Re: Mini-Grand 5111 [Round 2: Greenport, Massachusetts]
03-16-2012, 03:36 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pharmacy.
Sufficiently satisfied with the height of buildings and flattened corpses around it, the one-eyed behemoth decided to saunter over to the next cluster of screaming townsfolk and intact architecture. Sure, Greenport being eradicated was tragic but the destruction was excruciatingly slow - which made the magical disaster fundamentally more painful to look at. It was kind of like watching a butterfly burn at a match.
Rannus continued mulling his thoughts, as the Eye of the storm began to level an antique shop. He had some faith in the other two contestants would have no problem finding and eliminating the perpetrator of this ungodly situation. However, there must be something to be done for the defenseless townsfolk, the wounded and the injured...The Archmage needed to stall this monstrosity somehow.
Suddenly, a prick at his crystalline mind! The Archmage swung his head around, his vision spotting the flaming remains of the Pan Asia Airways. Memories of his attempted rescue immediately began to dig at his mind, but he knew he had to work fast. With all four of his hands, the Venephim gestured the slow-falling wreckage
towards the Eye of the Storm.
The acolyte was not having a very good day. He had joined the Estoeric Brotherhood of Ebon only a few weeks ago and now, there was a gloved hand halfway through his solar plexus, pinning him on a wall. He had seen human guts before, having indulged in communal townsfolk sacrifices. However, the sights of his own entrails was rather alarming.
"W, who are you." The cultist stuttered to the owner of the gloved hand. The red throbbing around his vision was not helping the stability of his question.
The glass inside the helmet was incredibly fogged, leading the dying acolyte to wonder how his foe is managing to see through the condensed vapor. It was comical, but at the same time, terrifying. It was an uncomfortable (and humiliating) thought knowing that the last face he would see was obscured by a fishbowl helmet. Not that it mattered. He was going to die and the last words he was going to hear was,
[color=#JUSTICE]"I'm Batman."[/color]
"Goddammit."
Kay half-heartedly raised her free hand aganist the rain of liver chunks and other vitals, thanks to Batman. Even though she was perpetual covered in blood thanks to symbolic pretense, the shower of gore was still annoying. It was kind of like being sprayed with water or having someone else's lunch dropped on your lap. As she skewered yet another faceless cultist on her saber, Kay wondered why she was making such petty internal comparisons. Perhaps, she grumbled to herself as she spilled an initiate's insides on the ground, she was not having a very good day.
Well, she did not even have a good grand battle at all. She was fighting alright - mowing down all these malevolent fanatics does exert energy. However, it was tedious. It was boring. It was simply not challenging. She had all the ingredients for a perfect duel. Her skill. A rival. A location. However, circumstances beyond her control prevented her from ever fighting with the chosen Batman. Her luck was rotten and it was frustrating.
And that made her positively furious.
[color=#JUSTICE]The cultist never saw that coming.
He did not even had the time to react. In an instant, his head exploded spectacularly, blooming like a beautiful pink cloud of death - or perhaps some macabre sort of visceral fireworks. As the body of the last cultist slumped awkwardly on the floor, blood still oozing from the shredded remains of the neck, Batman could not help but congratulate himself (even the Dark Knight could indulge a little pride, after all). That, that was a magnificent haymaker.
Unsurprisingly, reinforcements (just as untrained and determined) started to tumble in - their knives glinting murderously. Fortunately, Batman was not surprised. After all, no one can surprise the Batman.
The survivor swung his head around, "Let's fight--"
and saw a sword pointing at him. Although Kay was shorter than Batman, she still managed to do that certain you-own-me kind of condescending glare . The painted eyes of her mask never moved, but the sheer lack of emotion gave a feeling that she wanted something from Batman. [/color]
"Yes." The swordswoman said, deliberating each word with her own particular brand of business-like impatience. "Let's fight."
Then, she menacingly advanced.
[color=#JUSTICE]Batman was crestfallen, but not surprised. After all, when did he not experienced suddenly betrayals? Betrayal was unfortunately common. He was betrayed by Catwoman, Two-Face, Joker, Penguin, Calendar Man, and now, Kay. Although it was another drop in the pool of mistrust, every betrayal felt like a physical blow to him.
As Kay menacingly advanced, the cultists did so too. You did not have to be a million dollar play-boy to realize that the impending fight was going to be hard. In preparation, Batman raised his fists. As long as he had a fighting chance in his crime-fighting career, he would always have a plan. Batman was always ready in print - thus in reality. Batman was always prepared.
[/color]
However, he was not prepared for the Pan Asia Airways coming.
The Eye of the Storm was finished with the wharf and proceeded to make a pancake out of the shopping district. Its singular eye shined with piggish glee as it made a couple of fleeing survivors into dots on the ground. The feelings of the fleeing humans at its toes were beyond its care - or comprehension, really. The cyclops began to flatten the many survivors and buildings in sadistic delight.
Until the wreckage hit.
The cyclops's happiness plunged into to anger. A flaming piece of airplane landed clean on its side! Oh, the pain! The immense pain! Even a simple creature such as the cyclops could understand such a torment! The fog monstrosity let out a howl of agony - and positive fury! Burning with lacerations and debris-filled gashes, the cyclops dug at his flesh in search for the burning wreckage.
"No!"
The cyclops found the wreckage, stuck between the nape of the neck and his shoulder. With a mighty fling, the airplane sailed. Rannus raised a helpless hand as the wreckage practically exploded on the ground, spilling its insides like some dead metal-beast. Ruined luggage, flaming corpses, and especially the engine
oh god, the engine.
It was faulty, beyond any use, and especially dangerous. Like a time-bomb ticking towards ignition, the internal workings of this machine was rapidly growing more unstable. Rannus knew what was going to happen and he raised his hand. Hopefully, with the excess mana, he could stop the engine before it-
It exploded.
Rannus could only stare in horror as Greenport was engulfed in flames, putrid smoke of charred bodies and harsh chemicals. Screams of pain echoed through the crackling of the fire as support-beam cracked and the architecture folded in. This was beyond a tragic disaster, it was a full-blown tragedy.
And it was all his fault.
Another attempt. Another failure. Kay was starting to wonder how she was going to, let alone start to, duel Batman since the beginning of this battle, but not that it mattered. Now she was pinned, trapped, helpless, all those damned iterations of the meaning "stuck," under the flaming debris.
And her saber. Her precious saber! It was lost somewhere in the wreckage around her. She should be angry, furious at her consistent misfortune, like she was always. And yet, as much as she hated to say it --
She laughed! It was a bitter laugh. She laughed because she felt joy - a peculiar. It was not a rushing river like how she felt while dueling. It was more like water oozing from a cracked pot. It was slow and dull, yet there it was. Not excitement, but reconciliation. She had no idea why she felt such serendipitous happiness--
--especially since she was sure she was pretty much doomed.
The wounds on the monstrosity healed, but the cyclops was acting strangely. Rannus looked in horror as the Eye of the Storm...changed, for a lack of a better word. Even with his great wisdom, it was difficult to say what was going on.
The changes was subtle, but significant. Veins throbbed visibly and its exposed arms was wreathed in cancerous lumps and nodes. It's infantile face has scrunched up like a piece of paper, making the final result reminiscent of a boorish bulldog. Larger, additional protruded out along with the resulting spittle, which hissed and spat on the floor. It was safe to say, it was much more stronger - and meaner too.
Rannus had a feeling it wasn't going to end well.
Sufficiently satisfied with the height of buildings and flattened corpses around it, the one-eyed behemoth decided to saunter over to the next cluster of screaming townsfolk and intact architecture. Sure, Greenport being eradicated was tragic but the destruction was excruciatingly slow - which made the magical disaster fundamentally more painful to look at. It was kind of like watching a butterfly burn at a match.
Rannus continued mulling his thoughts, as the Eye of the storm began to level an antique shop. He had some faith in the other two contestants would have no problem finding and eliminating the perpetrator of this ungodly situation. However, there must be something to be done for the defenseless townsfolk, the wounded and the injured...The Archmage needed to stall this monstrosity somehow.
Suddenly, a prick at his crystalline mind! The Archmage swung his head around, his vision spotting the flaming remains of the Pan Asia Airways. Memories of his attempted rescue immediately began to dig at his mind, but he knew he had to work fast. With all four of his hands, the Venephim gestured the slow-falling wreckage
towards the Eye of the Storm.
***
The acolyte was not having a very good day. He had joined the Estoeric Brotherhood of Ebon only a few weeks ago and now, there was a gloved hand halfway through his solar plexus, pinning him on a wall. He had seen human guts before, having indulged in communal townsfolk sacrifices. However, the sights of his own entrails was rather alarming.
"W, who are you." The cultist stuttered to the owner of the gloved hand. The red throbbing around his vision was not helping the stability of his question.
The glass inside the helmet was incredibly fogged, leading the dying acolyte to wonder how his foe is managing to see through the condensed vapor. It was comical, but at the same time, terrifying. It was an uncomfortable (and humiliating) thought knowing that the last face he would see was obscured by a fishbowl helmet. Not that it mattered. He was going to die and the last words he was going to hear was,
[color=#JUSTICE]"I'm Batman."[/color]
***
"Goddammit."
Kay half-heartedly raised her free hand aganist the rain of liver chunks and other vitals, thanks to Batman. Even though she was perpetual covered in blood thanks to symbolic pretense, the shower of gore was still annoying. It was kind of like being sprayed with water or having someone else's lunch dropped on your lap. As she skewered yet another faceless cultist on her saber, Kay wondered why she was making such petty internal comparisons. Perhaps, she grumbled to herself as she spilled an initiate's insides on the ground, she was not having a very good day.
Well, she did not even have a good grand battle at all. She was fighting alright - mowing down all these malevolent fanatics does exert energy. However, it was tedious. It was boring. It was simply not challenging. She had all the ingredients for a perfect duel. Her skill. A rival. A location. However, circumstances beyond her control prevented her from ever fighting with the chosen Batman. Her luck was rotten and it was frustrating.
And that made her positively furious.
***
[color=#JUSTICE]The cultist never saw that coming.
He did not even had the time to react. In an instant, his head exploded spectacularly, blooming like a beautiful pink cloud of death - or perhaps some macabre sort of visceral fireworks. As the body of the last cultist slumped awkwardly on the floor, blood still oozing from the shredded remains of the neck, Batman could not help but congratulate himself (even the Dark Knight could indulge a little pride, after all). That, that was a magnificent haymaker.
Unsurprisingly, reinforcements (just as untrained and determined) started to tumble in - their knives glinting murderously. Fortunately, Batman was not surprised. After all, no one can surprise the Batman.
The survivor swung his head around, "Let's fight--"
and saw a sword pointing at him. Although Kay was shorter than Batman, she still managed to do that certain you-own-me kind of condescending glare . The painted eyes of her mask never moved, but the sheer lack of emotion gave a feeling that she wanted something from Batman. [/color]
"Yes." The swordswoman said, deliberating each word with her own particular brand of business-like impatience. "Let's fight."
Then, she menacingly advanced.
[color=#JUSTICE]Batman was crestfallen, but not surprised. After all, when did he not experienced suddenly betrayals? Betrayal was unfortunately common. He was betrayed by Catwoman, Two-Face, Joker, Penguin, Calendar Man, and now, Kay. Although it was another drop in the pool of mistrust, every betrayal felt like a physical blow to him.
As Kay menacingly advanced, the cultists did so too. You did not have to be a million dollar play-boy to realize that the impending fight was going to be hard. In preparation, Batman raised his fists. As long as he had a fighting chance in his crime-fighting career, he would always have a plan. Batman was always ready in print - thus in reality. Batman was always prepared.
[/color]
However, he was not prepared for the Pan Asia Airways coming.
***
The Eye of the Storm was finished with the wharf and proceeded to make a pancake out of the shopping district. Its singular eye shined with piggish glee as it made a couple of fleeing survivors into dots on the ground. The feelings of the fleeing humans at its toes were beyond its care - or comprehension, really. The cyclops began to flatten the many survivors and buildings in sadistic delight.
Until the wreckage hit.
The cyclops's happiness plunged into to anger. A flaming piece of airplane landed clean on its side! Oh, the pain! The immense pain! Even a simple creature such as the cyclops could understand such a torment! The fog monstrosity let out a howl of agony - and positive fury! Burning with lacerations and debris-filled gashes, the cyclops dug at his flesh in search for the burning wreckage.
"No!"
The cyclops found the wreckage, stuck between the nape of the neck and his shoulder. With a mighty fling, the airplane sailed. Rannus raised a helpless hand as the wreckage practically exploded on the ground, spilling its insides like some dead metal-beast. Ruined luggage, flaming corpses, and especially the engine
oh god, the engine.
It was faulty, beyond any use, and especially dangerous. Like a time-bomb ticking towards ignition, the internal workings of this machine was rapidly growing more unstable. Rannus knew what was going to happen and he raised his hand. Hopefully, with the excess mana, he could stop the engine before it-
It exploded.
Rannus could only stare in horror as Greenport was engulfed in flames, putrid smoke of charred bodies and harsh chemicals. Screams of pain echoed through the crackling of the fire as support-beam cracked and the architecture folded in. This was beyond a tragic disaster, it was a full-blown tragedy.
And it was all his fault.
***
Another attempt. Another failure. Kay was starting to wonder how she was going to, let alone start to, duel Batman since the beginning of this battle, but not that it mattered. Now she was pinned, trapped, helpless, all those damned iterations of the meaning "stuck," under the flaming debris.
And her saber. Her precious saber! It was lost somewhere in the wreckage around her. She should be angry, furious at her consistent misfortune, like she was always. And yet, as much as she hated to say it --
She laughed! It was a bitter laugh. She laughed because she felt joy - a peculiar. It was not a rushing river like how she felt while dueling. It was more like water oozing from a cracked pot. It was slow and dull, yet there it was. Not excitement, but reconciliation. She had no idea why she felt such serendipitous happiness--
--especially since she was sure she was pretty much doomed.
***
The wounds on the monstrosity healed, but the cyclops was acting strangely. Rannus looked in horror as the Eye of the Storm...changed, for a lack of a better word. Even with his great wisdom, it was difficult to say what was going on.
The changes was subtle, but significant. Veins throbbed visibly and its exposed arms was wreathed in cancerous lumps and nodes. It's infantile face has scrunched up like a piece of paper, making the final result reminiscent of a boorish bulldog. Larger, additional protruded out along with the resulting spittle, which hissed and spat on the floor. It was safe to say, it was much more stronger - and meaner too.
Rannus had a feeling it wasn't going to end well.