Re: The Great Belligerency [Round 3: Eternity Plateau]
06-06-2012, 09:19 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
The mountain of fluctuating corpses, the background terrain, creatures swarming all over - the sheer sight of this terrifying beauty was something to record into historical documents and/or cut-rate fantasy novella catering to the gothic masses. This was the perfect place to have a majestic showdown, well would be majestic if the close-contact combat did not practically ruin the atmosphere.
“Let me go, you heathen.” Balance growled. It was pretty amazing he could talk given the state of his face. The divine entity always thought himself to be omnipotent, capable of anything a lowly creature can and cannot do. However, through a humiliating entanglement of limbs, Balance realized he was not as godly as he would like to be, especially since he apparently had the constitution of an asthmatic carrot. Why was it so difficult. He found it difficult to wriggle out of the marine’s augmented grip. Why. Balance hated it. He hated it so much.
<font color="#006600">“No you let me go firs--AUGH.” Phil suddenly found his retort interrupted by a heavy smack on the head. Phil was incensed at this attack, like many other things on his hate-list. “Fuck yo--.”
“Argh,” Balance gagged on the blood welling in his throat. He swore the blow on his chest was probably the most painful thing he’d felt in his entire metaphysical existence. In distressed retaliation, he desperately clawed at Phil’s helmet, leaving irritating scratches on the opponent’s visor.
“Watch it,” the soldier snarled as he yanked the offending limb off his face. “It costs a fortune to completely fix t-” The god did not even let him finish as he gave his side a kick.
“Ugh,” Balance found a kick to his face.
“Nagh,”
“Arg.”
“Shi-”
Any possible conversation disintegrated into growls of pain (mostly from Balance) and volleys of attacks (mostly from Phil). The scuffle was blinding and the two sides were unrelentless but while the god had the power to fight, Phil had the experience. Eventually, the mercenary gained the proverbial upper hand and pretty soon, he founded himself straddled on top of the bloodied god, beating the everloving shit out of him. Phil was surprised at this fortuitous turn of events, considering Balance would be a bit more difficult, considering he was a bona-fide god. In fact, the bloodied Balance was not resisting his blows at all. The god was defenseless, weak. A sudden thought hit Phil, unchallenging.
“S-stop it,” Balance protested, managing to spit out those words along with a good portion of his vital fluids despite the onslaught. “Stop it.”
You know what, Phil decided. Screw this. A battle with a god was supposed to be dramatic and with flair, something with unpredictable difficulty. This was supposed to be a test of skills. Phil had fought a god, but it was nothing like anything he’d expected.. It was weak. One-sided. Disappointing. The mercenary felt huffily indignant over this battle that had been robbed of all energy and challenge. What a fight! What a dumbfounded fight! Balance was not worth his time and energy. Phil left the despondent and damaged god to his own devices as he trudged over to his multiweapon.
“I could never get anything right,” Balance murmured. His voice was disconsolate and his stature unhappy. It was downright miraculous he could still talk despite the state of his shredded lips.
“Yeah, whatever,” Phil grumbled as he judged the state of his complicated gun. It seemed to be in perfect condition, unlike his visor.
“I always mess up my job,” Balance gloomily pressed his bruised chin on his palms. His tone was less like a bleak judge and more like a dissatisfied co-worker – or a depressed teenager. “Balancing the pantheon? Killed my own brother. Balancing the universe? Inadvertently murdering half of the population. And how could I be so stupid, balancing the plateau, when it had been already balanced to begin with? I am the worst God of Balance ever.”
“You can’t do jack!” Phil called. He could not get over how incredibly shitty the battle was.
“I just wanted to do my job correctly.” Balance buried his face into his palms. “I just wanted to belong...”
There was no clever retort, no snappy comeback. Phil did not even reply. His intent was focused on something glowing in the distance…something familiar and somewhat unusual in the form of the sticks, mud, and stone smashed together purposefully. The mercenary could describe it as some sort of rudimentary temple or chapel and if he felt more sarcastically sophisticated, he would describe it as some tabernacle or ziggurat. However, it was not like the bygone things he saw in museums and incredibly boring textbooks. It was more streamlined than the typical clunky baroque, more freshly built than incredibly desolate...it was modern. Oh wait, it was modern.
“What. The fuck,” Phil made his feelings clear. Sure, it was made from the native materials of this realm. Sure, it had all the ancient motif, insignias so familiar among the indigenous primitives in those few villages. Sure, it probably was from Eternity Plateau. However, it did not change the fact that fucking baseball stadium (not to mention, glowing) was pretty out of place in these ancient regions.
“How did they build it so fucking fast?” Phil demanded in exasperation.
“I...don’t know,” Balance was just as befuddled. For the first time in his life, his omnipotence did not give him all the facts..
“Is this your doing?”
“It probably is,” Balance’s bleary red eyes lit up. Everything he had done since the beginning of this battle was a mistake after mistake. His next possible plan could be just another disaster, perhaps a fiasco on the same scale as what he had carelessly done to the Eternity Plateau. There was a sports-themed amphitheater in the time where the concept of cooperation was a barely invented thing. This was a mistake. This was not right. This was not balanced.
As a god of his namesake, he needed to fix this.
“I need to fix this,” Balance croaked. Picking up his iconic hammer and scales, the deity made a beeline stadium-wards, trudging over indiscernible corpses and indifferent scavengers in the process.
“What.” Phil could only stand in shock as the god left. What? How could he leave him? Girnaham fancied himself a generous man - Balance could improve over time. He could be a more interesting opponent. He could be a more difficult and fun person to attempt to steamroll the hell out. The space mercenary was not exactly the type to enjoy baseball, considering even in the distant future, the innings were still long and the players too slow. However, Phil was bored - and he still had a bone to pick with Balance.
Sports are a type of battle, right?</font>
The mountain of fluctuating corpses, the background terrain, creatures swarming all over - the sheer sight of this terrifying beauty was something to record into historical documents and/or cut-rate fantasy novella catering to the gothic masses. This was the perfect place to have a majestic showdown, well would be majestic if the close-contact combat did not practically ruin the atmosphere.
“Let me go, you heathen.” Balance growled. It was pretty amazing he could talk given the state of his face. The divine entity always thought himself to be omnipotent, capable of anything a lowly creature can and cannot do. However, through a humiliating entanglement of limbs, Balance realized he was not as godly as he would like to be, especially since he apparently had the constitution of an asthmatic carrot. Why was it so difficult. He found it difficult to wriggle out of the marine’s augmented grip. Why. Balance hated it. He hated it so much.
<font color="#006600">“No you let me go firs--AUGH.” Phil suddenly found his retort interrupted by a heavy smack on the head. Phil was incensed at this attack, like many other things on his hate-list. “Fuck yo--.”
“Argh,” Balance gagged on the blood welling in his throat. He swore the blow on his chest was probably the most painful thing he’d felt in his entire metaphysical existence. In distressed retaliation, he desperately clawed at Phil’s helmet, leaving irritating scratches on the opponent’s visor.
“Watch it,” the soldier snarled as he yanked the offending limb off his face. “It costs a fortune to completely fix t-” The god did not even let him finish as he gave his side a kick.
“Ugh,” Balance found a kick to his face.
“Nagh,”
“Arg.”
“Shi-”
Any possible conversation disintegrated into growls of pain (mostly from Balance) and volleys of attacks (mostly from Phil). The scuffle was blinding and the two sides were unrelentless but while the god had the power to fight, Phil had the experience. Eventually, the mercenary gained the proverbial upper hand and pretty soon, he founded himself straddled on top of the bloodied god, beating the everloving shit out of him. Phil was surprised at this fortuitous turn of events, considering Balance would be a bit more difficult, considering he was a bona-fide god. In fact, the bloodied Balance was not resisting his blows at all. The god was defenseless, weak. A sudden thought hit Phil, unchallenging.
“S-stop it,” Balance protested, managing to spit out those words along with a good portion of his vital fluids despite the onslaught. “Stop it.”
You know what, Phil decided. Screw this. A battle with a god was supposed to be dramatic and with flair, something with unpredictable difficulty. This was supposed to be a test of skills. Phil had fought a god, but it was nothing like anything he’d expected.. It was weak. One-sided. Disappointing. The mercenary felt huffily indignant over this battle that had been robbed of all energy and challenge. What a fight! What a dumbfounded fight! Balance was not worth his time and energy. Phil left the despondent and damaged god to his own devices as he trudged over to his multiweapon.
“I could never get anything right,” Balance murmured. His voice was disconsolate and his stature unhappy. It was downright miraculous he could still talk despite the state of his shredded lips.
“Yeah, whatever,” Phil grumbled as he judged the state of his complicated gun. It seemed to be in perfect condition, unlike his visor.
“I always mess up my job,” Balance gloomily pressed his bruised chin on his palms. His tone was less like a bleak judge and more like a dissatisfied co-worker – or a depressed teenager. “Balancing the pantheon? Killed my own brother. Balancing the universe? Inadvertently murdering half of the population. And how could I be so stupid, balancing the plateau, when it had been already balanced to begin with? I am the worst God of Balance ever.”
“You can’t do jack!” Phil called. He could not get over how incredibly shitty the battle was.
“I just wanted to do my job correctly.” Balance buried his face into his palms. “I just wanted to belong...”
There was no clever retort, no snappy comeback. Phil did not even reply. His intent was focused on something glowing in the distance…something familiar and somewhat unusual in the form of the sticks, mud, and stone smashed together purposefully. The mercenary could describe it as some sort of rudimentary temple or chapel and if he felt more sarcastically sophisticated, he would describe it as some tabernacle or ziggurat. However, it was not like the bygone things he saw in museums and incredibly boring textbooks. It was more streamlined than the typical clunky baroque, more freshly built than incredibly desolate...it was modern. Oh wait, it was modern.
“What. The fuck,” Phil made his feelings clear. Sure, it was made from the native materials of this realm. Sure, it had all the ancient motif, insignias so familiar among the indigenous primitives in those few villages. Sure, it probably was from Eternity Plateau. However, it did not change the fact that fucking baseball stadium (not to mention, glowing) was pretty out of place in these ancient regions.
“How did they build it so fucking fast?” Phil demanded in exasperation.
“I...don’t know,” Balance was just as befuddled. For the first time in his life, his omnipotence did not give him all the facts..
“Is this your doing?”
“It probably is,” Balance’s bleary red eyes lit up. Everything he had done since the beginning of this battle was a mistake after mistake. His next possible plan could be just another disaster, perhaps a fiasco on the same scale as what he had carelessly done to the Eternity Plateau. There was a sports-themed amphitheater in the time where the concept of cooperation was a barely invented thing. This was a mistake. This was not right. This was not balanced.
As a god of his namesake, he needed to fix this.
“I need to fix this,” Balance croaked. Picking up his iconic hammer and scales, the deity made a beeline stadium-wards, trudging over indiscernible corpses and indifferent scavengers in the process.
“What.” Phil could only stand in shock as the god left. What? How could he leave him? Girnaham fancied himself a generous man - Balance could improve over time. He could be a more interesting opponent. He could be a more difficult and fun person to attempt to steamroll the hell out. The space mercenary was not exactly the type to enjoy baseball, considering even in the distant future, the innings were still long and the players too slow. However, Phil was bored - and he still had a bone to pick with Balance.
Sports are a type of battle, right?</font>