The hunted

The floor is array of many strange colours that don't not follow sense. The possibility of what could be played off as shrubbery or plant life are nothing short then art from a broken minds. Illusion art of what could be organs made into pipe work roots and jitter in movements of strained back muscles like a heart freshly torn from the chest. Putting it nicely would to call it a monster, but that be a insult to those whom coin that term already.

At every step is that sloshing friction of trapped air bubbling at the surface. Drastic screeches from the creatures being disturbed from this unwelcomed intruder. A sorry little fool whom did a bad, whom did a extra bad with running this way to escape its mistakes.

Right when it goes to avoid something, it backed into some other creature. Scrambling about like animal knowing they are near the vet. Not as funny either. No. This. This is total terror. Mindless terror.

Alien to anyone from the laws of life and death, this world doesn't care about drawing those lines. That of the creatures here thrive rely on the energy of what decaying atmospheres clashed worlds. Past the point of calling this air to breath. Even in looking out to the landsacpe of crooked things. Light doesn't act by the rules. The spectrums of light that brush this land are scattered to inconsistent and sometimes whole colors missing. Some colors aren't of human sight spectrums.

This place is no place for the existence to call rule over. The very stranger whom flutters in utter terror is on that fine line of not being sure of anything. Only that they care to keep running from the many.

A law breaker on the run. Doesn't care for anything but to 'survive'. Even if the term has lost meaning and comes into many different arguments of are they even at all now.

If this was normal logic, they be loosing energy to carry themselves further. Lost of breath, panting out any wasted energies within themselves. Mind exhaustion of paranoid thoughts, weak minded thoughts only a person would do if they are scared of everything. Scared of the very floor they stomped through. If they been seen and followed.

They are at this last breath of giving in, wounded from crashing into everything. Shivering and at the moment of passing out. Doesn't even have that mind set to ask if the 'wildlife' will eat them first. At the mercy of the hunting mob that should be after them, so it was assumed.

"You shouldn't be here, little guy." Jutted with looking up to thin figure, crossed of what could be a arm across the chest with the over stick appendage held out like a hand to help them fool stand up again, "Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I..." the fella looks around, it is the first time his actually stop to study anything about this place. Confused with what a bleak looking work full of strange stick organ figures there are. This one speaking at him is the only thing around here in a vivid neon pink, a sore thumb in a pallet of pastel creams. The organ things are skin or fleshy tints, "Where is this?"

"You don't have a word in your language. This isn't a place or a time or a where. There isn't anything - at least in your understanding of anything. You belong somewhere. Come, I can get you back to a somewhere you do know." Offering that appendage more insistently.

"You're not going to try anything weird for a return cost, are you?" Standing up without aid and trying to work out where to look to talk towards. Not really any sort of head, face or just consistent enough structuring to suggest shape, "some folks steal souls like that. Just like asking name and like offering a hand out... limb out." confused for sure, totally forgotten that they were on the run or being exhausted at all.

"Nah, I am not going to. I have no interest in that voodoo." The limb broken parts in mime same gestures, sort of how someone talks with their hands as they are speaking, "Just head that way." It gently points a distance ahead, waved in circling it, "Over there..."

"Over... this?" Pointed to a dark spot.

"No, no. Over there in the color." posing the head to look that way, "there." the scrambbler isn't sure what the heck this thing is talking about. But for now, just accepted this help.

"Thank you." the neon was already gone. The land wrapped shades of blues through teals. In having taken one step, it were pitched black. Yet it was in the area the neon told him to go. It felt more like a fever dream of temporary lost sanity. Whatever just happened.

Gently walking within a surface of dark, focus was returning. The thoughts flooded back a word at a time, slowly. They felt whatever their identity was was washed away. To only just sense that the skin is ice and inside is hollowed empty.

"Chased." They muttered with disjointed thoughts, "Touched. No. Blood. Made blood." they forgot words, posing across the chest and playing out motions they knew they did. strangling air. A swift poke with would must have been a object through something.

"Now!" to be thrown on the floor once more, clipped into iron links. A hunter of oath sitting on them, stop them from wiggling for any potential struggle. There wasn't any fighting as they assumed. A moment of feeling like it was the wrong idiot that broke laws.

"This is them." Another hunter with expertise in energy readings, a sort of what realms you walk through accumulate energy types and can be read as personal signatures on a metaphorical passport.

The team picks the fool up, carrying him through into Sigil, which the pathways energy system can double confirm or deny that this is the very soul whom did what crimes. Like any videogame system marking out a murderer among the normal passerby. Branding those whom need to be sorted into punishment for cruel deeds, deemed by the system admin's rules.

"Organs everywhere." catching up slowly, "Pink."

The hunted haven't even bothered about being captured yet. Such mindlessness is making the more veteran hunter's be wary. Even among the crystal tier of ranks - this act of loss mind isn't a experience to be forgotten nor should it be ignored.

"Check the tomes." Someone ordered, bringing forwards a death god rank oath keeper. As normal to their duty, they should slice through the body and pull the soul out. With the soul in hand, damage check and then name clearance with the corresponding tome of dying. The scythe chipped the hunted man's shoulder, unable to soul remove.

"Check skins." another suggested, this is another method of soul reading. Enacting divine energy over someone's arms or back allows to show signatures made to alter the soul. Being a murderer would make any with sinner's brand.

"No visible mark." Only happens if the body were reborn in some form, be it from being grounded into a new veil slide or loosing sight of something once common place.

"They are marked... you are unable to see." Among the more often mute watchers of the shadow types. A damned like the one they captured, but from a different timeline... a different thread pattern of life and death. Misted hands traces areas, "A potential Ender... but whose time threads?" Speaking to themselves in altered languages, fizzing out like static radio. Others of the mute made commentary too, in how they all spoke in the same hand signs and with coded non-senses.

"Past return." Is a common phrase they seem agree to keep using, "Fade out." also used often. All of them snapped with how someone among those secretive said something.

"Insanity veil." This one was punched. Most were soon twisted in strange poses, some very uncomfortable broken poses. A neck were snapped back at some point.

"Elder's Judgement." Announced at a sudden snap, a burst of strange things crawling out of places that weren't normal. Strangers from the shadows. The broken shapes of longed bodies. The slow hissing and many eyes.

"God slayer! Scatter!" Everyone drops everything and scatter the place clear. All but the insane stayed behind. No one with common sense was going to have the means to kill a god eater.

"We don't need to disturb the hard working." Her scales shimmer in flakes of star light on a deep violet background, swirling of shades of energies she ate. The claws extended in ripping the soul from the hunted one, "A crystal soul adapting. Nothing special." The soul is slots back in, the fool acted indifferent to it happening, "19." She took a paper out and added a blood drop from what was from the claws, "A sinner for anywhere hell is." She announced... slipping darkness and clattering away.

The damned and visitors from beyond time all argued from this moment forwards. Disappearing from hearing pitch or sight. Hunted one left laying on the floor, covered in chains and still babbling non-sense.

The mind does strange things when there isn't any answers from the soul to point the way. Disconnection in a body can be a crippling fate.

"Pink." They repeated in staring up.

The pathways of Sigil had seemed to be faded slightly, as the strange place of before was eclipsing once more. The figure had more outlines now, starts of a sketch. A model without a details.

"You're not back yet? You should hurry along. Don't get ate by the dream worms. Hurry." Helping the hunted stand up again, and had removed the hunter's magic of chains fall off them, "Run. Run to the dreams. Don't let the worms eat the Elder's work. You will find me." There seems hope laced in those words, common sense. Just enough for the reality to slam them awake.

"You're not running sunny. We got a room in hell for a sinner like you." A foolish demon whom doesn't know. Being all full of itself about how it were going to use easy reward money from this steal of some other hunters work.

"I have to find pink." The mind is set on a mission, even if it meant fighting with everything they have. Breaking spells that needed court of laws, normally. The shock of the demon recoiling from the energy cost of backfired magic. It enough of a split chance to scramble into gear and keep running. But now there is a goal, a purpose for the mind to make sense. Even if they weren't functionally soul acting, they had a hope. Hope is all it takes sometimes, small or large.

It is a matter of finding how to go to the worlds of dream and stories. A goal that a mind will not bend enough to understand. However, in the case of this hunted fool, being scattered brain out of total shock and fear is easy.

Rendering any assuming and common sense to be irrational or not priority. Heck, they forgot if they were alive or dead already. Sort of playing about with doing both sort of things. Sometimes acting breathless and sometimes walking through solid objects hap-hazard. Claiming to need to breath when there isn't any air or energy for such actions.

Things around them held no matter, as the sound of something worse was felt. What neon pink said was turth, that something worse then just oath hunter's doing thier job wasn't scary. They didn't matter in a sense of being interacted with anymore then needed. Even the demon struggling focus from a energy drain was worth more being left as it was then to help them. It be a serves to everyone else if they could just run for dream world. No laws mattered. It were not anyone's to judge at this moment. Even if the gods wanted to cause a divine stop, there were things whom knew what was up and helped him find his way to dream world first, even if it meant facing a god slayer or three. He had permission from the mother of them. Forget being human, it was a waste of strength to pull themselves onto two legs. Pelting the worlds on all fours as fast as possible was quicker right now.

Proving the urgency of their situation, at demanded of neon pink hissing at the hunted for not moving it, what was a demon hunter is gone. As there was perfect bite mark of the ground where it was a moment ago. There wasn't a trace left of the ground ever being anything but a hole of void existence. A apple corer to a container playdough.

These marks will continue appearing, as there were plenty of broken creatures to point the directions to go. The hot slim making swiss cheese of the hunted persons body, as a near miss had a strings of drool searing their skins and soul. Breaking doorways of god realms, short cuts to get to dream world quicker matters right now.

The smooth slice of teeth shaving their stomach as the throw themselves onwards. The wounds were unnatural, as if there wasn't flesh of a stomach ever being there. Broken... yes, its exactly what these helpful direction givers were like. Survivors of being hunted by existence erasing creatures.

The slam of knocked their head one a warm surface shook them for a while, loosing grip of loosing what little sight they held. Blacking out in a groan of going to pick themselves up again to continue running.

"Bait!" A shill excieted voice of a slivered body held the hunted one down, little hands pulled thier limbs apart. Shook about like a toy doll. Singing so merry and off toned. Gurgling at points. Clicking when replacing words it didn't know what to say. A god slayer's voice. Everyone knows clicking is a gut core body sound from inside the creatures, like a chain thick of bells being tumbled in a cement mixer. The scrapping of the floor were nessary to attract thier most prefered meal... no not gods. They eat gods whom try to do stupid things. That's why they are named God slayers.

The existence eater as categorized in the very book these worms attempt to feast on, are also called Dream Worms. They are attracted by creativity. stories, dreams and memories are good replacements for what they crave most.

These dream worms are after any or all tomes - life, death, unalive (as explained previously), immortal, soul name records or the compendium of soulless entities. They also eat the energy of what creates existence, such as the fabric of time space. These worms cause the total collapse of universes when the systems running within a universe lack the efficiency of keeping soul density at average level. In other words, too many souls that are of one status type- eg to many living souls or other such examples of broken universe laws. God slayers like eating them, the exact reasoning is only clear to a god slayer. Not many or hardly any have ever stated or spoken otherwise.

The hunt one is thrown to a cold surface as a battle of chaotic madness happens. A centipede like dragon of hypnotic colors dug deep flesh marks into the translucent tape worm... both as thick massed as a space rocket. The area of realms around them were puckered of acid spills or slice marks as the scrap of monster continues. The hissing, clattering of nails scrapping through solid stone and gurgling. Slows with thudding, the last struggle of being able.

"You managed to survive and prevent to much damage to the many worlds." Neon pink is a mirror of himself... well. That was his life as a human. The human shape the took his wife's life, "I have redeemed myself... she be proud of this. A selfless act to let myself be torn to limbs for everyone else. I know she will forgive now." the color poured into them... and all those confused thoughts went away.

A lot of things faded, as it was time to move on. There isn't any point of salvaging this corpse, this soul has no more attachments. To have no grave and bare no names was common for the damned and sinners.

"Even if i was just a flea or fly next life... I will be accepting of it as a punishment for my own crimes. My own reprise." A sort of last prayer that left those lips, the soul faded off to wherever souls go be.

"I am a lucky merchant." Corpse sorted, then. That was quicker expected.

Bones, skin and whatever organs intact. Jarred up and portioned out like any shelf meat in a shop. Whatever that was useless is buried and given prayer. A pebble with runes to protect the souls journey to whatever next life it will have. All poached meat is marked and properly documented, because clothus are rule lawyers for sourcing proofing. No every fool is lucky to be given a grave, it wasn't free. Business is business.

"Long lived and far followed the hunted ones." the books closed, "I pity the fools."