Heaven's Hung in Black

[Hollow Tyborr]

I can't take anymore..
Our walls are black and bleed.
I can't take anymore..
No rooms here for your screams.

Don't you hear me?
Don't you hear me??
Don't you fear me...
Of never coming back.
Oh, no more tears, please.
Hanging heaven black.

No don't you leave me to die..
Don't you leave me to die.


Jon sniffled, snuffing his thumb against his blood-clotted nostrils. Walking into the bar room, his steps held a slight limp. The berserker's attire this evening was a roughed up, cut up, blood stained, over-sized pair of over-alls. One of the denim buckle straps was undone and flopped over carelessly. Underneath the cover of the abused denim was clad to a blood splattered wife beater.

His face was not masked but, there was defiantly coloration of 'make-up'. Jon had bashed his head in a bit more into whatever inanimate object he found, the dark clot of a circular spot looked much like a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. Also, silver paint was roughly half-fashioned amongst the blood, mostly faded along with the thick black shadow/liner around his eyes. Those eyes...looked completely crazed.Yet, somehow devoid of all emotion.

The once self-proclaimed 'Krinkle' wasn't the sanest person, no, not at all. And, most people knew that already. But, today he didn't seem...himself. Silently, he hobbled to the bar and leaned over it, retrieving his once clean aluminum baseball bat. Hoisting it over his shoulder, the beyond mad man slowly made his way toward a table. Not without grabbing a bottle of Jack of course.

The maniac's whole world parted before his over-edge mind. Reflections of his life up to this point, flashed within his head all-to-sudden, pausing his steps. "...Feeble, frail and rotting. Descending. I'm lost in..." his voice was dull, zoned out, as his head slowly cocked a thick gaze at the blood-covered panels of this table. "A structure that's collapsing...don't want it...cast into.."

Those mutters seemed to make less and less sense in that zombified mental-state he seemed to be trapped in. Jon's head slowly fell forward as he looked at his feet, "Memories in me...cocooned in misery."

[sunday]

The pub was relatively empty. There was nobody there but a few stray people and Sunday.

Sunday, all decked out in only her jeans and a cardigan -- her "it's the weekend, I'm going to chill" look -- sat in a table by the window, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate. No alcohol for her tonight. It was weird. She'd been sober for a day or two, now. The town kind of... made her feel very un-partylike. For a few hours at least, and then she had to get out. But then she always had to come back. It was too nice not to come back.

Sunday didn't quite know how she'd managed to stumble into this town, but when she did, she found it so charming that she had to stay here. Even if it was just for a little while, maybe. True, it was a long way away from the city, but she liked how quiet and peaceful and charming and pristine and ---

Jon?

Sunday's gaze followed the man as he moved across the floor. The rabbit mask was gone. He had make-up on. ("Why the fuck do you have make-up on, Jon?" she asked in her head.)

She hardly recognized him. Not only was he acting... stranger, more violent than usual he... he looked different, too. A lot different. Ever since Jules...

Sunday stood up, taking her mug of cocoa with her. "Jon?" she said cautiously, moving toward him. "Is that you?"

[Hollow Tyborr]

Jon's neck gave out several sickening pops as he watched the woman approach. His eyes were wired out and wide suddenly. His lips began to twitch to an almost tremble before his lids lowered once more.

Giving an almost desperate look to Sunday, his lips parted in a painful grin, he looked as if he'd break down crying though from that look in his pale blue eyes. "I..just want to..run around. Fly kites...wrestle, jump, and play..." His voice was strained, "Swim the waves that crash the shore..." Jon's 'brows furrowed sadly, "But...I'll never have that..."

His expression turned into that of hate quickly, those pale blue eyes quickly consumed with the pupil, red rings around them. Black veins begin to snake into the sclera of his eyes while his hand gripped that baseball bat's handle so hard his knuckles turned white. "Resistance... futile!" The mad man began to yell, " Suicidal ideas. I will crucify my own being! Satisfy.. selfish needs. FUCK the deities. Justify my own right to what's waiting for me.." at the end his voice calmed a bit, thick veins bulging from his neck, pulsating.

"Jon is no more...he's fucking dead. Feeble, frail and rotting. Hollow is here to stay. Resistance past the door, I sail through purgatory's bay." He said dully about being another personality, an alter ego.

[sunday]

She stopped a foot or so away from him.

The way he rambled like that, the way he ... grinned. If that was grinning. Sunday knew that Jon was far gone but now, he seemed as if... too far gone.

"Stop fuckin' around, Jon," she said, giving off a nervous laugh after he'd said that thing about Jon being dead. He was right there. Hollow is here to stay.

For a moment, Sunday thought that Jon was maybe possessed -- the same way Sunday had been possessed for so long. But, no, it had to be a joke. Right? Krink was like that. He liked to joke a lot. Maybe this was just...

"You're not joking, are you," she said certainly, her brow furrowing. In her mind, Sunday cussed and wondered if she should leave the guy alone. Bolt out the door and leave the other fuckers in the tavern to handle him.

But she couldn't.

Sunday cared about Jon. He was like a brother to her. -- Y'know. The kind of brother... but anyway.

The girl inched closer, discreetly shifting her hand around the mug so that she'd be able to lob it at his face if he tried anything funny. He was a Berserker AND a vampire. And she was just... Sunday. He could beat her to a pulp or maybe even kill her, if he wanted to. Not that she cared, really. Que sera sera.

"Hollow?" she echoed. "Why Hollow?"

[Hollow Tyborr]

At the very corners of his veining black eyes; blood rose like tears, threatening to fall as he slowly stood at the stout form of five foot seven and some odd two hundred plus pounds. It was true, he seemed to have been catching up with his brother in muscle mass. His neck was thick mostly, and his shoulders. That bat dropped onto the floor with a loud ringing chime from wood to aluminum.

His head slowly cocked as he looked over the woman, lip cocking. He remained silent as she protested, unbelieving him. "Somewhere in this dying day...If I can only find a way for my escape. I find it hard to concentrate with all my past mistakes. To begin my life..." his voice crackled like static, ever single prominent vein in his arms face and shoulders began to oil and bulge to the surface, turning black as he stepped slowly toward Sunday.

" I can't feel my faith... can't recall my crime..I think I sealed my fate along the way I may have lost my mind...I guess we're all damaged in our own way. Alone. In our own way..." Hollow's voice began to crackle and growl, snarling with malice as his eyes began to widen. "I've consumed Jon, broken him down into pieces to puzzle myself together. Call me a ghoul....call me some alter ego. All your pretty little head has to worry of is my existence..." His hand rose and gripped the back of her with enough forces to nearly tear the hair from her roots. He pulled her back as he leaned over her form and stared into her eyes, as if seeing throgh her, deep within her soul.

Slowly, without paying mind to what ever wail the woman had given him he leaned more into her and whispered harshly in her ear."Isabel...come out and play.." tauntingly.

[sunday]

The cup of cocoa fell to the floor with a crash. The liquid pooled at her feet.

The few people that were hanging around the pub rose to their feet when Sunday let out a ragged cry. A pair of drunks stood up, trying to be gallant. "Oi! What are you doing?!" A couple ducked out of the pub to avoid the trouble.

"Jon, you're HURTING ME!" she screamed raggedly, panicking. The small, toothpick of a girl that was Sunday bent back like a plastic doll some kid was trying to break. What the fuck was this Hollow-thing? What the hell happened to Jon? Sunday's hand rose to scratch at the hand that was gripping her hair, making parts of her scalp bleed as whole locks of her hair came apart in his hands.

Sunday's catlike fingernails and fangs bared themselves on instinct, her earthy brown eyes turning an electric, almost golden shade as her pupils dilated and her hackles raised. "Let me GO, motherfucker!" she said, clawing at Hollow's hand; fingernails digging in and taking strips of skin along with them.

But he seemed immovable. Hollow's voice -- not Jon's voice, no. Jon's voice never made her gut wrench and recoil like this; never made her want to vomit.

Isabel. Come out and play.

People were starting to move toward her and Jon, now. Sunday opened her mouth to tell them to stay back, but she felt something move inside her. It was a strange, serpentine coiling in her stomach and behind her eyes. It was hissing. It wrapped around her throat and looped all the way to her fingers until it seemed to cover her entire being -- this invisible, primordial thing.

Sunday was conscious in her own mind when Isabel's voice tumbled out of her mouth.

"Berserker," the strange, demonic voice hissed. The demon's eyes looked out of Sunday's face at Hollow. Neon green, snake-like. Sunday's kitty-cat claws pulled out of the Berserker's hand.

"You will not harm this child."

Isabel held her hand up to hover over the Berserker's face -- and started pushing him back with the force of her mind.