Jump to content


Site Moderator
  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won


Everything posted by amenities

  1. The mail left gathering in my apartment mailbox has achieved fusion and is now an immovable brick of paper.

    That's fair

    1. Die Shize

      Die Shize

      Inside you’ll find a few (hundred) letters from me.

      I included a poem as well. There’s blood on it.


    2. danzilla3
  2. There's a little brain in his throat extending a nervous system into him that controls him. He will be dead with no traces of the brain's control. Since the system isn't attached to the heart, it can be deduced that blood magic was necessary to pump blood through the exterior system. Those onsite will be able to see the blob slowly dying and turning to ash, but there won't be any solid matter left to study. Slugs are just slugs aaannnddd the man was from outside Taen.
  3. But one thing is for sure, I'd rather be the Giver than the taker.
  4. I'm interested to see the different outcomes. Surely there will be both War and Peace
  5. In her day, Elyah had been a skilled water bender. After being separated from her tribe in the deep woods of what is now known as Fracture, Elyah came upon a city of total abhorrence. "Tia," it had once been called, crawled with what must have been people years ago. The mutants had been twisted from an original state by a purple fog that exuded from behemoth plants that appeared to have wrestled all of Tia's great structures to the ground in an as-of-yet unsolved plague. She fought, ran, escaped her way to a once great Black Tower that was broken in half like a toothpick on the face of Valucre. Here, inside, Elyah found Him— or rather, He found Elyah. "And I'm sure she won't have a problem with sharing some of her newly aquired wealth" Now, snapping from her reverie as Dauner finished his casual attempt at extortion, a psionic line traced between the beautiful woman's innocently clasped hands and the liquid falling from Dauner's lap. A gentle blob of the alcohol paused, floating inches above the dirty bar floor on which the monocled man once laid. After all of what Dauner had said- the beautiful woman had been too lost in her lost past to remember what- the bartender percolated with suspicion. "Yeah sure," he muttered as the blob of liquid rose discretely from the floor and lingered beside the beautiful woman's head. Now was when he would have returned to the register and called the cops. "Why, wait," she said, raising her gloved, bejeweled hand in an apparent effort to reason. There would be no calling the cops, no reasoning. What happened next instead was as horrific as the woman was beautiful. It was immediate chaos. With a flick of her wrist at the man as if to rid the beautiful black suede of her delicate digits, the discretely floating blob of whiskey zinged at the bartender in a sharp line. Much to the shock and dismay of the bar crowd, the tender flailed backward as crimson sprayed out of the atomic line slit through his throat. With a slap of the delicate hand on the wet bar, the beautiful woman mounted the surface and slid with unnatural ease to the register. Statistics of Shrine City showed that there would be trouble from the general citizenry and she'd better be prepared. Her second brain, the one that was really in control, knew this in its premeditation of this day. One hand plunged in between two buttons of her jacket while the other withdrew a folded bag by the opened seam and flapped it open, jumping from the counter and hipping into the closed register hard enough to dent and break it against the wall behind. Withdrawing a very familiar sawed-off with one hand, she put the bag in the same hand, holding the bag between finger and trigger as she grabbed the whole register tray and dumped it into the bag. As she loaded the bag, the first to attempt to hinder the prime suspect in the bartender's murder was upon her. Soon, an observant onlooker might guess, the weight of the bag would weigh her finger down and— BANG! The beautiful woman blew one shell and his brains out all over the nearest barstool denizens still in shock from the first murder. Unlike last time the beautiful woman, for all she knew, was still all alone in her uncivil unrest; so this bar she would leave standing. Stamping on the bar in one leap, jumping over the bloodied who were most shocked and least likely to anticipate her vaulting over them, the beautiful woman was out the door zipping down the canal on her waver before most people could even understand what was happening. Dauner would surely be shocked that her smalltime crime would so quickly measure up to two cases of manslaughter, but two things were imminently clear: 1) there was about to be a lot more trouble in Shrine City and 2) he still had time to join.
  6. A well of light forming around the clashing Michael Commager and James Eredas sucked in photons faster than the atmosphere was being replenished by them, darkening their arena even with the sun hung above. The two piercing entities, Michael a stark white and James a burning crimson, had duelt into a fine finale. Michael had filled four cisterns, one for each geological direction and one for each element, so that he could bring someone young and moldable to this dimension and teach them. But what, when a master of another art came to challenge him, did he have to teach? After a few minutes one quarter of the arena was wartorn and would be left to molder a monument in Michale’s memory to the most recent time he wasn’t outright victorious. One head over all those who ran, faltered, died, Eredas had been the most steadfast in recent memory; a signal to Michael that he would never be done growing stronger. James was able to get off his spear attack before being entangled in Michael’s killing blow. The very motion saved him; and to be frank, the very necessary rushed nature of the attack saved Michael. Rotating to his right as the rapid throw took place, Michael realized that due to James’ skill, he would be unable to evade the distributed aura of the attack. Continuing to rotate, flicking his blade wielded by a broken hand against the spear’s blazing approach, Michael could ultimately only offer his left shoulder as a sacrifice for him to escape without whole debilitation. After slamming into and destroying his left shoulderguard, half of the spear’s sharp edge would slice through his left deltoid; but the crossbar would slam into his shoulder and back with enough velocity to send him tumbling forward with the attack. Extending his left arm before him, fingers plunging into the dirt to stop his momentum, Michael’s right arm was thrown forward and against his chest. The dispel bracer on his left arm ensured that his wrist wasn’t further damaged, absorbing red aura from the spear and processing its origin to dispel it next time; however, the Peachy Keen flickered out of existence with the impact. One day, he hoped to bridge a semblance of this experience to his on-world self. James would resolve on his feet at the same time Michael was able to face him in a three point stance. Both of them were badly injured in their own ways, Michael’s entire left arm a useless ragdoll for a limb, James’ arm and torso bloodied and exposed. Dirt rained around them and fire licked at the bubbled fringes of the crater in which they stood. Michael was breathing hard as he straightened, mostly from the pain blazing up his arm. “Okay, you’re good. I admit it.” The sharpness in his eyes softened and, maybe suddenly in the wake of their bout, he laughed. “I just wanted to train some newbies, never thought I’d catch a big fish like you! What do you say we call it a draw so I can get to teaching people before you kill me?”
  7. The two had come to sit at a point beyond the golden slits of sun; they were so near the white light at the bottom of the winding stair its source seemed just around the next bend. Darah’s eyes were piercing, a contextless and unreadable inquiry into Cain’s own. What they found was that, for a moment, he spelled out to her something inside him beyond the Dead. He had found Darah through the legal firm and tested her at the Hildebrand estate, but anything prior to that was a mystery to him. Here in the dark, riverbed hues of brown glowed in his eyes, and without him speaking Darah would see in its contemplation that he was absorbing at least some of her story for the first time. The Puppet Master took her next response in two parts. “Then you simply need to find the next why.” This he stole for himself, locked away advice he would employ in as-of-yet obscure parts of his life. “Else even the best tools at your disposable will become aimless toys. Or someone with a stronger why will take your place. That is the way of the world, as I see it.” By the time she finished speaking, the open book that had been his expression during her origin story had become a stone enclosure. The warmth in his eyes evaporated in the darkness as if dying fireflies, his dim pupils now searching in her for the true meaning in her words. It would indeed, she found, be as if he had led her to beg the very question. With endless tons of steel and machinery, sensory satellites and battle technology orbiting around the mountain become fortress, an army of men and children drawing by worship from the power of an earth god arranged into formation above them, Cain could never say the Dead was without purpose. “I have many whys for the Dead,” he said finally as her puppet placed its blade against his neck. He swallowed before continuing, his Adam’s apple rising against the tiny blade and tingling his spine with a shot of the good stuff. Whether he had known the puppet was coming or not, whether he had a symphony of psychic strings frilled around him to sense such threats, he would be the first to admit that this type of pain was kind of enjoyable for a guy with his proclivities. “Many reasons to put my trust in people who could kill me on my best day.” “For now though, my goal is to sow discord in unfit governments. Mess ‘em up good, maybe destroy them entirely. You already know that Norkotia is one. As for the rest, they’ll become clear over your time with us,” he said, smiling with the blade against his neck. “And I do appreciate your willingness to cooperate with us legally! We’ll be sure to work something mutually beneficial out.” When even Cain might have become uncomfortable with the amount of time spent with a blade against his throat wielded by a calculated professional, Darah withdrew and they could continue around the sequestered bend. “You’re going to show me something, I believe?” Darah asked just as they rounded the corner to the source of the light. It was almost blinding at first. It was a brightness akin to the light emanating from the holy Alignak sculpture high above them which, at first, must be reminiscent of the heavens; but when the eyes adjusted and Darah could see what the room was, she would see that it was.. Disgusting. Hanging in the center of the room, a mere silhouette before the brilliance forced through cacophonous circuit boards of cords and wires and tubes extending from its back, was an exact emaciated likeness of the very Cain Rose who had led Darah into this hellish brightness. The Earthbreaker gazed upon his Shadow with wan, distant sorrow marred with what looked like an eternity of time’s passage. Perhaps, once, the two had been close; but what the original Cain sought now stood before Darah, staring at what he had made of the man himself. It would be clear that the body standing beside Darah and the one suspended by white lines of light were at once the same man and entirely different, conditioned by years of not only independent but drastically polar lifetimes. The standing Cain was muscular, with archaic runes circulating his arms and torso and neck; while his counterpart looked as if, without the light that pulsed into his back exuding from his eyes and mouth, he would crumple in meaningless decay to the ground. “He has—” the progeny that was for all intents and purposes, but not really, Cain, paused. Even with myriad lifetimes lived simultaneously through his puppets to serve as a buffer between him and the pain of his original self, he still felt it; still held some demented form of respect for it. “He has become my best puppet. An amplifier for the beacon of Alignak’s power for any who will worship him. It is, I could say, my largest sacrifice.”
  8. Fall is better than summer. Don't @ me
  9. I met someone I wouldn't want on Valucre today and someone I would
  10. You are eating crackerjacks and Satan appears. He has come to compete for your soul, challenging you to a game of your choice. Which game do you choose?
  11. I got some wailing for ya
  12. "What specifically are you looking for? So we can penetrate in and get out as quickly as possible," Cain asked the Mistress, Keli's face still suspended by the tendrils and his exposed amalgam between facial organs and machinery projecting a ghostly list of auction house materials before them. Cain emboldened his troops with every move he could make. Even as massive Kelis dove for his bare heels, even as the gestation juice sloughed from his face and shoulders from a forced rebirth, Cain hurled legendary blades and beheaded enemies who were their very own singularities for the sheer information he could gain to help those around him. This cause was the self-same precedent of his very life so far, so why when he could did he not impart greatness and power in its many facets to those for whom he cared? Care was a funny word coming from Cain, though. He helped the self-sustaining while loathing those who were too distraught by their conditions to do anything with them. He gave to the voracious poor while ignoring the wholly indigent. Luckily, by virtue of the voracious poor, these helped the wholly indigent; but without their empowerment would not the indigent be left to ruin? Certainly Rose helped everyone by helping the second-to-lowest tiers, he thought. Those who could still fight, would. So it was that these three figures carved their way across the city night- carved their wretched tabula rasa upon the diamond tablets of yet another great lore. Shikai was instrumental from the very first blow he ever made with Mykur. While perfection is always a far cry from inception, greatness can be stole from the very beginning. Mykur’s single flash in the general’s hand heralded the backward flight of 11 Kelis. It withheld the swarm as Cain and the Mistress burst through the doors. “Very impressive, sir!” said the brown node studden in blue lights as it floated around Shikai’s head. “This is Mykur. My sensors indicate that you are not Keli. Reset Mykur user?” Now, with the three running up an inclined street, the rooftop of the auction house could be seen rising in the distance. Behind, though, the Kelis nipped at their heels. Giant hands grazed their achilles in attempt to grab ankles and drag them back into the swarm’s grasp, but Black Neon was somewhat skilled at crowd control. Holding his right arm against his chest as they ran, Neon gathered pressure in his hand and it began swelling. The appendage grew until his fist was the size of a large man in the fetal position, then Black launched it back behind them in a sweeping backhand. The gigantic hand pummeled into the front lines of Kelis chasing them and plowed them sideways, half shattering through a storefront and half launching down the alleyway right beside the store. Four Kelis leaped over the giant hand with olympic agility, and one of them was able to land a hand around the Mistress’s ankle just as her and Cain were picking out the items they would take from the auction house. In fromt of the group, uphill about 10 meters, a couple Kelis had run along the rooftops to get in front of them and jumped in the street to cut them off. Cain didn’t even look up, preoccupied pulling material locations out of Keli.
  13. "It's not very advisable for a lady such as yourself to drink that much at once" The beautiful woman held up two more fingers when the young 'tender looked her way. The moving mannequin's deception was manifold; sobriety and motor control a concoction of conditions she had long since surrendered to someone with rough hands and rougher ideas. What was sweet and supple to those she could seduce was, in fact, a dead suspense on the very eve of rot. The beautiful woman's eyes were a deep forest green, her sharp eyeliner smeared slightly, deliberately. For the first time they grazed the spaces around Dauner, but didn't center on him at any moment. She didn't say anything because he seemed content with a one-way road right now and she had other concerns— cash register, shelves of bottles, the bathroom, a bougie looking fat man with a monocle behind Dauner. Mr. Bartender returned with two more doubles. This time he stayed, leaning an elbow on the bar to express interest in her drinking gusto— she knew she had some nice pants though, and it was likely the 30-some guy wanted inside. This other man, though, the new one... "Well miss, I'm Dauner and you are..." The beautiful woman did two things at once. 1) She raised her drink to the held one of her two drinks out toward Dauner, now finally gracing him with her tempting iris. 2) Her right coattail fell from the crook between her and the chair as she extended the second drink toward Dauner, seeming not to notice he had just taken a drink of his own. In response to the hanging sentence, the beautiful woman poured her half-pint on Dauner's lap. While the piddle noise signified her drink pouring out on his pants, she responded in kind. "I am so sorry!" Suddenly the beautiful woman with the trenchcoat grabbed at the bar towels the Bartender had been idly wiping with right out of his hand and stuffed them onto Dauner's lap. While doing so, she rotated the chair in a worry that was totally unplaced until she was right next to the rich man with the monocle— and only Dauner and the bartender would see that she had orchestrated the entire situation meaningfully. As soon as she got close enough to the man with the monocle, she jutted her hindquarters into his chair hard enough that his stool went tumbling over with his large body sprawling across the floor. The beautiful woman turned, helping the codger up as her apologies culminated in near-panic. She molested his pockets as she helped him up, grabbing coins and watches and even the very monocle the man was wearing, shuffling all beneath her own coat before the guy's fat rolls even stopped jiggling from the fall; and there she was to help him up. He figured the fall just jostled his monocle off, so to throw him off she held up the very glasspiece. "Here you dropped this!" She said, assuaging his worries that she had taken anything from him. Then she sat back on the other side of Dauner and held up two more fingers at the bartender. Now this young man was skeptical of her. He had seen her pour the drink purposefully on Dauner and caught some of the commotion with the large guy, but she seemed well-intentioned and her words didn't slur at all. "You sure you're good for more?" asked the bartender with a little laugh, including Dauner in the fun. "Just ask this guy's lap, I don't think he likes you drinking." "I'm fine, don't worry." said the beautiful woman, shifting some metal under her coat as she turned fully on Dauner with those smokey eyes. "Right?"
  14. Gore didn’t have to look to know that Adime had wisely ditched the crippled carriage. Now it was just him and Heiliger riding the source of the venomous fog with a wake of dying citizens, Adime waltzing away like it was nothing, he expected. Gore’s entire body was on fire with the blood coursing to his anterior. The brain and nervous system he once used dead, his new accoutrements had new ways of dealing with these things. A subtle aura of white powder evaporated off of Gore’s face into the air as he bent over to Heiliger’s wishes for the reigns, still looking him in the eye over his shoulder. “You like it like this?” The puppet in whiteface laughed, winking and smacking the giant bag of coke against his ass stamping its white “Rx” imprint all over his cheeks and bomber. His neck had a firm black line of crusted blood across it that looked basically strong enough to keep the head intact; but twisting back to accost Sebastian like this wasn’t doing any favors. His free hand fumbled around for the reins, and when he finally found them Gore pulled hard. With one massive yank containing all of his might and then an incredible amount more, the puppet flipped the horses backward-left and threw the entire carriage into sudden, lurching disarray. The entire vessel slammed into the suddenly jerked horses and flipped forward over them, Gore’s toes digging like an arachnid into the carriage and holding him to it as he kept lowering himself and flattened his body against it. Nothing could have escaped Sebastian’s blade from that angle, however, even with such a hyper disturbance; so it was that a clean diagonal swipe through Gore’s head sent his cowboy hat flying and freed him of that pesky right tragus and the original right hemisphere of his brain. The carriage flipped twice clockwise and slammed down on its left side, shattering: gold, drugs, jewels and cash showered the street. Suffocating death air caught up and filled it shortly after. It would dissipate eventually, but the threat was not yet neutralized. As the carriage stopped, dragging the horses until it was only spare parts clattering down the street, Gore tumbled out front of the mess with much of the top of his head, his entire front lip and most of his teeth missing. A giant piece of 2x4 protruded from a charred crater in his chest. Clothing and flesh hung in straps down the zombielike man’s bleeding arms, one side of the zipper on his bomber ripped halfway up the other. Something black, snakelike at times and entirely liquid at others, wove in between some exposed tendons and muscles on his shoulder. His slugs were broken free from the bands once ‘x’ed over his torso and scattered all over the ground. Gore had indeed earned a fitting name. “YEEEEOW!” he wiggled his tattered body on the ground with inhuman excitement, sliding his hand on the ground beside him and scooping up four shells up with the exposed bones of his forefinger and thumb. Blood coalesced along their ridges as he rolled them in his palm, pooling a noticeable amount more than it would naturally. In his other hand was still, of course, a big bloodsoaked bag of cocaine. He brought it up and, as one of his eyes stopped working, dumped the not insufficient remainder on his face. Crowds and crowds of people gathered far off, traffic coming to a halt some distance ahead as the wake of death following the carriage barreled down the road. Four to five blocks ahead of the decimated carriage were cleared, a steadily growing perimeter of parallel blocks doing the same. “Are you still there policeman? You’re strong,” he said through the cocaine in between heaving for infected air on his back. His voice was listless, slurred, lisping due to lacking many of his external speaking extremities “I’m done now, come and get me.”
  15. Thanks! I'll ready up when my coffee is done
  16. As Sebastian parkour-kung-fu’d to the top of the carriage, Gore was totally absorbed with surfing on the rider’s bench, holding a bag close to his face and railing more cocaine off his ka-bar. White clouds of the stuff blew over his face no matter how hard he tried to keep the open bag from the wind. So much white stuff it got in his eyes and mouth and, well, of course his nose. Gore would just lower the bag, drop the ka-bar clattering to the wooden floorboards, and look up, wobbling as the cold steel touched his neck. “Last chance. Pull over.” Gore craned his head backward as the horses clattered down the road. His whole face and the brim of his hat were completely caked with cocaine. Now for a lesson in puppetry and cocaine. When a puppet with a brain in its throat who also possesses a fully developed ingrown nervous system is under the influence of cocaine, a puppet master of this ilk can either suppress or allow the inebriated nerves to register in its conscience. Without allowing the nerves' signals to come through, the master is largely unaffected by the inebriation. Allowing the nerves can allow the master to vicariously experience the same inebriation as the puppet, but the master will experience the same motor handicaps in steering the puppet as someone under the normal influence of that substance. “Holy shit are we really in Last Chance!?” After almost five seconds of staring up at Sebastian with genuine shock and awe, sudden realization snapped onto Gore's face and he burst out in gurgling shrieks of laughter, patting his equally cocaine-caked hand on his chest. “Ohhh you mean this is my last chance! Ah man you really had me goin’ there! Heart’s all a’flutter.” Now, Gore was standing. Sebastian wanted him to stop the carriage. The reins for the horses were at his feet. There was a butcher’s blade whose single-celled edge went “hisssss i’m gonna slit your throat” at his neck, so the greater thing in Gore had a choice to make. 1) Play it frisky? Try to escape the proverbial reaper’s scythe with trickery and deceit? 2) Play it cool. Slow your horses, cowboy. “Alright alright, cowboy. I don’t want no trouble,” said Gore, opting with number two. “I jist gotta grab the reins to stop us.” Then he would lower himself for the reins, slowly, if Sebastian let him.
  17. Well I hope you're happy now I hope you're good If you could just be here right now I'd be all good I know you've found what you're looking for I know you did what you had to do Well I hope you're happy now I hope you're all good
  18. Cain had yet to touch it— the Puppet Master scarcely allowed himself to touch or grow near anything holy in this world— but one of the manifold tentacles black extending from him and the 50-meter Ice Wyrm wielded the legendary blade as deftly as any swordsman; it slashed through entire midsections and bisected heads horizontally as the running anomaly that was Rose jetted along the slithering body of his largest puppet, the Ice Wyrm. Cyborg Kelis were all above physical limitations, though, vaulting upon the Wyrm’s body to confront him. Cain, among many things, was most versed in Muay Thai and Krav Maga. While a mage skilled in one very utilisable form of blood magic, Cain’s roots were in hand-to-hand. His reputation as the butcher of Tia was largely unknown, Architect of the Dead entirely unknown; and for being shrouded from them Cain was all the more powerful against these unknowing threats. These unknowing peons. So it was that Keli was unable to deduce the threat he had entangled with. Let alone the Mistress, the thousand Kelis could never— would never— touch the boy who had slaughtered a nation in his early youth. To many, the last of the Shaman of Fear was but a legend. But to the governments of Terrenus and Genesaris, Cain’s face was that of an internationally renowned criminal. As Cain fought, his moves ran through a registry holding his file. After about 13 seconds of Cain fluidly destroying his spawn, Keli discovered one of whom he was dealing with on the lower level. Cain and the Mistress, riding the slithering Ice Wyrm and deftly holding their own amid a black sea of Kelis, made their way to the spiral staircase heading upward toward Keli’s estate as Shikai made his way out of the multifaceted crater he had made of his Keli sentinel. Shikai would feel an earthquake of trembling beneath him as Cain and the Mistress mounted 2-3 steps at a time followed by an army of Kelis. During that scant time, however, he would uncover a small robotic node plugged into Keli’s PC from which he gleaned the command codes to the hovering robot as well as several other useful tidbits. “Command Override: November, Echo, Memento.” The bot before Shikai jittered for a moment like static before readjusting. “New commander welcome! Mykur is nearing! Mykur is nearing!” After a few seconds, the duo burst through the door to a ninja kick by the Mistress, an octopod of tentacles belonging to Cain holding Mykur. This occurred just as Shikai and Black reentered the foyer following the rumble after their own encounter. Without looking at the two, a roar echoed through the floor-level chambers of Keli’s estate while Cain and the Mistress bolted for the door. As if the ginger knew what came next, he did two things at once. 1) One of his seven tentacles whipped the legendary blade like a paper airplane directly at Shikai. It Razed Through The Air. A Keli dove en route only to be rendered in twain by the Legendary Blade of Genesaris as it flew. In the single throw entrusting its Great Destiny unto Shikai without ever touching it himself, enacting a great timeline entirely apart from if he were to claim such an artifact for himself, Cain unerringly and without so much as eye contact acknowledged Shikai’s achievements in his midst thus far. 2) Cain burst through Keli's estate's front doors, which normally swung inward, with ease followed by the Mistress, Black, Shikai, and a swarm of Kelis. The town would be terrorized by their leaping, crawling, Terminator-esque voices all night— at least until the Dead made it out of town. Meanwhile, as Cain’s tentacles withdrew into him, it became clear that they had taken another object: the original Keli’s head. Holding it in one hand as they ran, somehow never slowing even though his arms made dramatic movements, Cain’s right hand birthed four tendrils that hovered in on Keli’s head cradled in his other hand. “Tell me, Mistress,” Cain said as they ran down the parkway from Keli’s estate, the four ninja-like figures jumping the metal gate with ease and jetting down the street with a hive of sleek black figures in tow. “What did you find that they have back at the auction house?” A dropdown menu of the auction house’s contents scrolled upward from the exposed brain in Cain’s hands, ready to select the items she wanted and mark their location. Even now, 10-to-12 foot cyborgs of smooth black tackled at their heels. Efficiency was imperative.
  19. Maybe in a million miles, On a highway through the stars Someday soon, we'll be together
  20. Cain’s naked, ghostly form stood sentinel to the main exit to the tunnels. He was sentinel to the entire outside world. Somehow, little did he know, a rat had slipped through the cracks before he even took post. No real matter; for this exact situation was the reason the “Protection” seal was painted on his shadow’s forehead. Sarah Wilhelm of OFM found herself in their midst as a result of a piece of intelligence that led her here to interfere with Cain and Iblis’ ritual. After all, rarely does one infiltrate a shutdown arena to orchestrate a 1,000-man sacrifice without word seeping out. Even if every single one of them was a puppet long acquired by Cain, their procession of white robes through the tunnels under J’s Peak en route to the old stadium could conceivably be poisoned with a rat or two. Looking around, one as keen as Sarah might notice the singular feature all of the puppets around her shared: somewhere on their body was an area of purplish swelling. Some of the masses were beneath the puppet’s clothes, but some were on places like necks and hands, or even faces. These synthetic brains dictated that the puppets act in certain ways. More than simply exterior attachments, these brains had spread respective nervous systems through the host bodies. Were these typical puppets of Cain, the masses would have dictated that the puppets— whether in a dark alleyway or broad daylight— exterminate the foreign body in their midst. These weren’t typical puppets, though; they were programmed simply, docilely, for the night’s occasion. These limited automatons wouldn’t play defense, but Cain’s shadow would. It would be the Cains’ jobs to protect the program. Still, Ms. Wilhelm would have to keep still if she didn’t want to alert the frozen bodies to the free one’s presence. As the ritual began, as the Earthbreaker finished the circle with his blood and took his place at the arena entrance, the Shadow remained suspended in animation for a few minutes as the print of Cain’s clone imbued with Alignak’s power began— for long enough that Faust might forget about his body, hanging there, pinned with its toes barely touching the ground. Then, the black “Protection” rune illuminated with golden gilding on the Shadow’s forehead. Four spiderlegs of black sprouted from its back, lifting it about 5’ off the ground. Like a spider tending to its prey, the construct jittered to the far east end of the stadium. Climbing up walls, the Shadow’s white-eyed body lilting this way and that, the spider construct came to hover over each puppet. When it did, the Shadow’s arms stretched to either side of the puppet and an endless black twine emerged from each hand, spiralling around the body and wrapping it up. Each body swivelled as if on a spit for about 10 seconds before resolving, all wrapped up. In this way, the shadow made its way across the arena. Sarah would see it incoming from afar, growing closer and closer as the minutes passed. The circle in the middle of the arena bubbled and simmered as if the blood Cain had put into it were boiling. "Somethings wrong, Alginack senses something!" The enspidered Shadow’s head whipped to face Faust. “What is it?” came a far-off voice like Cain’s from the skeletal mass’s heart.
  21. A waver, some called it. The beautiful woman whipped upon one between larger vessels, throttling brakes and boosts along her canal like a Mario Kart character through Toad's Turnpike. Water sprayed from the centrifugal force of her scooteresque board over the decks of passenger vehicles who abided by Shrine City's traffic laws, splashing civilians in nice clothes with champagne glasses who expected the typical serene journey down Shrine's winding byways. Where was she headed? Why, none other than the least diviest dive bar near Lion's Square Garden. The beautiful woman walked into a bar and sat at the three-quarters-packed bar in the late afternoon. She got service real fast. "Pour me a double," she said huskily to the 30-some year old behind the counter gilded with taps. "Right away ma'am," he blushed, grabbing her drink. "Make it two," she said before he'd finished pouring the first. "Alright! Comin' right up!" exclaimed the young'un, catching the whiff that the lady could hold her own. Double-fisting and then downing both at the pace of about a gulp each, the beautiful woman's golden eyes flashed something between alcoholism and arousal. The bartender had other customers to tend to, but he would be back soon. Starting this kind of thing at a bar was fun, thought the beautiful woman.
  22. You say you're the devil but I don't know you You're not the one I sold my soul to
  23. Miraculously they didn't tip as one of Heiliger's hydra chomped off their back left wheel. Shadows of splintered spokes and chassis danced over the turquoise moonlit intersection as Gore and Adime clattered precariously away from Sebastian. Sebastian whipped and yipped the horses as fast as they would run, standing before the driver's bench and kicking his boot out at their hindquarters much to the horses' chagrin and on to greater speeds. It took no thought to deduce that the hydra-clad, building leaping swordsman would follow them. Gore had known to steer aside the first time predicated on the fact that Heiliger had leapt a span of more than a block or two to find himself in front of them. It took no deducing to know that their fun had hit a roadblock it had yet to see. So it was that adrenaline and dopamine fired at such rapid rates it fried Gore's nervous system; but his physiology overrode the inability of his receptors, both dopamine and adrenaline pooling in his muscles and brain. The world around Gore became hyperbright, pupils constricting until they were little more than pinholes in his head while at the same time he perceived a near 360-degree range of vision. Gore spat a black slime into his palm and threw the spit aside. It hit the rapidly passing pavement, burying roots in the ground like its own living thing. It was a dismissive motion but, when Sebastian was about to pass by, extended diagonally upward in an incredibly durable black spire to stab and slam Sebastian aside. "That's really nice man, I appreciate your company too," yelled Gore sentimentally over the whipping wind, entirely missing Adime's sarcasm. "This has been a good time."
  24. @Praetorian jw if I should wait for a post or not me m80 Idk about you guys but I'm so jelly of all the rep @Oljhin Akusao is getting for this thread
  • Create New...