The Grand Battle II! [Happy End!]

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

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“That, I think you'll find, is Gestalt. A surprisingly fitting name; I don't believe it was he who first applied it to himself, I must confess…”

The simple act of putting a name to something was enough to unnerve Clara. It wasn't the fact that that disorderly collection of things was a living creature – in her time, she'd come across far more bizarre entities, to the point where the jumble winding its way around the foyer was a reasonably average experience. What disconcerted her so (and, judging by the perpetually persistent scowl of Konka Rar, him as well) was the fact that, with every passing minute, the evidence that could prove a rather disconcerting hypothesis grew ever larger. Putting a name, earlier plucked from the lips of Maxwell, to an entity that was present in the mall, moving towards her; that was worrying.

“An assortment of random objects, bound together by some semblance of a sentient mind. Reasonably grumpy, somewhat sarky and generally a bit of a botherance, but nothing more, really.”

Clara didn't need Maxwell to spell this out for her – there was only one satisfying explanation as to why Gestalt was here. Well, satisfying only in terms of it solving the puzzle before her perfectly, not because of how it made her feel. In fact, her impossibly contented attitude to life and what it threw at her was starting to feel some strain.

“Is… it, one of your competitors?”

”Ah, but of course! What else could he possibly be otherwise? That, to be honest, is quite the thought – what would a bunch of boxes actually do with its life, anyway? I mean, rolling about all the time is all very nice and all, but still; it's a tad lacking in purpose, I'd say…”

Maxwell's musings were somewhat lost on Clara. Instead, her contemplation was down totally different lines; here were four contestants, all in the same battle. She had difficulty pulling the images of her own adversaries out from her mind, let alone putting names to them. The irrefutable fact that none of them, so far, had appeared before her wasn't helping. The truth was there, laid plain before her, daring the nun to question her own place in existence. Or, unfortunately, whether or not she was truly here at all.

She decided, then, to burry herself in the distractions the world before her provided. They, thankfully, were manifold. At the top of the list was the bumbling brain on legs, at that very moment using them to work his way over to Gestalt.

“Hello you. How've you been keeping yourself, then?”

Having adopted the amiable tone one might use to greet an old acquaintance, Maxwell stretched out his hand to the schrotgolem, before thinking better of it. Gazing wistfully to the shambolic wreck of Grocer Delight, he saw fit instead to sigh.

“Dear oh dear, you got yourself into a spot of trouble there, didn't you? Ho hum, I suppose…”

Only now did it appear to dawn on the supposed genius that the lackadaisical motion of the clutter before him was perhaps indicative of something…

“Ah. I see. You're in a little more trouble than I had perhaps realised. You've lost your writing implements, haven't you?”

One of the boxes charged straight into a supporting column, recoiling only slightly. It was notably oblivious to Maxwell's remarks.

“I wouldn't, however, rule out the possibility you've lost a bit more than your glowsticks… although, actually, were you carrying marbles? I do forget these things, I'm afraid…”

The rather pathetic attempt at a joke didn't drive home. Gestalt merely continued to meander onwards, his motives cloudy, if at all existent. Muttering, Maxwell backed away, turning to his companions just as Clara finished whispering something inconsequential to Konka Rar. Galus, a tad miffed by the turn of events, suddenly saw an opportunity.

“Say, Maxwell, since we're kinda close, what would you say to a visit to the Weaponporium? It'll only take a minute or two and might put you at ease a bit; you seem a little frightened right now and I guarantee that the best way to assuage your fears is to feel a nice big gun in those hands of yours…”

Having long since passed, that look of trepidation crept back onto Maxwell's face. An unpleasant fear, forgotten in the heat of the moment, returned to worm its way back into him.

“No.”

A slight echo of the statement persisted, reverberating down the mall. Covering his face with his trilby, Maxwell counted out a couple of seconds before striding away from the blundering bits and bobs that once responded to Gestalt. He forged a path between Konkar Rar and Galus, one so determined that it provoked the pilot to comment in passing:

“Are you really totally sure that everything's alright?”

As Maxwell brushed past, his fellow friend was worryingly certain that, yes, that little glimmer on his neck was indeed a tear.

“Don't tempt me. Put two and two together for once; my, wouldn't that make a nice change…”

His strides lengthening, Maxwell reached the plaza that the water park opened onto. He allowed himself a fleeting glance over his shoulder, to the bemused crew he'd left behind, then up, towards the façade that, judging by the muffled splashes that penetrated its walls, was currently acting as a prison for Vyrm'n. With that, he stormed off towards the Atrium, his forceful steps gradually being lost in the enormity of the mall.

“Hmph. As I suspected. Very typical of his type. I expect he does that a lot, doesn't he?”

The tension was broken by a snarling Konka Rar (to him, there had been no tension at all). Not entirely expecting the interjection, Galus jumped, before regaining what remained of his composure

“Um, what? Pardon?”

“I expect he marches off in a huff rather often, judging by the way he seems to have perfected it… I mean, come on. That look over his shoulder, designed to evoke an emotional response-“

“That was a bit odd, wasn't it? He wasn't exactly looking at us, was he?”

More like through us, mused Clara. More like he could see every little fibre of our soul, every nuance of our being and was disgusted by it. Or maybe…

“Precisely. The guy's an attention-seeker, not to mention a coward. What's he running away from, anyway? His own shadow?”

Galus at least was glad to be rid of his deadweight associate. Standing up straight, he spun round to face down the rows of shops, towards the intersection that was clearly marked by the aftermath of Gestalt's exit from the grocers.

“I think you might have the right idea; I can think of no better place to find technology than a weaponry vendor, even if it is perhaps a tad contrived… I mean, what kind of mall has a shop that sells weapons, anyway?”

In an instant, Clara made up her mind.

“I'm going to follow Maxwell. You know, just to make sure he doesn't get himself into any trouble. You two should be quite capable of surviving anything this place can throw at you, I'm sure, but Maxwell, well…”

The necromancer saw no reason to articulate his response, instead choosing to wave his hand, as if batting the idea away.

“I'll be amazed if he comes to harm. I'm sure he'll run away before he even smells trouble.”

Galus couldn't help but note that the lich was talking to thin air. The nun had shown her initiative, and her allegiances, simply by running off down the concourse, almost skipping between the sludgy swamps of bodily parts. He was, however, wise enough not to comment on it, fearful of stirring up an angrier side to his new partner in crime.