laughing skulls

September 4th, 2015
6:00 PM
Roxbury Bridge, South Channel Island
Tags: Harleen Quinzel

Thick, heavy boots clapped slowly but noisily against the concrete walkway of the Roxbury Bridge. Every so often, the soft ping of flesh smacking against the metal railing could be heard as Johnathan Blaze, with strained breaths and a veil of sweat over his face, quite literally struggled to maintain his composure as he worked his way toward Downtown Gotham.

Three days. He'd been suffering like this for a total of three fucking days, and it didn't seem to show any signs of letting up or ceasing altogether. Ever since he arrived in this weird metropolis, this city called Gotham, John had been desperately trying to quell the darkness that threatened to boil to the surface and fully consume him; everywhere he stumbled and staggered, he felt nothing but the oppressive fog of pure evil cling to his shoulders as though it were the shadow of Death herself. Hell, that would have been a little bit more comforting.

But no. This is what he deals with instead: he can feel the stink of sin permeating every single crack of Gotham's streets, smell every last drop of blood that was ever spilled from the veins of an innocent human being, and see the unquenchable madness and chaos that gripped this city by its very throat. It clawed at his mind, dug into it, wormed its way inside him, reminding him that, no matter where he went in the world or where he was, he would always find evil.

And it pokes and prods at the demon who lurks within Johnny Blaze's soul.