Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 2: The Museum]
08-14-2010, 12:39 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.
“You could have warned me you had an overactive imagination,” grumbled Pluck. “See if I ever use you to summon anything again.”
They passed what looked at a glance like a plexiglass cell dominated by a set of spindly metal arms hanging from a disc mounted on the ceiling. Another animatronic was strapped to a stainless steel table inside, his screams muffled by the plastic walls.
“Can't you materialize a carcass or something, to distract the bugs?!”
“I'd just have to dispel it eventually, like with the juice. Then they'd just go back to chasing us. It wouldn't work; Just keep running!”
Something sparked in the werewolf's eye. “We don't have to!”
“Uh, yes we do,” Algernon insisted . “There's a swarm of bugs and the Grim Reaper after us, and, thanks to you, there's some some sort of Bug-slash-Grim Reaper now, too.”
“That was your fault. Now stop whining and distract the glass reaper. I have an idea.”
Pluck skidded to a halt and turned to face the rampaging insects, headed by the glass exoskeletal reaper. “You're insane,” grumbled Algernon, but he turned and drew his newly-made whip, for lack of a better weapon. As the glass reaper approached, raising its scythe, he cracked the whip clumsily against the floor. It was little better than a piece of rope in Algernon's untrained hands, but it was enough to make the the reaper hesitantly drift just a little out of range of the wild swing. Algernon tugged at the whip, reeling it back in for another strike.
The more he saw of that swarm of bugs, the more obvious it was that it had a one-track mind. All it cared about was eating anything and everything that moves. Even each other.
Disgusting, Pluck thought, just before emptying his mind and reaching out to the collective consciousness of the swarm of bugs. But it did have its advantages. If Algernon couldn't materialize something to sate Ouroborous, Pluck would just use what Ouroborous was always thinking of.
Even if he couldn't read thoughts, the effort of reaching out to tens of thousands of minds all at once, each one with very slightly different thoughts from the last, hit Pluck like a wall. But they were just similar enough; there was one image that was just barely there, bits and pieces of it in every mind at once. It was as if he could reach out and touch it, but not feel it, like the imagined object itself was blurry -
Pluck's head cleared, and his eyes drifted back into focus.
For a long moment, two identical Plucks stared blankly back at each other, one on his hind paws, the other half-sprawled on the floor and staring up at him. His leg was broken below the knee, and twisted backwards at a sickening angle. The Pluck on the floor winced, pulling his leg into a sitting position. “What's- ?”
He was cut off by his own screaming, as mandibles clamped around his wrist, spraying blood. All around him, papery wings fluttered and appendages tangled together in a jagged, writhing mass. Pluck cried out and tried to tear it away, but the Ouroborite held fast, raking a claw across his arm as it tried to hold on. Another of the insects slammed into his upper back, screeching in his ear and scrabbling at his shoulder. Pluck was knocked off-balance and pitched forward, crashing on the tiled floor to a further crack of his leg. A razor-sharp proboscis grazed the side of Pluck's muzzle, carving away the flesh along the side of his face. Drawn to the smell of sweat and clotted blood, three more voracious jaws made it to Pluck's leg before their comrades, shredding his calf muscle in a frenzy. Pluck howled in fear and agony, the torn half of his face splitting open a little more. A barbed tail shaved across his flank, and more Ouroborites lunged for the fresh wounds. A quivering, twitching hand slid against the smooth tiled floor, trying to grip and pull free as a set of mandibles snapped shut around his skull.
Blood pooled on the floor, stretching through each thin gap between the milky-white tiles and forming a ruby-colored grid. As the tip of one line reached Pluck's feet, he wiped the vomit from his mouth and turned, breaking into a stumbling run. Algernon's cries of protest were drowned out by Ouroborous's triumphant collective shriek.
“You could have warned me you had an overactive imagination,” grumbled Pluck. “See if I ever use you to summon anything again.”
They passed what looked at a glance like a plexiglass cell dominated by a set of spindly metal arms hanging from a disc mounted on the ceiling. Another animatronic was strapped to a stainless steel table inside, his screams muffled by the plastic walls.
“Can't you materialize a carcass or something, to distract the bugs?!”
“I'd just have to dispel it eventually, like with the juice. Then they'd just go back to chasing us. It wouldn't work; Just keep running!”
Something sparked in the werewolf's eye. “We don't have to!”
“Uh, yes we do,” Algernon insisted . “There's a swarm of bugs and the Grim Reaper after us, and, thanks to you, there's some some sort of Bug-slash-Grim Reaper now, too.”
“That was your fault. Now stop whining and distract the glass reaper. I have an idea.”
Pluck skidded to a halt and turned to face the rampaging insects, headed by the glass exoskeletal reaper. “You're insane,” grumbled Algernon, but he turned and drew his newly-made whip, for lack of a better weapon. As the glass reaper approached, raising its scythe, he cracked the whip clumsily against the floor. It was little better than a piece of rope in Algernon's untrained hands, but it was enough to make the the reaper hesitantly drift just a little out of range of the wild swing. Algernon tugged at the whip, reeling it back in for another strike.
The more he saw of that swarm of bugs, the more obvious it was that it had a one-track mind. All it cared about was eating anything and everything that moves. Even each other.
Disgusting, Pluck thought, just before emptying his mind and reaching out to the collective consciousness of the swarm of bugs. But it did have its advantages. If Algernon couldn't materialize something to sate Ouroborous, Pluck would just use what Ouroborous was always thinking of.
Even if he couldn't read thoughts, the effort of reaching out to tens of thousands of minds all at once, each one with very slightly different thoughts from the last, hit Pluck like a wall. But they were just similar enough; there was one image that was just barely there, bits and pieces of it in every mind at once. It was as if he could reach out and touch it, but not feel it, like the imagined object itself was blurry -
Pluck's head cleared, and his eyes drifted back into focus.
For a long moment, two identical Plucks stared blankly back at each other, one on his hind paws, the other half-sprawled on the floor and staring up at him. His leg was broken below the knee, and twisted backwards at a sickening angle. The Pluck on the floor winced, pulling his leg into a sitting position. “What's- ?”
He was cut off by his own screaming, as mandibles clamped around his wrist, spraying blood. All around him, papery wings fluttered and appendages tangled together in a jagged, writhing mass. Pluck cried out and tried to tear it away, but the Ouroborite held fast, raking a claw across his arm as it tried to hold on. Another of the insects slammed into his upper back, screeching in his ear and scrabbling at his shoulder. Pluck was knocked off-balance and pitched forward, crashing on the tiled floor to a further crack of his leg. A razor-sharp proboscis grazed the side of Pluck's muzzle, carving away the flesh along the side of his face. Drawn to the smell of sweat and clotted blood, three more voracious jaws made it to Pluck's leg before their comrades, shredding his calf muscle in a frenzy. Pluck howled in fear and agony, the torn half of his face splitting open a little more. A barbed tail shaved across his flank, and more Ouroborites lunged for the fresh wounds. A quivering, twitching hand slid against the smooth tiled floor, trying to grip and pull free as a set of mandibles snapped shut around his skull.
Blood pooled on the floor, stretching through each thin gap between the milky-white tiles and forming a ruby-colored grid. As the tip of one line reached Pluck's feet, he wiped the vomit from his mouth and turned, breaking into a stumbling run. Algernon's cries of protest were drowned out by Ouroborous's triumphant collective shriek.