Night Terrors (INVITE)

[numble]

Feeling a sharp pain in his temple, Robbie woke up with a start, bolting upright as he breathed heavily. The nightmares had started a week ago and had tormented him every night since. They seemed nonsensical- fleeting visions of rippling flesh and breaking teeth, guttural noises comprising what seemed like a language he couldn’t even comprehend being spoken, let alone understand. The sounds were almost animalistic but there was something about them that made them seem intelligent and deliberate. He followed the same ritual he did every night when he woke from one fo the nightmares, climbing off of the couch in his small, one bedroom apartment to go get a glass of water.

After taking a few steps he suddenly recoiled in alarm. “$#%^!” he stumbled backwards but stopped suddenly, realizing his apartment was not in fact on fire. He’d caught sight of his own reflection in the window and rather than seeing the flesh and blood face of Robbie Reyes, he was met by the burning gaze of a flaming skull. “What…. The…….” He looked at his hands and then at the rest of his body, fully clad in black leather. “This…. is new?” It had been a long time since he became the Ghost Rider without meaning to- certainly not since he’d managed to rid himself of Eli Morrow.

It had been three weeks since he’d managed to fully reclaim his body and his power and they had been relatively uneventful. He’d taken time off to tend to Gabe and oversee his physiotherapy since Excalibur had healed his legs and without his uncle’s constant desire for killing compelling him to take to the streets, he’d been taking some time off from the whole ‘super hero’ thing. He should have figured some sort of trouble would find him eventually.

Looking at himself more closely in the window, he noticed the flames on his head were all moving in the same direction, as though blown by the wind, though there was of course no wind in his apartment. He turned slightly, watching his reflection out of the corner of his eye- the flames did not turn with him. They remained fixed in the same direction. “This… is also new.” He mumbled. As he walked back and forth in the apartment, the flames moved, almost imperceptibly, to point in the same direction. He thought about waking his little brother but thought better of it. He left a note instead, a sheet of paper with the words ‘Had to go out’ hastily scrawled on it.

As he took to the streets, he drove back and forth a few blocks to make sure he hadn’t just been imagining the flames’ movement but sure enough they continued to adjust to point in the same direction. More alarming still, the flames of the hell charger also pointed in that same direction when the car was idling. He had to know what was going on. He had to know where they would lead him.

A bit more than an hour and a half later, he pulled to a stop somewhere west of Mount Vernon. He’d circled the area and was certain- this unassuming farmhouse was where the flames were leading him. The fields around it were various shades of overgrown or dying- clearly left unattended for some time. The house itself was only in a state of slight disrepair. It could use a new roof and the external paint was peeling but it wasn’t as rundown as the unattended fields would lead one to expect. A barn stood about 100 yards away- this structure was more derelict. Even in the dark of night, large holes were visible in its roof and its door was at an angle, barely hanging on by a single hinge. Did someone still live here?

As Robbie took a step towards the house, he felt it again- a stabbing pain in his temple. He grunted and grabbed at the side of his head, doubling over. If he could have, he’d have vomited from the nausea it brought on. Instead all that came out was a few sparks of hellfire and a string of profanity.

[Judi Strange]

---

"Some things exist only to burn..."

---

   “Everything I was afraid of when I was growing up, I've become. I've taken on my nightmares, like the devil and the end of the world, and I've become those things..” ~M. Manson

The tempest raged as it began again, Illyana Rasputina stood as she had many nights on a dry, desolate hill that overlooked the beautiful dark waters of Lake Baikal. Yellowed dry grass and rough terrain was where she had been laid to rest. Fitting, for this was the land that her family had toiled and she had grown upon in life. The beautiful, brutal and desolate in its own way nature of that land had certainly seeped into her very bones even before Belasco had spirited her off to play cut and slice with her soul.

“плохой сон —- bad dream-- I am sleeping,” she uttered reminding herself as she felt drawn to the grave as she had so many nights before. Her footfalls ground into the rough terrain. She had been here many times as a child and not in these dreamscapes, each time she was pulled closed to the casket, to the riddle of what was inside it and something in the waking world she was not sure she desired to know.

Lightning played across the sky offering quicksilver highlights on her and the lone figure praying over “the body” as she neared. The words were a sort of English with the trills and cadence of the Scottish. She stopped, the wind blowing her hair as well as the robes of the one in prayer. “Rahne Sinclair, or rather to be specific my image of her, even in dreams Piotr and Kitty are no shows.” She offered with a bitter quiet tone.

The dream figure clad in the vestments of the Western church didn’t hear, or perhaps refused to stop speaking her prayers making no seeming notice of the black leather and latex clad Magik. The words, while beautiful in their own way were grating. Words that simply were just not true; Peace, love and the worst of all the notion of an eternal, just rest. Good words but hardly honest- worse they seemed to be lies and platitudes by her own account of death and rebirth.

She watched the image of Rahne for some time as she closed the distance to stand over her own grave, lips down in a slight frown as she moved her gaze to the fresh earth. “Today must be the day I know,” she reflected raising her hands upwards to the storm with words both eldritch and long forgotten except to tongues infernal she made her will reality- tearing the peace and tranquility of the moment as sure as the earth itself. The ground heaved and tore away with rock and earth peeling away and elevating the casket.

The dream like version of Rahne railed on with words like “Desecration, unholy- and the most grating of all a sad toned plea. “Magik, Stop! Please let her rest!” But she had to know, had to know what was inside both the box and herself! What had he done to bring her back! The damage to the land was as in most dreams devastating. by her machinations all she called beautiful was laid waste! The earth wilted and rotted, the lake boiled and grew blacker than night. Rahne - the pious and kind mourning image of her  had too gone, now there was only the truth of the casket and herself.

She hesitated touching the sealed lid, there would be no turning back once she knew, once she saw. “Do it, let us be honest with ourselves.” Her gauntleted hand paused on the lid as the dark soul within her own being urged her forward. “We must know and that will tell us our correct path-are we still a horseman of death, are we the Heroic X-man or so much more than both.” It chided in her own voice spoken over a leering fanged smile. With a cold resolute gesture she tore the coffin open so focussed on her obsession to know that she failed to notice the Tranquility of Lake Baikal was now the darker twin of Limbo itself made manifest on the Earth.

She woke then tensing, she was no where near Lake Baikal or even earth for that matter. She slept if one could call it such still on her throne in Limbo. A moments rest before her revenge that offered another deep cut into her being courtesy of her former Master and resurrector Apocalypse.

Sleep; it was amazing that a simple little thing such as that could become so hated, despised as it had. Not because it reminded her of dying; that moment when in a numbness you breathed in your last breath. No, it was hated because in the silence and solitude the resurrected Illyana had to face the last vestiges of humanity and all then gnawing questions that opened the door for her other soul to pry at.

Still, to this sleep- this torment there felt again a pull, a need time and again growing stronger each night. It was risky to seek out this urging but if it could reach her even here then there must be something of it to either be useful, or dangerous.

“Either way, it is either something to harness or will have to be dealt with clearly.” She offered rising form the dark throne.


MOUNT VERNON:

The Step disc blazed in the field, its brilliant blue edged with the fore of Limbo as it eared a seared a circle in the ground and offered the wind a taste of brimstone and burning. Nearby there laid a house of some sort- western, in the style of the American Gothic it seemed to her. Her summation paused there as she did feel a deep mystic presence, and smelled burning.

“Clearly- we are having my kind of party,” the possibility of danger washed away the dream and that was more than fine by her account. Fighting, breaking all appealed not only to Illyana to quiet the nagging questions of self, but as always delighted her dark soul within. With an eager, if outwardly casual manner get she moved closer… while inwardly, on the hunt.

Magik's Theme song: Arch Enemy: War Eternal

[Ysmir]

"Impossible? I've learned never to use that word in my line of work."

---

Even in his waking hours, the visions grew more and more intense.

There was never a dull moment in the life of Sorcerer Supreme; threats were exchanged, obstacles toppled, and yet despite all of the work done, new issues always arose to replace the old ones and keep Strange on his toes at all times. It was a remarkable consistency with which the universe found itself at war with extradimensional invaders every other day. He wished he could say that he had become used to it, accustom to the madness, but one never truly did. You simply made an effort to be better prepared every day.

Would he be prepared for this?

Today, he meditated, but something distorted his vision. Floating before the Window of the Worlds, the inside of the Doctor's mind was maelstrom of activity as he concentrated on their world and the entities within. What was usually a clear canvas, a picture for him to project his thoughts on to, was now a tangled mess of confusion and chaos. Something had been growing stronger in the background beneath his nose, and only now did he realize just how grave the threat truly was. For something's dark influence to be so strong as to cloud his perceptions was a tremendous quality, indeed. Even as Strange fought to maintain his focus, something lashed back, and eventually, he was pushed from his meditations as though shoved forcefully from the confines of his own mind. Sweat beaded at his temple and rolled down his cheek. His legs unfurled and he stood, looking to his hands.

"By the Vishanti..." Now, it was no question; this threat had to be tended to, and it had to be tended to immediately.

Strange wasted little time, notifying Wong of his departure and leaving the care of the Sanctum Sanctorum in his capable hands whilst Strange investigated the anomalies he'd been detecting in recent days. It didn't take him long to determine approximately where the nexus of this bizarre and foreign power was residing; in his visions and sometimes in his dreams, Strange saw a home in a wide field. After triangulating its position through the usage of context clues and his own reliable memory, Strange was able to make his way there and begin his search.

By the time he sensed the arrival of a familiar entity, Strange had already been looking about for some time, but to no avail. Before the Ghost Rider, the front door of the house swung open, and the Sorcerer Supreme exited from within its confines.

"Robbie?" The Doctor seemed half surprised and half relieved to see the youngest of the Riders. Then, he looked past him and to the path a bit further down from the house. His brow lifted.

"Illyana?" That tone was far more unmistakable; pure shock, no doubt about it. He bent down to help Robbie to his feet. "Then I'm to assume you've felt it, too?"

For his part, the Doctor seemed far less affected by the negative energies leeched from this place -- or, perhaps, he was simply much better at hiding it.

[Rift]

Sleep.

It is supposed to the be a time of respite and restoration, a chance for mind body and soul to prepare for tackling the next day. The dreams that accompany it, mysterious as they still are to even those who research such things, tend to play a large part in mental well-being. Even the occasional nightmare can be beneficial, training the mind to handle real situations of terror. In the end though everyone knows that nightmares be they caused by a frightening experience, conjured from some primitive part of the psyche, or simply the result of some food past it's prime are merely temporary. The monsters are gone upon waking, the memory fading with the first light of morning. Everyone accepts this and goes about their lives.

Everyone except Johnny Blaze.

Since the start of bearing the curse of the Spirit of Vengeance, from the moment he'd signed the contract and sold his soul, sleep was elusive and nightmares intruded in the waking world. For a time though he had been able to take solace that as scary as his life was at least he was the cause of a few nightmares himself. Rumor had it that when demons wanted to scare each other they told Ghost Rider stories and any human stupid enough to cross his path, their soul stained with the blood of the innocent, well they became another chapter in a long book of vengeance. Legends of a burning skeleton crossing the backroads of America on the back of a motorcycle that roared with the screams of the damned were common in some areas. Johnny had even once heard some cross-country truckers reciting urban legends with varying degrees of accuracy. For his part the Rider seemed to enjoy keeping monsters, human or otherwise, checking under their beds.

Unfortunately for Blaze that consolation was short lived. In the early days Zarathos would seize control of his body, using him as a vessel to punish the wicked. He'd wake up in strange places miles from where he had been and sometimes even in ditches with the battles and broken bodies mere flashes of memory, like a nightmare he only vaguely remembered. That had ended though and for a time the Rider and Blaze seemed to come to an understanding, working as partners. It was an arraignment that had been working for quite a while. Until recently when once more Johnny feared sleeping, knowing that when he woke he'd find that the Rider had cut a swath of burning, bloody vengeance. It had gotten to the point that the authorities were actively hunting him and Zarathos was for once, not talking.

He didn't know if it was some shift in the natural order of the world, some violation of supernatural rules, or Mephisto simply having his panties in a bunch, but something was very wrong. A mini slaughter of possessed individuals, some very prominent and powerful, out in New Orleans had proven that he was in need of help. And so he was heading to Canada in hopes of seeking out a woman that may be able to assist him in finding out just what was wrong with the Rider. Or at least that had been the plan. Sadly, strong as being the host of the Spirit of Vengeance made him he still had to sleep.

Somehow in the course of a single night he had crossed the country, the Hellcycle screaming with the fury of a million tortured souls as it came to an abrupt stop in Mount Vernon. In the near distance he could see a house, somehow both normal and yet as frightening as the entrance to the gates of Hell itself all at once. He wanted to shout, to turn back and drive as fast and as far away from that place and the eerie aura it gave off as possible. Unfortunately, he couldn't because he was not in the driver's seat.

Zarathos! What the...c'mon! We had a plan, we get to Canada, we find the woman, and maybe we get some answers about what is going on! We can't be here. It is only a matter of time before SHIELD decides to start tracking us! I managed to stay out of the damned civil war the costumes had, I don't want to end up fighting them now because you took us for a joyride!

"SILENCE! We are exactly where we need to be. Vengeance must be served!" The Rider replied.

Revving the engine, The Rider streaked down the road, gravel flying and turning to glass beneath the heat of the hellfire engulfed wheels. Turning, it skid to a halt stopping just before striking Hellcharger or any of those gathered around the entrance to the house. Remaining stationary for a moment, the Rider turned it's head to observe all present, a sound not unlike sniffing the air echoing eerily over the crackle of flames and the rumble of the engine. Reaching down he withdrew a chain from the bike and stood gripping it, seemingly deciding whether or not to attack the others. The chain lashed out suddenly, moving of its own accord, only to wrap itself around the Rider's chest and shoulder. Glancing from one hero to the next it gave a slight incline of the head in greeting before hollow eye sockets focused upon the door, as if trying to peer past it.

"It reeks of sin." The Rider said, though whether he meant the house or those gathered was anybody's guess.

[numble]

Still hunched over, Robbie craned his neck to look behind him as Illyana appeared through some sort of portal. “Who… are you?” His head whipped around however, ready for anything as he heard the door of the house open. His guard lowered when he saw who it was. “Doctor Strange?” He sighed, wishing that he hadn’t been seen in such a compromising position but all the same, he was glad not to be alone in this… whatever it was.

He took Steven’s hand and stood up straight, shuddering a little. He could still feel the pulsing waves that had brought on his nausea but he seemed to be adapting after the initial shock. “I felt…. Something, for sure.” He couldn’t say what it was, it was an entirely foreign feeling to him. Though he’d been compelled to come here, it had been a while since he’d fought much more than the amped up street thugs that New York City seemed to be constantly plagued by. The presence of Doctor Strange and this unusual woman only made him more concerned that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. But it was too late, he was here now. No going back.

“So you two know each other?” He turned to look again at Illyana, now that he was upright. “I gotta say, I’m glad I’m not the only one here. I was starting to think I was going crazy… Did you have dreams too?” before he could ask anything more, his thoughts were suddenly drowned out by the roar of a motorcycle engine. Turning, he looked to see who was showing up. He would have smiled if he had lips. “Johnny.”

As the other rider skidded to a stop, Robbie began walking over to him. “You too? Did your flames do the compass thing?” he asked, pointing at the fire still streaming from his head. Having another rider here brought him some comfort, even more than the presence of the sorcerer supreme. At the other rider’s comment, of it reeking of sin, Robbie looked back at the house. “It’s giving off some bad vibes for sure.”

[Judi Strange]

---

"Some things exist only to burn..."

---

   “Everything I was afraid of when I was growing up, I've become. I've taken on my nightmares, like the devil and the end of the world, and I've become those things..” ~M. Manson

---

    There was simply no mistaking it, a feeling if not of the house- perhaps the land or an essence that had once been contained within?

She began to move about the front of the structure, surveying- feeling the emanations of the structure. "How were you drawn, your said dreams- what sort of dreams exactly?" She asked the demon her back to it bypassing the question it posed as to her identity Her tone was a direct- clinical question offering little in pleasantry or for that matter emotion. For the recently resurrected Illyana there was no fear, or amazement at hell spawn; why would there be for most of her childhood had been spent with their kind and their torments and delights, they were not human- nor likely was she anymore for that matter.


Then she felt it; the presence of this realms Supreme- As Stephen appeared part of her withdrew like a vampire may form the sun itself, her Darksoul felt a sincere hatred bubble in the place lake of her being for the being men called Stephen Strange. For the mundane but observant her movements paused if only a moment at feeling his primordial essence manifest itself. It was a moment of memory, passing exchanges and quickly boxed feelings. "Dangerous. Kill it" It howled inside her soul, tearing at its yoke like a rabid animal.

"Ah, Stephen- I should have guessed you would be joining our little gathering."  She resumed her examinations, tracing a corpse like hand encased in ornate Eldrich metalwork down a support wall in a gesture meant to evoke a casual human like touch, but as the claw tip traced down the facade leaving their mark she watched analytically if not warily Earth's Sorcerer Supreme. After all, if Kitty had not betrayed her- her own brothers betray her then could not anyone? 


Her hell hammered Darksoul did not trust Strange, it never had but now that she had died and been reborn under the yoke of Apocalypse, she trusted this reunion far less. While true he might hold the nagging answers, she craved it would be weakness to show her lack of understanding to her own very existence. "Do not show our neck; he will cut it, wait and cut his first." It's words now were like honey; she could almost feel its clawed caress on her pallid cheek. As below so above nothing was ever free.

No, she had to seek her own answers lest any know a method of control over her destiny- The irony of being so secretive and using the tactics not unlike the demons upon whose throat she rested her boot was not lost on the Limbo Sorceress Supreme.

"Because we are one." The darkest part of her being answered back in a cloying tone whispering to her inner being unheard by any save her. "Child of Belasco, Child of Apocalypse--- We shall always be Death."



She turned to them, clasping her hands denying the Darksoul  any more of a foothold, it would make her it's thrall if it could and usurp her power. "It would appear we all have had invitations to this place, be it enticements or torments- or both, so it seems we must pool our resources to seek more information; perhaps a sort of- perhaps an pooled area Psychometry?" She began, offering a beautiful porcelain doll like smile that did not reach the pale blue eyes that stared outward at them as their fourth arrived, another demon wrapped in the visage of sometime hero- She was beginning to wonder if there needed to be a demon hero intervention for as cliche as it sounded they were legion- but it did slide the odds in her favor and leaving Stephen as odd man out with his warmth and humanity.


"There is nothing without Sin existence is Sin, it just depends on the level- Now, to business." A light shrug as her eyes moved back to Stephen Strange.

Illyana's Theme song: Arch Enemy- Deceiver, Deceiver
Heroes: Magik |Captain Marvel| She-Hulk | Pixie | Jean Grey | 
Villains: Spiral | Typhoid Mary | White Rabbit