[Sir Thursday]

Sir Thursday v Mentalist

Post 2 of 2

[Mentalist]

placehoder
Sir Thursday vs. Mentalist

round 2 of 2, post 2 of 4.

[Hugin & Munin]

Judges Post

Voting result for STD Vs Mentalist.

[Grief]

Placeholder, Grief vs. Illuyankas, post 1 of 2.


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He remembered. Being brought north, his mother silent through the trip. The Wall coming into the view, the frontier which defined the border of the Empire.
He remembered standing before the doors. His mother beside him. The grief, so badly concealed. The tears in her eyes. But a queen shouldn’t cry. He remembered his brother, the cruelly vicious look in his eyes.
The hall was silent, framed by white pillars which rose towards the roof. Slowly they walked down it, past the guards who loomed above them on each side.

The doors opened before him, and he looked around in confusion. A guard moved. A rough hand throwing him outside, skidding across his side, face burying into the burning sand. The doors slammed shut. He slowly raised his head. The Wall, without an end to either side of him. In front of him, the vast, dead plains stretched out before him. The North. Devastation without end.

He remembered the vast buzzing that filled the air. The movement in the distance. The air that seemed to writhe in agony. His mother was up on the wall now. Tears running freely down her face. A queen shouldn’t cry.
The swarm approached, the buzzing grew louder. The golden plague. The smell of death lay heavy upon the wind, and then it was there. All around him. Countless swarms hanging in the air. All around him. He stood amongst them, suffocating amongst their terrible beauty. The sun burned red in the sky, the flies which seemed to stretch around him for eternity, golden out on the vast plains.

He remembered his mothers look as she opened the door. The final mistake added to the long list of foolishness. The tears, soon replaced by a mask of horror, and with it, the stench of fear. The young Ambirs’ eyes, golden shapes writhing within them. The Wall was strong, the Maker had known well his enemy, fortified it, his blood strong within it. The guards advanced warily upon the young boy. No one survived the horde. The guards formed a circle around him, his back to the grand doors. The flies spiralled out from him, slipping in through every opening of the guards armour, devouring the men within, draining their life in seconds, dry bones and black metal falling to the ground with a clatter. He slowly stepped over the bodies, a sickly smile spreading across his face.

Ambir had recoiled from the bodies, horrified. But he was young. He could not control it. He remembered, the plague, sweeping the south, as he had the north, devouring all. Until the Maker had returned. They had fought, atop the Peak, the World-Mountain. Rocks turned to fire around them, the vast grasslands stretched out below them. The horde remembered, the taste of victory. Finally casting down the Maker, his wasted body falling through the clouds, robes whipping around him. The horde remembered, the taste of betrayal. The boy, in that sweet moment, seizing his opportunity, wresting control from them.

He remembered the fight. Steel upon steel. His sword, smashing against the metal weapons of his opponent. Spinning in deadly unison, as blade met blade, neither fighter backing down a step, then breaking apart, whirling together again, each inch of ground contested, ripostes ripping through the air with inhuman speed. Cuts opening on each contestant, shards of metal littering the blood stained ground. Pushing back the juggernaut, sword seeking some way to damage the gargantuan brute, hacking at legs, arms and chest, all without effect.

He rolled sideways, mere fractions of an instant later a gigantic serrated blade smashed into the sand beside him. He flung his sword out to the side, both hands gripping the sweaty hilt, stopping the second blade that swung in from the side. All his focus went into pushing against it. For a moment the fighters were frozen in place, the first, on one knee in the sand, the second bearing down upon him. The machines first blade raised high in the sunlight, glinting cruelly. Ambir launched himself upwards, his shoulder erupting in pain as he propelled himself into the chest of the machine.

He continued his attack, the machines two blades whipping for him, the single length of metal in his hands preserving his life, as it danced in front of him, a skein of blows in the air. The brute fell back, and he pursued it relentlessly, machinelike, a strange mirror to his opponent. A hollow laugh rang through the arena. Lights flared, cutting through his retinas, half blinding him, and he stumbled across the arena. The laugh went on. It had been playing with him. A game.

Just a game.

He remembered the pain. Liquid light spearing him. Like fire. Sprawling across the arena, a bestial scream rending the air.

He remembered his blood spilling out on the ground. The stark light from above blinding him, as the metallic juggernaut stared down at him, twin headlamps ploughing through his eyes. And the horde awoke. The golden plague, finally freed from the chains imposed on it. Unleashed.

The low buzzing filled the air. The sound of an unending storm of wings. The sound of death.

Play games would you? Bastard.

Flies appeared on his body. Crawling from his mouth. Crawling from his eyes. Faster they came, ever faster. A storm in truth.

We are the End

An observant spectator may have seen then, a figure within the centre of the maelstrom. A man of flies, bent backwards, face raised high to the sky. Screaming.

The gigantic beast stood, a lone menhir amongst a sea of molten gold. Spectators fell forward in their seats. Dead. Their life fuelling the shifting swarm within the arena, which blossomed out, filling the air above the monstrosity which stood, vast trunks of metal planted into the ground, making no move.

The golden plague gathered, hanging in the air. A viper, poised to strike.

The storm descended.

[Illuyankas]

Grief versus Illy, Round 2, Post 2 of 4



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The Mansplitter stared impassively at the writhing sea of gold replacing the sky. As the insect wave began its descent towards the unflinching landship, one sentence escaped the machine before the horde enveloped it.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

Inside the swarm, K’t’Za could see nothing but the crimson light emanating from the Mansplitter reflecting off the golden carapaces of the flies, in a confusingly disorientating fashion. It reminded him of the time he’d swum on holiday with his ex-wife to a sunken Spanish galley, and discovered a chest of doubloons and a great white in quick succession. Light diffusing through the blood (and extremely-finely-diced sharkbits) off the coins appeared incredibly similar. K’t’Za would have sighed fondly at the memory, if he possessed the correct organs. Instead he [untranslatable]ed and began hacking his weapons at the swarm, demanding a status report as he swung ineffectively.

“This is ridiculous. A’To, are we taking damage?”
“Fortunately, sir, the Awesome Red radiation, er, radiating out of all essential hull divisions and gaps appears to be deterring the flock from entering.”
“Really? Is it meant to do that?”
“Not really, sir, we just designed it that way to look cool.”
“Lucky break. So we’re impervious?”
“No, sir, they’re slowly eating through the unlit hull plates as we speak.”
“Hmm. Could we try EYE LASERing them off?”
“That’ll just lower the emitted light from the cracks, allowing some of the flock to get in, hide from the AR radiation, and possibly damage your DVD collection, sir. This is probably just another magic enemy, only flock-shaped this time as opposed to sword-and-idiot-shaped. That is, of course, unless our understanding of the human reproductive cycle is horribly inaccurate and he’s spawning. Which, considering the vast quantities of human intercourse tutorials we’ve found off their Internet, is unlikely - even if we still haven’t identified the area of the female human’s face used for storing eggs.”
“Actually, A’To, according to the information we picked up at the landbrary a group of insects is called a swarm.”
“But surely they’re flying creatures in a group, J’Gi?”
“Only for birds and sheeps, apparently. Oh, and it’s a swarm regardless of the temperature. Shots and scolds don’t even refer to groups at all!”
“Fascinating. So if it’s not a scold of penguins, what is it?”
“Not entirely sure, but at best guess I’d call them a brunc-“
“J’GI.”
“Er, sorry sir.”
“ANY SUGGESTIONS FOR HELPING US OUT OF THIS LIFE-THREATENING SITUATION?”
“Well, I-“
“EMPHASIS ON YOUR LIFE.”
“Uh, I did add several new forms to the Mansplitter while we were repairing and outfitting it, and one of them should be effective. I’ll activate it shortly, sir, but it’ll leave you out of radio contact with us until after the form change.”
“Very well. A’To, you are in command in my absence. Transformation to whatever form you’re on about, mark.”

The mass of flies engulfing the Mansplitter prevented any of the dilapidated audience from observing the giant robot’s transformation. Their multi-faceted eyes were the only witness to the slowly corroding landship’s antler-antennae straightening out to either side and thickening, details dissolving into an initially smooth surface which pitted and tarnished within seconds from the swarm. Its head lost what little features it had and expanded, the shoulders folding outwards forcing the torso into a barrel shape. The collective gaze of the thousands and thousands of insects escaping from Ambir studied the Mansplitter, currently slumping under reforming legs. The sentience behind the flies wondered at the purpose of the winged structure, now sliding down to the centre of its back, made from its head.

Its question was answered with the throaty roar of the propeller engaging, the downforce thrusting the bugs away and sending the Mansplitter into the air as the insects were flung into disarray. The machine spun crazily above the scintillating swarm as it completed its transformation, each limb splitting into two thinner tendrils as they evened out in size. Each manipulator produced a razor-sharp blade at their tip, which fanned out into a jagged disc and began to spin rapidly. Their stabilising effect steadied the errant machine as the swarm attempted to reform beneath them.

“J’Gi, what in the depths is this thing?”
“It’s a combination of one of our greatest enemies and a human device I’ve always wanted to travel on. I believe I called it a helicoctopuster.”
“…this is either the most idiotic or the most brilliant thing you’ve ever done.”
“Thanks, A’To.”
“I have some questions, though.”
“Pinch me.”
“First, why are there buzzsaws on each tentacle?”

A group of flies fought against the turbulence of the helicoctupuster long enough to get within range, a stream of molten gold fighting against the gale-like winds. An arm lazily sideswiped the insects, the perpendicularly-held sawblade cutting a swathe through the boiling mass and ruining their formation enough for the backdraft to disperse them again.

“That’s what gave me the idea for an octopus, actually. The humans stop their helicopters from crashing with only one support fin, and I wanted to improve ours by using more. Eight just seemed so logical a number. And of course, everyone likes buzzsaws.”
“Logical. Right. Very well, what about the flamethrower?”

A hatch had opened in the hull at the centre of the eight tendrils, allowing a tube with a fragment of crystal jutting out to appear. The gout of flame that belched forth was a brilliant blood-red in colour, and left every fly it touched twitching on the area floor as the flames consumed them.

“Come on, an inkthrower would be silly. And if everyone likes buzzsaws, they LOVE flamethrowers. Anyway, anything else?”
“Yes, actually. When is the boss back in radio contact? We’re flying completely out of control.”
“Ah. Yes. Er…”

Inside the propeller-anchoring rotor formed out of the Mansplitter’s head, spinning nauseatingly quickly and unable to access a single flight system, K’t’Za couldn’t feel the helicoctupuster career around the arena. He was too busy being sick.

“A’To?”
“Oh, [untranslatable].”

This post has been edited by Illuyankas: 22 April 2009 - 12:22 PM

[Grief]

The swarm had fallen in their masses, the deep scarlet of the drenched sand barely visible beneath the multitude of corpses. The mechanic nightmare emitted a low drone as it finally came to a stop, hovering above the field. The flies had fallen swiftly, assuming a variety of forms, merging into a gigantic solid mass, to try and fight off its implacable foe, each attempt as ineffectual as the last. A snake of molten gold whipping it’s gargantuan against the hull of the ship. The roar of a great bear filling the arena. Twisted shapes that defied the vision. An eagle soaring for the sky. A beast with writhing tendrils, a beast with row upon row of glittering teeth, cut down before the rotating blades. A final shape, a gigantic scarab rising upon its hind legs, locking horns with the hull of the ship, pushing it backwards towards the arena wall, before being consumed by a huge gout of blue flame. A terrible screaming had filled the air, before the complete silence fell like an axe, broken only by the low drone of the automaton at the centre of the arena.

J’Gi picked his way slowly through the twisting corridors. The main lights had been knocked out in an early assault, so the back-up lights flooded the corridors with a flickering deep red. A whisper ran through the corridors.

J’Gi...

“K’t’Za?” the shrimp asked out loud.

J’Gi...

The voice seemed to be coming from lower down in the Mansplitter, echoing up through the floor, somewhere beneath him. He opened the nearest hatch and slipped down a flight of stairs to the lower deck. A loose wire sparked as he stepped past it, making a mental note to see to it later. The voice persisted, leading him onwards, downwards. Perhaps the Lord Pilot was within the lower command room, or amongst the engines.

Come quickly J’Gi, my strength fails...

He increased his pace, now almost racing through the corridors. “Lord Pilot?!” he asked, alarm now filling his voice. Where could he be? Where could he...

J’Gi caught sight of a shape up ahead, lying amongst the engines.

He’s here, J’Gi...

J’Gi advanced cautiously towards the indistinct shape.
“K’t’Za? Friend?” There was no reply.
“Who’s here? What do you mean?”

J’Gi stopped a few feet away from the other being.

The golden one...

J’Gi shuddered inwardly. “Was he the one who did this to you?” Again, no reply.

Up in the cockpit there was movement, a shape drifted through the shadows around the controls.

J’Gi, help me...

“How?” J’Gi whispered.

My strength fades...I need you to help me, friend...

J’Gi approached, until he was standing next to the other shrimp. “Anything I can do, I will, Lord Pilot.”
K’t’Zas face twitched.

Thank you...

Up in the cockpit, a figure sat alone staring at the mass of bodies, the sea of blood. It pressed a small blue button, and frowned as nothing happened.

“How my Lord?” J’Gi asked.

Die...

J’Gi recoiled as the Lord Pilots face collapsed, giving way to a mass of golden spiders which swarmed over him. He froze, a feeling of horror welling up inside him. His strength left him, and he fell to his knees. He opened his mouth to scream, but the spiders welled up from inside him as he was devoured from the inside out, as if he were vomiting a flood of molten horror. Shortly later the spiders moved on moving through the corridors, past a sparking, loose wire, leaving behind them a figure alone in the darkness, empty eyes staring at the ceiling, with no visible wounds upon him save tiny scratches, barely visible in the dim red glow.

Alone in the cockpit Lord Pilot K’t’Za tried again to activate the intercom to no response. Mocking laughter spread through the arena. The Lord Pilot whirled, glaring through the observation, vainly trying to source the location of the laughter that went on unending. His eyes widened slowly as flies began to rise from the arena floor, few at first, and then in far greater numbers, whirling together in patterns to intricate to follow, weaving ever closer until finally all motion stopped.

A golden being stood alone in front of the Mansplitter, staring directly at the observation window, and offered it a fanged smile.

When he spoke, it was in many voices at once, creating a terrible harmony that ran through the arena.

“Did you think it would be so easy? I am a plague. I have stared down upon lands without life, and caused tears enough to fill a thousand oceans. I am suffering. And suffering will never die.”

With that, the desolate laughter began again. The being that had once been Ambir slowly disintegrated, leaving nothing but laughter behind. Within the ship, the spiders surged, and the battle began again in complete silence, concealed within the gleaming husk of the mechanical beast that sat in the centre of the arena.

This post has been edited by Grief: 10 October 2009 - 06:43 PM

[Illuyankas]

K’t’Za bodily restrained himself before he broke something expensive.

“This simply will not DO. A’TO! J’GI! WHERE IN THE DEPTHS IS MY REPORT!?”
Garbled clicks came from the communicator before A’To’s voice queried,
“That you, sir?”
“OF COURSE IT’S [untranslatable]ING ME! WHAT THE SHARK IS GOING ON IN MY LANDSHIP?”
“That’s a relief, sir, the enemy have breached the hull and are piping voices into all decks that sound like yours the day after your divorce.”
“Before or after I snorted that moray eel?”
“During, sir.”
“Shrimperor’s spiracles. What about J’Gi?”
“He’s either been killed or rendered usel- more useless. I can only see the golden, uh, land-crustacean-octopi shapes the enemy have taken through the corridor-cameras. Or he’s hiding in a closet.”
“J’Gi’s idiotic, not suicidal. I’m afraid since they’re inside the hull we have only one option – you’re going to have to implode the core, flood the landship with AR radiation and purge the land-crustacean-octopi from existence.”
“…that will kill everyone, sir.”
“No, just most of us. While you head to the core control and prepare our sudden and lethal illumination, I shall be assaulting the main invading force as a distraction-”
“Thank you, sir! I-“
“Until you finish the preparations, where you will then become the primary target of the land-crustacean-octopi things, allowing me to flee like a little prawn out of one of the designated FLALP hatches.”
“…oh.”
“Don’t worry, A’To, if I die, you have my explicit permission to get out of there once it’s done. Or, preferably, if you see J’Gi you also have my explicit permission to use him as bait if needed to escape. As long as one of us survives the battle we’ll all be revived after.”
“Really, sir?”
“I have no idea. That doesn’t matter, though, because I JUST GAVE YOU AN ORDER, A’TO, AND I EXPECT YOU TO COMPLETE IT LAST CENTURY!”
“Yes, sir!”
The comms went dead. K’t’Za got up, stared at his sealed and depressingly vomit-covered entry hatch, then turned to the front of his cockpit and smashed his way out with three strikes of his claw. He felt overjoyed that he was going to die in a much more fufilling way than the airsuckers who had led him upon this path. And that he’d die owing J’Mi the Snip enough cash to buy a wing of the Shrimperor’s palace.

A’To had decided the best way to reach the core-control was via the spinal service duct. As he skidded around a hallway corner and flung himself down a staircase, the golden horde moments behind, he mentally pincered himself for forgetting the Mansplitter’s current form lacked a spine, and for opening a hatch into the flamethrower chamber. If it had been active his mission would have ended there and then, but instead he’d seen hundreds of glittering eyes staring back from the rents they’d made around the flamethrower mounting. Then he legged it. Signs of destruction and sabotage on floor after floor blurred past him as he ran, until he reached the bowling alley, flinging out claws to either side to stop himself before running into the occupants. Metal tore and shrieked as the shining, sickening mass of land-crustacean-octopi laughed at him, in a chorus of discordant voices.

“Little bug, you are foolish to persist. We have killed gods before, stripped worlds of all life, on land or in sea.”
“Ah, now I understand. You’re amateurs.”
“You pose and bluster but you cannot stand befo-” was all it managed before A’To tore bodily through the distraction, flinging broken bodies in all directions and continuing downstairs. As he descended, he heard voices echoing after him,
“Please, continue struggling. It will make victory all the sweeter…”

He reached the final deck after what seemed far too long and [untranslatable]ed a [untranslatable] of relief at seeing J’Gi by the core-control hatch.
“About time you resubmerged, J’Gi.”
“Yes, A’To.”
“Been in a fight already, have we?”
“Yes.”
“These damn cucumbers are deadly, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Tell me, where is the lord pilot?”
“That wouldn’t have fooled a cavefish, you glistening bastards.”
“Oh, well-ell-ell. Worth a-a-a-a shot-ot, hahahahahHAHAHAHA!”

The voice degraded into a babble of noise and cackling laughter as land-crustacean-octopi swarmed from the hallway behind J’Gi, and a quick glance showed the same behind. A’To began to prepare for his last-

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

K’t’Za smashed his way through the wall behind A’To, fragments of outer hull and land-crustacean-octopi following him in through the gap. Blood, both his and the (okfineenoughwiththesillynamealready) spiders covered him as he asked A’To, “What’s the delay?”

“J’Gi’s been possessed, and-”
“That’s all? J’Gi, if you don’t depossess yourself and fight right now, you’ll be court-martialled.”

Chittering laughter was his only reply.

“J’Gi, if you ignore a direct order again, I’ll have your pornography incinerated.”

J’Gi flinched. Twitched. Froze utterly still… and unleashed a tortured scream that sent everything recoiling in pain. The sound cracked the walls, burst the spiders and drove A’To back a dozen steps. Abruptly it stopped, and was replaced with another scream, now of fury, as J’Gi spun about and flung himself into the enemy, howling while he shredded them.

“This is impossible!”
“We of the Shrimperium are made of sterner stuff, maggotspawn,” K’t’Za replied to the spiders nearest him, before backclawing A’To, shouting, “No rush, eh? GET A BLOODY MOVE ON!” and joining the fray himself. A’To had enough time to see his fellow crewmates ripping and tearing their way through the spiders on either side, one fuelled by rage, one by megalomania. Slipping through the hatch and beginning the process, he could clearly hear K’t’Za shouting the speech he found in that Christmas cracker last year as he held back the scuttling tide.

“YOU ARE MISERABLE PIECES OF FLOTSAM, ADRIFT ON THE WAVES, AND I AM THE ETERNAL SHORE! CRASH AGAINST ME AND BE BROKEN!”

Bathed in the golden light of the emergency lights, core detonation procedure almost completed, he moved to the final switch-
Aren’t the emergency lights red?
A’To bolted for it.

This post has been edited by Illuyankas: 19 October 2009 - 11:16 AM

[Hugin & Munin]

Voting Result

Grief Vs Illuyankas

[Shinrei]

Shin vs. Dibs, post 1 of 4.
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Hot glittering sands trailed across the glass surface, cracked by trauma and searing heat. The cruel blue sky pressed its solar glare down upon the crater. With the passing of years, dunes of black sand slowly encroached. It would not be long until this corrupted ground would be covered and the follies of the architects of despair would be forgotten.
He stood on the edge of this jagged plain, and thought not of the heat or the desolation. Nor did he dwell on the other souls that lingered, still twisting in torment. For him, this place no longer held horror or agony.
It held promise…

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The agony of waking snatched the image away with a gasp. The harsh sunlight of the dream became the shallow glow of the fluorescents overhead. Although the image was gone, the feeling was not. Despite the pain, cracked lips turned upward in a hideous parody of contentment.

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The healing forced upon him after the battle had been further lessons in suffering. His body, rather than accepting the healing, had attempted to reject it entirely. Weeping cracks marbled the surface of his skin. His blessed friends, the black strands of night, whispered to themselves within those cracks. Dead and dry skin gave off a soft rustle, a constant white noise which encouraged the care-givers to avoid his room.

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He raised his head to the sky, a blue dome overhead. As in the dream there was heat here, but a cool breeze brought brief respite to the spectators. He brought his gaze earthward, to the new obstacle which lay before him. His opponent stood, twin axes poised, held like matchsticks in matchstick arms. The boy could feel the red heat rising within him as he released a single strand of black, then another, and another. He walked calmly toward his opponent, accompanied by the chitenous whispers of his friends.

At ten paces he lashed out, appendages undulating between soft black silk and steel piano wire. Striking at angles, they latched onto the heads of his opponent’s axes. Arching about the heavy blades and snapping taut, they synched themselves noose-like above the hafts. The boy licked his cracked lips, flexing in readiness to snap the blades clean, leaving his opponent weaponless. An easy plaything before the kill. But before he could complete the motion, the man did some flexing of his own. I quick twitch of the wrists and the boy found himself off his feet, flying nose first into the awaiting headbutt. Forward flying ended, changing abruptly to backward falling. Blood gushing from a crushed nose and eye fractured eye socket, instinct alone caught his fall. Black chords became a soft hammock, easing him to the ground and then gently back onto his feet. Even in retreat though, his talent instinctively lashed out in attack. Black spears pierced his opponent’s feet, rooting him to the ground.

Regarding his opponent now, he understood why this man had advanced to the second round. He possessed speed, strength, and most importantly – anticipation. And…he seemed unconcerned that he had several hundred black needles piercing his skin, rooting him to the ground.

The blood flowing from the man’s feet was beginning to boil. The boy smiled. He felt fine threads repair and solidify, hardening to form a temporary protection over the bone of his shattered eye socket.

The man was affecting indifference, even to the apparent searing heat emitting from the black coils. He appeared to be absorbed in the inspection of his blades. Despite falling short of snapping them, deep rents were scoured onto the heads of the axes.

The boy withdrew the spearing strands, skin sloughing away from the places where they disappeared. He knew that standing this close to a mortal person would cause them great discomfort. His body heat was steadily rising, the black tendrils were turning ash grey under his skin.

The man turned his gaze from his axe towards the boy. “You look like you could use a hug.”

The boy felt black evil stir beneath his smiling lips, which rippled from inner preparation for such an embrace. Such a…kiss. In a voice like a heat cracked desert, he answered. “Yes….I’d like that very much.”

[drinksinbars]

Shinrei Vs DrinksInBars - post 2.


“Just one last step, Brother,” said Lucifer in his ear.

Azeazel regarded the drop with an expression of mild concern, his features troubled for the first time in Ages. He could see nothing from the cliff edge but a vast expanse of cloud thousands of miles below. Azeazel closed his eyes, replaying each step from the citadel in his mind’s eye until he came to this point, the last step.

“I find my courage has left me,” spoke Azeazel. He turned to look at his Brother, first among the blessed chosen, oldest and wisest of God’s angels.

“Have faith, my Brother. The father must see what has become of his Kingdom, and we must show him the way.” Lucifer, the brightest and noblest of all the angels, watched with eyes that would have shed tears if they could. His halo so bright he brought light to all who felt his presence.

“Faith,” whispered Azeazel before stepping from the cliff.

And so, Azeazel fell.

For an eternity and more he dropped toward Earth, shedding that which made him an Angel of the Lord. His halo had faded long before that final step, as the faith that Azeazel held was no longer the faith in God. His wings, unable to stand the terrible velocity, were shredded in painful blasts that buffeted him tumbling and reeling from each blow. His sword and shield, robe and sandals, all were torn from him as he was cast down. Even his flesh was battered, bruised and ripped away until his soul shone through the tears in his corporeal existence.

The cloud loomed closer.

The last remnants of his immortal body were stripped from him and cast off into the abyss. He plunged, like a falling star, burning brightly across the night sky. His soul shone so brightly that the clouds below Heaven were set aflame by his passage. All on Heaven and Earth watched in awe drove mad by the apocalyptic sight, all that is, but one.

******************************************************************************

Morgoth covered the distance in a heartbeat, both axes thrust forward into the onrush of black tendrils. The mass of razor wires burst and were forced backward by the solid dam that was Morgoth’s axes. Cables of hair sprayed outward like a black sun tattooed on the air before him. The deafening roar of a million grasshoppers whispered beyond mortal hearing at such an affront. To Morgoth it sounded like home.

Pivoting on his leading leg, one axe maintaining a shield against the incessant assault, Morgoth stepped through the veil and swung his axe with enough force to peal thunder as it battered the air. His blood sprayed the sands, the flesh of his chest torn out in vicious caverns.

The torrent of black hair was suddenly parted, split ends drifting away without their roots. Morgoth didn’t stop his momentum as it was such that he would have torn Martin’s body in half had he tried. Instead he let the axe continue its downward arc to crash into the sands creating havoc as shockwaves rippled outward causing the arena floor to suddenly jump into the air and his opponents feet to find that solid ground was no longer below him.

Morgoth’s first axe was brought round on an unstoppable course with the boy’s head. Yet somehow, impossibly, two frail pasty arms were flung into its path, and even as Morgoth watched hair exploded out of every pore, spraying blood as it cut the boys flesh to pieces on its way to intercept his axe. As the two impacted the ground suddenly rushed back up to meet them, the explosion slapped the soles of the boy’s feet, punching him high into the air with the sound of snapping bone.

The boy flew high and backward, a whipping mass of midnight wrapping around his body in a cocoon. Thick tendrils as wide as a prize bull snapped out at outrageous angles, the black cords scything through the crowd cut deeply into the shaking earth looking for purchase. One missed Morgoth by only a hairs breadth, while another speared the executive box overlooking the arena to plunge through the arena wall. Another went skyward, just missing the lip of the arena roof, the boys spinning momentum dragging it in a hazy arc that to Morgoth looked like a lazy wave, before it came crashing down like a giant redwood, flattening one hundred foolish mortals beneath it.

Morgoth, rocked himself by the attack, pounced after the boy. Both axes held wide as he tracked the growing black hole that was his opponent. The thick cables arrested the boys fall with an elastic snap, momentum dislodging a few anchor points in a tumbling array of debris that rained down around the arena. Enough though held firm, deep enough, or far enough away to stop the boy from pancaking against the sands. The black mass of protective hair hung momentarily in a gigantic spider web stretched taut across the stands before two axes slammed into its surface.

Thousands of layers sprang loose as their tension was suddenly lost. The axes rose and fell, again and again and again. Each time Morgoth struck he had to fend of against another attack. Each time the razor-sharp barbs plunged into Martin’s flesh slicing away muscle and fat or severing tendons and veins and arteries just as quickly as Morgoth could hold them together. Scars were formed the torn away, flesh ripped and shredded even as it knitted closed. Flames seemed to pulse within each strand of the boy’s venomous hair melting and burning the body of Morgoth’s host even as he pushed it to relentlessly attack.

On the verge of collapse the final strands parted and the creature was revealed. Twin axes hammered into the boys bony shoulders, chopping into flesh much easier than they did the hair, too easily. Without the solid resistance, Morgoth plunged into that gaping abyss until he was practically lying on the boy.

“How about that hug?” he spluttered, spitting a thick gory fur-ball onto the boys chest. He smiled at the boy, watching the beady black eyes tracking his face. Morgoth set his knees in place on the boy’s groin, enjoying the look of discomfort squirming its way over the child’s brutish little features. He released his left axe, his movements made hard by the oppressive mass of hair pushing against him, and set his palm on the boy’s throat. He yanked his second axe free and lifted it high above his head.

The boy opened his mouth as if to scream, but it was not words that erupted from his throat.

This post has been edited by drinksinbars: 04 June 2009 - 01:26 PM

[Shinrei]

What howled forth from that cracked mouth spoke of an eternity of icy blackness, a wind that chilled and tore at the edges of the mind. Stunned to silence, Morgoth stepped back, staring as a fountain of frozen ash spewed forth. The blackened flakes, drifted skyward, where they then fluttered back earthward like broken moths, disintegrating to dust.

As the ash began to dissipate, Morgoth began to hear again the whispers of those black tendrils surrounding the boy. Only now, instead of a numbing soft rustle, he heard their voices.

“Oh great Satan…”Morgoth thought, “those are souls… The boy is a harvester.” He cocked his head, “No, that’s wrong. He is but keeping them…”

And then, from deep inside the cold blackness that was the boys mouth, a small window of breath and existence which at the same time hinted of somewhere else entirely, Morgoth felt a voice like a stray hair brush across his mind.

Yes wretched one. Those strands of night are not hair. They are each and every one a soul.

The soft brush of the hair went taunt.

And they are not for you.

The voice receded and Morgoth caught a fleeting glimpse of a place of pure darkness, so cold as to make Lucifer weep with jealousy.

Before he could think, Morgoth found himself lifted skyward. Holding him aloft, tendrils wrapped about each of his shoulders, while more wound themselves between his ankles, bringing them tightly together. Suspended in this manner, he found his arms stretched wide until with a sickening tear, the flesh was stripped clean from shoulder to fingertips. Skin, muscle and blood rained earthward, leaving behind arms composed only of shining sinew and red stained bone.
Two arms, outstretched, which burst into flame.
The tendrils which had been holding the arms aloft cracked whiplike across Morgoth’s jaw as they withdrew, shearing away the lower half of his face. What they left was a terrible visage, a face with the upper palette exposed and a tongue hanging down against the neck. These too, began to smoke before starting ablaze as Morgoth tumbled to the earth.

The tendrils released his ankles then, and returned to their homes within the ruined skin of the boy. The boy sat up then, and calmly folded his legs under him. He regarded his opponent with a soft gaze. “Yours is a fire which produces no ash.” He said softly.

Morgoth pulled himself aloft, while two arms of blazing bone reached for and grasped an axe. The look in his eyes spoke of a grin no longer possible. The voice that emerged from that dread face defied the logic of tongue and jaw. “And yours is a darkness which speaks of no End.”
-------------------------------------------------
Up in the skybooth, the nameless soldier confirmed his earlier reading from the apparatus he carried. “Affirmative sir, I am no longer reading any output of radiation from the boy.”

Snead pulled off the hood of radiation suit. His face was grim, bathed in a faint sheen of sweat due to the suit. Hoffman, voice muffled from within his own hood asked meekly, “What does that mean? Is it dangerous?”

Snead shook his head. “I don’t know. I would have thought…I just don’t know.”

Down in the arena, a boy sat crosslegged, looking more calm and at peace than he had ever been in his life. Across from him, a blazing apparition advanced with axe aloft. The stands, formerly filled with the bloodlusting cheerful, were silent in death. Only the men in the booth were left to see what came next.

[drinksinbars]

The roof of the citadel seven stories above was completely destroyed revealing a sky overhead shot through with stars so closely clustered that it was more white than black. Chaos was slowly returning as the maelstrom recovered from his descent and crawled slowly once more across the face of Heaven. Standing as he was on the lip of the crater, Morgoth took a moment to stare across at the throngs of damned and demons that had crowded into the bowels of the earth to see who had fallen. The fools should have known there was only one being so powerful as to cause so much destruction in this Hell. Eventually the downpour resumed and the ever present gloom reasserted itself as a billion souls waited in collective silence.

There was little or no purchase on the cliff face newly carved deep into the earth. The wash of stink and filth that was oozing its way down the sides made the ragged faces shear and steep, but the being that crawled forth was dogged and determined and unlike those above who watched down in pain and disgust, this being was not yet earthbound. Dirty and bloodied he may be, but the broken wings, and shattered pieces of a halo that struck out at points across his broad cranium left no doubt that this was an Angel of God. That he had managed to survive the Fall, were no other had remained whole, was an insult so grave that many of the damned fell to ash as they watched his slow and agonised climb.

Morgoth waited at the lip of the crater as Lucifer raised his hand, his face broken and his eyes pleading.

“Help me, Azeazel!” cried Lucifer as his great strength seemed to finally leave him and he sagged onto the floor at Morgoth’s feet.
Morgoth felt a moment of dislocation at the use of his once proud name, but then to hear it uttered by the betrayer so brazenly made his mind rage. With one massive claw he reached down and then held aloft the body of his Brother for all to see and with great care and infinite patience, he tore him to pieces, casting the offal into the pit.

Martin had never felt pain anything like it. His mind was shutting down under the pressure of agony beyond description. He was literally on fire with the pain. His body burned to such furnace level heats that the thumping of his heart and the rushing blood around what remained of his body became like a tsunami in his mind. The dark corner of his bedroom was his last vestige of hope and he lay there as little more than a torso.

In the centre of his room a spider the size of a child licked all too human lips and watched him with ravenous multi faceted eyes of deepest black where every reflection of his soul was being devoured piece by piece. It scuttled forward, fangs like twin scythes sweeping closed to grasp another part of his anatomy as it had done with his arms, a hastily flung out foot losing a slipper to the deep cavern that was its mouth.

Adrenaline made him stagger to his feet, as his frantic movements somehow gained enough momentum to send him crashing into the wall. A painful twist and a smashing blow to his left eye sent him reeling toward the creature before he could fling himself over it.
Rearing back on massive legs of what felt like steel, Martin bowled into it and went down on top of it, feeling like a thousand jagged lances suddenly pierced his body as the hairs on its carapace raked across him. In a moment his momentum carried him over it, leaving behind thick swathes of juicy flesh which, even belly up, it delicately plucked off and set into its mouth. Vomiting as he ran, bony arms flapping uselessly at his sides, Martin plunged into the fire.

Morgoth could sense the beast searching for his host, its insipid mind clawing along the mortal’s spine as it dug its way into the frail pink brain beneath his skull. Time was of the essence, and whatever hell Martin was in now, was his own to escape.

Closing on the abomination, Morgoth crossed the sands in less than a heartbeat, both axes swinging toward the boy’s head but somehow missing as the boy whisked himself away on a bed of flowing black. They darted too and fro, one attacking the other ever just a hair’s breath from being sliced in two. When Morgoth did find flesh, it was fleeting and parting with no resistance a moment before it closed once more. His anger building, and his control over Martin slipping, his desperation grew.

He flung both axes, one to each side of the abomination so that they tore through the sands cutting away deep troughs that burst into flames. The distraction brought the boy up short as he plunged into the fire with an agonised scream. Morgoth didn’t hesitate, but closed the distance, skeletal hands seeking and finding the tiny little child neck and squeezing with the force of a mountain. Small child hands grasped against the slick bones of his forearms, flesh melting as the flames of his arms turned the muscle and fat into juice. The boys face began to sag under the searing heat, as his bones began to cook under his skin.

Just as suddenly the black came upon Morgoth. Thick tendrils poured forth from the boy, dousing the flames, racing along his arms, over his shoulders and into the cavity that was his jaw and poured down his throat. He suddenly felt full, a sensation so understated that it was like bursting. His vision was black as tendrils began to issue forth from every possible point they could; skin, bone, eyes, his organs and his orifices. Nothing was sacred as the boy’s horde invaded him.
Morgoth smiled.

Great black shafts burst from his shoulder blades fifty feet in length and growing in width as they fanned out behind him. He flexed, reassured by their familiar weight. The boys face showed a motion of surprise when the shafts suddenly stiffened and snapped out wide. Two black tendril wings spanning a hundred feet filled the arena. With one massive push the two figures where suddenly rising, lifting from the sands high above. Locked in an embrace they circled every higher until eventually they fell.

[Adjutant Stormy~]

It is time for a new round of dearhmatch

[Tapper]

Adjutant Stormy, on 20 June 2011 - 09:37 AM, said:

It is time for a new round of dearhmatch

Yes, yes it is.

[Bauchelain the Evil]

Tapper, on 20 June 2011 - 09:38 AM, said:

Adjutant Stormy, on 20 June 2011 - 09:37 AM, said:

It is time for a new round of dearhmatch

Yes, yes it is.

Thirded wholeheartedly.

[Tattersail_]

who won this and why did it stop?

[Shinrei]

People didn't show up to complete their matches, and even the voting trailed off. People got busy I guess.

Good thread resurrection - I had mostly forgotten the parts I wrote.

[Tattersail_]

Shinrei, on 22 September 2011 - 09:23 AM, said:

People didn't show up to complete their matches, and even the voting trailed off. People got busy I guess.

Good thread resurrection - I had mostly forgotten the parts I wrote.

well i enjoyed your character! n i just mentioned it in chat

[Morgoth]

This might've been the death match I enjoyed the most. Shame it all fell apart.

[Illuyankas]

We had all the votes in to finalise the semifinals, too.