Epic Clash - COMPLETE!

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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SpoilerShow

Question: The implication there is that the cake destroyed/"killed" the wax Eurayle. Does this mean that there are now 12 players and 7 devices, leaving a minimum of 2 players "it" at the end of the game?

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Would sure make things more interesting. But I don't think it adds up with the idea of the arena. Let's say Euryale's gone, and the device went with it?

Originally posted on MSPA by Baphomet.

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Gonna make an executive decision here and say the wax statues re-form when destroyed. From their constituent parts, pieces of inanimate statues, whatever.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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The explosion wasn't bad, but the echo was deafening, Spender decided; the arena had a heck of an accoustic problem. But that Nightmare... definitely an Anti, if a low-level one. Her aura was menacing, and it felt like she had a power if you fell into her domain.

Was she dead? As part of this arena, could she ever really be?

Spender doubled back, shaking a couple coins out of his sleeves. Just shy of the crater, he slotted in another Analysis coin and took cover behind a low bit of floor, where the waxy covering on it had stopped it from shattering and left it peeled back like a banana.

The analysis didn't show quite enough, because he didn't want to get close, but something was forming out of the mess below. Probably the same monster, he figured. A certain electric tremor meant, in his mind, another of the hot-potato devices, although he wasn't close enough to scan that, either.

And then there was the wax itself. He paused and studied it. It trembled, to his magical senses--like a punished child, one who knew no way to stop the hatred that was focused on it. It resonated with sadness... but it also danced to the tune of that monster's wrath.

He paused and put his hand to the waxy coating of the floor. He couldn't feel it, as he suspected, but he knew there was so much in this place.

But in front of him, in the crater, a sick bubbling of the wax indicated that the creature was coming back into form. He switched out for another set of coins, putting his holdouts back and drawing fresh ones from the ATM device. After a pause, he cast one, and a huge holographic wall appeared before him, and he drew forward from behind his cover.

Before he got close, though, the wall itself turned to wax and (as it was incredibly thin) crumpled, and he turned and dodged backwards. A sick feeling slid through his analysis space--another kind of space, one with a horrible magic embedded in it, twisted beyond his own recognition. Definitely an Anti power. But why did it affect his holograms?

It didn't matter. That creature shouldn't run loose. He mentally tracked back to the source of the attack and prepared two--no, three coins. Before he cast them, though, he raised his voice, and in his best Disaffected Government Agent Voice he pronounced:

"Creature known as Euryale, may I have your attention please. As a designated representative of the North American Ether Defense Force, with the authority given me by that organization, I find you guilty of reality-tainting and designate you Nightmare Level Anti. If you do not cease these activities, I am authorized to use lethal and super-lethal levels of force. Any attempt to attack me from this moment onwards will be considered a refusal of these terms."

That same sick feeling grew, and he had to dive away from his cover, shivering as the wicked space wrapped around the small cover and clawed at him before sliding past it and towards him. He cast one of his coins, and a sudden jolt yanked him sideways, tossing him thirty feet before he hit the ground and rolled.

What did Asteira say? ...Medusa's sister? Finally, it clicked. Whatever that space's rule was, it would require eye contact, or some other way to get inside of him. That made it easier.

Two, no, four new coins. With the first, he launched himself into the air and closer to the monster, eyes closed, trusting his reflexes to let him land on his feet. He paused, and soon enough, the woman's footsteps drew closer, but he didn't run or react until she stepped foot inside his analysis radius.

Then he turned, and cast a coin, then flipped another into open air. That second coin was accelerated into the ground at Euryale's feet, and he activated it--and it immediately buried into the ground, below her ability to affect.

"You're lucky," he said, drawing her attention back to him. "Or perhaps, unlucky. Something about this is all wrong." Below, the coin kicked into high gear, and it began rearranging matter underground, gathering it into three giant triangular slabs. "With something like that, with something like the Overseer, I feel like I have to keep my aces close to my hand, you see." The slabs became thicker, as more dirt and stone was compressed into them, fusing them into a hard, strong earthen plate, tall as Euryale, just large enough to form a triangular earthen coffin. "So, you see, for today, super-lethal techniques are... not permitted." The three plates ripped up out of the earth like a bear trap, snapping around Euryale to make another prison for another wax creature.

However, unlike the first, a pitiable creature, Euryale fought back, tooth and nail, and Spender wondered if he could possibly drag her and her prison under the ground in time. Instead, he cast the third coin, funneling more and more earth from down below to try to imprison where she stood, merely with the walls and the weight of dirt he dragged up from below.

When he finally stood back, it was an almost-spherical mound. He wasn't happy, but he didn't want to mess with it. There wasn't nearly enough time left in the round, and whatever happened, this particular menace wasn't likely to come back after it ended.

He turned and walked away, Euryale's muffled screaming echoing slightly around him... and perhaps, he could almost convince himself, from inside the very wax itself.

SpoilerShow

Gozer the Gozarian...

Good evening. As a duly designated representative of the city, county, and state of New York, I order you to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to your place of origin, or to the nearest convenient parallel dimension.

Thanks, Spender, that ought to do it.

So, yeah guys, this isn't going to stop being awesome just because you're all busy, right?

Anyway, this may or may not be permanent. She might break out, and she could certainly be dug out. It's still on the surface, just buried under a bunch of dirt and rock.

Also, contestants note--I never said the football was in there with her. It's still attuned to her, probably, but I think it's lying on the ground, as it would have been scattered by the explosion.

If I'm confusing about anything let me know, I know what I'm doing in my head but I may not be communicating it well.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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"Out of the hole, buck-o," Michelle said. "Nice and slow."

"Yes ma'am," Eric said, slowly and deliberately climbing out. "Whatever you say."

As soon as he began, though, she lowered her gun. "Alright, good."

Eric gave her an odd look. "Wait, what? Why-"

"Just a precaution," she said, smiling. "Would one of those wax things be able to follow those instructions?"

"We suppose not, but we haven't really run into one yet- too busy." He pulled himself into a sitting position on the edge of the hole.

"I saw," she said, gesturing to the edge of the platform. "I looked down and saw you chucking fireballs at that thing. How'd you do that, anyway?"

"We don't quite understand it ourself. It's all subdermal aetheric manipulators, but how those things work is beyond us. All we know is it wasn't doing much against Nothing."

"What?! That thing was Nothing?" I shook his hand!, she thought, shuddering.

"Yeah. When we started fighting, he just started falling apart."

Eric looked off into the distance, lost in thought, and after a moment, he blinked.

"We know this may sound odd," Greg said, "but when were you born?"

Michelle gave him a strange look. "...November 17th, why?"

"No," he said, "the year. What year were you born?"

"2086. What's it matter?"

This is wrong, Eric thought.

It's our best shot, Bern replied. Greg knows what he's talking about, and it's like he says- we've got a duty to survive.

I still don't like it.

"The Overseer said you were a survivor of a zombie uprising," Greg said slowly, staring off into the distance, "and that got us thinking. In upper-school, we took a fair number of history courses, and we have a good memory for that sort of thing."

"Wait," she said, looking at him sharply, "you learned about it in history class?"

The stone platform they were on creaked ominously.

"We touched on it briefly," he replied, still looking off into the distance. "But as we said, we have a good memory for that sort of thing."

"Then you know what happened! I mean, humans survived, but how?! How long were we cooped up inside?!"

The platform creaked again.

"The plague's spread began in 2080, quickly spreading across the globe and infecting-"

"I know that!", she said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Tell me what happened after!"

"In approximately 2112, the survivors of Yes-Mart 3 discovered a cure. They sprayed their way to the airport and loaded up as many planes as they could with canisters of the antidote and began distributing it aerially. By 2114, 95% of the walkers had been destroyed, and by 2120, humanity was well on its way to re-"

The platform shuddered, suddenly pitching to the side and throwing Michelle and Thomas into a heap. Thomas' device, still in his hand, tumbled against Michelle's arm. They managed to get onto their hands and knees and make their way to the edge, and they both decided to take the 15-foot jump rather than stay on top of the crumbling structure.

A few moments later, the stone structure had settled into a heap, and Thomas and Michelle brushed themselves off. They were covered in dust, but they were otherwise okay.

"You alright?", Greg asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Michelle replied. "What do you suppose-"

She cut herself off, aiming Betsy at the fog.

Nothing moved. A second later, though, a form began to take shape in the mist, walking towards them.

"Hold it!", she said, cocking the rifle, "Take two steps to you left and put your hands up."

The form stopped. "Calm down, I'm not here for a fight."

"Do it anyway, or I'll drop you where you stand."



See, Eric? It went fine.

I wouldn't exactly call that fine. It's just not right- if we're going to win, we should at least do it fairly.

Winning is the most fair thing to do, Bern thought. Four minds, remember?

But tagging her, then leaving it in a pile of rubble? That's just low. I don't know if I even want to live if that's what we have to do to do it.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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"Hello Glere."
"Oh, hey, uh, Asteira. Not too sore about the TNT, I hope? Heheheh..." "Not in the slightest, my dear. You see, you're quite the interesting fellow. Not too uptight, not to pensive, insane. Mostly that last bit, am I right?" With the spectre advancing towards the fishbowl, in all possible dimensions, Glere felt a sudden aching to get out of there. But that wouldn't solve anything, she was quite fast. Maybe a car? A plane? A portal to lollipop land? No, it was time to take this show by the horns and lay down a performance. "Insane?! Look who you're calling a nut, miss dead chick! If you're looking for a fight, I always carry one in my pocket!" Glere thought quick, and rummaged through his cape, grabbing the first decent throwable object in reach. It turned out to be a bowling ball. A swift toss made sure of enough momentum, but the heavywheight sphere simply rolled through Asteira. The same thing applied to the megaphone, the bullets from the gatling gun, the charring heat of the flamethrower, (although that one seemed to deliver some annoyance) the raft, the giant metallic letter H, there just was no stopping her.
"Foolish Glere. Have you forgotten? I'm dead, by the books. Physical harm doesn't hurt me. Now, let's see what goes on inside that crystal-clear head of yours..." It wasn't agony, not even close. It just felt like a narcotic, slowly losing grip on your surroundings as everything dissovled into a messy lump of world. You didn't have to care, you didn't want to care. Soon, Glere didn't really have any worries anymore, and his vacant head, with no means of defense, had no control anymore over his body. Asteira was in charge now, or at least until Glere's mind regained some consciousness.
Okay... Now we're getting somewhere. This should definitely give me a fighting chance. That cape is a novelty of a weapon! And what's even better, no one will think I have anything to do with what I do right now! This contest is about to take a turn for the ugly.

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First, I am SUPER SORRY to McBatman to do this to you, but I promise this definitely won't last long, and this sure as hell doesn't deprive you from writing anything at all. Maybe you could cook something up about the mental struggle going on in Glere's head? After all, his mind is still there, much like with Thomas. This can go either way, really. If you don't turn up in the next few days, or until the end of the round, I will make sure to treat Glere nicely and unpossess him in time.
Second, this is how possessed characters will look, just so people won't start mixing things up. The original background color becomes bleaker, and the text colors are mixed. Just treat them as you normally would treat Glere, unless you have means of deducing otherwise.
Again, I have some serious internal quarreling regarding my godmoding lately. But I guess you could let it slide, what with all the magical, surreal whatnot going on everywhere.

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

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Glere began to move forward, only to wind up slapping himself in the face. A look of confusion came over his expression as he went to look at his left hand, only to to abruptly kick his right leg with his left, making him fall down with a thud.
"That's...not good." Asteria said to herself, suddenly aware she wasn't looking out of Glere's eyes, well, she was, and yet, was not. She shook her head.
"Ugh, double vision." She once again tried getting Glere to stand, only to wind up having him slap himself again.
"AUGH, RESPOND DANGIT!"
"That won't work that easily I'm afraid." Glere's voice suddenly echoed in Asteria's own head. She blinked, and upon opening her eyes, found a strange setting with but a single table in the center, with a teapot on the side and two cups. Glere had already been sipping repeatedly, the tea filling the bowl.
"I don't like uninvited guests, but I have to warn you, you really picked the wrong man to try mind games with. Not that it's a warning, more of one of those unfortunate implications."
Asteria narrowed her eyes and was about to speak when suddenly a small marionette fashioned in Glere's likeness descended from the darkness above them.

"It's like a puppet, you have to know how to work the strings!" It said making jarring motions with every word, before receding into the sky. The table then sunk into the floor with ripples appearing over it like a drop of water in a pond. Asteria tilted her head, still confused by all of this.
"If you're trying to intimidate me you're wasting your time. I'm already dead, so it's not like things can get much worse. You are under my control after all."
Glere's voice just echoed back out of the darkness.
"You may have control over my body, but you are a guest in a house which has no doors or windows. Go ahead, try and escape of your own accord, see what comes of it."
"...nice try! I almost fell for that, but the game is afoot and I will play it to my heart's content."
"Have fun." Suddenly the lights went out entirely, leaving Asteria with one eye on the outside world, the other gazing back into Glere's mind. The right hand suddenly reached into the cape, pulling out a sharpie, scribbling a googly eyed face on the left hand, which formed into a hand puppet, before Asteria finally could control the motor functions... except of the left arm and hand which just stared at her through the hand puppet.
"...Right, moving on then."
That was weird. Now, about that arm...
Asteria tried to force the left arm to move again, only to wind up slapping Glere in the face again.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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So guys, it's been almost a month.

We got anything?

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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[background=#008800:eah96pn2]"You alright?", Greg asked.[/background:eah96pn2]

"Yeah, I think so," Michelle replied. "What do you suppose-"

She cut herself off, aiming Betsy at the fog.

[background=#404040:eah96pn2]Nothing moved. A second later, though, a form began to take shape in the mist, walking towards them.[/background:eah96pn2]

"Hold it!", she said, cocking the rifle, "Take two steps to you left and put your hands up."

[background=#404040:eah96pn2]The form stopped. "Calm down, I'm not here for a fight."[/background:eah96pn2]

"Do it anyway, or I'll drop you where you stand."

I've been waiting on you.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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Really? Oh jeez. I'm sorry, I didn't even notice those were my colors, I figured they were Nothing's. Sorry. Give me a bit.

Spender complied, his hands in the air, watching with a guarded expression through the swirls of fog. As he walked, the slightest of ripples in the fog indicated the edge of his analysis space, but in the dimness, it was hard to notice.

Nevertheless, his eyes were drawn downwards, to the broken stones he passed, his face remaining an unreadable mask.

Michelle raised her rifle a bit. "Yeah, you look human enough. Are you going to lecture me about the future history too?"

Spender raised an eyebrow, though the fog made it hard to tell. "Dear, I'm a government agent, not a history professor."

Michelle grinned and rested Betsy against her shoulder. "Agent, huh? You gonna arrest me for loitering or something?"

Spender's voice was wry as he let his hands drop. "Arrest you? For what? Opening dimensional breaches without a permit?

Thomas blinked. "They give you permits for that?"

Spender just chuckled in reply. He paused. "I'm curious why the history question popped up. Somehow, I don't think we belong to the same world, human as we may appear, but..." As Thomas repeated the information in brief, Spender just shook his head. "No, that isn't my world, although the similarities are suspicious. Although there are theories that Terra--Earth--may have itself been reverted in time at some point after... no, it doesn't matter."

"Revert..." Thomas shook his head. "That sounds way over our heads. Way over anyone's heads.

"Yeah. The theory's supposed to go that the planet itself was the one that cast the 'magic' to do it--that no single mortal, or group of any size would have had the knowledge or power necessary."

Before Thomas could ask any more questions or continue the discussion, Michelle made an impatient grunt, dropped the butt of her rifle on the ground, and abruptly sat down on a rock. "Sounds like a load of crap to me."

As Spender drew closer, getting between the two of them, Thomas finally noticed the wavering sphere in the fog, and with a sudden realization hopped back a couple feet, just enough to make sure Spender couldn't bring both of them into the field in one fell swoop. Spender's eyes measured him coldly, but he stopped before it reached Michelle, too.

"In any event, two--or at least one, maybe two--of those wax statues should be down for the count. Possibly more, if the others have been busy." Somehow, at the thought of his brief duel with Glere, his face broke into a smile again. "It really does seem like I'm having more fun than about anyone else around here, doesn't it?"

Michelle bounced up and took a step towards Spender. "Really--?" Then, she jumped. Lots of information swirled around her mind, about Spender, about the rocks--and little if any of it really made any sense. She brought Betsy up, but almost as if in slow motion, Spender's hand came up and pushed it just slightly aside, resisting any effort to bring it to bear.

"Easy, easy, calm down," he said. "It's just an analysis field. It affects everyone the same way--you, me, Thomas, anyone inside the field sees the information. You step out, it goes away." He took a step back, pulling the field away from her. "See?"

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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Thomas staggered back a little, not in pain, but from lack of balance. His foot hit a stray stone, and he tumbled to the ground, his eyes a pure white, darting back and forth, staring at nothing at all.

Thomas' mind echoed with shouts:
Greg: "It was a logical reaction!"
Eric: "You know damn well what we've done is wrong!"
Walt: "What kind of person are we to be?!"
Bern: "Would you have rathered we died where we stood?! He'd've seen to that!"
Walt: "I'd rather die than keep on going like this!"
Greg: "We are the logical choice to survive here!"
Eric: "Shove your logic, I'm talking right and wrong!"
Greg: "Is saving more lives really a question of right and wrong?!"
Walt: "What of the long run, Greg?! How many lives will Spender or Michelle go on to save?!"
Eric: "Yeah! What about the long-term impacts of our various lives! Can you really claim to predict that?!"
Greg: "I- It's the-"

Thomas' eyes shifted, first to a bluish hue, then to more of a grey. His twitching subsided a bit, but he still appeared to be having something close to a seizure.

Bern: "Shut it, you two! Do you really want to die, here and now?! We're millions of light-years from home! Are you so eager to die out here?!"
Eric: "Even if we make it home, it'll be over a trail of bodies!"
Bern: "Would you rather BE one of those bodies?!"
Walt: "If those are our two choices, yes, I'd choose death!"
Bern: "Well you're a coward, that's why!"
Walt: "Who's the coward, one who accepts death or one who flees it?!"

Spender took a step back, pulling the field away from Michelle. "See?"

A puff of air tickled his ear, as though someone had blown into it, and he turned instinctively, seeing Thomas laying, twitching on the ground. He took a step toward him, and as soon as he came into the field, a cacophony of emotions, thoughts, and ideas hurtled at him, all indistinct and blurring together.

With what little advantage he'd gained, Eric mustered all the control he could manage. While the rest of his body lay twitching, his eyes bore into Spender's, and one thought, one idea burned to the forefront. There were no specific words, no particular phrase, but the meaning was clear.

Spender took several steps back, making sure the field was clear of Thomas. His hand went instinctively to the holdout coin stashed on his left shoulder- Commune with Spirits.

"What's wrong with him?", Michelle asked, standing clear of both of them.

"His minds are in conflict," Spender replied, "and he asked me- well, one of him asked me to go in and help."

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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Spender shrugged his shoulder in a peculiar fashion, causing the coin to roll out of its hidden slot in the fabric and down the inside of his sleeve, to where he caught it at the end. Mentally, almost regretfully, he flipped off the analysis field--the background howl from the wax faded, but so did the comforting insight into the fog.

"If you'd act as a lookout, Michelle, I'd appreciate it." He glanced around, but there didn't seem to be a safer place to move to.

Michelle looked a little dubious. "Well, sure," she said. "Of course, if something else happens..."

"I'll be able to wake if I'm in any danger. I'd just appreciate not having some kind of emergency to deal with, like someone being shot--" he glanced at her gun. "Or, you know, wounded any other way."

He settled down against a rock, just slouching like he was about to watch television, flipped the coin into the air, and activated it.

Thomas' mind was compartmentalized, sanitized, sensibly done, and not at all quiet, at least at the moment. But as Spender entered, there was a black flash, one that felt like death, of horrible fear, and a lifetime's worth of regret, but it seemed to fade as his mind came back to him, even as they all stopped in their tracks.

Standing on the pale carpet, Spender looked around as each of the others in turn noticed his arrival and gave him some kind of look. Eric was angry, but not at Spender. Walt was afraid, and Spender being there seemed like something else to fear. Bern was also afraid, and Walt was also angry, but both of them saw Spender as an affront--for the moment.

"Eric," said Bern with barely restrained fury, "you stupid son of a--"

With an astounding amount of grace, Spender pushed off with one foot and almost glided up next to Bern, as though it was all one long sliding step, although it was almost six feet. With his hand, he pushed Bern down, looking momentarily like it was effortless, although all four of them could feel the hidden effort. Then he waved his hand, and rope appeared out of nothing to bind Bern--but it was no more than twine, something meant from the beginning to be easily broken.

Walt set a stance, ready to pounce, but Spender held up a hand. "Gentlemen, I have been in minds driven to absolute madness, I have been in darkness so deep you cannot conceive of it--and I have memories of those things, very clear ones. I respect the calmness and clarity of your minds--so let's keep it that way, and not force me to reveal my cards quite yet, hmm? I'm here to talk, not to fight."

All four of them felt a chill at the absolute fact his words carried.

Originally posted on MSPA by Alice.

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Guess who gets out of school on the fiiiifteeeeenth! [img]images/smilies/icon_biggrin.gif[/img]

Prepare for some postin' ^_-

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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Epic Clash, AKA the one with the most idle time ever.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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I believe you meant to say "Intense Struggle".

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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Oh, is it not just us?

That's good.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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For my part, sorry for the delay- this is the least relaxing vacation ever. I'll probably update some time tonight if I can.

EDIT: Hey look, I did.

Bern rose from his seat, raging at Spender. "You arrogant bastard, get the-"

Greg stepped up next to Bern, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him back down. "Bern, this man is an invited guest, and we shall treat him civilly. In fact, this is an excellent opportunity, so sit down and stay calm."

He turned to Spender. "My apologies. That you had to be asked to enter our mind was unfortunate, but I agree with Eric's decision to make the request. You see, there has been a certain cognitive dissonance among us, and when we are divided evenly on an issue, it can be rather difficult to overcome. In this case, for example, it is our course of action that divides us. Bern and I are of the opinion that we should do what it takes to survive this competition, but Eric and Walt are rather hesitant when it comes to making that effort."

"Making that effort?!", Eric shouted, "You would-"

Spender shot him a sharp glance.

Eric continued, his voice controlled. "They would have us do anything to survive, abandoning all morals in the process."

"I would hardly call it an abandonment of morals," Greg retorted, "our survival is the most moral, the most RIGHT thing that could happen!"

"What?! What makes you more important than anyone else here?!"

"It's simple- numbers. The most optimal outcome is the one in which the most people survive, correct? Well there are ten possible outcomes to this competition. In one, we escape prematurely, which would likely result in the most net survivors. This seems unlikely, however. In another, we all die before we escape. This is, of course, the least desirable option. In the other eight cases, one of the competitors wins and survives. In seven of these, that results in one net survivor. One of them, however, results in four- our survival. We are, as you can see before you, four people, four people who just happen to share a physical form. Four minds, four souls, four consciousnesses. Four people. The sole survival of us, Thomas Packston, results in three more survivals than any other one contestant, making us the most logical choice to survive. It is not greed or selfishness that drives-"

"You are so sure," interrupted Eric. "But what about the future impacts of the survivor? Those must also be considered, certainly?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"For example, Mr. Spender here is some sort of intergalactic secret agent, defending people from evil on a daily basis. Surely his survival would impact millions of lives. But what about us? We are a server technician. Even if we did our job spectacularly, we could never hope to save as many people. So why, then, should it be us and not him?"

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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"Not intergalactic... not precisely. Just a wanderer in dreams that truly exist. In any case, there is one factor in this that you entirely seem to miss." Spender paused. "Well, two factors. The second is that the number of survivors only matters in a case of the continuation of the species. Nobody, to my knowledge, fits that description in this situation, myself included." He smirked. "I'm an excellent agent, but I'm not more than that."

"But--!" Greg started to complain.

"No buts. The only way our living or dying is at all significant is if we can prevent this sort of contest from happening again in the future--after all, who knows how many people that madman has killed... or will kill."

"The first factor is that he said that the winner gets a 'wish'--that he would try to accomplish something on the winner's behalf, with the full might of his obviously-broad powers."

That gave the four some pause. Greg turned back around to look at his whiteboard. His hand clenched a marker tightly.

"You clearly see the problem. Whoever gets the 'wish' gets, potentially, anything they want. Therefore, if we were to give that wish to an unstable individual--"

"Now wait just a minute--" Bern started towards Spender again.

Blades of a black steel, blacker than the coldest nights, frigid with sorrow, appeared in midair not terribly far in front of Bern's neck. He jumped back, and the weapons didn't pursue. "You tried to murder Michelle; I saw the evidence while coming near. I'll deal with that in a moment. More importantly, I see in your despair, your panic, what we call the Nightmare Seed. People who are willing to break all rules for a single selfish goal... those people become Nightmares. They are my prey, and I know them well. If you become one--if ANY of you become one... I will destroy you."

"Now... I'm not going to tell you that the survivor has to be me. I am an agent, but also a soldier, something you four may not be able to comprehend." The blades spun in the air and returned to Spender's side, then faded, their sorrow lingering only a moment. "Soldiers die for the sake of the future. To some degree, we live only in order to die for the future. If my death brought you and Michelle back... and anyone else who was innocent... if I could ensure with my death that that would happen, then I would die. But being a good soldier means not dying until you've exhausted every tool at your disposal. Therefore, I live, and I fight, and I'll defend anyone else who fights for the future." He turned away. "I'm not terribly sure I'll trust all of those people, however."

"Is there anything else? I'm worried about how much time has passed."

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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Edited my last post slightly. In rereading it I realized I had something I had wanted to address but had skipped over.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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You have given me the opportunity to really get into my character. Expect some wonderful dialogue between us soon enough.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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Something came over Eric as Spender talked, a light coming on in his head. "You're right, you know," he said, "we don't know, really, what it means to be a soldier. In our time, we are a united people. There are conflicts, of course, but automated drones have eliminated the need for human sacrifice in those situations. We don't need soldiers to lay down their lives for the sake of humanity.

"But we still know honour." He turned as he spoke, talking more to Bern than to Spender. "The Old Laws are clear, and we have broken them, plain and simple. You, Bern, you have broken the Laws. I don't know why I tolerated it before, but no more. You. Have. No. Honour."

Bern dove at Eric, yelling his rage in animalistic fury. His hands reached out, grasping for his throat- but Walt was there. With a quick twist, he used Bern's momentum to drive him into the wall. "You can't fight the truth, Bern. You have abandoned your honour, and you know as well as I that there is only one way to repent."

Bern got to his feet, still furious. "You- I- My-" He looked around, grasping for any thing. "Greg! You know why we did it! It was right! The most optimal situation! You said so yourself!"

Greg was still facing away, staring into the mess of diagrams and figures on his whiteboard. After a moment, he turned, slowly, his a face cool and composed mask that didn't quite hide the horror he felt. "...No," he said slowly, facing Bern. "It wasn't. Spender is right- I ignored the prize in my considerations, and the potential future losses that could be prevented far outweigh even the survival of four here."

"But- You said-"

"Wrong," Greg said, his voice wavering. "I was wrong, as were you. Our actions were wrong, and in blatant contradiction with the Old Laws. We must repent if we have any desire to regain even a tiny scrap of our honour."

Bern's eyes dimmed. "I- I..." He sat down, falling heavily into the couch with his head in his hands.


Eric stepped over to Spender, taking him aside. "If you're worried about time," Eric said, "don't be. We are conversing at the speed of thought." He pointed out the window at the game clock. 10:55 "You've only been here a few seconds."

"You are a good man," he said, "and whatever you decide to do, we will back you. You can go now, and we will be ready shortly. We are going to make right what he have done." He looked out the window again, staring at the colosseum outside.

"This competition is bringing out the worst in us. I just hope it can also bring out the best."

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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11 minutes passed... or remaining?

Spender paused. The talk of redemption seemed odd, especially coupled with Old Laws--and it wasn't hard to detect capital letters in people's thoughts.

"I'll tell you again what it means to be a soldier, before I go." He turned away, not meeting their eyes for once. "No... I'll show you, if only briefly." He took a spot next to Thomas' window on the real world and stretched his arms over his head, playing back as if a memory as though it were a movie. For the four gentlemen Thomas, peering into it wasn't dissimilar from taking on a place in their own body, but for the lack of control-- sensations swirled around them, and implicit memories--names, places--just slid into place.

Damnit.

"Spender. These barriers aren't going to hold." The woman beside him--one time lover, long time friend--had her eyes closed, her thoughts pouring through weapon after weapon she could create. Nothing she could find would affect a Shattered of that level. It only wanted to destroy, and it was enjoying their despair. "If I give you the time, can you wipe the whole area?"

"That would destroy part of the real world. We're not allowed." Spender wasn't confident anymore--or yet? "Not for a small one like this."

"Don't kid yourself." Her smile was sad, even with her eyes closed. "Every enemy could be the last--for us, for Earth, for anything, for everything. No Nightmare can be allowed to go free."

"Susan--"

"Save it." From her hands came a massive sword--one twenty times what a human could actually carry, by weight or by size. "I'll distract him. Wipe the area."

"No." He jumped in front of her. Even though she didn't want to see, he was scared. "I'm not going to be able to do it alone. I'll hold him off, and you go back for reinforcements. It's not like I have the authority to call anyone in if things get out of hand."

After a moment, she relented. "Just don't let the bastard get free."

The memory swirled forwards. Spender didn't even know how--he had been holding the twisted visage off for what seemed like hours. Of course you'll die eventually. Just let it be later. This is important. She has to get back with more men.

But the Shattered, which had never relented in its attack, suddenly threw something to the ground in front of him. The body wasn't merely dead, she had clearly been tortured. The burns, the cuts, the...

The memory jumped forward, sparing them more details. The Shattered still didn't relent in its attack. Something had broken inside Spender, however. I'm going to die. But it's not so bad. Everyone dies. Maybe... if my last act is memorable... if I just pretend to be the kind of hero I'm supposed to be... maybe if I can just get rid of one more monster...

...maybe then it will be alright. Maybe everyone else will be able to do the rest. So it's alright if I die. I'd just really like it if...

just one last mission...

There was no more fear, and the sadness was held back behind a boundary. There was no person inside Spender any longer, only the weapons he carried and the mission he had before him. His eyes were closed against the tears, but they found their way out anyway. "Sh...shattered-level Nightmare. You have been found guilty and... super-lethal force has been authorized..."

He stepped out from behind his barriers. A thousand beams of agony pierced his flesh. However, before him, a rift in space opened, spilling out his emergency cache--hundreds of coins, of who knows how many kinds, some of which probably would have gotten him court-marshaled.

Spender locked eyes with the nightmare and activated them all at once.



"Being a soldier," Spender began, his voice startling Thomas out of their stupor, "is not a glorious thing, but rather, a dirty, gritty, stupidly violent thing. I am not willing to die because I believe I am worthless, nor in order to make up for something, nor even because of someone else's damnable Law. I am willing to die because even in dying I might still be of use."

"It's just that... it takes breaking through something inside to really accept that from the bottom of your soul."

He paused. The memories had shocked them somewhat--he hoped not too much. He walked between them, setting a hand on each's shoulder in turn, waking them slightly from their stupor. "It also means not giving up and dying now just because you will die eventually--or even soon. It means fighting until the very last second, even if you think nothing can be accomplished."

"That's why I intend to fight the Overseer. If I fail and die... I won't be the first to have tried and failed. And if I succeed, maybe I've done something important."

"Now if you'll excuse me... I need some time myself."

A moment later, Spender's spell faded and he raised his head, then looked down at Thomas again. Then, he looked away.

"God dammit, Thomas." He rubbed his head.

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I should probably do something with Michelle, I just can't really transition well from that kind of imagery to dealing with her.

So um.

I guess that leaves what happens up to one of you.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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"Spender! Am I glad to see a friendly face."

It didn't seem as though he was going to get his mind at ease anytime soon.

"What do you want, Glere?"

"OH COME ON, Spendy, lighten up. It's like I don't even know you anymore. Remember when we played that game, and how you left a loophole and how you took on Medusa and..."

Assigning Glere's mind to an endless summary of the current round, and assuming Spender was too broken to reply, she took some time to look up the exact details of what went on in that game. It was hard, his memories were encoded, somewhat. She did find some info in her own memories, at least.

"Did I ever tell you about that time I asked Michelle to join me? The never of that girl, she never showed up! I'm telling you, kids these days..."

"Would you just be quiet for a minute? This recap has gone on long enough!"

"Hey, if you wanna tussle, I'm all hands! And feet and weapons and explosions!" She had him lunge in his mystery cape to pick out a nice weapon, and ended up with a falchion.

"En garde?"

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Yeah this is just a lure to get some fighting done this round. We gotta start somewhere.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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Distracted as Spender was, his first instinct fell back to hard-learned lessons, ones fresh in his mind due to his most recent memories--two, four, eight coins fell out of his sleeves and disappeared with barely any conscious thought.

Two enormous swords, chained together with four feet of steel chain, fell at his feet, two walls shot up behind him to cover Thomas and Michelle, and the air became deathly chill; a rippling wave tore through the fog, and everything within a radius of him lifted off the ground, its gravity nulled. And although it was hard to notice, the lights shifted, backlighting Spender in a way that was theatrically intimidating.

Spender snatched up one of the two swords and yanked on it, causing the other around to swing around and impact the ground in front of Glere, but he didn't get much closer. Somehow, the sword embedded in the rock, keeping the momentum from knocking it into open space.

His eyes blazed out from the darkness, a piercing fury that was clear even when his face was covered in fog. "Glere... I 'played' with you before. If you don't want to die, you will only 'play' when I'm in a good mood."

"And I'm NOT in a good mood."

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I like playing with the color of Spender's voice. Also GOD he is scary when he wants to be.

Trivia: Spender did turn off his analysis field and until he gets his head in the game, he probably won't figure out that Glere is possessed without something obvious happening.

There were, in fact, eight effects. The last one is a flight spell, which makes sense since he just turned off all gravity within... lets say fifteen, twenty feet of himself.

I was thinking the wall might be crenelated for Michelle to fire from...? Just a suggestion, it doesn't have to be canon.

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This would also be a good--by which I mean bad--time for any of the other, combat-oriented folks to jump in and completely misunderstand the situation.

Just sayin'.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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It only just occurred to me that Babel--who left the forums recently due to an unfortunate accident--was one of our competitors here. I don't think it's been mentioned here specifically.

I feel strange "moving on" from that to address fantasy concerns, but I suppose we'll have to assume he's not coming back to the forums in general and, at issue here, this thread. So what do we do about Emilio?