Re: Pitched Combat [Round 1: Forêt Noire]
01-26-2010, 10:15 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Hatman awoke surrounded by leering demons; a short way away, a rapidly-decomposing dragon corpse was being caressed by some manner of shapeless darkness. Perhaps not the best way to wake up, but still! It wasn't as bad as the time with Doctor Von Boz's nightmare machine, right? And back then, he hadn't had this little beauty...
Hatman leapt to his feet. A lesser man might have climbed or staggered; an observer might even mistaken his leap for a lurch, but leaping is what heroes do and Hatman was a hero. QED. He prepared to reach into hammerspace, but found the pistol already in his hand. Had he been holding it when he went down? Had it been a pistol then? Didn't matter. There were demons to slay. Lots of them.
The little blighters went down easily, actually; typical minions, really. A bullet or a slash and they fell apart and disappeared. His weapon seemed to have ideas of its own what it should be and when, but always switched at convenient times. Usually when Hatman would have switched himself, and sometimes when he should have but wouldn't have thought to; handy all around, it seemed.
The horde dissolved quickly, its numbers already depleted; its master seemed to have more interesting things to do than bother with Hatman, judging from the reptilian skeleton that was even now decaying to dust. Hatman looked at it curiously, tapping the barrel of the pistol against his thigh thoughtfully as the last few demons scampered away. He was too deep in thought, and too used to it now, to notice that his weapon had shifted to blade form.
He noticed it when the sword fell from his hand, though; he noticed when it jerked away as he bent to pick it up; he noticed the clawed, black hand that wrapped around the now-out-of-reach hilt, and he noticed the blade that sunk into his stomach as the demon made a flying leap. He wasn't noticing much more than pain as he hit the ground, and he noticed only cackling as his senses started to fail.
He wasn't in any position to notice anything as the darkness licked across his still face; if he had been, he might have noticed the blood on the blade reshaping itself. If the demon could have read, it might have noticed:
He is the first.
Hatman awoke surrounded by leering demons; a short way away, a rapidly-decomposing dragon corpse was being caressed by some manner of shapeless darkness. Perhaps not the best way to wake up, but still! It wasn't as bad as the time with Doctor Von Boz's nightmare machine, right? And back then, he hadn't had this little beauty...
Hatman leapt to his feet. A lesser man might have climbed or staggered; an observer might even mistaken his leap for a lurch, but leaping is what heroes do and Hatman was a hero. QED. He prepared to reach into hammerspace, but found the pistol already in his hand. Had he been holding it when he went down? Had it been a pistol then? Didn't matter. There were demons to slay. Lots of them.
The little blighters went down easily, actually; typical minions, really. A bullet or a slash and they fell apart and disappeared. His weapon seemed to have ideas of its own what it should be and when, but always switched at convenient times. Usually when Hatman would have switched himself, and sometimes when he should have but wouldn't have thought to; handy all around, it seemed.
The horde dissolved quickly, its numbers already depleted; its master seemed to have more interesting things to do than bother with Hatman, judging from the reptilian skeleton that was even now decaying to dust. Hatman looked at it curiously, tapping the barrel of the pistol against his thigh thoughtfully as the last few demons scampered away. He was too deep in thought, and too used to it now, to notice that his weapon had shifted to blade form.
He noticed it when the sword fell from his hand, though; he noticed when it jerked away as he bent to pick it up; he noticed the clawed, black hand that wrapped around the now-out-of-reach hilt, and he noticed the blade that sunk into his stomach as the demon made a flying leap. He wasn't noticing much more than pain as he hit the ground, and he noticed only cackling as his senses started to fail.
He wasn't in any position to notice anything as the darkness licked across his still face; if he had been, he might have noticed the blood on the blade reshaping itself. If the demon could have read, it might have noticed:
He is the first.