Re: The Grand Battle SEASON 2! [Signups!]
12-15-2010, 12:34 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
“Wait...” Alexei's face was almost amusingly confused. “Lennon isn't a communist?”
“Nope. Sorry about that. John Lennon was a singer. You're looking for Lenin.”
“Oh...” Alexei looked away, and frowned slightly, like a child who had just been told Santa wasn't real.
“So Hey Jude has nothing to do with the Holocaust?”
“I'm afraid not!”
If his face would have allowed it, Kracht would be smiling right now, despite being suspended by only a few more cables over the sharp peaks of Armeties. Doom was facing them, and every moments the boards of the cabin beneath them cracked, Alexei was dead sure this was the moment they'd snap.
Snap out of it.
And each time, Kracht would again have to make him feel at ease.
“Relax already! I told you a million times already. Jen gets eaten and mauled first, we just remain suspended here for about...”
Kracht looked up to one of the various glaciers in the area, and saw a very heated battle take place. A tan yeti stood near the edge, clawing at practically every remaining contestant. All but one. Fanthalion.
He couldn’t help but feel he had no idea what a Fanthalion was. He wrote it off as a slight difference in a session long ago.
The fight was as predictable as ever. The yeti was on the verge of falling, where he would suddenly lose his tan, for it would creep back to Alexei and he and Kracht could have a chat. Those chats have proven very worthwhile in discovering the Ovoid's many secrets. He'd guess he was about halfway in unraveling it, but then again the Ovoid never lost its ability to surprise. The yeti would grow much more fearsome, nearing death, and shredded into the group. Xadrez would duck or block the strike, Arkal would be clashing arms with it, and Jen, poor Jen, would be so unroyally taken out, the color of her lineage spilling and getting lost on the cold snow. Come to think of it, he was drowning.
You're drowning
I can't drown
Come to think of it, he never asked Alexei how he felt about being outside of Alpha Complex.
“So how do you like the outside?”
“Met a member of the Sierra Club once... Strange people. Now I know why.”
A ferocious roar filled the air.
---
“She's gonna die out there! Xadrez, can't you do anything?”
i can
Xadrez silently, inaudibly floated over to Jennifer, and in another desperate attempt to throw the green rock off, pushed the young girl, who was, to his idea, the most feeble battler currently present. A quick jab of the chessboard caused the queen to lose balance, tripping over her scarlet scarf.
“What the fuck are you pulling, freak?! Do you think you can just get behind me and backstab me with that loser knife of yours, huh? Well, it ain't happening today so you better– ”
“Grraaaaghh!”
Jen's carcass was penetrated by the clawed fist the Yeti bore into her abdomen, a royal ragged doll now being puppeteered by a feral beast, swinging her bleeding corpse around with little delicacy let alone precision, as if her lifeless body was an enraged being jumping about upon realising the futility of her situation.
And with such an abominable show, Jen stopped.
She stopped ordering.
She stopped caring.
She stopped living.
Just like she always did.
“What a poor story.”
Kracht jolted awake from his naive nostalgia. He noticed he was suspended by a small amount of tendrils, crawling from the island, and suspending him only slightly underwater. Behind him stood a man, someone with an incredibly rough face, and a left arm consisting only of metal and wires. He spoke in a slightly coarse voice, but had enough eloquence and poetry in his speech to make up for that.
“I'm honestly amazed at you. What a pa-the-tic excuse for a fighter!”
"What are you getting at?"
"You always seem to win this battle, but in the end, there's only one outcome for you! You're a loser! You're the all-time loser, in every timeline across all dimensions!"
Kracht was considerably attacked by such insults, since he had a vague idea exactly what he was trying to say. He did try to remain calm.
“I... I don't think I know you. Are you a rider of Boort?”
“Boort? That little town of sand worms out in the boondocks? Please, don't spit on me when I introduce myself.”
“You never introduced yourself.”
The far too smug man shook his head in pity, almost.
“Yes, my work hasn't spread as much as I'd like in the closed circles of grand battles. I was once a part of those, too. Let me give you a hint, hm?”
He paused, as if to check wether Kracht really didn't remember him.
“The name Matthew Vanhart could ring a bell?”
At those words, which were haunting his very existence from the first point on, Kracht felt every mineral of his existence spring up with a need to deck this consort in the face.
“You are Matthew Vanhart?”
“No. That is not my actual name.”
Kracht needed to hear no more, as he incorrectly identified this man in his head as Vandrel Reinhardt. This was the man who ruled over the dark future he had to endure time and time again.
The island floor shifted and swayed beneath him, but with reckless disregard to the Ovoid and everything it consisted of, he charged forward, anger seeping into his every corner. The image of whom he mistook for Vandrel jumped aside, and the rocking floor swept Kracht off balance, netting him the embarrassing position at the man's feet.
“While I appreaciate your intent to bow before me, and while I am slightly amused by your plebian failure to do so, I of all people shouldn't need to remind you that I am still me – “ And these next words he spoke with such poetic disdain you could only guess he was either faking or lying about them, “ – And my medieval racism knows no end. You are far from human, Kracht! Your attempts to stop me, or even to dare reason with me, they are futile!”
“No... No! You're futile! And one iteration, I am going to find exactly what to do to prove that to you! Your reign ends, Reinhardt! It ends when you die, and you are reduced to a mere memorial near the gloomy town center, and it will be nullified when – When, not if – when I find the right combination of effects to undo your kingdom! And I have time, Reinhardt, you know that as well as I!”
“And yet you don't realise time is growing short. It's over, Kracht. You're over! You're not invincible. You never were."
If you were, how could you lose?
A sudden breeze sprang up, and Vandrel disintegrated into blotches of oil, each returning to the shifting island on a different surface, but returning altogether.
It took a while for the chartreuse man of steel to fully take in what had happened.
And then, he collapsed onto the floor.
His green hands tore into the semifluid substance of the Amalgam, leaving small marks where they had grabbed at, and off the same spot he pushed himself back up.
In a flurry of pure, uncontrollable anger over his immortal life and his endless punishment, Kracht flung his arms around wildly, slamming into the Amalgam at several times. Bits of oily tan were severed, and crawled slowly back to their original spots, occasionally merging with and phasing through the slopes of the island. Kracht felt confused, and lost, and he had done nothing to deserve this. He hung his head low in despair.
“Is this how you repay your helpers, Ovoid? Is this mindless torture, giving me images of the future?”
Kracht looked up, trying to meet the Ovoid's face for a dramatic effect. He obviously failed.
“You know, don't you? You know how I can change it! Tell me how to change it, you beige freak! Tell me!”
Because of all its knowledge and interest in different dimensions, the Ovoid was, if one could ever open it up to the world, a databank of knowledge, so to say. But by this question, and probably only this, it was stupefied.
“Wait...” Alexei's face was almost amusingly confused. “Lennon isn't a communist?”
“Nope. Sorry about that. John Lennon was a singer. You're looking for Lenin.”
“Oh...” Alexei looked away, and frowned slightly, like a child who had just been told Santa wasn't real.
“So Hey Jude has nothing to do with the Holocaust?”
“I'm afraid not!”
If his face would have allowed it, Kracht would be smiling right now, despite being suspended by only a few more cables over the sharp peaks of Armeties. Doom was facing them, and every moments the boards of the cabin beneath them cracked, Alexei was dead sure this was the moment they'd snap.
Snap out of it.
And each time, Kracht would again have to make him feel at ease.
“Relax already! I told you a million times already. Jen gets eaten and mauled first, we just remain suspended here for about...”
Kracht looked up to one of the various glaciers in the area, and saw a very heated battle take place. A tan yeti stood near the edge, clawing at practically every remaining contestant. All but one. Fanthalion.
He couldn’t help but feel he had no idea what a Fanthalion was. He wrote it off as a slight difference in a session long ago.
The fight was as predictable as ever. The yeti was on the verge of falling, where he would suddenly lose his tan, for it would creep back to Alexei and he and Kracht could have a chat. Those chats have proven very worthwhile in discovering the Ovoid's many secrets. He'd guess he was about halfway in unraveling it, but then again the Ovoid never lost its ability to surprise. The yeti would grow much more fearsome, nearing death, and shredded into the group. Xadrez would duck or block the strike, Arkal would be clashing arms with it, and Jen, poor Jen, would be so unroyally taken out, the color of her lineage spilling and getting lost on the cold snow. Come to think of it, he was drowning.
You're drowning
I can't drown
Come to think of it, he never asked Alexei how he felt about being outside of Alpha Complex.
“So how do you like the outside?”
“Met a member of the Sierra Club once... Strange people. Now I know why.”
A ferocious roar filled the air.
---
“She's gonna die out there! Xadrez, can't you do anything?”
i can
Xadrez silently, inaudibly floated over to Jennifer, and in another desperate attempt to throw the green rock off, pushed the young girl, who was, to his idea, the most feeble battler currently present. A quick jab of the chessboard caused the queen to lose balance, tripping over her scarlet scarf.
“What the fuck are you pulling, freak?! Do you think you can just get behind me and backstab me with that loser knife of yours, huh? Well, it ain't happening today so you better– ”
“Grraaaaghh!”
Jen's carcass was penetrated by the clawed fist the Yeti bore into her abdomen, a royal ragged doll now being puppeteered by a feral beast, swinging her bleeding corpse around with little delicacy let alone precision, as if her lifeless body was an enraged being jumping about upon realising the futility of her situation.
And with such an abominable show, Jen stopped.
She stopped ordering.
She stopped caring.
She stopped living.
Just like she always did.
“What a poor story.”
Kracht jolted awake from his naive nostalgia. He noticed he was suspended by a small amount of tendrils, crawling from the island, and suspending him only slightly underwater. Behind him stood a man, someone with an incredibly rough face, and a left arm consisting only of metal and wires. He spoke in a slightly coarse voice, but had enough eloquence and poetry in his speech to make up for that.
“I'm honestly amazed at you. What a pa-the-tic excuse for a fighter!”
"What are you getting at?"
"You always seem to win this battle, but in the end, there's only one outcome for you! You're a loser! You're the all-time loser, in every timeline across all dimensions!"
Kracht was considerably attacked by such insults, since he had a vague idea exactly what he was trying to say. He did try to remain calm.
“I... I don't think I know you. Are you a rider of Boort?”
“Boort? That little town of sand worms out in the boondocks? Please, don't spit on me when I introduce myself.”
“You never introduced yourself.”
The far too smug man shook his head in pity, almost.
“Yes, my work hasn't spread as much as I'd like in the closed circles of grand battles. I was once a part of those, too. Let me give you a hint, hm?”
He paused, as if to check wether Kracht really didn't remember him.
“The name Matthew Vanhart could ring a bell?”
At those words, which were haunting his very existence from the first point on, Kracht felt every mineral of his existence spring up with a need to deck this consort in the face.
“You are Matthew Vanhart?”
“No. That is not my actual name.”
Kracht needed to hear no more, as he incorrectly identified this man in his head as Vandrel Reinhardt. This was the man who ruled over the dark future he had to endure time and time again.
The island floor shifted and swayed beneath him, but with reckless disregard to the Ovoid and everything it consisted of, he charged forward, anger seeping into his every corner. The image of whom he mistook for Vandrel jumped aside, and the rocking floor swept Kracht off balance, netting him the embarrassing position at the man's feet.
“While I appreaciate your intent to bow before me, and while I am slightly amused by your plebian failure to do so, I of all people shouldn't need to remind you that I am still me – “ And these next words he spoke with such poetic disdain you could only guess he was either faking or lying about them, “ – And my medieval racism knows no end. You are far from human, Kracht! Your attempts to stop me, or even to dare reason with me, they are futile!”
“No... No! You're futile! And one iteration, I am going to find exactly what to do to prove that to you! Your reign ends, Reinhardt! It ends when you die, and you are reduced to a mere memorial near the gloomy town center, and it will be nullified when – When, not if – when I find the right combination of effects to undo your kingdom! And I have time, Reinhardt, you know that as well as I!”
“And yet you don't realise time is growing short. It's over, Kracht. You're over! You're not invincible. You never were."
If you were, how could you lose?
A sudden breeze sprang up, and Vandrel disintegrated into blotches of oil, each returning to the shifting island on a different surface, but returning altogether.
It took a while for the chartreuse man of steel to fully take in what had happened.
And then, he collapsed onto the floor.
His green hands tore into the semifluid substance of the Amalgam, leaving small marks where they had grabbed at, and off the same spot he pushed himself back up.
In a flurry of pure, uncontrollable anger over his immortal life and his endless punishment, Kracht flung his arms around wildly, slamming into the Amalgam at several times. Bits of oily tan were severed, and crawled slowly back to their original spots, occasionally merging with and phasing through the slopes of the island. Kracht felt confused, and lost, and he had done nothing to deserve this. He hung his head low in despair.
“Is this how you repay your helpers, Ovoid? Is this mindless torture, giving me images of the future?”
Kracht looked up, trying to meet the Ovoid's face for a dramatic effect. He obviously failed.
“You know, don't you? You know how I can change it! Tell me how to change it, you beige freak! Tell me!”
Because of all its knowledge and interest in different dimensions, the Ovoid was, if one could ever open it up to the world, a databank of knowledge, so to say. But by this question, and probably only this, it was stupefied.
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.