~' GuestTerror '~

'Fangss without venom'

By the way, who in their right mind namess ssomething, "Sspawn Ssap?"

He shakes his head, feeling the tug of curiosity mix with the unbearable itch to get in trouble. The world around him is a wreck of blood and rubble, like something went wrong with the recipe while the Spawn was making a soup.
Maybe he can go and check out the graveyard, he can find bones there. Hopefully without raking up a body, but that's out of the picture.

He darts his directions through a rotten alley, bodies and bugs everywhere. Glad the graveyard isn't too far from where he currently was, or he might've just went back to camp with nothing. He enters the graveyard by hopping the fence, rather than just going around.

There's blood everywhere. Staining the tombs, the dirt, and the church wall. His boots grinded against the gravel, crunching through the quiet breeze of the wind. Taking in the distant sound of the crows and the feeling of wind wrapping around his tail.

He'd pass a crooked tombstone and squinted at the faded letters. "Beloved father of Skyyyy..." Something. The rest of the name was too messed up to read. "Musst've been a real good dad.. Would've liked your boness old man." He giggles in embarrassment.
Who talkss to gravess? A maniac, duuhh. He scowls to himself.
"I'm not a maniac."

He kicks some rocks on the ground, nearly falling into an open grave. He was staring at a bird, or- a Crow. Stabbed into the wall of the church. Then he sees it. A smear of blood. It wasn't old, it looked brand new, still tacky. "hueah.. cool, free ketchup trail." But his voice cracked. His tail was rattling, a panic of hollow clacks stringed together. 

He'd step closer to the grate, leaning over it. Was that a laugh? Or just a pipe wheezing? Crows are screaming at him now, screaming at him for what? What did he do? There's steam pouring out of the sewer, It's damp and sticky on his skin, the feeling clinging like an old memory.

I don't like thiss. No I don't like thiss at all.
But does he really have a choice? Everything screaming for him to go in so why doesn't he? A crow swoops down, nearly hitting him in the head.
 Fine then, he'll go down. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? The worst that can happen is he gets bit.
But he's known down there.

The thoughts of Lyric, the bone, the instructions his dad gave to him, have been fogged out by one single thought.

The sewers

The scent hits him first as he's climbing down, the unbearable smell of rot and piss mixed with hot steam. He's lucky he's been down here so many times or he might've thrown up.
The ladder creaks under his weight, the rust staining his palms orange.
He almost slips into "the sludge" when he hops down

He'd stick his hands into his pockets, shaking gunk off his shoe when he starts walking. The sewers are big, big enough to get lost within it for days. But it's lived in. Wouldn't say it looks anywhere identical to the city, it looks more like a casino down here. A dirty, lively casino. Well, with more than a few zombies stuffed here and there.
I like it better down here. No one judgess you.