Prophecy Scroll: Ghost Peppers (Patreon)

The Grav-Van slid to a stop, and the team pulled out. Seven hobbgrots clad in beige protective suits, each uniform and identical other than the nametag appended to the lapels, a line of buttons going down to the bottom of their jumpsuits, a black utility belt appended to each of their waists, black rubber boots and gloves covering their extremities, a large proton-pack mounted on their backs.

They were the ghoulfinderz. One of the best and brightest Ghostbusta teams available, and the only team operating on this planet since the treaty 'ad been signed. And today, their target was Apartment Block Beta-Upsilon-10: as part of the recent disarmament treaty, the planet they were on had been loaned some specialists to help deal with problems of a more supernatural nature. Their team had been one of em: and so when someone had called in a Type IV Incursion Event, they had been called in.

The leader of the team stepped to the fore, adjusting their dark goggles as they looked the building up and down: 100 floors total. According to scans, large amounts of lifesigns could be detected, as well as a buildup of chaotic energies. They needed to get to work immediately. "Alright, fellas," The leader, Tk Spooktok, said in his soft voice, grimacing. "Definitely detectin' some right unsettling readings. D' we have the spirit box?"

"Got it," Came the voice of their chief parapsychologist, Tk Spankmann, a somewhat chubbier and, owing to his lab time, less fit hobbgrot. "Do you want me t' try and see if it'll release the hostages?" The Hobbgrot said, fiddling with the device in question, a cubic gizmo covered in buttons meant to utilize ectoplazmik voice phenomena to allow for long range spirit communication.

"I'd say so, mate," Spooktok said, nodding. "Probably not likely t' hand em over without a fight, but who knows, maybe we'll get lucky, yeah? And we need t' get containment set up first anyways." Spankmann nodded at this, flipping a button, causing the speaker grilles on the boxes sides to come to life, letting out a burst of static.

"Kalibratin' it," Spankmann said, adjusting some dials, causing the static to clear up somewhat. "Okay, so, fink I got a konnection," He said, giving the team a thumbs up. "I'm goin' t' try makin' contact wif' the other side," The Parapsychologist warned, causing the rest of the team other than Spooktok to move into motion, working to get the ecto-static containment system set up while the two grots began the delicate art of hostage negotiations with what was likely a daemonic entity.

"Oi, ghost-git!" Spankmann said. "Give up the humie gitz or we're gonna shove a boot up your arse!"

For a moment, silence. "What. Is. This?" Came the voice from the box, tone slow, gravelly, confusion evident. "Who. Are. You?"

Spooktok cleared his throat. "To answer your questions, we're currently using the medium of technology to establish an ectopathic connection t' communicate with. We're the Ghoulfinderz ghostbustin' agency, an' as my colleague said, if you don't release the humans and unpossessed your current host, we're going to have t' kick your butt well and good."

"What?" The box said.

Spankmann threw the box against the wall. "Negotiations have broken down!" He said, drawing his proton blaster. "Time t' resort to violence!" The hobbgrot said, pumping his weapon up and down.

"To right mate, fella was downright unreasonable," Spooktok said, turning to look at the rest of the team for a progress report. "Fellas, hows the containment?"

"WE HAVE EREKTED TH' ECTO-STATIC BARRIER!" Came the voice of TK Plazmium, giving a thumbs up as behind them a pylon crackled, ectoelectric lightning crackling up and its frame, occassionally shocking Plazmium, causing the hobbgrot to twitch. "Time t' breach?" He asked, hopefully.

"Right on mate!" Spooktok said. "Alright gents, let's get inta formation: I'll take lead. Zarbob, you take rear. Plazmium, you stay out here, and start rigging up an exit path. Oozesten, you get scanner," He ordered, and quickly, the team moved before the doors of the apartment complex, with Spooktok hitting the access button, causing them to slide open. This would result in the revealing of a foyer whose floor was covered in a fine layer of fur, dotted with the occasional orange colored eye, all with rectangular, caprine pupils, the organs now and then giving a wet blink.

"Scans show its alive," Oozesten claimed, adjusting their goggles as they looked over the scanner results. "Seen somefin like this before: was a book, though. Kept tryin' t' convince me to seize power n junk: finally gave up when I used flea killer on it."

"Did it exorcise it?"

"Nah, fing just decided it was a better idea t' shut up before I moved on t' hair remover. Fings still in my library: okkazionally play regicide wif it. Gitz kinda a loser, honestly."

"Switchin' to 'air remover!" Spankman said, flipping a button on their proton blaster, the rest of them following suit and beginning their ascent into BU10, firing beams of follicle killing radiation onto the carpet of the haunted house they were storming, causing it to let out a shriek as they cut a path through the corrupted ground. In its place was left the dull grey rockete tiles used as flooring by the humies. "We 'av a path!" He cried, and the group began their advanced, the eyes surrounding their path shifting to stare at them with incredulity.

Soon, they reached the lift. Pressing a button on the side, the Grotts watched as the fanged doors opened, trails of drool stretching between them, revealing a fleshy throat-like structure lined with teeth. "Well that's disgustin'," Spooktok said, crinkling his nose in revulsion. "This fella needs a mint."

"Deployin' grenades!" Spankmann cried, pulling out a pair of capsules from their belt and tossing them into the shaft even as the doors slammed shut, attempting to catch whatever intruder had crossed its thresh-hold, seeking to take a toll of flesh from any passengers.

The next moment, a loud boom was heard, and the doors began to bulge, cracking open and having their teeth knocked free to clatter from the ground, the door slowly creaking open...before several more capsules were tossed inside, which resulted in a long, cacophanous series of detonations that took several minutes to cease.

Knocked loose, from out the organic door poured a greenish smoke with a highly pleasant, herbal scent that was positively refreshing. "There we go, much better: remind me to talk to this fella about dental hygiene," Spooktok said, gripping the whimpering edge of the door and sliding it open again, stepping into the chamber that was now full of very shattered teeth.

Shining a light up above, he noticed that at the highest reaches was a fat worm creature - a lesser manifestation, most likely. Them chaos gits had been producin' em more and more as their daemons evolved. The creatures jaws dripped a foul ichor, and its gooey, squirmy eyes blinked, ten at a time.

Goin' by the size, how well he could see it, and how far away it looked...

"Yeah we probably aren't killin' that while its sittin' vertical: thing could just fall and crush us," He commented. "Guess we'll have to take a detour. Still, how high you think we'd get before it noticed us? Ten? Fifteen?"

"Nah, I'd say prolly fifty siz," Tk Entokrawl, their cryptozoologist said, gesturing at the hanging worm-beast. "Fing looks like its got kompound eyes: prolly doesn't see so good."

"Dat sounds about right, yeh," Spankmann said, adjusting their goggles, and the rest of the team let out a chorus of yehs and ayes of consent: after all, Entokrawl was their expert on bugs and beasties, 'e knew best.

The worm minor daemon let out an alarmed wurble, eyes blinking rapidly as something unsettled it. "What? What did you do to my eyes?" It hissed. "Why can't I see?"

"Don't worry, prolly can't 'ear us either," Spankmann commented, scratching their chin. "I don't see no ears on em on the scanner, after all."

"...Y'know what, sure, maybe," Entokrawl commented neutrally, causing another murmer of agreement in the group of academics. After all, if Entokrawl wasn't disagreeing, Spankmann probably had a point!

"WHY CAN'T I HEAR?!"

"Spookton t' Plazmium, we're gonna have t' take a detour, nastly little bugger hiding in the elevator shaft. Gonna hit floor fifty six: Entokrawl says thats the ticket. How far away is it from our incursion point?"

"THIS IS PLAZMIUM YES, THE FLOOR FIFTY SIX SHOULD TAKE YOU WITHIN FOUR FLOORS OUR OUR INCURSION POINT," Came Plazmium's voice. "ALSO, AUTONBULANCES AND OTHER RESPONSE FORCES HAVE ARRIVED: WILL YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE?"

"Nah mate, have em focus on getting everyone outta here," Spookton said, pressing a button on his belt, causing the soles of his boots to light up. "We can handle this: getting people to safety takes priority. Spookton out. Alright boys, activate your jetpacks," He commanded even as the jets on his proton pack came to life which, alongside the gravitic stabilizers in his boots, allowed for flight, lifting silently the grot, his goggles showing the distance between himself and his target.

A moment later, he landed in the open door of a dim hallway, his team and the yells of a daemonic caterpillar behind them. It took only a moment of looking at the hallway to conclude it was definitely extremely haunted, probably terrible cursed, potentially inhabited by eldritch beings, and quite possibly even worse, not up to code. "Humies," Oozesten said, disgusted. "Nuffins sacred to them: not even houzin' regulationz," He said.

Before them, staring at the grots with bile and confusion, was a menagerie of least daemons, a thousand lesser chaotic vita in a million unsettling shapes, a veritable parade. The one closest to them, a strange, skwirrel-like creature that was assembled from multiple smaller stapled together skwirrelz, whose hide was etched with a variety of glowing markings, raised a clawed finger to point at the Ghoulfindaz, opening its mouth impossibly loud to let out a shrieking, unsettling wail...

Only to explode when impacted by ectoplasmically charged protons. "LEELEELEEELEELEELEEE!" Spankmann hollered as the group charged, firing their weapon into the very surprised assemblage of ghosties, the rest of the Grots giving their own warcries: "CHEESE!" "EAT MY SOCKS YOU DISGUSTING PIECES OF DUMB GARBAGE!" "MEROY JENKINZ!" "Zappity Zappity Zappity," and Spooktons own war cry, which consisted of singing his own theme song he had come up with: he liked to imagine that if 'is life was a cartoon, the ditty he was humming would be its opening tune. It mostly consisted of variations of his own name and title over and over: 'e imagined that the music that went with it would be somefin with energy, kinda elektrik soundin', maybe with some of them one spooky instruments in th' background.

Spookton barreled past two daemons, knocking them to the ground even as he fired his proton-pack at a large, humanoid horned minor daemon that was charging at him, causing it to trip and stumble, with Spookton not breaking his stride as he ran up the falling monster even as his hands quickly pulled an incense grenade from his belt and dropping it below him, leaping into the air. A moment later, the detonation would generate enough force to catch him mid-fall, propelling him forward, causing the Grot to let out a laugh of joy as he continued to fire, shifting into a tumble as they came to a sliding land, not interrupting their sprint, and behind him, the Grot could hear the rest of the team fighting their way, a ray of green and blue brushing past him to hit one of their foes.

Hitting a button on his blaster, he shifted the firing mode, releasing a wide spray of protonically charged ectoplasm, drenching the now screaming crowd of daemons in a bath of burning ghost-matter, the giggling grot using the weapon like a umbral flamethrower, giggling as the daemons broke, many of them running to get away from the grots, going for the stairwell. "Get em, boys!"

Perhaps the menagerie of minor chaos manifestations had intended to ambush and charge whoever intruded. But if that had been their intent, they evidently had proven woefully unprepared for fighting hobbgrots. A moment later, they were all huddled against the very locked stairwell door, clawing desperately at it, a strange beaked gargoyle looking back and forth between the door they were trying to knock down and the screaming, rapidly approaching Spankmann with ripe, abject terror. "No no no no no-"

"HUEGHAAAHGUAHAUEHAUHUEHUEHUE!" Spankman garbled...

"Spankmann, halt!" Spookton commanded, and a moment later, the good Teknik came to a stop, Spookton and the rest not far behind. "Right, someone get the containment unit," He said, taking a breath as he stared at the now terrified daemons. "They're cornered an' its no longer fun, might as well bring em in. Now, you lot," He said, staring at the daemons as the device was brought forward: cubical and made of steel, a single side was open, revealing a complex array of circuitry. "Get in the zoggin' box unless you wanna get zapped like your friends and sent back t' wherever you go while your master regenerates you."

"Wha-"

"RESISTING CITIZENS ARREST!" Spankmann said, flicking out a baton and hitting the gargoyle in the knee with a lout thwack, causing it to yelp and clutch at the injured patella, swearing profusely. "HE'S GOIN' FOR ME BELT!" The Grot yelled, foot rising rapidly between the gargoyles legs even as he pulled out his ghost pepper-spray. "NOT T'DAY YOU REACTIONARY BASTA-"

The moment before his extremity would have connected, the box let out a flash, and the daemons were gone, leaving Spankmanns foot to pass through air. "Aaaaaand that's enough of whatever THAT is," Spookton commented. "Spookton to Plazmium, we have a pick up, floor fifty six. Collection of minor daemons: we got room fer em?"

"THIS IS PLAZMIUM. WE HAVE FIFTEEN OPEN SPACES IN TH' VAULT! I WILL CONTACT THE REHABILITATION FACILITY ON SPRA'ANG TO HANDLE ADDITIONALS!" 

"Aww, I hate Spra'ang," Oozesten grumbled.

"I ken probably deliver em, then," Spankmann sniffed. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts!"

"It's not the ghosts, it's the smell," Oozesten responded indignantly at the aspersion to his fortitude toward the supernatural. "Whole place smells like a swamp,"

"Hey!" Entomann cried out in turn, turning to stare at the offending grots. "I work in swamps, an' its offensive t' kompare em to that planet: it smells like a sewer."

"Sewers aren't so bad," Spankmann responded casually. "You can find lots of tasty bits growin' in em if you know what to look for."

"Alright, I'm gonna go ahead and table this entire conversation," Spooktok responded, clearing his throat. "Figure the point where Spankmann starts telling us a little too much about his diet was its expiration date. Now, I'm gonna go ahead an' start repressin' the fact that he eats poop-moss, and I'd advise you all t' do the same," He suggested, causing a murmer of nauseated agreement to emerge from the team as everyone took a step away from Spankmann, who just looked confused. "Now, let's get this door open," He said, walking to it and fiddling with the knob, causing it to swing outward, revealing the stair well.

With that, they continued their march, making sure to blast anything that looked like a threat, going up the steps rapidly. Occasionally, they would hear a gurgling from down below, which was usually met with Spankmann dropping a grenade, followed by them leaning over the bannister.

Eventually, they reached their destination. Approaching it, Spooktok noticed it was also locked. Luckily, they had a breaching tool. "Deployin' detonator!" He yelled, drawing a boxy device from his belt and slapping it on the door before taking MANY steps back alongside his team. 

A moment later, there was a hole where the door used to be. Beyond it, looking annoyed, were two axe wielding daemons, one with the head of an ox, the other with the head of a horse, both large and bulging of muscle, their bodies covered in glowing, etched fel sigils carved deep into their bodies, dripping ichor. "Brother, it appears the creatures responsible for making such a racket down below have finally decided to join us," The Ox-Head said, rising from their sitting position, giving their pitch black, runed weapon a spin, their horns adorned in rings and gems, their only other vestiment being their trousers.

"I expected the servants of the corpse god were responsible," The Horse-Head said, running a whetstone over the edge of their blade: in contrast, Horse-Head wore actual armor, made out of some mirrored, reflective surface that twisted the images upon it to make them strange, parodious. "And yet our inferiors were bested by mere imps," They complained, raising their axe. "I presume you are hear to best our master?" They sneered. "You will find your efforts-" 

"LEELEELEELEELEE!" Spankmann yelled as they slammed into the daemons head, interrupting their monologue and sending the teknik and the manifestation of chaos sprawling, the Grot avoiding every blow from the confused and flailing spirit they were attacking. "EAT! MY! JELLYBEANS!" The hobbgrot bellowed.

"Brother!" The infuriated Ox head bellowed, charging towards their kins aid, only to find themselves piled on by five Grots, knocking the creature over. "What are you-get off of me!" He roared, attempting to grab at the Hobbgrots. 

"Shokkity shokkity shokkity!" "Gotta grab a 'air sample," "Oooh, is that a flea? Definitely goin' in the kollektion!" "Ha, I stole their trousers!"

"ENOUGH!" The Ox said, deciding to deal with things the simple way: a charge. Bellowing, the daemon forced themselves up, attempting to break out into a run: if they wished to cling to him, the daemon would make these imps into red smears on the rockcrete! Quicker and quicker he built up speed as the daemon ran to the far wall of the hallway...

Only for the Hobbgrotts to leap off moments before he impacted it, leaving them unharmed as he slammed with full force into a three foot barrier of solid stone. A disgusting splattery crunch filled the hallway, and a moment later, the bull daemon stepped away from the wall, dazed, their face broken. "Bruffer, I can't theel my faith,"

"Dibs on the teeth!" Entokawl said, scurrying under the daemons legs to collect the fallen bits of ivory on the ground even as Spankmann found themselves cartwheeling through the air with a whee, the horsehead finally having tossed them off, the creature rising, eyes trapped in a rictus of anger. 

"You WRETCHED mortals," Horse-head growled. "You dare treat this as a game? We are daemons of-" A loud noise sounded, a sort of defeating honk. "We are daemons of-" They said again, only to get interrupted once more by the honk. "We are the-" Honk. "We-" Honk. "STOP DOING THAT!" They screamed, turning to face the Grott who kept interrupting their rant with an air horn. "I AM SPEAKING YOU VERMINOUS PIECE OF-" 

It was at that moment they were hit by a pie. For a moment, the hall was silent as creme de teknis dripped onto the floor, followed by the pie tin as its contents slowly dribbled down the armor of the horseman, who for a moment was genuinely speechless, before giving a mindless, wrathful roar, swinging his axe at the closest Grott...

Only for the squeaky hammer in their hand to bounce off. "What? Where's my axe?!" The Daemon said, their eye twitching, turning to search for their weapon, only to spot none other than Spankmann fiddling with it. "You!" The daemon roared, left eye rapidly twitching. "Give me back my axe!"

Spankmann narrowed their eyes. "This is my axe tho. Brought it wiff me from home. You want an axe, get your own," He responded, and an audible snap was heard as the corner of the horse-heads mouth started to foam, right eye going bloodshot.

"GHAIGHGIAHAISHA!" They roared incoherently, rushing at Spankmann, having been enraged to the point that their armor was before their eyes starting to tarnish and fade. A moment later, their body crashed into the wall, headless, decapitated by Spankmann twirling their new axe.

"Told 'im it was mine," He commented. Ox-head merely found themselves standing stunned. 

"Wha-" A flash of light, and he was boxed.

"That's enough of that, I figuah," Spooktok said, closing the box. "Spooktok to Plazmium, we have another capture. Spooktok out," He said, setting the containment device down. "Alright, good work everyone. Now, lets shut down this incursion point," He said, approaching their destination.

According to scans, their target was in apartment 010291921. Why the zog they let the numbers reach that high was a mystery, but it was one such mystery Spooktok wasn't interested in. 

The door itself had a layer of wet, meaty vines growing on it, dripping a foul smelling yellow ooze. As one, the team fired their weapons, reducing the vines and door to ash, which they stepped through to the room. Whatever it had been before, it had been remoulded.

Criss crossed by thick, meaty vines, the apartment had been converted to some sort of ritual space, the rockcrete having blackened and turned, the small porthole windows blazing with a terrible light. At its heart, reshaping the flesh of the apartments former owners into a living gate, was the source of the incursion, the daemonhost. 

"You destroyed the physical forms of Gothrax and Mathrax, then," It rasped from a lipless mouth, its face covered by a hood, its guide hidden in thick, voluminous robes sewn from its own biomanced flesh. Reaching up, it pulled back its hood, revealing a single large goat like eye. "Hmm. You aren't imperials," They commented, stepping away from the daemongate in progress. "No matter. Your flesh will be useful all the same."

It raised a bony, near fleshless hand, generating a crackle of electricity that arced out...

Only to hit an invisible barrier generated by the proton packs atop the ghoulfindaz teams back. "Hrrm. Usually that works," The Daemonhost said, moments before their body was impacted by four different proton beams. 

Letting out a roar of pain, the Daemonhost felt a powerful tug. "What are you-" It staggered, as it felt its soul get YANKED. "Fools!" It roared, attempting to steel itself, channeling more bioelectricity to try and overwhelm their shields. "Do you think you can stand against the turn of the tides? The Changer of Ways will have his due! Even if you rip me from this vessel and cast, I shall return, over and over, until the debt this world has incurred has been paid!"

"That's what the box is for!" Spookton said, grinning, tugging as hard as he could at the proton stream, doing his best to yank the thing out of its vessel. "Mates, we got a live one!"

"CROSSIN' STREAMS!" Spankmann screamed, and Spookton dropped his grin, watching in horror as the deranged Hobbgrot fired his proton stream right at the other ones.

"No, Spankmann you maniac, you'll kill us a-"

Spookton blinked. "Why am I in a hospital?" Also, why did everything hurt like a zog? Attempting to move, he realized he was in a full body cast: the only thing that wasn't immobile was his neck. Craning, he spotted the rest of his crew alongside him, all of them also in beds and casts. At the end of the hall, wrapped in warded casts, was the daemonhost, whose mouth was currently covered by bandages. 

"Oh hey boss," Spankmann said, neck in a brace. "Wuz wonderin' when you'd wake up. Good news, everybody lived,"

The daemonhost made muffled screaming noises of rage that were thankfully kept silent by their bandages. 

"Spankmann, I swear t' zogg," Spookton groused. "How long have we been here?"

"Dunno," The Hobbgrot admitted. "Didn't wake up that much before you did. Fink you can see a calendar from where you are? Can't move me neck."

"Yeah yeah, lemme check," Spookton said, scanning the wall before finally he saw an operational telly showing a newscast, with the date being...

"SPANKMANN YOU GIT, YOU KNOCKED US INTO NEXT ZOGGIN MONTH!"