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**btp** · 01-31-2010, 06:35 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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[color=indigo]"Once, ages ago, a magnificent, powerful creature danced across the cosmos. It existed to maintain harmony in a tattered world, and it served its existence well. Lesser beings gazed upon it with awe and gratitude. It was their savior, preventing the greater evils of the universe from dominating the weak and oppressed. Tales of its unyielding gallantry ascended to lore. For years, elders proclaimed its wondrous exploits to their children whose wide eyes gleamed with wonder and admiration.

Yet, even a being such as this must one day pass into the beyond. The creature understood this, and accepted it with a dignity becoming its noble nature. Evil still sought dominion, however, and the fragile balance of creation still needed its champion. To answer this call, the being took an arduous burden upon itself. It sacrificed its freedom, prestige, and repose to bind itself to a grand machine whose intricate workings allowed the creature to continue combating the malevolence of the world at the cost of the being's very life."

**Schazer** · 01-31-2010, 06:45 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Frick, you go first, Sruixan. I've got a few things to ruminate over...

I read your edit, and I think I'm doing something similar. Having said that, I'll stay my hand until you've posted, so you get first dibs on what's canon.

Edit the dos: I've got only a slightly better inkling, I suppose, but so far no grand plans that need to implicate anyone you wanted to write about.
However, it's only, what, 2 in the morning here and I'm raring to do this. Whoever posts first is canon, and bugger the other in the nicest possible way. Deal?

ç·¨é›†ä¸‰ç•ªç›®: Well, I'd best stop being a gentleman then. *grabs a cup of tea and gets to it*
As for the long term, I suppose I should stop using the computer at such Motherlandic hours and stick to something more Antipodean...

Edit 0100: 10pm? That's when I'm getting started! I do manage to get a full eight hours most days, though, just... displaced, I suppose. From what I've gathered it's not only normal at my age, but it's also socially acceptable! Anywho, although edit-based conversations are a great space-saver they still distract me from getting this darn post written... And we're sneaking up on 4am here.

Edit (final?) V: It's dark and I'm ready to sleep or eat or both and it's feels much like a February. Enjoy the company of your grandparents!

Sruixan · 01-31-2010, 06:53 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

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EDIT: Aforementioned reserve is somewhat less tentative now, albeit it might have to cover the next few hours...

EDIT2: Having done some re-reading, I might not be able to get away with what I wanted... if you have a clearer picture, Schazer, then feel free to post it before me. My FoxClocks says you've probably not got much longer online, whereas I have most of the day to either pick up on what you do or to figure out something better...

EDIT3: Deal. We need to end this "No, no, after you" gentlemanly attitude we have here somehow...

EDIT4: Another person who works on tea. Excellent. Of course, as a Brit, I am technically obliged to be so, but... *shrugs*

As for your hours, well, I try to always stop myself going beyond 10 pm. See, there's this thing called "sleep", dunno if you've ever come across it, but I have discovered that my body is geared up to require as much of it as possible every night. In order to partake of this "sleep", I must be disconnected from any computational devices, or indeed any other devices that do more than play Brian Eno's ambient stuff rather gently. You might want to try it... in the long term...

EDIT5: ARGH, too many distractions! Now my grandparents are here and I must go, so... yeah...

How's 5am in New Zealand, Schazer?

**Schazer** · 01-31-2010, 12:31 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Clutching the glove awkwardly in his free hand, Galus glared up at the place Vyrm'n on occasion placed its face, daring the shadow to confirm his opinion that it was little more than a savage brute. His barely-concealed mistrust spilled over into Vyrm'n's perception, reinforced by contact as the starscape rushed forward to meet Galus' open palm. The Faceless paused for a moment, choosing to brood upon its own thoughts for some time before divulging them to the Urisian.

Kill him. Vyrm'n first wondered what had triggered that thought, then had a better think about it, taking solace in the discreteness of cold logic. At present, with his glove unbuckled, the marine presented a much easier challenge than he did in the theme park. Then the world could shift again, away from this... headache had to be the right word. While the previous world was just a plain, cluttered mess to the Faceless' atomic senses, this world was steeped in paradoxical elegance that warped the mind in the same fell stroke as the one which warped the laws of space. And then what? All the other foes in this fight could hold their own against Vyrm'n, broken physics or no.
Even then, he would have to die... Unfortunate, but only if you insisted on being sentimental about it. The soldier still had one use to Vyrm'n, then; the Faceless still had to learn about its compatriot in Galus' universe, Luna. True, that could simply be teased out of the persuadable Urisian, but other tales Vyrm'n still fundamentally coveted were not Galus' to tell; or, at least, voluntarily...

The entire debate took less than a heartbeat, manifesting only as the briefest of awkward silences. Finally, some conclusion was reached and the thought of killing Galus here and now were discarded and forgotten.

-Maxwell-

"He's fine," was the Urisian's perfunctory reply to that. "That Karmist might've cut him up a little, but he's had the brains to stay out of trouble since." Vyrm'n seemed vaguely put out by Galus' dismissive reply, and did not probe further. Taking a leaf out of the aforementioned genius' book, the marine ventured, "Do you know what's going on at the fountain... Vyrm'n?"

The Faceless' awareness soared out and away to determine what was happening. -The Sunset is angry; I think the world has already left and only one remains to assist him-
"The world?"

By the fountain, I found a note. It was written by an Amethyst who is trying to escape from her own battle like ours, but their world has already left-

Vyrm'n did not have time to note Galus' reaction to this; as the souls of the Wightmaw Arm amalgamated in an atomic shriek that redefined the Balancer. The Faceless abruptly broke the connection in order to listen intently to the world and its scattered inhabitants again. The feeling of sick desperation grew as the world sang the situation into brutal clarity for Vyrm'n. The Urisian felt the surge of energy too, a blast which put the last shot to shame. Snapping his glove back on and double-checking the seal, Galus looked to the hulking darkness to see what it would do next. To his surprise, it tapped on his visor gently. A press of a button and it slid back, letting Vyrm'n reach out to the soldier.

-Galus, the Sunset his power is in the legion, their madness, his power, his madness-

Orange eyes stabbed through Vyrm'n's explanations, leaving them pinned down and floundering. Again, the thought of slipping a tendril of pointed dark right between those amber orbs surfaced, and was hurriedly drowned. The Faceless' pillar shape seemed to melt and run fluid, except down seemed to be towards the centre of the room. The inky, star-studded now-sphere shivered once before snaking out the window and into the purple sky.

The angry violet glow of the Balancer lit up the ruined remnants of the courtyard, casting the scattered remains of Dorukomets' armour in the light of a supernova. Vyrm'n could not see this, of course, but the illumination of a horde of souls provided the same effect. So chaotic and desperate for attention was their song, the Faceless could not shut it out; their presence warping atomic perception like bright light eating away at the details of a photograph. The eyeslits each spat out their own aura-piercing beams, which trained upon the ascending form of Vyrm'n as the armoured helm spotted the streaking black. The staccato machine-gun fire chased the Faceless across the sky, setting the rhythm for the crescendoing whine as the Nightmare recharged. One byzantium bolt, then another, pursued the desperately dodging shadow before getting swallowed up in the similar-coloured sky. The Sunset's attack was not quite spot on - with Faceless and Balancer being of such uncannily similar composition, he should've anticipated her movements. Instead, the harrowing rhythm of bullets then bolts stayed in wild, unthinking pursuit of Vyrm'n.

Powerful, indomitable, tireless, and now little more than a brute. Vyrm'n fumbled the change in down when approaching the remnants of the fountain, and was rewarded with a voidful of high-calibre bullets. Fluid fragments were torn off the greater mass where the Faceless could not part the way in time, and dissipated into nothing before the clatter of the spent casing was heard.

Hissing with pain within its mind, Vyrm'n slithered aside as the next round of bullets tracked her course across the courtyard and back into the air. Those bullets had taken their unsurprising toll on the Faceless' concentration, and she flew into the heavens of this pocket dimension without thinking it through properly. Another purple malevolence was released after a whine, and chased Vyrm'n upward. The shadow only just managed to avoid it, the prickle of a universe's energy burning upon its starry countenance. The Nightmare shot continued upward, then seemed to spontaneously impact upon nothing and dissipate in a violent pall of byzantium sparks. Vyrm'n failed to see this, and crashed into the barrier, right where the purple coilgun had hit.

The air seemed to thicken about the shadow, its movements becoming sluggish as it unwittingly thrashed through the gap in the prison, trying to tear it open. The cackle of the machinegun far below reminded Vyrm'n this was no time to be rendered immobile. Struggling furiously to dislodge itself from the rapidly sealing gap, the shadow only just managed to flee as the Nightmare finished recharging. The Balancer fired again, and Vyrm'n's world became pain. At least a fifth of the shadow had been caught up in the explosion, and less than half of that again managed to recoalesce.

The raw energy of the Sunset and a legion of the damned was too much for the dark beast's mind to handle. It started to fall back into the darkness, the void rushing up to meet Vyrm'n. However, whereas this sensation had always been an blissful release for Vyrm'n in the pass, now the raging emptiness triggered violent revulsion. Despite the mental screams, the Faceless dragged itself back into control and soared off, still pursued by the occasional blast in search of Maxwell. Four dimensions be damned, this time Vyrm'n was following him until it found him.

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Robust Laser · 02-03-2010, 01:00 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by cyber95.

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**btp** · 02-03-2010, 01:12 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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**Schazer** · 02-03-2010, 01:34 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Robust Laser · 02-03-2010, 01:37 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by cyber95.

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**Schazer** · 02-03-2010, 01:40 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Vyrm'n skimmed along the cliff surface, fleeing from the rampaging Balancer. She nearly took Galus' head clear off as the marine fell out of the window and flipped over to stand on the cliff face. The Urisian's bodysuit prevented Vyrm'n from communicating; but there wasn't much it needed to convey about the present situation. Galus took in the oncoming Faceless; the purple which lit up the remnants of the fountain. He tried to lean out of the Faceless' way, but it purposefully snaked across to intercept him and swirl around his non-gunning arm before latching tight. Vyrm'n dragged him along for a few feet before he stopped trying to reason with the Faceless and pulled himself up onto the shadow.

Riding a Faceless was nothing like riding any animal or imaginable method of transportation. Galus discovered this quickly as the centripetal forces threatened to tear his arm off when Vyrm'n banked to fly at the Sunset again. Uncertain what he was supposed to do, it became slightly clearer to Galus when the Faceless jackknifed out of the way to dodge another swarm of bullets. Galus would've been tossed about like a ragdoll had Vyrm'n not thought to seize his ankles also when it dodged.

Now that Vyrm'n was flying in a more predictable pattern, Galus felt accustomed enough to the Faceless' movement to unholster his pistol and loose a few shots at the unmoving target. There was a low hum that had little on the Nightmare's drone, but was swiftly replaced by the whine of laser fire as the Urisian loosed a round of shots at the Balancer. Four beams struck the celestial being's rising arm as it attempted to block the shots, but one struck the the mess of switches, fuses, and coils on his chest.

The laser fire crackled across the Balancer, leaping in non-violet arcs from coil to coil across the indomitable being, and seemed to momentarily stun it. There was a deep graunching noise from within the suit, and the temporarily immobilised Sunset snapped back into action as the repair function kicked in, rebuilding the components damaged by the blast. A mechanical yowl indicated the Nightmare was recharging; Vyrm'n seized Galus tighter and managed to keep both of them out of coilgun blast. The Urisian replied with another round from his pistol, but this time the Sunset intercepted the pair's approach with a salvo of machinegun bullets. Though Galus was now more used to staying oriented atop Vyrm'n, the swift turn she made to dodge the Balancer sent the laser fire off in a wayward, skybound streak.

Galus' voice, hazy with static, barked from the comm unit on his space suit. Despite his earlier resignation at the thought of dying in battle, his voice currently betrayed none of it. If anything, he sounded furious, but exhilarated. "Vyrm'n? Do you read me?"

The Faceless had no way to respond. The comm hissed with frustration, then added, "Vyrm'n, turn right if you read me!" For a moment nothing happened, then the shadow leaned in and Galus felt the centripetal forces yanking him leftward. He grinned a little beneath his helmet. Slipping his pistol back into the holster while the pair beat a temporary tactical retreat back up the cliff, Galus one-handedly extracted the grapnel hook while Vyrm'n flowed out of the path of machine-gun fire and Nightmare blasts. "I've got a plan."

Maxwell took one final furtive glance round the deserted exhibition room before putting all the necessary pieces to his plan in their respective pockets and places. Taking a deep breath with the intention to calm himself down, Maxwell wrestled with positioning that last piece - intangible as it was, it was certainly the most unwieldy for him to deal with. It took quite a bit of effort on his part; what with most of himself being so reluctant to accept that this had to be done; and even more recalcitrant at the fact that he had to consciously shoot himself in the foot in such a manner. After an age, Maxwell figured that he was as prepared as he could make himself.

He headed, on a whim, for the door he'd entered through, but something at the edge of his vision coerced him to halt, and take another glance around the room. It was the same as before. Frowning, Maxwell walked up to the window and peered this way and that, first up the cliff then towards the fountain. A shadowy streak, with a little crest of blue, blazed past at breakneck speeds away from the fountain. A quick look informed Maxwell why. He only had time to duck back and throw an arm over his face as the Sunset's bullets pursued Vyrm'n and Galus, riddling the bay window and showering Maxwell with glass. Maxwell stayed crouched where he was for a few moments until certain the immediate danger had passed. The window appeared to have been fortified with some sort of energy, as the sounds of the battle were now reaching Maxwell's ears loud and clear - loud enough that he should've heard them before.

Peering out (much more cautiously) this time, the genius saw Vyrm'n, with... Galus? atop her. The pair were about 50 metres straight down from Maxwell's current perspective, with Galus shooting at - oh. This wasn't good. Although he had no clue as to why the Sunset would attack Vyrm'n (and speculating, for perhaps a little too long to not feel guilty; whether it was, in fact, the other way round) the fact it was being a lot more generous with its distribution of gunfire around the courtyard and cliff face indicated a turn in the Balancer's behaviour for the irrationally worse. Maxwell studied the battle as closely as he could considering he kept ducking out of the way. Debating the merits of the ersatz plan his brain had just formulated based on the collated information, the genius took another fortifying deep breath and tossed a piece of glass out the window. As expected (or not, depending on how long you'd been subjected to the physics of this world) the glass did not plummet indefinitely across the cliff face, instead falling onto it.

Holding onto his hat despite how promising this development was, Maxwell negotiated the window and ran for the nearest open one in a crouched run. The Sunset either did not notice him or was more interested in shooting down Vyrm'n; once Maxwell reached the safety of another room to duck into he chanced a look up at the Faceless. The shadow banked steeply, and ran straight at Maxwell's present location before sharply climbing upward. Before it disappeared into the upward yonder, pursued by more gunfire, Maxwell had noticed Galus. It was hard to tell because of the helmet, but Galus had stared right at him; acknowledged him with a little salute of the pistol.

Studying Vyrm'n this time; Maxwell could almost perfectly pinpoint when Galus dropped the bombshell that he was down here. Vyrm'n's formerly elegant aerial dancing to avoid the Balancer broke rhythm, and the whole form aimed for the ground before Galus obviously shouted her down.

I'm safe for now; and will be while the Sunset's fixated on them. To come and greet me now would endanger me - she'll understand that. Recalling his plan at the thought of Vyrm'n and the Balancer, Maxwell made a scrambling dash for the next window to catch his breath in on his approach towards the Balancer and the wreckage he had caused.

Samuel wandered aimlessly through the most twisted regions of the Escherscape, until he reached its hollow heart, its interior carved out to leave a huge chamber where everywhere was down. He was steadily losing control, the demons insinuating themselves in the tattered weave of the meagre cloak - all he had to shield himself from them - even as he wrapped it around him all the futilely tighter. Despite no longer being sensitive to his faculties, the Karmist still felt the abominable ache in his arm - it seemed to travel the length of him. Despite the delusions; despite reality gently loosening his desperate grip on its hem as it slipped away, Samuel knew with a clear, deathly calm comprehension the consequences of action there.

Consequences, after all, were one of the demons' favourite instruments with which to torture him. They whispered in tongues that rasped the inside of Samuel's skull as they detailed, with cruel premonition, what his actions would lead to. The Karmist cared little for this, and listened out for the one voice; his salvation.

Begin.

Samuel began the transaction, fighting to slow the inexorable flow of karma to a pace his tattered mind could handle. The pain in his arm subsided. The demons' insidious murmurs were not extinguished, but overrode by a pounding litany that drowned them out. His senses returned as the sonorous voice scattered most of the demons, though a few persistent ones remained and took the edge off the sound of the firefight he could hear from the far corner of the huge chamber. Sight, smell, sensation, and eventually karmic perception were restored to Samuel; albeit all with a haze of guilt that the overarching rhythm could not stomp away.

Samuel's head rose a little as he looked up and around, though his expression was still glazed over. In a fashion almost independent of the body, his right arm reached out and dragged what shrapnel it could from the surrounding area. The pickings were slim, as only Vyrm'n and the Sunset had walked through this corridor, and they were causing minimal damage then. A little dust and a few chips of stone assembled round the Karmist's arm. It seemed to go unnoticed as Samuel drifted for the courtyard far above him, where the sounds of battle crashed from.

A source of life fairly glowed in Samuel's projected direction. The demons made no compunctions about telling him what, or rather who, the source was; but the Karmist could no longer hear them. All that ran through his mind was the ceaseless pounding beat of:

KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL

Elsewhere, in the painting of the quay, a lonesome spirit returned to a battlefield. This warzone, like many others schrotgolems had participated in over the expansive breadth of history, resembled the aftermath of a tornado hitting a garage sale rather than a fight to the death. Its consciousness slipping tiredly into a piece of glass, then two, then a pen, them some cogs, then a trowel, and so on. If Gestalt had hands to pick up the scattered fragments of its recently realised existence, they would've been trembling. Each trinket, each tool, each fragment of rubbish had to be reinspected; occupied and pondered upon again; to account for the fact it was part of all existence.

There was a lot of existence, Gestalt conceded. A whole lot to catalogue, take apart, understand. Still, everything gave you a lot of scope. You could practically spend all of existence just choosing where to start.

So Gestalt began with what it knew. Patiently, unhurriedly, it filled the boxes with pieces of everything. Uncharacteristically, it even picked up those things which had been broken or damaged beyond repair in the fight with Vyrm'n. Everything went in the box. When this task was done, the golem snapped its lids shut and the convoy slithered off in search of the others.

**Schazer** · 02-03-2010, 09:45 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Vyrm'n had to admit, it'd panicked when Galus said Maxwell was down there. Though it pained the Faceless to not be actively protecting him, the Urisian showed remarkable sense when his mind was dancing on the knife-edge of life and death. She'd heard his plan all the way through and it didn't sound completely suicidal (for Vyrm'n, at any rate) so the Faceless offered its support. The duo spent several loops over the Balancer's position trying to find the optimum angle to fly in at. Each time, the Sunset followed the same pattern, machine gun, then firing the Nightmare as they crossed overhead. It was astounding how the formerly pragmatic, tactical entity had been reduced to this.

Several passes later, Galus figured they'd got it. Still holding down the trigger of his pistol, the marine embedded it in the lower region of the Faceless, the darkness holding the trigger in place so it still fired. The accuracy of such a setup was negligible; the point was for it to be a distraction. Banking sharply for the fly-over, the Urisian aimed his grapnel, and fired. With no time to hesitate, he clicked it to auto-ratchet itself back in, jammed it in the Faceless, and holding the sheath of his combat knife put his arms on either side of the cable and leapt off just as the grapnel adhered to the Sunset's iron shoulder with a clang. The Balancer, had only raised an arm to reflect the incoming pistol fire but was not contemplating having a grapnel stuck to himself. By the time he noticed, Galus was already halfway down the line. Dropping early and crouching into a roll to stand at the Sunset's feet, the Urisian unsheathed his knife and leapt to plunge it into the Balancer's coil-filled chest.

What came next; Galus had not planned for. Initially intending to stab, then run under the Sunset's legs and grab the pistol Vyrm'n would drop before sprinting for the cover of the demolished fountain; the marine's plans were interrupted by the horde of souls. As the Sunset's repair function executed and struggled to process how something was getting in the way of components repairing themselves, the souls shifted into the cold steel and screamed at Galus. The mental assault left him stunned and unable to tear his hand away, until the machinegun arm wedged in there and flicked him effortlessly off and into a demolished pillar. Galus crumpled as he hit the stone, either winded or knocked out - it was hard to tell while he had the helmet on.

Maxwell, meanwhile, had snuck his way along the cliff face while the Sunset had been distracted; and had been doing really well at remaining undetected until Galus was thrown at the pillar he'd been leaning against. The Sunset was releasing puffs of smoke more frequently than before; it was obvious the knife had done some damage. Ripping the magnetic grapnel off with the tip of the Nightmare, like a barnacle is flicked off a ship, the coilgun swung to face the pair, its wail a futuristic air-raid tone of impending doom. Maxwell bit his lip as he figured the odds of his survival. If he considered only himself, it was a pretty simple equation. Factor in the incapacitated Galus, though...

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**btp** · 02-03-2010, 10:44 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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GBCE · 02-03-2010, 02:24 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Opirian.

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Sruixan · 02-04-2010, 02:06 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

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**btp** · 02-04-2010, 03:07 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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Sruixan · 02-06-2010, 07:35 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

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**btp** · 02-06-2010, 01:58 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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**Schazer** · 02-07-2010, 06:19 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Maxwell stood, transfixed by the angry glow streaming from the Nightmare. He knew every seemingly insignificantly small moment he spent contemplating left his survival that much more uncertain, but somehow he was incapable of making a decision either way. There was a deceptively quiet click as the coilgun completed its recharging. The tiny sound pierced through the man's paralysis, and he took one tentative step towards Galus ' prone form, before he turned to sprint for the nearest cover. This moment of indecision cost Maxwell, as the hum ceased just as he spun round to flee.

The blast burnt with supernovae heat upon Maxwell's face as the Nightmare beam rushed towards him in an all-immolating purple wave - and then surged onward beside him. Fearful eyes illuminated violet as Maxwell stared at the stream of energy rushing and crackling by. Its radius was such that it knocked him aside; a direction the man was only too keen to travel in to escape the blazing byzantium . When the last trails of the Nightmare blast had dissipated into the air, a shaking Maxwell dared to look toward The Sunset. The tortured entity hadn't missed deliberately - something had forcibly stayed its hand.

A huge, monstrous claw, composed of scattered fragments of stone and ceramic and grit and glass, had seized the Balancer's Nightmare and dragged it aside as it had fired. Maxwell knew that cruel grip of the twisted web of shrapnel which constricted about the gun. Even as he watched, more shards of stone rose from the ground and joined the jagged appendage. A hefty gulp forced its way down the genius' throat as some- something at the other end of the piecemeal arm started up a warped, inhuman cackle.

"eehhehehehehehehAHAHAHAHAHA... Oh This is SOOO RICH... soOOo FAntAsTIC..."

Behind the stunned Balancer, Samuel Therion stood limp, shoulders hunched, head snapped upright. His typically snide grin was now stretched to maniacal proportions. Gleaming white teeth contrasted sharply with hyper-dilated pupils. His entire body shook with unbridled laughter, causing the bits of tile, glass, and stone which composed his shrapnel-arm to clatter with shuddering, percussive breath. The Sunset took quick notice of Samuel's intrusion and whipped around, spraying a flurry of machine gun rounds in the Karmist's direction. Samuel's arm lifted himself above the assault and into the air. The maddened Balancer's aim followed accordingly; however, the massive arm continued jerking the Karmist about while a stream of rapid incoherence flew from his warped grin.

"Looks like something's got your goat. Several somethings. One, two, three, thousand, lives? ex-lives? ex-wives? I had those once, she was delectable! Good Material. Died in birth, such a shame. Felt good though. REALLY GOOD. Just like you! You're such a sweetheart, really! Helped me out of a huge jam. Mmmm jam. Red and pulpy and delicious. I knew a chef once, good cook, Wanted a recipe his son would make. I helped him out. Killed the boy; gave the man his gift. Sucker cries and drowned himself. So I got both. Wanna hear the recipe? Here it goes: Thousands of lives, stuck in a tin can, peel the lid off and help yourself!ssOOOootasty ehehehehehehahahHAHAHA"

The Karmic forces Samuel had released upon his mind rushed though his cortex, inducing a hyper-euphoria within the Karmist. The memories of death and destruction which had earlier tormented his fragile mind now fuelled a fervent desire to kill. Sanity, within this inferno of killing intent, had no means of standing ground and gave way to the deathlust. A need to survive, a need to kill, directed the Karmist's movements under the overarching theme of: "death brings pleasure. Bring forth death."

The familiar click and hair-raising hyperelectric crackle of the Nightmare preceded The Sunset's retaliation. The twisted coil which grappled the Balancer's weapon shattered into innumerable fragments of liquid hot shrapnel as they were caught in the purple storm. Samuel was tossed aside by the explosion, the bulk of material still attached to his flesh launching chains of grit at the ground to anchor the Karmist's descent. Samuel crouched, his right arm an ever-growing mass of debris, his voice a relentless crazed cackle, his face an jagged grin with wide black eyes. At this sight, the spirits within The Sunset raged against the shell of the Balancer and, in unison, called for their foe's destruction.

Maxwell stared agape at the unfolding scene for only a few moments, before seizing the Balancer's distraction to drag Galus out of immediate danger. As the man in the greatcoat carried the Urisian round the other side of the pillar, he was groggy, but responsive. Maxwell fumbled with the helmet for a few moments before finding a switch to flick the visor up. Though he had never had any formal training in first aid, Maxwell figured Galus was going to survive. Glancing back up the cliff, Maxwell spotted the sinuous black smudge that was Vyrm'n . She rushed toward the pair, weaving close to the cliff face, lowering her profile to avoid The Sunset's attention. The Faceless slid to a halt in front of them. Lifting Galus by one arm onto his shoulder, Maxwell made his ungainly way to the waiting Vyrm'n. A black pseudopod snaked out and wrapped itself round Maxwell's free hand.

-Maxwell hurry you need to be safe-At this point, the Faceless spasmed in pain, its already less-than-pointed thoughts scattering into a nebulous stream-of-consciousness.

"...V-Vyrm'n?" the torrent of thought realized Maxwell was watching, and snapped shut for a moment before a singular thread manifested. Even then, the background static, more audible than Maxwell had ever heard it, belied the Faceless' near-complete exhaustion. Dismissing whatever query he had with a mental flick,Vyrm'n acquiesced after a moment to taking Galus with them. The black grip on his arm tightened, and pulled him on before slithering into the nearest window.

Now with a comforting amount of rock between them and the surreal fight that had just started, Maxwell tried to tend to Galus. "I'm fine," the Urisian interjected, waving him off and walking unsteadily to a wall he could sit against. Shrugging a little helplessly, the man looked to Vyrm'n , who had turned spherical in the dead centre of the room. The Faceless was still trembling a little, making the stars on the celestial globe jitter as they drifted along. He reached out, but the Faceless twitched away and began moving again to block out Maxwell's view of the door.

One nondescript cardboard box, then another, slid into the room. The first halted as Gestalt realised Vyrm'n was in this room, making the following boxes bump into each other with the muffled rattle of whatever was inside. The orb narrowed into a rough, semi-fluid column and confronted the schrotgolem . A cautiously tense exchange commenced between the pair; the details of which were lost on Maxwell, though even he could feel the mutual wariness of one being toward the other. The tension left an almost electric quality in the air, or perhaps that was Gestalt's probing consciousness before it was tersely curtailed by Vyrm'n . Finally, an agreement was reached and the Faceless slid aside, letting the convoy shuffle past and tumble out the window. Maxwell stood helplessly, glancing between a tensely alert Galus who just realised he was weaponless, and the still-trembling Faceless.

He tentatively placed a hand upon the shadow; an oddly human gesture of comfort. There was a pause before the link was established as it idlyoccurred to Maxwell it was always Vyrm'n that reached out to him - never the other way round. Beneath the silent, starry exterior, a torrent of thought rushed invisibly by. The Faceless' consciousness was broodingly wrapped up in these musings against the pain, and didn't seem to notice Maxwell watching. The bulk of it was swiftly processed and discarded sensory input, but a few notable pieces warranted a second, third, or consequent glances by Vyrm'n . Enmeshed within this neural storm of input was also the shadow's own thoughts; intermittent insights which punctuated the mess of perceived existence. In a way, it was kind of like looking at the world through Vyrm'n's vision again, if far less coherent. Still, the parallel let Maxwell perceive what another may have not; and that was the Faceless' intense focus upon the fight, and more disconcertingly to the human, an emotion that had somehow seemed foreign to that distant, detatchedly metacognitive being.

Vyrm'n was excited. Every drop of blood, every flesh-rending bullet, every infinitesimal tick of a lifetime counting down triggered an emotional response it had never before known it possessed. As the combatants tore themselves apart, the Faceless watched with a grin only Maxwell could detect. The euphoria was like a haze over Vyrm'n's mind, Maxwell floundering through it in his haste to leave. Returning to his own headspace again, the man removed his hand. The starscape did not move, still sightlessly staring towards Samuel and The Sunset; while Maxwell backed off and slumped against the ceiling which postured presently as their wall.

Two mad souls stood off on the edge of the Escherscape. From one, a soft guttural laugh reflected a man drowning within a twisted euphoria. From the other, the ceaseless grinding of soul on machine emanated from a blinding pool of noise, rage, and confusion. The pause lasted only an instant. The horde of spirits within The Sunset channelled their combined fury into the barrel of The Nightmare. As the pitch of the weapon rose, so did the wailing of the Balancer . The cosmic entity, tormented by the incessant cries of countless undead, weary from the unearthly strain on his essence, mustered the last remnants of his eroding sanity behind the very principle which had defined his existence.

"SAMUEL luTHERION! YOU HAVE GROWN TOO POWERFUL. YOU WILL BE DESTROYED."

With that proclamation, the Balancer fired The Nightmare. The blinding judgement bolt scorched the broken mosaic of the courtyard as it hurled toward the chuckling Karmist.

Samuel stared at the oncoming beam, its bright violet glare burning the image into his unprotected retinas. He basked in the ever widening shadow of the oncoming death. Then, in the moment before the titanic attack contacted its target, Samuel flung himself in the air once more, half of his constantly compounding shrapnel arm vaporizing in the blast. The airborne arm launched forth chains of serrated stone and glass, piercing and constricting about The Sunset's armored exoskeleton. The spirits cried out against the intrusions and, as with Galus moments prior, flooded the ragged lances with their howling substance. Their connection to the Karmist disrupted, the pieces of the piercing shrapnel fell lifelessly to the floor. Relentlessly, Samuel fired dozens more of the coiling snares which continued to wrap about The Sunsets' frame.

The struggling Balancer retaliated against Samuel with a barrage of machine-gun bullets. The shrapnel arm refused to release The Sunset, flinging Samuel around; but the Karmist was peppered with slugs all the same. The projectiles sizzled as they rent the Karmist's flesh. A sudden, hacking cough interrupted the incessant cackling, spattering bloody stains. As the sanguine fluid trickled from the corners of the wry grin, a putrid stench poured from the freshly made wounds. Without hesitation, The Sunset repeated his assault. The crepitating machine gun glowed an ember red as rapid shots burned into the airborne Karmist . This time there was no attempt at evasion. The impacts of hundreds of metal fragments sent Samuel's body into a convulsive fit. The Karmist relished every shot, every shredded organ, every broken bone. Each damaging blast brought him that much closer to the sensation of death - the all consuming absolute, which the Karmic forces unleashed within his psyche proclaimed as the source of all joy and pleasure.

The horrendous odor which emanated from every wound on the Karmist engulfed his body and the monstrous arm. For a moment, the weaponized attack of The Sunset halted as the Balancer's hulking machinery worked to reload the smoking firearm. In that instant, no longer absorbed in the progression of his own demise, Samuel lunged at the Balancer . A dozen more shrapnel spikes, filled with the Karmic potential channelled from Samuel's own near-death, penetrated The Sunset's armor. The spirits screamed like a knife on dry ice, the keening shriek resounding through the entire dimension. Once again they sought to flood against the intruder; however, the death-Karma saturating the ceramic spears diverted the spirits' energies, severing the life threads which bound those undead unfortunate enough to run against Karma's flow.

A grinding, heavily mechanical bass joined the chorus as The Sunset's repair function was initiated. The Balancer's internal counter spiralled wildly downward as Samuel the undead essence, rebuilding the Karmist's mangled form instead of the intended burnt-out machine-gun components. His vital organs replaced as the machinegun ceased smoking, Samuel was tossed out of the way this time somewhat to avoid the worst of the barrage. This insane exchange continued for a few more rounds of destroy and repair, until even through his mad fury The Sunset realised something was amiss. Swinging a hefty, gun-toting arm around, the Balancer finally dislodged the mad Karmist. Samuel made no attempt to break his fall, and lay there for a few moments, sniggering at something. A train of cardboard boxes snaked its way to line up behind the broken man.

"Nice of you to join us... heheheh... Gestalt." The golem made no reply.

The schrotarm bucked and tossed the Karmist back into the air, picking up more pieces of debris as it lunged at The Sunset again. A lid snapped open, and Gestalt joined the fray with a swarm of shrapnel. It lacked the precision it possessed when confronting Vyrm'n, but nonetheless found its target, digging away at the joints and coils in the suit. The Balancer was conflicted; the terrified servitude of the legion compounded with The Sunset's fundamental principles insisted Samuel be eliminated - yet the schrotgolem was doing a more efficient job at attacking the ancient being. The Karmist's jagged arm leapt for the helm of the Balancer , stone-and-glass claws seeking to tear it right off; the violet-bathed Nightmare arm parried it even as it charged up, and flung Samuel aside again. The coilgun arced through the air, following the madman, then, unexpectedly, stopped.

The grating creak of straining metal overcame the hum of the charged arm as The Balancer's machinery struggled to move it once more. Slowly, though, the paralysis spread from the Nightmare to The Sunset's other appendages. Steadily, the schrotgolem integrated the extremities of the Balancer . Machine gun bullets fired frantically, futilely in hopes of breaking Gestalt's hold. The weary, cluttered, mind of The Sunset, however, was not nearly strong enough to resist the schrotgolem's grasp. Frozen in place, the paralytic Balancer watched helplessly as the grinning Karmist approached. The shrapnel arm broke into dozens of writhing serrated chains, infused with the manic pursuit of death which coursed through Samuel, before they ensnared and chased out the legion even as it clung desperately to the vestiges of the Balancer's fragmented being. The final cries of countless souls reverberated throughout the Escherscape, dragged into the abyss.

For a being that endured the indignity of still-death to stave off the horrific finality of the true one, The Sunset showed no fear even as weaker souls quailed into nothing around him in the face of the void. They screamed for salvation; from Lutherion, Dorukomets, the Balancer itself. Clarity returned to The Sunset as the spirits were torn away, gifted him the most precious of moments to reflect.

He had regrets, certainly; but now they seemed immaterial, positively trivial, even. The final violet fragments of Judgement of his universe, fallen but no less noble, glowed - nay, roared in brief yet glorious defiance against the nothingness before they were snuffed out in a chill, rattling smirk of a breath.

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Sruixan · 02-07-2010, 10:38 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

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**btp** · 02-07-2010, 02:11 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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Robust Laser · 02-08-2010, 08:12 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by cyber95.

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Robust Laser · 02-08-2010, 10:19 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by cyber95.

The Observer sat down on a chair in front of a monitor, grumbling about how he should have given that short guy a cool weapon like that other guy did for his entrant. Maybe then he would have won. No matter. The monitor turned on, and replayed all the action that had occured in the Escherscape. The Observer quickly caught up, just in time to see another one of the contestants get eliminated.
"Fantastic! Maybe now this can start catching up with the other battles."
He pushed a button that wasn't previously there, and everything when instantly black on the battlefield.

None of the contestants could see a thing, and even the contestants lacking in a proper sense of sight found themselves with momentarily clouded senses.
Voices could be heard from somewhere.
"How long before we start?"
"One minute."
"One minute- doesn't give us a lot of time. Alright! Places everyone! Get these sets ready! Get some props up here. Tell the makeup artist to be ready! We're gonna give 'em a hell of a show."
The voice paused momentarily.
"Right, you five! No time for rehearsal! Just... improvise or something! Entertain them! If you need anything, ask me for it, and I'll see what I can do."
"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight."
The more familiar voice started counting down, and a sense of anticipation somewhat filled the contestants.
"Three... Two... One... Showtime."
The curtain opened, and all was clear. An audience of thousands watched the stage, waiting for the performance to begin.

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SpoilerHas your character always wanted to be a great theatrical star? No? Well, now's their chance, whether they like it or not.

So you're on a stage. It's a sizable stage, so you've got at least some elbow room. There's also a backstage, but skirmishes are best to happen up front. Why? The audience is going to be deciding your fate.
Now, the audience isn't actually there, per se. They're all illusions. Illusions with power. If they like you, you grow more powerful. Stronger, more nimbler, what have you. Playing to the audience and such, showing them what they want to see, and being entertaining will keep you alive. However, if the audience doesn't like you, the opposite will happen, and you'll become less powerful.

Of course, just a simple stage doesn't make much of a battlefield, and that's where our friendly NPC comes in. He's called the Stage Director. I imagine he looks like sort of a mock Director. Wears a suit. Maybe smokes constantly, leaving his head obscured by the smoke. He's got some sort of thing going that makes it impossible for him to die. Be creative there if it comes up. You just ask the Stage Director, and he can set you up with some props, or change the set. What he gives you is usually make of cardboard, cheap plastic, or cheap wood. Yet is fully functional. Is the current set made to look like a futuristic city on top of a moving hovercar, with you and the designated villain going at it with laser rifles? Try not to fall off. It's a long drop through that floor that seemed pretty solid during the last scene. And yes, those cardboard cutout laser rifles fire lasers. There's also a makeup artist in a room backstage who does good work.

What is backstage, anyway? From a gameplay point of view, it's just there so that you can still get some interaction/roleplaying in when you aren't on stage. What this means is I have no idea what's really backstage. It's not the main attraction, so just do whatever works.

Also, yes, you can go into the rest of the auditorium. Trying to physically interact with the audience is a fruitless endeavor. There are two exits at very back of the room behind all the seats, but they stubbornly refuse to open. I sort of have an idea as to what's beyond there, so that'll have to remain a mystery until the next round.

I think that's good. Enjoy!

OH YEAH! The starting set is a lovely painted field backdrop, not a could in the painted sky, with nice green astroturf on the ground. There are a few medieval suits or armor laying around, and some various medieval weaponry. These props are about the only high quality props you're going to see this round. And of course, the armor perfectly fits our human characters.

GBCE · 02-08-2010, 02:18 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Opirian.

Galus felt himself be pushed out onto the stage, looking around he saw the audience but something was in the way, kind of like a blob of red and some white. Taking off his helmet the audience stared at him waiting for him to do something other than stand there. Of course he paid no attention to them as he studied his helmet, the visor was covered in makeup! Wiping it off furiously he started to mumble under his breath, "stupid fricking make-up artist don't kno--" he was cut short as a tomato collided with his head followed by a series of boo's.

This action had kind of ticked Galus off, wiping off the tomato he put his freshly cleaned helmet on, people in the audience started mocking him under their breath. Grabbing a helmet from a suit of armor he chucked it at the suspected tomato thrower; normally this would have at least put the person in a hospital ward, but in this case the helmet seemed to ignore the existence of the audience as it bounced harmlessly off the seats. The pilot stood their flabbergasted as more comments rose from the crowd, "whats this guy even doing on stage, we have some future space man in the past now? what a joke." Suddenly without warning the tomato thrower proceeded the throw the helmet back at the Urisian who almost didn't dodge it out of shock.

The whole of the audience began to laugh at him, it was like middle school all over again when the gravity decided to stop working in the middle of the play. Galus went to raise his voice but once again another tomato splatted this time on his visor, of course it slid off harmlessly. Galus drew his pistol only to find out it had been replaced by some piece of cardboard, he twitched and pulled the trigger and much to his surprise the curtains were now on fire thanks to the bolt of plasma. The audience gave the last set of boos when suddenly out of nowhere a giant hook grabbed him off stage causing Galus to land on his ass backstage.

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GBCE · 02-08-2010, 02:43 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by snoomanwaff.

Opirian Wrote:

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Spoilerthis would've been the perfect world for Cabaret.
I also had the thought of Vrymn'n wearing a wig for comedic effect.

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Sruixan · 02-08-2010, 04:45 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

snoomanwaff Wrote:

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SpoilerOn the bright side Cabaret's mask managed to get there in maxwell's hands...come to think of it I may write a non-canon post of Cabaret there assuming Cyber will allow it.

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Dragon Fogel · 02-08-2010, 05:10 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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