Priceless Monstrosities (Party of 2; Takeda)

[Akira Nakajima]

To say that the youth was a bit off-put by the fact that, the further he went into a place, the weaker the enemies became, was a bit of an understatement. Ikebukuro as a whole seemed to be especially dangerous. Sunshine City, oddly enough, was a bit less dangerous. The museum, though? Practically nothing worse than what one could find in the streets outside of their home. Or his home, at least. After encountering others that had experience with these things, it was probably a bad idea to go out on solo expeditions, but it was also the most reliable schedule- going out on one's own, that is. The boy, riding Hayagriva, could only shake his head and click his tongue. Expeditions were all well and good, but unless he had the means to actually research the things he encountered, the only way to learn would be to fight, and he simply did not have the strength to continuously engage these things.

How bothersome.

Akira shifted about on his mount to get more comfortable. Rather than galloping away like a hero out of a fairy tale, the boy felt at ease in the museum. He could, maybe, utilize that as a chance to relax during that “extra hour”. For a little while, at least, as he didn't really want to be in the museum during the “normal” hours. Especially not when it was likely closed. The youth had since learned to not wear much clothing outside of the necessary during these excursions, though. Durable jeans and a simple black T-shirt with the phrase “I AM BOSS” in stark white English letters made for a sufficient combination. His spear, naturally, was in his left hand, while his right rested on Hayagriva's neck for support. The white steed stood out in stark contrast to the dark and green of the museum.

Would he find something other than the blotches this time around? Or would it just be another dance with destruction?

[Takeda Akiyama]

No, no, he couldn't break in through the windows, this wasn't like some typical B&E that you hear about on the news. No, in the back of Takeda Akiyama's mind, he knew this was probably one of the dumbest things he had ever thought of doing...only a few weeks after having summoned some sort of ghost right out of thin air, after nearly being mauled to death, he was going out. He was going out alone. Every night and every day he had thought about going out during those dark hours of the night, learn about the possibilities, contemplate a few more. A cultural museum seemed logical, since the little fuckers seemed to like cropping up in big enough buildings when the electronics went out.

Slowly, he and his half-brother had started to reason a few basic things out about the hour itself, but hell if he didn't know the nature of these things. Electronics would shut off, or fizzle out, colors warped and changed like something out of some modern art scribble, to call it strange, well...that was an understatement. The blobs though, the monstrosities that he and his brother ran into during their nightly hunts? That was different. Some would take old lead like it was nothing, but Seiji could cleave them, others would be blown away by a single shot. Some, he couldn't even hurt.

In Takeda's head, as he pulled a set of dirty work gloves over his hands, he knew this whole situation was fucked. Disappearances explained in the blink of an eye, monsters coming out of the god damn walls, man. Atop that, never in his life before all this started had he pulled the old Beretta out from behind the medicine cabinet, much less fired a shot. Now he was here, in the middle of the dark hour, pistol stirring nervously in his coat with a full magazine, pushing through a fire exit to a cultural museum with the intent of looting it.

Pulling his jacket tightly over his chest, Takeda walked carefully through the door, slowly pulling the 92fs from beneath his coat while eying a few nick knacks hereabouts on the walls. Times were tough, he argued in his head, this shit was just what he needed, some extra cash, something to help him out, to get his next drink, or maybe replace his old coffee maker. Seiji? Little shit was sleeping for the first time in ages, having kept him awake with talk about their past few hunts. Still new to this, both of 'em...what's worse, is that Takeda couldn't even manage to get the damn ghost to show up again.

Creeping across the tile floors, safe in the knowledge that the electronics were out from the dark hour's weird mumbo-jumbly bullshit, he made his way up a flight of stairs. His goal wasn't the paintings, no, he knew from experience that paintings were traceable, locked after hours if shit was ready...the till from banquets, fundraisers? No...just a safe, of a leather deposit bag. Hopefully, something would be left...god, this was the dumbest thing he did in his life, other than deciding to come back to god damn Japan.

As he reached the office, a noise filled his ears, not the alarms, not the cries of some fat security guard trying to stop him from robbing the place...but the clickety-clack of hooves striking a tile floor. Slamming his back up against one of the walls, Takeda cocked his pistol, held it tight in both hands, just like all the old videos showed. Not a word was said, not a single fucking word. Holding his breath, the red haired clerk looked out from the dark, from behind a pillar. Still too dark to tell what was going on downstairs.

Something, someone, was downstairs, probably some different variant on the little shits they'd been putting down before...Seiji had always been on to charge at the little fucks, whilst Takeda? He'd act sensible and shoot things until they were dead...there wasn't any charging whatever this was. It was big, he could hear it downstairs...one of those eldritch  abominations had decided to grow some hooves, or worse. 

[Alice]

A bunch of things appeared! Oh boy!


Fading Seeker
Resist: Dark
Weak: Light
Skills: Mudoon, Media

Phantom Rogue
Null: Fire
Weak: Ice, Strike
Skills: Agilao, Matarukaja

[Akira Nakajima]

Maybe it was because he had already seen a variety of obscene little cretins since this whole ordeal started, but Akira didn't feel too phased when he saw what looked like an almost stereotypical ghost, albeit with an odd design. Of course, it was a more Western “design”, compared to the Japanese concept of a ghost, but that was that. Whatever the case, corny, generic, or not, it was apparently hostile from the get-go, firing off a blast of super-heated air. The flames lapped at Akira's arms as he had Hayagriva gallop forward. The spear cleanly skewered his opponent, but it didn't die. The flames, while stronger than those he had encountered recently, were still bearable. If anything, they were still in the “annoyance” category, thanks to his resistance.

Circling around the spirit, the boy utilized hit-and-run tactics and made sure to not let the spirit properly face him again. Even if the opponent used something he resisted, it didn't mean that was all it had. A poke here, a thrust there, and the boy quickly whittled the opponent down. Or so it had seemed, until a healing aura engulfed the spirit. The boy then noticed the set of eyes, or, rather, the gigantic face that faded into eyes and bats, that had healed his target. He hadn't noticed the orbs in the darkness. What a bother. Two on one, while not impossible, was certainly not the top of his desires at the present. Hayagriva hopped back as a tempest of darkness and fire swirled and slammed into the ground where he had been. The two enemies were working together at that point. He could only click his tongue at that.

Twirling his spear, the boy urged Hayagriva forward and thrust his spear into the spirit's torso. Then, side-stepping by means of Hayagriva, the boy positioned himself on the side of the spirit opposite of the eyeballs. The surge of darkness coming from the eyes' face slammed into the spirit, seemingly doing heavy damage. With a final thrust, the boy skewered the spirit. The “body” slumped onto the shaft, adding weight to the spear, before the body dissipated. What remained was the enemy that could heal itself. The boy sighed and performed healing of his own before sizing the enemy up. He could tell something else was around, but was it a friend or a foe?

[Takeda Akiyama]

A bright flash of light erupted from around the corner of the pillar, illuminating the near entirety of the museum's darkened interior. Blazing heat engulfed the room, and boy oh boy could Takeda feel it. Clutching his gun in his now sweating hand, he looked left and right, shutting his eyes at one moment due to the heat. Something was out there, one of those god damned monsters from before was right out there, breathing fire or some shit at something, god knows what...but it wasn't at him. Fire would've went around the pillar a ways, flickered against him, got his jacket...for some reason that feeling got him a little antsy. Nobody touches the jacket.
 
A sickening squelch resonated throughout the museum as he contemplated looking out to see what in the hell was going out...and then, nothing, for a short while. Could these things pull off illusions? Fuck with your head? Only one way to find out, and it was the way Takeda least wanted to go. Readying his pistol, he leaned his head over to look out over the rail. What he was met with nearly made him stumble backwards. The back of a huge disembodied head, with bats encircle eyeballs that floated. Well, this was some Doom shit right here.

Without thinking, he turned his pistol on the beast, which in turn spun around to open it's jaws at him. Two shots, clean into the center mass. One skidded by the cheek, the other, fortunately, popped one of the bats, forcing it to drop an eyeball which soon dissipate upon hitting the ground. The old nine had some kick to it, and god damn did it ever ring out lo-oh fuck it was screaming. Deafened ears gave way to the sound of the beast opening it's mouth, and a miasma of darkness flowed out which engulfed Takeda.

There was no way of describing the pain other than saying that it made him feel almost...sick. Like all the cells in his body were slowly deciding to abandon ship and hop right on off. Raising his arms, he was pushed back by it's constant stream, closing his eyes shut tightly. Pushing forward slowly, as if through a storm...he found that for some reason, it slowly grew less, and less painful. Raising his pistol again, he opened his eyes, but found not a sight for the darkness, save for one sole thing.

That fucking card. Floating amongst the abyssal energies like some shining beacon. Just out of reach, out of hope...fuck that. Raising his hand towards it, gun firmly held, he remembered crushing it that night before. Please god, he hoped this worked. A loud bang resounded, going through the darkness into the creature's mouth. The stream stopped, the card? Shattered, into thousands of tiny pieces that clanged loud into the night.

In a flash of bluish purple light, something arose from behind his tired frame, and his eyes struggled for a bit to make out the features. The phantom was here, the card had done it's job...why the hell couldn't he find it before? Overhead, the mage loomed, monochromatic fluid draining out of it's black, ragged sleeves as it's chilled breath bellowed out above him. Looking up at him, and the back to the beast, he wondered how it worked...how the hell was he going to fight thi-

Not even a thought. As if reacting to his will to attack, the phantasm raised it's hands towards either side, the ichor from it's wounded hand  forming into a small pool in it's palm, which soon caught alight, illuminating the room. Rearing it's hand back, the mage seemed to know, seemed to act on what he wanted. All he had thought, was to attack the beast. An immense ball of orange flame tore through the air, into the creature's innumerable eyes.

A grin slowly spread on Takeda's face. Oh fuck the hell yes.

He set his mind on it, tried to channel it, wanted with all of his heart to see this horrible thing in front of him to burn in hell. There was no movement of his arms, no...it was like he and the ghost were one. As the head shrieked in pain, and recoiled back, he watched the spectral mage fire one into another eye, illiciting another shriek...this time, it wasn't just in pain. All that cockiness was gone the moment it belched out darkness at him again, this time, slamming him ass first onto the floor.

What he noticed at that moment, was that the mage followed suit, shriveling into his cloak in pain...what in the hell was going on? Raising his hand up again, pinned with his back to the wall on the floor, he gritted his teeth, and squeezed the trigger non-stop. His vision blurred, but the smoke-like darkness went away...the monstrosity made a movement, it's eyes began to plop one by one to the floor and disappear. Gritting his teeth, he got up onto his knee, and put one hand to the floor.

"Fuck you!"

A gout of fire poured overhead from the mage, catching one final hit onto the spectral head. Takeda felt woozy, disoriented, but he knew the sight of the face, set alight through the haze. Slowly, he stumbled back up, the phantasm equally seeming exhausted, as it seemed to retract into it's cloak, evaporating like smoke. Slowly, he made his way to the railing, sweating, out of breath, and in more dire need of a cigarette than any man in history.

Panting, he looked down at the floor through blurry, bloodshot eyes. A few shell casings had fallen off the upper floor, rolling to the ground...no chance in hell was he going to loot, he had to pick those up before daybreak. But what he saw other than that, was a surprise. Another human, riding atop a...was that a god damn horse?