… When she- The Entity saved me- I emerged from the fog a changed man. I was stronger, I could travel between worlds at the toll of my bell... She gave me the power to exist within the spirit world- though I believe there was a catch... I’ve been cursed, to see the dead. Every soul wandering the realm, dragged into this place by those who spilt their blood.” Another shudder, as if Philip was visibly upset at his own words. “The crushed cars, for example… in Autohaven… each one is a grave. I can hear my ghosts, muffled by cloth gags and steel. They haunt me when I try to rest.”

Philip’s gaze had grown distant as he spoke, but after a brief pause his eyes flit back to the survivor, focusing on Dwight again. “It’s refreshing to speak to someone who has no ghosts haunting them. Almost every killer has them.”

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

<prev || @glyphsinthefog

Philip shuddered at the thought of experiencing multiple visions, when he’d reacted so strongly to only one. He was used to seeing the dead, and they haunted his every movement. Dwight’s vision however, had seemed to amplify his perception on a gargantuan scale. Alongside other things from the vision that hurt to think about, it had left him lost and confused, his world not flipped upside down- but instead flayed and inverted.

“Thank you.” He said, after a moment. “I… I would rather be here than living with my eyes closed. Don’t feel bad about this, if it is something beyond you.”

Philip paused to stare beyond a shuttered window with narrowed eyes, before shaking his head and returning to the conversation. “I think I may know why my vision was different… When she- The Entity saved me- I emerged from the fog a changed man. I was stronger, I could travel between worlds at the toll of my bell... She gave me the power to exist within the spirit world- though I believe there was a catch... I’ve been cursed, to see the dead. Every soul wandering the realm, dragged into this place by those who spilt their blood.” Another shudder, as if Philip was visibly upset at his own words. “The crushed cars, for example… in Autohaven… each one is a grave. I can hear my ghosts, muffled by cloth gags and steel. They haunt me when I try to rest.”

Philip’s gaze had grown distant as he spoke, but after a brief pause his eyes flit back to the survivor, focusing on Dwight again. “It’s refreshing to speak to someone who has no ghosts haunting them. Almost every killer has them.”

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Once he’d decided the survivor was not in fact actively dying, Philip stepped back to silently watch the man as he spoke. The killer’s head was tilted, in a manner similar to that of a curious owl. As friendly as Philip was, he wasn’t much of a natural conversationalist, and so when Dwight turned the conversation around to him it took the killer a moment to even process the question. He opened his mouth to respond, pausing when he had no clear answer.

“I… don’t… know?” He finally croaked out, words stilted. “It’s a… uh, a guardian symbol… It’s supposed to keep you out of harm’s way.” The killer picked at the dried blood on his nails, wishing desperately for the rare rainstorms that The Entity sent throughout the killer’s realms on occasion. He very swiftly grew tired of sneaking to the outskirts of Herman’s institute to rinse his hands of blood in the cold snow after every trial- and Ormond was annoying to visit, he disliked ducking to avoid the rocks that Frank often threw in his direction. Yes, rain would be nice…

Right, His Side, his neighbours in the fog.

“I don’t… I don’t believe the others truly know what they’re doing... most of them at least.” More fidgeting, and Philip’s glowing eyes darted around the area, as if the man was constantly seeing movement in the stacks of cars. “-come inside, I don’t want to speak about it where they could hear.” The tall man turned to dart back into the safety of his home, leaving the door open on it’s squeaking hinges. “…The ghosts, I mean… not the others.” It was a vague elaboration at best, but Philip didn’t say anything further.

The Wraith shuttered the broken windows, and shuffled quietly to a corner of the gas station where tarps and a few salvaged car seats made a semi comfortable sitting area, surrounded by a semi-wall of empty shelves. At best, it appeared to be a sad attempt at recreating a living room from what the killer had at hand. It felt secure though, clearly built for gathering with “the others” as Philip referred to the rest of the killers.

The killer himself sat on an old seat in the corner, curling his hands around his bandaged legs, and resting his head on his knees. “…Before I found you, I was taught to believe that I was hunting bad people.“ He’d stuttered through a good portion of his words with a cracking voice. “When… when I put you on that second hook— I…” He choked up, frustrated that he was already losing his calm presence after only a few sentences. “I witnessed a vision, and it scared me.” He was shaking again, not overtly noticeable, but Philip took another deep breath before continuing regardless. “I saw… I… The Void, The Entity… She—” He stopped talking, looking away. Philip focused on the misshapen bills scattered around the floor instead of speaking any further, unable to look back at his memories without being swallowed whole by an abyssal sense of dread.

< prev || @glyphsinthefog ||

At the faint sound of knocking on the loose-hinged gas station door, Philip stirred from his fearful moping, shudders still wracking his lean form. Did he hear Dwight’s voice? Or was it another trick of the fog, or maybe a neighbourly visitor, or just one of the ghosts…

The man sighed wearily, standing up to his full height. He hesitated for a moment, unsure wether-or-not he should bother checking in the first place. He wouldn’t be able to handle another killer’s presence at the moment, and in the worst case he’d snap and get someone hurt. If it was a ghost, he’d have gotten up for no reason. The Entity messing with him was the most likely scenario, so the more unaffected he was by their surprise, the better.

Philip took deep breaths, letting his shaking hands still until he was relatively calm and collected. He went through the back door, light on his feet as he silently circled around the building to where his visitor would be standing. He had the element of surprise at the very least.

When he saw who it was, he bit back a hiss of shock. “—Dwight?” What was he doing here? This was no place for a survivor. He shouldn’t have even gone into the woods, let alone into Philip’s realm. The man was lucky enough to reach Autohaven without a scratch, let alone find Philip’s realm in the fog before anyone else’s.

“Are you alright? You made it to your campfire? Healed?” Philip’s voice was strained, clearly upset. The killer’s eyes were wide with concern, and he circled the survivor worriedly, making sure he was truly alright and okay.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Phillip

You know you it never was your fault

And you know you never wanted this.

Phillip

Murder was not your way of life

It never was

Philip is a gentle soul, but however that saying goes- even a worm will turn... Killing is not inherently within his nature, moreso another thing he’s learnt to accept.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

< prev || @glyphsinthefog ||

At the faint sound of knocking on the loose-hinged gas station door, Philip stirred from his fearful moping, shudders still wracking his lean form. Did he hear Dwight’s voice? Or was it another trick of the fog, or maybe a neighbourly visitor, or just one of the ghosts…

The man sighed wearily, standing up to his full height. He hesitated for a moment, unsure wether-or-not he should bother checking in the first place. He wouldn’t be able to handle another killer’s presence at the moment, and in the worst case he’d snap and get someone hurt. If it was a ghost, he’d have gotten up for no reason. The Entity messing with him was the most likely scenario, so the more unaffected he was by their surprise, the better.

Philip took deep breaths, letting his shaking hands still until he was relatively calm and collected. He went through the back door, light on his feet as he silently circled around the building to where his visitor would be standing. He had the element of surprise at the very least.

When he saw who it was, he bit back a hiss of shock. “—Dwight?” What was he doing here? This was no place for a survivor. He shouldn’t have even gone into the woods, let alone into Philip’s realm. The man was lucky enough to reach Autohaven without a scratch, let alone find Philip’s realm in the fog before anyone else’s.

“Are you alright? You made it to your campfire? Healed?” Philip’s voice was strained, clearly upset. The killer’s eyes were wide with concern, and he circled the survivor worriedly, making sure he was truly alright and okay.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

(@glyphsinthefog ) One would expect a survivor to avoid killers. That after a near-death experience and a rough trial they would take some days (or what counted as days) to recover.

Dwight wasn't doing that.

He returned to the fire, bandaged up, slept briefly, and then did his best to slip away from the familiar comfort of the group and off into the trees. It was always nervous going off away from the safety of the fire, but with Philip's mark still on his wrist, the risk of being found by another killer was less than the curiosity to get to know THIS one...

The symbol of protection on the survivor’s wrist was of a simple design. A spiraling circle, with a pair of swooping lines extending from the middle to guard it, vaguely resembling a stylized pair of wings. It was a steady, grounding presence.

The woods were deep and dark, as if The Entity had pulled them right from a children’s storybook, anachronistic mockeries of nature. Gnarled boughs that stretched far into the sky, blocking out all light as their skeletal branches reached out into the darkness of twilight whilst thick fog below blocked any means of navigation.

It was all overcast with a deafening silence, and in turn, every small noise rang out in a thunderous cacophony by comparison. Leaves and twigs snapped underfoot like fireworks. Each breath a swirling gale. The sounds all reverberated between twisting trunks, swiftly distorting into monstrous echoes.

The shadows cast by the moonlit trees above seemed to dance merrily, flitting from place to place like mischievous sprites.

Through it all, the protective symbol seemed to slowly burn a calming and grounding warmth. Soon the trees and landscape began to change with each passing moment, thinning out into a claustrophobic birch forest. Dark markings in the bark were shaped like eyes, and left an ominous feeling of surveillance.

The symbol cooled in temperature, no longer emitting that strange energy as the ground underfoot changed to a rough mixture of dirt, gravel, weeds, and varying bits of old scrap. Up ahead, shone a soft light beyond the treeline, and soon enough the familiar buildings showed up within view. A giant neon sign hung above the scrapyard like a halo, with the words Gas Heaven glowing in saturated hues.

Autohaven Wreckers.

—

When the disastrous trial had ended, Philip awoke sometime later. Sprawled out on the concrete floor of the makeshift home he’d made of Autohaven’s garage. The vignette pain of a headache dragged him to reality, and Philip stood up with a jolt as consciousness returned, holding his head in his hands as the events of the trial came back to him in a rush.

He remembered the trial.

The lucky unhook, the vision, everything.

The only issue was that, whatever had happened after Dwight left, it was all blocked by a horrible darkness in his memory. He couldn’t help but feel that this was on purpose, that The Entity had given him a fragment of choice for her own entertainment. Released like a laboratory rodent, into a maze with promises of free will but no escape.

He shuddered, sinking back into a dark corner of his home and curling into himself. He knew he wouldn’t get another trial for a while after this. The Entity wanted him to think over the past events. She was going to drain every last bit of hope and despair from him, and leaving him to mull over his own fate was an efficient way of doing so.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Philip made a distressed noise akin to a harsh whine, gently but urgently pushing Dwight’s uninjured shoulder in an encouragement to go towards the stable sanctuary of the fog, only when he didn’t immediately leave did Philip make an effort to speak.

“…Philip Ojomo…” He finally croaked out in answer. “Please Dwight, leave this place… The fog is much safer. She will not be merciful if she catches the both of us.”

Memories of the past trials flickered in his mind, of the swiftly dealt brutality he’d enacted upon people that he now realized would live to endure it all over again. He was no Angel of Mercy, not in this place.

He closed his eyes, his hands shaking. The Entity would inevitably take him back into her clutches, to remake him again. He would forget that this all happened, or he’d forget the endgame collapse.

He was a tool, to be used in the butchering of her prey.

@glyphsinthefog - It was always the trials where you didn't see the killer right away that made Dwight the most nervous. The silence making him more and more tense until he was spending more time looking around than focusing on the generator he was working on. Inevitably, his hand slipped as he worked and the machine backfired loudly, making his heart hammer in his chest. Pause.... He still didn't see anything nearby... He really should finish this.....

Perhaps the most unnerving thing about the trees in the realm, was that despite a nonexistent wind making the branches slowly dance- there was never any gentle rustling sound to accompany it. The air was simply blanketed in a thick and choking silence save for the ambient drone of the dilapidated landscape or the disturbed cawing of crows.

Today Philip had carefully wrapped the clapper of his wailing bell in neatly cox-comb knotted rope. It effectively rendered his power silent, save for the xylophone whoosh of smoke and shadow that echoed throughout the trial grounds.

The Wraith uncloaked, standing behind the survivor fumbling over the generator, his breaths a rough and haunting rattle. His soot-symbol sickle knife was raised, glinting a cruel silver in the moonlight. Philip’s inhuman eyes shimmered within shadowed sockets, glowing like twin stars, his vision twisted in attunement to the spirit world. His prey was unaware, and now was his chance to strike mercifully.

The killer swung his weapon in a violent flourish, aiming in hopes of maiming or incapacitating his prey.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Philip growled at the blow to his shoulder, expression pulled into a grimace when The Entity’s talons lashed out in protest, one bristled claw whistling past his head as it reached outwards. He was so utterly doomed to a fate at the hands of her wrath, but Philip kept going regardless. He was pissed off, just not at the survivor. It wasn’t the torrent of rage that killed Azarov and the killing crews. It was a sinking feeling of dread in his chest, a tightening rope of desperation around his throat, and a gut-sense of utter betrayal- all at a cosmically nihilistic scale.

He could more-so feel then see or hear the old coal tower slowly crumbling down behind him in the end game collapse. The crash of the rubble shook him to his core, and he nearly stumbled in his effort to make a run for the exit gate.

The one downside of being a killer was that killers were considered a part of the trial. They were the last to go, of course, but now Philip finally remembered what he was going to feel at the end of the game.

To be torn apart, and pieced back together at the whim of his god.

The survivors always had the option of escaping by hatch or into the fog, to run back to the safety of companionship and a warm campfire. Killers, on the other-hand, were built to withstand the sensation of sacrifice unscathed. Regardless of if they ‘won’ the trial or not. The Entity would always have her meal.

It was this visceral and instinctual drive for survival that pushed Philip forwards, even if he knew deep down that he wouldn’t make it out in the end.

The Wraith leapt over the forming cracks and weaved through falling trees. Dwight still held close. The ambergris essence of the trials, oozing from the scars in the earth like a horrible ichor, shone a sickening orange hue that was blinding in its pure vibrancy.

Ahead of him was the open exit gate, wholly devoid of lingering survivors. Selfish cowards, the lot of them.

He halted to a sudden stop. The Entity’s cruel spines were inches away from his face, visible only to himself- and Philip stood, trembling, to watch the fog swirl beyond the exit gate.

The mysterious murk danced tauntingly out of bounds, and the interlocking barrier was far too thick for him to reach through.

He was going to die… again… and he couldn’t do anything about it.

A frigid acceptance slowly settled over him. Something like the realization that a gentle snowfall would inevitably cover his own tracks, leaving him to face the blinding storm lost and alone, to succumb to the cold.

He placed the injured survivor on the ground, marking a symbol of protection on the man’s wrist before silently gesturing—pleading— for him to leave.

@glyphsinthefog - It was always the trials where you didn't see the killer right away that made Dwight the most nervous. The silence making him more and more tense until he was spending more time looking around than focusing on the generator he was working on. Inevitably, his hand slipped as he worked and the machine backfired loudly, making his heart hammer in his chest. Pause.... He still didn't see anything nearby... He really should finish this.....

Perhaps the most unnerving thing about the trees in the realm, was that despite a nonexistent wind making the branches slowly dance- there was never any gentle rustling sound to accompany it. The air was simply blanketed in a thick and choking silence save for the ambient drone of the dilapidated landscape or the disturbed cawing of crows.

Today Philip had carefully wrapped the clapper of his wailing bell in neatly cox-comb knotted rope. It effectively rendered his power silent, save for the xylophone whoosh of smoke and shadow that echoed throughout the trial grounds.

The Wraith uncloaked, standing behind the survivor fumbling over the generator, his breaths a rough and haunting rattle. His soot-symbol sickle knife was raised, glinting a cruel silver in the moonlight. Philip’s inhuman eyes shimmered within shadowed sockets, glowing like twin stars, his vision twisted in attunement to the spirit world. His prey was unaware, and now was his chance to strike mercifully.

The killer swung his weapon in a violent flourish, aiming in hopes of maiming or incapacitating his prey.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Where Philip stood cloaked, the air shimmered faintly as he breathed. There were quick moments where the shifting illusion reflected a faint and disembodied light, swirling unnaturally around the tall man’s silhouette like a smoke or fog. A trick of the light, or moreso the spirit world in Philip’s case.

He tilted his head at Kitsu’s words, unused to such calm conversation during a trial. He took a moment to collect himself enough to hold such simple small talk. Even most of the killers only ever sought him out for help, or as a listening ear. He felt a little fuzzy warmth of joy, at the kind phrase. He forgot sometimes, how much he needed reminders that he wasn’t just a mindless human butcherer.

Another short pause as he gathered the right words, still cloaked within his comforting shadowy sanctuary. “You… You are a survivor like the others, yes? But you’re a spirit too, like some of us killers...”

Philip wrung his wrists in something akin to a nervous fidget. He was extremely unsure about the situation. Did The Entity plan this? She had originally bestowed upon him the ability— A curse, if he could call it by its reality— to see the dead, lurking within the planes of the spirit world, eternally chained to the trapped souls of their own murderers. He’d learnt long ago to tune out his own ghosts, but their pained screams were a constant wailing whisper in the back of his mind, muffled only by Azarov’s cloth gags and ten tons of crushed American steel.

He exhaled, the weary sigh toeing the line of a snarling purr. An uncomfortable, congested noise. “Why are you here if you’re a spirit? A survivor no less? Surely The Entity would have seen through your disguise.”

@algebra-of-infinite-night

Another trial. Another game of brutality.

One hooked, five gens to be protected. He was doing alright so far. The faster this went, the easier it would be for both parties. Wraith huffed a weary sigh, sickle-knife heavy in his grip. As his father’s bell materialized into his hand, he bashed the blade against it, the bone clapper chiming discordant and unsettling tones against the wailing bell. The noises echoed unnaturally, as if the bell was rung from all directions. Cloaked within the shadows of the spirit world, Wraith once more began the hunt for his prey.

A series of rough scuffs upon the ground captured his attention. Scratch marks, perfect. He kept his pace sluggish so that his cloak wouldn’t shimmer in the air, and he stalked. He hid around a corner and rung his bell to uncloak before dashing around to see-

Something flickered in his vision as if he were seeing double. A figure working on a gen. They were no ghost because the dead left behind no scratch marks. That didn’t explain the almost-auric air about them, as if they too were cloaked within the night. Shimmering, celestial, canine.

“You’re not… Who are you?” Philip asked in a strained monotone. His eyes had difficulty focusing on this stranger, gaze shifting between the movement of the kitsune’s tails and the human disguise they wore.

Fumbling with the wires, curing under their breath as they nearly avoiding exploding the strange machine as they heard the scream ring out, all Kitsu could do was sigh and shake their head. Turning to look at the direction of the scream before going back to work, the stubborn generator halfway completed, with no thanks to their fellow survivors. Assuring themselves silently that someone else would get whoever was on hook, the fox continued to work, not realizing that they were being watched.

Their ear twitched inside their illusion as they heard the lonely bell ring out, instantly making their heart jump. Barely having time to react, Kitsu held their arms up in front of their face, bracing for a swing at them. Holding their breath, waiting for the sting of pain and the feeling of blood that never came, the Kitsune became confused. Peeking between their arms at their ‘attacker’, almost missing the question entirely.

“Uh..” Taking a few moments to assess what was asked of them, processing the strange sight in front of themselves- killers asking questions was not something the vulpine had prepared for. In their moment of befuddlement, the illusion started to flicker, unsure of entirely how to react.

“I’m… Kitsu?…” Was all the fox could offer up, a sheepish look on their face.

[algebra-of-infinite-night]

Auto haven was a grim place, you can just feel it in the air - heavy with untold stories. Amanda normally did not come here often, she preferred to stay in her realm, where familiarity is but her gear supply was running low and Caleb had none to spare, she'd rather choke on a nail then ask Evan.

So, maybe Phillip will have some?

" Phhhiiilllliiipp... "

She called out into the night, she'd rather ask then steal, she didn't need more enemies.

There was a telltale shimmer in the air. A twist in the natural function of light that gave away the killer’s presence before he appeared in a swath of embers, as if burning into one’s very retinas. The somber wail of his bell echoed tauntingly, as if to warn his foes of danger before he swooped in deathly silent. Efficient in his hunt.

Instead of any immediate threat however, Philip appeared from the smoke with a genuine smile on his face. “Amanda. What brings you here?” The twin lights in his shadowed eyesockets glimmered cheerfully.

It was always great to see another friend. Despite her gruesome technique, the masked girl was one of the most tolerable killers in the realm, more distinctly human, and with a sort of pathetic aura that kicked in his apparent “doting mother hen instincts” as referred to by the others. In much the same way you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a sad, sopping wet kitten under your wing. She shared his sense of dry and ironic situational humor too, which he greatly appreciated.

“Are you well?” He asked, a look of friendly concern at the edge of his expression. The girl hasn’t visited for a while, and it always sparked a small bit of anxiousness in the observant man whenever a killer changed their routines or habits.