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Ixcaliber · 06-03-2011, 01:31 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Ziirphael arrived at the cemetery, just as Konka Rar was about to leave. The Lich stopped, as he saw the death god approaching him, down the side-path that ran alongside the church. He guessed that this must mean that Diego had not survived the previous round. This Konka supposed was the more preferable option; the death god had his uses, so long as he could be convinced to rein in his anger against The Cultivator, the same could not have been said about Diego, who had seemed generally ineffective throughout the battle. As Ziirphael approached, he moved with a gait that someone watching might have perceived as a swagger.
“Ziirphael.” Konka greeted him levelly.
“I have a plan.” Ziirphael said. “Between us we can deal with The Cultivator and I know how to do it.”
“I’m listening.” Konka replied, intrigued.
“She is watching us you know. You want me to give the game away?” Ziirphael asked. There was a pause as the lich contemplated this. In a way it did not make sense, the death god had shown himself to be full of anger and hate, to make impulsive plans based on whims. It didn’t really add up that he had managed to find a simple way that the two of them could defeat The Cultivator.
“You are asking me to take a lot on faith here.” Konka told him. “What if your plan fails and The Cultivator holds a grudge?”
“It won’t.” Ziir responded.
“You cannot guarantee that.” Konka replied. “I won’t aid you.” The faint grin that had been etched upon Ziirphael’s face since he arrived was immediately gone, replaced with a cold and confused scowl.
“Do you not want your freedom?” Ziir asked.
“I do want my freedom. That is why I will not help you.” Konka said. “I do not trust that your plan will work, and I will not allow myself to be struck down for agreeing to carry out a plan which may well be doomed to failure before we even begin. We should focus on Ekelhaft for now. Until then I cannot give my full attention to dealing with The Cultivator.” Their gazes met, Ziir’s eyes narrowed in anger at yet another obstacle standing in his way, Konka remaining calm and rational. After a long minute Ziirphael pulled away.
“Okay.” He said. “Okay I can work with that.”

“Good.” Konka said. “If you can get us airborne again then I imagine that we should be able to spot Ekelhaft; knowing him he will be attacking anything that moves. Though before we move in to engage we should come up with a better plan than ‘hit him with a climbing frame’. If your plan to take down the Cultivator was as brilliant as that one then I can assure you I have done us both a favour.” Ziirphael said nothing, as he dug his talons into his own palm. Blood flowed out and he spread it on his chest, a very basic sigil. Within seconds his body had begun to reshape and the agony that accompanied it had returned, stronger than ever. He collapsed to his knees, trying and failing not to scream in agony. Konka Rar regarded him critically. This was a new development, the death god while he had not lost the ability to quickly change his physiology; he was significantly less proficient with it. In this state it was debatable whether Ziir would be any use to him at all. After a minute or so the pain subsided and the death god was left doubled over, his body having reverted to a form that was basically human but for his left arm being replaced with a long blade of bone. Konka Rar frowned.
“This body does not have long left, because of this:” Ziirphael sliced off the tattered remnants of his right sleeve and held it out in front of him. There branded into his was arm the glowing symbol that The Cultivator had used to lock him into this body.
“If this is some ploy to play upon my sympathy, to make me go along with your plan, then I am afraid you have misjudged the situation.” Konka Rar replied. “And since your body does not have long left perhaps wasting transformations on such futile demonstrations is a bad idea?”

“What I mean to say is that time is of the essence.” Ziirphael responded, he raised his left arm, his blade arm over his head. “I do not have time to wait for you to change your mind.” And with that he brought it down upon his own arm. He screamed as his bone blade smacked against the bone of his arm and blood poured from the wound.
<font color="#400040">“What are you doing?” The lich asked cautiously.
“Don’t worry.” Ziirphael responded. “When I am The Cultivator I will not forget that you helped me. I will make sure you can go free.” He brought the blade down again, there was a sickening snap and his arm was removed. Ziirphael immediately vacated his body, coalescing into the orb of darkness that was his true self. He felt liberated, freed from the prison that was his last body. Free to do as he pleased without worrying that his flesh might not take it and he would end up dead forever. He did not feel like taking another body instantly, but he knew he had to, else he would just be shoved back inside that carcass and The Cultivator would not make the same mistake again. Quickly, before Konka Rar had time to react he rushed forward and entered the lich’s body. Every body he had ever taken was resistant to his possession of it at first, but with time they stopped struggling and accepted their fate. In fact he reckoned that the original owner of that body he had been wearing this whole time might still be in there somewhere. Konka was proving especially difficult to subdue, but Ziirphael had figured that he would be, strong willed people always were. Thanks to his extensive experience Ziir was winning out over the lich’s consciousness, but he needed more than just control of this body, he needed to know how to use the lich’s magic, and he needed to know how to do so before The Cultivator showed up to put him in his place. Memories and knowledge were harder to access, but not impossible. If he concentrated, he could do this.</font>

In a realm where random piles of junk dominated the landscape The Cultivator struggled to free her fingers from a particularly annoying piece of chicanery in which they had become stuck. Her computer left unattended beeped furiously attempting to draw her attention, but to no avail. An unseen spectator viewed this scene with a sense of extreme disappointment. The watcher had gone to a lot of trouble to set up this sequence of events and the Cultivator was not even paying attention to her own battle, attempting to discern how to extricate her fingers from a child’s toy instead. All this meticulous scheming going to waste because The Dabbler had gotten bored again. The watcher decided that it was time to kick up a fuss that even she could not ignore.

The people of Jedesburg might have been able to ignore a silly message broadcast over the radio, they might have been able to rationalise away the things that didn’t make sense and the reports of strange things going on in parts of the town, but there was something that they could not rationalise. Moments after Ziirphael’s liberation a shadow fell across the sleepy town as a fleet of what could only be described as flying saucers materialised in the skies above them. Upon the spaceships themselves the aliens were confused as well, moments ago they had been in orbit and suddenly they found themselves above the town, several hours ahead of schedule. The residents, those that were not currently being savaged by the contestants of the Grand Battle, panicked in the streets.

Meanwhile in her pocket dimension The Cultivator’s computer had stopped beeping, but only because it had activated an alarm. The Cultivator rushed over to the machine to see what was going on that so desperately needed her attention. Didn’t The Monitor have this round covered for her anyway? She skimmed through all the information that the computer was trying to tell her; someone was loose in her battle, someone with massive power and from the show that they had just made they wanted her to know it. Then she happened to notice something that had happened at precisely the same time, insignificant in comparison to the other stuff really, but every single mirror in the town had all shattered at once at the exact time that the spaceships appeared in the sky. There was only one person who could be responsible for this.

In the cemetery Ziirphael rummaged through the lich’s knowledge of spells. Dissolving shadow, Inferno, Vortex… these were all offensive spells… all of them completely useless when all he needed was a defensive spell, something to protect himself from being paralysed by The Cultivator. It wouldn’t even have to last very long, just long enough to get out of this body and get into hers. Once he’d replicated her locking rune that she had used upon him and locked himself in her body then he would be home and dry. He was so close. So very close. He was sure the Lich was holding out on him, holding back as much information as he could manage. All he needed to do was concentrate long enough to get at it and he’d have her, he would win. It was at this moment that a fleet of UFOs appeared in the skies above him, rather unfortunately breaking his concentration. For a moment all he could do was gawp bewilderedly at the spaceships that hovered overhead. There was no time left, she’d be here any second. Ziirphael panicked, and fled the Lich’s body. What now? He couldn’t go back to his old body. That thing probably had only two maybe three transformations left in it. That was when he spotted the reanimated body of Albert Smith digging in the distance. Without hesitation Ziirphael zipped over and forced his way into the body. It made next to no effort to resist him. As quickly as he could with the stiff bones of a corpse, Ziir rushed back to his old body, dipped his fingers into what had very recently been his blood and without hesitation marked his arm with a powerful marking, one that he had learned from The Cultivator. His arm felt as though it was on fire where he marked the locking rune but it was worth it to keep on going, so that he might get another chance, another shot to take her down.

“Where is he?” The Cultivator demanded, suddenly in front of him. Once again Ziirphael was paralysed, unable to strike out against his hated foe; though this time he found he could move his mouth. He hesitated for a second while he lined up the most hateful barrage of obscenities that he could come up with, but as soon as he got the first ‘bit’ out his mouth locked up again. “I’m not interested in what you think of me at the moment. Where is he?”
“Who?” Ziirphael coughed, it was all he could manage through the dried up and dirt-tasting mouth of Albert Smith.
“The Ghost.” The Cultivator demanded. “I know he was helping you, this thing has his fingerprints all over it.”
“The Ghost?” Ziirphael asked.
“You won’t have seen him as such.” The Cultivator explains irritably. “He doesn’t like to show his face. He leaves notes.”
“That bastard?” Ziirphael asked. “No idea, if you see him could you kill him for me?” The Cultivator frowned for a couple of seconds and then vanished, releasing Ziirphael and Konka Rar from their paralysation. They said nothing for a moment, though the lich glared at the death god accusatorially. “That could have gone better.” He said. Before Konka Rar had the time to respond, they were both paralysed again and The Cultivator was back in front of them again. She said nothing as Ziirphael felt the locking rune burned onto his chest.
“Last chance Ziiry.” She said, and vanished again.

In her realm The Cultivator returned to her computer to find a yellowing note taped to the monitor. Typed on it in thick block capitals: NOTHING PERSONAL DABBLES.

Dragon Fogel · 06-10-2011, 04:07 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

As he lacked a real face, Konka Rar's expressions were generally unreadable. Nevertheless, he managed to give off a strong impression of a scowl.

Not that Ziirphael noticed for more than a moment. He realized that Rar was unlikely to be pleased with having his body stolen and his mind searched.

"COME BACK HERE!" the lich shouted.

Come.

The word echoed through Albert Smith's body. Ziir found himself powerless to fight it. His body turned around and walked back towards the incensed cyborg mage.

Were he calmer, Konka might have been confused by this shift in tactics. As it was, he was content that one of his problems had become easier to solve. Too enraged to concentrate on a spell, or even operate his arm weaponry, he simply rushed towards the oncoming zombie and grabbed it by the throat with his cybernetic arm.

"Explain why I shouldn't crush you right now," he said. Regaining control of the situation had calmed him somewhat.

Explain.

The word couldn't be resisted. Unfortunately, Albert's mouth wasn't very cooperative.

"Give... me... order..." Ziir coughed. "I... obey."

This was enough to catch Rar's interest.

"Of course," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He put the reanimated corpse down. "You're in the body of a minion, under the control of my magic. It has to obey my commands, and that means you do as well."

He laughed.

"How fortunate. At last, I have an ally I can actually rely on. The only question is what task I should set you to. I suppose you could continue excavating the cemetary, but that hardly seems efficient now - I presume you retain your intelligence, after all, and I'm sure I have better uses for it than manual labor." His grin seemed to widen.

"Form a proper mouth for yourself," Rar grinned.

Form.

It was just one word, Ziir realized. He could make anything... but why bother? If he attacked Rar now, he'd just be ordered to stop.

Besides. The Cultivator was still the main problem. This new situation was inconvenient, but Rar was a powerful ally.

He headed off towards his old body, and used the blood to alter Albert's mouth so that it was actually usable.

"Done," he said. "I can talk as much as I need to."

Konka said nothing. His eyes were fixated on the strange ships that now filled the sky.

"What are those?" he asked his new minion.

Ixcaliber · 06-15-2011, 08:30 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Throughout the competition Ziirphael had been losing things, slowly but surely; his immortality, his composure, his dignity, and now his free will. Though he did not mind the opportunity to work with Rar to bring down The Cultivator he could not help but imagine how events might play out. Konka seemed to be fixed upon destroying Ekelhaft; no small task. Perhaps by the time that they had finally eliminated the avatar of entropy all that would be left would be the lich and him. And then where would he stand? Konka claimed to wish to fight The Cultivator, but he had shown remarkably little enthusiasm in terms of actually going after her. Perhaps if in the end it was him and the Lich he would simply decide to kill Ziirphael and be done with the competition. It was not acceptable to be bound to the control of another, even one who shared his goals. Though that said there did not seem much that could be done about it at the moment. He would do as the Lich bade him for now, and see about reclaiming his will later.

“If I am being honest,” Ziirphael began hesitantly, “they resemble spaceships from old B Movies.” He paused and glimpsed the dour expression that had somehow managed to make itself known on Rar’s immobile face; informing him that the lich had no concept of a B Movie. “Silly works of fiction involving creatures from other planets coming down to enslave or destroy the human race; except apparently not so silly, or so fictional, here.” Konka looked thoughtful.

“I presume they are dangerous.” He said.
“Undoubtedly,” Ziirphael replied, “their weapons and spaceships even more so. If we could get hold of them for ourselves it would be helpful in taking down The Cultivator.” Ziirphael mused. “Obviously taking her body is no longer possible, so a full out assault with the best weaponry we can find is probably our best option.”

“Is that all you can think about?” Konka asked. “Can you not tell we have more pressing concerns? Such as competitors who are actively trying to kill us? I doubt that ignoring our problems and launching another half-cocked attack on The Cultivator will help us in any way.”

“If you weren’t so stubborn then I would be the Cultivator right now.” Ziirphael snapped.

“Be quiet!” Konka retorted. “If I need your input I will ask for it.” Ziirphael fumed silently, finding himself unable to speak. Somewhat impotent, he attempted to vent his rage by tearing a headstone from the ground and throwing it against the church wall where it shattered uselessly.

“Stop that.” Konka said irritably. “Do you know what your problem is Ziirphael?” He paused. “You are a slave to your emotions. You let them rule you. You will never have your revenge while you are blinded by hate. Step back and channel that rage only when necessary. I command it.” The magic binding Ziir to Konka’s will only interpreted this command as far as step back, which Ziirphael did only literally.

“Though your intent to attack The Cultivator again is reckless perhaps the core of your idea can be salvaged.” Konka mused. “These weapons would perhaps give us an edge on Ekelhaft…” He turned to Ziirphael, who was now leaning indignantly upon a headstone. “Form some wings and take us up there.” Ziirphael gave Konka a mock salute, and dutifully applied his corpses’ blood to himself. Moments later, two wings of bone and blood and muscle sprouted from his back, slicing through this body’s mouldy jacket. Beating his grim wings, he reached out and took hold of the lich as he ascended into the skies above the town.

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Dragon Fogel · 06-25-2011, 03:26 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

"How did we advance this quickly?"

High Admiral Sla'thuin glared at the pilot through compound eyes.

"I don't know, sir," she replied nervously. "It appears we were transported by an outside force."

"I don't trust anybody who does me a favor and won't at least leave a note," the High Admiral grumbled. "Nonetheless... We're here. And we have a mission. I may not like the fact that some unknown party wants us to do it faster, but we can't exactly abort the mission on that account."

He paced thoughtfully up and down the bridge.

"But we should proceed cautiously. This could be some sort of trap, somehow."

"Yes, sir. Proceeding to the municipal leadership structure."

An ensign suddenly spoke up.

"Sir. We have a report of potential hostiles approaching one of our saucers."

"Onscreen, Ensign."

The main viewscreen displayed an extremely pale human with bizarre-looking wings carrying a skeleton in a robe, with a mechanical arm.

"This does not match our scouting reports." The High Admiral's mandibles clicked together thoughtfully. "Humans have shown no capacity to fly under their own power. Engage the hostiles, capture for study if possible."

"Yes, sir. Transmitting orders."

***

"I believe they've spotted us," Rar noted. "That round craft just fired some missiles."

"How can you tell from this distance?"

"Cybernetic eye." Rar pointed his arm towards the still-distant missiles and fired a laser blast, destroying one and knocking the others off course with its blast.

"Conceal us," the lich said to his minion.

And then Ziirphael was gone.

"I tried, but I'm afraid I can only conceal myself," Ziir's voice said from nowhere.

Konka Rar cursed his luck.

"Land, then. We'll need a new plan."

***

"They retreated?"

"Yes, High Admiral. Perhaps they were merely reconnaissance? Their strange appearance may have been intended to intimidate their foes; it would likely be unsettling for other humans."

"Hmm." The High Admiral mused on the ensign's theory. "I'd still like to study them. Send a team to locate and retrieve them at once."

"Yes, High Admiral."

GBCE · 06-28-2011, 01:14 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

The locals had mustered up a decent force surrounding the house, and had long ago stopped sending teams in to "investigate", as none had ever returned. The officers that had arrived earlier now shifted nervously as the backup they'd expected half an hour ago hadn't yet shown, and the things they were hearing over the radio...

Not that the condition of the house did any better to console them, or the scattered upstanding citizens that stood with them. Strange sounds emanated from within, sparking lights and metallic groaning. A wall cracked. A window shattered. The roof surged, and from within the house burst strange, black, metallic spires, shaped like narrow prisms.. They consumed the structure in a chaotic whirlpool of destruction, and from their edges burst smaller prisms, and from them still smaller, until a hazy black fuzz seemed to surround each spire. They moved and rotated in strange ways, their motions difficult to follow with the naked eye, despite their seemingly slow movements. From their center walked a one-armed silver man, with a severely marred, shining metal face, barely resembling anything any of the onlookers recognized as human.

Hoss walked towards them, as the machine he'd built continued to power up. The Von Neumann nanobots he'd constructed from the material he'd gathered had spent the last half-hour consuming the house, replicating themselves, and assembling into the structure that had blossomed behind him.

It would not, unfortunately, last very long. He had constructed it to serve one purpose, just to see if it would work; he wasn't even sure it would.

He approached the barrier the townsfolk had set up. They raised their weapons, aiming at him.

It was at this moment that the ships appeared above the city. Hoss looked up. The townsfolk looked up. They looked back down at Hoss. He looked at them. He took a step forwards, and the men threw down their weapons and ran.

Hoss turned back towards the seething mass of black spires, and looked towards the ships beyond them. This must have been what that new entity had meant. Even in his debilitated state, he observed their technology to be inferior to his own, though substantially more advanced than anything he'd find in this cruel replica of his ancient home. Should they detect his activities and choose to intervene, he had confidence he could respond effectively.

In the meantime, he had some catching up to do...

---

He opened his eyes to a familiar room, and a familiar face. "Greetings, dear sister. You look worried."

The girl's face twitched back to neutrality. "You failed to arrive when Rheinhardt and I reviewed the response to our message. I... could think of no reason why."

Hoss smiled. "It is of no concern. I was occupied, you see, in the construction of a device which might puncture the barrier between universes. In its construction, I have learned much. But that can wait. First, you must tell me, what is the current state of multiversal affairs?"

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Response to Rheinhardt's initial message was overwhelming. We encountered substantial interference in the reception of the messages, but learned enough to broadcast a second message, with your designs on reconfiguring devices to broadcast on their own."

The girl paused, and Hoss pondered. "Interesting. Continue."

"I have just been through another round transition. Unfortunately, it was triggered by Rheinhardt's death."

Hoss grimaced. "Well, it was always his purpose to die. I had just hoped he'd last a bit longer."

"There's more. Just before the round transition, I was in... opposition with two worryingly knowledgeable persons. The first was a Minotaur."

Hoss seemed to take the information in stride, so the girl continued.

"He knew more about me than I'm comfortable with, and seemed to know more than he was letting on. From what I've been able to gather, he must work for a Grandmaster. And he was specifically trying to kill me. The other was a young human woman. She was able to track me in my element, and that I know little else about her indicates a disturbing competency with secrecy and information manipulation. It is possible that the Grandmasters know about our Network. Perhaps they do not know its true purpose, but they are at least aware of the existence of a resistance."

Hoss frowned. "This is troubling news indeed." He paused, as his sister apparently had more to say.

"Finally... I have been receiving multiversal messages intermittently since that first foray, and I recently received one I believe you should hear."

Hoss nodded, and a woman's voice filled the room.

“Fellow contestants,” the regal voice began. “My name is Empress Phere, and I come bearing grave tidings. Lord Vandrel Reinhardt was unfortunately perished, cruelly cut down in his attempts to free you from the shackles of the Grandmasters. I submit that I shall stand in his stead, that I shall take the fight to the Grandmasters. I will expose their weaknesses and if you work with me I promise to liberate you from this awful game and return you to the lives that you have been so cruelly torn away from. This I swear to you.”

The transmission ended, and Hoss looked back at his sister.

"Well, this will not do. Return to your battle, sister. I have work to do."

They both vanished, and the room was empty.

---

Back in the town, Hoss's machine was nearly ready. He stepped back, and prepared to watch the results of his prototype. The spires began to churn faster, and the entire mass began to lift. A strange humming filled the air. The mass of black metal began to pulsate, and then the air around it seemed to pulsate, expanding, contracting, expanding. Light began to do odd things at the mass's edges, and objects obscured by the floating metal began visible around its edges. Objects around the street began to tilt towards it, as intense gravitational forces pulled objects towards the mass.

---

Chief Astrophysics Officer sounded like an important title on paper, until you considered that invading armies rarely had need of someone to analyze proton density or variations in the cosmic microwave background radiation. So when Chief Astrophysics Officer Bal'vlorth detected anomalous gravitational readings on the planet's surface, he naturally jumped at the opportunity to get some analyzing done.

What he found though, was worrying. Not only did they indicate a wormhole was forming down there, they also indicated a confusing array of other types of radiation, and the way those gravitational stress-bands were interacting... he'd only seen that kind of interaction in theoretical papers.

One thing was clear, though. Someone was trying to build a bridge to another universe.

---

The pulses of bent space became larger and more violent, until suddenly, in one massive pulse, a hole in space tore open, and a frozen, undead giant was birthed from its convulsions. The Giant fell forwards as it once again experienced gravity, and behind it, the hole vanished, taking the mass of black spires with it.

---

Bal'vlorth's officer leaned over his shoulder, scrutinizing the readings. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes! There's no other explanation for these readings, here, look," Bal'vlorth pulled up another screen, "see here, this Higgs field is approaching energy density levels that-"

Bal'vlorth's instruments went crazy at the same time alarms began to sound across the ship. His superior looked up. "We'll deal with this later. There's an emergen-"

"I know there's an emergency! Look!" Bal'vlorth pointed at a video feed of the source of the anomalous readings. An enormous, gaping black maw had erupted above the town, and through it fell a severely vacuum-burned, disemboweled, giant humanoid.

---

Hoss would grin, had he still his artificial skin. The Giant's eyes glowed a slight blue from the technological enhancements that had spent the last round spreading through his body.

Data from the original nodes he'd buried within the Giant relayed their findings to him, and more importantly, they relayed information about their journey through the multiverse. Hoss restrained his glee. This information, combined with what he'd learned from building the device that had brought the Giant over, was exactly what he needed.

He looked at the Giant. Its usefulness towards his larger goals was spent. Still, though, it could prove useful in keeping his varying opponents occupied.

Hoss walked over to the Giant's foot, and placed his left arm against it, injecting a few spare Von Neumann automatons into the Giant's body. The machines would both consume and rebuild the Giant's body, fusing with the Giant's natural magical abilities, to create what Hoss hoped would be the first fusion between magic and technology. He gave the newly cyborgified zombie fresh instructions; those being, "destroy and consume," pointed it in a general direction, and let it wreak havoc.

As it strode off, Hoss returned to where the black machine had been, ignoring the sounds of explosions behind him. A small pool of silvery liquid lay at the bottom of the pit where the house had been. Hoss dipped a finger into the pool, issuing new instructions to the spare nanobots laying in the pool, whose execution the self-replicating automatons eagerly set about. The edges of the pool dissolved and consumed the concrete and dirt foundation of the pit, while in the center a small, silvery device seemed to solidify into existence. Its shape was mostly spherical, marred only by an indentation in the shape of a human hand. Hoss picked up the device, and tendrils from his hand connected to it. He turned it towards himself, and a small light in its face, opposite the hand print, activated. Hoss looked directly into the light, and spoke.

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GBCE · 06-28-2011, 01:19 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

"Greetings. If you have recovered this orb, then you are in grave danger. You have likely been forced into a battle to the death by an enigmatic, powerful, and cruel being. If not, then at the very least you are being subjected to the rampant violence and death which follows the contestants of these battles. Regardless, you are in danger.

"You have been contacted by others, seeking to escape from their torment, seeking to forge alliances, calling on you to follow them to victory. Noble causes." He caused the artificial image of himself being recorded by the device to smile, sadly. "Unfortunately, no single one of us can hope to stand against the Grandmasters. They are too powerful, and chances are they already know about whatever resistance others have tried to organize.

"Fortunately, there is hope. The only way to fight back is together, all at once, everywhere. They cannot contain us all. To that end, I give you this orb. It will allow you to talk to anyone else with an orb, any time you want. You will be able to see them, as clearly as you see me. You will be able to understand them, no matter the method by which they communicate. And most importantly, you can use this device to map your local multiversal structure, and send this information to others. We can pool our knowledge to discover where the universes are weak, where we can punch through to a new reality, and we can organize ourselves to fight back against the Grandmasters.

"I am the Hand of Silver. I make no promises on our success. Ours will be a difficult struggle, and it is likely that many of you will not survive to see its success. But I will continue to search for new weapons against the Grandmasters, and I will continue to work towards our freedom. Until then, I wish you all good luck."

The light turned off, and the tendrils disengaged from the orb. He placed it back in the silvery pool, which was already expanding and precipitating into other hand-imprinted orbs. As it touched the silver fluid, it transmitted its data to the other orbs, and to the machines building new ones. Each orb would now contain a copy of Hoss's holographic message.

Then, space around the orb bent, and it vanished. The other orbs soon followed suit, and each newly-constructed orb burrowed out of its current universe, seeking universes with the telltale signature of a Grandmaster's intrusion, scattering themselves to every Grand Battle.

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SleepingOrange · 07-17-2011, 09:45 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

In uncountable worlds across uncountable planes of existence, even more uncountable sages and mages and scholars had spent lifetimes arguing the nature of magic. To many, it was truly the ultimate mystery; to others, it was the one true god, a source from which other petty divinities drew their powers; others still simply saw it as a tool, something to be understood simply for the practical applications that understanding would bring. Very little could be agreed upon by these myriad practitioners and students of arcane lore; for a start, magic was certainly not a multiversal constant. Every universe had (or even lacked) its own form, and many universes even had varying magical types within them. To describe anything on so grand a scale is impossible, and something as variable and difficult to understand as magic is doubly so. There are, however, a few things that can be said about most magic; while certainly not overarching rules, they are definite tendencies, at least among the most commonly-observed universes.

Magic is usually the tool of thinking creatures; sapience is typically a requirement for its use, and more intelligent or strong-willed individuals are usually able to channel it better. Magic is usually characterized by a kind of ordered chaos; while it seems capricious and variable, there are usually overarching rules or forces that govern it, as though it were a physical law like gravity or electromagnetism. Magic is usually difficult to use, requiring study and practice to effect great spells. And, perhaps most importantly, magic often seems despite its rulebound nature to possess some kind of intelligence or will of its own. Magic typically does not like being examined too closely, and usually rails against attempts to force it to one's own will rather than to use it as it prefers to be used. Many a story on many a world tells the tale of the sorcerer who delved too deep into the lore of the ancients or tried to hard to make magic his slave; these stories typically end in the sorcerer going mad, being eternally torn asunder, or dying if he's lucky, and the world around him is often significantly changed or damaged through his hubris.

While most observable universes don't seem to have any kind of magic in them, or at least lack any life capable of using it, planes that completely lack it are actually rare. It's simply more common that life evolves in a way incompatible with its use than it doesn't exist at all. On such worlds, magic simply does nothing observable, or exists on the fringe of parascience, or spends its time taunting theoretical physicists; often, it could be entirely removed from those universes and nothing would change at all. It exists, but seemingly-pointlessly. One such universe with latent magical force was the one that the Cultivator and the Monitor had placed the contestants in the Savage Brawl in; it had formed, life had come to be, things happened, and magic simply stood by and twiddled its thumbs, occasionally making a ghost manifest or causing little acts of serendipity that nobody noticed. When the extradimensional aliens that were the competitors had appeared in it, it had gladly allowed itself to be filtered through the Grandmasters' contingencies for nonmagical universes and channeled by those few that could use it. Ekelhaft had proven irksome and uncomfortable, but at its current scale, the ooze was largely inconsequential. Inasmuch as something with no real mind and debatable existence could be so, it was happy for this little intrusion from abroad.

And then something started pulling.

Hoss's nanobots, with their hyperadvanced sensors, sophisticated computer-minds, and explicit directives were attempting to decipher the ineffable mystery of spellcasting. Their work was slow but methodical going as they used data from the giant's home universe and this one to determine what magic was and how to use it. In fact, it wasn't even so much the nanobots themselves attempting to understand and codify magic as it was an attempt to merge the giant's memories and abilities with the efficiency and logic of cyborging technology. Magic itself had never much cared for technology, a distaste mirrored in many universes the multiverse over; it certainly didn't like uppity mortals getting too nosy about its business (despite such never having happened to it before in this existence); and it was utterly furious that some very persistent little specks of metal were doing their damndest to pin it down as though it were some kind of stupid thing like the nuclear forces. This needed stopping.

The nanobots themselves were certainly unaware of the peril of their course of action. It had never occurred to Hoss, and thus never to them, that magic might itself be willful or mutable. Millennia of study and understanding of the more mundane forces of the universe had left him certain that magic was just more esoteric and just as understandable, given research. His tools mirrored this certainty, and they did little but mine information from the giant's organic brain and transfer it to its new synthesized one. Eventually, the collective entity that still somewhat mirrored the shape of the giant sorcerer determined that its internal systems were complete enough to begin casting; it spread its fingers, more out of borrowed habit mined from the giant's remaining brain than any real necessity, and willed.

It was to be a simple spell. The giant would send a jet of flame licking at a nearby house and that would be it. Fire conjuring was a very common start for aspiring wizards the multiverse over, and for good reason: it merely exerted a small amount of effort in the form of heat and combustion, then stopped. The energy required was minimal and the ritual simple. The nanobots of course had no conscious idea that there was any kind of precedent for fireballs as an introduction to magic; they cyborg they'd constructed simply seemed to know what it was doing and that this was a very minor use of the force it wasn't quite certain was completely meshing with its new form.

Of course, the phrase "it was to be" implies that the result differed from the expectation, and that was very much the case here. Hoss's bots had not discovered everything they needed to know to fully integrate biological, technological, and thaumaturgical systems, as magic itself had carefully ensured. The mistakes made were of course minor; had a human attempted much the same thing, there would have been some minor backlash, and he'd have been left slightly exhausted and with singed eyebrows. However, since the miscast had effectively come from a billion tiny processors, simultaneously doing the same things wrong, the consequences were significantly more severe. Flame briefly formed a coruscating pyromantic halo around the giant, but that was so minor as to be completely insignificant next to the true result of the spell gone wrong.

Space warped at the core of the undead and robotic mage's body, pulling inward and pushing outward and turning inside out all at once. A sound with no Earthly equivalent shook the entirety of the town for mere seconds as colors that didn't exist spiraled around the burning giant. The scene was largely indescribable; few corporeal beings could process what was happening to space and time and reality in the vicinity of the sundered corpse, and fewer still would have understood why or how it happened. High above, extraterrestrial sensors squealed and sputtered and shut down; a few moments later, they calmed themselves, thoroughly-confusing already-baffled science officers.

After those few confusing seconds passed, sight and sound and smell returned to normal in Jedesburg. Comparatively so, at least. There were still monsters and aliens and zombies, but there were no longer gaping holes in the fabric of existence or an impossible twisting of the world. There was a large, perfectly-hemispherical crater in a little suburb; nothing remained of the giant, most of the houses that had been near it, or any of the people close enough to experience things they never should have had to. Aside from the comparatively mundane insanity that had been plaguing the town for some time now, things looked about right; the whatever-it-had-been had passed and left little trace of having been.

However, there were a few individuals who felt aftershocks for some time thereafter: an old woman who was convinced she could hear the voices of the dead (but was actually able only to communicate with rather-confused elemental spirits) found the usual quiet murmur that filled her days had become a cacophony; Konka Rar found those active spells he'd had when the giant had disappeared surged in strength and efficiency, and even those he cast afterwards were remarkably easy to use and powerful; Ziirphael found necromantic energies suffusing him, heightening his current body's abilities and senses, but at the same time found the one-word obedience he'd been chained to even more irresistible than ever.

Ekelhaft and Self found magical energy coursing through their surroundings and themselves, and briefly gorged themselves on the wave of mana that had been pushed away from the giant's catastrophe. Both cackled internally, growing in size and feeling their subtle influences extend.

MalkyTop · 07-27-2011, 09:55 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.

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Not The Author · 07-30-2011, 04:17 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

The cyborg frowned as the giant spontaneously burst into flame. He wasn’t aware that the giant’s spell had failed, as he had been more intent on the orbs he was making, but he was worried that a tiny part of his psyche he hadn’t known about a few hours ago had just done something he could only describe as ‘a hiccup.’

Uncontrolled dimensional ruptures tend not to be the best places to hang about. Even short-lived ones may have impressively unpleasant side-effects. Most people in close proximity to such a rift might experience violent nausea, spontaneously combust, bleed from every pore in their body at once, or, if they were very lucky, vaporize instantly. Fortunately, Hoss wasn’t at ground-zero, nor did he qualify as ‘most people’ by anyone’s reckoning.

The blast wave flung him a good fifty feet into the air through a brick wall –

He landed hard on something sickly and wet –

Felt something in his brain click in a way it really oughtn’t –

“Oh, good, there you are. I was starting to worrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

< A problem has been detected and your senses have been shut down to prevent damage to your conscious. >

***

“I could down a ship with the right spells, but it would take some time.”

Konka Rar and his faithful undead deathgod manservant had taken shelter inside the church. The lich was as near queasy as a robot skeleton could be, but he was pretty sure it was just nerves.

<font color="#BF0000">“Flashy?”

“…Yes, they’d see what I was trying to do and stop me easily. I’d need space and be left vulnerable.”

Then the top of the church had been blown off by rockets from above, and the pair had retreated to the cellar. It seemed fairly sturdy and well-stocked with all sorts of foodstuffs, and even contained hygiene facilities. It seemed designed specifically in case of some sort of long-term invasion, though it hadn’t seen use in a long time if at all.

“Could you infiltrate one…?”

“Possibly, but I wouldn’t know how to enter or operate it once inside. I doubt the occupants are entirely defenseless, either.”

“Hm.”

Several generations of rats had taken up residence there, which had seemed a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, swarms of rats made excellent minions, and the lich was quick to take advantage of their numbers.

“We should probably just wait for the military to show up.”

“If we wait, someone will die and we lose this opportunity. You don’t really know if anyone is coming, anyway.”

A few were out looking for the godling slime, but those were not expected to return soon if at all. Most were busy clawing through the walls, chewing away wires and returning the findings to their master.

“Small town, alien saucers appear and start shooting everything. The army arrives, but only manages to stall the invasion. The day is saved by plucky underdogs. Trust me, that’s how it’s gonna go.”

“I can’t help but notice the ‘shooting everything’ step hasn’t happened yet.”

The lich had dismantled the fuse box and plumbing, collecting smaller odds and ends in an emptied peanut jar and bundling the rest with lengths of electrical cable. Ziir was guarding the entrance, or rather, just guarding. Neither particularly minded the darkness, though the glow from Konka’s eye was mildly unnerving.

“All I’m saying is you should’ve sent some of your rats looking for a small group of ill-equipped citizens. A journalist, his love interest. Angry farmer, war vet. Probably a dog, too.”

“I think I’ve had enough dogs for one round, thank you. What was that?”

The cellar shook, poorly-secured ceiling lamps clattering left and right. The light, thought Ziir, would be flickering right now if the bulbs hadn’t been removed. Dull thumps accompanied each new stream of dust from the roof. Ziir frowned, cloudy eyes screwing up in concern.

“Could be destroying the city, could be the army’s arrival… Could be Walkers.”

The lich perked up at the last comment. “Walkers? Explain.” His companion nodded.

“Basically, giant invincible machines of destruction. Usually tripedal, armed with a whole slew of weaponry. Machine guns, missiles, energy cannons… Depends on when the movie was made, but they’re generally used to show just how screwed the heroes are.”

“Could we hijack a Walker?”

“Easier than a saucer, at least. Hell, we could probably use it as a stepping stone to taking out one of the larger ships.”

“Sounds like a plan. Take point, we have work t-”

Konka Rar was cut off by a particularly loud explosion, coupled with part of the ceiling buckling.

“…Maybe we should just go.”</font>

***

Magic was an inscrutable force, never conforming to consistent rules across universes. In some, it was reserved to gods, delegated to lesser beings through devotion, divine interference, or not at all. Elsewhere, it was a natural force in the world, distorting wildlife, useable by all beings. Sometimes, one needed years of training to utilize spells, or the right genes, or being bitten by some mythological creature or another. Magic didn’t always make sense, as Hoss was learning.

It was the only way he could rationalize a cyborg having a hangover.

“Hey, you’re awake! Nifty. Hand of Silver, right? I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Hoss muttered something incoherent and rolled off his cot, clattering limply on the floor.

“Er. You okay, pal?”

“Shut uuuuuuuuuuppp.”

The metal man stood uncertainly, clutching at his head. A cursory glance told him he was in some sort of infirmary – and that Gormand was somewhere nearby, if the walls made of ground beef were anything to judge by. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure of his surroundings, why there seemed to be an earthquake going on, or hang on was that giant mug of coffee talking

“Oh, yeah! We haven’t been introduced. Jimmy Chase, investigative reporter. I’d offer to shake your hand, but, uh… The saying’s true, I guess, heheh.”

Hoss sat down on the cot, thinking. The giant had done something that wasn’t incinerating everything at all, but all his records of the event were hazy, incomplete. He had planned to see if he could amplify the Von Neumann device to send himself between battlefields, but now…

“Anyway, your friend Gormand’s filled me in on this whole battle thing, but I wanted to get some personal accounts from the other contestants, long term plans, maybe some backstory. It’s all very exciting! Well, to me, anyway.”

…He doubted he’d be able to return to the device this round, and likely wouldn’t have enough time or resources to make another later. Although, if he could convince the others to help him make one to take down the Cultivator… Actually, come to think, he should do that anyway. Maybe he could even find a way to control –

“So what has this battle been like for you? I understand you’re sort of important to killing off this Ekelhaft charack”

“I said. Shut. Up.”

Feeling slightly better, Hoss sat down again, idly wiping the coffee stains from his chassis.

***

“What the fuck.”

“Indeed.”

The air was rife with explosions and flak, aircraft weaving in and out of combat, derelict ships smashing into the ground. The army had indeed arrived, but it was not the army Ziir had expected.

A giant sloppy joe loomed several stories overhead, supported by massive noodle legs thicker than most cars were long. Hovertanks made of burgers and onion rings shot swarms of fry missiles at alien craft, supported by darting jets that seemed to be made primarily of gummies. The motherburger itself was physically knocking saucers from the sky with its limbs, and had apparently managed to tear one in half if the nearby wreckage was any indication.

Konka Rar considered his options, before concluding that alien tech was not the main concern at the moment.

“Take us up.”

Dragon Fogel · 07-31-2011, 07:48 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

As Ziir and Konka approached the motherburger, it became clearer that the ship was, in part, a building. Most importantly, it still had some doors, which offered a convenient point of entry. Ziirphael flew them towards an entrance, and Konka Rar opened it.

The necromancer and his reluctant minion walked through the halls. The further they walked, the clearer the effects of Gormand's transformation became.

A few minutes into their walk, they came across the meatball himself, sending off some smaller kebabs for some unknown reason.

He turned to face his guests, but Konka spoke first.

"I see you've been keeping yourself busy."

***

"The plan," Gormand explained, somewhat annoyed, "was to contact the aliens and enlist their help in destroying Ekelhaft. Their weaponry seemed particularly suited to it. But... well, I think they may have viewed my little armada as a threat."

Konka Rar's mind was preoccupied throughout Gormand's explanation. How shortsighted had he been? He had spent all that time digging up a grave for a single minion, and Gormand had built up this entire force!

It was fortunate that Ekelhaft was still the primary threat. Rar would have been at a grave disadvantage had the meatball chosen to turn this army on him.

The lich made a mental note not to leave Gormand unattended in future rounds if possible.

"It didn't help," Gormand continued, "when I couldn't get that blasted device to transmit my message to them. The reporter tried to give me some suggestions, and even provided me with his tape recorder for spare parts, but in the end..."

Rar was struck by an idea.

"You have a communications device?" His skeletal grin seemed to widen. "Show me. I believe I know how best to use it."

***

Five minutes later, a radio and a tape recorder had been converted into a pair of crude, but functional, walkie-talkies. Rar handed one to Ziir.

"Conceal yourself, and take that into the mothership. Keep me informed of any developments of interest."

Ziirphael vanished, not that he had much of a choice. Then he flew off towards the mothership.

A few minutes later, Rar's communicator beeped. He answered it, and heard a familiar voice.

"This is Ziirphael. I'm inside. Over."

Konka Rar would have furrowed his brow if he had one. "Over?"

"It means I'm done talking, so you know if I get caught or something. Anyways, there's nothing else to report just yet. Over and out - that means I'm ending the call."

Gormand largely ignored the conversation; he was preoccupied with managing his forces, and was only too content to let Rar manage communications. Watching him offered the lich a distinct insight into his potential foe's methods of operation.

They mostly involved shouting a lot at his minions.

Ixcaliber · 07-31-2011, 11:12 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Ziirphael had not found a convenient entrance to the mothership like there had been to Gormand's flying school/burger abomination. Lacking such a convenient entrance he had involuntarily morphed an arm into an enormous drill made of bone, and had drilled through the metal hull of the saucer, emerging in a corridor that was plucked straight from a cheap science fiction film. Shiny white plastic and pointless lights twinkling away on every surface simply to make them look cool and high-tech. Ziir supposed that since this was actually reality some of these lights might actually have some kind of purpose but he wouldn't have bet upon it.

He radioed back into his new 'master' Konka Rar, teaching him proper radio etiquette as he did so, and then began to make his way through the ship, still effectively invisible though now weighted down by his drill arm. As he moved through the ship as stealthily as he could manage, he reached a doorway that was being guarded by a pair of insectoid aliens. They had dark green carapaces, black segmented eyes, twitching mandibles, a whole mess of antennae, a couple of pairs of arms and runtish retractable wings, which is Ziir had been in the mood for guessing he would have guessed were an evolutionary throwback.

He had been caught by surprise; everything so far had been so stereotypically b-movie he was almost certain that when he did bump into aliens they would be little green men in silver spacesuits, or, as was more prevalent nowadays, little grey men with large foreheads. But what did it matter; the end result would be the same no matter what manner of creature stood in his way. He would have preferred to dispose with this attempt at stealth and slaughter the aliens where they stood but his body seemed to be coming up with its own interpretations of Rar’s orders.

As he snuck through the corridor, he fumed. He was a god of death; he was supposed to cause chaos and destruction. Stealth missions were not exactly in his wheelhouse.
Whether it was because he was particularly bad at stealth, or whether it was because the aliens happened to have particularly acute hearing he wasn’t sure. He watched as one of the antennae of the nearest alien twitched to attention at his approach. The alien quickly produced a weapon, a shining white pistol with flashing blue lights that made it look very high-tech and aimed it at the spot where Ziir was stood.

For a quick moment the two aliens spoke in a language that Ziirphael could not understand. To him it sounded like a hurried series of scratches and squeaks and their conversation was over less than a second after it had begun. Without any further hesitation the aliens opened fire, unleashing a barrage of laser rounds at Ziirphael.

The first shot slammed into Ziirphael’s side, but after that he was moving, darting and dodging up the corridor towards the bug aliens. He brought around his drill arm slamming it into the face of the closest alien. There was a sickening snap as the alien’s mandible disconnected from its face and its carapace cracked under the force of the blow, spilling forth sickly white liquid. One pair of limbs pressed to its face, the alien’s knees, or equivalent thereof, buckled and it collapsed to the floor.

Ziirphael whirled around ready to launch an attack on the other but found that his left side was rapidly going numb. His blade arm hung limply and he was forced to draw back and attempt another attack with his drill arm, one which despite Ziirphael’s camouflage the alien easily saw coming and neatly sidestepped. Numbness spread swiftly through his body, before he even managed to right himself from the swing he collapsed, tumbling into unconsciousness.

--------

This was perhaps the worst Collection that High Admiral Sla’thuin had ever had the misfortune to be part of. He had chosen this sleepy little backwoods town for the express purpose of collecting a sample of the native population without causing uproar throughout the rest of the planet. This had not gone exactly to plan. Some hours before the jammers had been primed and put in place and the potential subjects contained the fleet were suddenly mere miles above the town they had intended to strike.

As if this development had not been bad enough on it’s own it had been swiftly followed by some kind of calamity in the town that one engineer was telling him was some kind of wormhole/black hole thing. Sla’thuin didn’t really care about the technical details, all he cared about was that it was freaky and hadn’t been in their plan. Then there were reports of a necrotic semi-mechanical titanic native which had appeared and promptly vanished, and the engineer from before had been sending messages saying that it was because of the wormhole thing and it was just making Sla’thuin more and more stressed out.

He’d thought that the bewildering invasion of terrestrial meat products had been the final straw, until he’d heard that there was some kind of camouflaged native onboard the mothership itself. He couldn’t help but wonder if these ‘humans’ were really worth the trouble.

--------

Ziirphael, as always, dreamed of death. He dreamed of old victories, specifically the first day when he had ever been called a god. The body he had at the time hailed from a tribe of particularly notorious warmongers. They were in their physical peak and had smelted basic weaponry when most of their peers had not yet invented the forge. They were at war with another tribe, one more advanced and more numerous than them. Ziir had opted to lead the charge. On the battlefield he had changed as ever, his limbs replaced by blades, his skin becoming thick exoskeleton. He sliced and diced and hopped from one body to another when it suited him to do so. When the battle was finally over and ‘his side’ were the only ones left alive he stood before them, dripping with blood, faceless and monstrous.

They had not turned and fled like others that had seen him as such. They had cheered as he had transformed and slaughtered. They had hailed him as a god of battle and gave thanks to him. He had brought them a victory they had not believed attainable. This was the first time he had ever really thought about what he was, and finding the notion of a god of death suited him it stuck; as did the name of the warrior whose body he had taken; Ziirphael.

---------

Ziirphael awoke in a Perspex enclosure just large enough for him to lie down inside. Through the plastic he could see that this was one of many enclosures equally spaced around a massive chamber. In the other enclosures he saw alien creatures of various sizes and shapes. Standing just outside this enclosure were a pair of aliens almost identical to the ones he had seen before and one with a pale yellow carapace. It held its hands behind its back and regarded Ziirphael with equal parts annoyance and intrigue.

“You are not human.” High Admiral Sla’thuin said. “You will explain what is going on here, and what manner of creature you are.” Ziirphael pushed himself up from the floor and glared at the alien.

“I am a god.” He said plainly.

“Nonsense.” Sla’thuin replied. “There is no such thing. What are you really?”

Ziirphael hesitated for a second, rattled by his dream. “I am a god of death.” He insisted. “I will end you all and take this ship for my own.”

Sla’thuin smiled thinly. “I think you don’t know what you are…” He said. “How interesting…”

Ixcaliber · 08-12-2011, 02:31 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Ziirphael had to admit that the alien had a point; prior to the commencement of this battle he had never met another god. Despite never having crossed paths with anything more deific than humans he had easily accepted the existence of the gods. He had had to, he was living proof, or thus he had reasoned. It would have been easy to shrug off the impudence of this bug, to put it down to ignorance or arrogance or a combination of them both, but he could not. He had been born in the wailing darkness that predated the universe itself. If he had never encountered another of his kind, then surely he had to reason that such a thing could not exist. That he was something unique. That he was completely alone.

Though his mind was racing, his body did not sit still in quiet contemplation. Ziirphael was up and slamming into the heavy transparent substance that surrounded him. Whatever this substance was it was strong. Ziir's blades could not slice through it; his drill arm swung with as much force as he could muster could not smash it. The aliens had not so much as taken a step back, their confidence in their containment chambers unfaltering.

Sla’thuin regarded the angry spectacle of the so called god battering against his containment. This Collection was thus far an unmitigated disaster, that much was true, but perhaps it could be turned to his advantage. This creature was clearly a rare specimen, whatever it was. It would be a valuable addition to the Collection, far more so than the pitiful humans he had been sent to collect. And that was not even taking into account the other creatures down there on the surface. If he was to bring back these unusual beings surely he’d receive a commendation from the President herself. Sla’thuin’s smile froze… What if…? He regarded the specimen battering uselessly at the unbreakable walls of the containment cell. Surely not…

“This human form that I see before me…” Sla’thuin began somewhat hesitantly, “…this is not you is it? You are not confined to just the one body?” Ziirphael hesitated in his useless thrashing. “In your true form you are a black fog, or something similar.” Ziirphael’s eyes widened and his hesitation turned into a complete stop. Sla’thuin smiled widely; scarcely able to believe that his mad hunch had been correct. “I know what you are.” He said. “Moreover I know someone who would like to speak to you immediately.”

“What do you know?” Ziirphael demanded, slamming his limbs into the unbreakable container again. “What am I?”

“Do you think you could be civil and refrain from attacking my colleagues for the time being?” Sla’thuin asked. Ziir recalled Konka’s instructions; they had said nothing about murdering the aliens on board… He nodded a confirmation to the high admiral’s question and subconsciously reached for his radio. Sla’thuin nodded to one of the aliens at his flank.

“Are you certain about this High Admiral?” The alien asked, shortly receiving a sharp slap in response.

“Of course I am sure.” Sla’thuin replied. “Let him free.” With visible trepidation the alien pushed some buttons on a fancy metal bracer. Around Ziirphael there was the sound of mechanical parts shifting and moments later the cell unlocked, the walls of the chamber disappearing into the floor beneath him.

"Konka, this is Ziirphael. I was stunned and captured by the aliens, but they have graciously freed me and wish me to meet someone like myself. Over." The words were out before Ziirphael even realised what he was doing. Sla’thuin’s bodyguards suddenly had their weapons in hand and trained upon him, while the High Admiral himself had a perplexed look upon his face. “This body is being an issue.” He quickly explained.

“Take mine.” Sla’thuin replied. “It would be an honour.” Ziirphael stared uncomprehendingly at the High Admiral for a second, before his radio crackled back to life.

As he replied Konka was clearly irritated by this turn of events. “Kill them.” He snapped. “Then find somewhere secure and call me back.” Without a word Ziirphael jammed the radio back into his pocket, though he would have loved to have slung it off into a distant corner in this immense room, where he would never find it even if he had the time or inclination to look, or better yet to just smash it to pieces. His eyes narrowed in rage; here he was so close to an answer that he hadn’t even known was a question and he was stopped in his tracks by that thoughtless lich. If he had had hands at that point, they would have balled into fists as he exercised as much self-restraint as was afforded to him in this corpse of a body.

“Run.” He only managed to force one word out before he could no longer hold off Konka’s control. Unfortunately the aliens did not heed his advice while they had the opportunity.

Dragon Fogel · 08-14-2011, 01:00 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Choosing to fight instead of run was a fatal mistake for the bodyguards. They had only been able to stun Ziir before by catching him off guard. Now, he was able to kill each of the aliens as they approached, before they had a chance to activate their stun devices.

As the bodyguards fell, Ziir turned his drill on the High Admiral.

"I am sorry," he said. "In this body, I am bound by orders."

Sla'thuin weakly coughed out his final words.

"Device... my office. Contact her..."

He collapsed to the floor.

Ziir vanished and began searching the hallways.

***

"I did notice a sudden surge in the transformation rate. I can tell you precisely when it happened, but not how."

Konka Rar was only halfheartedly listening to Gormand's ramblings. The conversation with the meatball was little more than a way to pass the time while waiting for another report from his minion.

"It returned to normal not long after that. The best theory I have is that there was some form of massive energy transfer and I somehow benefited from it. It's mostly a curiosity, however; everything is functioning as expected, so it's unlikely to be some form of sabotage. And if some unseen benefactor is trying to manipulate me, well, they could do worse than assist me with the plan I was going to pursue regardless."

For that matter, Gormand was talking to himself more than his guest. It wasn't the most thrilling of discussions on the whole.

Rar did find himself idly wondering if the hypothetical "energy transfer" had been the cause of his spells increasing in power, but he saw little reason to speak up. Gormand might turn on him later in the battle, and if that happened, it would better suit the lich's purposes if his opponent underestimated his power.

His train of thought was interrupted by the crackling of his makeshift communicator.

"This is Ziir," it said. "I am in a secure location."

"Excellent," Rar replied.

"Honestly, you have more to worry about it than I do. After all, if whatever caused it were to happen again right now, you would most likely be transformed. I hope you won't take offense if I say that's no hindrance to my plans, but it's not something I'm actively looking to-"

Gormand paused as he took another look at his guest.

"When did you get here?" he asked Ziirphael.

***

The office would be secure, Ziir reasoned. He could investigate whatever the alien was pointing him to while still obeying Rar's orders. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable.

As it turned out, he could probably have stayed where he was. The rest of the crew was understandably nervous, but Ziir had slipped out so quietly that they probably assumed the High Admiral was still interrogating him.

It also turned out to be very easy to find the office. It wasn't far from the bridge, which he'd come across almost by accident.

Inside, Ziir locked the door. He then found himself compelled to call Konka before he touched the device on the High Admiral's desk.

But just as it roared to life, he felt himself beginning to vanish. And at that moment, he realized Rar's plan.

He had seen this before. In the giant's house, Rar had changed places with his undead rat minion to escape an attack.

And now the same was happening to Ziirphael. In mere moments, he found himself back on a ship mostly made of meat. Simultaneously, Konka Rar appeared in the High Admiral's office, only to be greeted by a holographic image on the desk before him.

"Who are you?" asked the image. "And what are you doing on my ship?"

Ixcaliber · 08-22-2011, 12:51 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Ziirphael couldn't muster up the enthusiasm to be angry at Konka this time. He was already angry at the fact that he was in the thrall of that lich, and let’s not forget that he was angry that he was locked inside a body, especially this one. All in all he was pretty damn angry and he couldn't find it within himself to be more angry at the fact that Konka had thoughtlessly teleported him back onto Gormand's 'ship'. It was just another in a long line of events he was less than pleased about.

On the other hand who knows how that would have panned out, for all he knew the High Admiral had a lucky guess, a very lucky guess mind you and there was nothing more to be discovered there. He wasn't particuarly convinced by this line of argument, but the thought that whatever was over there was where Konka was, was enough to discourage him from returning. At the moment he was free, relatively speaking; he had no orders to follow, no commands to be obeyed. He wanted to keep it that way if at all possible. So first thing's first; he daubed his blade arm, returning it to normal, and then held the radio in place while he smashed it to little tiny pieces with his drill arm.

From the Captain's seat or the meaty equivalent thereof, Gormand watched Ziirphael expressing his rage. "I take it you and Rar do not have a good working relationship?" Ziirphael scowled at the meatball and stormed out of the room. He was no longer certain of whom he wanted gone more urgently; Ekelhaft or Konka. Ekelhaft was as ever a threat, although as of late he had not seemed to interfere. Ziir guessed it was because he had a whole town full of innocent people to prey upon. Konka on the other hand had the redeeming qualities of actually wanting to work with him against the Cultivator. Ziirphael contemplated it as he made for the exits of the meat based vehicle, but shrugged it off as he kicked open the still wooden school doors and looked out at the chaos that the town had been plunged into.

Ziirphael leapt, unfurling his wings of skin and bone. He swooped low over the town. Even the people who had not been attacked by one of the contestants, killed when the giant exploded or whatever it was that had happened to that giant, or abducted by the aliens were in bad shape. As soon as all this bullshit had started going on they had panicked, looting shops or trying to flee the city. The result was that most of the people in the town were dead or dying and the ones that weren't were probably criminals, and not very bright criminals at that. It shouldn't be hard to spot a large green blob in an empty city.

Ziir had reasoned that Gormand was making good headway with the alien ships. If he managed to destroy the one Konka was on then that was all fine and dandy with him. He'd be out of the lich's thrall and free to do as he pleased, but equally in the meantime he would do the very thing that Konka had claimed to want to do, but had not acted upon. He would take on Ekelhaft, and he would do whatever it takes to bring it down.

Dragon Fogel · 09-02-2011, 02:00 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Konka Rar was somewhat taken aback; he hadn't expected to transport into the middle of a conversation. He quickly regained his composure, however; he could not allow himself to appear weak.

"I am Konka Rar," he replied. "That is all you need to know. Now, who, precisely, are you?"

The creature in the hologram was nonplused. It appeared to be some form of humanoid insect - had Rar seen the other aliens with his own eyes, he would have noted strong similarities. Although the large butterfly wings sprouting out of the back of its ornate uniform were a noteworthy difference. Despite the strange shape of the creature, however, its voice seemed distinctly feminine.

"I am the President of Skavat," she said. "And I seriously doubt any of my officers permitted you on board. Tell me what you're doing here."

"Do you think me a fool?" Rar roared at the hologram. "You're simply trying to stall me. I have no doubt that your security forces are already on their way here."

He stared at the projection device for a few moments, ignoring the President's demands for his attention.

"How do you turn this irritating device off?" he muttered. "There are no buttons on it anywhere!"

"If you surrender now, I can tell them to be lenient..."

"I don't have time to waste with your incessant prattling. And I can't take the risk that you'll see me as I leave." He turned to the side and pulled out his communicator. "Ziirphael! There's some sort of communication device in this room. How did you activate it?"

There was no response. He threw the communicator down in disgust. Then he noticed that the President had suddenly stopped talking.

"What is it now? Are you waiting for me to answer another worthless question? I have no time for you."

"I do have a question, as a matter of fact. How do you know the name Ziirphael?"

The lich would have let out a sigh were he still capable of it.

"Do you honestly think I don't recognize that as another stalling tactic? Latch onto some unusual word that I say, act as if it's familiar to gain my interest... honestly, you're so transparent, it's pathetic."

"No. I'm serious. How do you know that name? I must speak to Ziirphael at once!"

"Technically, I could accommodate that request. But frankly, I see no reason to. I have more pressing concerns than satisfying you."

"You will bring this Ziirphael here right now, or else!" the President screamed.

"Or else what? I don't fear your security forces."

"You should. I am not ignorant of magic, Konka Rar. I can see that you're sustained by it. And I know how to take advantage of that."

Konka Rar stared at the hologram.

"What exactly are you threatening me with?"

"This ship's power core is designed to draw energy from a variety of sources. Including magical ones. Cooperate, and you won't be harmed. Resist, and I'll give them orders to throw you into the core chamber and set it to drain your magic until your body withers away. You'll be nothing more than fuel for this ship, and a few spare parts."

The lich raised his bony hand to his chin thoughtfully.

"How very intriguing. I shall have to investigate this power core of yours in more detail. Thank you for your time, Madam President."

He then raised his mechanical arm and fired a laser at the device. The hologram shorted out before the President could finish her next sentence.

GBCE · 09-15-2011, 08:21 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

Hoss sat back, and took in a deep breath. Now that the shock of having lungs for the first time in hundreds of millions of years had worn off, he felt slightly comforted by the nostalgic relaxation a good inhale could bring. It didn't ease the magical hangover much, however.

Hoss sat forward, resting his head in a metallic palm with a slight clink. The more he learned about magic the less he understood, and unfortunately the only being he'd ever encountered who'd successfully blended magic and technology would likely try to kill him on sight.

In fact, the only other contestent who hadn't shown him any violence recently was Gormand; and, considering Hoss was apparently inside a Gormandified building, he seemed the ideal choice for information.

Hoss stood, still a little wobbly, and began to explore.

It didn't take him long to locate the sentient meatball, as his auditory sensors were able to tune out the sounds of the meat-based structure and hone in on Gormand's telltale squelch, though he encountered some difficulty with his visual sensors; they seemed to be malfunctioning, and only giving him data in the visual spectrum. Low-resolution data, at that.

The meaty commander was observing his army's attack from the center of a circular control room. Each of his noodly appendages connected themselves to various food-ports - a tube made of celery, some kind of spherical jelly donut, a cooked turkey, among others - which seemed to control various aspects of Gormand's army.

"Gormand. What happened to me?"

"Your giant exploded, and then you came hurtling through that wall over there," Gormand's main mass shifted slightly, indicating the general direction, "You were nonresponsive, but obviously not dead, so I had one of my minions take you to the infirmery."

"Why not simply kill me? I was helpless, and you seem to have gained the upper hand in this round."

"True. But I don't think my army will follow me into the next round, and without them I am ill-equipped to deal with the more potent threat of Ekelhaft. You, on the other hand, are the only one of us thus far to have any success in combating the slime.

"Plus," he added, turning around, "I may need your help to - what happened to your eyes?"

"What?"

"Your eyes. They're not silver."

"What do you mean they're not silver, of course they're-"

Hoss raised an arm and a flat, reflective panel raised itself from his forearm, and he found his own metallic face staring back at him. With blue eyes. Blue, human. organic eyes, complete with pupils, irises, and even tiny blood vessels.

He tentatively raised his other hand to his face, and lightly touched one eye with a metal finger. As it came into view, he found he could not even focus on the finger, close as it was.

"Gormand I appreciate your assistence but I have some personal matters to attend to. I assume you can hold your own here."

The meatball gave the impression of a nod, and Hoss turned to leave, then stopped.

"And Gormand... thank you. When you need it, you will have my aid."

And with that, the cyborg was gone.

---

Outside the motherburger, away from the raging food-vs-aliens battle, in the wreckage of a downed alien ship, the ancient tyrant brooded. His slow transformation into a flesh-and-blood human had begun as soon as he began to experiment with magic. Unfortunately, he knew so little about the realm of the ethereal that he could not begin to guess as to the reason. Unless...

The one thing he felt confident about magic was that it was primarily an expression of will. Hoss had always been particularly strong-willed, but obviously the strength of that will was only one component of magical abilities. The other, then, must be what drives that will, and how the wielder chooses to have his will expressed in the world.

Hoss was struck then by inspiration. He nearly scolded himself at the obviousness of the realization; Hoss's will had always been driven by his love of humanity and his belief in human supremacy. His will was driven by his own humanity, and his experiments with magic were merely beginning to manifest that will within himself. So, of course, he was becoming a fully organic human once more.

Yet despite this inspiration, he still could not see a way to prevent his slow transformation. He could not change what drove him, but the more magic he used, the more organic he became.

Hoss looked around him at the ruined alien vessel, and made a decision. He already had a billion years worth of experience with technology, but with magic, he had none. Perhaps, then, it was time to completely immerse himself in the world of magic, and to surrender his body to his own will.

The cyborg tore through the alien ship until he found its flickering power source. He grabbed it, closed his eyes, and began to focus.

Outside the downed ship, the battle raged, and the occasional flicker of otherworldly light from inside the wreckage went unnoticed.

Dragon Fogel · 09-24-2011, 11:48 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Birthday reserve!

Dragon Fogel · 09-25-2011, 12:18 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Although shorting out the communicator had improved Konka Rar's mood, he soon realized that he didn't know where the power core was.

On the other hand, it wasn't unreasonable to assume that this office held a plan of the ship, and most likely somewhere relatively accessible. The alien commander would want to be able to review such information in the event of an emergency.

It didn't take long to find it. There was a rather obvious device on a table in the back of the office. It was similar to the communicator in appearance, but significantly larger; while trying to find a button or switch to activate it, Rar pressed his skeletal palm to it and a transparent projection of the ship appeared.

Touching a portion of the hologram zoomed in on that section, although the rooms were labelled in a language Rar couldn't recognize; he idly wondered why he had been able to speak to the alien President yet unable to read the written words. Perhaps the Cultivator had done something to allow the combatants to understand each other, and it extended to all speech, but not to writing.

Regardless, the power core was rather easily identifiable, as was the office he was in. It didn't take long to find a route from one to the other. The lich memorized several possible paths as contingency plans, and then blasted the device with his laser to disable it.

He then tore the cover off of a nearby ventilation shaft, and crawled inside. The noise as his bones and metal parts struck the ducts was unpleasant, and more importantly, would draw attention; fortunately, a simple levitation spell solved that problem.

Then he started a fire in the middle of the office. He had to leave something for the guards to find once they made their way in, after all.

Ixcaliber · 10-21-2011, 07:44 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

Konka had a point. Translation was clearly an issue in these battles. How else would a centuries-old god of death, a primal avatar of entropy, a sentient meatball, a cyborg from the distant future and a cyborg lich be able to communicate with one another? The Cultivator had set one up that automatically converted whatever anyone said to a language whoever was listening was most familiar with. Interestingly, or not, Ziirphael had been experiencing the battle in Sumerian, the first human language he had ever learned and the language in which he still thought. The problem with translations is that sometimes things get lost.

--------

The streets were empty; everyone had fled or was dead. Those were pretty much the only options. Okay some people were still alive, huddled in their houses waiting for the danger to pass, or else out looting the empty shops, but mainly the streets were pretty empty. Ziir couldn’t really articulate the reason he had came to land upon the street corner that he had, not that there was anyone to listen, not that he would have told anyone anyway. A good guess would be the row of televisions in the electronic appliance store. The window was broken, a couple of televisions snatched from the display, a trail of broken glass leading off down the street. The picture on the remaining televisions was of poor quality. It was black and white and frequently interrupted with blasts of static, and even when it was not it was flickery. On the screen there was an alien, similar to the ones that he had encountered on the ship but slightly different. She wore an intricate uniform and had emerging from her back butterfly wings. But the thing that was the most unusual about her was her eyes, well to Ziirphael at least. As he stared into her eyes, he let her words drift over him, something about a Collection. Though he could not place it there was something familiar about those eyes, something that made him feel less angry, less alone.

Slowly he realized.

It took him longer than it should have.

There was a time when it had been all he had wanted, but he had believed that time was gone; subsumed by rage at the Cultivator’s actions, at being forced to live on this mortal coil.

--------

If you would indulge me for just a moment, I would tell you a story. It is a story of a being named Ziirphael who was born in the black emptiness that preceded everything. When the stars and planets were forming Ziirphael was already there. One was picked, almost at random, and Ziirphael went to live on it, and watched as the planet grew bountiful with life. Ziirphael of course promptly snuffed out that life wherever it was to be found. But I can tell that some of you think you already know this story; that I should probably just skip to the end where Ziirphael is plucked into a battle to the death, and more specifically to the part where he speaks to the President of Skavat. You are, of course, mistaken.

This is not that Ziirphael. Where he tired of killing and fell into despair, she grew tired of killing and began to wonder about the lives of the things she had been killing. She sought to help them where she could, to attempt to fix the damage she had done. Slowly the various species of Skavat had stopped warring, thanks in part to her efforts. Gradually as time went on she made her machinations less covert, more public. Now everyone on the planet of Skavat knows her name; Ziirphael, their ever-living president. They know how she has improved their lives and lead them to scientific breakthroughs and military conquests. Many even know that she was once a force of death.

Of course her name is not actually Ziirphael. It is something unpronounceable without the correct set of mandibles, but the translation is almost perfect. A happy accident, something found in translation.

--------

“That was the point of the collections.” The President explained. “I knew that I could not be the only one. That somewhere in the universe there must be someone else, someone like me.” It was not a two way communication. It was a blanket transmission; all over town anything that could display a picture of play audio was playing this transmission. It was somewhat heavy handed, but the President had been looking for someone really like her for a long time. Though she only had the thinnest shakiest scrap of evidence that there was someone in that backwater town who was like her, she was prepared to seize upon it. “Ziirphael, if you can hear me, make your way to-” The message was cut short, the screen suddenly cut to static.

High above the city a missile from Gormand’s motherburger slammed into the Skavat mothership, destroying the master receiver, and cutting off communications between the two planets for good.

Dragon Fogel · 11-14-2011, 04:58 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Konka Rar made his way through the ventilation ducts with surprisingly little trouble; he'd expected the mothership to take more strikes from Gormand's armada in the meantime. It was almost disconcerting; was the meatball leaving the mothership alone, or was he losing? Granted, given Gormand's development this round, it would eliminate a risk were he to die; but the ship's power core held such promise to Rar that it would be a grave disappointment if he were pulled away before acquiring it.

About halfway through, he discovered that the path he had selected, which was the shortest, actually involved going through an engine. An active engine. At least, that was his best guess judging by the massive flame filling the tunnel ahead of him.

At first, he cursed his luck. But then he thought for a moment and realized that this presented an excellent opportunity for a distraction. An imminent engine failure would draw quite a bit of attention, after all. Perhaps it would not directly draw guards away from the power core, but it would likely slow down any reinforcements.

Through his synthetic eye, the lich carefully scanned through the flames, trying to find the source. He found it, and aimed his cybernetic arm towards the machine he expected to find at the other end.

One laser blast later, the flames slowly died down. Rar hovered through the tunnel, then stopped. He would not be able to maintain his levitation spell while performing this next incantation; he needed too much concentration.

***

The sudden engine failure caused a high-priority alert; still, as there were three engines, it was hardly critical. Commander Las'healt was on edge, however, as the ship - in fact, the fleet - was now under his command with the High Admiral's death and the inability to receive orders from High Commands.

The fact that they'd had an alarm in the High Admiral's office and security had found only a raging fire when they finally made it inside did not help his mood.

"I think this is the work of the saboteur," the Commander muttered, mostly to himself. Then he sent a message to the security chief. "Send a security team - no, three security teams - to inspect the area. I want that saboteur captured before he does any more damage. Or killed if capture proves infeasible."

The order was transmitted. Teams Alpha, Delta, and Upsilon were dispatched towards the engine room.

***

It was a member of Team Upsilon who found the saboteur, just standing there in the middle of the exhaust tunnel. The guard pressed a button on his wristband in case he needed backup, then prepared to tackle the lich from behind.

When he was about five feet away, two things happened. First, the rest of Team Upsilon arrived, along with about half of Teams Alpha and Delta, and the guards began swarming the tunnel.

Unfortunately for them, the second thing that happened was Konka Rar completing his spell.

"COCYTUS!"

A massive icestorm filled the tunnel, passing all the way to the engine and encasing everything, save Rar himself, in a layer of thick ice. The security guards were frozen, as was the engine itself, and the six technicians working on it.

Konka Rar's skeletal grin seemed to widen as he recast his levitation spell. This had helped him even more than he had expected. The one downside was that he would have to take a less direct route to the power core, as there were likely other security forces looking for him by now; he floated down a side path back into the ventilation ducts and continued on his way.

A few minutes later, Team Alpha's captain tried to contact one of his men for the status on the saboteur. He received no response. He then failed to contact five other members who had responded to the call for backup, prompting him to suspect that something had gone wrong. He sent a scout to investigate and report back immediately, with orders not to engage the saboteur directly.

Thirty seconds after receiving the scout's report, eight additional security teams were dispatched to the engine area.

By the time the order was transmitted, however, Konka Rar had already left, and was taking a detour towards the security room. He'd noticed a few troops heading towards it, and reasoned that it might benefit him to acquire some new minions.

Not The Author · 03-06-2012, 11:04 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

The battle was not going well.

Certainly, the alien invasion force had suffered heavy losses. That wave of magic had been invaluable for rushing some of his heavier units, and was really the only reason he’d been able to build the massive amalgam of pasta and burger that was knocking saucers out of the sky. He had lost many of his troops as well, but he could simply churn out more from the meaty slush that was forming around the Motherburger’s feet. He was slowly but surely losing the fight… but this was not the problem.

Gormand was a strategist. Most of those he fought against viewed him as a horrible monster that destroyed all he came into contact with, and while this was technically true, some traits implied by that description were not. He tried to avoid brute-forcing his way to victory, despite his troops being for all intents and purposes entirely disposable. He rarely fought battles he didn’t think he could win, unless he was intentionally trying to stall an advance. Oftentimes he would raid settlements to whittle away his enemy’s morale, or capture hostages to divert his enemies’ forces, rather than simply raze his conquests. Always, always, he fought for a purpose. Mere territorial acquisition was not enough of a reason for him to fight; he always sought some strategic gain from his battles. No point taking what you can’t hold, after all.

This fight against the alien force was purposeless, and that was why it was not going well. It was stress relief, an attempt to return to normalcy, self-serving wonton destruction. There was no reason for it, ultimately – this round would pass and the Virus would destroy itself trying to overextend its influence. His army would almost certainly not join him in transition, and another magical burst like that accompanying the Giant’s death was incredibly unlikely in the upcoming rounds. As soon as someone died, he would be back at square zero.

It seemed to him that the most he could do at any given time was kill a contestant on his own terms. But even that, the greater conflict, the Savage Brawl (She’d called it that, hadn’t she? He didn’t quite remember. How long ago had this contest begun?) had an echo of futility to it. What was the point of it all? The Cultivator had dumped the responsibility on another’s shoulders, and apparently wasn’t as indisposed as she might have liked them to believe. Had she abandoned them? Were they just a plaything of which she had grown tired? He didn’t discard the possibility, but it certainly didn’t seem like some grandiose master plan was underway.

Nevertheless, he was trapped in this… game, and loathe as he was to admit, he would have to play by its rules or end up caught with his metaphorical pants down. Which brought him back to the question that had been bothering him since Hoss came crashing through a wall:

Who to kill?

Ekelhaft was the obvious choice. He was the most dangerous and deadly of the contestants, and given too much time could turn them against each other with his aura of insanity. But Gormand’s ultimate goal was to kill the Cultivator, and Ekelhaft had allegedly eradicated everything on his home planet. If anyone was going to kill the Cultivator, that blob was one of the most likely to succeed.

…Had Ekelhaft actually killed anyone yet? Hoss had killed Anarchy (or she’d killed herself, arguably) and Calm and Diego had each… died at some point…? Who had killed them? This was going to bug him for a while, he was sure.

The problem with killing Ekelhaft was that Ekelhaft was an easy target to rally the others behind. He was an immediate threat, and once he was gone, the immediate threats would be each other. Ziirphael he’d met only once before, Hoss almost certainly had his own agenda, and Konka Rar used (admittedly dead) people as disposable tools on a regular basis. They weren’t unified as a single front yet; he couldn’t rely on the others to help him kill the Cultivator. This was largely his own fault – in retrospect, he should have spent his time strengthening the group rather than himself. At least those three could probably be reasoned with. His best bet was still to kill Ekelhaft.

And now, thanks to generous-if-involuntary contributions by the good people of Jedesburg, he had the means to do so.

As soon as Gormand was sure Hoss had gone, the floor opened beneath him, and he dropped into the school’s basement. Here, the plague’s touch was relatively subdued – its attentions had been redirected to the device at the center of the room, rather than the room itself. One not acquainted with the warlord might fancy the device to be built of hastily dismantled microwave ovens and a refrigerator or two. They would almost be right, but for the word “built.”

Somehow, despite the very earth crashing down in a wave of liquefied offal at his touch, anything manufactured for the preparation of food was immune to the virus’ transmutations. Or the virus had some affinity for appliances, or… something. It bothered Gormand that he didn’t know how this particular facet of the Virus worked. Not only was his race was atechnological, the actual machines the virus could forge didn’t seem to conform to either magical or technological conventions. They were too useful to pass up, though, as they were his only real source of heavily armored troops. …And things like this device.

The device was an appropriately-scaled eyepiece, all stainless steel and shiny white plastic. Bulky vents took up either side of the device, and flexible metal tubes snaked out from the frame at irregular intervals. A dim light lazily circled the inner rim, barely illuminating the foggy fisheye lens. The warlord glared at it warily, before giving up and jamming the thing on his face. It secured itself with a quiet squelch, and began the slow process of Death By Irradiation. Or, as he sometimes liked to think of it, chemotherapy.

His five-story fall was cushioned by the thick fleshy stew bubbling away beneath his burger behemoth. He had no idea where to start looking for the blob, no faith in his competition to help, and no resources to spare from the ongoing conflict. As he dragged himself from the ooze, the meatball sighed. The sooner this thing was gone and done with, the better.

He wasn’t entirely sure what thing specifically, but at this point he’d settle for just about everything.

Show Content

Ixcaliber · 03-07-2012, 06:19 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

The unfortunate timing of a missile striking just the wrong spot on the Skavan mothership, and just like that the connection was cut. The intricate systems of the communication array were shattered, buried under a clinging crust of splattered meat. The broadcast from the alien Empress ceased permanently, taking with it what was probably Ziirphael’s only chance of finding someone like him. It would be foolish to assume that he had taken it well. It should be assumed that by the time he emerged from that electronics store every television screen had been shattered into a million pieces; most likely no potentially breakable object had survived.

Ziirphael was angry. He was so very angry. Angry with The Cultivator for taking his immortality, angry with Konka for taking his will, angry with Gormand for inadvertently taking away his chance at finally knowing someone of his own kind, and finally angry with Ekelhaft for god damn refusing to die. He slumped down against a lamppost, causing it to slightly bend backwards as he did so. Probably the only reason he was not angry with Hand of Silver was that he had not had all that much contact with the cyborg. If he had the lungs with which to do so he would have sighed. He was angry, yes, but it was not burning rage that fuelled him like it had been before. This anger was cold and it was heavy; a weight in the pit of his stomach. How hard could it be to kill one goddamned blob? They had the combined might of the necromantic magics of Konka Rar, the advanced technology of Hand of Silver and the armies of meat of Gormand, at least in theory, and they could not bring down one homicidal blob? It was not as if Ekelhaft was a particularly cunning opponent. It did not employ complex strategy; it was simply consumption and chaos running virtually unchecked across every environment they had passed through. It was almost hilarious how pitiful a situation this was. Ziirphael might have actually chuckled to himself at this point; a grim half life of someone who finally recognises a sad truth they aren’t particularly surprised by.

If they could not stop Ekelhaft what realistic chance did they have against The Cultivator?

The answer was simple. They couldn’t do it. They did not have a hope in hell of bringing down The Cultivator.

It is sometimes hard to accept the truth. The idea that the thing you want most in the world is out of your reach and will likely remain that way no matter what you do is not a particularly palatable one. Perhaps, Ziirphael mused, if they had combined their efforts sooner? If Doctor Anarchy had not got herself killed, and maybe that guy with the knife as well. Diego, well he could still die, Ziirphael guessed, they could do just fine without his treachery. If they had worked together back then they might have had a shot. If they could convince Ekelhaft that she was the real enemy… then they might really have a shot. But that was wishful thinking and Ziirphael couldn’t entertain it, not even for a second. He’d accepted the bitter truth. Sat there on the side of the road in an almost empty town while the forces of one of his competitors and one of the ‘round hazards’ clashed overhead, Ziirphael swallowed down his pride. He bit down upon his anger and his desire for revenge and decided that he would have to simply be happy to make it through this thing in one piece, even if that meant playing The Cultivator’s game in earnest.

Ziirphael climbed to his feet and idly mused as he strolled down the street. If he was really was going to do this he would have to, at some point, think about how to kill one of the contestants that was not Ekelhaft. Even if you did not account for Konka’s control over this body, they still all had the advantage over him; Konka with his magic, Hoss his technology and Gormand his army. Ziirphael’s strong suit was his brute strength; in comparison it seemed somehow lacking. If this was to come down to him and someone else, he was not sure how he would hold his own. He thought about this as he watched the continuing battle overhead. Konka had been right. He needed to control his anger, with it he was predictable, an easy target that they could pick off at a later date. He needed to think, and to know when to strike. Betrayal of some kind seemed like the only way he would get through this battle alive.

Of course, that depended entirely on killing Ekelhaft. The blob was the one sticking point where all plans seemed to come unstuck.

Well, Ziirphael thought as she smeared himself with dried blood, maybe it was time to do something about that.

--------

Commander Las’healt was not in the best of moods as it was. This entire mission had gone from a simple retrieval of native creatures to an all out war with a type of creature that had gone completely unrecorded during scouting missions, and every time he thought that the situation could not get any worse it somehow did. He had just received a report that in his attempt to stop the saboteur he was haemorrhaging entire security teams, and despite their efforts one of the engines had been compromised anyway. Then there was a report that the engine failure had led to some unexpected problems, most notable of which was the temporary power failure to the Containment Hangar. It had lasted long enough to allow almost half of the varied alien specimens to escape captivity. The Hangar had gone into lockdown but it seemed unlikely to hold for long. And as if that had not been dispiriting enough he was now receiving reports that the integrity of the ship itself was being compromised by the clinging skin of meat, which was inexplicably slowly transforming whatever it was in contact with.

It had become apparent to the Commander that while they were slowly winning this war, the mothership itself was not going to make it. He was no captain, he had no obligation to go down with this ship, and what was more, wasn’t it more important that his forces had continued command from a competent and very much alive officer so as to best fight back the meat menace? He very much thought so. Commander Las’healt commanded that a transfer pod be prepared to move him from the mothership to… he glanced at the data he had available… The Shrik’aan. It was obviously just a coincidence that that happened to be the least damaged ship in their fleet. While the pod was being prepared he ordered some more security forces down to where the saboteur had last been sighted, extra security on all the engines, and extra security on him of course.

Show Content

Dragon Fogel · 03-16-2012, 02:00 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

The plan had been simple enough. Head to the security room, kill everyone inside, reanimate their corpses.

Suddenly being pounced on by a feral creature that resembled a giant panther on spider legs with a giant carnivorous plant growing out of its back hadn't been part of the plan. Neither was having its head grow back in mere seconds after a laser blast from Konka's cybernetic eye.

Granted, he wasn't in much danger of actually dying. But the beast might disassemble him, and possibly swallow a bone or two.

Fortunately, the dilemma was resolved by a shotgun blast knocking the creature away.

"There's another one, Jack!" a voice shouted. "Down on the ground! We'd better take him out, too, before he gets up!"

"Cool it, Ezekiel," another voice said, this one gruffer but calmer. "This one might be friendly."

Rar picked himself up, and stared. Two humans walked towards him. One wore a military uniform and held a still-smoking shotgun, the other was dressed in rural attire and carrying a large pitchfork. The sight of the latter was unnerving for Rar, but not actually threatening. Although he certainly hoped no one in the area had a torch.

"Friendly? He's a freakin' skeleton, Jack! Probably wants to steal our bones or somethin'!"

"I said cool it," the military man replied. "If there's one thing I learned in the war, it's that there's no sense making enemies when you don't need to. Now let me do the talking."

Jack lowered his weapon and waved his arm.

"Hello!" he said slowly. "Can you understand me?"

It took Rar a few moments to process what was going on. Then he realized it.

"Ah, there we go," he said, in the friendliest voice he could manage. It still sent a chill down Ezekiel's spine. "Good day, gentlemen. I apologize, my translation processor needed a few moments to integrate your language. My name is... Quoun'car-Iarr."

Ezekiel muttered something under his breath about "dang foreign names".

"Good to meet you, Quoun... er... is it all right if I call you that?" The lich nodded, and Jack continued. "I'm Sergeant Jack Nelson, and this here's Ezekiel Jones. He's a farmer. We were brought here by a saucer and the aliens asked us a bunch of questions about Earth. I suppose the same thing happened on your planet?"

"That is correct," Rar said.

"Well, anyhow. We figured that, now that the cells are open, we may as well give these aliens a parting gift. Unfortunately, not all the other prisoners are as cooperative as you, like you saw just now. You mind lending us a hand?"

"Not at all, Sergeant Jack Nelson," Konka Rar replied, acting as ignorant as he could. "These beings have taken me from my homeworld. I cannot allow that to pass unpunished."

"Great!" Jack said, extending a hand. He paused. "Uh, you grab it and shake. Earth greeting, see."

"How fascinating," Konka Rar said, grasping the man's hand as clumsily with his cybernetic arm as he could. "Were our circumstances more favorable, I should like to learn more of your Earth culture."

Jack smiled.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll get the chance, Quoun. Now let's go find Daisy. I don't like leaving a pretty lady alone, after all."

Ezekiel muttered something under his breath again.

"My translation processor is unclear on the meaning of that last term, Ezekiel Jones," Rar said. "Could you elaborate?"

The farmer's face turned red.

"You, uh... You heard that?"

"Oh, I apologize. It had not occurred to me that your hearing range might be more limited than mine. Clearly human biology will take me some time to adjust to as well."

Konka Rar wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he was enjoying this.

Dragon Fogel · 03-23-2012, 07:13 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Jack and Ezekiel soon lead their new guest to their former cell, where the lich was greeted by a small black dog gnawing on his leg.

"Hey! Calm down there, Rover!" Jack shouted, pulling him off. "Quoun here's gonna help us out."

"Or he's gonna lead his home planet here," Ezekiel mumbled. "I'm tellin' ya, Jack, can't trust none of these spacemen!"

"Shut up, Zeke," Jack replied. "Hey boy! Where's Daisy? Did somethin' happen to her?"

Rover barked excitedly. Despite his annoyance at encountering yet another dog, Konka Rar decided that it would be best, for the moment, to keep up his act.

"What is a Daisy?" he asked, in as ignorant a tone of voice as he could muster.

A moment later, his question was answered with the sound of a female voice screaming. This was a sound Rar was rather familiar with, but he had to admit that a scream of "TAKE THAT, ALIEN SCUM!" was a new experience to him.

Daisy soon ran in, holding an unusual weapon. She fired red lasers down the hall before turning to her companions.

"Sorry, boys," she said with a smile. "I just couldn't stay put. Especially when I found out that the armory was so close by!"

She handed smaller weapons to the farmer and the sergeant.

"Here. I bet these will be more help than a pitchfork and a shotgun." She smirked. "Oh, hey, you found us a new friend? Sorry, mister, I don't have anything for you. And I kinda... melted the rest of the weapons. Y'know, so the aliens can't use 'em."

"I believe I will be able to handle myself," Rar replied. "My name is Quoun'car-Iarr, but you may call me Quoun, as these gentlemen have opted to do." He tried to smile, but he suspected it just came across as unnerving. "Are you the Daisy that Sergeant Jack Nelson has spoken of?"

"She sure is," Jack said with a grin. "Now let's take down this ship, men! And women."

Rover growled.

"And dogs. And... whatever Quoun is," Jack said, chuckling a bit.

"So what's the plan, Jack?" Daisy asked.

"Hmm. Dunno, actually. At first I was thinkin' we'd just blast the aliens as we found 'em, but they might be firin' on the city while we're in here. Guess we should figure out where the control room is?"

"I believe I may be able to help with that, Sergeant Jack Nelson," Konka Rar said.

"How's that, Quoun?"

"I had just managed to locate a map of the ship when you found me," Rar replied. "I was able to find not only the control room, but also the main power generator. If that were shut down, it would disable the ship. And I believe I have the necessary expertise to do so."

"Awright!" Jack said. "Ya see, Zeke? You gotta learn to trust people."

Ezekiel just grumbled.

"Okay. We'll head to the control room, just in case something goes wrong on your end."

"What? You're gonna leave this alien freak alone?" Ezekiel shouted. "Forget it, Jack! You can walk into the trap he's setting if you want, but I ain't lettin' him outta my sight!"

"Fine," Jack sighed. "He could probably use some cover anyways. But don't shoot him just 'cause you don't like the look of him, okay? If he really does pull something funny, fine. But if he doesn't, and I find out you hurt him..."

The sergeant's glare finished his sentence for him.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But I'm tellin' ya, this freak is bad news!"

Jack waved him away dismissively.

"Whatever. Okay, Quoun, how do we get to the control room?"

GBCE · 04-18-2012, 08:30 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

A figure darted through the wreckage of once-quaint shops and ruined alleys. Another alien ship flew overhead, trailing smoke and fire. The figure ducked into a doorway, and cautiously watched it fall, panting heavily.

Hoss caught his breath while he watched the alien ship crash, and readjusted the makeshift sling around his torso. He felt the hard surface of its contents press against his back, and tried not to remember how vulnerable he was.

His time near the alien power source had yielded the results he'd wanted. Magic had purged all technology from his body, and rebuilt him anew. The process left him nude and hairless, so his immediate priority had been finding clothing, and a method to carry his newest acquisition.

As he'd felt the ethereal powers take hold of him, and realized his mental capacities would be severely diminished after the transformation, Hoss gave his remaining cyborg parts a final directive. As part of a last-resort system put in place to end his own life (in the case that he became severely unstable, or some unforseen circumstance), every heat sink in Hoss's body was capable of directing that heat into the metal parts of his internal structure, and melting them down.

The heat attained was such that Hoss was able to freely reorganize the atomic structure of the liquid metal so as to cool into an extremely dense crystalline structure, capable of storing vast amounts of information. He made a few modifications to certain sections of the proto-orb, allowing it limited functionality of the communication orbs he'd spread through the multiverse earlier. Into it he poured all of his stored knowledge, everything that would be lost with his neural augments, everything that his brain could not store on its own, millions upon millions upon millions of years' worth of memories. Every skill he'd learned, every person he'd met, every moment of every day for the past billion years of his life went into the device taking shape inside him, for in the next few minutes, he'd be losing it all.

His magically-growing body pushed the small, white-hot orb out his left shoulder. It hit the ground with a soft thud, and deformed slightly from the impact. As Hoss's left arm regrew, the orb cooled into a flattened, elliptical dome, its longest axis roughly the length of a forearm.

That dome now lay against his back, held there by the piece of cloth he'd tied across his chest and shoulder. He'd chosen padded jacket, a bit dirty and torn, but the extra cushioning (for the sling), as well as the fact that it was tweed, appealed to him. The only pants he could find were khakis that were a bit too loose, and singed slightly at the cuffs. Add to that the slightly-too-large black leather shoes, and you had what looked like another terrified survivor of the battle.

He shifted the weight of his sling uneasily. So far as he could tell, he'd been successful in surrendering to magic. His body had been created entirely from magic. But all he felt was... tired. And hungry. There wasn't even the awareness of will he'd felt during his first clumsy attempts at wielding magic. He grimaced. He had lost so much in becoming organic again, had he lost what he needed? He could not even remember most of the knowledge that had left him, so how could he know if he was lacking something vital? He cursed, and shook himself. No point dwelling; the decision had been rather final.

He was still left with no idea what to do, though. Especially vexing was that this battlefield had gone from an easily-navigable field of resources to a death-trap laden maze. Not to mention that he'd stand no chance in a direct confrontation with any of his opponents, if they'd even recognize him in this state. He narrowed his eyes. No, it was time to wait, and let this round take its course. In the meantime, there was still work he could do.

He turned from the smoldering street and unslung his satchel. Placing the device carefully on the floor, he pressed a section of its surface, activating its Network connection. A link was established immediately, and a display activated on the surface of the device. Hoss nearly recoiled as his own face looked out from the screen. "Hello, me," it said, smiling his own smile, "You, yourself and I need to have a little chat."