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**Pinary** · 09-08-2010, 01:40 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

Thomas' mind had reverted back to its normal state, the homey apartment with the worn carpet and comfortable couch. Greg sat behind his desk, shuffling through some papers, Eric and Walt sat at either ends of the couch, staring out the window, and Bern stood, flushed with colour, moving their body through the tunnels, heading ever deeper.

"What do you suppose it meant?", Eric asked, still thinking about Spender's brief message on the wall.

"Not sure," Greg replied, his tone just as lackadaisical as Eric's. "There isn't really enough data to speculate."

"I think it was a threat," Bern said distractedly, "letting the others know not to mess with him."

"Maybe it was just a message," Walt mused. "Perhaps it's just his way of letting us know he's alive."

"Mm. Could be."

The four of them lapsed back into silence as they moved further down the tunnels.

After several minutes, Greg looked up from his papers, frowning. "What are we doing, anyway?"

"Hm?", Eric replied. "What do you mean?"

Greg stood up and moved over to the others. "I mean, what are we doing? Are we just going to walk aimlessly through these tunnels until we run into more murderous miners?"

"Guess so."

Stifling a yawn, Greg continued, "Doesn't that seem a bit odd? Shouldn't we do something a bit more, I don't know, focused? Maybe head back, try to meet up with... with the others?" He leaned on the wall, yawning again. "Maybe we shouldn't... shouldn't be wandering..." He trailed off, his eyes drooping, and by the time he hit the well-worn carpet, he was asleep.

The others didn't really take notice. Bern kept moving, taking them deeper, and Eric and Walt just sat back in the couch, completely uninterested in the world around them.

After another few minutes of walking, they came across what should've been an odd sight. The tracks themselves were old and rusty, but the mine cart that sat waiting was far too clean. Its frame was rust-free, and the wood sturdy and untouched by mould or rot.

The strange apathy that had kept them walking led them to climb in, Eric taking control and moving the cart into motion with a gentle push of air. Slowly, it began to roll, bearing its entirely unconcerned passengers ever deeper into the tunnels.

Woffles · 10-12-2010, 08:15 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

Thomas Packston rode around the mine. He wasn't sure why, but he figured any change of scenery would be good at that point. He wasn't allowed good at the moment it seemed, because time after time the dirt-walled tunnels looped around back to themselves, the tracks being more of a braided labyrinth than a quick way down. Bern, Eric and Walt, neither of them seemed to pay a lot of attention to their surroundings.

That was the moment Greg got up again. His sleep was interrupted almost instantly, and his general presence had a different flair to it. The other three fractions of Thomas' mind could not or couldn't be bothered to put their fingers on it though. Greg walked up to the center of the worn rug on the floor, and addressed all others at the same time. "I think we need to go deeper."

Neither of the others noticed the distinct lack of argumentation from Greg's side, the door of their comfy house being slightly ajar, and the general presence of evil spirits around in the maze. "Why? That Overseer said there's something bad down there."

"Controlling it would mean to get an upper hand over the others."

"Greg," Walt interrupted, "you're usually not down with combat. What's wrong?"

"We need to go down, Walt! There's some kind of power waiting there, a power similar to Asteira's! IF we can learn how it acts and how to gain control over it, we can learn from it, and overthrow that witch! We need to go down. How do we get down?"

The others shared a quick queer look at each other regarding Greg. "Greg, if you think so, we'll go down. I trust you on this one." Eric's reassuring words were lost on the slightly insane spirit controlling Greg.

In hindsight of course it's strange how no one noticed the draft from the open door, the little spot of mold growing in a corner of the room, Greg's brown eyes glowing with a faint green, his lack of clarity for his actions, the brashness, the swiftness, the subduing spell rendering every other of the minds apathic. Although, that last bit does make it a little less strange.

The mine's path came to a halt at a large heap of what appeared to be precious metals. Greg would have recognised some as pyrite, sapphire and silver had he not been possessed. The others payed the heaps of probably carbon or something no mind, and passively continued in the directions Greg decided on.

---

Spender had to get his facts straightened out. Organising his spare change, he thought of which spells to ration himself with for the remainder of this round. "The Overseer is definitely XB. Chronicler, not so sure. A, I'd guess."

The agent shuffled some coins around. Only one of them remotely looked like it could even scratch an A rank. "The Overseer mentioned insanity. Do I still have a data rulespace? Only a little one. IF I need to know if something is real, I might use it. Then again, The Overseer uses illusion aswell..."

Coy Spender flipped through the crevices of his wallet he mentally labeled for each round, and for the final battle. The coin rested on top of the wallet, finding a place to sink into. It failed, so Spender gave it a push towards the "Uncertain" region.

Sorting his pennies, he continued through the caves, which to his knowledge seemed to keep getting colder. Curious. He wondered if this could be the work of the same magic controlling Bluestone Cave. Wether it was or not, it did require investigation. He needed to go down. And the path kept spiraling down, down, down. The cold surfaces of the walls reflected his face, and only then did he notice truly what effects the battle was having on him. He did not see the protector of everything good he was used to. He saw something jarring, something more than jarring. He saw... Asteira?

"Well, well well, who have we here? Agent Coy Spender, no less!"
"You again. Leave me be, I'm checking out the place."
"Right, as the protector of everything good?"
Asteira seemed to have stolen those words from Spender's thoughts exactly, and this startled him into not replying.
"Oh yeah, you're the saviour of humanity. Like that time you killed countless of survivors by practically eating that flying city whole! You said it yourself, they're biologically human. They are your job aswell."
At this point the irritation was clearly readable off Spender's face.
"She's right you know."
Thomas who was stuck in a frozen wall agreed with the woman who frequently tried to assail him.
"Oh, so that's it. You're an illusion. Pretty poor play there, not even worth wasting a rulespace on."
"Hah, typically you. The answers people give you don't scan with your perfect little world, where your judgement is the only one, so you escape. Always running away, just like with Domino Effect. Like with Susan."
"Susan... I, that... You don't know that!"
"I think you need to check your facts again." The shadows in the crystalline walls danced around to display a ridicule play of the situation. A caricature of Susan and Coy appeared on the walls, alongside an amalgamous blob of ice and shadows playing the role of Shattered.
It was horrible. The dead deserved rest, especially her.
"You're not real! Let me go! She has nothing, nothing to do with this!"
"Then run."
An imaginary wall slid in place behind him, followed by another, closing the tunnel shut with a thick layer of make-believe-concrete. For Spender it all seemed too real though, and he started running.
"Yes, go down, down down down. She's there for you. Waiting."

SpoilerShow

GBCE · 10-13-2010, 09:36 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

Glere continued to make his way through the halls, they were getting much rougher now. The fine chiseled stone from before was now barely cut out, resembling a cave more and more with each step. He stopped for a moment before thinking.
The game plan would have to change now that the cat was out of the bag. Inane poltergeists aside, perhaps his best bet would be to discover what was at the bottom of the complex? It had been what he'd doing for the most part anyways, though it was more reminiscent of a siren's call to rocky shores than a secret weapon to waylay his enemies. Still, whatever it was couldn't be good. That'd just be silly. You don't put something GOOD at the bottom of an insanely haunted fortress full of crazed miner's. Then again, the entire thing was roughly a fabrication to begin wtih, a stage for the puppet's to dance upon. Still, even if it sucked being pulled by the strings, it's always fun to enjoy a good puppet show.
He reached into his cape before pulling out another stick of dynamite from his cache, before knocking on several bricks, first on the walls, then on the floor.
"Eeenie meenie minie down." he said jamming the lit stick into a crack in the floor and hightailing it down the corridor and around a bend, as the explosion rocked the halls again. He poked his head around and squinted, a large hole in the floor having now opened.
"Alright then!" he said happily, before hopping down.

GBCE · 10-20-2010, 01:30 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

SpoilerShow

**Pinary** · 10-25-2010, 12:38 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

The tunnel Thomas was following gradually changed as he walked, going from rough-hewn stone to a smoother surface. The uniform dark-grey stone gave way to something with more variety, a darker backdrop peppered with spots of colour. A few valuable stones were embedded in the walls, and as he went, they became more plentiful, some stones seeming to glow with an inner light. After a time, the only source of illumination in the tunnel was one type's dim, blood-red glow.

Eventually, after a time that could have just as easily been hours or minutes, he arrived at his destination.

To say the cavern was large would be an understatement, and the dim lighting only added to the impression. The low red glow was augmented by almost a dozen torches placed in a general ring around the centre of the room, and the same number of tunnels led off at mostly-regular intervals, each turning a corner or simply fading into blackness not far from the chamber.

The altar in the centre was the real focal point- it was carved from pitch-black stone, absorbing every last scrap of light that it touched. It might have been engraved, but there was no way to tell- it was simply too dark.

Atop the altar was an intricate contraption, all delicate blown glass and clockwork brass valves. It ticked away, valves opening and closing in an unknowable pattern, the gases stored within moving from place to place, swirling and mixing.

The eleven cultists surrounding the altar were all facing towards Thomas as he entered, and they made no move towards him.

"He is weak," one said, though which one said it was indistinguishable.

"He has not the strength to open his way to a new form," said another.

"This one is cracked already."

"This one would be suitable for his use."

"This one would, in fact, be perfect for him." This time, it wasn't a cultist, but Thomas himself that spoke.

"What?!" The unnatural apathy's grip on Walt broke.

"This one should come forward," a cultist said, and as one, they turned to the altar. "He is prepared to bestow his blessings."

"Greg, stop! This isn't you, this isn't right!" He moved forward to restrain the other, but with a wave of his hand, Greg conjured chains of the altar's black stone that wrapped themselves around Walt, dark thorns digging into his skin.

"We shall receive his blessings, brother, and we will become more powerful than any mortal could dream." He turned, his eyes glowing a dark, festering green. "We shall welcome Khar'yion into ourselves, and under his will, we will escape this pitiful contest and return home, where we shall usher in a new age. Khar'yion's followers shall spread his control to every star in the sky, his power growing with each conquest, and with it ours as well. We shall be at one with him, and he with us, and it shall be glorious."

Woffles · 10-25-2010, 05:55 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

Reserve. Got something bbig enough planned.

GBCE · 11-03-2010, 05:40 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

SpoilerShow

Woffles · 11-06-2010, 11:02 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

The corridors of icy-blue stone gradually morphed to a more cimmerian wall, bejeweled with glowing jaspers. The shadows of Asteira and Thomas had long since disappeared, though if he'd looked more closely their peering eyes would still reflect in the red orbs upon the wall. The dark tunnel winded deep into the ground, Spender himself exerting his eyes to see where exactly the road was taking him.

He arrived at an enormous dark plaza, upon wich an obsidian altar seemed to serve as the centerpiece. A hendecagon of robed men stood circled around a corpse on the altar, which seemed to stand up once again. The man's sweater seemed to light up with an occult image of sorts, he believed, and a viridian green wristband around his right hand.

Upon closer inspection however Spender noticed the dark demon he believed stood a while away from him was in all actuality Thomas Packston, the only sane person left in this gruesome contest. The young boy from the future seemed confused, but yet dedicated, and his constant gaze towards the agent indicated he had spotted him.

In an incredibly swift maneuver Thomas jumped off the alter to sprint in Spender's direction. He passed the special agent by, blocking the only exit in sight. Spender was surprised and he knew that was a bad sign. He didn't remember being shocked was such a strange feeling.

Asteira was still struggling to carry Glere's body with her. So far she had incredible ease to take over control from someone else, but the exact absence of a mind seemed to have a mind on its own. The arms wobbled, knees buckled, glass fishbowls cracked and rthe final result was for Asteira to start anew from the ground again. It soon became very irritating.

But suddenly Asteira had much easier control of Glere's carcass, which to her indicated the presence of... something. A certain person staring over her shoulder, breathing into her neck and making her hair stand upright, but never saying a single word. A truly jarring experience.

"I know you're there."
Something behind her spoke up.
"Spender is downstairs. He lost his ATM, he knows he's losing grasp on the situation, and the spirits from this castle are taking their toll on him. Go get him, this is the perfect time."
"You seem to know exactly what I was planning."
The spirit felt he had a fair chance at controlling the strange woman he possessed, but those were only false hopes. Asteira soon countered those expectations.
"That would mean you're a voice in my head, and thus not worth listening to."
Asteira now noticed the voice had an odd resemblance to... herself.
"Even if I am, I know where he is. I also know he's pretty much the only one who can pose a threat to you. And I know he's your top priority to emilinate."
She grinned. "Alright, me, you make a good point."
Asteira spun around, dropping the talons she figured would be appropriate to control Glere with, and saw in the ruins of Glere's former labyrinth a mirror, with a very besmudged surface. As if the person in the mirror was left to her inspiration, but she could guess it was something she could relate to.
"But still, you have ways to go. We're a team on this, no? Once you kill one of us, you're rid of us all. You can find whatever you were planning to search for. Let's start by getting a name from you."
"Let's start by walking to the bottom first! We can save names for when we need them."
The apparently-so team went on down.

Greg, stop it! This isn't you!
"But he's there, Eric! Khar'yion is there and he'll save us from this battle!"
Come on Greg, you're the logical type. If only you can hear him that must mean something! Khar'yion doesn't exist, he's just the castle's grip on you!
Thomas Packston fell mute and immobile at those flickerings in his mind, and his body barely remained able to stand up, arms dangling in front of his torso. Greg rose from his control.
How dare you... How dare you talk about our god like that!
Greg clenched his fists and walked up to Eric. The logical man had a truly frightening aura to him, something overly emotional that didn't fit in the big picture of his being. A disturbance large enough for him to actually want to hurt his three lifelong comrades. In a swift flail Greg's fist, enforced with shreds of rock, smashed into Eric's stomach. The young man collapsed onto the carpet as did Thomas onto the rocky bed of dust covering the ground.
Oh, that's it, you looking for a fight, Greg? Because if you're gonna, I'm gonna!

The confusion rised in the special agent as the boy he recently agreed to help, and who would no doubt return that favor in any way possible, careered in his general direction, and threw well-aimed punches at Spender with some strange clumsy precision. Not only that, but after a few wild swings, the boy simply stopped. He didn't even noticably breathe, he was in a complete standstill due to no one being in control anymore.

When suddenly, completely unnoticed by any of the four personalities, something snuck in.

Thomas grasped at his head, and echoed an incredibly coarse scream into the caverns. The cult chamber trembled, as spires started to rise from the ground as lava slowly filled the spots between. The pressure in the walls quickly built up as a gushing geyser exploded out of a ginger stone, dissolving in the lava to create a thick steam. Apparitions began drafting up in the fog due to someone's careful control of all the elements. The room fillled with the prognosticus of the insane god the colonists had released ages ago, and the arch-acolyte couldn't help but grin. The prophecy was there, Khar'yion would swallow and devastate.

Dragon Fogel · 11-06-2010, 11:15 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

SpoilerShow

Reserved.

Dragon Fogel · 11-07-2010, 12:33 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

Spender stared into Thomas' eyes. They had turned completely black, no doubt the Nightmare's influence. None of the personalities were in control.

Spender was worried. This thing was probably SB rank or higher. And it held Thomas Packston hostage. And the cultists were eyeing him, no doubt waiting for an order from their newly-awakened god. Would he have enough coins to fight Khar'yion off, preferably saving Thomas in the process, and still challenge the Overseer? It seemed unlikely.

It made the fact that Glere had wasted his transformation coin all the more irritating.

As if on cue, a familiar voice from above shouted, "GERONIMO!"

Moments later, a fishbowl landed on the head of one cultist, and a headless body landed on another. Both fell unconscious at once. Then a familiar cape gently floated down, and a body slowly began to emerge from it.

As it did, the Nightmare in Thomas' body spoke.

"Retrieve that one! It is the other sacrifice I require to be whole. And subdue the other, but leave him alive for now. This one's mind tells me that we will lose our sacrifices if he dies."

The cultists obeyed. Three grabbed the cape before the body was fully retrieved. The remaining six advanced on Spender, as 'Thomas' simply grinned.

"I could capture you myself," the possessed man said mockingly. "But I'm afraid I wouldn't hold back enough. And I can't have you dying and making your friend the Overseer pull my sacrifices away when I'm this close."

Spender said nothing. He simply grabbed a spellcoin and activated it. He didn't expect it to be much use against the Overseer.

A large net of energy flew out, snaring four of the onrushing cultists. That left two, unless they wanted to leave Glere unattended. Spender reasoned he could take them without an additional coin, but he would have to be quick. The net was only temporary, and the other three would soon find a better way to restrain Glere.

Spender also had some new questions about Glere's nature, but he didn't have time to ponder them now. Rescue first, questions later. He rushed towards the cultists, grabbed the nearest one, and knocked him into the other.

That left the three holding Glere. Spender rushed forward, but the ground before him suddenly rose up, blocking his way. He turned back to look at 'Thomas', who was now laughing.

"I may not wish to kill you, but I do have other ways of ensuring the sacrifice goes through."

Spender cursed. He'd have to use another coin.

Or at least, that's what he thought before he heard the muffled noises from the other side of the wall of earth, followed by what sounded enough like "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" to draw the agent's attention. Spender ran away quickly, as an explosion blew away a portion of the wall.

Glere stepped out. He was shorter than last time.

"Dwarf. Not my favorite, but I was in a hurry to get something out and they tend to be strong." It seemed no other explanation was forthcoming; Glere seemed to expect Spender to figure it out himself.

And there was one detail that the agent had worked out, in fact.

"I thought I saw you before, without the cape."

"What? Ridiculous. Never leave home without it. I can't, really. Must have been Asteira in that body I gave her."

Spender blinked. "You what?"

"Well, she'd done such a good job trying to take it over, and I have spares... so, I thought I'd give her a little gift!"

Spender let out a sigh as an uncomfortable realization struck him. "Did it still have the spellcoin I gave you?"

Glere held a hand to his new fishbowl thoughtfully. "It might! I don't remember what I did with that. You'll have to ask her."

Spender groaned, then turned his attention to the cultists emerging from the now-dissipating energy net. It seemed the Nightmare's followers weren't finished yet.

GBCE · 11-10-2010, 03:51 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

Glere thought for a moment, the body was taking a bit more getting used to than before. Then a lightbulb went off. He quickly ran over to the previous body, fishing into the vest's front pocket, retrieving the spellcoin. He held it up triumphantly.
"I'VE GOT IT!" he shouted, quickly pocketing it again, before being tackled by two cultists. The energy net had disappeared, leaving the six to advance on Spender and Glere.
"You and I keep seeming to have to work together!"

Spender groaned inwardly a bit, he hated to admit it but it did seem true. He ran forward, charging into one of the cultists, knocking the other three to the floor as he rolled off the now winded one. He jumped back onto his feet, ready to grapple again when one of the two who had tackled Glere went sailing through the air, a comically oversized boxing glove wedged against his chest. He crashed into a wall with a thud.
"....uh... huh."

Glere was suddenly thrown back against the wall as a large earthen pillar jutted out of the wall from before, before forming into a large earthen hand, gripping him tightly.
"You think you're so smart, don't you? But you will be my key to freedom, impudent wretch. And none shall mourn your passing-what are you doing." Glere was riggling despite the tight grip of the hold on him, when suddenly-SCHLOOP. The pillar was sucked into the cape, leaving him to drop to the ground.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!!" Glere shouted again, tossing a stick of dynamite straight towards Thomas.

Woffles · 11-10-2010, 01:49 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

SpoilerShow

GBCE · 11-11-2010, 04:11 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

Wojjan Wrote:
SpoilerShow
Correct me if I'm wrong, but the body Asteira has right now has the spellcoin.

SpoilerShow

**Pinary** · 11-23-2010, 12:55 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

With a wave of his hand, 'Thomas' sent the explosive whistling by him and into one of the tunnels behind him, the explosion caving in the tunnel beyond it. "Dynamite, really? You're slipping, my friend. Whatever happened to the mad-as-a-bowler Glere this one remembers?"

A stick of dynamite wedged inside a rubber chicken went sailing by on the other side, collapsing another tunnel.

"Come now, a rubber chicken? That's not mad, that's just cliché! If you're going to keep up an act like that, you could at least put in some effort!"

Glere's response came in the form of two grenades and a pineapple, all redirected.

"Better! Still, I'm afraid that's too little, too late." The four smaller stone hands that had been forming behind the supposed madman each grabbed a limb, raising him to hang in midair and just holding him there.

"You certainly put up a fight, I'll give you that much, but you need to get it through your transparent, water-filled head- you can't win. No matter how hard you try, you're simply not going to be able to stop me." He raised his voice louder, booming tones shaking a few loose rocks down from the ceiling. "I am Khar'yion," he bellowed, "and once I am free, you will wish that you had joined the ranks of my followers when you had the chance!"

"Some of us will not make the same mistake, my lord!"

'Thomas' jerked his head in surprise. Evidently his trusted followers hadn't been as capable as he'd hoped, as Spender had apparently managed to knock out or kill the all the rest. Unfortunately for him, though, the newcomer had apparently been considerably more skilled- Spender was completely immobilized by the interloper's grip.

It took only the slightest moment for 'Thomas' to realize what had happened. "Ah, Asteira. So nice of you to join us. I'm glad you, unlike these fools, recognize your true position."

"Of course, my lord." He didn't quite catch the sarcasm underlying the words.

'Thomas' grinned. "The time has come," he shouted. "The final phase shall commence, and soon, I shall be free!" Raising his arms, he brought four rough stone pedestals into being, all spaced equally around the room.

"You are all privileged," he said, moving to stand next to the device atop the altar, "to be here, now..." Twisting a valve, dark gases began gushing out, swirling in a not-entirely-natural way. "You, the witnesses... of the dawn of Khar'yion!"

The gases flowed upwards, and, waving his arms, the nightmare directed the flow towards the four pedestals. The clouds gathered around them, ever denser, until the pedestals were obscured entirely. Black chains around each one shuddered and rose into the air, wrapping themselves around invisible forms. The gases swirled faster, tightening down from a formless cloud into something more recognizable. Khar'yion began to laugh, the sound echoing unnaturally around the cavern, deep and unsettling. "This form shall be mine!", he shouted, and as he did, a shockwave shook the chamber, shattering the device on the altar and bringing a scattering of stones and pebbles down from the ceiling.

The clouds of gas atop each of the four pedestals rippled once as the wave went by, then suddenly changed, convalescing into familiar forms.

On one altar knelt a man in a shirt and tie, several minor injuries obvious on his face and arms. On another knelt an identical man, this one wearing a basketball jersey and baggy shorts, sported significantly more injuries than the first. The third twin was dressed in monk-style robes, and he'd apparently only suffered a series of small stabs along his arms and torso where thorned chains had wrapped themselves around him. The fourth had on a signed tweed jacket, and he was gasping for breath and nearly fell clean off the platform.

Khar'yion let out a slow, rattling breath, the sound one that Thomas' body shouldn't have been able to make. "This form is mine," he hissed, turning to face the suspended Glere, "and there is just one more order of business- a sacrifice. As much as a genuine madman would be preferable, I suppose you'll just have to do."

Glere stared back at him, not moving or reacting, a mad grin plastered across his face.

"Come now, nothing to say? No last words?"

Still no reaction- just that same mad, staring grin.

The Nightmare lashed out, sending a wave of force towards him. "This is your end!", Khar'yion screamed, "accept your fate!"

This time, Glere did react, tipping his head back to sweep his gaze up, past the demon, to the ceiling. He kept raising it, looking up and up and up- then his head rolled back, falling off of his shoulders and shattering to the floor.

By then, the cape was long gone, having slipped off and dropped to the ground almost immediately upon being captured. At his first opportunity, he'd pulled out another body, this one thin, wiry, and quick, and snuck around behind one of the altars.

The clang of bolt-cutters echoed through the chamber, and Khar'yion spun around to find Walt standing, thorned, black chains clutched in his hands. "This is the end for you," he said, his voice quiet and level. "You know that as well as I do."

"No!" The Nightmare threw a wave of force at Walt, which the monk-robed man deflected with a flick of the chains. "You are nothing, [b]nothing!"[/b]

"That's where you're wrong." Another clang rang out as Glere unchained Bern, who stood as well, wielding chains of his own. "You forced your way in, made us fight each other, then stole our bodies. You had to make one of us open the door for you instead of just coming in. You, not us, are nothing, not if that's the way you have to do things."

Khar'yion screamed incoherently, his rage bubbling over and escaping him as a column of flame aimed straight at his adversary.

Bern just stood, letting the fire curve around him and splash against the stone wall, then he fired back, lobbing a trio of fireballs straight at the Nightmare, who knocked them away with a hand. He was adjusting, now, and he was ready to fight back.

In Spender's mind, his options presented themselves. First, he could just help in the brute-force attack on Khar'yion's body. The trouble there would be that Thomas' minds were still probably linked, so killing the body would probably end up killing them as well. His second option was to reason with the beast, and the odds of that working were astronomical. He'd tried before, but the only kinds to even sit down at the negotiating table were the clever ones, and Khar'yion, while powerful, clearly wasn't an intellectual.

Unfortunately, this left exactly one option. No ATM, a handful of coins, and an adversary to be defeated. Sighing, he straightened his shoulders, shrugging off Asteira's supposedly-restraining arm and making a coin slide out of his sleeve and into his hand. "I may need some help," he said, building up his will.

"Whatever you say," Asteira replied. She wasn't sure if she was actually planning to help him- she was just improvising at this point, and it seemed like she could do more inside there than out.

"Right, then." Spender hesitated just a moment longer, then, steeling his resolve, he activated the coin.

Thomas' mind hadn't been so much redecorated as desecrated. A black, tar-like ooze lay coated on most of the surfaces, and spikes of that black stone stabbed up out from the floor in places. Khar'yion himself stood in the middle of the room, his focus entirely on the window. He was an imposing figure, seeming to be better than eight feet tall and composed of the same black stone as everything else. He moved fluidly, his movements inside Thomas' mind reflecting his actions outside.

Spender slammed the door shut behind him, drawing the Nightmare's attention.

"Being known as Khar'yion," the Agent began, "you have-"

He had apparently underestimated his opponent's power, as a sudden wave of force that he'd thought would push him back a bit actually sent him slamming into the wall behind him.

"I have won," the demon growled, voice seething with rage. "Those four spirits are going to tire eventually, and when they do, I will destroy them utterly. From there, I shall kill each of you, securing my escape and moving out into the cosmos. I shall-"

Asteira was hardly a small girl, but she looked positively tiny when clinging to Khar'yion's back. Both arms were wrapped around his neck, holding on tight as he swung around, trying to fling him off.

"Quit with the speeching and just get rid of him already!", she yelled.

"Go," Spender replied, "just get out while you have the chance!"

"That's not happening!"

"You'll die!"

"I died already!" It was hard to tell, but her yells seemed... sad, almost. "I died once, and I'm still around! With any luck, I'll be able to pull off an escape again!"

"Just do it, man, and get it over with!"

"What do you hope to accomplish?! You can do nothing now, nothing! Just who do you think you are to stand up to me?!"

Slowly, Spender stood to face the struggling pair. Reaching into a hidden pocket, he pulled out his last coin- it was the same last coin all Agents of the EDF carried, and its face bore a single, simple symbol.

"I am a soldier," he said, raising the coin before him, "and soldiers die."

Suddenly, the four Thomas lookalikes vanished, simply evaporating into nothing, and for a moment, all was still. Glere, from his location behind one of the pedestals, heard nothing.

Then, several seconds later, he heard the sound of a body collapsing to the ground in fits of coughing.

As Eric forced breath back into their lungs, Walt, Greg, and Bern surveyed their mind. The apartment was demolished, to put it lightly. The couch and carpet were simply gone, leaving a bare stone floor. What remained of Greg's books were scattered around, pages charred and unrecognizable. Bern's hardwood floor was mostly gone, leaving an ashen mess in its place, and Eric's podium had been blasted to cinders.

Their home had been damaged, but they were alive. Somehow, through some miracle, they'd survived.

GBCE · 11-23-2010, 04:14 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Baphomet.

Glere watched as Spender disappeared. Asteira, too, was nowhere to be found. Thomas doubled over, retching, as something black and cold swirled out of his back. A sudden pulse of blackness burst from his body and dissipated into white mist. The remaining cultists recoiled, bearing faces of confusion. Thomas raised his head and met Glere's gaze, holding back four minds' emotions. He looked down at his hands and stood, exhaling slowly. Darkness enveloped them both.

A sharp sound rang out across seemingly infinite blackness. A spotlight faded into existence, illuminating The Overseer and Chronicler atop a pedestal. Bryce clapped again, and again, and again, slowly building his tempo to a crescendo. He grinned a white grin and the entire expanse was suddenly illuminated with bright daylight.

A man and a sentient cape stood atop glowing circles on a transparent floor. All around them, a diverse and seemingly infinite throng of beings erupted in a simultaneous cheer. Bryce spoke, and his voice was amplified and echoed across the entire gathered crowd.

"Dudes, babes, and whatever else the multiverse happened to cook up, the Epic Clash is on! I am, of course, your host, Bryce, and beside me is my co-host, Miles! From every universe, every world, anything and everything that ever existed, I asked you to bring me eight champions, and today we see the cream of the crop, the best of the best, our finalists, everyone give them a hand!"

The cheering crowd somehow threw themselves into an even more frenzied cheer, all manner of enthusiastic sounds from alien physiologies mingling with the clapping. Chants of "Glere" and "Thomas" were audible among them, though the two contestants remained still as statues in their glowing circles.

"I know those of you who've been watching from the start are itching to see more action, but for those of you just tuning in, let's give our would-be champions a little introduction, shall we?"

Glere suddenly staggered as whatever force was holding him stationary was released. Bryce gestured to him and the circle around him began to shimmer with blue and white light. "In the blue corner, we have Glere!" The crowd began to cheer and boo the fishbowlkin in equal parts, and Bryce continued when the sounds died down. "What is there to say about Glere? He's got a cape full of junk, he's got a fishbowl for a head, and he's CRAAAZY, folks! Glere, give us a few words!"

Glere stood straight and adjusted his cape. "Crazy, am I? Coming from you, that means something. As for my words, I choose 'tarpaulin' and 'fetishistic'." Upon uttering the last word, he deftly reached into his cape and flung a bowling ball directly at Bryce's head. The ball struck an invisible surface in front of Bryce and the crowd roared, mostly with laughter.

"Ha ha, I like that fighting spirit, Glere. Let's keep it coming for that final round!" The circle around Glere turned black and he faded from existence. Bryce then pointed to the remaining contestant. "In the green corner, ladies and gentlemen, Thomas Packston!"

The circle surrounding Thomas began to shimmer green and white and he quickly steadied himself. His eyes flashed red briefly before turning gray. Without waiting to be prompted, he began to shout. "These battles are terrible! You're taking real people, sentient beings, and treating them as your playthings! You're manipulating them and forcing them to kill one another! That's...that's just wrong!"

Bryce smirked widely and snapped his fingers as the crowd broke into cheers and boos all around them. Thomas froze once again, this time slowly tipping over to land on his outstretched arm, where he bounced as if made of plastic. "As I was saying, Thomas is here because he's got four minds, each of them with control over a different classical element! He's equal parts crafty and deadly, and I'll bet we're all anxious to see him put that to use!"

With that, Thomas's circle turned black as well, and the paralyzed man faded from view.

He arrived in a familiar black space, trapped inside a transparent bubble. Glere sat in a similar bubble a few meters away, and both drifted in the hazy space between waking and unconsciousness. They were dimly aware of several floating screens, each showing different angles of Bryce giving his speech, the shots of the crowd, various excerpts from previous battle rounds. After several minutes, Bryce and Miles popped into existence below the screens. Bryce's face sobered immediately and both contestants were snapped into awakening. The screens were currently fixated on some allegedly-musical entertainment that had taken the stage in the two hosts' absence, and Bryce uttered a disgusted "Ugh" before clicking them off.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get down to business. Our penultimate round just became our final round, so I guess we're skipping the volcano lair of Dr. Malice. That's a shame, because the second-to-last round traditionally contains contestants from the other battles in some limited form. It would have been nice to give you a taste of what you'd be up against in the all-stars battle." He paused briefly in contemplation. "By the way, there's going to be an all-stars battle. Whichever of you wins will enter a second battle with the winners of the other seven battles from this season. So, you know, heads up." He smiled sinisterly before muttering "I'm not hosting that one." Thomas voiced some objection, but the bubble muted every sound he made.

Miles raised his eyebrow. "So, uh, we're just using the last round we had planned for... you know, before?"

"Come to think of it," Bryce began, ignoring Miles's query, "we'd better take the blueprints for the other contestants out of Dr. Malice's matter aggregator before something nasty happens." Looking up at the bubbles, he continued. "Last round tends to have something to do with the contestants' minds. I think it's to flesh out your character better to the audience, so they'll sympathize more with you in the all-star round. That said, I've found a little pocket universe that takes a twist on that concept."

"So, we ARE using the same one? Uh, because I...I've been meaning to tell you, something happened when we were out..." Miles interjected.

Bryce turned to face him for the first time since entering the black space. He remained silent.

Miles shrank a bit and continued. "The...uh, both the source universe and the copy both, uhm, well they went dark, right before we went to the...the thing, just now. I couldn't see what happened or who was doing it, but, uh..."

Bryce snapped aggressively and two more floating screens appeared. In both was an infinite white expanse. Tears in the fabric of reality itself swirled with non-color, the rips spelling out words in English, different phrases on each screen.

BRYCE PHOTEMA, OVERSEER, USURPER, PRETENDER

FIND YOURSELF YET, HUMAN?

Miles fidgeted as the silence became more oppressive. He looked back and forth between the rapidly-paling face of Bryce and the screens. When The Overseer finally spoke, it was in a small voice. "And you don't know who?"

"It was... I tried every different way to scan, but it was all just...

"Uh...

"Well, black. Could we make another copy?"

Bryce took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "No," he said finally, "We'd have to temporally-displace the copy, and considering the way the mindspace works here it wouldn't function the same. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."

"Then...what's our final round?"

Bryce smiled. "We improvise."

The makeup caked to the faces of the felbeasts crowded in the center of the big top did nothing to make them look more personable, much less clown-like. Once fiercely pursuing the interlopers into their circus of horror, they now huddled together in fear, multiple eyes darting back and forth, illuminated by the flickering orange glow of the inferno now consuming the west wall. One suddenly screeched out in terror, but by the time the others turned to see the cause of its alarm, the sound had already been replaced by a wet gurgle.

Breaking through the circle, a tall, gaunt, gray-skinned figure stood mid-swing. Protruding from his arm, a white blade of energy glowed, anguished faces shifting across its surface. The two halves of the felbeast that the blade had just severed hit the ground with a sickening slapping sound. His dark eyes narrowed at the crowd, their slightly-luminous pupils indicating a hidden malevolence not present on his stoic face. Before their eyes, a barely-visible wisp bearing their fallen comrade's countenance was sucked from the bisected corpse into the glowing chrome port over the figure's heart. The silvery cables that protruded from this port, circled the figure's torso, and entered his back at the spine flashed briefly.

By the time he was recognized as one of the three interlopers, all but one of the tentacled clowns was shredded to their component parts by various weaponry forged from other souls likewise stolen by the pale figure. The final creature was held aloft by his neck, ethereal cables wrapping around him from their source in the pale man's hand.

Very calmly, slowly, he spoke in a cadence resembling a choir chant. "Rejoice for your comrades, for they have died in the service of Teival."

The clown tugged helplessly at the cables binding him. Its tongue lolled as it cried out. "Oh god, you monster! You... You killed them all!"

Without pause, Teival continued. "In death, they serve a greater purpose. In death, their souls have found a savior. In death, they extend my life, and are thus granted eternal life through me."

"You're insane! NNGH!" The creature's tentacles wriggled uselessly as the cables binding it tightened around its thorax.

"If eternity is measured by the lives that count it out, I am eternal. All those that die for me are eternal too. You would have died eventually if I had not come along. The time between now and that certain end is inconsequential, and the time between now and when I will kill you is even less meaningful."

The felbeast merely began weeping as it realized the futility of its situation.

"Where is the ringmaster?" Teival asked, after a pause.

"Wh...what?"

With slow deliberation, Teival drove a glowing pin through one of the creature's eyes. It cried out in pain and began sobbing anew.

"Where is the ringmaster?" Teival repeated.

"H...hiding in the equipment shack."

Teival's face remained stoic and emotionless as he shredded the creature to ribbons.

Elsewhere in the circus, a darkened room was illuminated as a searing beam of heat sliced a door off its hinges. The creature that stepped through the door's remains was perfectly capable of operating the handle, but he'd been feeling increasingly bored, temperamental, and destructive as this round had progressed. Jet black from horned head to taloned toe, Keegan resembled and behaved like a child of approximately 10 years of age. He was as immature as the universe he had been destined to be the Ender of--or more accurately, would have been if he wasn't plucked from his world for this battle.

By the dim light of the nebula overhead and the smoldering remains of the door, Keegan peered into the room with his ember-like eyes. A central walkway passed between two rows of stages and enclosures, some of which had dark, rustling shapes inside. Keegan leapt up, floating about a foot over the ground, and summoned his skeletal horse below him. With a rhythmic clatter, the bony hooves trotted along the central lane. Keegan extended his hand, conjuring a glowing ball of light whose luminescence spread through the entire hall.

One of the creatures in an enclosure leapt up at the wall and shrieked horribly. Keegan's mouth opened in shock, an inner orange glow from deeper in his throat displaying two rows of needle-like teeth.

He quickly overcame his surprise, replacing it with laughter. In a voice that sounded like several children speaking in unison, he appraised the situation to his horse. "The sign said this was the freak show, but this looks just like a stupid monkey. The things that work here are freakier than this!" He tapped his chin with a clawed finger. "...But maybe that's why they think they're freaks."

The apelike creature continued to shriek, until a gesture from Keegan brought a series of orange sparks together into a single point in its cage, which suddenly burst with a sizable explosion. The creature's lower half was severed completely, and Keegan watched it struggle. He chuckled, then began to move on.

The next area simply held a single glassy globe, inside which was a red liquid that seemed to be animated of its own accord. Above it, a large mechanized tarantula was suspended by the ceiling, apparently inert. Pictures on the wall described the liquid as the pilot of the spider. Keegan paid these little mind and proceeded further.

The next enclosure caused Keegan to double-take. It contained a human, huddled against the back wall of the cage. His hair was messy and he wore a frightened expression and a pink t-shirt that said simply Unicorns are awesome. He flinched at Keegan's approach.

"Heh. Whatcha doing in here, man?"

The human sat up a bit, swallowed, and answered shakily. "Kidnapped. They...there was supposed to be this battle, but then the whole thing just kind of uh, broke, like, time, and um. What...what are you doing in here?" He narrowed his eyes, which were underlined by dark circles.

Keegan looked away further down the corridor. "Hey, kidnapped and stuck in a battle too. I guess right now I'm killin' stuff. There's two other guys, one of 'em says I'm supposed to keep my eye on the last one."

The human's eyes widened. "There's something else loose in here. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it moving around. Is that your uh..."

"Oh, cool. That's probably Surok, he's like this slimy tar thing. He's really gross," Keegan replied. He smiled and looked around for signs of the third contestant, swinging his feet excitedly at his horse's side.

"Cool. Uh, if you let me out, I could probably help you look..."

"Nope," Keegan replied with a grin. With a wave of his hand, he set the human on fire. He chuckled again as the human's screams echoed through the corridor. Keegan dismounted and moved on to the next exhibit, tracing his fingertip along the wall, leaving a burnt line in the wallpaper.

Before he reached the next stage, Keegan heard a loud crash over the shrieks. He turned just in time to see the mechanized spider wrench its remaining legs loose of the cables suspending it on the ceiling and drop to the ground with a heavy clank. It wobbled to its feet as if unsure how they were supposed to move, and then turned its red-tinted eyes to face Keegan. He saw, oozing from the various metal plates and gears driving the legs, black, slimy gunk.

"Shit," Keegan exclaimed. "Surok got the robot."

"InterloPlease state your nStep away from the treasLethal force is requiYou cannot escaschzzzzzzz-" blurted a garbled prerecorded message from the spider. Without further warning, it spat a blistering globule of molten metal at Keegan.

"OW! Owowowowowow," repeated the Ender as he leapt up and down, frantically brushing the rivulets off his body. During one such leap, the tarantula fired again, just barely missing him due to his spastic flailing. Orange sparks began to condense under the machine's body, and when they had charged into a single point of white hot energy, it exploded outward, flinging the spider through the far wall. Keegan leapt on his horse's back and darted out the door in pursuit.

There, silhouetted against the flames of the big top, stood Teival. "Hey, grey guy," Keegan called to him.

Striding forward, Teival appraised the situation calmly. "I see you're still tailing Surok. I'm almost surprised you've kept your attention on a single task this long."

A wave of fire washed over Surok's new metal carapace, but didn't do any noticeable damage. Keegan frowned. "God, you are so annoying."

Teival lashed a ghost-whip out, wrapping around one of the spider's legs. He pulled, but the other legs rooted themselves in the dirt and the whole beast only stumbled slightly. "Give me more respect, Keegan. Remember that it is only by my mercy that you are still alive."

Keegan leapt from his horse and smirked as he charged up another explosion beneath the legs of the still-bound spider. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that. You know how you say you're trying to escape this battle?"

Teival scowled. "This is fact, yes." Keegan's explosion went off, launching the machine into the air. Teival pulled on his whip, flipping it upside down.

"Well, you also say you are only doing this friendship thing with me because I don't have a soul to power your stupid implant thing." Keegan turned to face Teival, leaving the spider behind him.

Teival looked from Keegan to the spider. "Hold him," he said.

Keegan continued, paying the spider no mind as it clumsily flailed its legs in an attempt to right itself. "So I take it you found your ringmaster guy, and there's no way out of this round either? And you did your stupid preachy thing and killed him and took his soul? Well, next round, that's it. There's no more rounds after that."

Teival's stoic facade broke for a moment, his eyes narrowed in indignation. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that next round, your easiest way out is going to be through me. I'm saying maybe the only reason you haven't killed me yet is because you're not sure you can. I'm saying that you've been an uptight asshole ever since this battle started, and if we ever were friends, we won't be after this round. We can't. You're out of options." Keegan rotated his shoulders and took a step towards Teival. The spider rooted two of its legs in the ground and flipped itself back over.

Teival released the ghost-whip and planted his feet firmly in the dirt, facing the Ender. "I can still kill The Stranger," he said.

"You can't. You're not strong enough."

Teival sneered and his dark eyes narrowed further. He held his arms out, hands balled into fists, and two ghostly blades shot out from them. "I can still kill you."

Keegan's ember-like eyes flashed and he shook his head. He raised his hand towards Teival, and waves of heat began emanating from it. "Even with all your fancy weapons and fancier words, you're weak and stupid." The tall figure's once-emotionless visage erupted in an expression of pure hate.

The spider, now thoroughly disregarded, belted out another string of prerecorded messages in a deep booming voice and leapt at the pair. Both snarled and twisted, the brunt of their previously-bottled aggression erupting towards a new source.

The resultant explosion sent shockwaves across the circus. Then, all was black.

A single light source came into being, illuminating the hidden figure of The Stranger. Wrapped in several multicolored coats, several overlapping shirts of clashing design, two scarves, a big floppy hat, and green goggles, the strange figure was too encumbered to walk properly. If there was even a man in there, he was completely obscured. He waddled forward, his glove-wrapped hands making a cheering motion, accompanied by appropriate enthusiastic sounds, albeit muffled by his neckwear. "Woo, woo! Guys, that was great, just great. I'm gonna get accepted by those big shots in no time for this. I mean come on! Explosions! Alliances broken! Blood, murder, adult themes, ha ha! Awesome. Come on, we've got a final round to get to, and I'm sure you're all itching to get at each others' throats. Especially after that, I mean wow."

A bright light flashed in the darkness as Teival, Keegan, and The Stranger were transported to a new location. Seven figures materialized on a giant ball of writhing flesh floating in space, beams of light flashing out from cracks in the surface.

"Okay, so this is a-" The stranger began, before doing a double-take at the number of figures that just arrived.

"'Sup," said Bryce, smirkingly.

The Stranger looked over the four newcomers with alarm. "Overseer! And, The Chronicler, and uh..." he surveyed the frozen figures of Thomas and Glere, "guests! What's... what're...uh...to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Huge smirk still plastered annoyingly across his face, Bryce looked the landscape up and down. "Nice place you've got here. I'll take it."

The Stranger took a moment to respond. "You'll what?"

Miles looked back and forth between the two grandmasters. "Wait, uh, really?"

"What, you don't like it?" Bryce asked, addressing Miles. "See, he's got basically a ball of continuous nuclear reactions, like a mini-star, wrapped in a delicious candy shell of psychic pustule-laden eldritch monstrosity! It's really a pretty sweet location for a final round."

"It's..." The Stranger began, apparently not knowing where to begin, "Yeah, I mean there's more to it than that, but...it's..." He paused, apparently steeling himself. "It's mine, I set it up for The Exalted Exchange. You'll have to find someplace else."

"Excuse me a moment, folks, I gotta take care of something," quipped Bryce, taking a few steps towards The Stranger.

"You stay away from me!" The Stranger shrieked. Something bright flashed from his hand toward The Overseer, who continued walking unfazed and began to remove his sunglasses.

In an instant, both figures were encased in an orb of static. Miles flinched, and looked back at the four paralyzed contestants. He waved his hands and conjured up several screens, all of which only displayed more static. "Twice in one day, jammed," he muttered to himself. He waved the screens out of existence and walked closer to inspect the ball, but apparently decided better of it halfway and just stood and crossed his arms awkwardly. He walked back to the contestants and conjured more screens around Keegan and Teival. Across them flashed several lines of data.

SpoilerShow

Miles scanned the screens impassively and fidgeted. Nearly two minutes passed in the white noise and glow of the static orb before it finally blinked out of existence.

Bryce knelt on the ground, massaging his temple with one hand. In front of him was a crumpled pile of clothing. The former stood, and the latter slowly inflated and pushed itself up off the ground. Bryce cracked his neck. The Stranger stood, and Bryce nodded to him. The cloth man disappeared in a puff of smoke. "Guy put up a better fight than I expected," Bryce muttered, before continuing to address the gathered crowd. "Okay, we're sharing this one. Miles, do me a favor," he made a gesture encompassing the entirety of the twisted ground they stood on, "Copy all this mess, put it like two miles out that way."

"Can't you just-"

"Miles, I'm asking you to be proactive here. You're supposed to be my co-host, but I'm doing all the work. It's time I gave you some responsibility befitting your station."

Miles looked taken aback for a second, then nodded with a barely-suppressed smile. He waved his hand, and with a loud pop and a rumble, a point of light flashed in space above them. It quickly grew into a massive flaming orb, and writhing organic masses weaved themselves into a hollow sphere around it with a few empty spaces where the light still shone through.

"Here's how this is gonna work," Bryce began. "See all these pulsing greenish blisters all over the surface of this thing? Well, each of those is... it's like a seed. The whole mess is alive, and it can fish around in your brain. It pulls out random stuff from your memories: people who were important to you, things that hold some significance to why you are you..." He gestured to a gigantic blister in the distance, the size of a small house, "It can even recreate entire events and settings. It grows them in these pods, and moves them around, and makes them do things that it thinks will get a reaction out of you. To make matters worse, there's going to be another contestant on the thing with you, and all the things that haunt their minds will be running around with you, too. Now, this thing is very powerful. It can recreate some pretty amazing things, even intricate technology and magic, up to a certain point."

He gestured to the duplicate orb hanging ominously above them. "'But Overseer,' you must be saying, 'why are there two?' Well, it gets better. You're going to get paired off with a contestant from a different battle and split up onto the different psychic terror star monsters. After they've had a little while to stew in your mental bullshit, they're going to crash into each other." He paused and looked back and forth between them, "And honestly, that's when shit hits the fan, because these things look to be about a mile in diameter, and I'm not sure how well they're gonna stabilize from an impact of that magnitude."

Bryce held his hands out and looked the contestants over. "Now, as far as I'm concerned, these are still two separate battles, even though one of them is unofficial and unsanctioned. If anyone dies, the other person in their battle is going to leave the round, and the other pair is gonna stay until someone dies there, too. Any questions?"

He paused as if waiting for the paralyzed figures to speak up. "Of course not. Now, let's get this party started."

Glere and Thomas were encased in blue bubbles, and Teival and Keegan were encased in red bubbles. One blue and one red bubble shot off through space to the distant sphere, and the other two split up and shot across the surface of the original one.

SpoilerShow

**Pinary** · 12-20-2010, 05:51 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

The ground was squishy, and as Thomas lay where he'd fallen after being released by the bubble, he could feel it alive below him. The whole thing was moving, shifting, horrible things sliding over one another beneath the tough, rubbery skin. Even worse, below all that, there was a steady, rhythmic beat, the constant thub-thub that could only be the thing's pulse.

In the charred, devastated wreck of Thomas' mind, the four personalities debated. Eric, unsurprisingly, was advocating seeking out their other contestant and convincing them that peace was best for both of them. Bern also thought they should look for the other person, but he thought they should take a more direct, physical approach to negotiations. Greg wanted to just find and observe them, waiting until they knew more to act. Walt didn't offer an opinion, distracted by something that felt off about the room, something more than just the fact that it was in ruins around them. The others didn't seem to notice, content to play out the same argument they'd had time and time again- diplomacy, confrontation, and observation compared anew. It was comforting, in a way, to go through the familiar motions- "A misinformed decision could be a disastrous one," Greg would say. "We don't have much choice in allies, we should take what we can get," Eric would respond. "We don't have time to sit back and watch," Bern would argue. They were untold universes away from home, with their mind around them blasted to cinders, but they could at least take solace in the ritual debate.

It wasn't long before Greg won out, convincing the others that his was the best option for today. Walt was given control, his dexterity useful on the soft, living terrain, and they slowly set out.

"So these blister things pull stuff out of our memories?", Bern asked, staring out the window at the landscape.

"We shouldn't assume anything about the mechanism," Greg replied, "but it's more likely that they make copies. I can't imagine they'd take the original person or object from where it is, and it would hardly be useful if, once created, we were to forget what had been created."

"There's another question that's more important than how," Eric mused. "There haven't been many people close to us throughout our life. Objects aside, what are they likely to pick?"

"Well, there's Watcher, for one."

Eric shot Bern a look. "Well, yes, but I can't imagine he'll actually do much."

Greg started to go for a whiteboard before remembering that they were gone. A bit halfheartedly, he began ticking things off on his fingers as he spoke. "Family is unlikely, given that we moved to the other side of the city for school and never really talk to them very much. Kieth, perhaps, given that we work with him on a daily basis. It's not likely to be able to create any of our friends on the datanet, given that we really only communicate by text."

"Yeah, I doubt it," Eric added. "I guess-"

"Shh." Walt cut him off with a wave of his hand. About thirty meters away, in a direction mostly perpendicular to their travel, a mid-sized blister was swelling, the ground's pulse thub-thubbing louder, louder, building up until, moments later, the thing burst. Foul-smelling smoke poured out, billowing clouds obscuring everything nearby. It covered the area like a dense fog, dissipating much too slowly for Thomas' tastes.

"Eric," Walt said, simply turning over control and letting the other personality clear some of the smoke. Eric, unfortunately, stumbled backwards over a lump in the ground, falling flat on his back.

A heeled shoe pressed down on his chest. The woman it belonged to was still partially obscured, but the crisp slacks and modest jacket, both the same shade of characteristic lavender, gave Thomas a good idea of who it was.

-

Elsewhere on the living sphere, Teival was grappling with his past as well.

The knife grazed his arm, making him lose his grip just long enough for his brother to slip out. "You're getting old, Teival. Getting sloppy." The whip across the face was more of a taunt than anything.

"You are not my brother," Teival reiterated, catching the whip as it lashed out again and pulling his opponent down to his knees. "You are a mere construct of this place, and once I am rid of you, I will finish the imp as well."

"Once you are rid of me?" Kanek dismissed the whip and replaced it with a staff. "At your best, you were my equal, and you'll hardly be able to take me on now!" As a demonstration, he swung the staff around, sweeping out one of Teival's knees and sending him to the ground.

"This is irrelevant," Teival spat, rolling up to kneel on one foot, bracing himself with his hands. "You have no soul, and that makes you nothing more than a distraction. You have no meaning, no life."

Kanek stalked towards him, staff sharpening into a spear. "Ah, but that's temporary." He lowered the staff to his brother's throat, smirking. "You have a multitude of souls stored, and once I kill you, they will be mine to do with as I please."

-

"Where am I, who are you, and what is going on?", the woman asked, her voice barely maintaining the professionalism she was so well-known known for. The personal taser she held probably helped her confidence a bit.

"Of course," Eric replied, laughing a bit in relief. "That's just too appropriate."

"Answer the questions," she said, gesturing a bit with the taser. The fog was clearing a bit, revealing her face- jaw set, eyes boring straight down at Thomas.

"Alright, alright. We know better than to stand between you and your answers. Where we are is a long story and we're missing a fair chunk of it, we're called Thomas, and we're stuck in a battle to the death. Satisfied, Ms. Stacey?"

-

Staring up the spear, Teival spoke calmly. "Do you know your greatest failing, Kanek?"

Kanek quirked an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Tell me, brother. With your last breath, tell me why you are so superior to me."

"Your greatest failing, Kanek, is your lack of imagination." The chains he'd burrowed into the ground and brought curving around behind his brother surged forward, wrapping themselves around Kanek's limbs and holding him tight. "You were lazy, formulaic, and predictable, and that made you weak. You practiced the same moves day and night, and that blinded you to the possibilities. You practiced in the same location, on the same surfaces, and you eliminated that from your considerations.

"You are a fool, Kanek." With a jerk, one of the chains snapped his brother's neck. The spear vanished.

Dispelling the chains, Teival stood. The fog had long since dissipated, leaving him alone with the body, staring at the distant sphere hovering over the horizon.

-

After a few seconds, Linda Stacey, host of award-winning news program Events of Import, lowered her taser and extended her hand. "Well enough," she replied.

Eric took the proffered hand and stood. "Excellent! We should probably get moving- there's another combatant somewhere on this ball, and he's not likely to be very polite."

GBCE · 12-31-2010, 04:46 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by MyifanW.

After all the leaving the track this game was doing, The Chronicler had put off his recording. Even now, he wasn't sure if he should even mention the things that occurred beyond the scope of the game. However, for now it didn't matter! The exciting, long sought after final round was starting, and it highest priority. There were blanks in this tale, but with a concrete beginning and an end, the rest would fill in naturally. Mil- The Chronicler went to work.

[Image: epic71.png]

...And then the round entered its end phase. As the demon was assailed from the outside by the combined efforts of Glere and Thomas' personalities, Agent Spender and Asteria entered its mind. Instantly overwhelmed, the two fought desperately, and to the death- there was a surprising lack of betrayal on Asteria's part. Using his final coin, Spender blew up the mind, erasing himself, Asteria, and the demon. With the demon destroyed, and two contestants lost, Thomas regained his mind and the game jumped to its final round.

Miles scratched his cheek. That was probably a good enough conclusion, at least to work off of. After that, things got tricky. many things had happened in finding a final round, but... that pertained to another game more than this one. It was probably best just to ignore the oddities and just elaborate on what the round had to offer.

[Image: epic72.png]

Tevial. Keegan. Tevial is a freakish man, who wields souls as weapons. Keegan is an Ender, capable of "magic", usually leaning towards explosions and flames. These are beings from another game, who are participating in the same final round due to a collaboration with The Stranger.

One of them will be paired with each of our players, each pair on different two mile wide psychic asteroids. The psychic asteroids grows off of mind waves: the bulbs on it's surface will grow and bloom into what the mind waves give off- the deeper ingrained the mental image, the more likely it will appear. It is possible to grow cities, worlds- but, although it can be seen, felt, experienced, it is nothing more than a mind's self delusions.

[Image: epic73.png]

Why are there two, you ask? Because this game will end fantastically. The two asteroids are close enough to be drawn towards each other, whether by rivalry or by gravity. Inevitably, these two will crash in a spectacular manner, creating the final stage of this game. Nobody knows what exactly will happen! The thousands of worlds generated, the millions of impacts, and the reaction of the psychic monsters themselves... The infinite possibilities make this last round beautiful.

[Image: epic74.png]

This is the last round. Here, we'll see the end of Thomas or Glere... or both.

SpoilerShow

**Pinary** · 01-08-2011, 02:04 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

High heels weren't exactly ideal for walking on soft ground, but Linda was a professional. There was no way she was going to wobble her way forward and hold back her companion- the ground may have been rubbery and disgusting, but that wasn't going to stop her from taking off her shoes and keeping pace with Thomas.

"So how long has this battle been going?", she asked, grounding herself in her profession in an effort to keep calm. "By the looks of things, you've been here what, weeks? Months?"

Thomas shot her a look over his shoulder. "Hours," he replied, Eric in control, "maybe a day at most. What makes you think it's been so long?"

"Your face," she replied. "I've seen soldiers who've been through terrible things, spending weeks and months in terrible conditions, fighting for their lives, and they almost all have the same look. Shell-shocked, tired, and cold, emotionally drained by what they've been through."

Eric frowned for a moment, then slowly replied, "We've seen some things in this battle that people shouldn't have to go through, to be sure, but it's not been any sort of eternal torment. We suppose what you're seeing is probably the results of an explosion. We're not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it damaged our... Well, it's hard to explain."

"Your packstonian backdrop?"

Eric stopped in his tracks, staring at her for a moment before Greg took over. "It could hardly have been recognition, and I suspect you've met more than one Thomas in your life. The pronouns?"

A small, approving smile flashed across her face before it returned to its professional calm. "Dr. Porter may have been an ordinary, unexciting doctor, but the audience loves kids."

Well, Eric thought, looks like that's the eidetic memory rumour confimed.

Not really, Greg replied. Remember, she's based on our memories of her- it's quite possible the real Linda Stacey has terribly bad memory, but since we have always seen her as demonstrating impressive memory, the Linda we see here will have that.

-

In the distance behind them, a small plume of gas began to rise and dissipate.

-

A fair ways ahead of them and unknowingly on a path to intercept the two, Teival brooded. He'd been nearing a cluster of exceptionally large blisters for a few minutes, and just before he reached them, one had decided to burst and envelop the whole area in dense fog. He'd stumbled around awkwardly for a brief moment until nearly tripping over something rather reminiscent of a corpse.

After a minute or two, the fog had cleared enough for him to see where he was: the blister had recreated his home for him. It was exactly as he had left it- the servants killed mid-stride, his twenty-odd siblings slaughtered in the halls, his parents cut down in the courtyard. It was a gut-wrenching scene of brutality and violence, and Teival had been lucky to escape it alive.

His siblings had put up a tough fight, to be sure, but he had been just that much better. Where they'd dodged attacks, he'd dodged and countered. Where they'd stabbed, he'd stabbed and twisted. His edge had been small, but it had been enough. One by one, they'd fallen and he'd survived, and as their numbers were whittled down to none, their mother and father had simply watched. Theirs was a simple view- they brought their children into the world, and they could do so again. If the gift of life was to be disrespected by not building up the skills to defend it, then so be it.

-

"It's all happened so quickly," Eric continued, "it hasn't all sunk in yet. I'm sure that, looking back, it'll seem incredibly short, but it feels right now that this has been my life for months. I'm sure I could go back and see that it was only a few hours, but things are always distorted as you're living them."

"I've heard that said by many people before," Linda replied. She was glad to keep him talking- she'd always been able to inspire trust in people, and if talking was going to help calm him down as much as asking questions did for her, it made sense for them both to continue. "What sorts of things have happened so far?"

"It started with eight of us. The Overseer, as he calls himself, sent us to a cave system with unusual gravity as the first "round" of the battle..."

-

Teival's wanderings brought him to the courtyard at the center of the building. There, his father and mother had fought side by side, defending one another and acting in concert as only two people bound by their souls can do. Unfortunately, that same binding that gave them strength proved to be a fatal weakness; when his mother had fallen to an expertly-placed blow, his father's strength and will left him. In his final moments, though, he hadn't seemed sad. Instead, he had looked from the wound in his chest to his remaining son and smiled, the expression one of pride. The gift of life had not gone to waste for one, at least, and that was all a parent could hope for.

Staring down at his father's lifeless corpse, Teival remained stoic. As his father had taught him, a life took skill to protect, and those unable to protect their own were not worthy to keep it.

GBCE · 01-08-2011, 06:13 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

The sound of a sewing machine echoed through the air, as the fuzzy white void he had been staring up into seemingly began to take shape again. Sunlight filled in the unsuspecting room, falling on a roll of strangely colored fabric. A very vivid purple, clearly selected with royalty in mind sat on the table as a tailor busily clicked the old sewing machine's foot pedal methodically.

Several pins stuck out of his mouth as focused intently on the task at hand. It was a simple mantle being made, but it seemed the person it was made for was one of great importance, the slightest slip, and he'd have to start over.
Glere's head was tilted with strange fascination at the scene, vaguely recalling it, but it was strange seeing it so vivid. It would be akin to a normal person recalling emerging from the womb of their mother, or being held by a parent.

It evaporated upon contact, however, as Glere tried to touch it, realizing this was just an illusion. For the first time something akin to sorrow appeared on his face, and even more distressing, he wasn't sure why.

Flames, lots of flames. Rocky formations, non-eucledian arrangements of pillars curving around and around, intersecting, then burrowing back into the dull gray they emerged from. It sure was boring here. But that was easily fixed by a loud explosion, disrupting the illusion a bit. Keegan looked about, trying to find the other contestant he had been sent here with. It wasn't much sport if there was no one to engage, let alone to chide, or even hassle.

Nearby Enders looked at him from their perches admist the rocky landscape, giving something of a glare of apathy mixed with loathing. He remembered the looks well, even amidst his kind he was considered gifted, only he squandered his talent on such pursuits as 'Make the biggest fireball you can'. He chuckled, forming a large ball of fire, doing a handstand, then kicking it into another illusion, watching it explode into sparks. He cracked his neck, walking out of the area, onto an undeveloped portion of asteroid as of yet.

He looked up at the adjacent asteroid and smirked, somewhere he could tell Tevial was gazing over their way, and it was killing him there fight had been interrupted.
"Don't worry, we'll have our fun soon enough, but now, time to see who today's newest chaff is." He darted off sprinting before doing a somersault through the air and whistling, before landing on the back of his war horse, the hooves snapping against the writhing Asteroid, the scenery beginning to expand around them as they traveled further.

**Schazer** · 01-17-2011, 07:02 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

SpoilerShow

Glere flailed his arms wildly as he got back to his feet, the action doing little to clear the swathes of rank fog. As it slowly scattered, spurred on by a few firecrackers scattered about for good measure, the amount of energy needed to maintain such an extensive illusion became clear.

He stood in the centre of an enormous crater, fleshy, crusted walls rising cliff-like in the middle distance. The impact as the pustule had torn open beneath him had tossed him into the air, but its contents had been the more startling. The pickle jar Glere had absent-mindedly jammed on as a replacement when his head had been sent flying wasn’t quite cutting it, so he tossed it aside and fossicked around for another glass bowl. A second, smaller pustule that had been steadily swelling behind him burst.

Glere screwed his fresh head on, heard the whoomph, and gave it an extra half turn before the usual connecting snap and pop to see what the noise was about. A grizzled-looking man, fingers aglint with all manner of enchanted rings, stared frantically around as the mist dissipated. He gripped his scimitar, the blade shimmering with a halo of emerald flames, as he pulled out a handful of powder from a pouch. Glere was more adjusted to the all-pervading fog and studied the man, rubbing his chin or doing the most equivalent action as he frowned, trying to remember why he seemed familiar.

“Aha!”

The adventurer tossed the powder at the ground, which made a most-likely magical bang and cleared the entire area of mnemonocyst-dust. Glere was too busy navigating the interior of his cape to appreciate this quick thinking, but emerged triumphantly with a scimitar. Its pommel held a sizeable emerald, and some spirited shaking elicited green flames to shoot from the sword’s tip. The fishbowlkin jabbed it triumphantly in the swordsman’s direction, who just stared at it.

“Hah! I remember you! You’re… oh, no wait. I don’t. Speak your name, adventurer! Who is it brave or foolish enough to seek the treasure hoards of Lord Scarmiglione? A second time too, no less, I guess!?”

It would’ve been nice for the man to actually give a name, but the fact this fishbowl-headed monster was brandishing his supposedly legendary, one-of-a-kind blade was a little off-putting. There was a good minute or so of gawping, before he fished under his shirt for another garish piece of jewelry that would probably detect something ultimately useless for the adventurer's benefit. Glere sighed with exasperation, hurled the scimitar under his shoulder into his cape, and waved his arms about to get the man’s attention.

“Hellooooo? Can you hear me? Do. You. Speak. Th-?”

The treasure-hunter irritably slapped the traffic cone, which Glere had used as an impromptu megaphone, away from his ear. He stared non-comprehendingly at the offending orange loudhailer, then at Glere as he tossed it back into his cape, and then just kind of stared in confusion about the fleshy crater he was standing slightly off-centre in.

“I’m… Bar’tel Beynous. A treasure-seeker. One of the finest in the la-“

“Booring.” Glere waved a dismissive hand. “So you were going on a bear-hunt-”

“I was embarking,” the adventurer testily replied, “On a quest. To seek the ancient sorcerer Scarmiglione’s untold riches.”

“Yeah, yeah. I figured as much.” Glere, already bored with this unmemorable idiot, stared up at the writhing ball in the sky, wondering if its pustules were releasing anything more interesting. “Out of curiosity, did you find the treasure?”

Bar’tel hissed through gritted teeth. “I just said I was a day’s travel from his crypt-“

“Ooooooh. Riiiiight. I'm terribly sorry to hurry things along, but may we play a different game now, Mr. Beynous? You’re not very good at twenty questions – your answers are far too long!” Bar’tel only saw fit to glare at the Fishbowlkin, before he ducked a baseball-mitted pat on the back. “Don’t be offended or anything, Barty my pal, but I’ve dispatched a lot of adventurers. Like, a lot. No lie, sweetie pie, but I just can’t for the life of me remember-“

A pillar of flame engulfed the two figures, an infernal cylinder spiraling up into whatever atmosphere these grotesque stars possessed. Keegan, feet dangling over the lip of the crater, watched it dispassionately for a minute or so, before letting it all rush into the sky with an adventurer-conflagrating roar. He frowned as a sumptuous purple cape fluttered down, a little singed around the edges but nowhere near as eviscerated as the Ender would’ve expected. Granted, a firestorm like that was far showier than destructive, but if it had reduced the human, protective enchantments and all, to ash, why not that silly cloth? Keegan frowned, and intercepted its swooping cruise with a midair explosion. The cape dodged smartly, before gliding off into the distance. The Ender thought he heard it hooting with excited delight as he scowled, leapt aboard his materialising mount, and gave chase across the crater.

**Pinary** · 01-23-2011, 07:38 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

SpoilerShow

"...But midway through that, the Overseer stopped it all. Apparently Michelle had died, and we were being moved on."

He paused, staring down at the ground in front of him for a minute. "We didn't even think about it at the time, but it was probably us who did it. We were throwing that storm around like nothing, so focused on tearing the place open at the seams that we forgot about the few actually-real people there. Good intentions and all that, but we still probably killed her, and-" He choked, looked to one side, then blinked.

"None of us are particularly proud of much of what we've done in this battle, Ms. Stacey," Greg said, straightening up and clasping his arms behind his back in an effort to project some semblance of dignity. "Our misguided plot in the Colosseum, our reckless abuse of power in the City... We've done terrible things here, but we can't think about them right now. As it stands, there's still one other combatant here, and the absolute best outcomes we can hope for is them dying accidentally or dying ourselves."

Eric took back control, moving his hands back in front of him. He took a breath before he started, visibly sorting his thoughts out. "...Have you ever had someone's death on your hands, Linda? Someone who would be alive if it weren't for you?"

Something dark flashed over her face for a moment, but her professional training quashed it almost immediately. "Once," she replied. She looked up at the other sphere as the memory came back to her.

"Nearly twelve years ago," she eventually said, "someone died on my show. In some ways, it made my career- the clip circulated the datanet, a few execs liked my professionalism and calm" -she spat the two qualities out- "and pretty soon, my show was being broadcast across half the city-ships of the Confederation. So yes," she said, turning to look Thomas straight in the face, professionalism shockingly absent for the moment, "I know what it's like to have blood on my hands."

Both were silent for a moment.

"We're... sorry," Eric replied. "We didn't know."

"That's quite alright," the newswoman replied, taking a deep breath and willing herself to be calm once more. "Please, continue."

"Right." Taking a deep breath, Thomas paused. After a second, he pointed back the way they were going, a questioning look on his face. Linda nodded tersely, and the two started back on their way.

"Anyway, from there, he sent us to this haunted- well, he didn't want to call it haunted, per se..."

-

Standing halfway concealed behind a dormant blister, a shadowy figure watched their exchange. As they moved on, so did their observer.

-

Teival, meanwhile, had moved upstairs, looking through the bland and barely-furnished rooms he and his siblings had slept in for those years they had had together. Each room had been the same as the last- four cots, a bowl for water on a spindly wooden table, and a padlock on the door. It hadn't been any more than symbolic, given that even the smallest of the children could unscrew the hinges with barely any thought, but the thoughts it inspired were clear enough. Opening the door required active disobedience, and that would mean opposing their parents, and that would mean, by extension, opposing the family. The establishment of "family" was all that kept them from going at each others' throats, and to go against that was to invite the others to seek your days for their own.

Eventually, of course, the establishment had come crashing down. Looking at the locks now, it all seemed silly- it had been bound to happen eventually, and opposing that inevitability was a losing battle. He'd seen several of his siblings look at him like a piece of meat, judging how many years he had left and thinking of making them their own. He'd looked at them the same way, and they'd all known the day would come eventually when one of them would take what they wanted.

Stopping at one door, Teival took the lock in his hand. It seemed small and fragile, but even now, decades later, some part of him still felt a pull of wrongness about disobeying it. It was still ingrained in him somewhere, that sense of authority it represented.

In a burst of anger, he tore it and its latch out of the wall by the screws and threw it all out a shattered window. He was not going to be controlled any longer. He was not going to have his choices dictated by a small, meaningless chuck of metal. He'd put so much effort into becoming what he was, and he was not going to let that little trinket make him something he hadn't been for ages.

SpoilerShow

**Schazer** · 01-23-2011, 11:42 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Glere hit the ground running, the pounding of hoofbeats some ways off. As it turned out, Glere had had the pleasure of accommodating Bar’tel since their fateful meeting – he still had all the cute rings and amulets and everything! None of which provided appreciable protection against Enders, so the Fishbowlkin settled for a rather burly lizardman instead who Glere recalled gloating about his dragoness mother (before he tripped on a piano wire and fell on Glere’s javelin collection).

The Fishbowlkin stopped as something rumbled beneath him, extracted a hobby horse, and took off at a gallop, Keegan closing in behind. A fireball whistled by, but the follow-up one was stopped by something erupting from the mnemonocyst with a sigh of fog. Glere turned, and gazed up at the huge archway, its surface twisted and slowly shifting in the haze. The Ender reined back his mount, gazing up at the architecture pulled from his memories.

“Aw man… it’s a propylaeum…”

“A who what now?” Glere shouted back, before hurriedly whispering something into the hobby horse’s ear to calm it down. It proved skittish even after that, so the bowl-headed lizardman put it away and joined Keegan under the enormous arch. It was the right scale for a fifty-foot Ender to stroll through, and Keegan’s second fireball had been dragged to its centre. It swirled and coiled upon itself, far above the Ender and the Fishbowlkin.

Glere rapped his scaly knuckles upon the seemingly semi-molten stone, while Keegan considered setting him alight. Trouble was, he stood on the other side of the portal, though whether it was deliberate care or not on Glere’s part was impossible to tell.

“Heh,” sniggered Keegan as Glere dramatically but ineffectually struck the stone with a sledgehammer. The dark little creature summoned several fireballs with snaps of his fingers, and juggled them as he tossed each in turn at Glere. “You don’t-“The Ender hurled a fireball “-break these-“ the second, like the first, hit a barrier and was sucked toward the little vortex of flame above “-stupid-” Glere stepped forward from the safety of the fire-absorbing propylaeum, and deftly grabbed the ball of fire in an enchanted glove he’d found “- you charge-“ Keegan was surprised when the weird lizard-guy with the cloak tossed back a grenade, but took it in his stride “-them up-“ The Ender was juggling three grenades, while Glere had the fireballs “-until-“ Keegan swiftly tossed the live grenades at Glere, who threw his own juggling apparatus behind him into the portal and caught the bombs “-they open!”

With surprising agility, Glere somersaulted backwards to safety; the grenades hit the fleshy floor, and exploded. Keegan scowled approvingly when his pillar of fire got sucked into the portal; the Fishbowlkin absent from its blast zone. Both of them looked up to the vortex, but its diameter had only increased by a foot or so. They watched the whirlpool collapse in on itself after a time, and blink out. The stone archway persisted, its peak still with a bit of mist swirling around it.

“So you’re in a fight as well?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m Keegan.”

“I’m… whatever you’d care to call me, really! Or Glere for short.” Glere doffed his head and took a bow. Keegan smirked, though it was more of a smouldering glare. Replacing his head with a pop and crack, Glere jabbed a thumb at the portal. “So where does this pro-wrestler-majiggy take us if we open it?”

“It’s a propylaeum, stupid. It’s not gonna take us anywhere, because I’m not big enough.”

“Ah, but where would it take us?”

Keegan scowled. “Somewhere boring, probably. Then I’d haveta destroy everything so there’s nothing interesting left, and then I’d have to dig a deep hole and go to sleep and - are you even listening!?”

“Oh yes, it’s fascinating,” Glere replied with horizontal earnestness, scribbling notes while reclined on a couch. “But aren’t you a little on the small side to go carving out the core of a planet?”

“I already told you I’m not big enough!” The Ender stamped his foot, leaving a festering burn on the rubbery ground beneath. The lizardman not possessing the flame resistance to survive Keegan’s spontaneous combustion spell, Glere extracted an old suit of armour as the demon glowered, “there’s no need to rub it in…”

The Fishbowlkin raised his hands in a placating gesture, approaching the Ender a bit more cautiously than before. “Sorry, terribly sorry. But!” His feet performed a clanking jig, albeit one hampered by the soft ground and armour. “Hear me out here, Keegan. If size is the problem, why don’t – why don’t you go to subterranean, magma-mole-man town on this planet!? Ok, that was a crazy plan, even by my standards,” confessed Glere, quailing a little under Keegan’s disgusted expression, “but standing around here’s boring! So what would you like to do, hmm? I’m all ears, mostly figuratively speaking, and all up for a game if that’s your thing!”

“I could go and kill Teival, I guess,” Keegan muttered, without any real enthusiasm. “What kind of game’re you thinking of?”

“How about… bingo?”

**Pinary** · 01-28-2011, 04:13 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

Teival couldn't stay there any longer. Just as it had as a child, the stifling nature of the place itched at him, digging at the base of his mind and giving strength to the niggling little doubts that he'd worked so hard to contain. What if he wasn't so powerful after all, what if he didn't deserve to live, what if he was doomed to be as dead as the rest of them, just chipping away at the icy barriers he'd erected around them and slowly seeping out into his mind. For a moment, his calm slipped.

In the distance behind him, the house became a funeral pyre.

-

"...And then we were just back- he must've been the only thing keeping us from snapping back to where we belonged. We still don't know what happened- one minute, we were all separated out and barely making a dent, and the next, we were back in here with the whole room blasted and charred.

"From there, the Overseer picked us up and stuck us in front of a huge crowd- just us and Glere. Spender and Asteira must've both died in those caves." He sighed. "It's terrible, really, that it couldn't've been one of them here with us instead of that fishbowl-headed maniac."

The pair was nearing a largish blister, and Eric was nearing the end of the story. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to handle the last little section. That one tiny detail about Ms. Stacey being a duplicate based on his memories was hardly likely to go over well, and he wanted to steer clear of it as long as he could.

"Why is that?", she asked him. The more she heard, the less she objected to having to walk across the rubbery terrain- it was hardly a pleasant thing, to be sure, but it wasn't as bad as some of the things Thomas had been telling her about.

"Well, it, uh... This is going to sound terrible, but at least they were people."

Linda frowned. "How do you mean?"

Eric sighed. "If it were Spender," he said, taking his time and choosing his words carefully, "our choice would be easy. Do we kill a good man, a soldier, just for our own survival, or do we sacrifice ourselves so that he can go on to do good in the world? That's hardly a choice at all- we could make that in an instant and die with our consciences clear, knowing that we'd done at least one good thing in our lives.

"Asteira, even, would be preferable- she's treacherous, cruel, and entirely without morals. It sounds terrible, but killing her would be an easy decision."

"But not Glere, I take it?"

"Not so much, really. We know next to nothing about him, and what we do know is that he's either completely mad or hiding his real intentions. If we condemn him to death, we could be taking someone great from his people, but if we let him live, we could be returning a nightmare to them."

"Look," Linda replied, a bit exasperated, "you can't know everything. Maybe he's good, maybe he's bad, maybe he's just plain off-the-wall; whatever the case, it's not your fault he's here. It all comes down to the Overseer, and you can't beat yourself up over what he makes you do."

"Oh yeah?" Eric shot her a look. "I'd like to see you pull the trigger, then."

The reporter started to respond, paused, and stopped. After a moment, she just started walking again, and Thomas did as well. They were nearing their goal, now- a single, isolated blister, clearly nearing the end of its life cycle. They'd been walking towards it for some time now, and they were almost there.

A few minutes later, just as they were arriving, it burst, enveloping the area in fog. They wandered blindly through it for a few moments, both thinking about how it was probably inadvisable to be doing so with the assorted threats about but neither commenting, until finally, Thomas's hand hit metal. A few moments of following it around brought him to a door, which started swinging out and down at his touch. As it did, it shifted the fog around it enough that a designation could be seen:

PTV-433494437

A completely ordinary ship registration, indicating a completely ordinary private transport vehicle. There were millions of them in service in Thomas' time, and this one was a fairly ordinary Prifib-10, manufactured in 2418 and sold with marketing that touted the latest safety features and backups. "A family transport," the ads had called it.

For Thomas, this particular shuttle had been home for weeks at a time while constantly going back and forth between city-ships to see this or that neurological expert. He'd spent more time aboard it than at home as a child, and while it hadn't been an especially happy place for him, he certainly hadn't objected to being aboard. He'd gotten archives of various vidshows and things, and he'd spent loads of time watching the same few adventures over and over again. The specifics of the shows had been long forgotten, blurred together by the mists of time into an unrecognizable kludge identifiable only as "childhood", but the shuttle itself had remained a fixture in his mind.

For the moment, though, he wasn't terribly concerned about nostalgia or vidshows. Now, he wanted nothing more than to check the ship's operations and just leave.

"Ms. Stacey, if you wouldn't mind helping me with the pre-flight checks?"

She looked as relieved as he was. "Absolutely."

The inside of the shuttle wasn't much to look at- just a single main chamber with a pair of seats up front with the controls, a main central area not more than four meters square, and a tiny bathroom off to one side. The main door opened on the other side, sliding down and doubling as a boarding ramp. Next to the bathroom unit, a cot was half-buried under a sort of nest, a pile of blankets and pillows that a young Thomas had used to curl up in and watch shows on the wall.

While the reporter began the external checks (drive pod fractures, external warping, that sort of thing), Thomas went inside for system diagnostics. It only took a minute, and all functions registered operational. Getting up and heading for the door, he called, "How's it look, we good to fly? If we could be off this ball before the other one comes down on us, that'd be-" He froze mid-sentence when he saw the scene outside.

Teival stood behind Linda, one hand over her mouth and the other holding a spectral knife to her throat. His expression was an unsettling combination of curiosity, confusion, and hunger, co-mingling on his face in what could only be termed a predatory fashion. He saw Thomas as an interesting if minor oddity, looking at him as one might a peanut with three nuts inside or a fused pair of bananas- unusual, certainly, but not to the extent that he wouldn't consume him anyway.

"This one is nothing," the Dairen said, not even deigning to grace Linda with a personal pronoun, "and I am reasonable. I am willing to offer you a deal, if only because of your... situation, and you should rejoice that I will give you that."

"Oh, really?" Bern took control, Eric reluctantly letting it go with Greg's urging. "How about this deal- you leave the lady out of it and take up whatever problem you've got with us?"

Teival bristled. "You should be thankful I am willing to grant you this much. I could squash you in an instant, but I instead offer you a chance at civility. Be grateful and accept before I change my mind."

"What, you think you could take us down so easily? Yeah, right."

Teival next-to-snarled back, "Fine, if you insist on your arrogance, then so be it."

"Good! Just you and me, mano-a-mano, let's do this!"

Seething, the Dairen shoved Linda to one side and strode forward. "Fine. I will take your lifetimes and add them to my own, enforcing the eternal rightness that is-" He stopped, eyes wide, spasmed for a moment, then collapsed face-first on the ground. Two thin wires stretched from prongs in his back to the weapon in Linda's hand.

"The Entonware '88 Personal Defence Device," she said, grinning a bit as she quoted the taser's ads. "Because you're worth protecting."

-

Two minutes later, the Packston family transport lifted off, with Walt flying with deft fingers, Linda sweeping the comm bands for any hint of a signal, and Teival slumping unconscious in the tiny shower stall of the shuttle's bathroom.

"Setting course for anywhere else," Walt said, punching in commands. Hoping, of course, that there is anywhere else. He set the dual-core dilation generator to full, used navigational thrusters to aim them squarely away from the two psychospheres, and throttled up the power to the photon drives.

The twin planetoids fell away behind them, shrinking slowly into the distance.

Just as everyone in the shuttle (that was conscious at the time) burst into cheers, a loud, wheezing squeal cut through the cabin. Soon, it resolved from static into a voice.

"...Iiiiiiiifffffyyyoou are hearing this, then you, too, are a victim of the whims of an enigmatic master, whom has forced you into a battle to the death with many other strange beings. You are likely far from your home, far from your friends, far from your family.

"My name is Vandrel Reinhardt, and I am in a battle similar to yours. I seek allies, to overthrow these unworthy grandmasters. I assume that, if you can receive this message, then you have some way of reaching into the multiverse. Seek me out. Together, we can fight for our freedom."

Thomas blinked, then turned to Linda. She was already prodding the console, trying to determine just where the message had come from. After a moment, she shrugged. "According to the instruments, it just came out of nowhere. The ship's traced its origins somewhere, but the readout's not giving me any clear data."

"Well, if it's got it traced, does that mean we can reply?"

Another shrug. "The 'reply' button's flashing nicely, and everything seems otherwise in order. May as well try, right?"

Thomas nodded. "Right. Well, you want to go ahead, Ms. Television Personality?"

She thought for a brief moment, then shook her head. "No, you should do it. You're the person in the battle, after all, I'm just... Actually, you still haven't gotten around to telling me how I got here in the first place. Care to take a moment?"

"Maybe after this- we don't want to risk losing the trace, do we?"

Linda frowned, but it made a certain amount of sense. "Alright, fine. One moment." She pressed a few buttons, then nodded to him.

"This is Thomas Packston replying to Vandrel Reinhardt," Eric said. "We have, as you've said, been abducted and forced to do battle. This same communications channel should serve well for a good while. As for overthrowing, we're certainly interested, but we're hardly in a position to do anything. If we get the chance, believe us, we will act- we've no great love for the being who calls himself Overseer, and if given the chance, we will certainly do what we can. Packston out."

Linda cut the transmission, checked the screen, and said, "Well, it seems to have gone out. Hopefully it actually reaches this Reinhardt person."

"Mm, yeah. No telling where it could end up, with this trace."

"Right. Now that that's over, you have some explaining to do. Just how is it that I came to be here?"

Thomas, sighing, began to explain.

SpoilerShow

**Schazer** · 01-31-2011, 09:02 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Boom.

"Oooh, d'you reckon that's one?"

Whoomph.

"Nah. Too big. Surok wasn't even that big when he got that robot thing."

Glere returned his attention to the angry, bruise-coloured semisolid churning beneath. Whoever or whatever was in that cyst would show themselves, sooner or later. They'd already dispatched a certain Mister Raven on this spot, with one magically augmented field of landmines. It left a nice crater, even if figuring out who got the point for that was a bit difficult. Still, teamwork!

Keegan didn't quite share the excitable sentiment. Sure, the fishbowl guy's game was a bit more interesting when he proved that yes, he could outrun a jet of fire on a pogo stick, and yes, he could proceed to impale the psychic pimple copy of Sir Strident with said pogo stick - but he'd already beaten these people! They were boring, and killing them a second time when they were somehow even more weak or cocky or too ludicrously powerful to make it a fair fight than the Ender remembered didn't make them any less boring.

He heard a throaty snarl behind him, and then remembered just how huge that possessed panther-dragon-squirrel-man thing whose name he couldn't remember because he'd been too big to flee down a narrow passageway from the path of a pursuing boulder in the first round had been. Eraldo growled at Keegan with mindless hatred hell-bent on revenge, the white-hot lines burnt into his fur glowing with a devastating holy attack.

Glere stepped smoothly between the two Exalted Exchangers, raising a battered oil lamp. The skeletal, glowing beast that leapt from Eraldo's hide was sucked in, face-first.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in an authentic replica genie lamp, could I, sir? Top quality Bavarian brass and enchantments, you won't find better this side of this mnemo-"

"You really can't give yourself a point for that on good conscience," grumbled Glere, over the panther's howls of pain.

"Shut up," retorted Keegan. "Anyway, where are the people from your battle? Mine were stupid or boring or both, and watching them die a second time isn't very interesting."

Glere shrugged. "I guess I don't dwell on my past for long enough, so this craaazy old fleshbag of a planet can't get its creepy psychic tendrils on me!"

To Spender and Asteira's current confusion, and Glere's later inscrutable mix of feelings on the matter, the Fishbowlkin was quite wrong. Spender - theatrical, controlled, commanding Spender - gazed up to the second mnemonocyst looming overhead, safe in the knowledge that the ghost girl couldn't approach his shared analysis without making any ulterior motives clear to the agent. Conniving as Glere remembered her, Asteira drifted sullenly around the field's edge, full awareness of her situation irksomely eluding her no matter how hard she tried to remember.

"Is this still the same round?"

The twitch of Coy's fingers as coins dispensed and were cashed at his fingertips was barely noticeable. Never mind that his ATM had exploded, never mind Spender feeling uneasily aware of this having happened. ATM or not, Spender had always had all manner of gadgetric change, and knew how to use it. "No," he finally concluded. He rubbed his chin, but it led to a tired hand running through his hair, and a kneading of the temples. "I died. I definitely died."

"It's not the underworld, either," added Asteira, curiosity getting the better of her figmented, devious self. Spender shook his head, running more scans, but his hands eventually fell to his side in dumbfoundment.

"It's a new round. It has to be."

**Pinary** · 02-08-2011, 03:07 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.Linda Stacey, renowned across the Five Cities for her utter calm and unflappable demeanour, blinked.

She opened her mouth once, closed it, then tried again. "A memory."

"Duplicated from our minds by one of those blisters, yes."

"But... I have memories, more than you could possibly know about. I know what kind of cake I had at my fifth birthday party, I know the price of the Quad the lighting guy tried to sell me at the Events anniversary party, I know how many minutes of footage we had to cut from the subsequent exposé on drugs in the vid industry, I-" She cut herself off, her overriding desire for dignity pushing the emotions that were welling up back down. After a moment, she continued, tone all-business once more. "So, do you have an explanation for how I know these things, Mr. Packston?"

Greg sighed. "The most plausible we have been able to come up with is that you actually don't know them. It seems likely that, in the absence of actual information, your mind is being filled with plausible-sounding facts that were just made up and placed there. You may be absolutely certain that that Quad cost what you remember it did, and your memories of it may be as vivid as anything else, but that's no guarantee it's actually, uh..." He trailed off, looking at the viewscreen. Before them, the two spheres loomed, accelerating now, their not-inconsiderable gravities pulling them together towards their inevitable end.

Linda asked the important question. "...Weren't we moving away from those?"

"That we were." Thomas busied himself with the controls, and Linda poked halfheartedly at hers as well. (Truth be told, she was still preoccupied by the idea that she was nothing more than a memory.)

A few moments later, the comm system buzzed back to life. The two looked up at each other, surprised to get a response so quickly.

"Beings of the multiverse, denizens of all that heed to the whim of the gods, the day has came for us to unite, to forge a new era. Together we shall form a mighty union, we shall come together and crush all opposition beneath our combined feet. I, Lord Vandrel Reinhardt, am an experienced master in tactical planning. My armies have conquered lands far and wide and brought all that oppose us to their knees, hacking their heads from their pitiful necks to punish them for their misdeeds. Future allies! I have heard your replies, and you are not alone! With access to all of you, we could form an army more great, more powerful than ever I had layed mortal eyes upon. As a gift, I include 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!"

As the message ended, Thomas frowned. "Sounds..."

"Primitive?"

"Psychotic."

"Mm." They just sat for a moment, considering, before Greg pointed out that, while interesting, it could wait until after they'd dealt with their trajectory.

After a bit more fiddling with touchscreens, Linda said, "It's strange. According to the navigation systems, we haven't deviated from our straight course, but at the same time, the spheres haven't moved."

"Yeah, I'm seeing that too. I wonder if- Dammit, no!"

"Yours did that, too?!"

"Yeah, it locked up and crashed when I tried to calculate the curvature of space!"

The two looked up at the looming spheres. They were headed directly for them, and there wasn't a thing they could do about it.

Thomas frowned and pointed at something on the viewscreen. "What's that, there?"

Linda tapped a few buttons, struggling with the overall lagginess of the ship's systems, and eventually got it the screen to zoom in on the figure.

Thomas swore. "Spender."

"That's him? So he survived, then!"

"No, it can't be him," Greg said. "The Overseer made it very clear that it was just Glere and I here are left. Very clear."

"So another memory, then."

"Only reasonable explanation."

Linda stared closer at the view, pondering. "He doesn't seem terribly concerned by the sphere coming down towards him." Some worry entered her tone. "He's probably going to get crushed when the two hit."

"Not if I can help it." Thomas' voice came from farther back in the shuttle, full of determination- Linda hadn't heard him move, but when she turned around, she found him slapping the door's release panel and bracing him inside, one hand holding on and the other held out towards the door.

Linda grabbed for the oxygen mask under her seat, but as the door swung down, the atmosphere didn't rush out in a blast of wind and leave her scrabbling to fill her lungs. It stayed comfortably in place, a clean line between the interior and exterior of the shuttle.

"Linda", Thomas said, voice a bit strained, "I need you to get whatever control you can. I want you to fly us directly between the two spheres."

"Alright," she said, filing the atmosphere's containment under Investigate Later. (Which, unlike most people, she actually dealt with.) "I should be able to get enough control to do that for now, until we can go in and restart the system."

"Good." Thomas punched a few more commands into a panel on the wall near him. "Now, we just have to wait."

-

Spender stood calmly, alone in a relatively smooth section of the sphere-surface. The glow of the shuttle's running lights was obvious enough against the emptiness beyond, and he just watched for a bit as it approached. A coin turned slowly in his fingers as it approached, and as he saw the message emblazoned across the front of the shuttle, the coin vanished.

The special agent rose into the air and streaked into the air, leaving the squishy ground behind and heading for the shuttle. As he approached, a gap in the rapidly-approaching sphere above shone down on the family transport's exterior and illuminated the message the external displays were showing.

"ALL ABOARD"

-

As soon as Spender was through the door, Thomas slapped the control to bring it swinging ponderously shut. Sweat coated his face, and he sighed deeply and slumped once the door had shut. "Spender," he gasped, sliding down the wall to the floor, "Linda." He gestured vaguely a few times before giving up and just sitting still for a bit.

"It's a pleasure, Agent Spender," Linda said, standing and extending a hand. "I've heard so much about you."

Hesitantly, Spender took her hand and shook it. "The pleasure's mutual, I'm sure, Ms..."

"Stacey. Linda Stacey. I'm a reporter from Thomas's time, brought here by... Well, this is going to be hard. Perhaps you should have a seat."

As she explained to the agent that he was but a reflection of an impression, Thomas tapped the wall, activating the touchscreens that coated the walls and bringing up controls near his hand. A few taps later, and the back wall went from default grey to rear camera view.

Linda fell silent, and both her and Spender turned to watch, the agent's mind a bit disconnected as he came to terms with what she'd told him.

The three looked on as the two spheres came together. The pair warped a bit on collision, rubbery skin pushing in until it hit against the burning nuclear core and seared away. A split second later, the two reactions met, detonating in a massive expl- Then, it was over, the explosion gone before it could wreak the most of its havoc. In its wake, it left just two shredded spheres, bits of rubbery flesh floating, suspended in space. Some strips (mostly from the far sides of the spheres) were large enough to house an office block. More were large enough for a few people to stand comfortably, and the rest were tiny shredded bits, good for nothing but drifting.