The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Six: Eddelin City]

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

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Uh, reserved for second? Can I do that?

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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SpoilerShow

Epic clash had some serious trouble in doing that. Chains of endless reserving, up to fur sometimes. It took ages to get anything posted because you had to wait 9 hours. Just take my word for it, nothing but trouble in double-reserving.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Well, I'm done now, so just go for it, LP.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

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Alright my B lesson learned.

Jen let the red mist wash over her as she shut her eyes and felt her way towards the exit. After a minute or so it dissipated, leaving her clothes a uniform bright red. Paint, she thought. Right the first time. She looked like an Olympic athlete or some sort of alternative musician, but she had more important things to worry about than the color of her clothes.

No, wait.

Jen took off her scarf and flipped it inside-out. Still green. She gave herself a quick satisfied nod and put it back the way it was, keeping the green hidden.

Looking around, Jen noted that all the other combatants or contestants or gladiators or whatever the fuck were also mostly doused in the red, with the exception of those yellow sashes, which no one seemed to be attempting to remove. Colors, then. This felt like a riddle, and Jen hated riddles, especially in the morning.

Grumpy, but too tired and self-assured to be frightened, Jen left the room behind some of the others and followed towards wherever they were supposed to be for whatever purpose.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

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The Ovoid runs into a wall.

Repeatedly.

Apparently convinced that this wall is, indeed, solid, it rushes across the room, getting a nice thick coating of red paint on one side, and hits the other wall. It slides across the surface, tracing a path of unpainted wall as it picks up the still-wet paint, before it lands in a corner.

The Ovoid stops moving.

Quite randomly, another tan-colored... amorphous... thing... appears, though "appears" is not quite right. It grows, quite rapidly, from an invisibly small point, ballooning into a shape which can never quite settle on its own identity. The tan thing, having appeared next to a wall, scrapes itself up against the surface, and accumulates a nice amount of red paint before shrinking into nothingness again.

The Ovoid, now red, continues to sit in the corner.

SpoilerShow

Uh, this color might be kind of hard to read, so if its all right I may switch to making my posts use that color as a background instead of a font color.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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I'm not having trouble with it.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lisawags.

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Reserved!
Once Keleth was transported into the stage, he whirled around with an awestruck look on his face. He heard a voice barking as if it were in charge as he examined the letters on the walls, thinking what it meant. As soon as the so-called "Friend Computer's" words deteriorate into madness, he stopped paying attention and gazed at the rooms and the other contestants.

A young woman wearing bizarre clothes caught his eye. Jennifer, was it, he thought. His thoughts derailed from there and changed significantly over the course of his contemplation. Finally, he concluded with a, Nope, too young.

Swiftly, ensuing Friend Computer shutting up, the ceiling emitted red gas. Keleth only stood there and stared as the smoke poured into the room and nearly filled it almost instantly. As soon as he smelled the lead, though, he ran along with everyone else to another room and assisted closing the door.

Keleth noticed that the color of his robe, which was held with a few buttons and covered his other clothes at the time, had changed into a bright eyestraining color of red. In an attempt to relax his eyes, he gently rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Avoiding another look at his robe, he inspected his surroundings and saw that the hall was almost barren as the last one.

He noticed a large, cuboid with many colors on it. Upon a closer analysis of it, he saw red rectangular buttons with all of the same logos on it. After noticing a medium-sized slit above the column of buttons and a flap at the bottom, he stuck his hand inside and retrieved a red metallic object with white letters on it. When he shook the strange cylinder-shaped object, he heard the sound of liquid sloshing and fizzling afterward. Keleth immediately pocketed the mysterious container, hoping that nobody saw what he had done.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

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[color=#0040BF]Maxwell wandered the claustrophobic halls of the complex, a barren palette of greys, occasionally broken with a hint of graffiti, or a small bot patrolling the hallways. [background=]black"You're lost, as usual."

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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Arkal grumbled at the young man cutting him off. "Actually, I was going to ask if you could stand still against the wall while I smash that thing off. I think I could make a good sword hilt out of it."
"The nerve! He would reduce me to a mere HILT? Destroy him now for his insolence!"
Maxwell ignored the Wyrm's voice. "Yeah, can't really do that, old man. I kind of need it to stay attached, not that I want it..."
Arkal grunted, and went back to work on the scrubot. Maxwell cleared his throat.
"What is it?" the blacksmith growled back. Maxwell got the impression Arkal didn't like to be interrupted while he was at work.
"Uh, about the briefing room..." Maxwell began nervously.
"How should I know? I've never been here before." Arkal scowled, and held the robot up to the forge before hammering it some more. "Now, unless you have something that's actually important to discuss, let me finish my work here, boy."

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Kracht sensed something. It was hard to put it into exact words, even harder to put a finger on where he felt it. But he knew there was something. This timeline felt more or less different. The tiny hallways in the complex had different people every cycle, but this time there were significantly less. Arkal should also have never seen that scrubot, because it shouldn't have been there, because the writing shouldn't have been there. The entire line felt weird, and he knew it. He quickly rushed back to the hall where they first entered.
"Maxwell, Sikarius. I'll show you the way to the briefing room."
"Oh, thanks!"
"Just you hold on a second. Didn't I JUST NOW tell you you only obey me?"
"I'm not obeying him, he is helping me!"
"Well then I obey you not to be helped! It is an order!"
There didn't seem to come an end to the bickering. He had to do something, it was of utmost importance Maxwell arrived in time. He was not to be eliminated in this round, and his dawdling wasn't helping in the slightest.
"Sorry, this is going to hurt." He quickly grabbed Maxwell by the Wyrm and dragged him along
"Ow ow ow ow! Stop it!"
"You heard the boy! I'm not his leash!"
"You're running late while you shouldn't." With perhaps a too forceful grip and spawning tears in Maxwell's eyes, they proceeded to the briefing room.
He muttered a small apology every minute along the line.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

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[img]images/smilies/apple.gif[/img]

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

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The Ovoid has remained stationary during the mass exodus from the barracks, giving no hint as to what its parent entity might be thinking, if it thinks at all.

Almost imperceptibly, the Ovoid begins to move. Its motion is at first random, as if unintentional. A slight shudder to the left, a lazy descent to the ground, interrupted by yet more futile collisions with the wall.

Then, this macroscopic Brownian motion becomes amplified. The Ovoid floats away from its corner, meandering across the room, occasionally running into stray fixtures. After a few minutes of this, the Ovoid stops, and begins to move with purpose out the door and into the hallway.

Hovering unobtrusively away from the crowd of moving beings, the Ovoid follows them as they make their bickering, confused and haughty way towards the conference room.

Originally posted on MSPA by Archduke_Ferdinand.

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Weo was disturbed.

Not in some kind of angsty metaphorical sense, where his tortured consciousness couldn't comprehend the bizarreness of being thrust into a futuristic room with other people from the multiverse who all mysteriously speak the same language. The only complex developing around him was Alpha. No, he had been disturbed in the sense that prior to being whisked here he was sleeping peacefully and he was mildly peeved by the sudden waking. Fuck, thought he, and I was having a good dream too.

No, he was reasonably certain this was actually happening around him- perhaps the mist of having just woken up was keeping it from bothering him- but this was all real. And so he went, calmly standing and gathering his precisely constructed warscythe. Flipping the fuck out had never really appealed to Weo in terms of dealing with a situation. When every family member you've seen panic in an odd moment was shortly cut down, you stop letting it get to you. The warrior-smith made careful note of the other contestants before deciding to let them to their various mental disturbances. It was disappointing the lack of discipline the other contestants carried about them. Floating war game simulators leaving pieces all over the place. Eggs with no apparent ability to discern space. Mineral deposits that knew what was going to take place here already and the mechanics of interacting with whom Weo had no plans of dealing with. At least that man with the anvil had his priorities in something resembling order, though his equipment was sorely dated. All arrogant or confused or possessed. Weo had always prided himself on being at least straightforward.

He walked forward, occasionally glancing at the others. He had little to say to any of them. He did, however, briefly stop at the man busily working on the anvil. "I appreciate a craftsman's need to work, friend, but perhaps there's a better time for it." The response was somewhat gruff, and more or less immediate. "No. Go away."Weo shrugged and moved on. Not like it was the first time that he was the only reasonable person in a conflict. Not the first time he'd been the last survivor, either. He began looking around for any sort of map, or something that might lead to one. Eventually he stumbled upon a nearby kiosk, which he wasn't sure what to do with, it being a bit higher tech than he was used to. He began staring at it intensely and trying to work out how to work it, and much less, what it was. It seemed a lot more productive than whatever the others were doing.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

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Sikarius, who had managed to wriggle a little forward from Kracht's grip began uselessly gnawing at it's shoulder with his sharp teeth. "You glorified tombstone! Release me this instant or fear my wrath!"
"Argghh! Maybe the tombstone comment was better for the other stone related contestant?" Maxwell said, in a mixture of pain and at the very least seeing the funny side of things.
"SHUT UP! Get this thing to let go of me or I shall ERASE IT!"
"Ow! oh god, not now, don't do that now!"
Kracht idley listened in to the one way conversation of Maxwell and his parasite. He was fully aware of the 'transformations' that thing could induce to the boy. None of which posed a threat to Kracht , he was indestructable after all. Still, for the sakes of convenience, he let go of the twisted creature, so that things could go as smooth as possible.
Maxwell stumbled back a little, he quickly got on his feet, ignoring the ear piercing roaring of Sik.
"ARGHHH! Let me kill it now! I am sick of waiting boy."Maxwell made sure to keep close to Kracht, he spoke in a hushed voice. "just...don't do anything yet. OK? I promise the next time we'll do things your way.
Sikarius' voice grumbled in Maxwell's mind. "Fine. But the next thing that annoys me, I shall enter it into a new world of pain.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

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From the back of the crowd, Jen listened absentmindedly to whatever bickering was going on between whatever nonintelligences she would presumably eventually have to kill. She was tired.

The fluorescent lights that beat down from the ceiling like music playing underwater and bounced off the walls refracting into a shimmy rainbow (including green) around the periphery of her vision certainly weren't helping her concentrate or to come up with any sort of strategy. She was confident, in her way, that no one was going to just up and stab her in the next ten seconds, and that confidence sustained her in a state of intense apathy towards the actual danger of the situation. First, they would go to the briefing room so the intimidating robot voice could presumably yell at them some more and then they would probably bicker even more and maybe then someone would stab her but hopefully by that point some event would pique her interest enough to restore her survival instincts. The others were, perhaps, intrigued by the possibilities and wonders contained within the labyrinthine complex, but Jen was sick to fucking death of labyrinths and guessed that the wonders would probably amount to, say, a man in a recording studio, some people with electrodes stuck to them, and perhaps a vast expanse full of row after row of bodies and when you look inside--gasp! That's me!

At the end, the survivors would climb out of a hatch somewhere just in time to watch the sunrise and kiss passionately, ecstatic over their triumph yet uncertain as to what new life would await them. This is stupid, she asserted.

Jen just wanted to go home, if only so she could run away again.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Xadrez wandered a little further up the corridor, enough that one would actually have to follow him from the junction before the spirit could no longer pretend to ignore them. Mere dissatisfaction was not a strong enough word to describe how the formerly-disengaged watcher felt; though he was still a long way off from proper rage. Call it frustration. Offering the offensively yellow stripe marring his board the most disgusted look his expressionless face could manage, Xadrez glanced around, reached around with a spectral limb, and extracted dagger from shoulder.

It was an unremarkable kind of blade in appearance, with no ornate inscription or erstwhile glimmer to hint at its powers, but for posterity's sake Xadrez already had a full idea how the weapon affected his own proficiency in the scope of a battle. With a mild sense of regret, the spirit mused that data modifiers on others' proficiency in the knowledge he had such a blade was lacking. Regardless, it felt good and belonging entwined beneath Xadrez's slender fingers as it sunk easily into the solid, rust-and-suspiciously-not-rust-but-red-spattered wall. A casual flick, like a key being turned, and a nick of metal fell out with a clang. The chessmaster's other hand picked it up as the knife-arm pressed on, uninterrupted as it sliced deeper to extract wedges of the unknown material.

Having finally hacked off an area surrounding a sizeable enough chunk for one piece, Xadrez was about to lever it out of there when a pulse of laser fire hit him in the back, before dispersing throughout the marginally more irritated spirit in a series of arcing bolts. Xadrez turned, greeting a ceiling-mounted turret, its disdainful shriek reserved for mutie scum nearly as unwelcome as the row of sequentially illuminating LEDs that indicated the turret was recharging.

"AND 200 CREDITS FINED, YOU DISGUSTING WASTE OF FRIEND COMPUTER'S LOVE, FOR DAMAGING GLORIOUS FRIEND COMPUTER'S PROPERTY. FINE WILL BE DEDUCTED AFTER SUMMARY EXECUTION AND TERMINATION WAIT WHY AREN'T YOU DEADZZGHZZGT-"

It was a rather brash move, on what Xadrez idly hoped (in that way you would when all possibilities are mere odds - simply you know the values) was true, according to present evidence. Whatever this locale's usual methods of execution were, they certainly didn't work on him; but were effective on the locals. Considering all unknowns, a postulation unlikely to hold true for any length of time, but a comforting enough assumption that didn't require a huge readjustment if it failed to hold up. More to the point, the tactician was turning over the defense turret in his ghostly claws as he figured out how it was put together, and thus how he could slice it into piece with minimum mess. Sparks still danced from its rudely severed cables, as the sentry's constituent parts were decimated, and placed roughly equidistant around the edge of the black board. One final slash, and the hunk of wall-metal sat in the centre - seven pieces of turret and a looming humanoid placed around it.

The blank eyes narrowed. Xadrez found this ugly set-up hardly appealing, but it would do at present. The knife in the tactician's hand was starting to whisper odd little nothings to itself, so for now the spirit settled for the basics. The blade skimmed unyieldingly across the polished black, and scoring the yellow, as it traced an octagon around each piece, stemmed a series of connections and transecting polygons off those, and finished with a casual flick across the surface of the stolen wall, emblazoning a single eye upon it. The now-humming dagger was implanted back in Xadrez's torso, at which the tracings glowed briefly white before fading without a trace.

The nomenclature and legend of an in-progress alliance map complete at any rate, Xadrez glanced back the way he'd come. The smith was whacking the remnants of another unprepared robot servant of this Computer into submission, or possibly into weapon-form. Like most observations, the tactician did little more than make a note of it. The temporal blip, and the remaining humans, bar... Maxwell, and his parasite -named, sentient? Worth confirming- were in increasing states of further up the corridor from the clanging forge. The armoured... Rillian caught Xadrez's attention. From the Observer's introduction, a fighter, plain and simple. Well, as plain as simple as self-autonomous sentience could be, which Xadrez begrudgingly conceded, all the while admiring, that it really wasn't that simple.

Still, gaining a better understanding of what made this piece of sentience tick would, in turn, help Xadrez get a grip on the other innumerable drifting snatches this complex fight offered him. Noting the repeat offender had made little progress as he crossed the junction -Harangued, perhaps? And why and where does he need the Maxwell boy in such a forceful hurry?-, the tactician drifted back to a much more crimson Weo, resting couple of metres up the hallway. Xadrez said nothing, content to observe until the Rillian finished toying with the terminal and asked the spirit something directly.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

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The Ovoid forms a mouth. It is a very crude mouth, and seems to be a mix of what mouths can be observed in the beings before it (along with what appears to be a poor attempt at a scraggly beard). It begins to move, though no sound comes out. An observer adept at lip-reading might make out snippets of phrases uttered by various members of the party, but jumbled, and in no particular chronological order. After about a minute of this, the mouth (and beard) disappears.

The Ovoid soundlessly floats over to Arkal of the Silver Hammer.

Though rather engaged in his work, Arkal still senses a presence beside him, and looks up.

"Oh yes, you. I'd been wondering..." He reaches out to touch the Ovoid's surface. "Yes, solid," a quick rap of the knuckles, "strong, for certain. You'd make an excellent sword." Without asking, Arkal produces a chisel, and, placing it on the Ovoid's surface, slams his hammer upon the chisel's head. A sizeable chunk of the Ovoid flies off. The Ovoid does not react.

Arkal picks up his new building material, which is covered in red paint, except for a portion of a yellow stripe. Not even bothering to thank the Ovoid, he goes back to his anvil.

The Ovoid has not moved throughout the event, and continues to remain stationary.

Back in the barracks, and unobserved by any party, seven or eight similarly tan-colored shapes morph into reality, and begin to move through the room. There is no pattern to their movements, and they seem to appear and disappear with cheerful randomness, making it impossible to ever get an exact count. Some even meld into each other, others spontaneously split into three or four pieces, and none of them can ever settle on a specific shape. They wander through the room, touching everything, sometimes appearing inside things and causing them to distend, break, and sometimes, apparently by accident, explode.

After a while, and with the same suddenness as they appeared, they all shrink into nothingness once more.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

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"We are here." Kracht said, a tinge of relief entering his tone of voice for getting the boy here on time. He stepped aside from the doorway to let Maxwell go through, Sikarius gave it's trademark hiss in Kracht's face as he when through.
"So what? I just stay here?
"For now, I must inspect the others. Make sure no other things are...different." With that Kracht left, back into the maze of grey hallways.
Maxwell looked around the equally dull room. Nothing here but a steel table and a television screen inbedded in the wall, showing nothing but a black screen.
It appeared that Maxwell was the first here, no doubt due to Kracht's merciless pace and grip. he took a seat and nonchalantly waited for something to happen or turn up.
For quite a while nothing happended, no one entered the room and the television stayed blank. There was barely any sound, saver the very faint banging of Arkal's hammer.
"This is bullshit."
"For once I agree with you."

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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Placing the fragment of the Ovoid in a pouch for later use, Arkal continued hammering and shaping the scrubot. A few minutes later, the sound of his hammer finally stopped echoing through the halls of the complex.

He held up the new mace with pride. Then he pointed it in front of him, and pressed a button on the shaft. A wave of flame fired from the topmost spike. He smiled.

"An excellent weapon, if I do say so myself! I've never had the opportunity to work with such distinctive materials before. I wonder what other pleasant surprises this strange world holds?"

Grinning, he picked up his anvil and forge, and reattached their chains. He then walked down the corridor, not caring which direction he went, although it happened to be the way to the briefing room.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Kracht leaped out of one hallway into the other, frantically searching for Arkal. When finally finding the blacksmith, he clocked the passage to the briefing room entirely.
"I can't let you past."
"Really? Why's that?" He didn't really bother for a reply, he wasn't that intent on getting in that corridor anyway.
"Because you and I are going to get in a fight, and if we fight here, Maxwell will get hurt."
Arkal looked at Kracht in sudden displeasure. "Hey, if you want a fight, bring it on. I've got a new mace ready for a test ride." He frowned.
"In fact, it's you who really wants to fight." Kracht harvested no understanding with his vague remarks. "You see, I am an indestructible material. You are intent on getting your hands on at least a little bit of me, because I would be the ultimate weapon."
The lime-green man started to talk sense. Arkal's previous look of distrust and apathy made way for a flickering passion for his job.

SpoilerShow

Take us home, Fogel!

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

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Poking her head tentatively into the briefing room, Jen tiptoed her way onto a chair in the corner. It was uncomfortable. Thirty seconds passed. Boredom set in.

Jen sighed. She hadn't read "No Exit" but she had heard about it somewhere and was aware of its basic conceits. As much as she would like to believe that these eight had been chosen specifically to get on each other's nerves, she was pretty sure that this was just how people and entities acted.

What the hell. "Hey," she said to the kid with the worm sticking out of his back. "I'm Jen."

Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

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"Huh?" Maxwell looked sheepishly towards Jen, he didn't even hear her come in, apparantly neither did Sikarius. "Err hi. Maxwell."
"Huh, and that thing?" She said, pointing towards the writhing Wyrm. "Whats that thing?"
"Insolent girl! Do not remark me as a 'thing'! I am royalty! I demand your respect and obedience!"
"It's a parasitic organism which is keeping me alive." Maxwell said in a dull monotone. "Just ignore it, it's relatively harmle-urgh." Maxwell stumbled out of his chair, cluching his left arm in pain.
Jen got up from her chair, slowly advancing onto Maxwell, her hand reaching for her pistol. "You okay?"
Maxwell brought his right arm up, beckoning Jen to stay where she was. His left arm began to vibrate violently as Maxwell began growling in pain.
With a final scream, his left arm exploded.
something rapidly grew to replace it, cancerous flesh and twisted bone formed. Where Maxwell's left arm was, was now a huge blade, made up with bone and tumors.
"Remember your place boy. You are my weapon, nothing more, nothing less. My patience with you is growing thin!"
Jen had pulled her handgun out as soon as the boy's arm exploded, he had him in her sights, while she backed off slowly.
"Damn you! Not yet! Turn it back you fucking asshole!" Maxwell plunged the new arm deep into the concrete wall, in an attempt to avoid any harm done. Sikarius chortled a twisted laugh inside Maxwell's head.
"Relax boy!" I am a Wyrm of my word. I merely wanted to make an example of you. I wouldn't want you thinking you were better than me, would I?"
The huge arm began to shrink in size, the excess bone crumbled into multiple pieces as the corrupt flesh retreated back into Maxwell's core. His left arm was swiftly replaced with more tendrils of flesh, which alarmingly quickly reformed into, what looked like a normal human arm.
"No. I guess we wouldn't."
"I...take it that is a normal thing?"
Maxwell collapsed back on the chair "You have no idea."
Sikarius hissed what would approximate to a laugh.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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"Now that's an interesting bit of information," Arkal said, his smile widening. "Indestructible, you say? Let's test that theory out."

He pointed the mace at the green man, and let loose a blast of flame. Kracht made no effort to dodge; the flames did not faze him, though the heat did cause his body to glow a bright red momentarily.

"Almost effective," Kracht said nonchalantly. "Though the material I am composed of is indestructible, it is not unshapeable - after all, otherwise I would not have the form that I do. However, your heat source is far too weak to severely affect me."

Arkal grumbled. He considered swinging the mace itself, but if this strange man truly was made of indestructible material, it would only damage one of his precious weapons - and, at the moment, his only available weapon. The smith could only think of one option. He lunged towards Kracht, hoping to grab him with his bare hands.

Kracht, however, had already moved out of the way, and Arkal found himself sprawled on the floor.

"I would advise against that. I am radioactive - oh, you don't know what that means yet, do you? Essentially, if you come close to me, you will feel sick. Also, I'm not sure why you thought it was a good idea to do that when you've got that heavy anvil chained to your back."

Arkal slowly picked himself up. By the time he did, Kracht had moved quite some distance down the hall.

"Usually you put up more of a fight than this. Perhaps on this cycle, the Observer grabbed you on a bad day?"

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

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Jen gave an empathetic glance at her own arm, which was still as intact as the day she was born, and significantly less stubby. She put the gun away.

Jen had had parasitic worms once, shortly after she arrived at the Place. They'd crawled into her ear as she slept on a hammock made of vines in the Baroque Marsh, and then manifested themselves in her dreams as a barbershop quartet of four blind men. Over the next week they explored her body and informed her through song of the assorted prophecies written inside her intestines. They'd almost decoded the poem scrawled on the wall of her heart when their tenor revealed himself to be an agent of the Inevitability, killed himself, and thrown off the group's harmony, forcing the rest to commit mass suicide and be washed away by a sea of stomach acid.

Interesting contrast to that thing, thought Jen, But there's no use being nostalgic now. Maybe I can take a nap. She shut her eyes, not really expecting she would get to sleep before something loud happened to her.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lankie.

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SpoilerShow

Hello? Is no one else gonna post?

Maxwell slid down his chair more and more from boredom; he rapped his fingers on the desk and gave out an exasperated sigh. Sikarius occupied itself by ripping some nearby pamphlets to shreds. Maxwell glanced towards Jen, who was now fast asleep, he stood up and brushed himself off, his arm now back to its regular shape and colour. "I'm going for a walk."
"I thought you said you wanted to stay here?"
"I didn't think we'd be the first here. Besides, it's a 'Grand battle' isn't it? Not a 'Grand wait'."
Sikarius would of given a sinister smile if it could, instead it presses its grotesque head towards Maxwell's "Yes boy! Now you are speaking my language!"
The boy headed out of the briefing room, not before stalling a bit. "Shit. What about the, uh, that stone guy? He seemed to want us to stay in there."
"Who cares?! We'll be back before it even knew we were gone. Now find something to kill, weapon!"
"Fair does." Said Maxwell, as he entered the monochrome labyrinth once more.