graveyard shift [Der]

@"hyperhurricane" I forgot this thread existed y u no remind me or did you forget as well

Sharp, burning pain.

Mor's side, and then soon the rest of him felt pain from being exhumed, cold air biting burnt flesh and skin, singed and charred beyond belief from excessive lightning. While he could recover from it, it would take time, and the process could hardly be called satisfactory. As his mind and body began to stir, he thought of how unsavory lightning and electricity was, having felt it break him apart.

Then the shovel poked him and in reflex he let out a bolt of lightning screeching straight up into the sky. The shovel's tip scraped away a small amount of charcoal skin, causing him to being bleeding profusely. His blood slowly trickled onto the casket, sizzling and steaming.

Noting the confined space with his blurry vision, Mor put one broken arm up to the brim of the grave, grabbing on as best he could and trying to prop himself up, hearing bones creak and snap as he did. That last particular battle was very damaging, and it took him a full minute just to get himself back upright. In the process, two more holes in his side opened up and he was leaking a bit faster now.

His footing was still unsteady, and he barely had any time to get used to controlling his newfound wings, one of which was now twitching uncontrollably and sparking. Another broken arm shot out with a weak acknowledgement of pain, barely a grunt, and pulled it back under control. It didn't seem to like being controlled though, and in response it shot off sparks into his face.

Remembering the presence of someone else, he turned to the person that woke him up and rubbed his eyes with a spare hand, as three had gone off to quell the rebellion of his left wing. "I... gratitude. Unconscious, air supply limited by size underground. Likely would have... died."

@"hyperhurricane"

Mor grabbed on to the ground, his legs giving way to his now unbalanced weight. Sparks dripped down his decayed feathers as if they were droplets of water. His four arms buckled and twitched, and once again he fell down, his face flat on the grass. He fell down and splayed. When he attempted to get up again, a small jolt of lightning shocked and clipped his wings, forcing him to stay put.

With his voice gravelly and further muffled by actual gravel and dirt, Mor weakly croaked out a quick report of his current situation. "Vital function minimal. Need water or mana. Bleeding. Estimate... four hours left without assistance."

He could feel something at his hips, something... wrong. A small amount of black smoke began to puff from his spine, and he quickly (as quickly as an almost-corpse could, anyway) turned himself around, feeling the crunch of his wing-bones and the sensation of mild decay on his back. Thankfully, he was too weak for his currently uncontrolled power to do anything he could consider permanent.

His eyes shut and he feebly attempted to reach up with his smallest arm, fearing that using the others might accidentally burn this person who dug him out.

@"hyperhurricane" i hup ur hapi

The injuries felt a little lighter now on Mor's nerves. His wounds were starting to bleed less, and he knew for certain that he was at least not going to die tonight. Unless this mysterious benefactor or some other intervening factor said so, that was.

Carefully, he gripped a large scar on the side of his rib and singed it, hissing softly in pain. It could have been left alone and allowed to clot, but Mor wasn't quite in the most pragmatic or efficient state of mind at the moment.

It took him a great effort to turn himself over to face the dirt, and even more to prop himself up onto all fours. Weakly he shook and attempted to push himself up, his arms all buckling under the stress. Several attempts were had before he could even manage to push himself up to rest against a gravestone.

His head lay on a gravestone, and his body was draped around it, kneeling and grasping onto it as if he were cast adrift in the ocean and it was his lifeline. His wings shuddered against the chill of the night, more sparks issuing forth like drops of sweat. Mustering what strength he could, he twisted his head to see his benefactor.

"Undying gratitude," he said, attempting to nod. "Debt noted. Requesting identity... who am I in debt to?"

@"hyperhurricane"

I am Tamara Nagi. Who are you?

What are you?

Mor heard the voice in his head and trembled in fear that he had forgotten the sensation of. He was a creature of cold calculation and complete control, but this time his innermost faculties had been breached. Just like with the bird, he found his control slipping away.

He attempted to run away, but his legs could only carry him a few steps before he fell to his knees again, clutching at his head. When he couldn't, he grabbed onto the fence and shuddered there. "Are - no - not my head -"

The mental strain almost made him throw up, and although he managed to resist, he did feel his body shiver and his pupils dilate. He started to hyperventilate and choke on his own throat.

It took time, but Mor finally managed to stop reeling from the shock of his mind being entered. He turned back around and flapped his wings sluggishly as if waving away his anxiety. "I - apologies. I am - I am called Mor. I am - was human."

"Found an interesting upgrade," Mor said. His wings twitched in response, as if they didn't like the thought of being considered "interesting upgrades". A few more sparks left the feathers and crackled a little before disappearing. "Assimilated onto self. Previous consciousness stronger than anticipated. Had to incapacitate self. Was buried."

He stretched out all four of his heavily wounded hands for a handshake, having heard that it was the proper thing to do when meeting a new person. His footing staggered for a bit and he stumbled a little, before recovering his stance.

By now, he'd regained lucidity, and was mentally making notes. Once he'd gotten past the invasion of his mind, he found it interesting that someone could do so in the first place. Internally, he was rattling off dozens and dozens of mental flags, preparing all sorts of possible responses to the powers, as well as possible methods of discovering what other abilities this person possessed.

Outside, he was silent, awaiting a response with four outstretched hands. Inside, however, he was rapidly asking questions about psychic ability to a person who may or may not even be capable of listening.