Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 2: The Museum]
07-11-2010, 02:17 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
Around the contestants, the school began to dissolve. It didn't pass simultaneously- bits and pieces began to fade out individually, walls vanishing in sections to reveal the dim light of the Controller's vast, metallic plane. Despite their relative locations in the school, the remaining contestants found themselves back in their original rings, arrayed in an arc centring on the Controller's chair.
The Controller's empty chair.
Their tormentor was nowhere to be seen- the contestants looked around, but other than the chair, the rings, and themselves, the plane seemed entirely empty, stretching off into the darkness.
For a while, they simply stood there. Oddly, they felt no need or desire to communicate with one other, just a sort of dull apathy that hung over them like a cloud.
After about five minutes, a pair of doors appeared, materializing off to one side. They weren't anything fancy, really- just a set of wooden, pale-blue doors, set in a free-standing frame. Their handles were the bronze, flat kind often found in upscale hotels, and a sign on one indicated that they led to Ballroom 5.
A dull, thumping bass could be heard, and as the nearer of the two doors opened, a great rush of sound flowed through. It took a second for the contestants to comprehend it, their minds sorting through the multitude of sounds, but they eventually realized what it was- music.
It flowed around them, surging into their minds and souls in a way none had ever felt before. It was a composition of such depth and breadth that it made them feel complete, filling them with a sensation of pure, concentrated life.
Their ecstasy was such that they were only idly interested in the figure who walked through the opened door. They idly observed his aviator shades, his beard, and his navy blue shirt, but they just didn't pay attention to the man as a whole. It wasn't until he'd nearly reached the chair that they actually realized what they were seeing.
Sir Arnold Scarlet flicked a casual hand at the door. It slammed shut, cutting off the music entirely. The feeling of excessive, wonderful life was jerked from the group as it did, and they crashed down from the musical high hard, almost painfully. As one, they slumped inward, depression and hopelessness weighing down on them.
Arnold didn't pay attention to them; humming an echo of the soul-filling tune, he just set a small envelope down on one arm of his chair and tapped a few commands into a keyboard. After a brief delay, he smiled, sighed to himself, and flopped down into the chair.
The unmistakable crunch-squelch of a knife burying itself in human flesh brought silence to the plane. The contestants froze. A heartbeat later, Arnold simply chuckled, leaning forward. He reached around behind himself and, with another sickening noise, extracted a knife from his back. Its handle curved back on itself in an elegant spiral, and its blade was ornately carved with swirling runes and figures.
He admired it for a moment before hooking it over a hanging cable and turning his attention to the group. He leaned forward a bit, steepling his fingers and surveying the contestants.
"So, that's one round down." His voice was entirely the Controller's, and by now his posture and mannerisms left no question as to who they were looking at. "Any thoughts?"
The seven beings just stared back at him.
Their reaction apparently confused the Grandmaster- he cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. Then, a moment later, he snapped his fingers as realization struck. "Ah, right. The outfit. I'd almost forgotten." He chucked a bit and took off his shades, wiping them on his shirt.
Arnold's eyes stared out at them, stretched wide in horror. The knight was screaming as much as he could, his eyes his only outlet for the pain and terror he felt. The rest of his body may have belonged to the Controller, but he still had his eyes.
After thoroughly cleaning the sunglasses, the Controller replaced them and stood. He walked over to one of the circles, Holly's, and leaned close to examine the elf. He lingered for several seconds before moving on to the next one, repeating the process until he reached Algernon at the far end. The young man was tensed to run with nowhere to go, and as the Controller leaned forward, he leaned back.
After a few seconds, the Controller spoke, cruel irony filling his voice. "Am I disturbing you, Algernon? Does my use of this man's body cause you distress?"
The boy didn't respond; he just stared back, eyes widened in an echo of Arnold's.
The Controller tsked to himself. "Well, we can't have that." He straightened back up, automatically straightening his shirt as he did. He reached up to his head-
And tore it open. He pulled off Arnold's face like a mask, the rest of his body following. The knight's flesh fell to the floor, torn off and tossed into a pile. All that remained where the man had stood was a skeleton, wreathed in a blue, flickering glow, its bones connected by arcs of electricity. Its eyes, two pinpricks of blue-white light, stared at Algernon once more. "Is that better?"
The skeleton examined the boy for a moment longer before turning and walking back to its chair. It reached over to a recessed set of switches and flipped a pair, and his original form flickered back into existence around him.
"Now," he said, taking his seat before the seven, "I have another arena for you. Throughout history, the multiverse has seen a multitude of beings skilled in the art of pain. To honour their talents, I have constructed a... monument, of sorts. A museum, cataloguing some of the most talented beings ever to exist. I think you will find it quite interesting."
The seven remaining beings faded away, sent off to their next arena, and the Controller turned his attention to other business. He picked up the letter he'd brought back with him. He'd been rudely interrupted in Ballroom 5 by a robed figure, who had simply handed it to him and left.
He turned it over in his hands; it was old, faded, and worn, and it bore the words 'Only for the eyes of the most sadistic of the Grandmasters' on its front.
After looking at it for a little longer, he broke the wax seal and unfolded it.
The note contained a warning. The escapee's pursuer was closing in, and the inevitable confrontation was fast approaching.
The Controller frowned at it. Despite the odd wording, he knew what it meant, and the thought made him extremely uncomfortable. Aside from that, though, there was something else- It reminded him of something he'd once read. He tapped a few keys and brought up a file on one of the displays, taken from a repository of top-secret documents.
One of his other displays flickered, its status screen replaced by an image of the Monitor. "Controller," he said, "do you have a moment to converse?"
The Controller turned to the other screen. "Ah, Monitor, what a pleasant surprise. I was just reading over a potential entrant for your upcoming battle."
"If you wish to enter a being, you can do so through the appropriate channels when the time comes."
"No, that's not likely. This being is out of even our rather extensive reaches."
The Monitor paused a moment before responding. "...What do you mean?"
"He's a fictional character." The Controller tapped a few keys. "I'm sending you a description. It's a shame, really- I would quite enjoy seeing him in action, but even I am powerless to obtain him. Ah, well. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Ah, yes. I have compiled a list of potential arenas, and I would be interested in your opinion on their suitability."
The Controller shifted a bit, settling in. "Certainly." He glanced over to the pile of Arnold on the floor, which was slowly reforming. "I've got some time available."
"Excellent. I'm sending the first set now..."
The seven remaining contestants found themselves alone once more, scattered around the museum. It was a high-ceilinged place, vaguely reminiscent of a warehouse. Had the many free-standing displays not blocked their view, the beings might have noticed that there weren't any walls holding up the ceiling. As it was, they were distracted by the displays themselves. Many were depictions of scenes of brutality or implements of torture, and a few featured life-size replicas of historical figures. Were it not for the focus of the place, it might have made an excellent field trip. The displays spared no detail, however; is was clearly not a place intended for children.
Around the contestants, the school began to dissolve. It didn't pass simultaneously- bits and pieces began to fade out individually, walls vanishing in sections to reveal the dim light of the Controller's vast, metallic plane. Despite their relative locations in the school, the remaining contestants found themselves back in their original rings, arrayed in an arc centring on the Controller's chair.
The Controller's empty chair.
Their tormentor was nowhere to be seen- the contestants looked around, but other than the chair, the rings, and themselves, the plane seemed entirely empty, stretching off into the darkness.
For a while, they simply stood there. Oddly, they felt no need or desire to communicate with one other, just a sort of dull apathy that hung over them like a cloud.
After about five minutes, a pair of doors appeared, materializing off to one side. They weren't anything fancy, really- just a set of wooden, pale-blue doors, set in a free-standing frame. Their handles were the bronze, flat kind often found in upscale hotels, and a sign on one indicated that they led to Ballroom 5.
A dull, thumping bass could be heard, and as the nearer of the two doors opened, a great rush of sound flowed through. It took a second for the contestants to comprehend it, their minds sorting through the multitude of sounds, but they eventually realized what it was- music.
It flowed around them, surging into their minds and souls in a way none had ever felt before. It was a composition of such depth and breadth that it made them feel complete, filling them with a sensation of pure, concentrated life.
Their ecstasy was such that they were only idly interested in the figure who walked through the opened door. They idly observed his aviator shades, his beard, and his navy blue shirt, but they just didn't pay attention to the man as a whole. It wasn't until he'd nearly reached the chair that they actually realized what they were seeing.
Sir Arnold Scarlet flicked a casual hand at the door. It slammed shut, cutting off the music entirely. The feeling of excessive, wonderful life was jerked from the group as it did, and they crashed down from the musical high hard, almost painfully. As one, they slumped inward, depression and hopelessness weighing down on them.
Arnold didn't pay attention to them; humming an echo of the soul-filling tune, he just set a small envelope down on one arm of his chair and tapped a few commands into a keyboard. After a brief delay, he smiled, sighed to himself, and flopped down into the chair.
The unmistakable crunch-squelch of a knife burying itself in human flesh brought silence to the plane. The contestants froze. A heartbeat later, Arnold simply chuckled, leaning forward. He reached around behind himself and, with another sickening noise, extracted a knife from his back. Its handle curved back on itself in an elegant spiral, and its blade was ornately carved with swirling runes and figures.
He admired it for a moment before hooking it over a hanging cable and turning his attention to the group. He leaned forward a bit, steepling his fingers and surveying the contestants.
"So, that's one round down." His voice was entirely the Controller's, and by now his posture and mannerisms left no question as to who they were looking at. "Any thoughts?"
The seven beings just stared back at him.
Their reaction apparently confused the Grandmaster- he cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. Then, a moment later, he snapped his fingers as realization struck. "Ah, right. The outfit. I'd almost forgotten." He chucked a bit and took off his shades, wiping them on his shirt.
Arnold's eyes stared out at them, stretched wide in horror. The knight was screaming as much as he could, his eyes his only outlet for the pain and terror he felt. The rest of his body may have belonged to the Controller, but he still had his eyes.
After thoroughly cleaning the sunglasses, the Controller replaced them and stood. He walked over to one of the circles, Holly's, and leaned close to examine the elf. He lingered for several seconds before moving on to the next one, repeating the process until he reached Algernon at the far end. The young man was tensed to run with nowhere to go, and as the Controller leaned forward, he leaned back.
After a few seconds, the Controller spoke, cruel irony filling his voice. "Am I disturbing you, Algernon? Does my use of this man's body cause you distress?"
The boy didn't respond; he just stared back, eyes widened in an echo of Arnold's.
The Controller tsked to himself. "Well, we can't have that." He straightened back up, automatically straightening his shirt as he did. He reached up to his head-
And tore it open. He pulled off Arnold's face like a mask, the rest of his body following. The knight's flesh fell to the floor, torn off and tossed into a pile. All that remained where the man had stood was a skeleton, wreathed in a blue, flickering glow, its bones connected by arcs of electricity. Its eyes, two pinpricks of blue-white light, stared at Algernon once more. "Is that better?"
The skeleton examined the boy for a moment longer before turning and walking back to its chair. It reached over to a recessed set of switches and flipped a pair, and his original form flickered back into existence around him.
"Now," he said, taking his seat before the seven, "I have another arena for you. Throughout history, the multiverse has seen a multitude of beings skilled in the art of pain. To honour their talents, I have constructed a... monument, of sorts. A museum, cataloguing some of the most talented beings ever to exist. I think you will find it quite interesting."
The seven remaining beings faded away, sent off to their next arena, and the Controller turned his attention to other business. He picked up the letter he'd brought back with him. He'd been rudely interrupted in Ballroom 5 by a robed figure, who had simply handed it to him and left.
He turned it over in his hands; it was old, faded, and worn, and it bore the words 'Only for the eyes of the most sadistic of the Grandmasters' on its front.
After looking at it for a little longer, he broke the wax seal and unfolded it.
The note contained a warning. The escapee's pursuer was closing in, and the inevitable confrontation was fast approaching.
The Controller frowned at it. Despite the odd wording, he knew what it meant, and the thought made him extremely uncomfortable. Aside from that, though, there was something else- It reminded him of something he'd once read. He tapped a few keys and brought up a file on one of the displays, taken from a repository of top-secret documents.
One of his other displays flickered, its status screen replaced by an image of the Monitor. "Controller," he said, "do you have a moment to converse?"
The Controller turned to the other screen. "Ah, Monitor, what a pleasant surprise. I was just reading over a potential entrant for your upcoming battle."
"If you wish to enter a being, you can do so through the appropriate channels when the time comes."
"No, that's not likely. This being is out of even our rather extensive reaches."
The Monitor paused a moment before responding. "...What do you mean?"
"He's a fictional character." The Controller tapped a few keys. "I'm sending you a description. It's a shame, really- I would quite enjoy seeing him in action, but even I am powerless to obtain him. Ah, well. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Ah, yes. I have compiled a list of potential arenas, and I would be interested in your opinion on their suitability."
The Controller shifted a bit, settling in. "Certainly." He glanced over to the pile of Arnold on the floor, which was slowly reforming. "I've got some time available."
"Excellent. I'm sending the first set now..."
The seven remaining contestants found themselves alone once more, scattered around the museum. It was a high-ceilinged place, vaguely reminiscent of a warehouse. Had the many free-standing displays not blocked their view, the beings might have noticed that there weren't any walls holding up the ceiling. As it was, they were distracted by the displays themselves. Many were depictions of scenes of brutality or implements of torture, and a few featured life-size replicas of historical figures. Were it not for the focus of the place, it might have made an excellent field trip. The displays spared no detail, however; is was clearly not a place intended for children.