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+---- Thread: The Grand Battle II! [Happy End!] (/showthread.php?tid=688)
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-19-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
The Sunset stared at the Faceless incredulously. Unbelievable, he thought.That this... beast only sees fit to reach a resolution through destruction.
The Balancer began to speak in a manner it fully intended to be reasonable and calm, but the Faceless shied away at the solid rumble, halting the Sunset with the fearful yelp which terminated their mental link.
Again, and again, these similarities and contrasts between the two entities only brought frustration to the Sunset. Despite that fundamental similarity in form, the two really couldn't have been less alike. Where the Sunset was a centuries-old being; Vyrm'n's conscious, sapient mind was less than a human lifetime old, despite it being knowledgeable beyond its years. While he was an agent of order, of Balance; the Faceless seemed the contestant most hell-bent on general motiveless destruction and chaos. The Balancer, bound and shackled into the suit; the shadow, free and unrestrained as - well - a shadow. He felt it was - he couldn't help himself - unfair. Unfair that Vyrm'n was so swift and ferocious and agile in form and motion and thought, and by comparison he was stuck. Powerful, yes, feared and indomitable and wise, but stuck.
Other frustrations, too - while he was ancient, degenerate, dying; Vyrm'n was in the prime of its indeterminately long life, rambunctious with youth in its mind and with a body, unlike the Balancer's, capable of enduring for possibly millennia wandering through deep space. It was fear that made the Balancer choose to endure for that little bit longer in this miserable state, a fear which in the past it had only considered in the most desperate of battles but now perpetually shrouded its mind.
Of course, the Sunset knew none of these as concrete certainties. He hardly even knew the creature. But their shared ancestry meant the Sunset and the Faceless possessed similar hallmarks of age and personality and intelligence. It wasn't much to go by. But it was enough to make the Balancer frustrated for all that it didn't know.
But most infuriating to this ancient sentinel of justice was that this evidently powerful, unquestionably intelligent creature could not see beyond the confines of this game set up by the Observer, did not grasp the true significance and implications of Amethyst's note.
He spoke again;"I-" again, Vyrm'n reflexively twitched away. More discrepancies, the Balancer thought, sighing internally. "THIS IS RIDICULOUS," he declared. "ATTEMPTING TO CONVERSE WITH YOU IS IMPOSSIBLE, FACELESS, WHEN YOU INSIST ON RETREATING FROM MY EVERY WORD."
I can't help it, Vyrm'n replied plaintively when it restored the link. It bounces around inside.
"SUGGEST A WAY, THEN, WE CAN COMMUNICATE FREELY. VYRM'N."
The Faceless made no reply, pondering for a moment. Then some facet of it shifted as its form approximated a crouch, engaging no external change, but the Balancer felt it. It was that endless, murderous void again. The Balancer took a step back, his Nightmare initiating the charging as the Faceless leapt at his chest. The Sunset raised an arm to stop it but this time it seemed more in control; it simply flowed past the arm until the crackling purple was drowned in darkness...
De ja vu as the Sunset caught a second glimpse of the whole universe, laid out beneath the star-studded exterior for the sole purpose of disproving you through comparison. This time, though, the impeccably timed reassertion of the Faceless' conscious self as it threw itself into the Balancer's mind came faster. As the two consciousnesses hurtled to the safety of the Sunset's mind, the Faceless seemed far more efficient and organised with its movements, coalescing with rapid efficiency into a dense amalgamation of its consciousness that prevented its presence from intruding upon the Sunset's mind more than was absolutely necessary.
The Sunset glanced around at this new territory; the last time he had been here it had been so full of Vyrm'n that it lacked the need for any other description. The Sunset's assessment of its mind was interrupted by the Faceless:
Will this do?
The Sunset wasn't too sure how to formulate a reply, before eventually figuring conscious thought was what was "audible." I dislike your manner of initiating it- the entire space intoned -but it appears to render you capable of finally engaging in intelligent conversation, Faceless.
Then convince me.
To escape the game? It should be obvious. If we do not defeat the Observer, nothing, anywhere, is safe.
I don't care. I'll win this.
And then what?
The Faceless found itself incapable of replying. It radiated a state of mind that would approximate a shrug.
And you are satisfied with that?
Should I not be?
... It causes no sick horror in your heart that there are beings who toy with our existence for mere sport?
Another infuriating gesture of uninterest. What? Do you want me to say I care?
The Sunset's psyche uttered a rumble reminiscent of its voice on the physical plane. The Faceless' involuntarily cowered a little. Yes. I do want you to care. Because your current logic you employ is so mind-bogglingly idiotic that were the situation less grave I would find it laughable. As it is, I find your obstinate stupidity infuriating.
The Faceless' flared up in a flurry of indignation, before settling with a snide air. With more venom than the Balancer would've expected from it, it replied snidely, six months. And I have no wish to fight the Observer, because Gestalt's right. It's suicide. You are so close to death, Balancer, I suppose it is of little concern to you, but I'll have better things to be doing with my life once I've won this.
Core damn that Faceless, thought the Sunset. It had an ego, and a touchy one at that. Under normal circumstances, the Balancer wouldn't have wasted his time with such an arrogant beast, but he needed this one. He wasn't sure if the Faceless had heard any of that; if it had, it made no indication. Forcing himself into careful courtesy, the Sunset asked,
What do you intend to do with your freedom, Faceless?
Well... I was under the impression the Observer has an extensive knowledge of the known universe. The Sunset made no response to this, Vyrm'n continued. I thought... he would be able to ascertain my origins and lay to rest a mystery which has been plaguing me since I was 'typed.
This raised more questions, but the Balancer had no time to rise to the riddle bait. So you are willing and ready to kill every contestant here, even your ally Gestalt? Matthews? Deakin? The Karm- it was nigh-imperceptible, but the Sunset saw it - a flicker of dismissal, hiding a more surprising emotion... guilt. The Sunset mulled it over; the Faceless was keeping its emotions hidden, but if anything it seemed relieved the interrogation had halted.
The only interpersonal(?) interactions the Balancer had observed the Faceless in was in the pursuit of the late Cabaret, and as the ally of the Schrotgolem - neither of those seemed to fit. The two spirits' relationship, to the Balancer, appeared purely for the sake of convenience and... well, call it professionalism. In the field... the shadow, a human, had joined forces to thwart Samuel's plans. The Urisian seemed an unlikely candidate for such a task. It had to be...
Maxwell, the byzantium being murmured triumphantly. The Faceless did not reply, its beaming emotions that it failed to disguise were enough. The Sunset didn't need to ask the nature of this arrangement, all that was needed for the Balancer's plan to work was its mere existence. If your intention is to leave this game, winning on the Observers terms, with the death of all seven other contestants, how do you propose the human survives?
I... don't know.
You must surely see my point now. You can not win this and keep him safe.
I'll find a way.
You will not. In fact, if you were to enter the final round, with Deakin at your side, a refusal to fight would most likely coerce the Observer into... dabbling even further than he has done to date.
...
Is that what you want? To protect him from the likes of Samuel, only to have him die at your feet with none to blame but yourself?
...
Or would you die for him?
SHUT UP. SHUT UP <font size="4">SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.</font> The Faceless' form trembled with agitation, losing cohesion and growing, flooding the Sunset's mindscape. The Sunset was forewarned, though, and with steely mental grip seized the Faceless and forcibly ejected its consciousness.
Upon return to the Escherscape, Vyrm'n leapt back as though physically thrown, scrambling into a corner like a wounded animal. The dark mass trembled, and thin spines kept flowing and fading, flowing and fading from the black core; punctuating its surface like the pillars formed in reply to drops of water hitting inky pools reflecting the night sky.
Neither contestant moved, the Faceless still calming down in the corner, the Sunset impassive as it stood on a conventional wall, waiting for Vyrm'n's reply.
Eventually, after an age, the Faceless stopped shaking and a tendril emerged, snaking over to cautiously grab a piece of purple.
It's this way. Vyrm'n floated, unbidden, into the air as it selected an appropriate down, before choosing a corridor to travel through to return to the fountain. Before it broke the connection, it added with equal parts bitterness and embarrassment,
This is for Maxwell, not you. Balancer. So saying that, it shot off down the corridor like - well, like someone had made that end of the corridor down. It decelerated in time to avoid a collision, and drifted impatiently, waiting for the Sunset to catch up, before repeating the motion down the next stretch of hallyway.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - SleepingOrange - 11-21-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
The marionette jerkily lead Samuel back to where it had left the boxes; lead of course only in the sense that it was in front: Samuel knew exactly where they were now.
The golem was apparently having more trouble adjusting to the new situation than the karmist was. Its movements were odd, and Samuel could feel something akin to worry throbbing through the golem's being.
"Wizard, this is... very unfamiliar. Very uncomfortable. Life is... complicated."
Samuel said and thought nothing as the puppet folded itself into a box and the lid slid shut.
"As you know by now, I learn by doing. Experimentation. Examining reactions and motive forces. I need to understand this power."
"Are you saying...?"
"Yes. It is time to confront another contestant."
Without waiting for the unnecessary reply, the boxes sped down a corridor, sliding through the world's unusual gravity as though they didn't even notice it; Samuel shrugged worked Gestalt's magic on his shoes, crossing his arms and grinning. The karmist prided himself on his imposing bearing and stance, but he'd never been able to be so literally described as gliding before.
Both minds tasted the ether, the intoxicating scent of an impending death guiding them towards their mark. As they approached, they teased apart the various unique deaths, selecting their victim. There were two groups of contestants near each other; the newly-bound pair had hoped to corner a single straggler, but it seemed they'd have to settle for the next-best thing.
Maxwell and Galus were becoming ever closer, and Samuel could feel a sort of... hunger from his partner. There was a simplicity to the feel of a sword, to the karmist; it was made to kill, and do it efficiently. It had the psychic flavor you'd expect a tool like that to have. Samuel was getting impressions of something like that from the mind of the golem, but somehow twisted. There would be time to decipher that later, though; as it was, Gestalt was nearing its intended victims.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Sruixan - 11-21-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Now, Cabaret's diary was a different story altogether; bubbly, almost child-like, naive perhaps, certainly rather humourous in retrospect yet decidedly awkward at points. Maybe filed under comedy and with backstory one could get away with it, but Maxwell was regarding it, not for the read, but the information it contained; not for the laughs, for his pleasure, but for business.
It was skim-read, with alarms set to ring when certain words or phrases were used, and in this manner the spread, filled to perfection with the whims of the magician, were if not understood, at least acknowledged. The page was turned, the process repeated, but then...
A pause. A finger quickly moved to the offending line, the other hand to the pocket of the coat, to the notebook and pencil. This hand, with some dexterity, copied word for word a paragraph of considerable weight, before returning the prize to await further consideration.
Whatever it was, it was enough to cause a lump of tears to splatter from Maxwell's right eye, enough to make him sniff slightly, enough to make him awkwardly aware that Galus had buggered off without him really noticing, before he'd asked him his questions. He'd been very much looking foward to those questions...
The left-hand door hadn't been opened. Galus must have snuck out the way he'd come - past a staircase that had only served to create a slight headache, down a corridor, then to the dome...
Maxwell popped his head around the doorway. He'd never quite seen eye-to-eye with doorframes. Seeing eye-to-eye required him to go on tip-toes slightly, and he didn't enjoy that. Gazing a little absent-mindedly, it occured to him a little late that, being a space pilot, his subject might have had better luck with the whatever-gravity that so plagued the battlefield. Judging by the swinging door on the ceiling, that was probably the case. Well, only one thing for it.
With infinite care, the genius raised his foot and selected a postion on the vertical stair to touch down upon. A little courage was mustered, and before long it was firmly placed against the wall. Maxwell knew what would probably happen next, when he lifted his other foot - it didn't take much to figure out that gravity would choose to follow the only foot he had on a surface, whatever surface that might be. You could choose the gravity of this place, if you had the stomach to do so. Vyrm'n was probably having a field day, Gestalt likely couldn't care, and the Sunset, he'd guess, found it an abomination that needed correcting (oh, but he wouldn't do it there and then, of course). He wondered how Samuel was faring - probably not so good, just like him; that was about the only thing that Maxwell wanted to have in common with the "man" who was a fascination, if only one to watch in horror from a very safe distance.
Procrastination. Maxwell held on to the walls of the corridor and raised his other foot.
A moment later, he was flat on his face, very much regretting that he'd never been very good at the physical side of things. There was solice to be taken in the fact that he was lying on the stairs now, not the floor, but he was doing so in a manner quite ridiculous. But there was no-one around to see him, so, well, he could afford a moment or two's rest...
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-21-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Sruixan - 11-21-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Dragon Fogel - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Dragon Fogel - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - SleepingOrange - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Vyrm'n meandered through the corridors in the direction it thought it had come in, the clang of the Sunset's footfalls never far behind. The Balancer suddenly called out.
"HALT, FACELESS."
Vyrm'n considered leaping off just to spite him, but made the next down a more permanent one. It settled into its pillar-form, protruding impossibly out at the approaching Balancer. That eyeless face materialised on the end of the pillar, tilted slightly off-centre, the Faceless questioning.
"DO YOU RECOGNISE THAT WALL HANGING?" The Balancer queried, pointing at a tapestry adorned with tessellated ants. Vyrm'n's face crossed the expanse of black to sightlessly stare directly at it, before shifting back in its original position. This movement seemed to purely be to annoy the Sunset, both beings knew full well that that face could see about as well as the Sunset could out his- well, either way, the Faceless' behaviour was getting this side of intolerable.
"I RECOGNISE THIS WALL HANGING, AS WE HAVE PASSED THIS IDENTICAL WALL HANGING IN THIS IDENTICAL CORRIDOR TWICE NOW. WE ARE LOST, FACELESS."
Vyrm'n made no response. The Sunset felt like shooting some sense into the darkness.
"I REALISE PERSPECTIVE IS SKEWED HERE, FACELESS. HOWEVER, FINDING THE AUTHOR OF YOUR NOTE IS OF THE UTMOST URGENCY IF WE ARE TO FIND A LOOPHOLE. FURTHERMORE-"
Vyrm'n did its best to ignore whatever the Sunset was trying to declare to most of the known universe, judging by the way he was bellowing. It tried sending out a pulse to detect sentient matter-song, perhaps to find Amethyst. Instead, it picked up on something far more worrying.
A black tendril quivered, reluctant to make contact, before steeling itself and grabbing the crackling violet. The Sunset was shocked into silence by this, along with the message the Faceless was conveying:
Gestalt. Samuel. Their songs have changed.
The Balancer couldn't comprehend; the confusion his psyche radiated was enough for Vyrm'n to pre-emptively answer the unspoken question. Excitement and agitation let Vyrm'n's conclusions burst out in unbidden pulses, but it did its best to get the message across.
Their songs, I've heard from since the first round... They are distinct and very different... Samuels', with undertones and depths like no other human I have met... Gestalts', so confusing not knowing where it starts and stops and being where it really couldn't shouldn't... But somehow... Gestalt's is Samuel's, and Samuel's is Gestalt's, and there is another formed by the very state of the two being... just so. They are moving-
"WHERE?" Vyrm'n recoils, the stream of thought pausing only a moment before it returns to the task at hand-
Towards Maxwell
They are singing for his death... Both of them. I have to go and save him
The Sunset reached out with a hand to grab the shadow, but Vyrm'n had already broken the connection, infinitesimally twitching one way or the other as it tried to ascertain Gestalt, Maxwell, and Samuel's positions, and the swiftest way to reach them.
The shadow accelerated through a doorway, Balancer in hot pursuit -
And the two suddenly stood in a huge open space, its cavernous interior approximating a cube. At the least, the foundations for its construction were six-sided, each interior wall the gravitational basepoint for a medley of corridors and staircases. From where the two shifting entities stand, something resembling natural sunlight filters through from the furtherest corner. Vyrm'n glances up, before laying a final hand upon the purple coils.
The fountain is right outside there. A second pseudo-limb pointed up to the sunlit gap. Now I must find Maxwell. As it leapt into the air (or rather, as it chose the opposite wall as down), the Sunset boomed,
"HALT, FACELESS."
But both of them knew it was useless. With Vyrm'n's only motivation to assist the Balancer to ensure Maxwell's safety, Maxwell's immediate safety was a non-negotiable higher priority. The Sunset knew it, and the frustration left him without counterargument.
The Faceless paused only a moment in midair before it rushed down a corridor that would take the Sunset a good time to reach, the slick, serpentine shadow desperately following Maxwell's song.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - btp - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - SleepingOrange - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - btp - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Sruixan - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Sruixan - 11-22-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Dragon Fogel - 11-23-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Sruixan - 11-23-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Even Galus could do maths. It wasn't too hard to leap to a rather sorry conclusion. Of course, what he probably couldn't do was take that conclusion one step further, to an even more bitter end.
The door on the ceiling was the portal to yet another corridor, but this one built to serve a purpose more than connection. The left-hand wall was dotted with a variety of prints and pictures, many of them relatively mundane in comparison to some of the scenes one could find in the complex they were contained in.
It could be quite a pleasant place, actually - it was well lit, with the whole of the right wall being gigantic windows, with a door maybe halfway down opening up onto a patio, with a view that had to be rather unique for this world. It appeared just to be a simple town street, with blocky buildings admittedly but a sense of style and conformity that was perhaps comforting. One could almost imagine washing hung between the windows, but of course there wasn't any. Still, you could look up and up and up, along the rows of houses, see the skyline, see the abrupt cut-off between concrete and air, and then the harbour would catch your eye, perhaps as the mast of a tall ship broke the uniform blue, causing you to drift down to the water's edge, to where no human stood to wave their loved ones off, but to where there was a particular boat, in beautiful detail, with almost life-like smoke billowing out of one of its stacks.
At this point, you'd see with horror a little plaque, way beneath the boat, commemerating the achievement of the artist who painted such a mind blower, one of the best boats ever painted, perhaps, but certainly, good grief, one heck of a view from that window. Work it backwards, quicker this time, and Maxwell could appreciate how powerful the Observer was, to bend reality to breaking point to sculpt such a scene.
He wasn't alone in that realisation, it seemed. The pilot had twisted his neck attempting to understand that one picture and was now solemnly still. Now was the time...
"One heck of a view, huh?"
He hadn't been expecting that. The right hand twitched noticeably.
"There's probably some irony to be milked out of this, some witty remark, but I really cannot be bothered. To the chase. You've come to the same conclusion that I have, haven't you? That, ahem, how can I put it, that we're gonna kick the bucket. It's 1 in 6 that you survive, it's 1 in 6 that I survive, and those are apathetic odds, Galus."
That had gotten the pilot's attention.
"But one of us will survive. The Observer said so. This is a competition, there has to be a winn-"
"And you strive to be that winner? So why am I not dead? You very nearly had a gun in your hand, the moment you heard me. I walked into range by my own free will."
Oh, he didn't like that. Not one bit.
"You're depressed by the fact that you don't think it matters, whether or not you really kill. In the end, you shall be dead. Some other contestant, more likely than not, shall win over your dead body. So why take a life if doing so is pointless? Except, sadly, that attitude must not be held by all to have two dead already."
There was a gun in play now. Galus had it in his hand. He'd obviously decided that being bested by words alone was not good practice.
"By the way, if you shoot me right now, you won't get to hear the way you can get out of this game alive, if that sways your decision one way or another. And before you come up with the "Yeah, by killing you and everyone else who dare stand in my way" retort," - the impersonation Maxwell attempted there was hopefully pathetic on purpose - "trust me, that's not going to work. You need a much better idea than that. And it is standing next to you."
Galus could see Maxwell was starting to sweat. The guy was probably either right or crazy, possibly both, and not very good at coming up with straight answers.
"Oh, that reminds me, you still have three questions to ask me you haven't actually asked me yet. Fancy asking them?"
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Dragon Fogel - 11-23-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Dragon Fogel - 11-23-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
There was a flash of light. The Sunset was closest to the source, and turned to face it.
A strange knight appeared before him. It slowly got up.
"We who serve are Master you Lutherion!" it screamed.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Schazer - 11-24-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Vyrm'n plummeted gracefully through corridor after endless corridor, in a forever downward as gravity was subjugated by the shadow. On occasion, to acquiesce to the indomitable solidness of an impenetrable wall, the Faceless would consent to take a minor detour; but on the whole Maxwell remained Vyrm'n's source, its target, its anchor in this warped world.
With such a single-minded focus, with the odd lapse to avoid those pesky walls or solidify enough to crash through a closed door, Vyrm'n's other strange senses were free to take in what of the world it could as it all flew past.
Gestalt and Samuel, they were moving - yes. Their bastard duet stirred up an equally bastardly storm of emotions in the Faceless... None of which seemed to make sense or allow for justification in Vyrm'n's mind when brought under scrutiny. Confusion, betrayl, apprehension... but also, somehow, jealousy, anger, fear even... homesickness?
The Faceless refocussed. There would be ample time to tease out the tangle later, once Maxwell was safe and the threat eliminated.
Vyrm'n crossed an interior courtyard at terminal velocity, adorned with a marble sculpture of a gargantuan human hand wielding an enormous, alabaster chisel. This implement turned back upon the other half of the statue; rough, quarry-fresh, unpolished; and hacked the hand which grasped it out of the stone. The effect would have been beautiful if the huge hunks of gouged stone did not litter its base, the dust having barely settled before it was flurried up again by a passing Faceless, who had not the eyes nor anatomy to savour the twisted beauty for such a thing.
Galus... he was close to Maxwell. In fact, the two were right next to each other. Vyrm'n consented to change focus while the two were in proximity, if only to let the Faceless think.
Though prepared to dismiss him here and now as useless, Vyrm'n had a moment to mull it over. He knew a Faceless - another one. Doubtless no more knowledgeable than Vyrm'n itself was of the particulars of their race, but... it was a start. A first, even. As far as Vyrm had known, two Faceless had never met in the confines of any universe. Perhaps, if Galus survived this, Vyrm'n and this Luna could meet. Perhaps.
Vyrm'n was a young student of desire. With negligible critical requirements in the vein of nutrition or stimulation; and an inherent understanding that all of its emotions and the consequent thoughts they triggered in its mind were, if you will, hand-me-downs, the Faceless had taken a long time to care about anything much. The Researcher's nature of regarding every query, every exclamation and conclusion reached by Vyrm'n as something astounding and worthy of lengthy metacognition and dissection, until Vyrm'n hardly remembered what it had been thinking in the first place - well, that didn't help much either.
Its manic thirst for comprehension of its existence, to know just what exactly a Faceless was, was probably the closest thing it had. Even so, it pursued this knowledge, understanding full well that this, again, was not its desire, but Vyrm's.
Again with this... constant ruminating, Vyrm'n thought to itself, silently sighing as it reached some sort of exit and burst out to traverse an exterior wall. To its left, a watery purple sun's rays clawed desperately through a void, which encompassed numerous layers of reality for the weak light to struggle through, to reach the Faceless. The hazy remnants of monolithic islands drifted in a stately, semi-real state across this endless sky.
Vyrm'n ignored these, for Maxwell was not there, and followed the genius' song through a now-broken window.
Maxwell. Vyrm'n felt a stab of guilt at the thought of him, a wound made all the more agonising by the fact that this pain was new for the Faceless. That last round, Vyrm'n had abandoned him. And for what? To murder Cabaret. He had nary crossed the Faceless' mind all the while they were in Destructo-World. He could've died, fallen victim to the myriad traps in that hellhole.
Vyrm'n took some time to rebuild top speed after crashing through that window, switching gravity with expert timing at corners until the piece of night could not move any faster. Another pulse of consciousness, and Vyrm'n slowed a little, though did not halt. Some new sentience had appeared on this plane. Its song was unnatural, a single note of ceased and seized life dragged endlessly, impossibly on. Except it was thousands of them.
The Faceless listened hard, and ascertained that Sunset was close enough. Not Vyrm'n's problem.
The shadow felt the tug of acceleration slope away as the laws of physics prevented it from moving faster. Hurtling through the twisted maze of hallways, Vyrm'n raced to Maxwell as fast as it was able.
I'm coming.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - Dragon Fogel - 11-28-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!] - GBCE - 11-28-2009
Originally posted on MSPA by Opirian.