Word Count: 1,063 Location: Adventurer’s Guild → Sisters of the Anvil → Adventurer’s Guild → Hole → Devil’s Casino EXP: Level 5 --> (10/50) + 2 = 12/50
The general flow of people carried Donnie along with it toward the Adventurers’ Guild. At first, given the mad scramble outside, it seemed like the whole place might be a madhouse, but a gathering of people with nothing but the best intentions proved highly amenable to reason. Trusty as ever, the Houndmaster had established some organization inside the guild castle itself, preventing anyone from wantonly diving into the cartoonish black hole the guildmaster supposedly left behind. With unknown and unpredictable powers on hand, he argued a strong case for proper procedure. Preparations had begun for a large-scale interdiction, with the various adventurers backing off to fully supply and equip themselves, while the sheriff directed a quick reconnaissance effort with the help of a few choice veterans and sturdy rope.
That left Donnie in the same boat as everyone else who wanted to help: possessed of a couple minutes to get ready while the heroes’ rescue was planned out.
So there Donnie was, saved by the Houndmaster injecting some sanity into the operation. He had a precious few minutes to prepare, and he was not going to waste it. Quickly thanking him, he ran out into the town streets, looking for a good blacksmith.
He came across what looked like a town hall with an oversized furnace attached to the side. It radiated heat for upwards of a dozen yards even before he entered, and when he did enter the building marked “Sisters of the Anvil,” that heat became downright sweltering.
It was clear that this was a well-used smithy staffed by experts from the moment he stepped in. Countless blacksmithing tools of every size, shape, and description hung on the walls. Several anvils dotted the place, along with numerous cooling pools and workbenches, clearly meant to put out weapons and tools at a rate approaching, if not quite meeting, mass production.
It wasn’t long before he came across the nearest of the three sisters, a pink-haired woman performing what was clearly some kind of mana-injection process on an otherwise-finished sword. “Hi!” she said, “I’m Rena, what can I do for you?”
Donnie responded with, “You heard about the operation at the Guild Hall?”
“Yep. You’re not even the first adventurer to come in here in the last few minutes. Everyone’s gearing up for the rescue operation, and I’ve been fixing up anything they bring in.”
Donnie smiled. “You work fast, I see. Think you can fix up mine?”
“Probably.”
A few moments later…
“Are you sure that armor wasn’t ceremonial?”
“...No?”
“That armor had world-record gems in the gauntlets and a helmet shaped like a tiger head! And you call that not ceremonial?!” the yellow-haired girl yelled incredulously from further into the shop.
“I don’t know, I think it was kinda cute!” said the blue-haired girl.
Donnie sighed as he finished putting on his gauntlets. “Look, Rena, you handle enchanting, right? You can tell how strong the enchantments on this set of armor are. It’s not ceremonial, trust me.”
“Whatever you say, tiger-boy,” Rena said mischievously.
“Now that I won’t argue.” Donnie said with a laugh. “Now, I really have to go. I think the operation’s starting.”
And with that, Donnie walked out of the shop and booked it over to the Adventurer’s Guild. As he entered, he said, “Hey, Houndmaster, I’m all readied up, let me know when we’re going to start!”
From the looks of it, just about everyone had been assembled into ranks taking the shape of concentric circles around the hole in the guild hall’s floor. At the Houndmaster’s direction, Donnie joined the innermost loop, poised to be one of the first leaping into the unknown. A tense few moments passed by as the final checks were made, and after the Houndmaster gave the all-clear, the operation officially began.
Donnie quickly looked over his equipment, checking his armor (now in pristine condition, unsurprisingly--even the leather parts!) and the Fists (they’d been used to kill a lot of things lately, they could have probably done with a touch-up and a sharpening too, but the strength of the enchantments within more than made up for it), and then readied himself by getting on his trusty Disc of the Red Flying Cloud. He wouldn’t let this thing be a liability this time. He was just going to use it to descend safely without relying on the ropes everyone else was going to use. He took a deep breath, got into a cross-legged position on the disc to keep his stability, and when the signal was given, he made to move to the center of the hole and rapidly descend.
As he descended down the hole, he first noticed how freakishly deep it was, and the pure blackness on all sides other than directly up and down. It was obvious it was some kind of magical hole to begin with, but he expected it to be closer to a portal, not an extradimensional tunnel. It reminded him of the magical properties of the Luggage, and other Azerothian bags, more than anything else. It was as if the hole was a magical space layered on top of reality. The ground underneath the Adventurer’s Guild still existed, but this space coexisted with the foundation, soil, and rock. If an earthworm burrowed through the soil this tunnel filled, it probably wouldn’t notice anything different from the usual soil it was eating. But if you entered through the hole, you’d end up in this sub-universe instead.
He was descending at maximum speed, so he was faster than the other heroes, who were descending via simple gravity. Can they really survive the fall? Donnie asked himself. Well, now that I think about it, they are from other worlds so maybe?I couldn’t manage that without Zen Flight. Come to think of it, I hope I remember that ability soon….
Soon, Donnie emerged into the light below, slowing to a stop as he looked around. Getting off the Disc and holding it under his arm, he saw that he was in...a giant casino? A bunch of hazy-looking portals stood in front of him, with a giant dice-headed man looming over him. Skeletons monsters, and demons in fancy suits and expensive dresses played their money games around the table, and in the colossal casino grounds beyond.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? Donnie thought to himself as he facepalmed.
Word Count: 2,391 Location: Argent Tower Lobby → Argent Tower Kitchen → Aftermath of Doomslayer Rampage → Lumbridge → Great Ton Pu In → Mina’s Restaurant → Adventurer’s Guild EXP: Level 5 --> (7/50) + 3 = 10/50
New Spirit Acquired! Black Mage (Striker): Through a desire to save his ally, Donnie has turned the dead, zombified Black Mage into a Striker. Vivi retains his mind, and will help Donnie when called upon, casting his offensive magic. He currently only knows Thunder and Stop.
Donnie, Ratchet, and Clank killed monsters left and right, but it was eventually clear that none of them could keep this up forever. But the tower was so close he could taste it! He only had to keep up this effort for a bit longer. He threw chi projectiles, Clank driving the motorcycle from his perch on his lap, while Ratchet let loose with more firepower than some platoons. Clank even used the blades from time to time. It made him proud. Right now, the three were working together as a perfectly-synchronized team, purging the horrors of the Dead Zone and making sure that none of these abominations got close to the civilians.
But all good things must come to an end. And Donnie was personally glad this one did, because then he got to see the man who he had heard so much about: A hulking man in green power armor. To say he looked dangerous was an understatement. Everything about him dripped menace and lethality, from the visor that obscured his face (seemingly stripping away his humanity), to his bearing, to the weapons he wielded.
And as the man took a step forward, Donnie contemplated whether he’d have to fight, a grin emerging on his face at the idea of going toe-to-toe with this man. But then he completely ignored them instead, choosing to fight the entire oncoming horde by himself.
It seemed the height of stupidity, but the Doomslayer had earned his reputation over eons of demon slaughter, a record that made Donnie’s scant time fighting the Burning Legion look like nothing by comparison.
Then there was the sheer brutality of how he dealt with the monsters ahead. The way the Doomslayer murdered an arremer got him particularly interested, what with how he ripped off its wing and jammed one of the wingbones all the way through its eye and out the back of its head. Distasteful, maybe, but incredibly effective.
The monk whistled. “Holy shit! I wish that guy was around when the Burning Legion attacked. He would have made it ten times easier!”
Then he walked inside, chuckling at the amazing display as Clank used the Treadblade to barricade the door behind the van.
As per Nero’s recommendation, Donnie began to disinfect everyone he could. Especially Ms. Fortune, who had taken several bites. Poor girl was likely halfway to turning by this point.
Then he realized something. The blood! Everyone was covered in bodily fluids from all the zombies!
“EVERYONE, BEFORE YOU LEAVE, LISTEN UP!” he yelled authoritatively, getting their attention.
He cleared his throat, and then spoke in a normal--but still far-reaching--voice, “My spells can disinfect people. Not objects. Everyone here is probably covered at least a few droplets of zombie fluids. Gene got infected with a zombie plague on the way to the police station, when a fat zombie upchucked on him. He’s cured now, like everyone else, but that means that we know it spreads through fluid transmission. We all need to have our stuff disinfected. Clothing, equipment, bags, everything. And that means I’m going to need people familiar with zombie plagues.”
“Leon, Jill, can you help?”
The rookie cop and the special agent lent their aid, the latter in particular confirming Donnie’s assumptions about viral transmission and taking charge to organize a cleaning detail. Argent Tower featured a small cafeteria, thanks to its remote location prior to its reuse in the World of Light, and its kitchen offered enough sanitation to get everyone cleaned off prior to teleportation. Soaked and cold was, after all, better than dangerously infectious. A line formed leading toward the kitchen, with its sinks, sprayers, and cleaning agents, and before too long the decontaminated survivors could escape through the teleporter.
Donnie, after the exhaustive cleaning operatijon, desummoned the Treadblade as he prepared to go through, opting to preserve it for future use by placing it in the Luggage. He desummoned the Luggage then, safely placing it in a parallel dimension, and then made to step on the teleporter, only to realize something.
That Black Mage, he had died, right? He didn’t trust the zombies and demons that infested this place with that spirit. They’d either consume it outright, turn it into one of themselves, absorb it, or turn it into an item.
And, as much as the prospect of absorbing someone else’s conceptual essence horrified him, what those demons would do with it was worse.
He was so close to salvation. All he had to do to get out of there was step on the teleporter and he would be free. But no. He had to do this, if no-one else would.
So, after a quick conversation with Nico, he had the van moved far enough out of the way that he could once again step into the street that had been filled with so much bloodshed not so long ago.
He strode forward with purpose, scanning the ash piles that comprised the bodies of the fallen for the Spirit he was looking for.
And eventually, he found it, clear as day. It floated right next to a random demonic Spirit. He crushed the demon’s Spirit under his boot. He cared not for its existence beyond what he could take from it, and hopefully that thing would be useful for what lay ahead.
In pure contrast to the way he had brutally crushed the demon’s essence, he took the Spirit of the Black Mage in his hand, holding it tenderly, like it was a priceless artifact or a sacred text.
He contemplated what he was going to do with it. He definitely didn’t want to make it into an item. Should he take the mage’s form or knowledge? That would be cruel to do to an ally, even if it was reversible. And besides, Donnie had always been a physical attacker. In battle, the mage would be better served at a distance while Donnie got in the opponent’s face.
So it was decided. Strikerhood would be his fate. He would save his ally from an eternity of oblivion, no matter what. That sentiment seeped into the prismatic mote of light before him, little by little, and the strength of the monk’s amplified the essence that he found. Like a torch lighting a sputtering candle, or water making a flower bloom, Donnie’s compassion restored that which had become almost nothing. He brought the spirit back, if not quite to life, then at least to existence.
It was...oddly beautiful. He hadn’t really expected something like this, but...he’d done it. He’d truly brought Black Mage back. That was...incredible. He’d have to do this more often.
It wasn’t long before the Black Mage appeared before him, as a specter. He didn’t speak much, apparently, but bowed gratefully before disappearing back into...wherever Strikers went when they weren’t manifested. His Spirit, maybe? He felt a magic bond of some kind between himself and the Black Mage, now. Like he had a guest of sorts.
Then as he walked back to the tower, he began stomping on more demon and zombie spirits along the way and scooping up the items. He was up to ten by the time he reached the doorway. He’d thought of a few things he wanted. A Mistweaver weapon or two, maybe a polearm or staff for if he ever got his Brewmastery back, probably a few guns for Ratchet, he figured Jak needed some Eco, and general reagents for his enchanting and engineering work. Unknown to him, Resonance was kicking in with every idle thought.
Then he put the items away, got his armor cleaned off for the second time, walked into the teleporter, and the world became a bright white.
You have acquired: Spear A well-made polearm, decently light. Lends itself to both graceful and aquatic combat.
and: Bone Scythes x 2 Impractical and unwieldy but sharp and savage, they make for an impressively brutal pair of hand weapons.
and: Rotten Flesh x 4 Even if it weren't somewhat toxic, it would still be disgusting. But if it's eat or be eaten...
and: Nyabon Horn x2 A horn from a giant demonic cat. Possesses magical properties, with a special affinity for fire and relocation, making it a valuable alchemical ingredient.
and: Mire A toxin sword hailing from the Great Plague, hewn of flesh, and yet its bane.
* * *
Donovan hadn’t seen daylight since noon the previous day (not that he knew how much time had passed). The blazing sunlight nearly blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes as they adjusted. He stepped off the teleporter, the sunlight becoming a bit less dazzling as he walked forward through the town.
It was a peaceful, idyllic-looking place. The polar opposite of the hell he had willingly, and stupidly, walked into.
But he’d think about that later. FIrst, he needed to get some food and board. He was exhausted.
* * *
The first thing Donnie did was head to the local inn, the Great Ton Pu, and use a fraction of his copious reserves of gold to rent a room for the day. Once he got inside, he performed the annoying task of taking off his armor and putting away his weapons.
The armor was kept on by a series of straps, all over the body. Most people wearing heavy armor, like knights, usually had someone else put it on, but Donnie’s gear was designed to be removed by the person wearing it. The monk was left in his undersuit, a padded outfit meant to attach the armor to. It was sleeveless. That was something he was going to have to fix, what with how often his arms were getting hit these days. The extra padding would at least protect a little bit more than bare skin.
He collapsed onto the bed, completely spent from the harrowing ordeal of the Dead Zone. His undersuit was drenched in sweat, and cold and damp from the cleaning it got, but he was too exhausted to put on anything else.
He lay there for a good, long while, barely moving. He could feel the minutes ticking by.
But he did not sleep. He was only somewhat tired. His muscles needed the rest, though. He had missed a nice, soft feather bed so much, and it had only been a day.
How much time had he spent in the Dead Zone, anyway? He didn’t wear a watch with his armor, he had no idea how much time had passed. He had certainly spent more than a few hours in the Police Station. Then there was the time spent in transit. It had probably only been past noon when he arrived there, and they had spent some time fighting zombies and demonic insects, then the battle with the massive treant...a lot of things happened even before the police station. Then there was the mad dash to the futuristic tower….
Gods, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the next day already! And come to think of it, he hadn’t seen most of the Land of Adventure crew since he got here!
One thing was clear. He needed to get his bearings.
With all the energy and grace of an ancient, dying ogre with three limbs missing, he pushed himself off the bed and to his feet, staggering a bit as he did so. After putting his armor in his Luggage and changing into a set of town clothes, tying the sheathed Fists of the Heavens to his belt, he unlocked the door after briefly fiddling with the key, and then repeated the process as he managed to lock it behind him. He took a deep breath as he turned around and took the stairs, arriving in the lobby to find that the inn did not serve food. He’d have to go elsewhere.
And so, he walked around the town that he now knew was Lumbridge due to his talk with the innkeeper, and headed for the nearest restaurant. They paid for everything with gold around here, right? He had plenty of that.
He sat down in his town clothes at Mina’s restaurant and ordered some...wait what the fuck was this menu?!
Steamed hydra rolls?! BBQ DRAGON SHANK?! He had all kinds of questions, most of which MIna put to rest by claiming that those items were only on the menu in her world, because over there, dragons weren’t intelligent and adventurers could hunt hydras for food consistently.
“Screw it, give me the dumplings, the steamed buns, the lizard tail, the curry, the gourd soup, and the sponge roll. And two glasses of ice water and a cup of coffee.”
“That’s...a lot. Are you sure you can eat all of that?”
Donnie looked at her flatly. “I have spent the last twelve hours without food, water, or sleep, fighting off hordes of zombies and demons inside of a destroyed city where the sun literally doesn’t shine. I helped kill a gigantic tree monster, calmed a rampaging ghost, and rescued a bunch of survivors trapped in a city garrison. Trust me, I can eat that much. And probably more.”
Mina laughed. “Well! After a story like that, I think I’ll give you a discount!”
One gorging later, Donnie was feeling...moderately full. To be honest, he was known to eat tons of food, both due to his upbringing on the Wandering Isle and the insane workouts he put his body through in the course of adventuring. But last night had been insane even by those standards. He was hoping he could take some time to at least sleep in the Brothers Grimm once this was over.
Then, he heard a commotion behind him. Turning his head, he saw a small army of what looked like adventurers passing him by.
He quickly paid for his food and walked over to ask about the commotion. A young man in plate armor responded, “Didn’t you hear? The Guildmaster turned evil and kidnapped a bunch of adventurers!”
“I’m new around here,” Donnie replied, “But I get the picture. I’ll go.”
“You’re not even in battle gear--”
“Trust me. I can help.”
And so Donnie went, following the crowd. Not having his armor would hurt when dealing with this “Guildmaster,” but he had a feeling that his friends were the ones kidnapped. If so, he couldn’t allow this to continue.
Allison had spent much of the ride playing on a handheld, or talking to the others, but she was acutely aware of Arlette gazing at her hungrily. She had a vessel, why did this issue constantly come up with Weapons? Just because her soul was more exposed than normal didn’t mean she was a cooked turkey, ready to eat!
But with Viola around, she felt secure. Safe. There was no way in hell the sniper-girl would let someone try to eat her without breaking their legs. And that probably included Arlette.
As usual, Ms. Opal was basically having a mini-heart attack every five seconds. With how stressed she was all the time, why was she working for the DWMA? This job was the king of stress.
Of course, as Allison turned her vessel’s plastic head to look at the island itself, she saw it was for good reason this time, between the fact that the “ruined” tower had been rebuilt without anyone knowing, and a goddamn jungle had formed overnight.
“Well...at least we get an impromptu investigation mission?” she said with a weak smile, trying to stay positive.
Viola simply looked at her partner with a deadpan, every muscle on her face stiffened to a standstill. Her eyes panned back to the island and upon fully absorbing the situation they were about to actuality throw themselves into, she released a loud and exaggerated sigh before looking back to Allison.
“We could probably have picked something a little less extravagant, stupid DWMA-peh!” Viola spat dryly, though she nodded to Allison after her short-lived tantrum.
“But I suppose we won’t get anywhere with our feet kicked up, even if it means getting some sand in between our toes.” Viola briefly broke her stone face and cracked a very small smirk to Allison before returning her violet sights back to the island.
“Yeah, you’re right,” the talking mannequin said. “And imagine how it’ll look if we resolve a crisis over summer vacation. That’ll probably be worth something back home.”
Then, she sighed. Or rather, made a sighing noise since she couldn’t actually breathe. “Though to be honest, I’m just fishing for positives at this point. I’m not gonna lie, fixing whatever happened here is probably going to be incredibly dangerous. But at least we have 17 people. There’s strength in numbers.”
It was soon after that Ms. Opal began to call the duos up, requesting single file lines to keep things orderly with the amount of people onboard. Viola popped up to her feet and kicked the toes of her boots against the ship’s floor before stepping into the weapon line, her sights calmly aimed to the ground.
@CelesteEste Allison, on the other hand, creaked her way over to the Meister line, looking straight at Arlette just in case she tried anything, and to let her know that her “meal” was onto her. As the line began to move forward, she turned away, looking ahead, chin up. She was going to fix this. No matter what.
Then the line arrived in the island town proper.
As Viola’s feet touched the land she briefly experienced an overwhelming sense of dread. Her eyes scanned those around her, squinting as her vision fixated on each person.
“Allison, keep on guard.” Viola stated plainly, the volume of her outburst being loud enough for others to hear. Though, Viola was always this way so it could just be her nature.
“Right,” the ghost said as she made landfall a little bit after Viola. She made the sound of taking a deep breath as the teacher showed the guards her DWMA papers so they could pass. As the group made it deeper into the harbor, Allison could only say, “What the fuuuuuuuck…?”
Cave paintings on the walls. Warped images from the TVs that stuck out of buildings here and there. A guy in a plague doctor outfit. Plants encroaching on the buildings.
“Okay...things are even worse than I thought. What the hell happened on this island?!”
She was sure some of citizens around her must have heard her. But, looking around, they looked at her with only passing interest at best, and completely ignored her at worst.
And then Ms. Opal drank from a fountain labelled with a DWMA insignia and numerous warnings to keep away. She turned into a sheep.
Allison had never been more relieved in her entire unlife that she had no physical needs.
“So...that...happened. I...uh…” she scratched the back of her head, “...guess we have to start with the local DWMA chapter. It’s Lord Death’s face there, after all. You don’t think something happened to them, do you?” She looked towards Viola with the last sentence, and it was clear what the implication behind her statement was. Madness at the DWMA. The worst-case scenario, one that she didn’t even want to consider, but it was necessary.
“It would be safe to assume the worst, should we do some reconnaissance in the area?” Viola raised an eyebrow and canted her head to the right, further expressing the question to her partner.
“Do you want me to go ghost form? If the DWMA is the source of this, that could end badly, but a bird’s-eye-view would be really helpful right now.”
“Go ahead, I’ll watch your vessel.” Viola wrapped her arms around Allison’s shell, lightly holding the artificial body in preparation for her Meister leaving it to float from the earth’s surface.
“Alright, gimme a second.” Allison deliberately loosened and then released her soul’s hold on the plastic puppet/doll/mannequin in a practiced maneuver not unlike opening a fist that had been closed for some time.
She felt the weight of her vessel cease as her ghostly form left her empty shell, and when she fully appeared, it would have been a shock to those who hadn’t seen her before.
Red, angry stab wounds all across the body. A shorter body and a younger face. Disheveled hair, similar to bedhead. And most striking of all was the pair of ghostly pajamas she was stuck wearing until the end of time. They had, in fact, fused with her body, becoming ectoplasm with the rest of her when she died.
Good thing everyone present was either used to things like this or just ignored her for unknown reasons.
And with that, she floated up, up, up, up into the air--taking an opportunity to crack a smile and wave at the mere mortals below who lacked the power of flight--until she was above the rooftops of the highest skyscrapers. It would be a simple task to scout the city. The DWMA was usually based in an urban area, even foreign chapters, so she could just look for the building with all the big-ass skulls and she’d be reasonably certain she’d found it.
She took the opportunity to gain altitude more than a few times. She wanted to stay relatively hidden, and it was hard as hell to spot a transparent object that was high in the air. Remembering she could turn invisible, she activated them as well, just for good measure. Nothing would protect her from Soul Perception, but it was unlikely she’d run into a Weapon who could both hit her from up here and tell where she was, and that was assuming the DWMA was even hostile in the first place!
Eventually, she floated high enough to see most if not all of the island too, just to get a rough idea of the lay of the land and approximate how fucked their situation was.
→ 4 x BX-450 Rapid Oscillation (RO) Duratanium Katanas, mounted in four bespoke scabbards at Bushido’s hips. Each one vibrates at an insanely-fast rate, not unlike an electric carving knife or a vibroblade from Star Wars, enabling them to cut through Swarm like butter, and easily slice through most obstacle or armor systems without much issue. As if that wasn’t enough, the blades can be electrified to cause additional damage to a target or even take down an enemy non-lethally by hitting them with the flat of the blade. Uses 4 slots.
→ 2 x Variable Flight Units (VFUs), mounted on Bushido’s calves and feet. Resembling the antiquated wings of a Harrier jet, these are ideal for both atmsopheric and spaceflight. Bushido can rotate her calves and hips in an impossible way to lock the VFUs on her legs together with a result that looks not unlike a mermaid’s tail and orient the combined flight units in any direction, allowing her dramatically-increased speed in a single direction at a time at the expense of using her legs in combat. Uses 2 slots.
→ Full-Body Duratanium Armor Plating, sufficient to protect against most attacks in Bushido’s weight class. Uses 1 Slot.
→ 0.5-cubic-foot Repair Nanite Reserve, located in Bushido’s torso. These nanites form an advanced self-repair system, allowing Bushido to regenerate from any bodily damage by substituting themselves for damaged parts, so long as she has nanites left in the reserve. Generally, this is only sufficient to take care of moderate puncture wounds, lacerations, localized burns, minor scrapes and bruises, or one serious injury per refill.
Personality: Bushido has a near-perfect knowledge of ancient Japanese culture. Her memory banks contain terabytes of information on things like how to perform a tea ceremony, according to eighteen different schools dedicated to teaching the subject, and how to properly make a bonsai, and how to craft an authentic katana, and how one should properly use honorifics, and what ancient anime are the best, and so on ad nauseam. This knowledge is almost never actually used by her. She keeps it in her memory banks only in the vague hope that it might be useful someday, but that day has never actually come.
She has a strong sense of justice and self-improvement (instilled by her weeb creator in an attempt to capture Japanese ideals), and a knack for art, but at the same time has crippling self-confidence issues due to years of social missteps leading to constant belittling by her peers growing up. Creeps don’t make the best A.I. programmers.
Background: Designed as more of an art piece than a child, by a blatant Old Earth culture enthusiast whose obsession was downright pathological (the ancient term was “weeaboo”), Bushido was quickly taken away from her maniac “father” and raised in the robot equivalent of a foster care system on Wizdom.
While Bushido kept her old programming, giving her an inherent appreciation for ancient Japanese culture and peerless swordsmanship, she had a serious problem growing up: She was built with an adult body, by someone who might as well be a grown teenager at best. This led to numerous social missteps, as she had to effectively learn social skills and how to live in society through both special tutoring and trial-and-error.
Eventually, she managed to learn enough to be a functional adult, but the fact still remained that she had been designed with close-combat ability in mind, with milspec parts that her creator had acquired through shady means. She might as well be tailor-made to join the military. And so she decided to go through with the process and join the Wizdom armed forces, where she received proper military upgrades that augmented her strengths instead of the black-market hack-job she had before.
"Why do you always drink green tea, anyway? The stuff doesn't even make good biofuel."
Bushido looked up from her mug of warm, green liquid. "Programming," she said curtly.
"Programming? Who would program drink preferences into their daughter?" was the incredulous reply of Snowpoint, a ranged unit specialized for arctic conditions. And Bushido's lunchmate this time.
"A crazy wannabe Old Earth anthropologist who only ever focused on the culture of a long-dead island nation."
"...That was your creator?"
"Hai-I mean yes."
"Eeesh. It shows."
"I've mostly outgrown my programming, but not completely. You can't even comprehend how many times I've thought about having someone change a few variables so I can be done with it."
Snowpoint's face simulated going pale. More pale than she already was, anyway. "You'd go that far?"
Bushido took a long drink of tea and sighed. "It's not just the odd language quirk. I have terabytes of information on this old culture in my memory banks. Nippon, it was called. Japan, to others. And don't get me wrong, it'd be nice to have in a museum somewhere, but it's just taking up space as it is. And some of it gets...weird. Too weird."
"Why'd he do this to you anyway?"
Bushido looked up from her tea, looking Snowpoint in the eye. "I wasn't his daughter, to him. I was an art piece that could talk. He saw me as, and I quote, 'the perfect encapsulation of Japanese culture, immortalized in steel and personified through the female form.' He'd have me do things for him, like perform an ancient tea-making ceremony and slice fabric mats with these swords of mine. And he was as happy as a small child when I did it. Until someone with a processor stepped in and took me away."
Snowpoint simply took a long look at her and swallowed, taken aback by her story. "...I see."
"So now do you see why I drink green tea?"
"Y-yes, but what does that have to do with Nippon?"
Bushido didn't know whether to be overjoyed or ticked that she had an opportunity to use her encyclopedic knowledge, but she dutifully began, "Well, you see..."
”Omniwrench, it does it all!” Ratchet cried out as his primary weapon flew back to his hand. He was ready to take on Firebrand, holding his wrench out like the large bludgeoning club that it was, while the pyrobat was finished off by Death. He could already tell that this enemy was a cut above the rest. Just because he fooled him once didn’t mean it was going to work again. Lombax versus demon, galactic ranger against legendary warrior, truly a battle for the ages was about to unfo-”Hey hey hey where are you going?! Get back here! I’m not done kicking your butt!”
Ratchet kicked a nearby piece of debris, frustrated. Clank spoke up in response. “It would appear this is our most opportune moment to escape. I suggest we capitalize on it.”
Ratchet nodded. ”Yeah, you’re right. Alright Death, let’s blow this taco stand.” With that Ratchet jumped out of the hole in the wall left by the legendary red arremer, the greatest warrior of the demon tribes, feeling admittedly a bit unsatisfied… But hey, he made it run away, so it couldn’t have been that cool of an enemy, right? Regardless, he met up with the other survivors on the streets, where as many as possible were cramming into-”Oh hey, the weapon chick is back!” … Nico’s van. Sigh. Being the narrator of comedic heroes with fourth wall interactions can be annoying when they interrupt you.
Donnie, meanwhile, was actually starting to get seriously tired of running. Certainly, his whole career was one giant exercise routine at this point, but even he had his limits, especially when just minutes prior he’d had to basically go full gymnast while wearing a full set of ornate leather-and-metal armor with his life on the line.
And besides, he had a way to make dealing with their pursuers so much easier: Why walk when you could drive?
He ran a good distance ahead of the group, and in a practiced motion, summoned the Luggage, pulled out a mount-orb, and dismissed the bag it came from in the span of about two seconds. Then, activating the potent magics in the orb, he manifested one of his most prized possessions: The Champion’s Treadblade.
This tracked motorcycle could go from 0-60 in 2.8 seconds, could get over rough terrain thanks to its tracked design, and most importantly, had two spring-loaded blades on the sides that could flick outwards with the press of a button with such force that they could chop a tauren in half.
It was his pride and joy. He only wished he had built this thing himself. And that it made its debut in the new world under better circumstances.
“OI, RATCHET!” he yelled, “HOP ON! WE’RE GOING TO THIN THE HORDE!”
Ratchet had just brained a zombie with his omniwrench when Donnie called out to him. He sideflipped over, firing a bone spike from his handcannon while upside down in the air to take out a minor demon that was too close to the civilian runners. ”Time to lock and load!” Ratchet cocked his Coyote shotgun then vanished entirely from sight. Despite this, another Ratchet seemed to be running straight into a horde of Flood coming from behind while Donnie could distinctly feel his treadblade react to a new weight getting on. Ratchet reappeared, coyote in one hand and bombbuilder in the other, as the second Ratchet exploded into a violent burst of electricity amidst a swarm of enemies.
Donnie grinned as he felt Ratchet get on the back of the motorcycle. He twisted the accelerator, sending the tracked bike screaming off into firing range of the horde behind the runners. A Hunter, hiding on top of a nearby roof, tried to leap on him from above, only to botch its pounce in a horrific way when Donnie pressed the big red button on the left handlebar. The left blade activated just as the Special Infected’s lower half cleared the top of the bike, cutting the Hunter in twain, messing up its leap enough to send it tumbling to the ground, and making its intestines spill out onto the pavement in a hideous, gory mess. As its still-living body began to go into shock, Donnie’s armored boot crushed its head just before the treadblade moved on.
“Gods I love this bike,” Donnie said as the Treadblade neared the enemy.
While Donnie focused on maneuvering, Ratchet was already hard at work unloading some hefty firepower into the hordes of enemies chasing them to ensure the safest route for the civilians still on foot. It was such a shame that the bombbuilder had such a tiny, limited ammo pool, because the big explosions were best for the situation. The bigger the clump of foes, the better as he fired off proximity mines into crowds until there just wasn’t any mana left in the gun and it had to recharge. The strays that got a bit too close got a blast of shotgun pellets for their trouble.
Once the bombbuilder was useless, Ratchet swapped out both his weapons, this time for the handcannon and the reaper. The good thing about having such an overwhelming swarm was that he never lacked in souls to power the reaper, and the spread shot could clear out big swaths of foes! The handcannon’s penetrating power was a boon too, but eventually it ran out of bone spikes and he had to switch to applying different kinds of ammo. Luckily the debris of their battle was plenty, so soon he was scooping up rocks, bent rebar, metal bits of shrapnel, and who knows what else and firing off with two guns like a madman.
“Pardon me, Mr. Donnie sir,” Clank spoke up, appearing on Ratchet’s back. “But I could not allow such an opportunity pass by without making a suggestion. I am fully programed to pilot any vehicle, but lack in certain physical attributes. Might I take over the driving so that you can assault the enemy with ranged chi attacks?”
Donnie thought it over for a second. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver with only a third of the street to drive on, and while Chi Burst couldn’t be used very often, this was the perfect opportunity to use Chi [/i]Wave,[/i] an ability that didn’t do a lot of damage or healing and you had to stay stationary for a long time to sustain, but oh boy did it have a large area of effect.
“Knock yourself out, but I can’t do these techniques as often as Ratchet can shoot. Cooldown period, ya know?” the monk said as he took his hands off the handlebars and prepared to cast Chi Wave. An arc of energy not unlike a shooting star viewed from a distance shot out of his hands and reached for the nearest monster, inflicting significant full-body magic damage, enough to send them crumpling to the ground, before it bounced to another, and another, and another, until it had hit seven targets.
Then, he would fire a Chi Burst, the projectile shooting through the swarm in a line, killing zombies and wounding demons as it went. He could use Chi Wave every 15 seconds, then Chi Burst every 30 seconds, but combined with Ratchet’s firepower, it would be enough to significantly increase their damage output.
Meanwhile Clank had taken the controls entirely and piloted with expert skill, if he was a bit more cautious than Donnie had been before. The little robot preferred not to get close enough to enemies to have to activate the side blades whenever at all possible. Of course, with all the carnage going on there was often no other choice. None of this changed Ratchet’s plans, wherein every time enough time had passed to fill one charge on the bombbuilder he swapped back to it in a flash to fire off another proximity mine into the crowds of enemies then immediately went back to dual shooting the handcannon and reaper, scooping up spirits and debris as ammo along the way.
Ratchet spotted a demon flying around that greatly resembled Firebrand, another red arrermer. Still irritated that the last one took off, he made sure to fire multiple reaper shots up at the thing before it swooped down at the running civilians. Yeah, that scratched that itch!
Name / Nicknames: Allison Chase, aka "The Doll Ghost"
Age: 18 (appearance stuck at 16)
Gender: Female
Role: Meister
Special Trait: Allison is a ghost, which provides her invisibility, intangibility, and flight, but prevents her from interacting with the world around her unless she possesses a vessel to use as a substitute body, usually a doll, action figure, puppet, or mannequin. She can possess any inanimate object in theory, but right now, she can't move while possessing something unless the object is articulated.
Strengths: --> Ghost form is extremely useful for scouting and exploration --> Vessels are disposable for the most part --> Ghost form is immune to any damage that doesn't act on the soul, does not need to eat, drink, or sleep, and is immune to all diseases --> Vessels can be repaired or modified if necessary --> Has unlimited stamina due to being undead
Weaknesses: --> Ghost form is extremely fragile against Demon Weapons, makes it easy for an enemy to eat her soul --> Unable to train physical strength in the same way as living people --> Ghost form can be detected by those able to sense souls --> Legally dead, unable to own property or purchase goods in anything but cash, among countless other problems and inconveniences --> Can terrify people without meaning to
Partner: Not decided
Soul Type and Appearance: A normal soul, royal blue color, constantly wears a cheeky smile
Appearance:
Her ghost form is roughly similar to this, except with a greyscale, transparent body and several stab wounds that remain to this day. She is also stuck permanently wearing a set of ghostly pajamas that can never actually come off, as they've become part of her ectoplasm.
The current vessel she's possessing is an extremely-detailed, highly-articulate, and surprisingly-resilient DWMA-made mannequin. However, it is still obviously not 100% accurate, so as not to cause an uncanny valley effect in others. This is most telling with the mouth, which is a simple marionette-style open-and-close affair, given that she doesn't need to move her vessel's mouth to speak.
Personality: Allison has been through a lot, being dead and all, but she prefers to look on the bright side of things. After all, her parents had their souls eaten, but she didn't, so in a way, she's still alive, right? She also refuses to pass on, preferring to spend as much time in the world of the living as she can, making sure that the tragedy that befell her and her family can never happen to anyone else.
She has a vicious hatred for those who would consume souls for their own personal gain, and believes in the DWMA's cause. She also believes that the United States seriously has to recognize that the ghost community exists. Being legally dead is not fun. If she manages to rescue a soul in the line of duty, she make sure to treat it with as much respect and dignity as possible.
Backstory: For the first 16 years of her life, Allison was a normal girl who went to a normal school, had normal friends, and was all-around completely ordinary.
Then a mask-wearing serial killer broke into her house in the middle of the night and murdered Allison and her entire family with a chef's knife before eating her family's souls right in front of her. She was lying on the ground, completely helpless, unable to move or speak, and waiting for the end. The final, permanent death that so many feared.
At the last possible second, she heard a blade meet flesh, and the killer fell to the ground before he could take a bite. The next second, her tiny soul was being held by someone completely different. A young girl, roughly in her age group, with a black school blazer, a miniskirt, and a deadly-looking scythe. The scythe transformed into a white-haired teenager who consumed the killer's red soul right then and there, scaring the shit out of her even further, before they discussed what to do with her.
It wasn't like she had a say in the matter, being mute and all, and they eventually took her with them.
And it was a long trip to the pair's destination. She was shoved into a suitcase so she couldn't exactly tell what was going on, but it lasted for what felt like days.
It turned out that it had been much shorter than that, because the pair were apparently headed to the DWMA's campus in Nevada, which...well, now that she thought about it, made perfect sense. But she was still worried about what would happen, and being locked in a mute, paralyzed state while stuck in Suitcase Hell for what felt like an eternity wasn't helping matters, along with the fact that, you know, her entire family was dead and she couldn't even go to the funeral.
All in all, it had been absolutely miserable, soul-crushing experience, but thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the world became much brighter...and she was still in her pajamas. In public. On the DWMA steps. While a ghost. For the first time ever.
Naturally, she freaked out and probably left a horrible impression on the rest of the school, but before she could get upset enough to consider going full poltergeist on the DWMA, a bunch of faculty members rushed outside and managed to calm her down enough to explain the situation (with her rescuers' help) and get her inside and situated.
To make a long story short, she was legally dead, meaning that she was also homeless, since she could no longer own property and her parents' house could only go to living next-of-kin. This also meant that she had nowhere else to go, so she begged to stay at the DWMA. She was allowed to enter the rolls as a student, supplied with a custom-made mannequin to possess, and became the DWMA's first ghost student. In time, she grew to appreciate the school and came to recognize it as her true home, though she's never fully forgiven Maka and Soul for what happened while on the way to the academy that fateful night.
Name / Nicknames: Allison Chase, aka "The Doll Ghost"
Age: 18 (appearance stuck at 16)
Gender: Female
Role: Meister
Special Trait: Allison is a ghost, which provides her invisibility, intangibility, and flight, but prevents her from interacting with the world around her unless she possesses a vessel to use as a substitute body, usually a doll, action figure, puppet, or mannequin. She can possess any inanimate object in theory, but right now, she can't move while possessing something unless the object is articulated.
Strengths: --> Ghost form is extremely useful for scouting and exploration --> Vessels are disposable for the most part --> Ghost form is immune to any damage that doesn't act on the soul, does not need to eat, drink, or sleep, and is immune to all diseases --> Vessels can be repaired or modified if necessary --> Has unlimited stamina due to being undead
Weaknesses: --> Ghost form is extremely fragile against Demon Weapons, makes it easy for an enemy to eat her soul --> Unable to train physical strength in the same way as living people --> Ghost form can be detected by those able to sense souls --> Legally dead, unable to own property or purchase goods in anything but cash, among countless other problems and inconveniences --> Can terrify people without meaning to
Partner: Not decided
Soul Type and Appearance: A normal soul, royal blue color, constantly wears a cheeky smile
Appearance:
Her ghost form is roughly similar to this, except with a greyscale, transparent body and several stab wounds that remain to this day. She is also stuck permanently wearing a set of ghostly pajamas that can never actually come off, as they've become part of her ectoplasm.
The current vessel she's possessing is an extremely-detailed, highly-articulate, and surprisingly-resilient DWMA-made mannequin. However, it is still obviously not 100% accurate, so as not to cause an uncanny valley effect in others. This is most telling with the mouth, which is a simple marionette-style open-and-close affair, given that she doesn't need to move her vessel's mouth to speak.
Personality: Allison has been through a lot, being dead and all, but she prefers to look on the bright side of things. After all, her parents had their souls eaten, but she didn't, so in a way, she's still alive, right? She also refuses to pass on, preferring to spend as much time in the world of the living as she can, making sure that the tragedy that befell her and her family can never happen to anyone else.
She has a vicious hatred for those who would consume souls for their own personal gain, and believes in the DWMA's cause. She also believes that the United States seriously has to recognize that the ghost community exists. Being legally dead is not fun. If she manages to rescue a soul in the line of duty, she make sure to treat it with as much respect and dignity as possible.
Backstory: For the first 16 years of her life, Allison was a normal girl who went to a normal school, had normal friends, and was all-around completely ordinary.
Then a mask-wearing serial killer broke into her house in the middle of the night and murdered Allison and her entire family with a chef's knife before eating her family's souls right in front of her. She was lying on the ground, completely helpless, unable to move or speak, and waiting for the end. The final, permanent death that so many feared.
At the last possible second, she heard a blade meet flesh, and the killer fell to the ground before he could take a bite. The next second, her tiny soul was being held by someone completely different. A young girl, roughly in her age group, with a black school blazer, a miniskirt, and a deadly-looking scythe. The scythe transformed into a white-haired teenager who consumed the killer's red soul right then and there, scaring the shit out of her even further, before they discussed what to do with her.
It wasn't like she had a say in the matter, being mute and all, and they eventually took her with them.
And it was a long trip to the pair's destination. She was shoved into a suitcase so she couldn't exactly tell what was going on, but it lasted for what felt like days.
It turned out that it had been much shorter than that, because the pair were apparently headed to the DWMA's campus in Nevada, which...well, now that she thought about it, made perfect sense. But she was still worried about what would happen, and being locked in a mute, paralyzed state while stuck in Suitcase Hell for what felt like an eternity wasn't helping matters, along with the fact that, you know, her entire family was dead and she couldn't even go to the funeral.
All in all, it had been absolutely miserable, soul-crushing experience, but thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the world became much brighter...and she was still in her pajamas. In public. On the DWMA steps. While a ghost. For the first time ever.
Naturally, she freaked out and probably left a horrible impression on the rest of the school, but before she could get upset enough to consider going full poltergeist on the DWMA, a bunch of faculty members rushed outside and managed to calm her down enough to explain the situation (with her rescuers' help) and get her inside and situated.
To make a long story short, she was legally dead, meaning that she was also homeless, since she could no longer own property and her parents' house could only go to living next-of-kin. This also meant that she had nowhere else to go, so she begged to stay at the DWMA. She was allowed to enter the rolls as a student, supplied with a custom-made mannequin to possess, and became the DWMA's first ghost student. In time, she grew to appreciate the school and came to recognize it as her true home, though she's never fully forgiven Maka and Soul for what happened while on the way to the academy that fateful night.
Punished GN
