Re: Battle Royale! Round 4: Artistry
01-18-2010, 01:24 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Drakenforge.
Mike was angry. An anger so pure, so unrestrained that no amount of time would ever be able to sooth his raging torment of loathing. It wasn't the pain. No, he had felt just as much before. it also was not the traps. Itzal always used traps, they were clever and painful. Mike could understand that.
No. What really pissed him off was that everyone was underestimating him. THey feared the vectors and the guns instead of the true monster. He gritted his teeth and fought past the pain. He erased all unnecessary thought and focused simply on the anger and rage. It filled him, crashing through his body like a tsunami. He ignored the flames and allowed them, in their brief existance, to wash over him. Instead, he focused on his mangled leg. The block wasn't flat, the bones weren't just crushed, they were shattered by the spikes. Even if he moved the block the leg would just weigh him down.
So Mike amputed it. In one clean swipe, the vector tore through flesh and bone and muscle. The limb seperated him, and he pushed himself a few feet to the side, rolling. The pain was intense, more so, it was excrusiating. However, it was like fuel to the fire burning withim him. He raised himself on his good right leg, using his left vector as a substitute for his missing limb and stood.
He quickly turned and faced where Whit was hiding. Mike could faintly see the outline of the circle. 'So thats it huh. Hiding. I have one trick of my own you devious basterd'
Mike propelled himself as far as his vectors would allow, blood streaming out of his stub as he moved through the air. Whit prepared the whitout for another streak, but Mike intervened. He reached around to his shoulder and tore the coat from his back, throwing it into Whit's path. From the point in the floor, Whit could not see any traps, the coat covared the whole middle of the circle. Without spikking a move, a bullets tore through the jacket, and skimmed into the space Whit occupied. One streaked past his hand, leaving a small gash and causing him to drop the whiteout. Another skimmed his side. The coat fell, and so did Mike. He crashed to the floor painfully, gasping out in pain.
"I hope that hurt fucker! I got more waiting for ya! Come up here and dance, or so help me i'll rip your heart out and eat it!"
Empty threats. Mike could do little more at this point. He didn't know whoat Zeke had lined up. If Itzal moved before he did, Mike would probably end up locked away again. Again. Just like those filthy humans had tried to do. 'Well' Mime mused, 'Lets see him try. I'll die before the day I'll get captured. That I promise'
Mike was angry. An anger so pure, so unrestrained that no amount of time would ever be able to sooth his raging torment of loathing. It wasn't the pain. No, he had felt just as much before. it also was not the traps. Itzal always used traps, they were clever and painful. Mike could understand that.
No. What really pissed him off was that everyone was underestimating him. THey feared the vectors and the guns instead of the true monster. He gritted his teeth and fought past the pain. He erased all unnecessary thought and focused simply on the anger and rage. It filled him, crashing through his body like a tsunami. He ignored the flames and allowed them, in their brief existance, to wash over him. Instead, he focused on his mangled leg. The block wasn't flat, the bones weren't just crushed, they were shattered by the spikes. Even if he moved the block the leg would just weigh him down.
So Mike amputed it. In one clean swipe, the vector tore through flesh and bone and muscle. The limb seperated him, and he pushed himself a few feet to the side, rolling. The pain was intense, more so, it was excrusiating. However, it was like fuel to the fire burning withim him. He raised himself on his good right leg, using his left vector as a substitute for his missing limb and stood.
He quickly turned and faced where Whit was hiding. Mike could faintly see the outline of the circle. 'So thats it huh. Hiding. I have one trick of my own you devious basterd'
Mike propelled himself as far as his vectors would allow, blood streaming out of his stub as he moved through the air. Whit prepared the whitout for another streak, but Mike intervened. He reached around to his shoulder and tore the coat from his back, throwing it into Whit's path. From the point in the floor, Whit could not see any traps, the coat covared the whole middle of the circle. Without spikking a move, a bullets tore through the jacket, and skimmed into the space Whit occupied. One streaked past his hand, leaving a small gash and causing him to drop the whiteout. Another skimmed his side. The coat fell, and so did Mike. He crashed to the floor painfully, gasping out in pain.
"I hope that hurt fucker! I got more waiting for ya! Come up here and dance, or so help me i'll rip your heart out and eat it!"
Empty threats. Mike could do little more at this point. He didn't know whoat Zeke had lined up. If Itzal moved before he did, Mike would probably end up locked away again. Again. Just like those filthy humans had tried to do. 'Well' Mime mused, 'Lets see him try. I'll die before the day I'll get captured. That I promise'
Spoiler