Re: The Great Belligerency [Round 3: Eternity Plateau]
05-05-2012, 10:13 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
Scavengers flocked forth, eager for the feast of rotting on bloodied plains. This description was unfortunately vague as the Eternity was permanently and irreversibly damaged. The altered flux of these plateaus rippled through the surroundings - and the native beings. Crows became corpses. Corpses became crows. It did not matter - the distinction was degenerating into pure nonsense. Yet, heat of the battle was still on
especially between those two.
”You.” The God of Balance glowered, his divine frown as steep as his power was godly. Seeing Phil’s full gear was enough to send the metaphysical entity into a simmering rage - especially after that inconvenience at New Shambhala. The God was not quite forgiving of the suited soldier’s antics in the now-destroyed utopia plus - look at what he had done to his side. He was determined to dish out punishment just as harsh as his scriptures claimed.
“Uh, yeah?” Phil on the other hand was slightly disappointed. The mercenary did not feel particularly attached to his peasantfolk underlings, their sad reminders of viscera and organs smudged on the semi-grassy ground. Phil was born (more like trained and technologically tweaked) to fight armies, and these people were not. Phil was more disappointed that among all the things he could fight, it was that goddamned Balance.
“Yes, you.” The San Andreas Fault that was Balance’s brow deepened into the Mariana Trench. How should he count the ways? If this was a mundane court so esteemed by the prosaic mortals, Phil would have so many violations that he would be deemed for life imprisonment. Unfortunately, Phils’ crimes were large - too large for any court. The dichotomy of the futuristic soldier’s offenses and (nonexistent) kindness was too large. The God was determined to balance Phil with punishment -
- and that punishment would be death.
“I suggest you surrender, Girnham,” Balance ambled forth menacingly Phil-wards. “Your cessation would be admirable and be accounted for in scriptures and the restoration of equilibrium.”
Phil was not exactly the type of person to mince words, but he realized despite all the euphemisms layered upon his opponent’s offerings, the God wanted him dead. The military man was not too keen on being dead today. His answer was a very definite “no.”
“And so shall it be,” Balance intoned as he practically disappeared into thin air. Phil readied himself into battle position. Gods were mysterious beings. Phil hated mysterious beings who were especially his opponents. Sneakery merely prolonged battles which served to annoy the soldier to no end. He was even more annoyed when Balance swung a sword at his head.
Clever, Phil grumbled. The mercenary had to give him some points on that - coming up that close - an obvious maneuver to take advantage of his ranged weaponry, but Phil knew that. Moving fluidly, Phil took a step back, blocking the primitive blade with his multiweapon.
An uncomfortable shower of sparks rained on Balance, causing the god to bellow out in agony. Phil highly doubted that was enough to bring down the squirming entity - the soldier needed to change things up a bit. Phil walked to the god, swapping his prototype for a much more appropriate weapon.
Balance violently rubbed his face in an attempt to remove the pain. Phil had caught him off-guard. Phil had hurt him, a judge, an arbiter of balance. The God was not one for anger but he felt an acrimonious hatred for that man.Balance cursed Phil in his head. Blasphemous. That thought was further reinforced by a bat-wielding figure above him.
Balance frowned.
Phil swung, feeling the bat making contact with Balance’s godly face. After making sure his swinging arm was still good, Phil looked just so he could see how messed up the deity was. To his satisfaction, there was a significant pool of red on the ground.
- then uncertainty welled in. This was too easy - simply too easy. Phil was always a bit ambivalent on the state of easiness. The soldier shuffled in place. There was something suspicious going on -
- and that suspicion was reinforced by a slam on the side.
“Shit!” Phil swore His precious multiweapon soared through the air and landed unceremoniously on a pile of what-was-probably corpses. Phil would have lamented the loss, but he was too busy avoiding Balance’s sword.
“I suggest you yield.” Balance took a step forward. “Any more resistance will make this even more painful.”
Of course, the man was not going to take any of this (Phil was never one for surrendering - and besides, his life was on a line). Phil dodged. Balance swung. He ducked. He stabbed. The battle deteriorated into a dance of give-and-take, cat-and-mouse. Eventually, Balance’s sword on Phil’s force field. Phil wondered how long his defense would last.
To his dismay, the sword sliced through.
Phil felt the brunt of the the sword on his left shoulder. The force was so strong that the soldier swore he might have gotten bruised. The mercenary fell backwards onto the ground, cursing the god’s cheating. As the HUD focused into view, Phil cursed even more as he saw that visage of Balance sword, in hand, ready to make steak tartare out of him.
Phil looked up at his opponent. The god looked as how a person hit squared in the face with a bat might expect. Balance’s eyes were furious red dots - his face contorted to a snarl. If the soldier were to succinctly sum up the God’s appearance, they would be “deranged” and “psychotic.”
Deranged? Psychotic? Oh no. Balance was totally perfectly fine, he would say. Yes he was totally fine, juuuuuuuuuust fine. A little lovely stream of godly blood dribbled down his lip, clenched so violently by his teeth. Just need to impress mother just needed to end this man’s life oh how mother would be so proud.
“So very proud,” Balance whispered.
“What?!” Phil blurted. He was a bit confused by this random phrase.
“DO NOT INSULT MOTHER,” Balance screeched as he brought the sword down on Phil’s head.
Involuntarily, Phil brought up his arms, waiting for that impending slam. Unbeknownst to the soldier (and the furious god), science was at his side. Newtonian physics decreed that force equals mass times acceleration. Balance tweaked the acceleration portion to slice through the impregnable force field. However, the god’s abilities decreed that equilibrium must be restored. To Phil’s surprise, the sword bent outwards as soon as it hit his arm.
Balance was perturbed.
Phil, however, took full advantage of this pleasant opportunity. He pulled the sword from Balance’s relaxed grasp, tying the flexible blade into knots (plus a couple more - in spite). Confidently tossing the useless sword over his shoulder, Phil faced Balance-wards, making the smuggest smile he could under his helmet. The soldier was prepared to give Balance the beating of his immortal lifetime...he just needed a good enough opening before whaling on the god.
"Nice try, Balance." Phil smirked.
The god merely grumbled in return, but the mercenary did not care.
“But it's never a fair fight if I'm in it."
Balance suddenly found himself being drop-kicked by a space marine.
Cole was not having a good time - especially with a horse trying to play jockey with him. Even with that heavy equine attempting a reversal of roles on him, the man (well, what remained of him inside the swarm) realized that there were problems much bigger than the load on his back.
Animals changed into plants and back. Predator and prey ate each other. Heights shortened and lengthen. Just looking at these rapid transmutations were enough to make the bug-man’s head swim - and to remind him to get to the beacon soon.
Scavengers flocked forth, eager for the feast of rotting on bloodied plains. This description was unfortunately vague as the Eternity was permanently and irreversibly damaged. The altered flux of these plateaus rippled through the surroundings - and the native beings. Crows became corpses. Corpses became crows. It did not matter - the distinction was degenerating into pure nonsense. Yet, heat of the battle was still on
especially between those two.
***
Upon the dredges of the dead, god and mortal faced off - Phil with his technology; Balance with his scales - both ignorant of the flickering transmutations of their environment. Despite the severe difference of their capabilities, the contempt they shot at each other was very, very balanced.”You.” The God of Balance glowered, his divine frown as steep as his power was godly. Seeing Phil’s full gear was enough to send the metaphysical entity into a simmering rage - especially after that inconvenience at New Shambhala. The God was not quite forgiving of the suited soldier’s antics in the now-destroyed utopia plus - look at what he had done to his side. He was determined to dish out punishment just as harsh as his scriptures claimed.
“Uh, yeah?” Phil on the other hand was slightly disappointed. The mercenary did not feel particularly attached to his peasantfolk underlings, their sad reminders of viscera and organs smudged on the semi-grassy ground. Phil was born (more like trained and technologically tweaked) to fight armies, and these people were not. Phil was more disappointed that among all the things he could fight, it was that goddamned Balance.
“Yes, you.” The San Andreas Fault that was Balance’s brow deepened into the Mariana Trench. How should he count the ways? If this was a mundane court so esteemed by the prosaic mortals, Phil would have so many violations that he would be deemed for life imprisonment. Unfortunately, Phils’ crimes were large - too large for any court. The dichotomy of the futuristic soldier’s offenses and (nonexistent) kindness was too large. The God was determined to balance Phil with punishment -
- and that punishment would be death.
“I suggest you surrender, Girnham,” Balance ambled forth menacingly Phil-wards. “Your cessation would be admirable and be accounted for in scriptures and the restoration of equilibrium.”
Phil was not exactly the type of person to mince words, but he realized despite all the euphemisms layered upon his opponent’s offerings, the God wanted him dead. The military man was not too keen on being dead today. His answer was a very definite “no.”
“And so shall it be,” Balance intoned as he practically disappeared into thin air. Phil readied himself into battle position. Gods were mysterious beings. Phil hated mysterious beings who were especially his opponents. Sneakery merely prolonged battles which served to annoy the soldier to no end. He was even more annoyed when Balance swung a sword at his head.
Clever, Phil grumbled. The mercenary had to give him some points on that - coming up that close - an obvious maneuver to take advantage of his ranged weaponry, but Phil knew that. Moving fluidly, Phil took a step back, blocking the primitive blade with his multiweapon.
An uncomfortable shower of sparks rained on Balance, causing the god to bellow out in agony. Phil highly doubted that was enough to bring down the squirming entity - the soldier needed to change things up a bit. Phil walked to the god, swapping his prototype for a much more appropriate weapon.
Balance violently rubbed his face in an attempt to remove the pain. Phil had caught him off-guard. Phil had hurt him, a judge, an arbiter of balance. The God was not one for anger but he felt an acrimonious hatred for that man.Balance cursed Phil in his head. Blasphemous. That thought was further reinforced by a bat-wielding figure above him.
Balance frowned.
***
Phil swung, feeling the bat making contact with Balance’s godly face. After making sure his swinging arm was still good, Phil looked just so he could see how messed up the deity was. To his satisfaction, there was a significant pool of red on the ground.
- then uncertainty welled in. This was too easy - simply too easy. Phil was always a bit ambivalent on the state of easiness. The soldier shuffled in place. There was something suspicious going on -
- and that suspicion was reinforced by a slam on the side.
“Shit!” Phil swore His precious multiweapon soared through the air and landed unceremoniously on a pile of what-was-probably corpses. Phil would have lamented the loss, but he was too busy avoiding Balance’s sword.
“I suggest you yield.” Balance took a step forward. “Any more resistance will make this even more painful.”
Of course, the man was not going to take any of this (Phil was never one for surrendering - and besides, his life was on a line). Phil dodged. Balance swung. He ducked. He stabbed. The battle deteriorated into a dance of give-and-take, cat-and-mouse. Eventually, Balance’s sword on Phil’s force field. Phil wondered how long his defense would last.
To his dismay, the sword sliced through.
Phil felt the brunt of the the sword on his left shoulder. The force was so strong that the soldier swore he might have gotten bruised. The mercenary fell backwards onto the ground, cursing the god’s cheating. As the HUD focused into view, Phil cursed even more as he saw that visage of Balance sword, in hand, ready to make steak tartare out of him.
Phil looked up at his opponent. The god looked as how a person hit squared in the face with a bat might expect. Balance’s eyes were furious red dots - his face contorted to a snarl. If the soldier were to succinctly sum up the God’s appearance, they would be “deranged” and “psychotic.”
Deranged? Psychotic? Oh no. Balance was totally perfectly fine, he would say. Yes he was totally fine, juuuuuuuuuust fine. A little lovely stream of godly blood dribbled down his lip, clenched so violently by his teeth. Just need to impress mother just needed to end this man’s life oh how mother would be so proud.
“So very proud,” Balance whispered.
“What?!” Phil blurted. He was a bit confused by this random phrase.
“DO NOT INSULT MOTHER,” Balance screeched as he brought the sword down on Phil’s head.
Involuntarily, Phil brought up his arms, waiting for that impending slam. Unbeknownst to the soldier (and the furious god), science was at his side. Newtonian physics decreed that force equals mass times acceleration. Balance tweaked the acceleration portion to slice through the impregnable force field. However, the god’s abilities decreed that equilibrium must be restored. To Phil’s surprise, the sword bent outwards as soon as it hit his arm.
Balance was perturbed.
Phil, however, took full advantage of this pleasant opportunity. He pulled the sword from Balance’s relaxed grasp, tying the flexible blade into knots (plus a couple more - in spite). Confidently tossing the useless sword over his shoulder, Phil faced Balance-wards, making the smuggest smile he could under his helmet. The soldier was prepared to give Balance the beating of his immortal lifetime...he just needed a good enough opening before whaling on the god.
"Nice try, Balance." Phil smirked.
The god merely grumbled in return, but the mercenary did not care.
“But it's never a fair fight if I'm in it."
Balance suddenly found himself being drop-kicked by a space marine.
***
As the battle degenerated into fistcuffs, the peculiarities of the Plateau had, to put lightly, gotten worse. As Balance was a god, his influence on even the most static of universes was profound - his energies involuntarily attempting to balance the wrongs everywhere. Unfortunately for the deity, this proved to make things worse. His personal imbalance intermingled with these rules of these plains resulting in an utterly incomprehensible metaphysical slurry, making further equilibrium impossible.Cole was not having a good time - especially with a horse trying to play jockey with him. Even with that heavy equine attempting a reversal of roles on him, the man (well, what remained of him inside the swarm) realized that there were problems much bigger than the load on his back.
Animals changed into plants and back. Predator and prey ate each other. Heights shortened and lengthen. Just looking at these rapid transmutations were enough to make the bug-man’s head swim - and to remind him to get to the beacon soon.