Village of Threshold — Jail
Ranmaru watched the vision patiently, arms crossed. “Any comparison to this honour-less thief is irrelevant. I follow the warrior's code — whose simplicity cannot be “twisted” or “perverted”, unlike your ideals, whatever they may be — to the death if the need arises... nay, to death, for it is the most beautiful for the cherry blossom to drift away from the tree while they are still young and fresh. All other things matter not. The shaman sought revenge for his murdered kith and kin, and that is admirable. His method, less so, for it seems it relies on underhanded trickery.” A pause. “Your judgement matters not. Talk, if you will, or stand in my way and see that my strength is equal to my honour.”
edited 11th Sep '14 2:03:53 PM by desdendelle
On empty crossroads, seek the eclipse -- for when Sol and Lua align, the lost shall find their way home.Ia-Kong Ziggurat, Apex Chamber
-Quick as a flash, Saren put his claws back over Fluttershy's mouth. The air buzzed, and the journal Saren had pocketed hovered away from his side towards the ghostly cleric. -
"Your 'colleagues' were smart enough to keep a journal of your expedition. None of them escaped alive, but this was a useful discovery on one of their remains. As for concerns as to my intent and identity..."
- The ex-SPECTRE clicked his needle-like teeth. -
" All that you need know about myself is that I am a freelance agent, and no friend of the entity responsible for your demise. I am here with my team to investigate and ultimately eradicate the source of the plague afflicting Riverrock."
- His eyes narrowed slightly. -
"And for us to do that, and find whoever this 'Th'Urizen' is, I must ask you to tell us what you heard or saw to bring you to this place, and everything you found out while you were here, alive and dead."
-A short pause, and the turian smiled thinly, angling his head so that the exposed fangs would be a smidgeon less obvious. -
" And if you can, please be as uncryptic as possible. You have a fine singing voice, but at this point we need more straightforward answers."
"He could not know it. For it was not all a joke."
Scaled Nations
"And how can the tree then produce fruit, with all it's blossom gone?" Elizabeth asked Ranmaru. Her face was void of it's usual mirth; in fact she was almost glaring at him. "I understand something of the Samurai, of course. But know this: you were a prisoner from the moment you joined our number, as are we all, in this cell or otherwise. Death will not release you from that, for we are ever brought back to dance further for the amusement of our jailer. Still..."
She sighed, and held out an arm. A few cards flew forward out of her sleeve, what little she could conjure without her book, and formed a short blade from them. This she held out to Ranmaru. "If a more obvious imprisonment is not to your liking, you are more than welcome to return to the one you can more easily ignore."
A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they will never sit in.Jack listened carefully as the goddess spoke, looking around him as the past tragedy spiraled downwards to its inevitable conclusion. One thing that had not changed between his time and the dark future of his Earth, nor in all the worlds he had been to, was that, in the end, all great matters could be distilled into something like this. Stripped of its noble cloak, the crusaders' driving force was hate and fear of that which was different, the same as Shinuq'tan. Both of them shared that cause, which was both justified in the case of the guilty and unjust in the case of the innocent. There were far more innocent members of each race than guilty, but neither of them could see that. It was in the nature of mortals to become that which they fought against. Jack remembered the touch of true evil within his heart. He had been strong enough to resist its call. Not everyone was so fortunate. His resolve to bring the lizardfolk chieftain to justice remained intact, but now it was leavened with pity.
"Thank you for your gift, goddess," he said, bowing his head. "We will not squander it...if we are able to get out of here."
Ranmaru's words likewise brought only a sad smile from the samurai and a shake of the head.
"But it can be twisted. You are young, I gather that your life has been one of constant war. A brotherhood of samurai such as that can make it seem impossible that bushido can be abused. But it can. A dishonorable lord may send an honorable warrior to his death, or force him to commit any number of terrible acts. A dishonorable samurai can spread lies about an enemy and shame him into suicide. The code can be upheld in letter but not in spirit. It might excuse you from your actions, but not from your judgment and interpretation of events."
He looked askance at Elizabeth.
"She speaks the truth. You now have just such an impossible choice before you. You can commit seppuku, but you will only return to our prison between worlds and greatly diminished into the bargain. You can come with us and regain your swords, but then you did not do everything you could have to atone for losing them. Either way, you will live in what bushido tells you to be the greatest shame. The chieftain has used the code against you. No matter what you do, it will make you less than you should be. You can allow him to do so, or you could look beyond bushido and its confines, within yourself. Who are you without the code? And what does your heart tell you to be right?"
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. -Lao TzuWhen Elizabeth offered Ranmaru a knife, he took it immediately. Taking a gauntlet off, he passed a finger on the blade, watching the blood that bubbled from the wound. He waited for her and Jack to finish talking before replying. “I mean no disrespect, milord Jack,” he said slowly, “but you are clearly mistaken. The way of the warrior is not some written book you can read in different ways. It is the honour in the warrior's heart; that feeling needs no guide, nor can it be twisted. It is the soul of Japan, and each and every one of us can hear its call.”
He paused, then returned the knife to Elizabeth. “My path, for now at least, is clear,” he said. “I will get my daishō back. I will be forever dishonoured if I will not. The future... the future...” — the page's voice shook — “there is no past and no future, nothing but an endless Now.”
Riverrock—City Center
“Regrettably, you’re right about that,” Stalgrim grunted. “We don’t have the manpower to put watchmen on every street corner, not in the middle of this crisis. Even if we did, this vampire is clearly no fool; it hasn’t avoided being caught this long by making stupid mistakes. If it realizes we’ve put a dragnet into effect, it’ll just go to ground and hide, and we might never find it then.”
The captain of the City Watch spent a long moment mulling this over. He glanced at Johnny, studying him for some time.
Finally he spoke. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it. I don’t either, for what it’s worth.”
Gogol Plains, Burial Complex—Orb Chamber
The Tzitzimitl did not seem to appreciate taking a blast of ki to the eye, for it roared in anger and clutched at its hag’s face with one oversized hand. Even as it did this, the wounds Leo had inflicted on its backside closed and healed over, the monster drawing upon what life energy it had stolen from the cyborg to knit its flesh back together.
It was a moot point, for no sooner had those wounds been undone than Edward launched his spears. Distracted as it was, the beast could not dodge; and its toad’s head lowed in pain as the iron shafts plunged into its swollen underbelly, some punching all the way through to stick out from the creature’s greasy back.
“Ohhh, you wicked little puppets!” the monster raged through its telepathic voice. “Learn your place or I will break you all!”
With those words it hove through the air at great speed, coming to a halt directly above where Chun-Li and Leo stood; and without further ado it dropped like a stone, threatening to crush them under its several-thousand-pound bulk—or worse, skewer them through the spears still jutting from its underbelly. Regardless of whether it squashed them or not, it shook the entire chamber with the force of its landing.
At the same instant, Nana Karas, seeing that Envy was coming up on Edward from behind with a blade for a hand and a mad grin on his face, quickly reached into a pocket with one hand and levelled her staff at him with the other. Pulling out a beaten old leather glove and quickly slipping it on, the old witch waggled her fingers and called out, “Grasping Hand!”
And just before Envy could stab Edward in his poison-fuelled madness, a giant hand made of pure energy appeared and grabbed hold of him.
“Be c-careful!” she called out, teeth still chattering. “Th-th-the p-p-poison has driven him m-m-m-m-mad!”
Marshes of Ia-Kong, River Ziggurat
Apex Chamber
Arael’s gaze shifted between Saren and Fluttershy, her expression perplexed and slightly suspicious. “If what you say is true, and you truly share my goal, why hide your identity? Why silence your companion?”
“’Cause he’s kinda tight-lipped and bossy like that, is why,” a strained voice answered.
Sazh and Luigi came through the chamber doorway, carrying the inert form of Grey between them. Manoeuvring over to the nearest wall, they set the Reploid down and propped him up against it, Sazh letting out a sigh as they did so. “God [i]damn,[/i] that kid is heavier ‘n he looks,” he wheezed, letting out a long breath before straightening up. He looked at Arael, and let out a whistle. “So… a ghost, huh? You know, I wish I could say that’s the weirdest thing I’ve seen today…”
The ghostly tiefling fixed Sazh with her gaze as he spoke, saying nothing until he had finished. “I sense no evil from you…” she uttered, almost to herself. “The Eternal Companion truly does move in mysterious ways…” After a moment’s pause, she nodded. “Very well, then.”
Arael’s ghost began to drift about the room, orbiting the altar on which her lifeless body lay.
“When I still lived, I was granted a vision by my god, Eshvolem. He warned me that a great darkness would soon fall across Riverrock and the surrounding lands, stemming from this very temple. If you have read that journal, then you know I commissioned an expedition into the marshes, and after several days of hardship we reached this place. We searched the temple from top to bottom, braving the traps and sentinels the architect of this evil had left behind. And it was in the very deepest level that we discovered the truth…”
She came to a halt, hovering just over her corpse. “Tell me, do you know the name Praxidiometes?”
Sazh folded his arms. “Sounds familiar,” he said thoughtfully. “Ain’t he the dragon that was supposed to live ‘round these parts? One what disappeared or sumthin’?”
“Yes,” she nodded grimly. “That dragon was once the scourge of these lands, but not any longer. Now he is merely a prisoner, as I am. Unlike me, he still lives… though there is no doubt in my mind that he craves death’s sweet release.”
Scaled Nations—Jail
Sweat coated the surface of the blade, moisture condensing where Ranmaru had held it. The temperature in the cell had risen, subtly yet steadily, since Ranmaru’s earlier challenge to the goddess, and the light emanating from her lost its gentle glow, growing steadily in a harsh brilliance. Were any of the Champions to look upon her, they would see a face made cold and stony by anger, a cascade of ivory locks that burned and hissed like white fire.
“Be thankful that I am a merciful goddess, Mori Ranmaru,” she said, her words devoid of warmth. “Otherwise I would have struck you dead where you stand for uttering such foolishness. I am the Sun; it is my will that sets this world turning about it, my light that banishes the night, my blade that cleaves the forces of evil.
“I am the Sun, and I am Law. And though you might think otherwise, my judgment matters a great deal. But my time here is short enough as it is, and I will waste no more of it.”
With those words the sweltering heat began to fade, the temperature returning to normal; the light too dimmed, growing tolerable and soft once more. Vyraiah’s hair was hair once more, not ivory fire, and her expression softened.
“‘The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm’,” the goddess said. “A wise man once uttered those words, long ago. Perhaps a similar saying exists in your own world. Consider them when I am gone, if nothing else.”
Turning towards the corner of the cell, Vyraiah moved towards Link and a certain skink with stately, serene grace. Lowering herself to her knees, the elven divinity reached out to place a hand upon the Hylian’s brow, and a finger upon the skink’s head.
“Be healed of your afflictions,” she declared, and it was so; all wounds on Link’s body closed and healed in the span of a heartbeat, without even scars to show they’d ever existed. New energy filled his tired extremities, washing away the fatigue and dolor of the past few hours, leaving him refreshed and ready to act. Simultaneously, the polymorphic spell on Donkey Kong was undone, and the tiny lizard swelled up like a hairy balloon as he returned to his true simian form and stature.
With this done, Vyraiah stood and turned to face the Champions as a whole. Her gaze was imploring. “More is at stake than you can possibly imagine. Stop this war, and stop Shinuaq’tan and his master; worlds may depend on it.”
And with that cryptic statement, the goddess took a step backward, passed through the wall of the cell and was gone.
???, Dark City
Pitched from the skiff by the sudden stop, the startled man went flying through the air, tumbling head over heels, arms and legs flailing all over the place. He started to yell something that might have been “Featherf—!”, but slammed into the vulture-thing head-on before he could finish; man and demon caromed away from each other, both stunned, but the beast managed to flare its wings and arrest its descent.
The man was not so lucky, and he screamed all the way down into the city’s lightless depths.
Pride’s captive, meanwhile, opened his hands to reveal nothing. His face screwed up with effort, a clear sign of how he was struggling to try and keep control of himself… a struggle that he was slowly losing.
“I… ssssspecialize in… the ssschool of n, nah, nana nan na nnnnnnnnnnnecromancy,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “The ma-ma-maninipula-a-a-ation of li-li-li-LIFE… f-f-force… aaand reanima-may-may-SHUN! Of d-d-dead t-t-tiss-s-s-s-s-shoe.”
The Danse Macabre CodexSaren covered her mouth again, and Fluttershy merely had an annoyed looked on her face. Some of the others managed to arrive, Grey apparently knocked out for some reason. Arael then expained why she came to this temple in the first place....
The pony released herself from Saren grip. "Wait, are you saying Praxidio.....dio....meets? -mets? -mates? That evil dragon from long ago is the one causing the poison?!" she asked the tiefling ghost.
DAMMIT MARK, STOP HITTING HELPY!!Crystal Mayhem
Dusknoir's opponent reacted to his umbral strike in a way only he and Yosuke could hear as it shambled backward: it laughed. Loudly, heartily, and in a definite masculine tenor, but through that same grainy radio filter; underlaid below that sound however was a long, furious bellow of challenge. The trench knife flew away, its blade steaming and white-hot where it stuck into an acute angle out of the floor. As the entity moved, however, its cloth tendrils yanked Sabrina with it. Staring directly into the Pokemon's single eye, it wrapped a fibrous hand around the unconscious woman's throat, pulling its threads together tightly until they were like a noose. Its grip became taut as it shifted its way toward the knife, as if daring Dusknoir to keep holding onto Sabrina.
As it did this the muttering and shouting rose in frequency and volume, more words discernible in the vast variety of languages. Every emotional tone under the sun could be discerned from the words, running the gamut from forlorn despair to bloodthirsty ecstasy to spiteful rage to mild disappointment and everything in-between; they varied in gender too, male, female, and androgynous. These shifted every few seconds in a chaotic blizzard of media chatter. But running as a constant current among the maelstrom was a single set of voices speaking in a clipped and stoic monotone. -
//+++Dulce et decorum pro patri— Resumen de la Operacion: Buscadores de Sifuri operacional— Hadigépezet telepítését tíz— '-Progreso estimado Mision Central : ochenta y — Let today's orders be, no quarter given- Desplegar equipo investigacion en persecucion..+++//
Yosuke's foe undulated backward in a harsh rasping whisper of threads. As it did so, Owain's body limply whipped around with it in the air, before slamming into the nearest wall with a wet CRACK. The warrior did not awake, even though it was clear from the unnatural forward distribution of his left side that his shoulder had been badly dislocated (at the least); his face, though unchanged in expression, had taken on the paleness of bone.
The entity looked away from Yosuke for a moment towards its prisoner, then back to him. Little grayish blotches were appearing across the warrior's skin and hair. Perhaps unnoticed by the Persona user, the entity had picked his knives up from off the floor through use of its many tendrils, and was now examining them. When the thing turned once more to look on Yosuke, a new pair of voices joined the clamor. These seemed to originate from the entity this time, one deep and guttural male, one a contralto and fevered female. They spoke in rough unison, their individual prominence in volume shifting on a word-by-word basis. Both had a similar tone, that of taunting challenge.
//—Jibun o tatakau kite, kodomo// chikadzuku// Jibun wa anata no chi to hone o// ajiwaudeshou…—//
It switched its rifle from one hand to the other simultaneously with the knives' throw back at their owner with lightning speed. Whether they struck or not, the entity had trained its weapon on Owain, and its gloved finger tightened on the trigger…
"He could not know it. For it was not all a joke."Gogol Plains, Burial Complex
"Get back!"
Leo hadn't much time to think, and the first plan of action that came to mind was to shove Chun-Li out of the Tzitzimil's imposing silhouette.
And that he did, before leaping backwards himself, intending to land sliding on his feet with catlike grace, but instead losing his footing and falling on his shoulder with as much grace as a beached whale. Still, he was out of the Tzitzimil's way, so he had that going for him.
"Shake the dust." - Anis Mojgani-Tongue still extended mid-flicker, it takes Donkey Kong some time to readjust to his suddenly smaller and literally tasteless surroundings and return to hominid form. Once he is fully certain of being himself, he performs a celebratory backflip before turning his attention to the cell. The amusing humans are all there, as well as a shorter one which for some reason brings to mind not an image but a taste. Then the primate realizes his secondmost prized possession (after his banana hoard), his monogrammed necktie, is missing. Looking around the cell, he quickly realizes the precious artifact is not there, and that further searching is prevented by metal bars.-
-Donkey Kong grabs two of the bars and begins prying them apart, using his skull to speed up the process.-
Sayaka
"right...not creepy at all."
Sayaka muttered to herself as she huddled against the doorway leading to the apex room. It was simply an unhealthy option to enter a room where there is a ghost just floating around, nevermind the ghost's affiliation or connection to the current circumstance. Since, the others seemed to be fine with talking to dead people that aren't really dead, just dead but still alive since they're still there....argh.
Sayaka sat down on the ground and ran a hand over her forehead. She had broken out in cold sweat and her lungs were burning. It was pretty much official that she had a fever and that this was probably the worst cold rolled up with the worst implications. Because it wasn't the cold, it was the plague, and she was beginning to get a good feel of the effects of the disease. Her mind was a bit fuzzy right now, no doubt due to the effects of the fever and the fatigue after what she had just put herself through.
As she did her best to rest against the cold stone of the temple, a powerful aversion towards moving came about her. The magical girl really wanted to simply sit there forever, sort of like the dead-living woman hovering around the room.
But, and there was a big 'but'. They had a mission to finish and a city to save. What kind of magical girl was she if she couldn't stand up to her own standards. If she couldn't save this city with the aid of such powerful teammates, like hell she could protect her own city when she got back. However, she was feeling worse every second- her body was finally realizing how much crap she had put it through and with more tome to idle, the more time it had to complain and get back at her. What was worse was that her teammates were simply chatting away with the ghost, even the sick ones.
"Hey guys..."
Her voice was dry and quiet, hesitant. Sayaka wasn't sure if she wanted to be heard. Still, she felt the need to say it.
"Can we just hurry up and get this done with?"
—-
A dungeon deep under ground. A plan to destroy a city. A sacrifice- Him.
It was his city, he told himself, his damned city they were going to rip apart for a reason so insane it might actually work. The details were fuzzy, blurred by lies and good plotting, like his vision. The consequences dangerous and real, like the pentagram he was pinned to and the lightning that arched back and forth. He strained against it: it can't happen...it must Not happen. But as he strained, he looked up and saw a pair of gleaming red eyes, married to a determined grin; then he knew- it was going to happen.
Damned Homunculus.
Static grew in his ears as his vision finally started to fade, the lightning coming together in a crescendo. All he could do was to bite down the pain and agony and let it happen. There was no other way: his gloves were shredded, his allies beaten, the heart of his world bleeding to death just out of sight, concealed by the masterminds that he had failed to stop.
He hated being so powerless.
Mustang really didn't know what to feel this time. Was this the sensation of defeat?
Maybe it was.
"Damn it"
Then again, maybe it wasn't.
Edward couldn't help but grin at the fact he had injured Tzitzitml to the point of getting her really angry. Rolling back the sleeves of his shirt once more, he got ready for another transmutation when Nana Karas' voice came through to his ears. "Huh?" He muttered, turning around to see Envy, the same look as before on his eye, his blade ready to pierce him before the old lady managed to grab him. Shaking away the sudden shock out of almost going through a repeat of how he died back on his home, anger filled Edward's heart.
"It's not just the poison." He growled, clenching his fist and running forward to drive it right into Envy's face as hard as he could, aiming for a knockout punch. It was very probable that such a tactic wouldn't work on an artificial human but maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to... "Nana Karas!" He yelled to the old woman. "Make sure he can't move. Whatever's on his head, it made him ten times more dangerous than he was before!"
Turning his attention back to Tzitzitml, he put on a brave face and a grin, waving at the giant bitch. "Heyo!" He called out at the top of his lungs. "I'm the one who gave you all those nice wounds, and you're going after them? Kind of a low move, isn't it?"
Marshes of La-Kong
“Ooooh.” Luigi let out, gawking at the ghost floating in front of Sazh, listening intently to her story, forgetting about his coughing for a moment. “If this a-dragon is a-causing the poison, then we should a-heal him!” He suggested. “Then we can a-save the poison and… maybe make his a-dreams come true?”
The Burial Complex
There it was, the sweet release, the confirmation that he was still indeed the superior species, the pipsqueak’s body hanging from his hand like a trophy, squirming, begging for the release of death, in full fear of something someone so evolved as Envy would never have to worry about… but that never came. Instead, something wrapped around him, moving him away from his prize.
Envy’s jaw dropped as he was stripped from the feeling he so eagerly awaited, and he turned around to spot the culprit. There she was. “You BITCH!” He yelled out, trying to break free of the spell. “I’ve had enough of your fucking interferences-” And once again, he was interrupted, this time by a well-aimed punch from Edward. That was it. That was the line. Once the pipsqueak was distracted, Envy began to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. His eyes focused on Nana Karas, the poison having a bigger effect on him as the grin remained on his face.
“You know what?” He asked, leaning forward. “I think it’s time I drop this stupid charade.” He grinned, and his arm began to twist, as he tried to make it grow to the size of his true form’s arm. “I think it’s time we stop acting like we’re friends.” He continued, his grin disappearing, as half of his face’s skin turned green, his hair growing wildly, faces appearing on his body as his size started to increase, trying to slip out of Nana Karas’ trap. “And I think it’s time I remind you ants where you fucking BELONG!” And finally, he let go, trying to transform into his true form once more, not just to break free of Karas’ spell, but also to lay waste to all these pitiful humans and drive his teeth onto that Tzitzitml freak to gain as much energy from her as possible. No more limiting his abilities… no more acting like a stupid little assistant… ‘’no more’’.
???
Pride smiled. “Good.” He muttered, nodding. “Pretty good.” The skiff continued its own descent, but this time, it stopped, moving along the top of the buildings. “Your services will be useful to me.” He told the man as the skiff started gaining speed, heading towards the winged beast as it stopped its descent. “I’ll take good care of you. So, please, don’t yell out if you break any of your bones.” With that, Pride moved his hand, forcing the man to jump off the skiff and into a nearby roof. Not wanting to lose control of his new servant, he soon did the same, his enhanced strength allowing him to make a jump that would severely injure a human boy of his age.
Letting go of the skeleton at the right time, he hoped that a flying skiff heading right into the winged beast at increased speed would do the trick and give him some time. Moving on, Pride quickly ordered his servant to jump from roof to roof, until he found a narrow alley, or a set of stairs, or anything that would let him descend into the streets below. The darkness would help him, not only increasing his control over the man, but also providing him with a place to hide...
edited 18th Sep '14 6:56:31 AM by stratofarius
Crystal Mayhem, Yosuke
“Shit, Owain-san!"
The impact sounded painful, the sickening crack of bone against the wall echoing in Yosuke’s ears as he laid eyes on the swordsman. It left a knot in his stomach, a knot that only tightened when he saw how out-of-place the swordsman’s shoulder was, how ashen his face had become, and the discolored, unnatural splotches forming on the young man’s head and body…
And then there was anger, a hot and uncomfortable pressure on his chest and mind. He may be a dick - and he knew full well he was, he oft found himself actively trying not to be a dick lest he end up putting his foot in his mouth for the umpteenth time, to mixed success. And he’d seen his Shadow. He really, truly knew how much of a dick he could potentially be if he had no dignity or morals to hold that nastier side of himself at bay. But this, he couldn’t stand. Right now, Owain was helpless and a hair away from death. He couldn’t stand to see people helpless like that, being hurt like that, for something as pointless as these things’ entertainment, if the laughing was to be taken into account.
And then a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him that, deep down inside, there was a part of him that would do exactly the same if given the chance, would use people for its own amusement, cruelly misuse the power it had been given...
And really, that fact in and of itself made him even angrier.
He didn’t notice the thing picking up the projectiles he’d thrown, taking his main weapons back in hand and tightening his grip as much as he could, even with his partially disabled limb. The thing began talking as Yosuke turned back to face it, his bubbling anger apparent on his face as his glare narrowed and turned icy, blood pumping in his ears and the fear and anger turning to adrenaline and rage.
“Jibun o tatakau kite, kodomo”
It was taunting him, now. Inviting him to come rip it to shreds. Its distorted, layered voice(s?) reminded him even more of the Shadows, and made the idea of cutting it up into little pieces even more palatable.
“chikadzuku”
It wanted a fight, up close. Fortunately for it, Yosuke’s fury had outweighed his caution, his mind momentarily focused enough, focused enough on the idea of bringing this fucker down to bring forth Jiraiya once more, casting a Sukukaja on himself, a green aura covering the young man as he readied himself to make another attack. But this time, Jiraiya didn’t disappear, instead remaining floating - more solid and less transparent in appearance that it’d been in prior summonings in this place thus far - behind its other half, ready to come to aid at his will.
“Jibun wa anata no chi to hone o”
I’d like to see you try, asshat.
And then it raised its gun towards Owain, and the Persona user wasted no time.
He charged towards his adversary, much, much faster than he’d been before thanks to the Sukukaja giving him a massive boost to his already impressive agility. The knives thrown at him grazed at his body, one missing entirely and another actually managing to leave a deeper cut in his side, tearing through the cloth of his uniform jacket and shirt and ripping through flesh, blood flowing from the wound and soaking his shirt, white being dyed crimson. But he paid it no heed, the rage, adrenaline, and bullheaded determination blocking the pain.
He dove forward with a double slash, hoping to sever the limb and draw its attention away from Owain, and if that succeeded he would try to get the gun out of its reach. At first there was a rush, the rush and pride that came with success. His heart was beating fast, and his breathing was fast and heavy to accommodate the speed and strength of his movements.
It was then he became aware of the gash in his side, and remembered what happened the last time he cut this guy up.
Shit!
He began his retreat, magic, MAGIC! Dammit, he had Jiraiya floating around, dumbass, range. You still have range. Damn, Damn.
He hoped he’d be able to get out of range of the thing, lest he have a repeat of what happened to his left arm.
“DAMMIT WHEN I HEAR 'SPACE CQC' ALL I CAN THINK OF IS BIG BOSS WITH A FISHBOWL ON HIS HEAD, STRANGLING AN ASTRONAUT OUTSIDE THE ISS."Dusknoir's eye became cross as all he had managed to do was disarm the human.. or whatever it was. But there wasn't much he could do about that now, he had to free Sabrina from this thing's grip. Holding onto her directly wasn't work, this thing was going to choke her. So he grabbed the tendrils with one hand, let go Sabrina, and grabbed with the other. He tried to get them all gathered between his arms, and squeeze them all tightly and pull up, moving with his entire ghostly body as hard as he could. He couldn't phase out, couldn't pull Sabrina into him and escape to the spirit world.. if there was one. All he could do was try to help her by tearing her away from whatever had her.
Gogol Plains
And so Chun-Li was shoved by Leo out of the way of the Tzitzimitl's imposing silhouette. Despite rolling from Leo's shove, Chun-Li was relatively unharmed... After all, a good martial artist knows how to take a punch without too much harm, and in fact, Chun-Li rolled into a kneeling position. She was not in the right stance to attack readily, but she certainly had a more graceful landing than Leo had, even if it was just rolling into a kneeling position.
edited 21st Sep '14 3:17:58 PM by GameGuruGG
Wizard Needs Food BadlyRiverrock—City Center
Stalgrim nodded. “Bait.”
Vagabond District, Several Hours Later…
Night had fallen across the city of Riverrock. Many of its residence had retired to their homes or their rooms at the inns, but there were still plenty out and about on the streets. Just because a hideous sickness was slowly whittling down the population was no reason to close down the nightlife, or so the prevailing sentiment seemed.
Johnny stood at one street corner in the Vagabond District, a fat and conspicuous coin purse secured to his hip. The money within shifted and jangled noisily with every step he took, and their worth was considerable indeed. Passersby were beginning to give him looks, some envious, some coy and appreciative.
“Now remember Johnny, stay calm.” The disembodied voice of Captain Stalgrim filled the young bard’s ear, emanating from a jeweled clip-on earring. “Act naturally, and don’t do anything that might make the vampire suspicious. And remember, if you get into trouble, I’m just a block away.”
Marshes of Ia-Kong—River Ziggurat
Ritual Chamber
“In a way,” said the ghost of Arael. “All dragons possess innate magical abilities, based on their breed and age. Black dragons like Praxidiometes have the power to stagnate water, making it filthy and unsafe to drink. Normally they can only pollute a small amount of water each day, but his master has found a way to amplify the effect.”
“Whose master? Proxy O’Malley’s?” Sazh asked, folding his arms.
The spirit’s expression hardened. “No. Arawn’s.”
She would have said more, but her gaze fell upon Sayaka. A stunned look spread across Arael’s ghostly visage. “Your soul…” The spirit drifted toward Sayaka, halting a few feet from the Puella Magi, her expression morphing into one of pity. “Oh, you poor child. What unspeakable evil has been done upon you, to leave you in such a state?”
Blinking, Sazh traded a puzzled glance with Luigi. “Okay…?”
Gogol Plains, Burial Complex—Burial Chamber
Leo had managed to avoid being crushed under the Tzitzimitl’s bulk, but he was not out of danger yet. The monster’s hag upper body lifted one freakishly long arm, splayed its claws and took a swipe at his back; if it connected, the cyborg would learn that those claws were more than sharp enough to cut through his clothing and armour.
“Ohhhh, I haven’t forgotten you, pest…”
Even as it did this, the monster’s other hand came up to point at Edward. A bolt of lightning shot from its outstretched fingertip, hurtling toward the fullmetal alchemist;
Edward had only a split second to avoid getting electrocuted, and if he wasn’t fast enough the bolt could very well damage his auto-mail prostheses.
Envy, meanwhile, was growing steadily larger in the Grasping Hand’s… grasp. The magical hand squeezed and clenched, trying to keep him contained, but it was fighting a losing battle; soon the rapidly-transforming Homunculus would grow too big for it to hold, and then the spell would be broken.
But despite this, and despite the fact that her teeth were still chattering from the cold, Nana Karas stared Envy down. “Ants?” The barest hint of a sardonic grin spread across the old sorceress’ face. “Haven’t heard th-th-that one b-before.”
Cracks began to spread across the surface of the Grasping Hand. Seemingly unconcerned, Nana Karas lifted an arm and pointed at Envy’s struggling form.
“Here’s a little s-s-something I p-picked up in Sigil,” she chattered, no longer smiling. “MAZE!”
And just as her spell shattered, Envy vanished, shunted into a labyrinthine pocket dimension full of twisting corridors of unbreakable force.
The sorceress lowered her arm and sagged against her staff, panting from exertion. “Th-that won’t h-hold him f-f-for long,” she wheezed urgently. “We’ve got t-t-ten minutes at m-most before he c-c-comes back, m-maybe less; I imagine he’s g-going to be a little p-p-pissed off when he returns.”
Scaled Nations—Jail
The cell door let out a loud clang! as Donkey Kong smashed his head against them, making the whole thing bulge out into the hallway. The bars bent in his grasp with a squeal of tortured metal, the sharp and unpleasant sound loud enough to fill the whole corridor.
A startled yell came from the cell next door. “What the hell’re you folks doin’ in there?!” the dwarf yelled blearily, sounding as if he had just woken up from a nap. “Keep it down, damn it all—hey, wait a minute… Are you guys bustin’ out?!”
The mercenary sounded wide awake now, and a note of desperation entered his voice. “Take me with you! They’ll have my neck for sure if they come back and find you guys missing!” A pause. “Well, that or they’ll just leave me here ta rot like they’ve been doin’,” he added in a more subdued tone. “But still, I’m sick of this place!”
???, Dark City
Despite Pride’s orders, the necromancer did in fact cry out as he landed on the roof; nothing seemed to be broken, though clearly he’d landed badly somehow. Nevertheless he hobbled along in the Homunculus’ wake, panting from the exertion and muttering a litany of particularly vulgar profanities and curses all the way.
It didn’t take long for them to reach what appeared to be a fire escape of ribbed black steel, leading down into the dark cleft of an alleyway between two sheer buildings. What little light there was in this strange place diminished considerably here, and their depths were pitch black; even Pride, with his mastery over the shadows, wouldn’t be able to tell just how far down the ground was.
“Wa-wa-wait,” the necromancer blurted out suddenly. “I kn-kn-na-nana-know this place. Ma-mu-mu-my labora-tor-or-ory is not fffffar from he-he-here. Just a f-f-few fffffffli-yi-yights d-d-DOWN, and then the sky-eye-aye-way…”
He pointed into the abyss, where the faint outline of a covered skybridge linking the two buildings was barely visible some ten stories below.
The Danse Macabre CodexWhatever Edward was expecting, it certainly wasn't that. He barely had enough time to register what Tzitzitml had sent after him, the sudden burst of light and the trail forming in the air indicating that whatever it was, it wasn't good. He immediately jumped to the side, but that wasn't enough, and with a crucifying electric sound, the lightning blast connected with his automail.
Thrown to the ground, Edward gritted his teeth, his other hand clutching the automail as its fingers opened and closed, reacting negatively to all the energy that just had been pumped into it, the alchemist's pained expression a sign that some of that energy had escaped to his flesh body as well. "Son of a B—" Edward tried to groan, but his swears were replaced by a long, uninterrupted scream as every joint in his automail started to move back and forth.
Eventually, the pain stopped, and Edward slumbered to his feet as if he was a heavy ragdoll, his automail hanging lifeless by his side thanks to the lightning blast. Wires had burst open, joints were no longer working, and the connection between it and his nerves was severed. The blonde might as well be holding a bag filled to the brim with sand. With one eye closed and strained breathing, Edward forced a smile out. "That was it?" He asked Tzitzitml. "Barely made a scratch in me. Is that really the best you can do?"
Jack was quite surprised to see their simian ally restored to them, but it was a welcome sight. The great ape was simple-minded, to be sure, but that could be an asset on occasion. And his strength was never in question. The samurai had intended to wait a little longer before attempting an escape, for they needed an idea of what to do once they did so, particularly if they wished to avoid slaying more innocent lizardfolk.
He reached out to grasp DK's shoulder as the ape made for the main door and shook his head, hoping that the creature understood the gesture.
"Not yet," he said. "Wait a little while, and we will go."
Then he looked over his shoulder at the dwarven mercenary.
"You seem to have lost your compunction about betraying your employer. Will you now tell us all that you know of his plans? We may be weaponless, but we are strong, and we will protect you from him if we can. Also, we need a plan once we get out of here. We must find our weapons and possessions, as well as a way to find evidence of the chieftain's guilt. And we must be prepared to defeat him. Our last attempt was a failure. He is one of the most skilled warriors I have ever encountered, but he must have a weakness. Come on!" He waved a free hand, urging his comrades to stand up. "Our task remains and we must see it done."
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. -Lao Tzu"Arawn?" Fluttershy parroted. "Who's - ?" However, the ghost's attention was inexplicably geared towards Sayaka. Arael was very concerned about the magical girl's soul. The pony knew the disease was bad, but nothing suggested so far it affected a person's soul, especially since she did not have the same concern for Sazh. Something else, maybe.....?
Either way, the pegasus decided not to butt in right now.
DAMMIT MARK, STOP HITTING HELPY!!Riverrock, Vagabond District
Johnny leaned against the wall of the building, scratching the side of his head. He spoke quitely, hopefully loud enough to be picked up by the earring, but not as loud to get him funny looks.
"Did it have to be an earring, though? Between that and the sword, I look like a pirate." he complained.
Bait. Not a situation he wanted to be in, but all he had to do was get the coin purse taken off him, and let Stalgrim chase the vampire. It wasn't much danger. Not as much as he had been expecting.

Scaled Nations, Jail
“The hell’re you talkin’ to in there, kid?” the dwarf called, sounding confused.
The goddess’ eyes narrowed. “You act exactly as Shinuaq’tan did those many years ago, Mori Ranmaru,” she said with clear disappointment. “You are not as different as you would like to think. Alas…”
When Jack spoke up, Vyraiah fixed her violet gaze upon him. At his request, she nodded, expression softening. “You deserve that much, at least. You are correct, for we have taken an interest in you. We Nine knew of your coming, long in advance… just as we knew of the vital roll you would all play in this crucial time.”
“Seriously, who are you guys talkin’ to? What’s this about a goddess?”
With a humble solemnity and grace, the elven goddess folded her arms. “I cannot aid you directly. Would that I could; but we gods and goddesses of the Ennead are bound by laws as inviolable and unyielding as any code of honour, laws that bind our hands and forbid direct intervention in the affairs of this mortal sphere. This form you look upon now is but a projection, invisible and inaudible to all save those I deem worthy. But there is one boon I can grant you…”
Vyraiah closed her eyes. The light surrounding her intensified, and she spread her arms.
“Illumination.”
The walls of the prison cell fell away, and suddenly the Champions found themselves in another place entirely—
A village much like Threshold, burning beneath a smoke-blackened sky. Lizardfolk, mostly women and children, ran screaming past the Champions, eyes wide with terror and streaming with tears. In their wake came men—humans, elves, dwarves and others—dressed in black, with dark expressions and blazing torches in hand.
“Leave no stone standing upon another, my brethren!” yelled a man at the head of this host, his eyes ablaze with the fires of zealotry. “Let these heathens see how powerless their pagan spirits are in face of the Nine’s faithful servants!”
Homes were set ablaze. Doors were kicked in. Idols and statuary were carried out and thrown upon the ground, where they shattered into dozens of pieces. Books and scrolls were heaped together and burned.
The women and children fled up the stairs of a monastery, where bare-chested lizardmen threw open the great oaken doors and let them through. Several of these monks ran down to the foot of the steps, one of them clearly a younger Shinuaq’tan before age and infirmity had withered him, and took up fighting stances before the approaching iconoclasts.
They fought gallantly, laying men low with kickes, punches and sweeps of their tails; but in the end they were but five against five hundred. One by one they fell, until only Shinuaq’tan was left standing, battered and bloodied but no less defiant.
He glared at the invaders, shoulders heaving with every breath he took, blood streaming from his mouth and nostrils.”You will not harm them,” he panted. “Not so long as I still stand…”
The leader of the host lifted a small crossbow and took aim. “Then you will stand no more, heretic,” he said coldly, and shot Shinuaq’tan through the knee.
Shinuaq’tan collapsed, crying out in pain. No sooner had he done so than the chief iconoclast turned to his men and nodded, pointing at the monastery. “Burn it down.”
“But pater!” One of the men protested. “There are women and children in there—”
“They are heathens, brother,” the leader interrupted. “Tainted by heathen teachings and heathen ideals. They’re beyond saving.”
Somehow, Shinuaq’tan found the strength to stand. “You monster…”
The iconoclast laughed. “The only monster here is you, creature. And you’ve no one to blame but yourselves. Had you accepted the Nine as the true and only gods, your people might still be alive. You have sewn the wind, and now you shall reap the whirlwind.”
Catapults were wheeled into position, loaded with burning debris.
The order was given. The heavy wooden arms swung. And the screams reached a deafening crescendo—
Suddenly it was the next day. The fires had burned themselves out during the night, leaving only smoking ruin and the blackened skeletons of buildings in their wake.
A single figure stumbled through the desolation, limping and dazed. Shinuaq’tan lurched past the Champions as if they weren’t even there, his eyes vacant and staring at nothing in particular. His ankle caught on something and he fell to the ground with a grunt, groaning as he picked himself up.
“It’s all gone,” he muttered. “Everything…”
He glanced over his shoulder, looking to see what had tripped him up.
A length of charred bone jutted from the ground at an angle.
Life and vitality came back to his eyes. His hand curled into a trembling fist. He bared his teeth in a snarl, pupils shrinking to furious slits. His shoulders heaved with growling, hyperventilated breaths.
“Barbarians,” he hissed. “What did we do to deserve this?”
Blood dripped from his palm onto the scorched earth.
“I’ll kill them all,” he swore. “Even if it takes a hundred years, I’ll restore the clan, the order, everything that they took from us. And then I’ll kill them all...”
“Well said…”
Shinuaq’tan’s head whipped up. “Who’s there?” he demanded, rising to his feet. “Show yourself!”
Shadows gathered in the lee of a lopsided archway, the only part of a building to his left that remained standing.
A figure stepped out of this darkness, tall and lean, the shadows trailing along in his wake and billowing like blood in the water. It was an elven man, pale-skinned and silver-haired, dressed in a robe of silver scales with a high collar and flaring shoulders; the skin of his face clung tightly to the contours of his skull, giving him an almost skeletal appearance, and his eyes were like rippling orbs of mercury, without discernable pupils or irises.
The lizardman’s eyes narrowed with hate. “Mammal…”
The elf gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t be deceived by my appearance, friend,” he said, in a voice that was too deep for someone so gaunt to have produced. His words had all the warmth of frostbite, and rumbled like glaciers grinding the earth flat. “I am not one of the zealots who did this to you.”
“And why should I believe you?” Shinuaq’tan sneered warily. “Who are you?”
The elf lifted his arms and steepled his fingers. Strange armatures enfolded his gaunt hands in a metallic exoskeleton of steel wires, terminating in a set of inch-long blades at his fingertips. He drummed these claws in sequence, and they tinkled softly as they touched one another.
“I have had many names over the years,” he said. “Some have called me the Urizen, others the Anathema, the Primogenitor, the Wyrm. But you, I think, I will honour with the gift of knowing my first name.” The elf ceased drumming his fingers and linked them together. “You may call me Karkarantharas.”
Shinuaq’tan stared for a long moment. “And what do you want then, Karkarantharas?”
The elf’s smile widened. “The same thing you do. You wish to restore your people and take revenge on the ones who destroyed them, yes?”
The lizardman scowled. “I don’t need your help for that. I can do it alone.”
“Can you, now? You’ll have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe.” Folding his hands in the small of his back, Karkarantharas began to circle around Shinuaq’tan, the shadows trailing through the air in his wake. “You never completed your training, and all the materials you’d need to do so have been destroyed. You also know nothing of statesmanship, if I’m not mistaken.”
Shinuaq’tan turned in place, never taking his eyes off the elf. He growled at Karkarantharas’ words, but otherwise said nothing; he knew that the elf was right.
“Fortunately for you, I happen to have a proposal,” the Urizen suggested. “I have learned a great many things in my long life, accumulated a vast body of knowledge. I can teach you all the things you need to know to be a leader of men, all the skills you must master to rebuild your order. I’ll even finance the restoration of your nation from my own coffers, and I assure you, my wealth is considerable.”
“This sounds far too generous,” Shinuaq’tan said skeptically. “I can’t imagine that this offer comes without a price. What must I give in return?”
Karkarantharas came to a halt and turned to face him directly. “Why, your servitude of course. I have plans for this region, plans that will take a lifetime to unfold… and when they do, you will live to see the day that the invaders are brought low and made to pay for their crimes.” He held out a hand. “Now, does that sound like an unreasonable price?”
Shinuaq’tan stared at the hand for a long, hard moment. Slowly a malicious grin spread across his face. “No,” he said, “I don’t suppose it does.”
He reached out to take the Urizen’s hand, flinching as he did so. “Your hand is like ice…”
“When I am through with you, you will be beyond such petty discomforts,” the elf said dismissively. “Now come. There is much we must discuss…”
The two walked away, vanishing into the fog…
And suddenly the Champions were back in their cell.
“Those events transpired many years ago,” the goddess said with clear regret. “My own teachings, twisted and perverted by cruel and ambitious men to justify their hatred. Evil deeds were done in my name that day, in all our names. And because of that, the seeds of an even greater evil took root in the heart of a man who had only wished to protect his people, turning that wish into something foul and cancerous.”
edited 10th Sep '14 12:07:49 PM by SullenFrog
The Danse Macabre Codex