Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 5: Value City Mall!]
04-28-2010, 03:22 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Gestalt, used by now to the abrupt changes of scenery, took in its surroundings. The mostly-headless corpse of Samuel, the disoriented mass of Vyrm'n, the dazed human competitors, and the shambling corpse lurching across the abandoned theater... All took a backseat to the yawning psychic chasm that was the absence of the power that had flowed from the phantom audience to the battlers.
The Sunset's arms felt heavy to a being unfamiliar with the concept of muscle, the thousand once-automated processes that Gestalt had had to take up for itself screamed silently for attention, and the ghost of life that still clung to the empty shell of the suit fought Gestalt at every turn.
"It is... Too much..."
The suit did nothing so elegant as slowly sink to its knees or stay standing, eerily still and quiet. It simply crashed onto its face with a great cacophony of steel and wood colliding as the schrotgolem withdrew its influence. The zombie paid it no heed and continued inexorably towards the stage, its limping gait unhurried if irregular; the humans raised eyebrows and wondered what it meant; Vyrm'n was as inscrutable as ever, reacting only by letting a ripple pass across its puddled, pitch form.
Gestalt curled up inside the rest of its body, mentally stroking the familiar and simple tools it still had. Without the mental din of The Sunset's body screaming into the ears the golem didn't have, the scene was somewhat different; in the vast empty silence that the sudden withdrawal of the Power of Theater had left, there was a sinister, buzzing chord, quiet but insistent. Gestalt had no way of divining its meaning or source, so let it be, returning its attention to the corporeal things in the room.
The other contestants had scarcely moved since arriving, but it had been barely seconds since they had been transported. Maxwell seemed more preoccupied by Samuel's oozing corpse than by the zombie gradually approaching the stage, but Galus was already fumbling for his gun, wondering if he had lost it in the chaos of his stage-battle with Gestalt. Vyrm'n was undulating into the shadows, motives and intent unknown and unknowable. The schrotgolem decided to wait and see how this scene would play out before involving itself. Zombies were new, and therefore threatening.
Gestalt, used by now to the abrupt changes of scenery, took in its surroundings. The mostly-headless corpse of Samuel, the disoriented mass of Vyrm'n, the dazed human competitors, and the shambling corpse lurching across the abandoned theater... All took a backseat to the yawning psychic chasm that was the absence of the power that had flowed from the phantom audience to the battlers.
The Sunset's arms felt heavy to a being unfamiliar with the concept of muscle, the thousand once-automated processes that Gestalt had had to take up for itself screamed silently for attention, and the ghost of life that still clung to the empty shell of the suit fought Gestalt at every turn.
"It is... Too much..."
The suit did nothing so elegant as slowly sink to its knees or stay standing, eerily still and quiet. It simply crashed onto its face with a great cacophony of steel and wood colliding as the schrotgolem withdrew its influence. The zombie paid it no heed and continued inexorably towards the stage, its limping gait unhurried if irregular; the humans raised eyebrows and wondered what it meant; Vyrm'n was as inscrutable as ever, reacting only by letting a ripple pass across its puddled, pitch form.
Gestalt curled up inside the rest of its body, mentally stroking the familiar and simple tools it still had. Without the mental din of The Sunset's body screaming into the ears the golem didn't have, the scene was somewhat different; in the vast empty silence that the sudden withdrawal of the Power of Theater had left, there was a sinister, buzzing chord, quiet but insistent. Gestalt had no way of divining its meaning or source, so let it be, returning its attention to the corporeal things in the room.
The other contestants had scarcely moved since arriving, but it had been barely seconds since they had been transported. Maxwell seemed more preoccupied by Samuel's oozing corpse than by the zombie gradually approaching the stage, but Galus was already fumbling for his gun, wondering if he had lost it in the chaos of his stage-battle with Gestalt. Vyrm'n was undulating into the shadows, motives and intent unknown and unknowable. The schrotgolem decided to wait and see how this scene would play out before involving itself. Zombies were new, and therefore threatening.