Part 70: Last Night- Page 68

Sure! Maybe it was the fair maiden's kiss that calmed the beast.

>kiss mike
This is not your husband anymore; you don't even want to get near it.

For just a moment, he is almost back with you; his features soften, his grip around your throat weakens. For just a moment, the thing that possesses him falters and loosens its hold.

Yeah, no.
Miranda isn't kissing that thing.


Well, it didn't work for the bum, but maybe...

>give mike amulet
In his moment of hesitation, you see your chance; straining against his choking grip, you slip the amulet's cord around Michael's neck, letting the silver pendant drop to his chest.

Instantly Michael begins convulsing, arching his back and clawing at his chest. His jaws stretch open as if to release a howl of torment, but instead of voice, a thick, ropy stream of ectoplasmic mist pours from his throat. It pools into the center of the room, roils about, then coalesces into a human form -- the vaporous, half-rotted apparition of Croseus Verlac himself!

Michael begins shaking uncontrollably.



Your score has just gone up by five points.

So, the Ghost of Croseus finally appeared in the flesh.
In the Ectoplasm.
Whatever.

Where even ARE we?

>look

Burial Mound
The cave is lined, floor to ceiling, with mummified human corpses. Shrunken and desiccated, they lie in jumbled heaps inside irregularly carved niches. Carvings cover the rock walls in between the niches -- grotesque, leering faces too horrible even to look upon, their features twitching and smirking in the wavering light that sifts down from above.

The disembodied ghost of Croseus Verlac floats before you, howling its rage.

Your husband is here; weak and battered, but nevertheless your husband again.

The obelisk base stands before you, vast and shadowy in the green, murky light.

At the narrower, northern end of the vaguely egg-shaped cavern sits a massive stone altar, flanked on either side by a pair of strange, vibrating columns.

Well, screw this!
Now isn't a time for talk about things reasonably!
ATTACK!

>attack croseus with hook
(first taking the meat hook)
The ghost laughs as your futile attack passes straight through its body as if it were empty air.

The ghost lets out a chilling, sepulchral laugh. "You useless, puny mortal," it cries. "Did you really think that there was any way on earth you could stop me? I have lived and thrived for over four hundred years -- not even Death can claim me!"

Michael is doubled over with racking coughs, bringing up a thin trickle of blood.

Okay, maybe the hook wasn't the best idea.
Best get Mike and get out of here.

>pick up mike
You can't see any such thing.

Game.

>drag mike south
You can't see any such thing.

Game, don't do this.
Miranda needs to get her husband out of here.

>mike, go south
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

Seriously, Game. Mike is right here. We all can see him.

>look

Burial Mound
The cave is lined, floor to ceiling, with mummified human corpses. Shrunken and desiccated, they lie in jumbled heaps inside irregularly carved niches. Carvings cover the rock walls in between the niches -- grotesque, leering faces too horrible even to look upon, their features twitching and smirking in the wavering light that sifts down from above.

The disembodied ghost of Croseus Verlac floats before you, howling its rage.

Your husband is here; weak and battered, but nevertheless your husband again.

The obelisk base stands before you, vast and shadowy in the green, murky light.

At the narrower, northern end of the vaguely egg-shaped cavern sits a massive stone altar, flanked on either side by a pair of strange, vibrating columns.

"You sabotaged my dimensional beacon -- I will build another. You drove me from my host body -- I will find another. What next? Will you track down my disciples, one by one, and kill them all? Will you set this whole town to the torch?"

Michael is doubled over with racking coughs, bringing up a thin trickle of blood.

>put hook into coat
You slip the meat hook into the pocket of your trenchcoat.

"There will be more towns, woman, and more bodies, and more disciples, and always will I be there. And there is NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!"

Maybe we can find another use for this needle?
I mean, maybe?

>poke croseus with needle
That's not a verb I recognise.

Mental note: If I ever make another IF game, I'll create the verb Poke for everything.

>hit croseus with needle
(first taking the crusty needle)
The ghost laughs as your futile attack passes straight through its body as if it were empty air.

"It would almost be too kind to kill you," muses the ghost. "I've half a mind to simply let you go, and spend the next four hundred years tormenting and violating your future daughters and grand-daughters through the next twelve generations. You've only got one amulet, you know; you can't protect all your children at once."

I know you guys want Miranda to say this.
Let's see what happens.

>Ialdabaoloth
The ghost cackles madly as you form the horrible word. "He cannot hear your feeble plea now, woman!" shrieks Verlac.

"But no," it finally says. "After all you've done, I think that death would be most appropriate. But just to make sure you suffer, I think I'll start with your beloved husband."

Tendrils of ectoplasm snake out from the ghost's outstretched arms and wrap themselves around Michael, who begins flailing weakly. You rush to help him, but Michael is powerless and you are too slow to prevent the tendrils from pushing into his mouth and nostrils, stopping his throat and filling his lungs with noxious gas. You work desperately, trying to administer CPR even as his body stiffens and his face turns blue; but in the end, there is nothing you can do. Michael gags one last time, arches his back, and dies in your arms. Thin, thread-like streamers of mist ooze from his mouth along with his final breath.

"You're next," chuckles the ghost.

No!
Husband!

>kiss mike
You lean over and kiss his cold cheek, tears welling up in your eyes.

The tendrils wriggle toward you like eels, and you barely resist as they embrace you. There is nothing left to fight for. As the mist creeps down your throat and begins to drown you in its foetid breath of graves, you welcome the coming oblivion.



*** You have lost everything ***


In that game you scored 82 out of a possible 100 points; you are in sight of daylight with the foul breath of hell at your back.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT?
>









We're right at the end.
I know you can do this.