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BrokenPromise
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If we ever meet again, we'll have a nice conversation, eh?
Most Recent Posts
The intrinsic truth was ubiquitous. It was ever present, and never hidden. The truth has always been out there. So why were there still deniers? Why were there still unbelievers? Why was there an opposition.
Daimyon, Faith, Jezebel, Lucy, Noah, Zach, George, Denis…
There was a pattern to these individuals.
That’s right. Thomas was surrounded by the foundations on which the future grew. Each of the infinite’s here, they were all forged in tragedy. Some event that shaped them. All of them had bloomed already, and had grown so much. All of them, like the hands of a gentleman forced to work a field, calloused and hardened but stronger than they once were.
An opposition by aptitude. It wasn’t a truth they were struggling against. Faith’s comment made it clear. They were struggling for rationality, against what was perceived as an irrational thesis. They had all learned to oppose something because they knew that they would be stronger for it. Each of them, like lights that flickered with the future, like engines fueled by their past. Their eyes would never settle on something directly in front of them. They could only search for truth where it could be found, so for them to struggle against this truth was simply impossible.
The fact that not one of them had succumbed to Thomas’s plight, that they still sought a future where their perceived enemy was bested, that Daimyon still didn’t offer the handbook to Thomas — it was a testament of something very familiar. The Infinite Biomechanic could barely contain his excitement, he knew exactly what these individuals possessed.
Each one, a sample of an elusive sanctuary. A truth birthed from the hope and despair and lies that shaped them. A precipitate tracing as far back as the first humans, the crop de la creme, the one thing that had eluded the avarice of the hands of those who didn’t possess it. The basis on which the Initiative and Hope’s Peak before it operated. The lure which goaded the letter into its own destruction, which tantalized a student who discerned himself to be imperfect, which the Biomechanic was taught was more valuable than his own rationality.
A glimmer of true talent.
The Infinite Biomechanic wanted all of it.
”H-Hold on! Jez… Isn’t it a little, I don’t know, dishonorable to take a hostage? I mean, I know why we’re here. We all want to stop people from dying, but where do we draw the line? I mean, look at us! After this, which is already a total mess thanks Thomas, everyone's going to think we’re the baddies. Do we really want to exacerbate this issue?” Lucy looked worried, and there was a twinge of irritation in her voice.
He, who was currently ignoring the advances of Noah, spoke out against this. However, the moment his mouth opened to speak, Lucy loudly cut him off.
”Shut up. I don’t want to hear anything from you. Seriously. Have you ever heard of introspection? I doubt it, considering the position you’re in. I mean, jesus. You’re holding a woman hostage right now! How the hell does any of this make sense to you? You too, Jezebel! I mean, this situation hasn’t even diffused. If anything, it’s still escalating! Aren’t we supposed to be logical, rational thinkers. We’re supposed to pull the strings for the greater good. That’s why I came to this meeting. But right now, you’re both just making us look like goddamned brats. It’s like you have the constitution of two year olds.” Lucy got up, and began to walk towards the door. On her way out, she brushed past Daimyon. She looked him up and down, and huffed.
”I quit. My future is too important to soil with the thoughts of people like you two. And Daimyon -- You should just leave. It’s all just a game to these jackasses. I can guarantee that you’ll be sorry if you give that handbook to Thomas, so it’s best that you just don’t play along with them.” Lucy rushed out the door.
...
He was still staring at Faith intently, but he carefully listened to the full exchange. If someone was paying close attention to him, they may have noticed that color was slowly draining from his face. It could not be said whether it was because of Lucy, or because of the injuries he suffered. ”That’s unfortunate. I think your plan is excellent, Trickster.”
”I cannot say the same for you though, Poet. I do not know what you’re getting at, but your hesitation drives me to irritation. I wish not to discount the abilities or efforts of this courteous Biologist, but you're indecisiveness will ultimately result in a unfavorable outcome. Give me the handbook, now.”
@Mateotis
fun fact : this account was suppose to be some sort of mysterious meta game for dramatic effect but i couldn't do it for even three days.
fun fact : this account was suppose to be some sort of mysterious meta game for dramatic effect but i couldn't do it for even three days.
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6 yrs ago
Forum: Spam Forum
i was just testing post limits ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
excellent thread friends.
excellent thread friends.
Despite the going on's around him, Denis continued to stare at the ground. It was becoming unnatural, but there was more important developments to focus on besides him.
Daimyon’s obvious lie was insulting to Thomas, but he couldn’t think of what Daimyon would actually do besides bringing the handbook to diffuse this situation. There was exactly two people with enough conviction to oppose Thomas in this killing game, and one of them was already taking his side in this conflict. There was no tools tailored to stopping him, and even someone with a talent like Cyrus would find it difficult to negotiate with Thomas (not for lack of skill, but rather through Thomas’s own stubbornness in this situation).
Regardless, Thomas felt slightly uneasy about letting Daimyon out by himself. It was the same as the fear of the unknown. It went against his intuition to leave Daimyon unaccounted for. After all, It was only moments ago that he caught Thomas’s interest for anything other than his physique by claiming ownership of Maryanne’s handbook. It was difficult for Thomas to reduce him to predictions, and if he couldn’t do that then Daimyon was a threat.
Despite this, Thomas appeased Daimyon through his own inaction. He was gambling on his own resolve, and Daimyon’s morality. Even if he came back with reinforcements, or some sort of tool, or anything; it would all be in vain. So, Thomas was confident in the eventuality that he would receive the handbook from Daimyon.
Thomas, however, didn’t have much more time to think things through. He had vaguely been listening to Faith, but the moment she angled the knife upward he had shifted his full attention to her. He was about to speak, when the sharp pain of the knife shocked his mouth shut, like a door slamming on it’s stop. His teeth momentarily clenched, and he accidentally bit his tongue.
Thomas’s eyes hardened, and his face took on a tone. It was the first time a definite emotion escaped his stoic facade. For the first time in the killing game, a true emotion was plastered on Thomas’s whole face. His eyebrows were drawn down. His lips were drawn tight like ropes. His eyes were glaring at the back of the head in front of him. Thomas’s face spelt one thing.
Unadulterated, visceral, spitting anger.
But just like that, his face softened, and he relaxed his jaw. When he opened his mouth next, one could see the mess of blood and saliva covering his teeth and gums as a result of biting down on his tongue so hard, but Thomas spoke as if there was no damage in his mouth. He spoke as if he wasn’t feeling the pain of Faith slicing into him. He spoke normally, even as Faith drew her blade across his wrist in her second cut. The only requiem of this outburst was his eyes, which bore into Faith’s skull like drills.
“...You're wrong. This is entertaining to an exact measure, Matchmaker. You know...”
Like a broken record, or a clock which kept on ticking, Faith made a fool of herself in never ending cycles. While it was clearly her intention to disenfranchise him with her nonchalant behavior, it was nothing short of childish and admittedly predetermined by Thomas. He foresaw a reaction like this minutes ago, and had already accounted for it.
”...it must be painful…”
As Faith cut, Thomas began to bleed unnaturally quickly, as if his wrists were faucets that had suddenly been turned on. Although it was somewhat easy to guess based on his figure, there was no doubt now that Thomas was in fact anemic. The large stains that were now forming at the midriff section of Faith’s dress were a testament to that.
Despite this, Thomas set into action. His hands were somewhat shaky from the sudden blood loss, but he showed no signs of what should have been extreme pain. His third digit, which was still submerged in the vial, slowly retracted itself. Thomas let go of the vial with the hand to which that finger belonged, and raised that hand above the vial so that his wrist was now in front of Faith’s bosom, bleeding down onto the vial and hand beneath it. Thomas angled the hand now holding the vial so that the vial was shielded from the downpour, and positioned the other hands thumb beneath his glistening third digit as if he was about to snap. A large drop of the vials fluid had accumulated on the pad of his middle finger, and was beginning to run down towards the thumb he had positioned beneath it.
”...to be as inconsequential as you are.”
Without needing to see his hand or the front of Faith’s head, he took aim. With precision, he rapped his thumb upwards across his middle finger.
CRACK
With a loud crack, two things happened.
The first was a small explosion, if it was even an explosion, localized entirely to Thomas’s thumb and middle finger. It created a loud crackling noise, and suddenly imbued the room with the sickening scent of sulfur mixed with another awful, acrid odor. When Thomas opened his thumb and index finger, they were both burnt considerably. His thumb was only burnt on the pad, but the residual fluid on his middle finger burned all the way to his proximal interphalangeal joint -- the middle of his finger. Anyone who had been burnt to any degree could only imagine how painful it must’ve been.
The second was a drop of fluid be catapulted upwards, directly towards Faith’s philtrum. The fluid would likely not explode or cause any damage, as the force applied by it splattering on Faith’s upper lip [ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ] would not be nearly as much as the force applied by Thomas’s thumb on his finger, and therefore wouldn’t be enough to trigger the explosive in such a small quantity. Instead, it would serve as both a warning to Faith and a demonstration of Thomas’s own self control. On top of that, it disproved her theory. What Thomas had was indeed an explosive.
”I can just make a new pair of hands, Matchmaker. After all, I am the Infinite Bio-mechanic. But you, you are finite. There's no revoking whatever damage I might do to you.”
Thomas upper hand began to shiver, and he lowered it back down so it was back around the vial. His wrists continued bleeding.
”Faith Lambert, you’re not nearly as intelligent as you think you are. I’m ten steps ahead of every single one of you, and not one of you have even figured out what game we’re playing yet.1
There’s nothing you can do to escape my checkmate. Everything was decided the second the poet told me that he had the handbook. There’s only one thing left for you to do.”
A nerve wracking smile began to inch across Thomas’s face. His smile was different than Jezebel's wide grin. It wasn't an expression of joy, or laughter, or insanity, or anything like that. It was merely a dull expression of satisfaction.
“To you, I am Ultimate Despair. An eclipse of any hope. Give up.”
(1 youtube.com/watch?v=RA5sHv5jWqA it was done first and better on arrow)
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
don't say you weren't warned
don't say you weren't warned
@vocab yeah and you're a figuf
@vocab you god damn asswipe the vial is an explosive and faith will be very dead if she tries to trigger it now stop being difficult for once in your pettysome life and just go with the flow of things.
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