Re: Epic Clash [Apply today!]
02-03-2010, 06:02 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MyifanW.
Bryce spun slowly, apparently suspended in the air by an invisible thread connecting to somewhere in the center of his chest. Gone was the smirk, the sunglasses, the attire. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open feebly. His arms and legs dangled in the air at his sides. His entire body and the once-white robes that draped over his limp form were coated in a thick layer of blood, which dripped to the perfect-to-the-atom 16-meter-square mirror making the floor of this place.
The walls and ceiling, likewise, were made of perfectly square mirrors - a mirrored cube, reflecting inwards, with Bryce suspended directly in the center. On each face, a perfect replica of the room, including the replicas of that room on its walls, ceiling, and floor. A three-dimensional grid stretched off into forever, but was far from perfect in its form. Each drop of blood that hit the floor distorted its face an amount imperceptible on the surface, but the changes manifested in wild spirals and shapes as the grid spun off into infinity. Watching the shapes shift, one might almost suspect they moved with purpose, with intent.
The sound of the drips was interrupted by a voice. "Hey Bryce!"
Bryce's black eyes opened immediately. His fingers snapped and instantly the entire area was immersed in total darkness, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. A few more snaps were audible, the final of which returned light to the scene, if you could even call it the same scene at all.
It was now a comfortable wood-paneled room with a fireplace. Bryce was sprawled out across the arms of a loveseat on one side, clean and wearing his standard attire, sunglasses and all. His new guest found himself standing in front of a plush, executive-style chair. "Hey hey, it's The Chronic. Ler." He said smirkingly,"Have a seat."
The Chronicler looked conflicted. An awkward silence grew between them.
"It's funny because chronic means marijuana!" Bryce grinned a little wider.
The Chronicler looked down at his feet and rubbed his hands together nervously. "Just... just call me Miles. Or um, Fawman. No one calls you The Overseer, you don't have to call me The Chronicler."
"Alright, alright, yeah. Miles. Sit down dude, everything's cool."
The man did so. Not a man exactly, more like a glowing image of a man. It looked as though someone had screenprinted a man with an impish face in several different tones, but hadn't lined all the panels up right, leaving odd glowing colors and shifting indistinct shapes where they did not quite overlap. He looked curious and excited mostly.
"You started a new Grand Battle! Does that mean I'm gonna help you? You said!"
Bryce shifted uncomfortably and started to inspect and clean his fingernails. "Yeah bro, for sure. For sureskis. You wanna, like, help me find arenas and stuff?"
The being in the seat cocked his head to the side with a puzzled expression, as if listening intently as Bryce spoke. "Yeah! And do the speeches and stuff!"
Bryce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dude, really? I think I can handle those."
Miles furrowed his brow deeply as Bryce spoke. "Uhm.... how do you do that thing? With the words'...colors?"
Bryce stood and stretched. "You just gotta find yourself, man."
"Uhm...so... I have to find... who I am? Like um, what makes me, me?"
Bryce shook his head. "No dude," He poked Miles in the chest, "You're right there."
"Oh."
Miles looked blank for a moment, and then drew a book into existence. He fumbled through it for a moment and began scrawling. Bryce stared disapprovingly. In a swift motion, he took the book and began flipping through it.
"Hey! That's... that's unteamfriendly!"
Ignoring Miles, Bryce flipped to the end and casually threw it back.
"Pfft, man, what are you doing? Writing a picture diary?"
Miles put on a tragic frown.
"It's... it's a chronicle! That's what I got that title for! I'm recording the interesting things, and this will definitely be interesting!"
Bryce sighed, and waved his wrist in Miles' direction.
"Alright alright whatever bro. It just seems, you know, totally pointless and all."
Miles didn't respond again, furiously drawing a picture of Bryce looking comically stupid.
Bryce spun slowly, apparently suspended in the air by an invisible thread connecting to somewhere in the center of his chest. Gone was the smirk, the sunglasses, the attire. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open feebly. His arms and legs dangled in the air at his sides. His entire body and the once-white robes that draped over his limp form were coated in a thick layer of blood, which dripped to the perfect-to-the-atom 16-meter-square mirror making the floor of this place.
The walls and ceiling, likewise, were made of perfectly square mirrors - a mirrored cube, reflecting inwards, with Bryce suspended directly in the center. On each face, a perfect replica of the room, including the replicas of that room on its walls, ceiling, and floor. A three-dimensional grid stretched off into forever, but was far from perfect in its form. Each drop of blood that hit the floor distorted its face an amount imperceptible on the surface, but the changes manifested in wild spirals and shapes as the grid spun off into infinity. Watching the shapes shift, one might almost suspect they moved with purpose, with intent.
The sound of the drips was interrupted by a voice. "Hey Bryce!"
Bryce's black eyes opened immediately. His fingers snapped and instantly the entire area was immersed in total darkness, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. A few more snaps were audible, the final of which returned light to the scene, if you could even call it the same scene at all.
It was now a comfortable wood-paneled room with a fireplace. Bryce was sprawled out across the arms of a loveseat on one side, clean and wearing his standard attire, sunglasses and all. His new guest found himself standing in front of a plush, executive-style chair. "Hey hey, it's The Chronic. Ler." He said smirkingly,"Have a seat."
The Chronicler looked conflicted. An awkward silence grew between them.
"It's funny because chronic means marijuana!" Bryce grinned a little wider.
The Chronicler looked down at his feet and rubbed his hands together nervously. "Just... just call me Miles. Or um, Fawman. No one calls you The Overseer, you don't have to call me The Chronicler."
"Alright, alright, yeah. Miles. Sit down dude, everything's cool."
The man did so. Not a man exactly, more like a glowing image of a man. It looked as though someone had screenprinted a man with an impish face in several different tones, but hadn't lined all the panels up right, leaving odd glowing colors and shifting indistinct shapes where they did not quite overlap. He looked curious and excited mostly.
"You started a new Grand Battle! Does that mean I'm gonna help you? You said!"
Bryce shifted uncomfortably and started to inspect and clean his fingernails. "Yeah bro, for sure. For sureskis. You wanna, like, help me find arenas and stuff?"
The being in the seat cocked his head to the side with a puzzled expression, as if listening intently as Bryce spoke. "Yeah! And do the speeches and stuff!"
Bryce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dude, really? I think I can handle those."
Miles furrowed his brow deeply as Bryce spoke. "Uhm.... how do you do that thing? With the words'...colors?"
Bryce stood and stretched. "You just gotta find yourself, man."
"Uhm...so... I have to find... who I am? Like um, what makes me, me?"
Bryce shook his head. "No dude," He poked Miles in the chest, "You're right there."
"Oh."
Miles looked blank for a moment, and then drew a book into existence. He fumbled through it for a moment and began scrawling. Bryce stared disapprovingly. In a swift motion, he took the book and began flipping through it.
"Hey! That's... that's unteamfriendly!"
Ignoring Miles, Bryce flipped to the end and casually threw it back.
"Pfft, man, what are you doing? Writing a picture diary?"
Miles put on a tragic frown.
"It's... it's a chronicle! That's what I got that title for! I'm recording the interesting things, and this will definitely be interesting!"
Bryce sighed, and waved his wrist in Miles' direction.
"Alright alright whatever bro. It just seems, you know, totally pointless and all."
Miles didn't respond again, furiously drawing a picture of Bryce looking comically stupid.
Spoiler