The Spectacular Exhibition (S3G2) [Round 2: Space - Abridged]

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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SpoilerMaking a quick reference in case anybody needs it.

Desert: Brooklyn, Tria, Gepetto, Norman
Tundra: Red, Blazard, Nemaeus, Crepitans

I will edit this as needed.

Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.

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Dying wasn't hard. It didn't even hurt.

Perhaps death was just a dream, stretching into eternity.

As Nemaeus crouched on the ice and watched the snow fall softly around him, it was all he could rationalise it to be. Sure, it felt real enough. The warm breath billowing lazily in the freezing air looked as it should. The ground made just the right crunch beneath his shifting feet. If this was a dream, it was the work of a master dreamweaver indeed. His thoughts wandered to the Counsellor. Her words.

Yes, indeed.

The man's shaking hands grasped the lush fur of the Wolf and drew it tighter around him, waiting until he shivered a little less before he slowly rose up and stood on his own two feet. Trembling, the dead man stumbled through his first steps as a dead man. Nervous, he stared around him and straight into the shifting white. It didn't feel right, not yet. The woman in the room said the others would join them, and yet he was alone.

Alone.

And this was his hell.

The fear – or perhaps just the memory of it - hit him like a sucker punch from a train. For a brief moment he stared into that dark abyss, the abyss duly staring back into him. His mind was gone, his breath stolen, and all that was left in the small jutting piece of him that was left was the fear.

But it was for a moment, and only that. A second later the feeling had passed. Nemaeus gasped in the snow, hunched over and rapidly trying to convince himself that he wasn't afraid. Entering this strange death may have been easy enough, but falling into the embrace of the noose had the worst part of that sodding life.

He blithely cursed the white (if he was angry, looked angry, he wasn’t scared, couldn’t be) and stood again, walked again. At some point the snow whipped away and the huge unending sky loomed over him instead. The sun weakly shone on where it could, but he just felt himself becoming more and more numb. Whether that was a result of the cold or the bleakness of the land was something Nemaeus didn’t know and didn’t care about.

So when the landscape changed, if only slightly, to allow for a small bump of white to rise above the flat rest of it, he hardly reacted at all. When he came close enough to see it to be an igloo, he didn’t question that either, merely leaning against it. His silver eyes stared out into the passive paleness of the world. Sooner or later he slumped into a sitting position.

Then he just watched.

Originally posted on MSPA by pandaExtremist.

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One moment he was playing rock paper scissors with Otto, the next he was being transported to a completely different universe to participate in some kinda fight to the death. To say Gepetto was afraid would most likely be an understatement; being told you're going to be in a battle to the death isn't very comforting, nor is being told that one of your opponents is a giant poison tree monster. ...Or a possessed chainsaw. Honestly, quite a few of these people were threatening sounding. Augh, he was gonna die he was gonna die he was gonna di-

And suddenly he was somewhere else. Again. He practically hadn't noticed the restrictions on his movement, but as soon as they were released, he stumbled and fell down on his face. He got up as soon as he felt his face burning; standing on his feet, he was infinitely glad he was wearing shoes. Considerably less so that he was wearing socks. He thought about removing his T-shirt, but he felt the desert heat on his bare forearms and quickly decided against it. Looking around for a moment to confirm that he was still near his friends, he quickly saw that they too were in discomfort, the heat blistering their skin. He quickly grabbed Mo and put his arms over him, keeping him from the devestating rays of the sun. Jo quickly stepped between the sun and the rest of them, casting his shadow over them to keep them from overheating.

Unfortunately, Jo had no such protection from the heat, and both Otto and Gepetto realized this. With a few mumbles of "we need to find shelter" and somesuch, they began looking for any sort of shelter on the horizon. Otto quickly made out a few mountains to the East, judging by the position of the sun, and swiftly, the group moved towards the mountains, lead by Jo. "...Are... are we going to get out of this alive?" Gepetto asked under his breath. Though the question was seemingly directed to nobody at all, Otto apparently managed to hear it, judging by his reply.

"Of course we are! I mean, we've gotten out of everything else alive, right? So this shouldn't be a problem!" Otto exclaimed. if he told you he wasn't just a little excited about this, he'd be lying; if he told you he wasn't worried about it, he'd be lying too. In this case, he'd be misleading; despite his excited tone, he was pretty worried that not all of them would make it through this alive. Sure, two of them were puppets, but he knew his brother would be destroyed if anything happened to them. And he would protect his brother at all costs.

Gepetto paused for a moment, taking a few seconds to believe that Otto was actually looking forward to this. "'Everything else' didn't involve flying ghost chainsaws, Otto. Or practically anything else here, for that matter," he said, giving his brother a nervous glance. Otto frowned, before patting Gepetto on the back.

"Hey, everything's gonna be alright. Promise." And he meant it. He would make sure nobody laid a finger on the others; especially his brother. And if they did... wait. It was just now that he realized that they would probably have to kill someone to make it out of this alive; whether it be another contestant or the very person that put them there. The thought made him shudder; they'd never killed anybody before, and he hoped they wouldn't for a very, very long time.

"Yeah, alright. If you say so..." mumbled Gepetto. He wanted to believe his brother; he really did. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen one way or another. He could only hope he was wrong. Seeing that they were pretty close to the mountains now, he perked up and exclaimed, probably louder than he intended to, "Hey look! We're almost there!" He could even see a fairly large cave in the distance. He'd be there soon, he hoped. Even in the shadow of a giant, it was pretty hot in the desert...

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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SpoilerThat's four in the desert, so Crepitans goes tundra-wards. I've updated my list a few posts up accordingly.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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Odd. Why's it running? Nothing to be afraid of. He took a few cautious steps closer to the aardvark, and it backed away quickly. ...oh. It's running from me. Duh. Red gestured in a friendly manner with the two bulky forearms of his mech. "All friends here. Don't want to hurt you. It's alright, it's okay..."

Unknown to Red, this consoling attempt stirred within Blazaard's mind the memory of his handlers, the vicious figures who had stolen him from his home and put him in that place of constant pain. No way would Blazaard ever let that happen again let them try! He lowered his head and took a few steps back. By the time Red realized he was about to be mauled, Blazaard had already covered a quarter of the distance between them. Red had just enough to time take a few steps to the side and swing one of his forearms at the approaching beast. Blazaard jumped on it and held fast, trying his best to scratch through the metal. They wouldn't take him again. Never again.

Without warning, the mech's torso began spinning around at a high velocity, until Blazaard lost his grip and went sailing through the air to land in a snow drift, sending a cloud of white dust into the air. The torso stopped spinning and one of the forearms pointed in Blazaard's direction. A hatch opened at the end and a big game net shot out, covering Blazaard neatly. He thrashed inside of it, but only succeeded in ensnaring himself more. His eyes grew wide with panic and he began to glow slightly.

Red clanked forward in time to be momentarily blinded by the burst of light Blazaard emitted, along with the wave of heat. When he was once again able to see, he saw the game net burnt to a crisp, a huge puddle of water and slush where Blazaard had been trapped, and Blazaard himself charging at him again. The aardvark slammed into Red's chest, causing him to slide back a couple of inches on the icy surface. Red was about to throw the creature off him again when Blazaard lit up, blinding him for the second time in as many minutes. Red blindly carried through with the motion, and he heard the thunk of Blazaard hitting the ground a few yards away, followed by a crunch as the heavy mech frame fell halfway into the water below, easily breaking through the ice that had been weakened by the heat Blazaard had released. While Red struggled to pull himself out of the half-in, half-out of the water position he was in, Blazaard turned around and ran for all he was worth, putting his head down and not even checking where he was going.

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Nemaeus huddled under the Wolf's fur. The cold was getting to him. He stood up and walked a distance from the igloo, in the hopes that the motion would heat him up. As he glanced over the horizon, he noticed a small shape barreling out from behind a snow dune. However, the sun was in his eyes, and he couldn't make out what it was. He stared at it confusedly for a minute while it got closer and closer before he was able to recognize it as the aardvark he had been introduced to not more than ten minutes ago, running full tilt at him without even looking where it was going.

Nemaeus tried to run out of the way, but between the slipping of the ice and the stiffness of his limbs he was unable to dodge Blazaard, who bowled into him, landing in a sprawling heap a few feet away. Nemaeus untangled himself and stumbled away, eyeing the large aardvark warily. Their eyes met and locked, and Blazaard stopped backing away as a faint smile flickered across Nemaeus' lips. He was busy enough that he barely noticed the faint clanking in the distance that indicated that Red had pulled himself out of the water and was making his way towards the pair.

Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.

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Reserve or something.

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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This is a warning that I'm probably going to post if whoosh hasn't filled her reserve by the time I finish this post. Sorry it's my first, I lost the internets for a week.

Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.

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You can just post, SO. I'm a little lacking on content in this post anyway and I might be able to use your character for nefarious happenings. Perhaps.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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Red was, by now, quite furious. How dare that blasted animal attack me when I was simply trying to ally myself with it! He thought a lot of similar angry thoughts as he clanked off in the direction the aardvark had traveled, until they were suddenly and rudely interrupted by a loud burst of static from an outside frequency. What the-- He quickly tuned out all other channels until he had mostly intercepted the end of what was apparently a rather corny speech.

"--within this message information which shall allow you to better communicate across the multiverse! We shall come together and strike back at all that oppose us! Together, the empire we form shall extend across never-before-matched boundaries, encompassing dominions never before dreamed of! My friends, my allies from all imaginable walks of life, this is it! THIS SHALL BE OUR HOUR!"

Red snorted to himself. That was rather ridiculous. Then he turned his thoughts to the information packaged within the message, which he found far more interesting than the message itself. Triple encoding to protect information, bipodal sine waves to preserve quality...whoever did this is no beginner. Could be improved...but no, now is not the time. He quickly began to build his own reply. "Dear sir or madam, have received your message. Bipodal sinusoidal waves combined with triple-bypass encoding like nothing I've seen before...quite interesting. Easy to decode, but doubt that was your goal. Information within was interesting, will respond more after further analysis. Am also in a battle to the death with seven others. Grandmaster goes by the Counsellor. Thinks this is some sort of group therapy session. But I'm not crazy. THEY'RE crazy. Not paranoid, they're just trying to make me say I am. They're too close. Red out." He sent the message back in the direction it had come from.

Red had worked himself into a fever. Spinning the robot torso around, he assured himself that no one had snuck up on him while he had paused. Gotta keep moving. Can't lose them. He continued clanking on after the aardvark.

Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.

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Nemaeus allowed himself a smile as the rabid creature fell under his control. For a brief moment their eyes were locked, and they exhaled and inhaled in perfect unison. He began to sway, almost imperceptibly, and the spellbound aardvark slowly followed suit.

"S'alright. I'm not going to hurt you, little buddy," he whispered silkily, widening his smile into a carnivorous grin.

Suddenly, the drooping eyes of the aardvark snapped open, and its nostrils flared. And Nemaeus, instead of taking the advice of his screaming brain, froze in his kneeling position.

The first hit was little more than a ragged scratch, searing down the side of his quickly turned face. A strangled scream escaped the suited man as he blindly kicked at the huge creature and grasped for his fur cape. Blazaard in turn screeched as the leg hit its intended target.

For a few seconds there was a chaos, and above it: the soft clinking of Red, approaching. Lurking just beneath that noise was a nigh inaudible whirring: the patient growl of the unstoppable machine.

Nemaeus emerged from the confusion staggering and sporting two cuts on his face, the blood trickling down his face in tiny streams. He ran a hand over his blood and flicked it off into the disturbed snow. There the droplets splattered and steamed, a starkly inscribed message that the battle had indeed begun.

Hung over his other arm, however, was the wolf skin. Nemaeus grinned crookedly.

A few metres away Blazaard crouched, snarling.

“Must have a good fiery reason for hating me, little buddy. Normally once I get you guys that far under you’re gone for good. Point of no return, if you like.” His grin flattened into a grimace, and he squinted. “Course, it could just be that you’re smarter than I took you for-“

Nemaeus had been inching forward as he began to speak, but he quickly cut off his speech with a hiss. Blazaard was on the move, lunging into the stride of a long lope. Hardly flinching, the man also leapt forward unfurling the skin like a sail. And once again, above the faint scuffle in the snow Red’s approach was announced in those terrible clinks, uniform and unwavering. Even the screeching of a rising wind did little to carry it away from the brawlers.

Nemaeus’ mind crashed back to earth as he and the aardvark collided. A series of coughs exploded from him as the damn animal winded him, but he kept his focus and encircled the thing in his fur, holding it in the tightest grip he could muster. While the creature shrieked and flailed he valiantly pushed himself forward and rested his body weight on top of the aardvark. Exhausted, he allowed himself to briefly close his eyes and freely pant.

But then he realized that the ever-present clanking had stopped.

His eyes flicked open.

“Who,” an angry voice snapped, “are you?”

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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SpoilerI had a lot less time to write on this trip than I anticipated. Bluh.

Most of this post was made on planes and in airports, and the preponderance of it, today. Sorry for the lower-than-usual quality and ramblyness.

It had been dark and quiet, the air heavy with the choking fog rising off the marsh. There was little noise, but it could not truly be called silent; silence implies a sense of peace or rest, but the void of sound - punctuated only rarely by a raucous birdcall or sloshing noise - was nothing if not tense. The discomfort in the air was palpable, in a more literal sense than is typically meant by the phrase: any living being in a certain area of the swamp would have had a sense of dread and disquiet instilled in them, regardless of their actual mood.

The cause of the unsettling aura would not have been readily apparent to any observer outside a particular stand of trees; anyone who peered in, however, would have been able to make a fairly good guess that the source was the spell being woven by an apparently-ambulatory tree. Faintly-glowing sigils traced on the ground lent the scene a sickly green cast, bright enough to make out shapes and motion but too dim to truly illuminate the scene. Details, and even the contents of the small tree-lined area, were largely impossible to make out; one thing, however, was perfectly clear and visible, as a number of small glyphs had been carved into the trunk of one of the trees that formed the "wall"; though they were little brighter than their larger ground-bound equivalents, the number of them in one small area was enough to reveal what they were carved around: a man had been nailed to the tree, spikes driven through his shoulders and wrists, and a rope or vine was securing his ankles in place. His face was eerily impassive and expressionless as the enormous shape of his captor moved around the clearing, tracing more glowing arcane shapes into the dirt; he would have appeared dead were it not for his slow, calm breathing.

Eventually, the shaman finished his mysterious work and returned to the man; the stand was by now faintly illuminated by all the arcane symbols scattered around it, barely bright enough to show what was happening. A woody hand reached for the senseless prisoner, running a barbed fingertip down his bare chest; the skin was effortlessly flayed, and as the thorns reached the stomach more pressure was applied, sending the wood tearing through skin and muscle and effectively eviscerating the man. Through the entire process, his face stayed completely blank, eyes that showed only sclera never blinking; ordinarily, this shaman wouldn't have bothered with a mind-blank spell, and would probably have relished the man's screams as he bled out, but this was an extraordinarily delicate spell and any thrashing could be disastrous. As quickly as could be managed, the man's skin was further stripped from his flesh and splayed behind him in a manner reminiscent of wings; his intestines were drawn carefully out with sanded-down fingers and woven around the arms and legs without tearing or cutting them. A stone knife was produced, and ribs were carefully removed; life-energy was periodically infused into the rapidly-exsanguinating man whenever he threatened to die. Soon, the torso was completely open to the fetid air of the marsh, slowly expanding and contracting lungs and beating heart continuing their functions in a ghastly mockery of life. Enormous wooden fingers stretched towards the heart, and... vanished.

The glowing runes sputtered and went out as one, leaving nothing but mundane shapes in the soil and on the trees. The oppressive sensation of dread dissipated, giving way to nothing but a normal, if murky, night. And for a few moments, that was all; there was peace over the grisly scene and the sodden mud. Then, with a sudden gasp, the man awakened, his eyes rolling back down from his skull.

It was probably for the best that he didn't have long. Either way, peace returned to the marsh again before many minutes had passed.

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Elsewhere – about as elsewhere as it's possible to be, in fact – a tree towered over several other variants on the theme of "sapient". A very angry tree. A very angry tree who had been interrupted, kidnapped, at the culmination of years of planning and work. A tree that, if it had its way, would currently be screaming bloody murder, and probably murdering bloodily. It found itself bizarrely paralyzed, however, able only to refocus the jagged hollows that served as its eyes and observe the other apparently-similarly-incapacitated beings. A bunch of pathetic monkeys, most of them. Worse, even, if such a thing were possible, were the insect in the tin can and the pathetic little quadruped. And some kind of... device. The wooden monkeys were bizarre, but not particularly distressing to someone who had no real love for his own kind and in fact had several structures made of his race's bodies concealed in his branches.

Time enough passed to percolate the blinding fury from his capture into seething choler, tempered with no small measure of panic. What had brought him here? For what purpose? Was he, the mightiest shaman of the dorukardia, to be some kind of collection piece for an eccentric wizard? Paranoid and angry thoughts spun through his mind, building to a mad crescendo just before the Counsellor entered. As she began her mad speech, all that rage hit a brick wall and transformed into disbelief and confusion. A fight to the death? It was utterly preposterous. Aside from the self-evident fact that there could be no winner but the tree, the notion that some gibbering madwoman of a therapist would go around kidnapping people and pitting them against each other in mortal combat to fix their problems was just... absurd.

And then she piled indignity on top of absurdity by climbing up the frozen tree as though it was some sort of mundane backyard oak. He would have been quivering with apoplectic fury by now if he could, but saved a small amount of mental space to wonder how someone so apparently fleshy and unprotected could scale his spinose bark without injury. She continued her speech from his boughs, briefly introducing each of the inferior beings she expected him to slaughter, making sure to explain what mental problems each had. He snorted inwardly when she mentioned his "disorders"; if that was what she wanted to call pragmatism and awareness of his own superiority, so be it.

He was so occupied with his self-serving thoughts when she clapped her hands and spit a few more inconsequential sentences. At "Have fun!", there was a flash, and they were all gone.

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Crepitans's stomata slammed shut as the bitter cold of the arctic air pressed against him. He was a tropical plant, or at least had been before being instilled with true life – the marsh had been a bit cooler than he would have ideally preferred, but tolerable; this was utterly unacceptable. It had been decades since he'd seen snow, and that had been as a demonstration of weather-spells, not natural snow, and not the blinding, omnipresent whiteness he was surrounded with now. The ice beneath his feet creaked, the pressure of several tons of tree turning the surface into slick water and threatening to break through the entire sheet. His shrike squawked with displeasure and retreated as deep as it could into the treant's crown.

Fear and confusion were draining out of Crepitans, leaving room for his boundless wrath; the only real question was who to direct it at: should he work towards destroying the impetuous witch who had the audacity to treat him like the rest of these pieces of filth, or deign to play her game and squash what could charitably be called his opponents? After some reasoning and a bit of aimless wandering, Bloodbark came to the conclusion that he had no idea where he was or where to find the Counsellor, and that shamanism was not the school of magic to get into if one wanted significant teleportation ability. If he wanted to destroy her, he would have to destroy the rest of them first; she was unlikely to have made herself present in the match itself, so he would have to get her to reveal herself by winning. It wouldn't take long.

Conveniently, there presently came several flashes and quite a lot of noise. A large snowbank stood between Crepitans and the source of those sounds, but he simply pressed straight through it, his crown above even the highest mound, cutting through the whiteness like a very green shark's fin. Once he was on the other side, he scanned for his targets, and spotted them converging near another pile of snow. What had she said? Something about only four (or seven) of them being in one place? That meant, presumably, that all of them that could be were gathered here, making it easy for him to kill them all at a go. Extremely serendipitous. Two of them were scuffling already, and the third was approaching from some distance; he judged the third would reach the other two well before he would, about which he was pleased. He moved, surprisingly quickly for something his size – the twenty-foot stride certainly contributing to his significant speed – waiting for what he took to be the insect in the bipedal metal container to reach the others; when it did, he broke into a run, thunderous footsteps sending cracks along the ice, and reached into his branches.

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"Who are you?"

Before a response could be made, or even the question considered, the sound of pounding footsteps came rolling across the snow. Two pairs of eyes looked towards the source, and saw the tree barreling towards them. After a moment, they also noticed several small shapes flying through the air in their direction.

Several of the seedpods exploded in midair, reports like gunfire sounding over the rumble of the treefolk's approach: they sent their organic shrapnel scything in the trio's general direction for the most part; those pods that had not burst rolled a bit closer before doing so, launching another volley of sharp seeds. The air hissed with their approach.

Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.

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Even before the report of the bursting pods had reached him, Nemaeus was rolling off of the struggling aardvark and pulling the impenetrable wolf hide over himself. Pulled taut, it harmlessly deflected the biological projectiles away from himself and Blazaard. Red was not as fast to react, still midway through turning to face the oncoming dorukardia when the first wave of seeds slammed into him. Still, the shell fragments and seeds merely caromed off or splintered to pieces on impact with his mech's thick metal carapace. Close behind the volley came Crepitans himself, powder and ice whipping off his bark. He dropped a shoulder towards Red as he took the final great stride to close the distance between them, following through with a crushing blow up into the mech's right armpit. The armor there crumpled inwards and the entire mech was lifted into the air on Crepitan's forearm, to be flung aside as the swing finished its arc. Red crashed to the ground behind and skidded across the ice.

Blazaard was still in a frenzy, clawing ineffectively at the wrapped human, when Crepitans reached the two of them. When the dorukardia's canopy dropped him into shadow, Blazaard finally noticed the new threat. Spooked, he scuttled through the entrance of the igloo.

"Ha, you dumb beast! Where do you expect to go from there? I will destroy you at my leisure now. But first," Crepitans scooped up Nemaeus in his lupine aegis, holding the bundle near his knotted face, "I saw how this skin protected you, human. I understand now what that accursed woman meant about it, but I wouldn't have to pierce it to crush you to paste. Still, one never knows when one might need a beating heart."

Nemaeus tried to speak up to reason with Crepitans, but the shaman shook him savagely until he was quiet. Wooden fingers deftly knotted the legs of the pelt together, and reaching back jammed in the knot into the crevice between two branches.

"Now, to end this farce."

Crepitans turned his attention to the igloo, ready to smash the structure and the aardvark inside with one blow. Before he could do so, a rolling gout of flame passed between him and the igloo, throwing up a thick cloud of black smoke.

"Back away."

Red's mech was back on its feet, right arm hanging limply and left arm pointed at the dorukardia. Its thick fingers were splayed backwards and a holed nozzle and pilot light protruded from an opening in the end of the arm.

"Wood burns, yes? Or melt ice, dump in zero degree water. Either fine."

To further mark his point, Red pointed upwards and drew a curtain of fire back and forth through the air. Crepitans snarled, but took a step backwards.

"Don't think you've won, trash. I will see you torn from that machine and impaled screaming on my boughs yet."

- - - - -

He huddled within the borrowed den built of cold. They had never set two against him before, and never come down themselves before he had won. Something was very wrong. From the mouth of his den came waves of heat and more of their chatter-whistle noises, too much, it made his mouth go dry and his skull feel too small. They had sent one of theirs and he was going to run but then he looked at their eyes and he felt sleepy and warm. Everything was good. But then they sent their noises into his head and it slipped in like it hadn't before and he had been so furious, they put it in him like all the wrong things they put in him and now he couldn't. get. it. out.

It has been said that magic is only the normal rules of one reality asserting themselves on another. In that sense, there was a war of realities raging within Blazaard. In one, which is called scientific, will and consciousness arises spontaneously from the arrangement of networks; in another it is an energy that can be extracted and expressed through dumb matter, generated in a buzzing machine strapped to a beatific llama before exploding in a wash of green over an innocent laser-aardvark and changing it forever; and in a third it is a substance all its own, merely hitch-hiking, and able to be carried in a charming look and a soothing word between two vessels.

All three waged their battles, and it was clear the first was losing, and had been for a long time now. The sparse trail of fur Blazaard left behind as he paced the inner perimeter of the igloo was testament to that. The second and the third seemed to be coming to a détente, crystal tendrils through the frontal lobe resonating with the words of command given by Nemaeus, and spreading a little further with every word drifting from outside. And in the meantime, a simple creature was left very upset at not being quite so simple as he used to be.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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SpoilerGetting back into the swing of things.

Grin-nh-nh-ngh-Ngh-NGHK-NGHK-NGHK.

Maybe it was the painkillers wearing off or the unaccustomed heat wearing away at her nerves, but the chainsaw's resounding, graunching snarl as it burst from a sand dune terrified Tria. Different parts of it were smoking and humming and gleaming in the unforgiving sun, the traitorous sand giving way under Tria's slipping feet as she turned too quickly to flee. The chainsaw seemed to slow a little as the last of the sand streamed off it, seemingly considering, before the blade rose like the scythe of Death himself, backed by that maniacal, rattling cackle-

The arm, and the reactor within, acted of its own accord as Tria threw it in front of her face. All it took was one look at the mess of metal, exploding from the sand, and the generator within kicked into defense of the subject. The air shimmered before Brooklyn could grumble about her ventfuls of sand or even notice the terrified young woman sprawled in front of her, a little rusty iron rising like dust around Tria as the field stabilised.

The ghost finally noticed the girl, then the futuristic machinery that had replaced her arm. Then the magnetic field it generated forcibly slungshot her into another sand-bank.

Brooklyn snarled angrily, though this was more at the dune she was up to her hilt in rather than at the poor girl radiating fear enough that even the ghost's senile senses could read it. Tria whimpered as the engines went dead, then flinched with the whine and a plume of sand. She was still too shaken by Brooklyn's arrival to stand, though the quiet, professional whir of the prosthetic arm was a vague comfort - one that the screaming machine seemed to be trying to drown out.

The chainsaw rose from the desert floor, dusting herself off as best she could with a few sharp jet bursts and arrested freefalls. She topped the crest she'd been tossed into with a clank and grunt, admiring the girl's apparatus from a safe distance. Not surprisingly, the ex-engineering professor was fascinated by it, and only wished she could take a closer look. One rocket-propelled equivalent attempt at a tentative step forward just made Tria flinch again.

Brooklyn sighed. This kind of reaction, as reasonable as Brooklyn could concede it was, made grand plans like "work together to stick it to that Counselor" rather difficult. More difficult than impaling unscrupulous folks, anyway.

With a rather exasperated chatter, she shut off the axillary rockets and crashed upon the crest of sand she had just been hovering above. Tria flinched again but finally risked standing, albeit with her arm still raised in front of her. Pinpricks of light drifted around her, the only sign the magnetic field remained. She had no wish to let that monster near her, and backed away on slightly steadier feet. Brooklyn made no move to pursue, save for a muffled snap as her blowtorch unbuckled. It still couldn't travel much more than three feet, but it was hopefully enough.

Tria took a few more steps away, before the little roar of concentrated fire filled the rocketless void of sound, or at least tried its hissing best to. She stared at the contraption with a look of horrified fasination, panic threatening to consume her as the blowtorch scorched a circle in the sand. It bisected its ring down the middle, then down this line of symmetry burned two symmetrical radii in an upside-down 'v'.

Brooklyn waited expectantly, but the magnetic field still drifted unwavering around Tria. The ghost sighed again. The girl's weird future-tech certainly implied a different time than her, but she assumed parallel universes would have weird coincidences like this. I guess not. Damnit.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dfaran.

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SpoilerJust posting here to watch this.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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Crepitans backed away slowly from the flames. Although he had little to fear from a short exposure to them, the compounded damage they could deal in the time it would take for him to reach the creature with the armored shell greatly outweighed the benefits he might gain from destroying the creature now. He began a quick retreat; quick, that is, by tree standards. Ice crunched and creaked as his massive form sailed over it, his unwilling passenger hidden within his boughs.

Red considered chasing after Crepitans to retrieve the human with the animal pelt for a moment, but decided that if the two could keep each other busy, he would have a much better chance of surviving. He also considered the fact that one of his weapon arms was damaged and needed to be repaired immediately. Two hatches opened on the side of his torso, and two spindly silver arms with several joints extended from them; one carried a screwdriver and the other carried a blowtorch. The smaller arms began to work to fix the larger one. Occasionally one would retreat back into its hatch and return with a different tool or a mechanical component and would continue working.

After several minutes, they both returned to their hatches and the larger arm began moving again. Red shifted it back and forth to ensure himself that it was capable of movement. After he felt sure he could move it correctly, he made a panel retract and a grappling hook pop out. Red looked at it, and, satisfied that the weapons and utilities were functioning correctly, had it conceal itself once more. Then he clanked over to the igloo to see how the aardvark was doing.

Blazaard was scared and confused and cold and damp and not happy at all. He was stuck inside an extremely silly aboveground ice den that only had a silly stick on a half-cylinder inside it. Blazaard had stayed away from it and was now eyeing it warily because in his bleary state he couldn't understand its purpose, and he knew from experience that if he didn't understand something it was always without exception bad.

But after several minutes of watching the strange stick, with the sounds of fighting having died down outside, he was beginning to become curious. His mind was still in total disarray, but it was no longer nearly as frightened. He slowly moved towards it, reaching out with his nose to nudge it. A hesitant little push towards the side that it was leaning towards yielded no result, but Blazaard was too curious to let it go now, and he moved around to the other side, preparing to push it the other way.

Red set an arm level with the side of the igloo and shot a flame at it for a few seconds. Once he had made a sizable hole in the wall of the igloo, he turned it to the water in front of the hole for a mere moment, then shut it off. He stood in front of the weakened section tauntingly, and as expected, Blazaard charged out at him. The aardvark still harbored an extreme dislike for his metal foe, and without thinking he rushed forward at Red. The weakened ice was in no fit condition to hold Blazaard's weight, and it broke instantly, sending Blazaard plummeting into the subzero water below. Red smiled to himself. "Two can play at that game, beast."

He clanked around to a different side of the igloo and melted it open as well, then walked in. There wasn't much to see except for the conspicuous lever, which Red immediately walked over to. He melted the ice around it to find that it was atop a metal pillar that went down as far as his eyes could see--possibly all the way to the sea floor. Would take me hours to follow if that were the case. Could do it if I have to, though. He gave up trying to figure out what the lever did without testing it, and simply pulling it.

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A rumbling reached Brooklyn and Tria, a rumbling far greater than that of the chainsaw's. Both looked around themselves, trying to figure out where it was coming from; Tria found it first, fixing her eyes on a point on the horizon and emitting a gasp that could not be heard over the racket. A small triangle, barely visible, raised itself from below the sand, growing in size until a massive pyramid of dark brown stone, covered in sand from lying in the ground for eternity and again, stood before them. Each of the four sides had an obvious entrance, with steps leading up to a vast door placed about fourteen feet off the ground. The rumbling stopped, leaving an equally deafening silence in its wake.

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Red waited, but the lever clearly did nothing. He attempted to pull it back to find that it had locked itself in position, and his mech's full strength only served to snap the head of the lever off. He threw it on the dirt floor in disappointment. Worthless. Why build a lever that does nothing?

Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.

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He sank into the darkness, pulling his limbs futilely through the water. He was not made for swimming, and the machine they had put on him was dragging him downward. A pressure grew in his chest as the air within his lungs grew stale. Moment by moment the spot of dim light above him grew more distant and his motions more sluggish. He had never been this cold. It felt like the darkness itself was seeping in, sapping his strength and will. He had to drive it away.

A soft glow poured forth, illuminating the side of the metal pillar leading up to the igloo above and down into the depths. The glow pushed back the darkness and through it he could see spires ringing the pillar, jagged and reaching like the teeth of some massive maw. Instinctively he tried to flee. The only effect was a minute twitching of his legs, grown numb and distant. He sank further and the spires surrounded him, massive towers of stone and metal, arranged for some purpose he could not comprehend. They faded away as his light and senses dimmed, and his whole world shrank to the burning in his chest. The darkness closed in again and as the air escaped him it moved inside and filled him and the last sensation he felt was that his whole body was tingling and then he was moving


out


and he was free. Free from weight and pain and fear, moving away from the crushing darkness and into the freedom of emptiness. He was whole again. The void whispered across his fur as he paddled through it, panting with happiness and excitement. Tucking in, he flipped about and regarded the latest prison that he had escaped. The whole of the cold place floated before him, stretched out forever and yet somehow contained, curved in on itself in some direction that he could not name. It was joined on all sides to another place, the same in the way that opposites always are.

“An interesting construction, isn’t it?”

From just behind him, a voice shattered the stillness of the void. He somersaulted again to face the source of this intrusion. There, seated on nothing with legs crossed, was one of them. He shrank back on himself, hackles rising, and considered this new threat.

“Not so much for the topology, which is amateur at best,” the Counsellor continued, gazing without concern past the agitated aardvark, “but for its ability to project the dream-selves of those within to a higher dimensional space. Which brings us to you.”

Her eyes flicked down to him and he went to flee, but she made a small gesture and he locked up, frozen in place. The gesture continued into a flourish and a pencil sprang from nothing in her hand. Her other hand now held a small notepad, and flicking back the cover with her thumb, she began to write as she spoke.

“You’re early for your next session, so it’s not surprising you haven’t made much progress on your phobias. What’s really worrying me right now is this denial. Look at how you’re projected in this space. A fuzzy-wuzzy critter without a care in the world. But that’s not you. You’re still down there, you know.”

She lifted her pencil and circled it vaguely at the world behind him.

“Right, you can’t look. But you’re sitting at the bottom of the sea, respiratory arrest, cardiac arrest, brain shutting slower than usual because of the cold. No bones about it, you are on death’s doorstep. The only reason I haven’t called it yet is because you’re more than what you’ve brought here. You’re leaving out a whole part of yourself.”

At her side, then, was the machine. Glass and metal and plastic formed together into a series of squat boxes, wires and tubes running between them. The assembly sat on islands of faceted, translucent crystals, encasing the bottom of the machine. From these extended trunks and tendrils, like roots, branching until they were so fine that they seemed almost a mist, filling out a ghostly apparition of himself. The Counsellor laid a manicured hand atop the machine and continued.

“It’s because of this that you can be here at all, having a conception of yourself. Have you noticed your thoughts are becoming more precise, that you’re thinking metaphorically and categorically? You’re becoming something better. Of course there’s some pain, but there always is during a birth. I don’t even know how much of this is getting through to you, but I can guarantee that it’s more than would have an hour ago, or even five minutes ago. So why don’t the two of you kiss and make up?”

She patted the back of the machine and the thing with his form began floating towards him. It thrummed in resonance as it approached and he heard it speak from inside his own mind,

“S'alright. I'm not going to hurt you, little buddy.”

He screamed and flopped backwards, released from the Counsellor’s grip. He corkscrewed wildly for a few moments before righting himself and shooting back towards the world he had left behind. The Counsellor stood, hair writhing wildly above her head, and he heard her calling out in the distance,

“You can’t run from yourself, Blazaard! The sooner you accept that, the better!”

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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There was a certain absurdity to this whole situation, a realisation starting to trickle into the peripheries of Tria's consciousness like the sweat down her back. It was the (understandable) stress of finding oneself tossed in a battle to the death with monsters beyond her imagination. The stress of a supposed opponent in said battle, a rocket-powered chainsaw, sitting back and carving alien symbols in the ground without any obvious intent to attack her. Tria wasn't sure whether she would've preferred the contraption fly at her shrieking, just so things made a shred of sense.

Then the pyramid happened. Brooklyn's mechanical affinity had been vaguely aware of something going on in the vague region of 'underground', and she pirouetted smartly and u-turned off to greet the rising structure as soon as the rumbling struck up. Tria just stared as the chainsaw zoomed away, before it jack-knifed in the middle distance and chased the apex into the sky.

The rumbling subsided, though Brooklyn's growls persisted as the chainsaw orbited inquisitive circles round the pyramid's metal cap. Tria actually managed a laugh at this point; it was choked with stress and dehydration. She took a few nervous steps toward the pyramid, with its promise of shade; after scrambling up a crest of sand (and losing her footing and sliding down the other side) failed to attract the chainsaw's attention Tria hastened for the doorway.


The woman's movement hadn't escaped Brooklyn's attention, but considering how their first meeting had gone the ghost thought it prudent to let Tria find her own way out of the desert heat. Cutting the rockets, Brooklyn hovered atop a block of limestone and just took the pyramid in.

Lacking eyes or ears or any other typical sense organs (being dead), Brooklyn saw things a little differently to the living. Being vaguely aware of nearby obstacles and very sensitive to the presence of living things had generally avoided accidents, though the ghost had learned after one fateful excursion to avoid forests. Slightly more useful was what Brooklyn called her sense of context, the curious ability to know (to various degrees) when and how and why man-made things had come about. Machines were the ex-engineering professor's specialty, but pratice through necessity had improved the ability. Brooklyn considered it a poor substitute for colour vision or never again experiencing the smell of chai mixed with engine oil in the small hours of the morning, but she couldn't complain.

It was this 'sight' Brooklyn was focussing on now – though the considerable age of the pyramid was making it hard to discern why the thing had been built in the first place. The ghost settled for “lofty”. The chainsaw spun slowly through its centre, until the blade rested a hair's width from the spike of iron at the top of the pyramid. Brooklyn paused, grinned, revved the engine, and jumped forward with a little blast of the rockets.

Tria flinched at the pyramid's foot, the staccato clang of metal on metal cackling across the desert like gunfire. She quit deliberating whether to enter or not, and sprinted in.

The chainsaw staggered about drunkenly, rocket-bursts barely keeping it afloat as Brooklyn waited for the ringing to stop. Not that the exercise had been useless – for one thing, the ghost had discovered it wasn't just a cap – it was a square-sided, veritable monolith of metal, descending the full height of the pyramid – then deeper.

What's more, it was hollow. Brooklyn charged down the pyramid's slope, banked sharply, and shot down a passageway with the delighted roar of impending adventure.

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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As Crepitans retreated (or, as he preferred to think of it, tactically withdrew), his long legs and swinging arms kicked up so much snow that had Red been watching, the ent would have disappeared in a cloud of white as he mounded the bank. He stopped moving once he was reasonably sure the lobster hadn't followed him, thundering lope stuttering to a halt and kicked-up snow settling on bark and branches. He wasn't sure what the specifics of his next move were going to be, but the goal was pretty clear: that uppity insect had to be crushed like it deserved to be. Preferably after being made to understand the foolishness of daring to spray flames at Crepitans Bloodbark.

The contents of his boughs swung gently as the shaman began moving slowly around the snowbanks, careful to keep a wall of ice and snow between himself and and his new target, but looking for a good vantage point where he could see without being seen. His newest unwilling passenger was largely forgotten, given a combination of Nemaeus's incapacitation, comparative weakness, and Crepitans's rage against the mech-suited lobster, and Blazard had long since been dismissed as an insignificant detail. All potential distractions were ignored, and the treant's hostile attentions were completely focused on Red.

This was actually rather fortunate for Nemaeus; similarly fortunate was the fact that fingers the size of human arms appeared to be rather bad at fine manipulation. Like tying knots, for instance. The charmer had found that he could work most of his hand through one of the gaps formed by Crepitans's hasty knotwork, and had been steadily working the fur out of its binding state since he'd been lodged in his captor's branches. The man had no way of knowing it, but his timing could scarcely have been better; he had been nearly forgotten, the prowling tree entirely occupied by his search for a tactical advantage.

It didn't take too long for the inexpert knot to unfurl under Nemaeus's constant fiddling. The pelt flopped open, draping itself over the branches it had been wedged between, and revealing a thoroughly-ruffled Nemaeus. He half-sat, half-clung to his perch, looking around apprehensively at the arcane implements sharing the boughs with him and even more apprehensively at the reeking meat and bones that littered the countless thorns surrounding him. He was about to scout out a decent route down when he heard an odd clicking noise behind him; he turned to investigate, and came face-to-face with an enormous, pointed beak.

The colossal shrike squawked angrily and jabbed its vicious beak towards Nemaeus's eyes; unsurprisingly, he yelped and scuttled backwards. In his attempts to flee, he moved too far back and tumbled off the branch he'd been put on; he grabbed for his fur as he fell, and while he succeeded in grabbing it, the only effect this had was to dislodge it from the branches as well and bring it down with him. His descent was luckily interrupted by only one or two branches, and the flapping pelt protected him from all but the most minor scratches. Similarly lucky was the fact that he'd been placed far out enough in the reaches of Crepitans's expansive canopy that he ran no risk of colliding with the barbed trunk; he landed, bruised but largely unharmed, in a cushion of snow some yards away from the lumbering wooden feet.

Nemaeus scrambled to his feet, grabbing the fur and moving to run, but by this time the commotion had drawn Crepitans's attention even from his monomaniacal fixation on Red. Nemaeus stumbled through the snow, only to be caught before he had taken a dozen steps and lifted once more into the air, this time brought roughly face-to-face with his tormentor.

"It appears keeping you alive may be more trouble than it is worth, meat. Perhaps I should simply end this now; there will be more hearts to come by."

Nemaeus wriggled, nearly to the point of panicking uncontrollably; suddenly it hit him what the tree had done. He calmed himself as best as he could, put on a winning smile, and stared deep into the glassy eyes that were scrutinizing him like leftovers one was having difficulty deciding whether to keep or dispose of.

"Now, let's not be too hasty here," he said with practiced confidence. The magic hit Crepitans, Nemaeus pouring as much of his power and charm as he could into the simple sentence; he honestly had no idea if it would even work on whatever kind of tree-monster this thing was, but it was worth a shot. The bark around the dorukardia's eyes crinkled, followed by a slow blink and a few twitches at the corner of the mouth. It was clear the shaman was attempting to resist the enchantment, but was surprisingly unable to shrug it off even as much as a normal human.

Then, from the crest of the nearest frozen hillock came a shout of "Drop the human."

Red had apparently tired of waiting for a response from the lever, and in the absence of anything else interesting, had come looking for his competitors. He was perched on the top snowbank, flamethrower thrust forward and pilot light hissing. Nemaeus's head snapped around towards the sound, his gaze leaving Crepitans's and the spell breaking. The furious tree blinked several times, then roared "You want this worm so badly, catch it!"

With a wide swing of his story-long arm, the shaman sent Nemaeus, clutching his fur for dear life, hurtling through the air towards Red.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

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Red wasn't sure why he was saving the human. He definitely didn't care about him, and he doubted the buffoon had any information he desired. But he had already issued the challenge. There was no backing out now. Nothing to worry about. Can handle anything that tree can throw at me.

"AAAAAAAA--" WHONG. Nemaeus crashed into Red at high speed, the fur doing little to soften the brute force of the collision. Red hardly even seemed to register the impact, and had Nemaeus not moments ago developed a splitting headache he would have wondered if the lobster had even noticed. Ears still ringing, he flailed uselessly on the mech's legs until Red picked him up with one arm, lifting him as if he weighed nothing, and flung him aside into a snowdrift.

Red sighed inwardly. Knew this was a bad idea. Still, the tree had given the human up quite easily; whatever its intention in taking him had been, it had clearly had a change of heart. Heart? Bark? Root? Chlorophyll? Not important, must focus. He pointed his left arm at Crepitans just in time to get nailed by the barrage of seedpods Crepitans had fired moments before. Although they were rendered mostly harmless by his armor, they still provided a sufficient surprise, and he took a few involuntary steps back, throwing his arms up to shield himself from the nonthreatening blasts. He recovered just quickly enough to avoid a second barrage, and in response he fired a few small pods from one of his arms. They arced down to Crepitans's feet and exploded violently. Bark flew everywhere, but it was clear that Crepitans wasn't badly damaged. However, as before, he was stuck in broken ice, and Red could see he was unable to move very well. Red advanced menacingly, preparing his flamethrowers.

---------------------------------

The cave forgotten, Gepetto and his puppets dashed towards the newly-risen pyramid. "What do you think it could be?" Mo asked excitedly. He leaned forward on Gepetto's shoulder until he was in danger of falling off, whereupon Gepetto clapped a hand around his legs to avoid dropping him.

Within minutes the group was at the bottom of the pyramid, facing a large set of stairs. Gepetto hesitated, but Otto surged past him. "C'mon, what are you waiting for? You scared?"

"No, I--oh, forget it," Gepetto muttered, falling in line behind his brother. Jo fell in line behind Gepetto, and the four entered the ancient structure. It was cool inside, and they were all thankful for that. Gepetto ran his hand along the wall, marvelling at the the worn stone under his fingers. Who could have made this?

His reverie was cut off abruptly by a loud clunk noise from across the room. He looked up and saw Otto seated on the floor in a highly undignified manner behind a large stone lever that was apparently as easy to move as it looked like it was. Gepetto couldn't resist letting loose a snort of laughter, which Mo shared. Otto grumbled something and glared at them as he helped himself up.

"At least you didn't spring a trap or something," said Gepetto, walking over to help Otto up. "In fact, I don't see any change at all...I wonder what that lever did?"

---------------------------------

The ground shook beneath Nemaeus's feet, Red's claws, and Crepitans's roots. The fighting paused as all three contestants glanced uneasily at the snow and ice below them. As the rumbling built, all three noticed a small pyramid shape interposed between Red and Crepitans. It didn't take long for them to realize that it was growing larger by the second, and each began scrambling, scuttling, and skittering away from the growing monument. Crepitans fruitlessly attempted to pull his legs out of the broken ice with increasing franticness, until the sides of the pyramid extended out from underneath the ice and did the work for him. He calmly stepped off the pyramid as soon as he could move, landing at the bottom just as it stopped, and just in time to see Red enter the structure through a massive door on one side.

---------------------------------

Otto shrugged. "I don't think it did anything. It's probably broken." Gepetto nodded in agreement, and the group headed further down into the ancient pyramid.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Tria ran her unaugmented hand against the worn temple walls, grateful for the more tolerable climes but ever-attuned to the chainsaw's grumbling. A little alcove revealed itself beneath her fingers before her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, cast in deeper shadow as it shunned the light trickling in from the entranceway. Tria took a rest in it, one foot exploring the shape of a lever embedded in the floor. There was a moment's hesitation before she pushed it into place with a solid glunk.

Nothing happened. Tria, with bated breath awaiting some cryptic retribution, heard voices.

She heard voices. Then a distant "glunk" to match hers. Somewhere far away, the inner chambers of an arctic pyramid rearranged themselves to lead deeper. Halfway to completion.

Tria stood, peering out of the alcove, and looked up and down the corridor. A square of light showing the way she'd come in, and two slits of light in the other direction. The woman frowned a little at that. Was this thing hollow all the way through? She saw no flicker of movement across the distant doorway, and decided there was only one conclusion. Four sides. Four corridors. Speared through the middle with some kind of metal pillar, if the chainsaw's clanging and shrieking had been anything to go by. She thought a little harder. The wolf-man. The boy and his puppets. The one with a "silver tongue". The others were either too big to have walked into the pyramid without additional noise, or they were flying screeching circles round its peak. Four in one, seven in the other.

Good sense said it was Gepetto. And Slo and Jo and Otto or whatever they were called. The Counsellor had mentioned Otto had paranoia which, compared to the likes of men who saw dead people or wore the hide of animals, was... normal. Tria wasn't sure whether that was a relief, or sobering.

All Tria knew or cared about was that none of them took the guise of a chainsaw. She quickened her pace as she approached the pyramid's core - and stopped before she could manage a greeting.

The ever-present snigger had risen to a deranged, mechanical cackle that joined itself in awful chorus as it bounced down the hall. The Soulbringer and his puppets seemed unaware of it, until Brooklyn charged down the corridor with a rocket-propelled roar. Tria scrambled for cover behind the four-faced metal pillar that marked the pyramid's centre at the retort of a gun.

Otto was the first to snap out of it, and reorient himself after the confusion of jumping from desert to crypt with no recollection between. "Jo!" he barked, reloading his main arm with a shaking snap that would've made any real humanoid wince. The giant tried to cover his companion with more blasts of the shotgun, but their bullets proved ineffective against the charging machine. Otto grimaced, shoved his brother behind him, and unsheathed the sword from his wrist-

The smoking, clanking contraption halted. Sharply. It kicked up a shower of sparks as the blade bit the floor. Brooklyn moseyed back a little further, in no mood to fight, and pulled out her blowtorch with some difficulty before starting to burn a message. Otto didn't retract his sword, though lowered it a little in confusion. "Mo, light. Brother, come here. Can you read that?"

Gepetto scurried forward, frowning at the chainsaw's clumsy carbonized scrawls as he read them by the light of Mo's lamplike eyes (behind the safety of Otto's outstretched arm, warning him to go no closer).

"Uh... a, uh... n? a...ny? Oh wait! It's upside down. 'Truce'! It wants a- uh, it wants a truce?"

Brooklyn drove the point home with a big tick. The ghost was glad this boy seemed to be getting it a lot faster, even if his puppets were a bit disconcerting. The lot of them entered into a whispered conference, which Brooklyn had the presence of mind (or perhaps just the simple presence) to not appear too focussed on.

"I dunno... it stopped trying to attack us."

"But did you see what Jo and my bullets did to it? Nothing! If it decides to betray us-"

"Then there's not that much we can do about it. However, I leave it to Gepetto."

"Um..."

"Um."

Brooklyn smiled as Tria stepped out from behind the pillar. Well, she would've, had the chainsaw's "cheerful grin" been less a cause of alarm for all those gathered in the pyramid.

"It, um, can't talk, I don't think, but I'm pretty sure it -she. She doesn't want to hurt us."

Originally posted on MSPA by Mirdini.

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Tria attempted a lopsided smile at the strange group in front of her to follow up the statement. While she was still rather terrified of the mach… of Brooklyn - Is that right? – and as much as she just wanted to run and hide somewhere until this mad tournament was over, she had slowly realized that the only alternative to fighting enemies in this… place would have to be to make friends – or at least partners. Glancing nervously at Brooklyn, she remembered the thought that had spurred her to actually approach the chains… woman: if what that weird Counsellor had said was true, Brooklyn was technically also a cyborg… just one that was 100% machine. Still, judging from the word seared into the stone floor, it- she wanted conflict about as much as Tria did.

Scratching at her incessantly aching shoulder, Tria looked back at Gepetto and his “brothers”, who had frozen up simultaneously at her entrance. Butterflies twirled in her stomach as she considered them, especially the strange child – though why a kid made her feel… nervous? angry?? Tria wasn’t entirely sure. With some effort she dismissed the growing dread that stepping out from behind the pillar had been a bad idea, and attempted to continue the conversation.

“I mean… if she wanted to hurt us she probably would’ve done so already?”

The foursome, seemingly ignoring her, snapped back into whispered consultation.

”Who’s this lady? What did that Counsellor say about her again?”

“Isn’t she the one with the – nooklear? nukleearr? arm. What’s that even mean?”

“I don’t know, but if her arm’s anything like Gepetto’s it’s probably got some pretty bad stuff packed in.”

“Still Otto, she seems nice…”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I say we should at least talk to her – it probably can’t make things worse.”

Finishing their hurried meeting, the group looked up at Tria warily. Otto stepped forward, clearly the delegate.

“Alright, I guess we can talk. But both of you better not try anything funny.”

Quietly relieved, Tria replied.

“Um, I’d really rather not get into a fight with any of you – I guess that Counsellor wanted us to but I don’t think listening to her is a good idea seeing as she’s apparently the one that brought us here in the first place.” Tria paused, taken aback at her sudden verbosity.

Brooklyn rumbled lightly in what counted for agreement, careful to contain her enthusiasm at the girl’s newfound nerve. Spooking her again, while probably interesting with regards to seeing more of that wonderful arm, would be an unquestionably bad decision. Not to mention that that boy and his puppets didn’t seem like the most stable bunch either.

Surprisingly, Gepetto was the next to speak up.

“What are we supposed to do then? I don’t think we’re going to get out of here without that Counsellor’s permission…”

Tria was taken aback by the question. She hadn’t thought quite that far ahead, having been preoccupied with terror for the majority of her time in the desert. Her previous attempts at escape from the facility had been incredibly unsuccessful and generally short.

There’s got to be some other way out of this… competition.

But for the life of her Tria couldn’t think of one.

Sensing that the discussion had stalled, Brooklyn sighed and started up her blowtorch, to the alarm of the others. Ignoring their distress, she proceeded to burn another message into the stone. The others crowded closer when she eventually finished the procedure, wondering what the spirited contraption had in mind.

“Stick… it to... that Council – ehm, Counsellor.” Tria managed to discern with some difficulty.

Brooklyn gently bobbed in confirmation - well, as gently as she could under rocket propulsion.

“I can’t say I liked that stuck-up lady either.” Otto remarked.

“Still, how exactly are we going to do that? She doesn’t exactly seem like a pushover.” Mo answered.

“Well not playing her game like she wants us to would be a start…” Tria mused. “Where do we go from here though? Before this building appeared I didn’t really see much else in that…” she halted, trying to find a word to describe the strange locale the contestants found themselves in.

“Desert?” Gepetto tentatively supplied.

“Is that what you call all that sand? Still, it doesn’t look like there’s anywhere else to go...” Tria scanned the room, looking for a way to proceed. The chamber was octagonal but only four of the sides included entrances. The walls were also covered in strange, flowing symbols – apart from four level, blank sections in equivalent positions on the other four sides of the octagon. However, the room contained no hidden mechanisms that Tria could spot, no levers or switches apart from the one Otto had inadvertently pulled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Red dashed down the flawlessly smooth corridor, alternatively marveling at the craftsmanship such a construction must have required and considering the threat the tree-man posed.

Still, these are close quarters. He won’t be able evade flamethrowers easily.

Reaching a larger chamber, Red skittered to a halt at the sight of a strange metallic pillar that seemingly perforated the center of the pyramid. It was mad of the same material as the rod that had been frozen beneath the igloo – and scuttling around the circumference of the obelisk he identified yet another lever on the far side of the room. Intrigued, he clanked over to the wall, pulled the lever and waited. The pyramid’s interior remained stolidly quiescent, with no discernible change resulting from his action.

Maybe the levers are time-delayed mechanisms? Perhaps powered by extensive hydraulics…

Red was quite fascinated by this point, but his ruminations were cut short by the thump of Crepitans’ steps echoing down the corridor immediately to his left. He whirled towards the entrance, readying his mech for the inevitable confrontation.

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“I don’t know about you, but I could really use some water.” Tria sighed, trying to make conversation with Gepetto. The brothers and Brooklyn had swiftly canvassed the sweltering exterior of the pyramid to no avail, and now the bizarre sextet had congregated within the central chamber once more to attempt to come up with some sort of strategy.

“There’s got to be something to drink somewhere around here. I mean, that Counsellor wouldn’t get her results if she let us die of dehydration.” Otto declared.

Brooklyn considered the prospect with some disquiet – while she and the three puppets didn’t require hydration (despite their strange delusions to the contrary) Gepetto and Tria could probably not last for more than another day or so unless they found some source of water. She supposed that at a stretch she could go try to chop down some of the cacti outside, but they were some strange species she’d never even heard of – who knew if there was any water to find in ‘em.

Even more frustratingly, she could make out the faint resonance of machinery deeper in the pyramid but for some reason there was no apparent way down. The goddamn heap of rock was concealing whatever mysteries it contained a bit too well.

The group’s efforts arrested by the stone wall they had quite literally run up against, they were jolted from their uncomfortable respite by a raucous scraping.

The pyramid, roused from its somnolence, had begun to rumble and shudder forebodingly.

Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.

---

He turned from her and the ghost and the machine and he ran. There was freedom in the void but what there wasn't was a place to hide, no dirt to burrow into to dig out a den to be safe and alone in. You could see forever out here, and be seen in turn.

He set his intentions on the world and suddenly he was right on top of it, which made complete sense. On the split surfaces of the joined landscapes, leaf-thin figures moved in a complicated pattern, coming together and apart, forming figures that none of them could see from their flatness. He drew closer and recognized the figures as all of those who had been around him when he was trapped, and then the first layer of the pattern they swooped through was completed. As he watched, the world puckered and heaved, and an eight-sided shape forced its way in. It grew, erupting symmetrically through the ice and sand. All the lines of the world pulled in towards the center of this new shape, drawing him towards it. He saw the the spiny thing and the moving tree and all of them spiraling in the next layer of the pattern, smaller and more intricate, pulled irresistibly inwards.

He focused on the spiny thing they had sent against him and he was within winding burrows of stone. Around a corner came the tree, engulfed in flames. It was screaming, the sound great and terrible, and it smashed blindly into the tunnel walls, sending showers of dust and stone cascading downwards. The spiny thing came around the corner in pursuit, spraying fire. The tree collapsed under the onslaught, burning away into nothing. The spiny thing stood over the greasy black stain for a moment before being plowed into by the tree, coming down a different hallway and whole again. Lifting a massive foot it brought all its weight down onto the prone metal shell, pressing until the metal shrieked and the glass cracked and shattered in a burst of water and blood. The whole assembly scattered into smoke and the tree's foot landed heavily, just as the spiny thing burst through the ceiling of the tunnel. Its spinning arms scythed through the upper branches of the tree, who bellowed in rage and reached up to dislodge the attacker. The struggle continued in this way through the burrow, never ceasing, pointless and brutal. This was exactly what they wanted! There was no freedom to be had for killing your brothers, all that led to was being thrown against another brother, and another, without end. He wanted to cry out, to tell his brothers this, but he was mute. He wanted to interrupt their battle, but with only his claws he could not stand between their might and fury. He was useless, powerless. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away.

“The only other option, then, is to defy the Grandmasters. We must break the pattern if we are to have any hope of leaving these battles alive, and quickly- the longer we wait, the more the odds stack against us. We need to band together as a group.”

Opening his eyes, he found himself in the void, with the crystal ghost bearing the machine floating in front of him. It had spoken into his head, and its branches were vibrating fiercely with words plucked from a space beyond space. It was exactly what he had wanted the others to know, but had no way of expressing. With his... other half, yes, his other self, he could have done this. He could have used the light to stop their fighting and he could have told them this simple truth. He needed that body now, with its pain and its power, and if he could never go back again, that was the price he would have to pay.

He took a breath, shut his nostrils, and reached out towards the ghost.

- - - - -

A smile flickered at the corners of the Counselor's mouth. She jotted down “hope does a mind good,” and flipped shut her notebook into nothing.

- - - - -

Lightning slammed through his body, and he awoke once more into darkness, gasping and choking on its thickness. All around him he could smellhearsee currents of molten fire, inside the solid rock and dancing between the spires ringing the pillar. And he could breathe! He pulled in water and felt it pass out through the side of his neck as his mouth closed. His feet were wider, flatter, and his tail more muscular. His flesh tingled and ached as it strained against the bounds of the solidifying crystal shot through him. He bounded off the rocky sea bed and paddled a distance before sinking back down under his own weight, still too dense to really swim.

Watching the fire, he saw that the streams flowed from the spires, joining together into a river which traveled beneath him into the distance. Out there was a hulk, a mountain, etched through with the fire. He knew this was what he had seen in his dream, the place where everything was being drawn. He leapt-paddled towards it, following the river. He had a message to deliver.

Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.

---

It was a short while before Nemaeus' thoughts agreed to line up and be processed in an orderly manner. It was difficult to breathe, and move, and think, but he managed all of these eventually. Shaking limbs lifted him out of the snow drift he'd been cast into and, blinking at the whiteness of his surroundings, attempted to figure out where everyone had gone.

Stepping forward with as much dignity as his shocked system could allow, Nemaeus stared into the smudge of grey that marked the horizon. But aside from that, there was only white. Huge, all-encompassing, soul-sucking white.

Resisting the urge to slither down onto the snow again, he clumsily turned. And saw it.

It was not as large as the whiteness he had witnessed moments before, but it had an even greater pull on him. The contrast of the dark pyramid against the pale backdrop stung his exhausted mind, and it was only after staring for a little bit that Nemaeus adjusted to darkness of it.

And while it was not as big as the white landscape, it was still truly enormous. He took tentative steps towards it. And a few more. After each set he stood and breathed and wondered with a fury. For a while he'd ignored the oddness of his situation, but it came slamming back down on him. Questions slithered and writhed at the back of his head, doomed to wither unanswered.

Was he dead? He should be. He'd never believed in any faith, except in the moments where it seemed a god could exist only because no mere coincidence could be so cruel, but this seemed fitting. Seven (give or take) demons to torment him for a life full of mistakes. Seven trials, his own personal underworld.

And yet... he pulled a hand free of his wolf pelt wrapping and touched an ice cold cheek. He was cold and in pain, just as if this body was his old one. It could be merely a representation, but it seemed less elegant that his immortal spirit should be prone to damage while it suffered for its sins. Add to that the disinterest most of those he had encountered had shown and the sheer bizarre nature of what he had seen, and it seemed almost tantalisingly possible that the blood that pumped through his veins was his blood, and his body and flesh and bone was all his own. All real. All as fragile as before.

That was when he started to become afraid. Truly, bone-wrackingly afraid.

It had required him to die a death, but Nemaeus was starting to find the will to live. And just as suddenly as he had found this will there were a great number of things that intended to compromise his chances to be around to enjoy it.

He stopped mere metres away from the incredible mass of the pyramid. Briefly, seized by a strange urge, he glanced up at its top and saw a glinting steel cap at its zenith. Finding he could make little of that, he instead looked down at the snow around him. There were no prints, as trees are not known to leave such things. Instead the snow around this gaping entrance to the building had been raked and whipped about by what the wolfman could only assume to be a dozen roots of an angry tree.

It was not a conclusion he'd ever had to draw before.

He hesitated then. The nature of the demons that this Counsellor had set upon him wasn't clear. When Nemaeus had heard stories of those doomed to ironic fates in some hidden underworld he had always assumed it would be clear cut were such an instance to occur. But these beings weren't unbeatable. That they were in a fight to the death suggested this (although that could just be part of the chosen punishment) and the tree that stank of death hadn't been invincible to his charms like a good demon would be. Heck, the metal lobster thing had come to his rescue. That didn't fit, not in the slightest.

So.

What now?

Nemaeus looked up at the steel of the vast structure before him. And then he decided. With a new-found sense of decisiveness he strode out, away from the entrance before him. Instead he traced a path around the base of the pyramid, heading away to look at whatever lay undiscovered. It felt refreshing to plunge steps into crisp, undisturbed snow, and for a moment he allowed himself the illusion that what he was doing was in any way impressive.

A short while later he found a second entrance, on the perpendicular side of the pyramid. That is, assuming it was a four sided pyramid. And that the use of that word made any sense at all in this context. He shook his head and stepped forward to arch his neck inside the pyramid. Some irrational sense of fear prevented him stepping away from the snow and into the ominous gloom of the building. Even so, simply peering was not achieving much.

With a sense that he was losing something, however unimportant, Nemaeus entered the depths of the pyramid and didn't look back.

However, it wasn't long before he encountered something new. The something in question being a lever. He spent some time pondering the possible symbolism before he became bored of that line of enquiry and simply pulled it down.

Nemaeus was swiftly rewarded with a distant rumbling. And then, more worryingly, some very close rumbling indeed. He spun around and there, before his eyes, ancient stone slipped and pulled apart as if it was a well oiled machine.

What that left Nemaeus with was yet another gaping entrance, and another important decision.

He was happy to take the interesting option.

Show Content

SpoilerNemaeus Walks Around and Thinks About Things: Part 2. I'll do something interesting eventually. Hopefully. :<

If he's not killed off for being absolutely boring before then, anyway.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

Right on a cue that only an omnipotent observer could've noticed, the floor beneath Tria, Gepetto, the puppets, and the sedately hovering chainsaw uttered a detesting rumble. Only Brooklyn could detect the groan of subterranean metal over the foundations' argument with the rest of the pyramid, but perked up when Tria's apparatus whirred to life shortly after.



"Should we run?" Mo screeched above the groans even as they faded. Gepetto clapped a hand over the ear his puppet had just screamed in, the crescendo of metal on rock drowning out his words. Tria scrambled up against a sigil-scribed wall, a few strip-lights on her arm glowing in the gloom as she kept her eyes on the chain-on Brooklyn. She kept her eyes fixed on Brooklyn.

She just hovered patiently on the spot, uttering nothing but a warning grumble as a huge spike of steel pierced the floor in front of her companions. It continued to rise, revealing the girth of the spike at well over two metres across, until it crumbled through the ceiling in turn.

It stopped. The pyramid was silent again, save for the feather-light bursts of jet fire as Brooklyn moseyed round Gepetto and Co to explore the latest development.

Double doors. And a little keypad next to them. Perfect. The ghost had no need to crack its poltergeist-knuckles to figure there wasn't enough electricity to run this anachronistic elevator, but she had a prod around anyway. Tria eventually peered round at her own volition, but Brooklyn uttered an amicable revving that was meant to be inviting.

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</div>"CLOSE EnOuGH," beghilosed the chainsaw, growling with approval as Tria relayed it out loud. "nOUU

WE HAVE HErE A WAy DOWn DEEPEr, CAVES, COOL, MACHInES"



"Wait, how? It just looks like a big metal pole."



Tria frowned at the display. "Laooer? Ladder. There's a ladder inside. Wait, how did you-" the chainsaw's yowl encouraged Tria to quit focussing on pointless minutiae, though perhaps in fewer words. It was hard to tell.

"ArM CAn rIP OFF PAnEL"

Tria bit her lip, and tried to work her fingers beneath the welded-on plate of iron with some skepticism. A distressing kind of moan preceded an echoing bang, as her apparatus wormed a repulsive field round the seal of the door. The ragtag crew were hit with a sigh of stale, but refreshingly cool air.

Gepetto finally peeled himself from the wall him and his brothers had waited against, hopping over the discarded metal sheet as he stuck his head down the shaft and took a look inside, Mo lighting the place up from his usual perch. Motioning for his puppets to follow, he grabbed the ladder and began his clanging path down without another word. Jo was last; kicking another (seemingly ineffective) lever before he struggled his bulky way through the door, leaving the girl and the chainsaw.

Tria let Gepetto's pack get a head start before she proceeded down the ladder, turning to the poltergeist (who had forsaken the unwieldy numeric display and had pulled its blowtorch out again). "Um... thanks for your help." The blade end of the chainsaw waggled in a way that was almost endearing. Almost. Tria stepped down a few cautious rungs, then remembered something and scrambled back up.



"Wait! Brooklyn, the Counsellor said there'd be seven of us here. With Gepetto. Do you know who else is here? Could... could you go and find them, if they're out in the desert? Please? I mean." Great, thought Tria, I'm explaining myself to a flying killer piece of scrap metal. I must be losing it. "Dangerous as the others sounded... we need all the allies we can get. You'd search the desert much faster than I could, too. Please?"



Brooklyn considered the request with a strange mix of amusement at being ordered about, and being touched by the girl's compassion. She rather dearly hoped, then rather impetuously resolved, that Tria wouldn't suffer for it.

The ghost flicked its blowtorch in a smart little salute, snapped it in the correct position for take-off, then flipped sharply and careened off out of the pyramid. She spiralled a few times round the pyramid's steel cap again (Ooh, it's got solar panels inside!?) before remembering her duty, picking a direction, and jetting off with her steely-toothed warcry.





Originally posted on MSPA by Wheeeeeeatthins.

---

Show Content

Spoiler

With a voice to humble the countryside, Adilo thundered, "So I say unto you, 'sew the seed not lightly!  For never again shall you regain time to take back Edanias of past!'"

I'll bet a diamond-tipped chain they just wanted to get rid of me, Brooklyn fumed with indignation.  I saw their looks.  So what, I'm a chainsaw… that's supposed to be a big deal?  It's not like any of them can boast about being 100% natural human.  Well, if you count those living dolls together with the boy, at least.  I mean… hmmm… does a puppet act as an extension of the person?  Or is it a separate… thing?  I can't think of the right word right now…
Brooklyn had nothing to do but let her sprawling thoughts wander as she herself wandered the vast desert.  She hadn't been given any directions.  She hadn't been given any clues as to where this mystery person might be.  All she had been told is that there was probably some other person out here.  Probably.
So there she was, as she had been for the last half hour, gliding across the golden sands of the desert, fine grains flying up in her wake.  The sun shone overhead, beaming down so hard she could feel it cooking her chassis.
She remembered the last time she had cooked in the sun like this.  She had stood outside a locked car on a cloudless summer day, waiting for the car serviceman to come and open the door with a Slim Jim.  It had been a half hour then, too, no?  No… an hour and a half? Either way, she decided that if she was going to wait, she might as well be smart about it.  No use standing around and waiting for something to show up.  So she found a thin pole sticking from the ground nearby, knocked a notch into it, and attempted to unlock the door.  While it did quite a number on the workings of her car door, it hastened her waiting time by about ten minutes.  That ten minutes wouldn't be enough to save her from sunburn, and the next few days she'd be picking off flakes of skin.  Of course, that was back when she had skin and could actually feel it.
Now, she had no skin.  The only thing that worried her was that her rockets might overheat if she were out here for too long.  While she could zip around as much as wanted blitzed off her rocker on ghost juice, there were still physical limitations to her rockets—if anything blew or overheated, she'd be stuck sitting in the desert sand until her parts cooled down enough, or she made the necessary repairs.  So it was completely understandable for Brooklyn to become a bit impatient searching for a nebulous seventh person.
Why hadn't I parked in the shade that day? she thought as she passed by a familiar-looking dune.  I could have saved myself—extension, that was the word—so much trouble.  I mean, if it's going to be bright outside, you might as well…
This gave her an idea.
She shot up into the air to get a better glimpse of the landscape.
Three miles due west was the pyramid with its elevators and subterranean paths that what were they doing there oh wait she had asked herself that same question for ten minutes earlier.  Then, two miles past that was a mountain range.  At its base was a large opening to a cave—the same cave that Gepetto and his extension had previously come from.  (Though Gepetto had not said a word about it to the others—mainly because he had no recollection of what had happened there.)
Brooklyn figured that, if anyone else would be somewhere in this hellhole, it'd have to be there.





----

Norman Pollet, even having fallen into considerable fortune with this latest turn of events, cursed every echo that bounced of the cave's walls.  Each onlidyrnrfe put him on edge for attacks from the demon that weighed down on him.  Even though he was free from him here, he was still apprehensive.  In fact, being emancipated was, in a way, worse—the calm, he felt, could break at any second.  At one time, he actually shouted, "I can hear you!" to the echoes.
His new followers asked him what this meant.  He explained that it was just his god again, divining him to hurry up for Pete's sake.  He looked back on the four tough-skinned lizard-like beings now standing by his word as they swayed remotely—even a bit catatonically—and then, with a knock of a staff against the ground, heeded the wise man's words to hurry on out of the underground passage.
It surely had been Nihart Herb.  And an incredibly potent specimen at that.  After his test—which had proven to be more than successful, as his subject had displayed the "beginner's fervor" before being sent off—he took a few ounces of it himself.  He reveled in its relaxing properties without a single worry of experiencing some of its more extreme effects (after all, he had built up an immunity to it).  As he sat staring tranquilly at his staff, he thought to himself, oh, what a perfect cave this is, so nicely carved, so elegantly marked…
It took a few minutes in his state for him to realize that the markings on the walls were unnatural.  Something had to have put them there.  And with the way this cave had seemingly been dug out, coupled with the fact that someone had left an unlit torch at the entrance with a flintrock, signs pointed to one thing:  something, at some time or another, lived here. 
He picked up a torch and attempted to light it.  It took a few minutes to finally light it.  Then, he headed down into the cave.  The passage narrowed out after the first thousand or so feet, then continued winding on in an increasing decline.    After ten minutes of walking—just as he thought about turning back—he happened upon them.
A sharp fall led down to a hollow where four lizard-like beings lived.  They were sitting in a circle when he came across them, doing something with stones and chiseled blocks… cards?  Were they gambling?  The four lizardmen looked on at him half with interest, and half with the want of being left alone.
"Rggle dggle…?" a short Lizardman with a taught face mumbled.
Norman raised his right arm and began his work.





----
Finally at the entrance to the mine, Brooklyn took a lie-down on the dirt.  It was important that she rest her motor a bit before heading off any further.  She didn't want to have to bring out the welding torch again.  Also, isn't it nice to just lie down once in a while?
But she perked back up at the sight of a dim glow coming from the deep in the tunnel.  She hovered defensively while she decided what to do, then headed toward the light.  At its source, she saw Norman Pollet and his four new followers.
He looked at Brooklyn for a few moments, trying to remember if the machine had been one of the things the Counselor had brought to this desert.  Then, he turned back while pointing to the levitating treestroyer with his staff.
"And this was the sign I said would be sent."
The four disciples gaped in wonder.
Brooklyn rolled a sprocket.  Though she was glad that her search for this last person was over, she couldn't help but think that he was at least a little bit of a rube by this first impression.  She had some questions to ask, but she thought it would be better suited for the entrance of the cave—it was still rather dark back here, and it would be hard to read what she had to say by the light of only a single torch.  She led the way.
At the entrance of the cave, she stopped hovering suddenly.  As the roving party stopped, she turned to the wall and asked, "WhO?"
"Norman Pollet.  I am here not to fight, but to spread my word across the plaines."
She shook back and forth a bit, then raised back up and pointed once again to the word, "WhO?"
"These fellows?"
"Bgggh, brggle?" one of the lizardmen asked.
She nodded.
"I saw some markings on the wall of this cavern and figured that this cave was probably inhabited by something.  So I went out in search.  There, at the bottom of this cavern, I found these four.  I showed them the light.  They have become my followers.  My disciples.  My… entourage."  (A lighting effect caused by the sun bouncing off Brooklyn's chain and to Norman's eye produced a little sparkle.)
"Rggle dng pwggle chzz," one of the lizardmen said.
"Rggle dng pwggle chzz," the other three chanted at once.
But… how?  How could a person do such a thing?  Did these weird things even understand English?  She had to ask:
"hOW?"
"How what?"
"hOW COnvInCE?"
Norman scratched his head, puzzled as the dickens.  "Cow… convenience?  What on Earth does that…"
Brooklyn thought about killing this idiot right now.  He would be useless to their group.  Instead, she retraced her letters to make them a bit clearer."
"Ohhh… how did I convince them? Well, that's easy."
Norman flung his arms out as if they had suddenly been covered in serpents and he needed desperately to expel them, and repeated this action with each word of him saying:
"Forceful.  Hand.  Gestures."
The lizards behind him just bobbed their heads vacantly.
"Anyway, I believe that what I've gotten most from these fellows is that there's an elaborate system of mining tunnels down there."
Brooklyn revved excitedly, finally having gotten to something a little less unbearable.  She aimed herself at the wall and bore into it anxiously.  She momentarily forgot what she had been sent out to do in the first place when she started writing:
"shOulD WE EXPLOrE—"
The walls around them began vibrating violently.  Then, sudden booms came from inside the caverns.  The lizards started yowling in terror.
"You're causing a cave-in!" Norman shouted. "Quick!"
At once, the party leapt from the cave as the bangs of the Earth folding inside itself increased in velocity.
The damage wasn't visible from the entrance—but residual dust spewed out from the inside of the cave where the cave-in had occurred.
The four lizardmen, with eyes wide open, looked back at where their home had been.  Then, they looked to Norman and fell to their knees.
Brooklyn revved as if asking to know what that was about.  Of course, it wasn't as if she needed to ask Norman for permission to boast…
"Ha ha... do you know what the quaint thing about that is?  I told them that an imminent fate awaited those who did not join me."  He paused for a second, ruminating about the situation.  While he did, the lizards took another glance at the floating machine.
"And at the same time, I also told them that you were a sign sent from above.  So they might… fear you now."  The lizardmen shrunk away a bit as she turned to them.
Brooklyn directed herself away from them, disregarding her new status as a Prophesized Doomsaw of the Apocalypse, and pointed on toward the pyramid, leading the way for the pulpitman and his entourage.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.

---

Red readied his mech, listening closely but finding he could not determine the origin of Crepitans' footsteps. Left or right passage? Could be either. Should check to be sure. He inched cautiously to the junction, wishing he could look both ways without actually having to step out between the passages. Invention idea: launchable "sticky" camera spike. Motion of camera remotely controlled. Hesitating momentarily, he dashed out into the junction, arbitrarily looking first left, then right, only to find neither direction contained anything even remotely Crepitans-like. Red put away his guns in exasperation and turned back, continuing to trudge down the passage. Must've been an echo.

He glanced at the walls as he skittered along the corridors. Light yellow bricks were stacked upon each other in a neat and orderly fashion, each the same as the last. Guttering torches adorned the walls, each spaced a few yards apart. A maze of twisty little passages, all alike. The floor began slanting downwards, although not sharply; Red's torso adjusted itself to compensate. The slope ended a few minutes later, and Red turned a corner to find himself facing an ornate set of double doors. They were the same general color as the walls, albeit a slightly darker shade, and were covered in engraved patterns featuring a tall, stockily-built humanoid figure generally beating the shit out of other shorter, scrawnier humanoid figures. Red mentally raised an eyebrow and pushed open the doors.

They opened into a wide chamber, the sides of which sloped up and inwards, meeting at the center to form a pyramid ceiling. About twenty feet beyond the door were three tiered platforms, with short sections of stairs carved out on the side facing the door. A golden sarcophagus with inscrutable designs lay on the uppermost platform, long side facing the stairs. A golden scepter was balanced on top of it, glimmering unnaturally. Six large standing torches were arrayed along both sides of the path to the sarcophagus, and at the foot of the stairs lay a pile of bones that Red thought were just a bit too big to be normal human bones. A skull, also slightly oversized, topped off the pile. Red paused for a moment as he took it in. Normally, he had no interest in any treasure but knowledge that he could use to his advantage, but for some reason the scepter caught his eye. He wanted, no, needed to have it. He began scuttling towards the sarcophagus.

The moment he passed the first pair of torches, the bones began clattering. Red halted warily, raising both arms towards the pile. One was still ready with its flamethrower, while a long panel on the top of the other slid open, allowing a set of three rotating gun barrels with an attached feeder system to emerge. The skull hovered up in the air to a height of nearly seven feet, with the bones forming into a human skeleton below it. Muscles and sinew began to grow, covering the bones in moments; a thick layer of blotchy gray skin covered it, and was in turn covered by a layer of dark, green-gray scales. A few red scales on the creature's face gave the illusion of eyes, but as far as Red could tell it had no actual eyes, or mouth, or any other facial features for that matter, aside from a possible nose consisting of two small slits, and some larger ones on each side of its head that Red supposed might be ears. He backed up slightly, decidedly unnerved by the abomination in front of him. A deep, foreboding voice spoke in his mind. Red could not tell if it was male or female; it sounded as if a number of men and women were speaking in unison at the same time. Who dares disturb His tomb?

Red spent several seconds twisting his torso around, looking for the speaker, before he realized that it was the mouthless creature in front of him. He stepped forward again, feeling slightly awkward. "What are you? What do you want?"

The creature did not quite sigh - in fact, it did not appear to breathe at all - but Red could feel the exasperation emanating from it. You have violated His sacred tomb and desire His scepter, which I have been cursed to guard for all of eternity. The creature raised its muscular, and much too large for comfort, arms and assumed a stance reminiscent of a boxer's, with its hands balled into fists and hanging around its chest. But cursed as I may be, I still possess a sense of honor. My name is Sentinel. Now tell me who you are, that once you are dead I may provide the proper blessings!

Red bristled at the creature's arrogance. "Should worry more about your own death!" he snarled, firing at the creature with his triple gun barrels. To Red's surprise, Sentinel put down its hands and began lumbering towards him as the bullets pinged uselessly off its scales. As soon as Sentinel got within range of the flamethrower, Red opened up on it the creature, bathing it in flames. But the fire found no purchase, and while Sentinel raised its arm against the flames, Red could tell they were little more than a minor annoyance. Red could feel Sentinel's smugness hanging in the air, could almost hear its silent laughter. Solution should be easy. Just needs more...boom.

Red dropped a small ball in between himself and Sentinel. Hatches on its surface opened, and it began pouring out thick black smoke. Red scuttled back to the entrance of the room and raised his arms together, pointing both into the smoke cloud, which was already beginning to fade. The palms opened up, allowing large twin gun barrels to extrude slightly. Clamps on his mech's spidery feet folded out onto the floor, securing him in place. He waited a few moments for the smoke cloud to clear enough to allow him to see Sentinel - who it seemed had continued lumbering forward the whole time - and then fired a pair of autocannon shells at it, one with each arm and with a time gap in between. Sentinel caught the first blast in the shoulder, the small explosion knocking its entire right side back. The next one hit it in the leg, and it fell forward, just barely catching itself on its forearms, cracking the stones on the floor and raising a small dust cloud. Red aimed his cannons downwards and fired more rounds into Sentinel's back, driving its arm out from under it. Red let up the barrage when Sentinel finally stopped moving. To his surprise, he saw no visible damage to the creature's backside. Very powerful scales. Good armor.

He unfastened himself from the floor and put down his arms, the autocannon barrels retreating. But the moment he began to move towards the sarcophagus, Sentinel raised its head from the floor. Your magic is strong, Nameless One. It began to pick itself up, the cracks and dents in the stone floor repairing themselves as soon as Sentinel's limbs left them. But you cannot harm me. Red glanced between the scepter and the monster picking itself up in front of him, then scuttled out the double doors and back along the passage. Trying to kill something that could survive a dozen autocannon rounds at point blank range was not worth a stupid scepter. He was halfway up the sloping portion of the passage when he heard a crashing sound from the tomb's entrance. He knew without looking what had made it, and the faint voice in his head confirmed it. WE ARE NOT YET FINISHED, NAMELESS ONE.

Red scuttled faster.

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SpoilerFor the record, Sentinel uses the tags [background=#B0A080][color="Yellow"] and is an it.