Silent Hill Activation: Destined To Die

Prologue

1

     Electrical fingers tore serrated trails across a maroon firmament as billowing clouds swelled and absorbed neglected pockets.   Destra grimaced, lowered her head and tasted the air with a split tongue that coiled and slid over dry, scaly lips.  Her webbed digits sank into the earth and from the wounds simmering meat crawled . She moaned as the sensation peeled her jaw back. As the moist meat glistened she flicked her tongue out again.

    Upward she shot like a bullet. Her back rippled and from its crisp skin tore free a set of wings that dripped thick fluid that scolded the ground. Racing above mangled muscle trees she occasionally vomited acid. It rapidly generated blisters upon anything it touched, but this merely bore a cackle within her throat. It echoed as she continued along her way.

    An abrupt turn brought her into an avenue rich in bleak shadows that wrapped every angle. Her eyes took in the wandering creatures. Their jerky movements and shiny latex like skin birthed festering boils that gurgled as though choking on something vast. Still it wouldn't be such a wonderful sight if it had not been for the occasional smear of blood on cracked pavement or mutilated body.

     Dismembered hands scrambled away, running on fingers that sprouted from a bloody stump while its original digits curled into its bruised palm and molded into its flesh. She paused, hovering with her wings still flapping and then darted off. Then another sight caught her in another moment. It was such a beautiful hell.

2

     Forever I am trapped in this mortal dilemma. I hang my head. It never ceases; anguishing questions. Why does there have to be purpose? At the same time I ask "But how can there not be purpose?"  How can this be since I cannot fix even my own morbid inner monologues? Saving a life means nothing because it is my life.

     "What are you doing," Krosnos roared.

     Dyne froze. With eyes round like saucers it threw aside a pen and paper as a high pitch squeak escaped his rotted lips. One object went over one lumpy shoulder while the other sailed over a skinless one. It then jumped to its cloven feet and laced maimed fingers over its robed chest.

     "Have you been writing again," asked the horned beast as he ambled inward on a set of goat legs. "Why must you entertain mortal actions?"

     Dyne coughed and looked away. Suddenly the tight enclosure seemed less and less like a haven. It knew no answer would be good enough.

     "You are supposed to be a daemon," Krosnos continued to blast. "Start acting like one!" In a sharp turn he made his exit and only after he was gone Dyne stuck out a forked tongue and spit.

     "You don't have to listen," Dagger said as she emerged from shadows gripping every inch of decayed stone. "You know you can be whatever or whoever you want to be."

     Dyne rolled its bright crimson eyes and sighed. "I know, but I perhaps I don't want to choose sides. Perhaps I want to be neutral."

     "Destra is not going to settle for that and neither will Krosnos."

     Dyne leaned against a slime covered cement slab and folded wiry meat arms. "Why should I care?"

     Dagger hopped down an eyeball boulder. It had been blinking all the while she stood on it. Now it watched the two of them as she ran a gloved hand through one of her lilac ponytails.

     "Dyne," she said softly, "I think you do care. If you didn't care you wouldn't be so intrigued by mortal appliances and such. By the way I am going to refer to you as 'he'. I know in that form you are sporting you actually are neither sex, but for my own benefit I have to make it easy in knowing..."