Re: Intense Struggle! (Round 3 - The Wasteland)
07-18-2010, 08:51 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Larus, largely unaware of the mana drain, stumbled down the corridor, occasionally putting a foot in a hole or tripping over a small dune. In truth, he wasn't aware of much at all in the outside world; the confusing impressions and colors and feelings that were making up his inside world were far too intense.
He wasn't aware of the fact that his leg and neck and hands had swollen and reddened, welts rising where the merest of brushes with the vines had occurred. He wasn't aware that his mouth was hanging open, bloated tongue lolling and a ribbon of drool trailing down his chin. He wasn't aware of the glass that shredded his hands as he hauled himself out the shattered window or of the wave of heat that assailed him as he did. All he was aware of was the lancing pain shooting through his body, an excruciating agony so intense that it was a physical presence, coupled with confusing kaleidoscopic visions and an intense urge to find the source of this amazing smell.
The increasingly-clumsy super fell out of the window, face slamming into the scorching sand. He rolled down the dune, abrasive silicates lacerating the tender skin of his welts and still-heavy arms bludgeoning him as he rolled. He lay in a heap at the bottom of the hillock, panting and trying to sort out the confusing mess of pain and urges and colors that were his consciousness. Every fiber of his being commanded him to pick up his battered body and climb back up; some internal voice was protesting, but as time went on it became fainter and fainter and it became harder to figure out why he should listen to it in the first place.
The heat of the sun beat down on Larus's grey-and-red skin, the sand absorbing and reflecting it. Blood and drool and tears dripped down his beaten face as he laboriously turned himself over, shredded hands digging into the sand and pulling him slowly up the side of the dune towards the building and whatever it was that he knew he had to find. For every five feet he managed to move forward, he slid five back, still scrabbling on his hands and knees, breath rasping out around his dry tongue. Even though his progress was slow and his body was made of pain, he simply couldn't will himself to stop.
As she'd left Aph and the spell behind, Clara had cast a simple divination to help her find the treacherous B. Following the pointing arrow dutifully, she wandered corridors and rooms, never seeming to come close to finding her quarry. She had no way of knowing the spell was being twisted and guided by the mana machine, and saw no reason not to trust it; she simply assumed the shapeshifter had taken the form of something very fast and had escaped quickly. She was sure she'd find him, though.
Several corridors and a few near misses with holes in the floor later, Clara's spell begin vacillating wildly, the arrow spinning erratically and occasionally winking out of existence. Green shapes formed in the air, ghostly visions with the nun's own voice playing out some sort of twisted drama. A cackling madwoman made of lightning and fury mowed down fleeing scientists, her strikes corresponding exactly with the scorch marks already on the walls. It was disconcerting to listen to your own voice scream for mercy while also denying it, and without the spell's aid she had nothing to do but stand and watch the sadistic scene unfold.
Before it got much farther, though, there was the sound of yet another explosion and all the phantasms winked out of existence. Clara's spell reformed, although larger and more insistent than before; confused and nonplussed, she followed it a bit further. A few flights of stairs and several unnerving incidents wherein the spell appeared to twitch and flicker later, she came to a door with several shards of glass poking through it; thinking it was no different from the destruction she'd already passed, the nun pushed it open.
Had Larus been invisible, it still would have been easy to trace his path up the hill: a wobbling ditch crawled apparently-aimlessly through the sand, stained in places with blood and rather more frequently with vomit. It backtracked several times as he apparently lost his hand-and-footing, rolling back down a ways before eventually righting himself.
Every moment of his inexorable trek upwards was a symphony of ever-amplifying agony, but he knew instinctively that as soon as he reached his goal, everything would be better forever. This single-minded belief forced him to keep going even as he stumbled and his knee came up to meet his elbow and his wrist was forced up beneath his jaw and his teeth sank into his tongue. He kept going as cascades of blood flowed from his mouth and his tears finally gave up from dehydration. In spite of everything, he finally topped the dune; when a flash of red and green caught his eye, a gurgling cough escaped his throat. It was the closest he could emote to joy.
The door swung open, several shards of glass tumbling onto the floor at the impact of Clara's hand. The nun's spell winked out of its own accord, and she looked up to see Aph menacing a prone Aegis with a blade of fire. "Oh, gods and devils."
It could feel the prey scrambling towards it. It had been quivering with anticipation ever since it had delivered a nearly-lethal dose of the poison to the prey, and after some initial confusion the prey was coming ever closer. Nectar dripped down its leaves, dropping off in fat, sweet-smelling blobs as it felt the prey top the dune. Its prey was still moving fairly well, given how much it had been dosed with. It prepared to get up if need be.
Larus, largely unaware of the mana drain, stumbled down the corridor, occasionally putting a foot in a hole or tripping over a small dune. In truth, he wasn't aware of much at all in the outside world; the confusing impressions and colors and feelings that were making up his inside world were far too intense.
He wasn't aware of the fact that his leg and neck and hands had swollen and reddened, welts rising where the merest of brushes with the vines had occurred. He wasn't aware that his mouth was hanging open, bloated tongue lolling and a ribbon of drool trailing down his chin. He wasn't aware of the glass that shredded his hands as he hauled himself out the shattered window or of the wave of heat that assailed him as he did. All he was aware of was the lancing pain shooting through his body, an excruciating agony so intense that it was a physical presence, coupled with confusing kaleidoscopic visions and an intense urge to find the source of this amazing smell.
The increasingly-clumsy super fell out of the window, face slamming into the scorching sand. He rolled down the dune, abrasive silicates lacerating the tender skin of his welts and still-heavy arms bludgeoning him as he rolled. He lay in a heap at the bottom of the hillock, panting and trying to sort out the confusing mess of pain and urges and colors that were his consciousness. Every fiber of his being commanded him to pick up his battered body and climb back up; some internal voice was protesting, but as time went on it became fainter and fainter and it became harder to figure out why he should listen to it in the first place.
The heat of the sun beat down on Larus's grey-and-red skin, the sand absorbing and reflecting it. Blood and drool and tears dripped down his beaten face as he laboriously turned himself over, shredded hands digging into the sand and pulling him slowly up the side of the dune towards the building and whatever it was that he knew he had to find. For every five feet he managed to move forward, he slid five back, still scrabbling on his hands and knees, breath rasping out around his dry tongue. Even though his progress was slow and his body was made of pain, he simply couldn't will himself to stop.
As she'd left Aph and the spell behind, Clara had cast a simple divination to help her find the treacherous B. Following the pointing arrow dutifully, she wandered corridors and rooms, never seeming to come close to finding her quarry. She had no way of knowing the spell was being twisted and guided by the mana machine, and saw no reason not to trust it; she simply assumed the shapeshifter had taken the form of something very fast and had escaped quickly. She was sure she'd find him, though.
Several corridors and a few near misses with holes in the floor later, Clara's spell begin vacillating wildly, the arrow spinning erratically and occasionally winking out of existence. Green shapes formed in the air, ghostly visions with the nun's own voice playing out some sort of twisted drama. A cackling madwoman made of lightning and fury mowed down fleeing scientists, her strikes corresponding exactly with the scorch marks already on the walls. It was disconcerting to listen to your own voice scream for mercy while also denying it, and without the spell's aid she had nothing to do but stand and watch the sadistic scene unfold.
Before it got much farther, though, there was the sound of yet another explosion and all the phantasms winked out of existence. Clara's spell reformed, although larger and more insistent than before; confused and nonplussed, she followed it a bit further. A few flights of stairs and several unnerving incidents wherein the spell appeared to twitch and flicker later, she came to a door with several shards of glass poking through it; thinking it was no different from the destruction she'd already passed, the nun pushed it open.
Had Larus been invisible, it still would have been easy to trace his path up the hill: a wobbling ditch crawled apparently-aimlessly through the sand, stained in places with blood and rather more frequently with vomit. It backtracked several times as he apparently lost his hand-and-footing, rolling back down a ways before eventually righting himself.
Every moment of his inexorable trek upwards was a symphony of ever-amplifying agony, but he knew instinctively that as soon as he reached his goal, everything would be better forever. This single-minded belief forced him to keep going even as he stumbled and his knee came up to meet his elbow and his wrist was forced up beneath his jaw and his teeth sank into his tongue. He kept going as cascades of blood flowed from his mouth and his tears finally gave up from dehydration. In spite of everything, he finally topped the dune; when a flash of red and green caught his eye, a gurgling cough escaped his throat. It was the closest he could emote to joy.
The door swung open, several shards of glass tumbling onto the floor at the impact of Clara's hand. The nun's spell winked out of its own accord, and she looked up to see Aph menacing a prone Aegis with a blade of fire. "Oh, gods and devils."
It could feel the prey scrambling towards it. It had been quivering with anticipation ever since it had delivered a nearly-lethal dose of the poison to the prey, and after some initial confusion the prey was coming ever closer. Nectar dripped down its leaves, dropping off in fat, sweet-smelling blobs as it felt the prey top the dune. Its prey was still moving fairly well, given how much it had been dosed with. It prepared to get up if need be.