I suppose she'll also be sorta maybe possibly pretty pissed if suddenly she's living in even moar top-tier poverty student levels than she currently is.
So sure, get her involved in the plot. Just note that her reactions will be the reactions of a shounen protag that has salt instead of blood running through her veins.
@KoL Aight, is there going to be like, a message from their bank telling them their account's frozen? Or would it be more like, they go and try to buy something with their card and realize that, oh shit, their card's getting denied?
Also, is cash still a thing in this world, or is currency all digital?
Huh...might be a good idea to have the starting Avatar level in the CS to be higher then, because if reaching high levels is that easy, it doesn't really make sense for hardcore players that have had DGO for 2-3 years to not be higher leveled than 3.
Huh, so...I wasn't even aware that everyone's bank accounts were frozen? Mind giving me some background information on that?
And huh, is there a particular reason why most people AREN'T Lvl 9, KoL? It seems like, if it only takes a few days to grind up to that level, it's REALLY easy to become Lvl 9.
Wow, this tall ass overleveled motherfucker. Really not smart to pull a fuss? What did he think he was, a teacher? Sure, the Red King COULD be a total asshole and decide to repeatedly and constantly kill her for her disrespect, but on the other hand? She joined the Scarlet Harleys to have fun fights, not to have someone tell her what to do, and DEFINITELY not to farm Dissolutions like a pasty ass chump. As her glorious leader decided to delegate administrative work of all things to them, Mauve Night simply gave him the look. A look full of disappointment, irritation, and a tinge of confusion.
“Yeah, thanks for answering my question, Streaker,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Let me just do this real quick, hmm?”
Still looking him in the eye, she pulled out the virtual messaging system and hammered out a message directed towards all members of the Red Guild.
To: Scarley Harleys From: Mauve Night Subject: (No Subject) We’re in bed with Blues now. King’s orders.
“Amazing ‘skills’, right? I picked that up from Grade 3 computer class. Now seriously, what are you going to do? It’s like, yo, we’re the Scarlet Harleys, the PvP focused Guild in DGO and yet you still haven’t taken some PvE pleb’s head yet? Hell, all my partymates are just aimlessly wandering about killing Dissolutions of all things for EXP. Not even enemy players! Just Dissolutions! Literally like, holy shit, it’s been more than a week and we still have no idea what’s really going on at the top?! The fuck, dude?”
She waved angrily at nothing, before the golden turd from the Cobalt Losers spoke up next, suddenly meek and servile in the presence of a lvl 9 slowfag.
“And I’m Mauve Night,” the purple-haired avatar turned, still riding off the waves of frustration boiling beneath, “How about you stop trying to find excuses to run away and sneakily get some slow immunity equips and have this rematch now, porcupine head? Don’t tell me I’m the only one that knows how to use instant messaging here.”
"Or do you two want to become Jenovah's Witnesses now, knocking on doors IRL and giving people the good news face-to-face with some cheap pamphlet to accompany it?" @Lord of Evil@TheWindel
An incomprehensible trajectory left a fiery afterimage in his eyes, the supersonic projectile erratically dancing through the darkness before curving past Callan’s head and piercing right into the eye of the gargoyle. It remained there, reduced to a scorch mark within the monstrous subnatural’s bones, but the damage had been done. Blood oozed from the ruined eye and bubbled within her mouth as she shook violently.
Felt that, you bitch? Enjoyed that?
A different smile emerged, all teeth and anger, as he drank in the sight before him, hands squeezing against a weapon that was about to burst from the seams, a gun that was only barely able to hold itself together. This…sitting over 100 meters away, capable of killing while safe from a counter attack…this was cowardly and disgusting and yet oh so likeable. Another shot. He wanted another meaningless, wasted, emotionally-fuelled shot that had no chance of actually hitting.
Ah, he w- A meaningless garden of knowledge spread out before him, a million meanings held by unseen branches that he could not reach with those hands of his. No matter how high he jumped, no matter what he climbed on, no matter if he could will himself to fly or not, they shifted further away. He understood that, instinctively, that there was nothing here for him. The powers, the talents, the abilities within this empty world were forbidden fruits that would not be swayed by a passionless individual such as himself.
He looked at his hands, callused and empty, before curling each finger, one by one by one.
But that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To gain strength through his own means, to forsake this indulgent garden, this ocean of words that had so thoughtlessly pushed undeserved power onto himself. He won’t devour those scraps of power. No, he would cultivate his own, even if the silver blood within him was just as directionless as this garden that bore fruits without trees.
Before him, a fruit dropped into emptiness, disappearing into the hands of another, but he did not protest.
“Take it.”
That other can feast thoughtlessly.
He will propagate his power through his own efforts and match that empty fortune. -ould not shoot.
That vision happened once more, a split second’s worth of revelations and enhancement as the silver blood coiled and developed further, but, beyond the dream, he had been granted something else.
The chance to calm himself, to repress all the unpleasant emotions broiling underneath once more. The Desert Eagle was at a breaking point, while the battle continued on in the distance. The scope, warped as it was, turned the scene into a distorted mess, while arcane energy overflowed, spewing out gouts of power that evaporated into the atmosphere. At this point, he would no longer be able to fire without the weapon exploding. As a matter of fact, this was simply a liability now.
So Brent discarded it.
As it left his fingers, the gun’s form dissolved, straining to return to its original form after so many transformations. Clattering onto the ground, the barrel turned into a corkscrew while the hilt had split into two. The trigger was bent at a ninety degree angle, while the scope had cracked, bits of glass scattering onto the patio. Now, at this range, he was more or less useless.
Just an observer. Good. He breathed out, pushed his volatile feelings towards Savannah’s death into a different part of his brain, locked it up with heavy duty chains, and welded it shut in a nuclear bunker. A waste. An unnecessary attack driven by a need to release some anger.
Stretching his legs, Brent finally stood up and began to ran, three steps at a time down the staircase of the apartment building. The handrail guided his descent while his eyes flickered at the quickly developing scenario that had unfolded on the screen. More allies were convening on the spot, which was…good?
The door out of the lobby was kicked open, Brent rushing out of the building and looking down the street once more.
Oh shit.
No, this was definitely bad.
Caught in the massive yellow pillar that telegraphed the levitation girl’s power, everything was floating up. If nothing else, the map on his phone had shown that the APC, with Sophia inside, had made it out, but now, with this levitation ability suppressing everyone, their options were locked down. Sander, the berserking behemoth, had jumped into the fray, shredding apart the Middle Eastern aberration, but was now restrained by her power. Zoe, diving into the battle, was so consumed by bloodlust that she was…tearing apart Callan?! Brent’s hand reached for the gun that he had already discarded, and cursed himself for that. Marcus had managed to use his own powers to anchor himself in place with Lawrence’s body, while the spike girl was in a melee with Siena, the cage of spikes surrounding Emma put on hold for now.
They needed backup, someone who could fly. They needed to shut down the raven-haired levitation mage, before they rose up too high. They needed someone else with ranged abilities. Grego, where was, Grego?
…
WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE EVEN DOING, SO FAR AWAY?!
Brent’s calm disposition was failing him once more, and he clutched the radio phone as he rushed towards the boundary of the levitation field. Angelic’s order to Chris rang through his cuff, but even a command like that only served to blow his mind. Hazel needed help? Even after seeing that same Hazel trivialize the brass and steel armor of all those clockwork monsters before? Was Angelic even AWARE of what was happening? For all her talk of strategizing, could it be that the sonic aberration was really just a retarded metalhead?
His combat knife was pulled out of its sheath, silver blood coursing into it as he ran down the street.
“CHRIS! IGNORE ANGELIC’S ORDER. HEAD TOWARDS THE BEACON OF YELLOW LIGHT NOW! I NEED YOU TO FLY IN AND BEGIN PULLING PEOPLE OUT OF THE FIELD! HURRY THE HELL UP, BEFORE THAT LEVITATION BITCH DECIDES TO DROP THEM ALL.”
The knife, turned into a projectile weapon, creaked as another dose of silver blood shot through it.
“EMMA,” Brent shouted, before restraining himself further, “…I know you’re in a bad spot right now, but calm down. Siena’s taking care of the spike manipulator. While she’s distracted, you need to use tank dude to break apart the spikes, summon pull dude beside Marcus and Lawrence, and get everyone together. We’re almost done. We can almost go home. Chris is flying here right now to get everyone out of this field. But right now, you’re the only one that can bring people together, so that he can get you all out at once.”
He grimaced. The last time he had encouraged her, didn’t she end up laughing like a crazed psychopath before they both got tazed?
“…you were the reason why our team lasted a whole ten minutes in Flag and Seek. You were the reason why those centipedes couldn’t do their encirclement strategy. You’re the one person here with a range on her powers that’s literally infinite. Hazel’s an avatar of destruction, Sander’s an unkillable juggernaut, Siena’s power is all the powers…but Emma, you’re the MVP right now.”
Ugh, he could hear in the background, even more infighting and stupidity, but he pressed on.
“Collect your thoughts, figure out your orders, and execute your plan.”
Ugh, how much of this did he actually believe in?
“You can do this.”
He stopped at the boundary of the field, the ballistic knife primed for…
Shit, what exactly WAS he going to do? Kill the person that’s currently preventing everyone else from falling to their deaths? Aim and shoot the spike subnatural who’s currently keeping Emma more or less in range of Marcus? There were no good options.
All he could do was fucking talk, because once again, he lacked the materials he needed to DO something.
“You can do this,” Brent repeated, even as his mind raced for a method that would allow someone else to do this.
In the same half second that took his three shots to travel 200 meters, a fourth subnatural burst from the very APC itself, a half-gargoyle, half-female with wings that caught all his shots. The purple beams were stopped in their tracks, energy dissipating against the magically-generated flesh. Only scorch marks remained, the gargoyle girl shooting a single glare into his direction before putting her attention onto more important things.
His shots weren’t powerful enough to pierce her hide, and now that the element of surprise was lost, his next shots were going to be so much less effective.
His teeth ground against each other, Brent’s jaw tightening as the Desert Eagle groaned and creaked beneath his grasp, slowly losing its form. He was running out time, and he was distinctly aware of it. The next shot or the shot after would start to have a lasting impact on his weapon, and once those malfunctions began, there was no way he’d be able to effectively snipe afterwards. Shit, shit, SHIT.
It was pure bad luck that the fourth subnatural had burst out of the APC in the same second as his shots. If it was a bit later, he would have killed all three. If it was a bit earlier, he would have held his fire and waited for another opportunity. But this? THIS was the worst situation! His amethyst eyes flared violently as silver blood boiled within. Everything was falling apart so fast. Savannah was dying. Marcus was completely restrained. Lawrence was bleeding out. Sophia was useless!
All because he didn’t have the destructive force necessary to punch through the thin membrane of a subnatural’s wings.
Weak as ever.
He spat out the current situation robotically for all to hear.
Unlucky as ever.
He replied to Ernie’s query systematically, pausing only once as he almost prohibited something attached to ‘winning’.
Pathetic as ever.
A wall of spikes, the growth of ice, as well as Emma and Callan’s speedy arrival. Offensive Support coming in for the assist while, on the map, it was clear that even Christmas, Zoe, and Ernie were going to join the fray, supporting people. Tortured pleas that were suddenly cut off from Sander’s transmitting cuff made it clear that the bloodlusting berserker had killed another enemy subnatural, while Chris had disappeared, tumbling into the earth. Everyone was moving, moving, moving, and yet, he was still here.
Stagnant.
Watching.
Not even trying to strategize.
Savannah’s neck broke before his very eyes, Callan’s aggressive tackle not taking into account the fact that the gargoyle girl had the small child in her grasp. Without being able to do a thing, Brent watched through his scope as a life was extinguished. Sav, the brat that got super pissy whenever he talked about drinking milk. Sav, the idiot who spent so many years teaching herself the violin and only now getting the chance to learn from a professional. Sav, the girl that had such a bright, eager smile when she was praised!
What was winning? Before, it would be saving Sav, but now that she was dead, it w-
FUCK, SHE WAS DEAD.
It was black and white, wrong and right, zeroes and ones, lose and win. There obviously wasn’t any other path but to fucking KILL the bitch that killed Savannah! How much of a snivelling fucktard was he, if he couldn’t even understand that immediately? Why would he even CARE about how Callan was currently smashing a fist or two into that bat-winged slut’s skull? Lawrence can bleed out, Brent hardly talked to that dude, but Sav?!
He had known them all, from the bookstore owner to the panhandler.
“CALLAN, BACK THE FUCK OFF!”
Every bit of restraint, every bit of pessimistic logic, he tore it all apart.
A stream of silver circuitry rushed down into the already overloaded weapon, springs and bolts and plates popping off as the Desert Eagle became more magic than steel. Grasping the weapon tightly in both hands, Brent’s eyes smouldered as they glared through the tortured, distorted scope. The gargoyle’s body. Her head. Her eyes. Her pupils.
If her skin was enough to deflect bullets, then he’ll shoot through the hole in her eye and scramble her brains from within.
The hot wind continued to blow even after the final form of the weapon was revealed, jet-black with turquoise lines racing up and down a barrel that was much too large for the small chamber. Sparks of energy burst from cracks within, and it thrummed, dangerously unstable.
How many shots would he have? One? Two?
How many people was he abandoning with this? Emma? Marcus? Lawrence? Sophia?
This single bullet could have been used to take down someone much more dangerous, someone that Callan, their powerhouse Striker, wasn’t already grappling. And perhaps, this single bullet may still be insufficient to piercing the cornea of someone who had superhuman durability.
“Losers and winners,” he muttered under his breath, tensing in expectation of the pain that would follow, “Doubt and faith.”
The fourth shot seared the skies, darting towards the individual that mocked the first, second, and third.
Desert Eagle with Scope: 1min First Clock: Accurate Beams Second Clock: Auto-targetter + Multi-Lock Third Clock: Specific Targetting + Intelligent Homing
Aiming for the pupil of the Gargoyle. Remaining in position.
A crack, a pop, and suddenly, Mauve Night was thrown off as Blue Nova shot into the sky, propelled by his own power. One limb flapped uselessly as he began to descend into a meteoric DEATH FROM ABOVE attack, but despite being foiled, the avatar’s grin became absolutely feral, flipping her gun in the air and grabbing it by the barrel instead.
Oh, this was the shit she played this bullshit game for! No holds barred brawls against people who didn’t give a fuck what limbs they were going to sacrifice in order to win, because injury and death had no meaning in this virtual space!
“Bring it on, Bl-”
“You two. Don’t you know this is Neutral territory?” “Geh.”
Her opponent landed in a heap and Mauve Night repressed her urge to fill him whole of holes now that she was oh-so close to triggering Stasis. Turning around to face the edgy lvl 9 with the red cloak, Mauve Night kicked a pebble like a petulant child, before glaring at the taller Avatar. “Yeah, what blue bro said! What’s wrong with having a scrap or two? You gonna be policing like, all the fights now?” The handgun spun, before she grabbed it by the grip. “Anyways, wasn’t like I was actually even going to kill him.”
A pause. Did that make her sound like a pussy?
“I totally could though,” Mauve Night quickly added, “Seriously, woulda lawnmowed your grass ass no matter what you tried. Literally just pew pew and then boom in the next thirty seconds. Nice effort though. Don’t usually see Level 3s as manly as you these days.”
She nodded a few times, even though her stacked debuff would be fading from Blue Nova soon. Yup, dude didn't stand a chance. Didn't even have much technique for someone who was supposed to be a close combat martial artist. "So yeah, what even are you doing here, Streaker? Shouldn't you be crashing through the gates of White or Green with your high-level buddies instead of being the fun police?"
If he failed, Callan could finish it. Or maybe Marcus, with his instant movement abilities, would be able to blindside those three subnaturals before any more damage was caused? Maybe Sophia could reveal that she had some sort of secret power hidden all along, something beyond merely having magical vision? Or maybe, maybe, Savannah could actually do something.
As cruel as it was, Brent’s grim expression broke out into a genuinely meaningless smile.
Was he that afraid of failure that he had to set up all these safety nets instead of telling his teammates to leave it up to himself? Was he really satisfied with just being the guy who killed a single clockwork canine after it had already been immobilized by Angelic? His grip tightened, his knuckles creaking, burning through excess energy. Far down the road, the soldier had been the next to bite the bullet, impaled by a metal spike before being shot in the face by the olive-skinned man. Amethyst eyes flickered as Brent caught that glimmer of magic, originating from the blonde ponytail girl. Almost too small to be noticed, until it had disappeared.
So that was her magic.
Thank god.
He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and allowed his power to flow once more. The Desert Eagle creaked, evolving a second time, glowing a hot angry orange that threatened burn his skin as a burning gale encircled the object, wisps of it blowing in his face and causing him to squint. The object was practically squirming within his grasp, an inorganic weapon brought to life by silver blood as its parts creaked irregularly.
But, as always, before it fully escaped him, the Desert Eagle settled down, a light blue glow humming over its surface. Replacing the scope was a holographic projector, displaying a blown-up display of the trio as they stood before the APC. In his hands, the jet-black gun, barrel elevated slightly, swiveled, revealing that the trigger was no longer attached to the barrel. Like a camera, it swayed from side to side slowly.
The improvement was accuracy. The function was the ability to have a machine lock on and automatically center itself onto its targets. The projectile was an energy beam that cared not for environmental conditions.
His spare finger pressed against the holographic display, holding on until the crosshair graphics turned from red to green, indicating that the machine had locked on. One by one, he selected his targets and dictated the order in which the machine would pursue them. This was going to be simple. This was going to be easy. They didn’t know he existed, he could accurately shoot them down without thinking about aiming, and if they were human, they should definitely die.
He won't fail. Won't miss. Won't think.
Breat-
No meditation necessary.
A callused finger pressed against the trigger and pulled.
Once.
No recoil.
Twice.
No remorse.
Thrice.
No response.
Desert Eagle with Scope: 2min First Clock: Laser Beam Second Clock: Auto-targetter.
Shots are fired almost consecutively, because the gun wouldn't need to turn too much to switch targets. The targets, in order, are Blondie's head, Gun Dude's head, and Blackhead's chest. He's expecting to be able to kill the first two before they can react and dodge, before hitting the third on a larger target.
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