Simple Unicycle

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Complete sheet up.

Some Guy With Too Much Time On His Hands

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

V I C S A G E

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^{_{C H A R L E S V I C T O R S Z A S Z ♦ J O U R N A L I S T ♦ H O B O K E N , N E W J E R S E Y ♦ W W N N ( H O B O K E N B R A N C H )}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"When other guys go on a quest to find their place in life, they get into something like meditation or yoga or designer drugs. Me? I move to a city I've never been to before and go around town kicking teeth in."}

Vic Sage wasn't a nice man. Hotheaded, stubborn as hell, and with a tendency to ruffle the wrong people's feathers. His unbridled ambition managed to land him a job working at the Hub City branch of Worldwide News Network, a small news network (ironic, considering the name) that had slowly been opening new branches in major cities in the East Coast and Midwest since 1998. Over the course of a year, he managed to work his way up from penning articles for their website to achieving a position as one of their newscasters. His career as a newscaster was rather short-lived, however; on the night of his first broadcast, he went off script and began to slam various businesses that backed the network, accusing them of having ties to organized crime on live television.

His superiors had their sponsors breathing down their necks, but the general public had loved it. The video of Vic's live rant had gone semi-viral and he attained minor celebrity in his hometown. They couldn't just fire him, so the best course of action was to send him somewhere where he wouldn't be a problem. That place was Hoboken, home to the oldest (and most underfunded) branch of Worldwide News Network with the lowest ratings. No one would care about his rantings and ravings because no one watched it there.

Vic, for his part, has managed to take the move in stride. Besides, Hub City had been a little too quiet for him lately. He needs a new stomping ground if he wants to get serious about this vigilante thing, and Hoboken (and the nearby New York City) might be just the place to start. Maybe someday he can actually do something about those corrupt corporate mobsters.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I know that the last time I played the Question I only wrote two posts then dropped off the face of the planet. Part of me regrets not sticking around longer than I did, while another part of me doesn't; disappearing for three months gave me time to sort myself out and get my ideas straight. I had been in these games for months on end and didn't have time to really breathe and think about what I wanted to do. After a few months rest, I'm getting that arpee itch again after being away so long (reading the first issue of The Deaths of Vic Sage certainly helped too), and I'm back and ready to reclaim my title as "The One Guy Who Really Likes The Question And Always Plays Him In Those Comic Games".

Regarding the story of this latest attempt, I want to tell something resembling an origin story. This Vic hasn't yet donned his trademark no-face mask and trenchcoat, but is rather testing the waters by going out in a ski mask at night to beat up petty crooks and other such types. He's less targeting specific organizations and more trying to find his way as a powerless vigilante in a world increasingly populated by metahuman heroes. I have a vague outline going in but want to keep it loose for maximum flexibility; to put it basically, by the end of this season I want to see him in costume and tackling bigger threats. As for the moving of Vic from his native Hub City to Hoboken, I did so mostly so I could be closer to NYC without actually stepping on the toes of those in the city itself. This also has the advantage of being close enough to the city to allow for crossovers should the players there want to collaborate with little old me.

When it comes to stylistic influences I actually have way less than I did for other characters in the past; this probably helps as they were all style, no real substance in my opinion. The most I can say is that I've been replaying Hotline Miami 1 and 2 a lot lately, so the included soundtracks for my post will contain a lot of music by artists featured in those games and other artists in the genre.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Supporting Cast

TBA; don't expect any big names here.

Vic's Mixtape

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Issue 1.00

V I C S A G E

_{Location and Time: Hoboken, New Jersey - New Years Eve, 11:34 PM}

Issue 1.00: Divide

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

The pulse pounding beat emanating from my stereo combined with the three energy drinks I had just chugged were enough to keep the adrenaline flowing through my blood. These back roads are empty, far away from everyone that's getting ready to watch the fireworks from across the river. Part of me thinks that I could hit up the festivities when I'm done, but I have no time for those thoughts. Right now all I've got on my mind is a warehouse full of punks one of my contacts told me about. Some no-good gangsters squatting there, using it for drugs or weapons or whatever else I've got no clue, all my contact told me was that there was bad stuff going on there. I probably should take it with a grain of salt, after all Roscoe had a habit of hitting the sauce, but he's never steered me wrong before. This is much, much bigger than anything else he's brought me, though.

No time to doubt him though. I'm here. I pull my VW up to the warehouse, killing the stereo and grabbing the ski mask off the dashboard. Sliding it on and opening the car door, I step out and approach the side door of the warehouse. I open it slightly and peek in, gazing around and trying to gauge what's going on in here. Just dusty old boxes as far as the eye can see until... There. A group of men sitting around a table. Only a single light pierces the darkness of the warehouse, but from what little I can see I'm positive these are mobsters or some such. I can feel the cold dam of detachment that's been holding back my anxiousness begin to strain, begging to let loose. I haven't been this nervous since my first fist fight. I need to hit something, someone.

I keep a hold on my jacket tighter. No, give it a minute. Walk forward, announce your presence, give them a chance to surrender. Like a hero would. You're a hero, Sage, not some crazy vigilante. Continuing to hold back the building tension within myself with a snarl, I step forward into the single light so the thugs can see me. They continue sitting there until I see the motions of one nudging his buddy. Quickly, they all scramble from their seats and stare at me with apprehension. For a moment I wonder why I thought this would be smart as now one of them was definitely gonna shoot me. He spoke, "Y-yo, what do you want, man?! This is our t-turf!" The voice belonged to a teenager, and was that specific tone that indicated you were terrified yet still trying to be fearless.

Hearing his words, the growing tension within me died out slowly. I pieced it together; these weren't badass mobsters, these were kids playing at being a gang. My suspicions about this info had been right, and I was stupid enough to follow through anyway. Now I was facing down a couple scared kids trying to be cool. "Don't want anything. I came to the wrong place. I'll leave." I raise my hands as I speak, trying to appearing non-threatening.

One of the other boys steps forward. "Bullshit! You're probably here to take our place over. Well we won't let you! Me and the boys are gonna fuck you up," he says, voice steady and confident unlike his comrade. In a quieter voice I hear him whisper to his friends, "Just like we always talked about. Rush him on three."

The kid definitely has a future in politics, as his taunts toward me seem to bolster the confidence of his gang. They all grab nearby wooden bats and two-by-fours, probably never actually used as weapons before, and begin to take menacing steps towards me. Four in all. I can take them.

Quietly, I hear their leader count up from one...

Two...

"THREE!"

I step back as one of the kids rushes ahead of the rest and swings his bat at me, missing by scant inches. I throw a jab at him, catching him in the side of the neck. He drops his weapon and grabs his throat, letting out a gasp. I pick up the bat and raise it above my head, swinging it hard into his head. The wooden piece of sports equipment knocks him clean to the floor and sends me stumbling forward from the sudden stop against his head. A two-by-four finds its way into my gut and I stumble backwards, accidentally dodging a baseball bat that would have caught me in the side of the head.

I drop my bat to the floor, barely keeping my footing after the attack. With a yell the leader swings his bat at me, but I manage to raise an arm and block it. I feel pain shooting up the limb from the hit and give a slight hiss. Doesn't matter. I grab the bat and yank it from him, sending him stumbling forward and right into a left hook to the jaw. He falls to the ground and I kick him in the head, knocking him out.

The other two probably would have surrendered at the sight of me standing over their unconscious leader if they weren't about as high off adrenaline as I was. They both run forward together, one swinging his bat at my head while the other swings his two-by-four at my side. I use my bat to block the first hit while repositioning myself in an attempt to avoid the second. I manage to block one attack but the other manages to catch me in the ribs. The wind knocked out of me, I stumble back and barely have time to recover enough for another dodge as a bat swings right past my face.

I reel away and create distance between myself and my opponents. Looking around, I spot an empty, sturdy crate that looks just small enough for me to lift. Tossing my bat at the two punks, I manage to nail one in the chest and knock him back before I sprint for the box. The other comes running after me, readying his two-by-four as I lift the box up over my head. Barely stepping out of the way of a wild swing, I slam the crate down onto his head and send him to the floor with a grunt. To be safe, I give him a quick kick in the side.

The last one is steadying himself by the time I return to him, gripping his head and mumbling incoherently. I pick up the discarded bat and ready it, before giving a sharp whistle. He turns his head towards me and I swing, snapping his head back and sending him back to the floor. A bit worried, I kneel down and check his pulse; still alive. Good. Don't need to kill anyone.

I look around at the unconscious teenagers, shaking my head. What a damn idiot I was for believing that old drunk. The most he ever gets me is gangs like this, so expecting him to come through on a tip about an actual mob racket? Too good to be true. With a sigh, I drop the bat to the floor and leave the warehouse behind. Best not to call the cops on these little punks, they'll probably get in enough trouble with their parents as is.

Taking off the ski mask and tossing it onto the dashboard, I wince as the adrenaline finally begins to die down and my wounds come back to haunt me. Definitely gonna be some bruises. If I'm unlucky enough I might have cracked a rib or something. Guess I'll find out in the morning. I start up the VW and drive away from the warehouse.

I drive myself to the Hudson River waterfront, parking my car and approaching the gathering crowd that's waiting there and chanting the countdown. I look down at my watch. Just in time, only a few seconds until New Years. Smiling slightly to myself, I join in, "Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

Happy New Year.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Issue 1.00: Divide (See Above)
Issue 1.01: Night Driving Avenger (Coming Soon)

Heroes Reborn: Prime Earth (Superhero/Urban Fantasy: OPEN)

A near definitely non-canon short story I wrote as my own swan song for this RP and its original incarnation, considering I'm going to have to drop from this roleplay before the 12th of November due to personal obligations. Set in this RP's universe two months before the start date, and heavily inspired by the S.T.A.L.K.E.R video game series (and Roadside Picnic, the book that inspired the games).

Gospel of the Wildlands

November 8th, 2020; 8:44 PM
Wildlands outside of Novosibirsk, Russia

The crackling of the fire and soft notes emanating from the guitar were the only sounds that could be heard in the camp. The men didn't speak much, no sense getting to know people who would either die or leave after the job was done after all, and only spoke up when something needed to be done. There were three of them in all, hired by a man named Piotr to find a "Redsun". A Redsun was a strange stone pulsing with otherwordly power, and the average Redsun sold for about 1,000 rubles on the black market; it was then resold through those channels to any government wanting to buy them for upwards of 100,000 rubles. The four men were at the bottom of this lucrative pipeline, simple aberration hunters trying to get by in a world such as this.

The city of Novosibirsk was unprepared when the Veil was torn open. Though America was hit the worst, portals still opened up throughout all of the world, unthinkable beasts and incomprehensible magic flooding out of them. Novosibirsk wasn't as lucky as Moscow or St. Petersburg, who were nowhere near any portals (but not as unlucky as Chita, which had a portal open in the most crowded area of the city), instead having to deal with a portal opening in a forest to the west; not as bad as other places, but the constant stream of demons was a hassle to deal with. Eventually, defenses were put in place, a large wall around the city keeping it closed off from anything looking to feast upon them. The surrounding wilderness was overtaken by monsters and demons, dangerous Wildlands where one wrong step means death.

The biggest change, however, was the discovery of aberrations: strange objects brimming with power untold. Called as such for their unnatural qualities by those who know of their existence, they affect any person who makes physical contact with them, and each have their own purpose. Some can make you immune to diseases, others might allow you bend the elements with the snap of a finger. Others are less than beneficial: a scant few kill their users as soon as they let go of it, others give them a strange type of cancer incurable by any sort of medical or magical intervention. There's a rumor that one completely disintegrates one of the user's loved ones and removes any trace that they even existed, including the memories of those who knew them, spoke to them even once, or even saw them in the street in passing and never again. The only one who knows they existed at all is the one who touched the aberration.

There's a large demand in Europe for aberrations, even the seemingly useless ones that made you smell of pine needles. Some study them, others weaponize their power, while a few idle rich simply want one as their next centerpiece. Whatever the purpose for buying them, the result is always the same: men and women of all ages risk their lives to find them, either out of want for cash, thrill-seeking desires for adventure, a death wish, or simply because they felt the call of the Wildlands. It didn't matter how or why you went looking for aberrations, as the experience changes everyone. Before long, they feel more at home in the hostility of the Wildlands than they do in the comforts of their city.

There's an old saying among aberration hunters: Как только человек входит в Дикие Земли, Дикие Земли входят в него. И хотя вы можете вывести человека из Дикие Земли, вы не можете отнять у него Дикие Земли. "As soon as a man enters the Wildlands, the Wildlands enter him. And while you can take a man out of the Wildlands, you can't take the Wildlands away from him." Those who try to retire come back before long. The number of aberration hunters who started at 20 and lived to see 21 is small; the number of aberration hunters who retired and never came back is near nil. A hunter stays in the Wildlands until the sweet embrace of death takes him.

The sound of a knife piercing a tin can made Artem Sokolov stop strumming his guitar for a moment. Danila Kransoff had finally gotten his can of baked beans open, and began to dig into it with a cracked plastic spoon held together by scotch tape and faith. As he scarfed it down, Mishka Belinsky chuckled, "Hungry there, Danila?"

Danila nodded. "Haven't ate since we left Novosibirsk."

"We stopped for a quick lunch not long after we left. Why didn't you eat then?" Artem asked.

"Didn't think I'd be hungry," Danila replied. "Only brought canned foods anyhow. Would be a waste to eat more than one a day, or however long we're out here."

"Blin, why didn't you say so? I brought some granola bars, just ask for one next time we stop to eat," Mishka offered.

Artem set his guitar down on the ground, figuring it would be a moment before he could play again. It was rare for there to be any sort of conversation between them these days. As the conversation trailed off, he figured he should keep it going. "How old were you two when you first started aberration hunting?"

"It's only been three months for me. I'm twenty-seven," Danila said.

"Two months for me. Twenty-nine here. And I hope you know that us aberration hunters go by months, not years," Mishka replied with a snort of laughter.

"This is my first time. Twenty-two," Artem replied, causing Danila to give a solemn nod and Mishka to chuckle again. Artem crinkled his nose. "What's so funny there Mishka?"

"You're in for a treat, kid. Prepare to have more than a few stories to tell... If you get back home, of course," Mishka laughed again.

"A man's first aberration hunt is nothing to laugh about, Mishka," Danila warned, deadly serious even as he shoveled more beans into his mouth. "It's an experience that changes the person you once were. I've seen hardened men become sobbing shells of who they once were, and soft-faced boys become unfeeling killers. The Wildlands... They change a man."

Danila looked around, eyes sparkling with a mixture of horror and love for what he was seeing. In the trees, a small creature squawked, spreading grungy wings and taking off into the horizon. Danila shook his head and sighed. "I was sixteen when this all happened. I used to walk through these same woods in my free time. Even now, after all that's happened... The creatures that call this place home now... Before, the most I had to worry about was a bear coming through. Now? Demons that can rip me in two before I can blink."

"That doesn't matter to me. If I died here, right now, I would be glad that it's here and not some crowded city where I'd be chucked into an incinerator after death. I've never held as much respect for a place as I have these Wildlands. Even after all that's happened, it holds a beauty to me." He finished his speech by throwing the can of beans over his shoulder and wiping his mouth with a sleeve. "I can never leave my home. And now, my home is the Wildlands."

The conversation drifted away slowly after that, Artem and Mishka sitting in silence and considering Danila's words. He spoke of the Wildlands with an almost religious sort of zeal, the sort of worship saved for gods and other idols. In this new world, after all that had happened, it was hard to find faith in whatever gods were out there. Indeed, most men had moved on to believing in their environment rather than any sort of higher being. For men such as Danila, that was the Wildlands.

Artem picked up his guitar after a moment, plucking tentatively at the strings for a moment before beginning to strum. As the music played, the other two men huddled up near the fire, warming themselves up as the moon watched over them. They were all here for their own reasons. Artem Sokolov for the thrill and adventure it gives him. Mishka Belinsky for the cash it nets him. Danila Kransoff for the grand meaning he hopes the Wildlands will grant him.

The creatures within the Wildlands had all either settled into their homes for the night, sleeping softly until the morning comes, or hunting whatever runts they could find still awake while the night was good. In a way, nothing has changed; hunters massacre prey for their packs, while the prey hide away from the hunters. The only difference is that where there were once normal animals, now these things can barely be classified as living creatures. To us they are terrifying, apparitions of a world we should not know. Then again, one must consider that to them we must be the same way. They are far from home, in a foreign and hostile place they've never been, but are making the most of it. That is all they can do, after all.

Artem strums his guitar.

Mishka begins sharpening a hunting knife.

Danila speaks a silent prayer to the Wildlands.

Artem pauses to recall the notes that come next. After a moment, his strumming begins anew, and the cycle continues. Strum, stop, strum, stop, strum, stop. It goes on until Mishka says goodnight and lays on a blanket under the stars, then Danila joins him in slumber soon after while resting against a log. Artem continues strumming for one final moment, then sets the guitar down and lays down as well. The fire crackles, then dies out.

In the morning, they wake at dawn, eat breakfast, then continue on into the Wildlands. They won't find that Redsun just sitting around.

If you've reached the end of this, thank you for reading. I've been with this RP for two years now, since its original incarnation, and I'm sad I have to go. But life must go on, such as it does in the Wildlands. So until we meet again: see you, space cowboy.

EDIT: Oh hey, I started the 22nd page. Hell yeah. And also sort of bumped a dying thread. Not so hell yeah.

World of Light

Level 3 - (22/30) + 1 = (23/30)
Difficulty Level 2
Location: Charnal Lane
Word Count: 396

Gene focused mainly on defending Nero while the unsaid leader of their ragtag group recovered, letting the others focus on the ent. As he was fighting off the rot warts and hollows, he had time to notice the ent throwing a powerful punch at Donnie, and his jaw dropped as the attack connected and sent the monk to the ground in a bloody heap. "DONNIE!" Gene cried out. He didn't have time to help his friend though, as the rot warts and hollows were converging fast on him and Nero.

He could feel the God Hand's power draining as the nasty creatures moved in. He had to make this last attack count, or else he and Nero were toast. So, with a small mumble of prayer to whatever god had given him his powers, Gene whipped out the Roulette Wheel and started spinning. When the Wheel finally came to a spot, he found himself staring at the name of the move he was hoping for: La Bomba! A sharp "YEAH!" escaped the brawler's lips as he rose his arm up high, then smashed it into the ground.

A large shockwave appeared around Gene and Nero, obliterating the rot warts and hollows closing in on them. Just in time too, as he was forced to clasp the Deistic Brace back onto his arm to contain the God Hand's energy. Gene let out a sigh of relief, turning to Nero who seemed to be recovering. "You doing better there, champ? Don't die on me now!" As he spoke, he noticed that Donnie had recovered and was taking on the ent with the help of Banjo & Kazooie. Blazermate passed by to give the injured Nero some quick healing as well, much to Gene's relief.

Figuring that Nero was okay enough to fight back again, Gene nodded to him and spoke, "I'm gonna go help the others deal with big, ugly, and... Wood-y over there. You can handle some cannon fodder all good, eh?" With those words, he immediately broke out into a sprint to help finish off the ent. He called upon the Roulette Wheel again, knowing that La Bomba was off the list, and was pleasantly surprised to see Shockwave for his next attack. He probably still had some luck then. He unleashed the Shockwave upon the ent, hoping that that would finally finish the beast off.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I haven't even sat down to write for Question in a while and I feel like a dickhead for it. That's gonna change. Hopefully before the week is out I'll have a post up... Buuut I've said that before so take it with a grain of salt.

World of Light

Level 3 - (21/30) + 2 = (23/30) - 1 from Friend Heart = (22/30)
Difficulty Level 2
Location: Charnal Lane
Word Count: 824

As soon as preparations were done, Nero goaded the ent on and drew its attention. As the ent turned to face the heroes and its hollows burrowed up from the ground, the fight was on. Gene mostly held back and dealt with the hollows, as Nero and the others attacked the ent. Ratchet threw a few proximity mines at it (and put to use one of the abilities he had gained from the fallen Zer0), Jak blasted it with his gun, and Blazermate's sentry and horde of undead began an assault as well. Overall, the fight was going well. As the shockwave came by, Gene quickly leapt high into the air, just barely clearing it... And falling onto his ass not long after, grunting in mingled pain and annoyance. He'd have to learn how to make a proper landing.

The battle continued on, with Gene's allies attacking anything that wasn't each other. Blazermate pointed out that the ent had a weak spot, right on its upper back, and the others took advantage of this revelation as soon as they could. Ratchet blasted it in the back while Donnie covered the beast in alcohol and lit it up; however, their attacks weren't enough to set the ent ablaze. It was, however, enough to make it mad. It let out a screech and thrashed its arms around wildly at whoever was near it.

As Gene put down another hollow, he noticed Nero soaring at the beast via a wire attached to one of its flailing arms. He retracted the wire just as he hit the weak spot, revved up his sword, and slammed down in a fiery spin while yelling "DOUBLE DOWN!" as a way to call out his move. It seemed that Nero's attack had worked, because now he was on the beast and pummeling its weak spot! Gene let out a cheer at the sight. Nero was killing it!

Then, it was all over in a flash. The ent released some sort of toxic gas that sent Nero flying backwards. Gene's cheers gave way to a gasp of shock. What the hell!? He didn't have time to focus on Nero though, as the ent shot more of the stuff at him and his buddies! Gene's quick reflexes saved him from the first blast with a fast sidestep, and he acted quickly enough to backflip out of the way of the other one. Covering his mouth with his hands, he sprinted through the gas as quick as possible to reach Nero. He noticed another enemy type starting to show up, as well as a fresh wave of hollows from the ground, but he couldn't let that distract him.

Donnie had thankfully reached Nero and cast a spell that seemed to help him out a bit by the time Gene arrived. He wasn't sure just why he was so dedicated to saving Nero, but then he remembered what it was that drew him to Nero in the first place. Some sort of strange bond between souls, worlds apart but with the same spirit at their core. Nero was recovering slightly from Donnie's intervention, but Gene knew there was something he could do to help.

"Uh, this might seem weird, so just bear with me." As if on instinct, he placed a hand on his heart then raised his arms to the air. A bright pink heart appeared in his hands. "Woah! Okay, here we go!" Gene passed the heart over to Nero. "Alright, stay calm, don't die. I've got an ent to beat the crap out of!" With those words, he headed straight for the ent.

Donnie had done some damage to it already thankfully. Now Gene just had to help finish the job. Placing a hand on the Deistic Brace, Gene ripped it off and felt the power of a god flow through him, as he had so many times before. Alright, he had to make this count! Approaching the ent, Gene circled around it from behind and then jumped up onto its weak point. Other people wouldn't be able to do this, but with the God Hand's added invulnerability, he'd be able to make a dent without having to worry about the toxin!

Taking in a deep breath to psych himself up, Gene grinned and then began to lay the beatdown on the ent's weak point. He hammered it with his regular combo, occasionally throwing in a kick when he felt like shaking things up. The rapid hits he had gone for with this combo helped immensely in laying down the heat quickly and efficiently. To finish off his barrage of attacks, he jumped up into a spinning barrel kick, delivering a final blow to the ent that sent him falling off of its back.

Backflipping away from the ent, Gene then focused on weeding out the Rot Warts while he still had some invincibility left. He just hoped that Nero would be alright.

Breeder.

Thank you Fugitive, very cool.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I'm not gonna dampen the spirits with another post about leaving the game, so I'm just gonna say that I'm going to try and get a post up. My IRL life has been hectic as shit for the last week and I haven't had much time to just sit down and write. Hopefully, I'll have that post up soon. Not gonna set a deadline because I always miss it, though.

World of Light

Level 3 - (7/30) + 1 = (8/30)
Difficulty Level 2
Location: Charnal Lane
Word Count: 171

The constant battle against the swarms of undead and one of the two large demons had an effect on Gene; that is, instead of being his usual goofy self, he fell silent as he fought relentlessly. In fact, he didn't have time to notice that the God Hand had worn off until he felt himself growing much larger. "What the-!?" He turned, only to see the strange wizard Kamek. Gene gave a goofy grin and thumbs up to Kamek, before turning back to the remaining Suffering. Jak and the others had taken out one, and the horde of undead was thinned out exponentially. It was time to end this.

Gene pulled out his Roulette Wheel and focused on the Suffering, praying for a Divine Smash. Failing that, literally anything that wasn't Grovel or La Bomba. He gave the wheel of fate a spin, and its decision was made...

Shockwave!

Satisfied, Gene let loose a shockwave at the Suffering as it charged right for him. God could only hope this would work.

World of Light

Level 3 - (4/30) + 3 = (7/30)
Difficulty Level 1

And

Donnie

Level 3 - (20/30) + 3 = (23/30)
Location: Charnel Lane, Dead Zone
Word Count: 1,264

Donnie Loots:

Purging Stone

Humans are helpless against curses, and can only redirect their influence. The Purging Stone does not dispel curses, but receives them as a surrogate. The stone itself was once a person or some other being.

And also acquired from the earlier zombie:



Unarmed Combat

The limp right arm of some suit-wearing sucker. A stronger melee weapon than it might seem; it has no durability, instead regenerating from damage done to it, and kills with it cause a disembodied voice to shout 'Arm kill!' in celebration.

Donnie had opted not to use the Disc this time around, instead choosing to stay in the back of the van, where he examined the item he had obtained from the Tank. It was a bizarre little thing. At first glance, he had assumed it was some kind of cursed trinket, what with the creepy black skull in the middle and what felt like the spirit of a human being inside it.

But as he analyzed it with his enchanting equipment, he soon came to realize it was quite the opposite. It was an ingenious yet disgusting device. This little stone was once a man, and it still held that metaphysical status even in its current state, which meant it could be affected by curses. When the enchantment inside was activated, it redirected a curse onto the soul of the person inside. He shouldn't have expected much better, frankly, from the Spirit of a twisted monstrosity like the Tank.

All of his adventuring instincts told him to throw this abomination into a deep dark hole where it could never be found, or better yet, find a way to free the poor bastard inside.

But as he analyzed it further, he registered that the soul inside was no longer conscious or aware, and there was no way in hell he was going to be able to free the hapless man any time soon.

He thought back to Gene, completely unaware that he had likely been infected by whatever plague was powering those ghouls. He had known that some of them were still alive. The tongue of the zombie that had grabbed him was still warm. Possibly some kind of insanity-causing curse?

He had no idea if what Gene was infected with was biological or magical. Zombies in his world were animated by magic, but the Plague of Undeath spread like an illness.

He was no doctor, but he had to try. Better than letting Gene succumb to homicidal insanity. So, full of trepidation, he packed up his enchanting equipment, palmed the black stone, and walked back over to the seating area, sitting down next to the brawler.

“Hey Gene? I’ve got something to show you,” he said. Something in his voice probably gave away that this wasn’t the “happy” kind of showing.

Gene was a bit busy scratching his skin at the moment. It'd started getting really itchy for some strange reason. What's up with that? It was starting to really freak him out. Despite his circumstances in his own world, he was usually really healthy, so why would that change now?

Did it have anything to do with that fat zombie that barfed on him? He really should've dodged when he heard that noise. Now he was getting screwed for it. And he had just washed it off! By now the goop was in the van's plumbing. Nero was gonna kill him for that.

His thoughts were interrupted by Donnie's voice. Gene perked up, looking at Donnie curiously. "Uh, what's up?" he asked.

“First, have you been feeling okay lately?” It was patently obvious what Donnie was referring to.

Gene blinked. Jeez, it was like Donnie read his mind. "Uh... Yeah, actually. My skin's been really irritated and itchy..." He moved his hand from his unarmored forearm, revealing that his skin had become ghostly pale. "... Oh shit. It wasn't like that before."\

“Yep, you’re infected. I don’t know if this will work, but I might have a cure. I got this from the big zombie.” He shoved the black stone into Gene’s hands. “Hold this in your hand and try to concentrate on the illness going away. I know it sounds like hocus-pocus, but trust me, I figured out what this stone does.”

Taking the stone that was shoved into his hands, Gene looked it over. It looked... Pretty damn spooky. But hey, it'd cure him! So that had to mean it wasn't that bad.

"Alright, thanks Donnie." With those words, Gene took the stone in hand, closed his eyes, and attempted to focus on the illness. To help him along, he imagined himself beating the crap out of it so it'd leave him alone.

A almost draining like effect appeared all over Gene's body. After a few moments, Gene felt... A lot better! The itching was gone. Opening his eyes, Gene looked at his forearm and saw that his skin's pigment had returned to normal. However, the Purging Stone was destroyed in the process. "Wow! It's a good thing we got that thing, or I'd have been a goner. Thanks, Donnie."

“You’re welcome.”

Holy fuck that actually worked. Donnie couldn’t believe his eyes. Either these zombies really were cursed, or the weird physics of this world let it go through anyway. Either way, Gene was cured.

Suddenly, the van flipped over. Donnie’s world hadn’t developed seatbelts yet, however, so he was not secured enough to avoid tumbling all over the place. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

And unluckily for Gene, he hadn't even been in a car until today. Just like Donnie, he went tumbling to the floor of the van. "What the hell was that?!"

Donnie peeled himself off of Gene and looked out the windows. Yep, everything had gone to the Twisting Nether. Nero was holding the van off the edge of a cliff with one arm, the zombies were glowing green, and there were two nasty demons outside. The monk acted quickly. Fiddling with the locked car door, he managed to get it open.

Donnie summoned the Disc and flew around to the van’s front, pushing against it. He was in peak physical condition, but he didn’t actually have to do much here: Nero was holding the van in place, and the Disc could move freely in the air. So he could just command the Disc to move forwards and up, digging its lip under the van and helping him push the vehicle up.

“Let me help you out!” he got out, grunting with exertion as he pushed against the van’s grille with all of his strength.

Gene, for his part, managed to get himself steady enough that he could start climbing to the door Donnie had just opened. He looked around, seeing it was just over the edge of the cliff, enough for him to jump right over to safety, which he did.

The only problem? There was now a shitload of pissed off zombies and two really pissed off demons to account for. Gene looked around, wondering what the hell to do, when he remembered the God Hand. It had recharged by now, and it could help keep the infected off of the van!

Grabbing the Deistic Brace, Gene ripped it off, and felt the power of a God flow through him. Grinning, he rushed forward, delivering a leaping kick that tore through multiple infected.

"KEEP WORKING! Gene shouted to Donnie and Nero, while he began to clear out the various zombies. He only hoped the two demons would be attracted to him, somehow. Maybe...

Right! He could try and piss them off deliberately! During a lull in the combat, Gene focused on the two demons, sticking his arm out in a thumbs down and yelling, "Bo-ring!" As if on cue, the two demons started to look a lot more pissed off than they did before.

... So much so that they started running right to him. Screw it, he was invincible! For a little while, at least. He continued to attack the infected, and the demons if they got close enough. He could only hope it was enough.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

... Is it Iron Fist? I have a feeling it's Iron Fist.