Re: The Grand Battle [Final Round: The Subconscious!]
07-11-2010, 04:32 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Aryogaton.
As Aeon watched Eximo fruitlessly attempt to pry the bomb off its armor, he began to notice a peculiarity in the Director's actions. Despite being in a place where he should have absolute power, he was not using it. With all of these distractions, there was only one possible course of logic behind it: the Director was stalling. Aeon's intuition of the Director looking like a recovering man was not without significance—the Director was recovering. That was why he is here, in the center of his mental universe, rather than with Arnold and Ari, watching the battle. That was why he showed brief signs of weakness. That was why he hoped to distract Aeon and Eximo with the bomb.
Aeon ran over to Eximo, platforms appearing and disappearing at will. He saw the bomb, which read a bit over eight minutes.
“Hold still.†Aeon grabbed the bomb and wrenched it off of Eximo's armor, transferring it to himself. With not even a slight gesture from Aeon, the bomb dissipated, much to the Director's annoyance.
“You haven't noticed it, but the bomb represented my selfishness and desire to win. With a simple selfless act, its purpose is nullified.â€
Without another word, the Director summoned a pillar of smoke, which headed directly at Aeon and Eximo.
I've spent much of my life learning to control every aspect of human cognition as possible. And yet, I've been bested many times, best shown in the past seven rounds. Despite my control, everything I am capable of doing is limited to the confines of a human being. I'm not a great fighter. I can't use telepathy of some other inane magical ability to make use of my control. Only when I'm given a link between the mental world and the physical world can I show my greatest strength—the Lybrarian, Nathan's demon, and the subconscious battlefield are perfect examples of this. Extraordinary power over the ordinary. And here, in the sanctuary of the mind—the Director's mind—I have been given a link.
Effortlessly, Aeon brushed the pillar of smoke to the side and launched a strike of his own. Unlike the Director's, his did not take the form of smoke. Rather, along the line between Aeon and the Director, the smoked cleared, recoiling from the invisible power that struck the Director.
“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?†the Director thought directly to Aeon.
“There is much more to you than can be seen in the mists. And I wish to know it.â€
“Do you realize what you are dealing with? I have ensured that nothing of my past shall be revealed—ever. But perhaps I can show you something.â€
The spherical domain began to warp, and something behind it began to appear. The smoke revealed an entirely new magnitude of vastness, a perception that flooded the sense of sight. Aeon looked at Eximo and saw past his armor—circuitry, mechanisms, everything was visible, and nothing obscured anything,
“What you are seeing is how I see the world. This is what is beyond the limited reality that you have grown accustomed to. This is the place where gods look upon you feeble beings, manipulating the fabric of your reality to our will.â€
Soon, images—no, thoughts—began to appear throughout this hyperdimensional space. Tales of worlds conquered, of origins, victories, and defeats, floated around Aeon. For a brief moment, everything was visible.
And yet nothing was visible. Despite knowing of the Director's legend, none of it was truly visible. What Aeon was given was no more than the simple thought of thousands of experiences accumulated into a single being, nothing more.
For a moment, Aeon thought of the hopelessness of the situation. He and Eximo were two beings who thought they could challenge a god? However, his experience with illusions had taught him much, and he knew what the Director was attempting to do all too well, and Aeon suppressed those thoughts.
On the contrary, the Director holds near-omnipotent power in all of reality. He wields it with an insurmountable number of years of experience behind him. He manipulates threads of existence like a master blacksmith bends metal to any form he pleases. And yet, that is all. A blacksmith cannot make his creations do what metal cannot. Ordinary power over the extraordinary.
In context of the Director's power outside of this realm, his given power inside this realm seems to give him total omnipotence. Yet it doesn't. In fact, being here does not seem to empower him at all. And in his weakened state, he actually holds less power than he usually does.
And, ironically, placing me in the mind of the Director gives me access to the powers he holds outside. It only requires control. Extraordinary power over the extraordinary.
Amethyst was right. Accounting for everything, this truly is the best possible time to strike. The odds are in our favor. We have every advantage. And we intend to use them.
Aeon broke his mental link to the Director, and instead established one with Eximo. With a brief but quick exchange of thoughts, Eximo knew it all.
Instantly, Aeon and Eximo moved to opposite sides of the sphere, surrounding the Director. Aeon collected the smoke around him and manipulated it, shifting its control from the Director to himself. Accordingly, the smoke shifted color from black to white and coalesced, surrounding Aeon in a complex of threads. His manipulation of them was somewhat erratic, the outcome not quite as perfect as Aeon had intended. But he had come to accept these imperfections long since. Chaotic order.
Eximo followed suit. It extended eight arms and collected smoke with cold efficiency, forming an aura reminiscent of the necromantic arts that fueled its existence, almost leaping towards the Director in rabid barbarism. And yet, it wielded the smoke with the perfect efficiency and execution of a machine, all blunders removed. It restrained the necromantic monstrosity effortlessly, only releasing the perfectly controlled turmoil when the time was right. And behind it all was the soul that Eximo now brandished with bitter pride. Ordered chaos.
And in midst of the two, the Director made his own preparations. With both experience and power, he took the remaining smoke and bound it to himself. His very essence—the smoke of which his body was composed of—was entirely indistinguishable from his defenses. Yet, behind the smoke was a revelation: the efforts of a wounded creature. The Director's being was one that navigated the interdimensional worlds beyond classical reality, and nothing that came from this limited reality could possibly describe it.
For a moment, the three beings now locked in combat propagated by the mind stood still, awaiting the next move. Within an instant, they clashed. As the threads surrounding Aeon launched in a barrage against the Director, Eximo's controlled monstrosity tore into the fabrics surrounding his existence, and the Director's power shielded him from the attack, every onslaught met by a tendril of smoke that cancelled it out entirely.
And throughout this, all three of them were certain of a single thing: the Director was weakening. With every attack, no matter how perfectly defended, the smoke dwindled, and Aeon and Eximo slowly began to grind into the Director's being. Only a few more seconds of continuous attack, and the Director would fall. Only a few more seconds, and the efforts of the contestants would no longer be in vain. Only a few more seconds…
For an infinitesimal moment, Aeon had let open a tiny hole in the threads. A miniscule blunder, but it was enough, and the Director was driven to enough desperation to take advantage of it. Before Aeon could react, a needle-like tendril of black smoke weaved between the threads and struck him. The threads dissipated, and Aeon was encased in a chaotic sphere of smoke.
Eximo had noticed, but far too late. In a brief panic, it increased the attack strength to its limit, not making a physical sound but with a scream of anger from the subconscious. The Director parried off the attack with ease and encased Eximo in a cage, slowly draining Eximo's control over the smoke. As the necromantic aura disappeared, Eximo uselessly pounded on the bars.
***
From within the smoke, Aeon could feel the Director quickly suck his life forces out, having decided on the victor of the round. He knew that the contestants' efforts were brought to vain by a simple blunder. Yet, he also knew that it was all a gamble, one that they had lost. Within these final moments, he looked over his life, and prepared one final contribution.
***
Eximo watched as images began to float around in the smoke around it, now pulling back to its original configuration. These images, it knew, were snapshots take from throughout Aeon's life, satisfying the catharsis of death. The memories floated for a moment, then dissipated, consumed by the smoke. It saw the building of Aeon's home, flashes of Aeon's childhood, and the passing down of Aeon's adaptive tool from his recently deceased grandfather. Soon, the images shifted to those of the Grand Battle, and Eximo could see the evolution of the contestants from start to finish, now seeing through the eye of hindsight. And when the final image was consumed, Eximo knew that the Grand Battle was complete.
***
Yet, in midst of the Director returning to his position to recuperate, a faint object emerged from smoke in which Aeon's corpse was carried in. It moved and shifted, taking no form other than that of a silvery liquid, and taking no direction other than towards Eximo. The Director paid it no attention—he considered giving it to Ari but decided against it. Soon, the object passed the barest direction into the now-free dimension beyond, and passed through Eximo's armor. A few moments later, Eximo could feel it fuse with its circuitry, and heard a message, along with a string of code.
***
“Gentlemen.â€
Ari jerked his head towards the sky. It was bad enough that the contestants had escaped, what was worse was that he had no clue what was going on. Arnold woke from his quick nap.
“The Grand Battle is finished. I have decided on the victor, and it is Eximo Pulvis. Congratulations, Mr. Fogge.â€
Ari looked down to glimpse Arnold giving him a grin and mouth some banter.
“Ari, you are dismissed. As per our agreement, you will leave with some memories of the Grand Battle and I will invite you to watch All-Stars. Otherwise, you are no longer affiliated with me, anything you have seen here, or the Grand Battle.â€
With that, Ari disappeared.
***
I suppose I did this to ensure that I at least make it past this accursed game in some way or another. In any case, if you're listening to this then I'm dead, though you probably know that already. You might be wondering why you haven't been returned home. Well, I've discovered in the Library of Lies that there are eight of these Grand Battles happening at once. The winner of each will fight each other in another, so, you'll have to endure seven more rounds of fighting. Because of this, I've chosen to give you one last advantage—consider it a parting gift.
When a holder of adaptive quicksilver dies, it must be passed on to another. This is the only way it can be given, the only way it can have a new owner, and the only way it may be obtained. When the new owner obtains it, the quicksilver takes on a form based on the person's strengths and weaknesses, as well as their subconscious. While I'm not exactly sure what it will do when its owner is a living vacuum cleaner, but I trust that it will be of great use for you in the future.
I've encoded in this message everything I know about adaptive quicksilver, so you may use it effectively immediately. I trust that it shouldn't take your processors long to decode it all.
So, I guess this is goodbye. I'm sorry if current happenings are not as you or I wished, but I've always had the philosophy of making best when what you have. It has been both an honor and a curse to fight in the Grand Battle both against and alongside you, and I wish you the best of luck either escaping from the power of the Director or winning the final Grand Battle.
Aeon Ferrous
As Aeon watched Eximo fruitlessly attempt to pry the bomb off its armor, he began to notice a peculiarity in the Director's actions. Despite being in a place where he should have absolute power, he was not using it. With all of these distractions, there was only one possible course of logic behind it: the Director was stalling. Aeon's intuition of the Director looking like a recovering man was not without significance—the Director was recovering. That was why he is here, in the center of his mental universe, rather than with Arnold and Ari, watching the battle. That was why he showed brief signs of weakness. That was why he hoped to distract Aeon and Eximo with the bomb.
Aeon ran over to Eximo, platforms appearing and disappearing at will. He saw the bomb, which read a bit over eight minutes.
“Hold still.†Aeon grabbed the bomb and wrenched it off of Eximo's armor, transferring it to himself. With not even a slight gesture from Aeon, the bomb dissipated, much to the Director's annoyance.
“You haven't noticed it, but the bomb represented my selfishness and desire to win. With a simple selfless act, its purpose is nullified.â€
Without another word, the Director summoned a pillar of smoke, which headed directly at Aeon and Eximo.
I've spent much of my life learning to control every aspect of human cognition as possible. And yet, I've been bested many times, best shown in the past seven rounds. Despite my control, everything I am capable of doing is limited to the confines of a human being. I'm not a great fighter. I can't use telepathy of some other inane magical ability to make use of my control. Only when I'm given a link between the mental world and the physical world can I show my greatest strength—the Lybrarian, Nathan's demon, and the subconscious battlefield are perfect examples of this. Extraordinary power over the ordinary. And here, in the sanctuary of the mind—the Director's mind—I have been given a link.
Effortlessly, Aeon brushed the pillar of smoke to the side and launched a strike of his own. Unlike the Director's, his did not take the form of smoke. Rather, along the line between Aeon and the Director, the smoked cleared, recoiling from the invisible power that struck the Director.
“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?†the Director thought directly to Aeon.
“There is much more to you than can be seen in the mists. And I wish to know it.â€
“Do you realize what you are dealing with? I have ensured that nothing of my past shall be revealed—ever. But perhaps I can show you something.â€
The spherical domain began to warp, and something behind it began to appear. The smoke revealed an entirely new magnitude of vastness, a perception that flooded the sense of sight. Aeon looked at Eximo and saw past his armor—circuitry, mechanisms, everything was visible, and nothing obscured anything,
“What you are seeing is how I see the world. This is what is beyond the limited reality that you have grown accustomed to. This is the place where gods look upon you feeble beings, manipulating the fabric of your reality to our will.â€
Soon, images—no, thoughts—began to appear throughout this hyperdimensional space. Tales of worlds conquered, of origins, victories, and defeats, floated around Aeon. For a brief moment, everything was visible.
And yet nothing was visible. Despite knowing of the Director's legend, none of it was truly visible. What Aeon was given was no more than the simple thought of thousands of experiences accumulated into a single being, nothing more.
For a moment, Aeon thought of the hopelessness of the situation. He and Eximo were two beings who thought they could challenge a god? However, his experience with illusions had taught him much, and he knew what the Director was attempting to do all too well, and Aeon suppressed those thoughts.
On the contrary, the Director holds near-omnipotent power in all of reality. He wields it with an insurmountable number of years of experience behind him. He manipulates threads of existence like a master blacksmith bends metal to any form he pleases. And yet, that is all. A blacksmith cannot make his creations do what metal cannot. Ordinary power over the extraordinary.
In context of the Director's power outside of this realm, his given power inside this realm seems to give him total omnipotence. Yet it doesn't. In fact, being here does not seem to empower him at all. And in his weakened state, he actually holds less power than he usually does.
And, ironically, placing me in the mind of the Director gives me access to the powers he holds outside. It only requires control. Extraordinary power over the extraordinary.
Amethyst was right. Accounting for everything, this truly is the best possible time to strike. The odds are in our favor. We have every advantage. And we intend to use them.
Aeon broke his mental link to the Director, and instead established one with Eximo. With a brief but quick exchange of thoughts, Eximo knew it all.
Instantly, Aeon and Eximo moved to opposite sides of the sphere, surrounding the Director. Aeon collected the smoke around him and manipulated it, shifting its control from the Director to himself. Accordingly, the smoke shifted color from black to white and coalesced, surrounding Aeon in a complex of threads. His manipulation of them was somewhat erratic, the outcome not quite as perfect as Aeon had intended. But he had come to accept these imperfections long since. Chaotic order.
Eximo followed suit. It extended eight arms and collected smoke with cold efficiency, forming an aura reminiscent of the necromantic arts that fueled its existence, almost leaping towards the Director in rabid barbarism. And yet, it wielded the smoke with the perfect efficiency and execution of a machine, all blunders removed. It restrained the necromantic monstrosity effortlessly, only releasing the perfectly controlled turmoil when the time was right. And behind it all was the soul that Eximo now brandished with bitter pride. Ordered chaos.
And in midst of the two, the Director made his own preparations. With both experience and power, he took the remaining smoke and bound it to himself. His very essence—the smoke of which his body was composed of—was entirely indistinguishable from his defenses. Yet, behind the smoke was a revelation: the efforts of a wounded creature. The Director's being was one that navigated the interdimensional worlds beyond classical reality, and nothing that came from this limited reality could possibly describe it.
For a moment, the three beings now locked in combat propagated by the mind stood still, awaiting the next move. Within an instant, they clashed. As the threads surrounding Aeon launched in a barrage against the Director, Eximo's controlled monstrosity tore into the fabrics surrounding his existence, and the Director's power shielded him from the attack, every onslaught met by a tendril of smoke that cancelled it out entirely.
And throughout this, all three of them were certain of a single thing: the Director was weakening. With every attack, no matter how perfectly defended, the smoke dwindled, and Aeon and Eximo slowly began to grind into the Director's being. Only a few more seconds of continuous attack, and the Director would fall. Only a few more seconds, and the efforts of the contestants would no longer be in vain. Only a few more seconds…
For an infinitesimal moment, Aeon had let open a tiny hole in the threads. A miniscule blunder, but it was enough, and the Director was driven to enough desperation to take advantage of it. Before Aeon could react, a needle-like tendril of black smoke weaved between the threads and struck him. The threads dissipated, and Aeon was encased in a chaotic sphere of smoke.
Eximo had noticed, but far too late. In a brief panic, it increased the attack strength to its limit, not making a physical sound but with a scream of anger from the subconscious. The Director parried off the attack with ease and encased Eximo in a cage, slowly draining Eximo's control over the smoke. As the necromantic aura disappeared, Eximo uselessly pounded on the bars.
***
From within the smoke, Aeon could feel the Director quickly suck his life forces out, having decided on the victor of the round. He knew that the contestants' efforts were brought to vain by a simple blunder. Yet, he also knew that it was all a gamble, one that they had lost. Within these final moments, he looked over his life, and prepared one final contribution.
***
Eximo watched as images began to float around in the smoke around it, now pulling back to its original configuration. These images, it knew, were snapshots take from throughout Aeon's life, satisfying the catharsis of death. The memories floated for a moment, then dissipated, consumed by the smoke. It saw the building of Aeon's home, flashes of Aeon's childhood, and the passing down of Aeon's adaptive tool from his recently deceased grandfather. Soon, the images shifted to those of the Grand Battle, and Eximo could see the evolution of the contestants from start to finish, now seeing through the eye of hindsight. And when the final image was consumed, Eximo knew that the Grand Battle was complete.
***
Yet, in midst of the Director returning to his position to recuperate, a faint object emerged from smoke in which Aeon's corpse was carried in. It moved and shifted, taking no form other than that of a silvery liquid, and taking no direction other than towards Eximo. The Director paid it no attention—he considered giving it to Ari but decided against it. Soon, the object passed the barest direction into the now-free dimension beyond, and passed through Eximo's armor. A few moments later, Eximo could feel it fuse with its circuitry, and heard a message, along with a string of code.
***
“Gentlemen.â€
Ari jerked his head towards the sky. It was bad enough that the contestants had escaped, what was worse was that he had no clue what was going on. Arnold woke from his quick nap.
“The Grand Battle is finished. I have decided on the victor, and it is Eximo Pulvis. Congratulations, Mr. Fogge.â€
Ari looked down to glimpse Arnold giving him a grin and mouth some banter.
“Ari, you are dismissed. As per our agreement, you will leave with some memories of the Grand Battle and I will invite you to watch All-Stars. Otherwise, you are no longer affiliated with me, anything you have seen here, or the Grand Battle.â€
With that, Ari disappeared.
***
I suppose I did this to ensure that I at least make it past this accursed game in some way or another. In any case, if you're listening to this then I'm dead, though you probably know that already. You might be wondering why you haven't been returned home. Well, I've discovered in the Library of Lies that there are eight of these Grand Battles happening at once. The winner of each will fight each other in another, so, you'll have to endure seven more rounds of fighting. Because of this, I've chosen to give you one last advantage—consider it a parting gift.
When a holder of adaptive quicksilver dies, it must be passed on to another. This is the only way it can be given, the only way it can have a new owner, and the only way it may be obtained. When the new owner obtains it, the quicksilver takes on a form based on the person's strengths and weaknesses, as well as their subconscious. While I'm not exactly sure what it will do when its owner is a living vacuum cleaner, but I trust that it will be of great use for you in the future.
I've encoded in this message everything I know about adaptive quicksilver, so you may use it effectively immediately. I trust that it shouldn't take your processors long to decode it all.
So, I guess this is goodbye. I'm sorry if current happenings are not as you or I wished, but I've always had the philosophy of making best when what you have. It has been both an honor and a curse to fight in the Grand Battle both against and alongside you, and I wish you the best of luck either escaping from the power of the Director or winning the final Grand Battle.
Aeon Ferrous