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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Apr 25, 2013 22:27:27 GMT -7
He was getting used to it. The speed of this man. It was slow. White was faster. The moment the being leapt to the air, White moved, his ragged white trench coat seeming a blur as his legs moved him.
His body moved, rolling under, his back and shoulder moving across the ground, as he went under Alex who was in the apex of his leap. Can't change your flight path without wings.
And if this thing suddenly did just that, White had decided he would just give up and go home. Put a movie on and drink some beer.
He kept moving...Till there was no more ground to run across. As his feet left the edge of the building, he did a sharp twist that made his bones make little popping noises as he launch himself into a corkscrew leap off the ledge. His back facing down, his neck craned to see Alex...Or rather, the fuel tanks that sat atop the building.
Fuel tanks usually had thick steel to contain the pressure of the gas and protect it from adverse shocks. If White had shot it with a 9x19mm Parabellum, it would have been fine.
A 500. Smith and Wesson Magnum however...The slug rocketed forth from White's revolver just as he began to fall to the ground below.
It soared, making White's previous speed seem trivial as it cut the air, broke the sound barrier and tore into the steel of the fuel container. All that flammable material spewed forth...Right over the cigarette lighter White had left behind on the rooftop, its flame still burning.
He'd regret that later when he was dying for a smoke.
One little flame. All it took for canister to erupt, with fire and force to match this White Mask's wrath. An explosion that would echo across the city, probably start a fire.
To be fair, the town was already being attacked by a massive monster, one gas based explosion starting a fire was the least of their concerns...
As White plummeted to the ground it occured to him...
"I could have done the same thing with a bag of flour"
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Post by Alexander on Apr 30, 2013 13:51:48 GMT -7
And so it was, when the strike cut through the thick nothings of nothing before inevitably striking the hardened surface of the firmament they had all four been standing upon, that the outcry occurred. That violent eruption; a sorrow of sorrows that pierced him to his very core with an angered scream that promised an inevitable death.
All became as nothing; white.
He stood in that place now. Arms bore against himself and himself as stares engaged before the clash fought for the sake of dominance over dominance; Faceless faces against reflections not quite that of themselves. Therein was the discord; the eternal battle against all that was and was not.
And it was there also.
Such a faceless face standing in the midst of the burning flames as though a predator prepared to lay claim on it's prey with promises of it's own. Promises of a lifetime of slavery and servitude, domination and obedience, complete and utter confinement forcing submission to a will not of his own.
Only such promises were wasted on those such as the White Mask.
Crippled by such an outpoured wrath was he brought to his knees. Weakened, his breaths labored restlessly as trembling arms struggled to support the weight of such a blow and yet even now, in such a pathetic and vulnerable state, the struggle for dominance continued to rage heavy.
Yet despite such an upheaval,
There was no pain.
There was never any pain.
Only the tumult of the turning.
The mask fell off of his face revealing a humanity once hidden therein. It dissipated quickly in a whisp of a black whisping becoming as nothing in the nothing around him. There he remained in the light of burning fires, in the shadow of a faceless face, amongst gentle snowfall that felt neither cold nor hot upon his skin, and the darkness that pressed upon him greatly.
And she was there in the shadows,
In the shadows,
She watched White.
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on May 11, 2013 18:23:44 GMT -7
Eyes forced themselves open as White awoke on the cold hard ground....He felt himself spasm, he felt the pain rush through him from his back...Oh god he had landed on his back...He must've passed out from exertion and pain alone....He felt paralysed and stiff...He couldn't stay here. He could smell smoke. He had to move. Had to keep going...Had to survive.
An iron will, stubborn to the fullest as he rolled himself onto his front by throwing his weight across...From there it was dragging himself forward with his hands till his legs started working again...It'd take some time. For now, his arms worked enough. It felt like an age, an eternity for White to feel confident in his legs to attempt to stand up...Grabbing hold of a pipe on the wall, he dragged himself up till his foot touched the ground. Still holding onto the pipe, balancing himself as he tried to move forward still shaking and likely to fall...
For a while, he stood there, letting blood flow and his breathing deep...God it hurt so much...Maybe he should just...No, that building would burn down...He'd become a victim. At least go somewhere where he'd be safe. One foot in front of the other, he began to move. One foot in front of the other, he progressed. One foot in front of the other, he went forward...Naught but a will of steel kept him from falling to his fatigue and pain or his weakness.
Morgan...Niko...The Knight...His Weird Arse Horses. He'd forgotten all about them in his frenzied stupour of battle. The former had been dissapeared to somewhere else. The Knight hadn't helped him. What a dick. The horses were weird.
Satisfied with his summation of what had happened, White continued back towards the place where he left the Knight and his weird Horses. One foot in front of the other. That's all it took.
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Nightmare
Nightmare
[M:98235:38435224543:]
Posts: 36
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Post by Nightmare on Jun 10, 2013 16:42:24 GMT -7
The 'cavalry' that had materialized to slow the Nightmare's rampage had grown smaller and smaller, down to the Galahad that remained mounted on his fiery steed, and the groups of Ephemeral that had split from each other in the chaos of avoiding the beast's strikes. The Base's best teleporter had run out of the energy needed to take the rest of the Judges to safety as often, and the team was running on fumes.
The beast that had caused all of this, still hadn't let up. If there was any indication that it was growing weaker, it was doing its best to hide it. For now its rage was fueling it to destroy more of the complex; although it missed the team of Fighters by a narrow margin, metal melted under the heat of its claws. Part of the building crumbled with no one there to defend it.
The Judges joined up with Galahad and the remaining Ephemeral copies. Arcane charged another duplication spell to cast and create another makeshift shield to distract the beast, but there was no time for the spell to set in. Another sweep, and the spellcaster was knocked away and sent crashing to the ground, unconscious if not bleeding. The copies faded just as quickly as they'd come.
Galahad turned to the group and motioned for them to escape while they still could. He, however? He would stay. He knew the humans were different than he and his companion; they had limits, but as long as he hadn't faded away, he could still fight. That was the only limit he perceived.
The sound of approaching footsteps reached him, somehow, past the distant rumble of rubble falling away, the explosions and mayhem caused by the ongoing battle beyond this place. He wondered for a moment who in the group had remained to continue this fight aside from him, but he pushed it out of mind. For now he charged at the beast, and if he was defeated in the attempt, then it was for a good cause. Or, what he thought was one.
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Post by Alexander on Aug 4, 2013 1:41:41 GMT -7
Pain.
If such an aspect of humanity were tied into the existence of such a one as this, it would perhaps be more so prevalent now in his hands that seemed numbed; Numbed as though he had grappled against the ferocity of ten raging beasts that battered against the strength of his arms. And even so, his body spoke of some manner of endured suffering, for his chest and his arms cried out in a sort of limp fatigue that he simply shrugged off and regarded as nothing if anything at all.
"...What the hell?" Was the single thought that flickered in his mind at that moment as he stood himself upward amidst a smolder and it's bellow of smoke. Of course such a thought was all too common for this one. Confusion was more so prevalent than any numbness felt or the throbbing pulse of his veins as they rapidly pumped blood into the more heavily concussed areas of his body.
This sort of pain was nothing.
It never was,
It never will be.
There Alexander stood.
A backdrop of dancing flames and smoke cast only a silhouette of his being upon any and all who looked upon that rooftop now and he walked. To the very edge of that tall tower, he walked, and outward he looked upon the world around, how it was so different and vast, and he wondered for a single moment how it was he came to be in such a place as this.
A flicker.
What was like a stinging jolt of electricity shot into the very essence of his fragmented mind to keep him from figuring out that all-releasing truth deemed more precious in his sight than any other he could possibly garner; it would never be his no matter how hard he strove to at the very least brush upon it with the tips of his fingers.
A roaring.
Alexander lifted his eyes toward the staggering sound of something seeming unreal yet tangible to the touch. A fell beast towering over this city wreaking what havoc it may. Staring for a moment, Alexander's inclination leaned toward a more frightening realization in that both that beast, this city, the very flames and their warmth, light, and smoke were far from tangible, far from a reality, far from anything he could ever hope to be apart of again, for it was indeed that Nightmare come yet again to haunt him as though a child forcefully playing thinking it is merely a dream.
A snicker,
A steady chuckle,
Laughter,
Lunacy.
Alexander thought yet again and came to realize that this fell beast was, if not sent by, a Watcher.
His laughter grew louder until, like Galahad, Alexander proceeded to charge the beast, leaping the tops of these towers, closing distances, neither concerned nor regarding of his own well being. This was all a dream, but it was not, and yet still it was, though it would never be that simple, not for him, but as he lived, all remained an unrealistic reality dreamed by a dreamer that never slept.
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