From what the IC states, the two that just arrived should be fairly close together, due to just leaving the fog shrouded entrance and stopping to point a gun at the white haired duo.
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A mighty blow splattered the foul ichor of his foes upon him, turning the initial group into mere pulp, but that wasn’t enough. Even with his limbs turned to lead by the exhaustion, the sheer power that the black pillar demanded, Aiv strove to answer the call of the next foe. He could envision it clearly in his mind, the next smooth, destructive motion.
But his body refused the call regardless, muscles screaming with agony at just how little stamina he had. Powerful, but exhausting. And now, open to a counterattack, Aiv could only hope for assistance as another scepter of a forgotten era left from the fog, a blade outstretched. Moments before visceral impact, a strike in the legs toppled him backwards, that rusty blade centimeters away from his face as he fell, before the clang of rained blows sounded.
Unpleasant. That was the sensation that seeped into his mind like a festering bolt. Someone else protecting him. A debt to be paid.
Paid immediately.
Aiv didn’t even think as that miniature cannon emerged from the folds of the fog, acting immediately with what strength was recovered in his bones. The writhing pillar shifted itself ever so slightly in front of both him and Orpheus, moments before the cacophonous roar sounded. Even shielded, the two were sent tumbling back, a concussive force knocking him further along the ground before he pushed himself up, ears ringing, red eyes alive. There was pain now. The dull throb of his entire body to the sharp wetness originating from his right side, crimson staining Nera’s white robes. His heart beat accelerated, the adrenaline turning pain into pleasure, every part of his body thrumming with lifeblood.
Beside him, the black pillar remained unbroken, still writhing like a living thing, but it no longer grabbed his attention. His eyes were elsewhere now, searching for a different weapon. A lighter one. The explosive strength provided by Nera’s gift was wonderful, but if they were to push back the scourge, they required something else. Weapons that didn’t cripple them in a single swing.
A part of him knew, then, that the handcannon had to be reclaimed.
The ringing persisted in his ears, but Aiv shouted out despite that. “Grab that cannon! We’ll need it!”
But his body refused the call regardless, muscles screaming with agony at just how little stamina he had. Powerful, but exhausting. And now, open to a counterattack, Aiv could only hope for assistance as another scepter of a forgotten era left from the fog, a blade outstretched. Moments before visceral impact, a strike in the legs toppled him backwards, that rusty blade centimeters away from his face as he fell, before the clang of rained blows sounded.
Unpleasant. That was the sensation that seeped into his mind like a festering bolt. Someone else protecting him. A debt to be paid.
Paid immediately.
Aiv didn’t even think as that miniature cannon emerged from the folds of the fog, acting immediately with what strength was recovered in his bones. The writhing pillar shifted itself ever so slightly in front of both him and Orpheus, moments before the cacophonous roar sounded. Even shielded, the two were sent tumbling back, a concussive force knocking him further along the ground before he pushed himself up, ears ringing, red eyes alive. There was pain now. The dull throb of his entire body to the sharp wetness originating from his right side, crimson staining Nera’s white robes. His heart beat accelerated, the adrenaline turning pain into pleasure, every part of his body thrumming with lifeblood.
Beside him, the black pillar remained unbroken, still writhing like a living thing, but it no longer grabbed his attention. His eyes were elsewhere now, searching for a different weapon. A lighter one. The explosive strength provided by Nera’s gift was wonderful, but if they were to push back the scourge, they required something else. Weapons that didn’t cripple them in a single swing.
A part of him knew, then, that the handcannon had to be reclaimed.
The ringing persisted in his ears, but Aiv shouted out despite that. “Grab that cannon! We’ll need it!”
Yo, Ryu, got a different question. The arm-blades and other weapons of the ghouls, are they dropped when they die? Or do they sorta disappear when their users are turned to pulp?
Can you give me the result of the action if Aiv were to push his weapon in front of Orpheus? Should be big enough to act as cover against the pew-pew device.
Also, to confirm, Aiv can't go for another weapon swing this turn, right?
Are we all allowed to act once more, Ryu? Should probably state this more often, cause we're going turn based but have no turn order. XD
Damn, that's pretty sick art, Ryu. Didn't imagine them as so furry myself, but I suppose the more you know.
@Aristo
It was mentioned that the half-wisps have beautiful weapons of silver and all that jazz.
It was mentioned that the half-wisps have beautiful weapons of silver and all that jazz.
It was quiet now.
No, it had been quiet the entire time. No one was interested in talking during that entire ride, most people sleeping or on their phones or simply refusing to look at anyone else. This was the true USARILN truck experience, wasn’t it? No one chirpy enough to talk to anyone else. Not even Marcus, who had been able to keep a positive attitude for the longest of times. Just a looming sense of dread and exhaustion that accompanied the knowledge that they weren’t heading back to the institution after all. What had the Director wanted them for in Washington anyways?
Surely, they weren’t there just to thwart off a monster attack that none of them were equipped to handle, were they?
Alone in the library, Brent stared aimlessly at the blue screen of the monitor. The lights were dimmed within the study, a blue pallor cast over him. The art gallery may have interested him before. A massage chair sounded great, considering how he never had a chance to do any stretching after all that running. He’d have loved to chow down as well, sample the culinary skill of Zhang’s subnatural maids. A nighttime walk down the beach would have done miracles for organizing his jumbled up thoughts as well. But he was here instead, in a small library, surrounded by the technology that his magic wanted to devour so badly, no eyes here to observe what monster machines he cooked up.
But he wasn’t here to indulge in his curiosity either.
More than a dozen tabs to different news sites, both national and local, as well as various social media outlets. Youtube as well, and a couple constantly refreshed Google queries. But there was nothing ‘fresh’. Nothing on social media provided a harrowing first person account, and even news reports seemed to only be handling general, broad information. Tragedies turned into statistics. Wide pans of rows of evacuees, instead of personal accounts. And, above all…a wealth of shots from the cameras that they had been cuffed with, ‘leaked’ to show the DC incident from the position of the subnaturals of Unit B. And none of them, from what he saw, showed what had occurred during the evacuation team’s encounter with the regular mob.
As a matter of fact, all those released clips served to make them look…heroic.
Not a single smear. Not a single stain. Not a single sin. For a city that hated subnaturals, for a city that had been attacked by subnaturals, the media was reporting on the incident with as much tact and as little prejudice as possible. There was that one video of Christmas, healing injured masses like some sort of Jesus figure. There was himself, giving out orders like some sort of superpowered GI. There was Angelic, aiding with the rescue as if she hadn’t just screamed a bunch of civilians to death. And there were reddit threads. Oh, so many reddit threads, people just playing with what to name the new heroes of DC, the new team that will replace the Precursors.
Before his amethyst eyes, more of those vapid, shameless comments scrolled by, not a single one pointing him towards what had caused everyone to turn away from each other, to enforce a steely, tense silence.
Nothing.
Nothing but lies.
But crimes didn’t disappear just because people looked away.
He dove deeper.
I mean, there IS a sci fi tag...the sin weapon of a plasma rifle? ;3
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