Nightmare
Nightmare
[M:98235:38435224543:]
Posts: 36
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Post by Nightmare on Jan 6, 2013 6:27:49 GMT -7
Galahad cared little for just how the situation resolved itself, only that it did. "Fine then," was his reply to the request to "kindly" lead the way. That hadn't been too kind, he had to admit, but neither was it rude. He could've been worse.
They stared up on their trek again when a dull boom echoed through the streets. The knight looked around sharply, scanning one side of the street, then the other, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. If things were starting to explode or topple over, it was a good idea to find shelter to protect from it, but the only sure thing was the Base of Operations.
He picked up the pace until his fiery Ephemeral was at the full gallop that it was used to, and the other copies followed suit. There were no more booms, just the persistent and loud rumbling of all of the nightmares charging to one direction. It would have been rather terrifying to look at... if there were anyone around to do that. The buildings here were ruined and empty, and anyone that used to be here, wasn't, leaving this section of town a desolate but easily navigable ruin.
Within a few minutes, the Base was in full view... along with a fallen metal thing and the Nightmare that Galahad was sure his charge was trying to avoid. There were people at the roof of the complex, and the knight looked to them, then back at the man in White and his two companions. They needed the attention of the judges at that moment, but the fight they were in couldn't be postponed.
The Ephemeral copies had much the same idea, minus any waiting for a consensus or a sign. A few split off from the main herd in the direction of the Nightmare, and then more and more went to join in on the distraction, leaving behind those with riders both conscious and not. Galahad took those remaining closer to the Base building to where the judges could see them.
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Post by Alexander on Jan 29, 2013 7:04:34 GMT -7
"That wasn't too kind, sir." Spoke a familiar voice, her voice, from beside White. Unabashed and unphased, she simply treked along beside him as though a companion long standing in unity.
"The real monsters here have yet to be seen. I guess you'll see it the hard way." For a moment, her voice appeared near sorrowful were it not for the overwhelming time if simple indifference she had carried about the entire time.
"And Your friends," Spoke she of vague existence, "They will suffer greater now."
Now it was at that very moment that a greater collision struck the static.and harmonious standing of the on going chaos; the fallen body of a stone giant driven through the very walls of the very buildings surrounding this entourage, and it fell before their path.
Lifeless, as a common stone, it lay upon the ground dead having been driven through by the piercings of some greater weapon that had perhaps made it's way into it's heart.
When the fray of dust and rubble cleared there would be seen the image of one walking atop the fallen giant and simply staring a deep and simple state into it's now lifeless eyes from black and lifeless eyes masked behind a white mask.
It was likened to an animal.
"Pray that one gets no wind of you, sir." Spoke the child now in almost reverent fear.
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Jan 30, 2013 14:27:11 GMT -7
"Stuff it girl; its better than standing around and doing nothing" he spoke hoarsely to the small child besides him.
He was tired of his mind eroding itself upon him and had made a decision so now it was time to stick to it ad get this over with, for better or worse. At least these horses freed up his hands again. With a pair of loaded revolvers on his belt, White fel-
Oh dammit.
Stone giant, kid with creepy mask and the aura of a beast...
White's mind raced as he processed stratagems. His revolvers were high calibre, his .500 Smith And Wesson Magnum; a speed of 460 meters per second, 1415 miles per hour...Divide by 60 for the hour... 23.5-ish miles per second. Rough estimates from figures White had memorised to troll those punk arse kids who thought a sword could stand up to a firearm.
At this range, if White could aim the firearm and pull the trigger without being uninterrupted, the kid would take the hit, 3,888 Joules worth of energy. If he hit the shoulder, he'd ruin the kid's fighting ability forever, probably kill him due to all the blood vessels in the shoulder. If it hit the leg, there was a good chance he'd cripple the kid and hit a major artery for a bleed out...The head was too unlikely a target and White preferred there to be a chance of survival, despite his military training. If he aimed for the torso, there were lungs, kidneys, liver...Scratch that, liver wasn't very useful what with regenerative traits. Heart, stomach or intestines...Intestines wouldn't be likely to kill but if the stomach was pierced, there would be stomach acids leaking out; slow painful death but the kid would keep fighting. Heart...Bah, as if. The thing was only the size of a fist so that wouldn't be practical...Lungs, those wouldn't be eventful, with one down it would more likely for he kid to survive though with decreased athletic ability, maybe a potential of passing out so White could leg it and hope someone found him...
But was there a need for violence at all? White had no idea if the boy with the mask was friend or foe but instinct said foe despite an air of familiarity...
He had wasted time trying to make a decision before, and there was no telling what condition Niko and Morgan were in. He wouldn't be able to run past. He couldn't turn around. He had to go through. Either the kid would let him pass, or White would shoot him and remove the problem...
White relaxed his body, and breathed quietly, his movements light but free. His hands glided through the air to the grip of his silver .500 Smith and Wesson Magnum 12.7mm revolver, slipping it out of its home on his belt, sliding peacefully through the air till the sights of the gun came to rest over the kid's mid torso. Centre of mass for the ideal shot. If he took one hit, it wouldn't take much for a second in case he didn't go down. And if the kid took that much of a bullet enough to carry on and attack, a simple movement of the arms and a squeeze of the trigger would put him down for good.
White didn't want to kill this kid. White didn't want Morgan and Niko to die. Kill the few to save the many, 1:2. Decision made. White's eyes tightened as something occurred to him. The knees. If he shot both the knees, the kid would be crippled and unable to fight entirely. White could walk up, cut off his air supply till he passed out and added him to the patients. And he could. He could make that shot. Somehow, something told him that he could make that shot...Faster than the kid could attack, point of the body made themselves apparent. Both knees. Both shoulders. Stomach. He could fire off all five shots, all accurate...White was a good marksman, with sniper qualifications. But he was not this good, this was unnatural...That thought of how he was this...Accurate boggled him, made him stop though he kept his firearm trained on the first area of the five round burst.
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Nightmare
Nightmare
[M:98235:38435224543:]
Posts: 36
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Post by Nightmare on Feb 5, 2013 15:03:22 GMT -7
There was no end to these distractions, was there? The Nightmare had been ready, its mouth and throat glowing with fire seconds away from being unleashed on the toppled metal suit. A blur of white drew its attention away from the armor and a jet of fire shot out towards the approaching smaller nightmare. The Ephemeral ran past unharmed, followed by others like it, and they circled the hellbeast. These nightmares and the armor both, they had the same strange powers. The Nightmare would have been enraged but it was too satisfied with having won against the mobile suit to worry. Their time would run out just the same, so the Nightmare entertained itself in the meanwhile with the "distraction" by clawing at the horses.
Unnoticed by the beast, the three dreamwalkers that were stuck inside the armor clambered out from the newly made opening. The Fighter's and Navigator's first instinct was to bolt to the Base or further yet to the Parkside with the others waiting there. The Imaginer sorely needed that notion himself; he was too busy lamenting the loss of his mobile suit and musing about how long the repairs would take to think of silly things like personal safety-- until his companions pulled him away and they finished their escape.
It was strange how the situations could look so different between one spot and another. While they were able to get away from the commotion undisturbed by the Nightmare that would have towered over them, a different group wasn't so lucky. Galahad looked to the fallen stone golem in their path and the figure standing atop it, irritated that another thing had come to block the group from their objective.
"Well, this is interesting."
The knight put a hand to his ear and looked around quickly. Who said that? The man in white had his sights set on the masked man. The other two were still unconscious. No one here matched the voice he heard--
and without warning a short-haired young man and a similar-looking woman appeared in their ranks, just as bewildered as he was about the situation. Their shock was only for the moment, as they seemed determined to do something about what surrounded them.
"You all showed up at the right and the wrong time," the young woman said. "Our healers are someplace else."
"It'll be fine, though, we're going to take these two to safety," her brother added in his own attempt to be reassuring.
Galahad wasn't sure what the gunslinger would think about this new change, but the knight gave a nod of affirmation. Whatever would get the wounded out of danger faster was fine by him. The two Fighters left, disappearing just as quickly as they'd shown up and taking the blond and brunette with them. Leaving him, Arcane, and the gunslinger to deal with the masked man.
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Post by Alexander on Feb 28, 2013 1:14:27 GMT -7
A sudden burst of movement,
A change in the wind.
The Mask began to simply and utterly beat upon the countenance of that still-dead stone giant as though driven and compelled by some deep seeded and unsatiated hatred stirred his heart to do so. Relentless, unmerciful, unsympathetic, and uncaring for such things as respect toward the dead, the Mask simply beat upon such a stony surface as this with that weapon in his hand, that weapon of old; An iron-like pipe.
What fires of hell brought forth such a menace as this to bring forth destruction to a greater being much stronger in stature and strength and what hell-fires themselves forged whatever weapon as his to inflict such a fate as this upon the giant's living and still-dead face is left to those of a less debased mind to contemplate. With certainty, this Mask was beyond being a mere boy of human birth donning a hidden visage behind pale alabaster and black eyes.
Such eyes did turn their gaze upon the mounted Knight and his entourage.
And there was darkness there come forth from him, much darkness, darkness that was rather felt heavy upon the skin and not seen; a pressure that pressed upon them, all of them, like a torrential flood that had overtaken them and in it was both fear and strength.
It grew greater and dimmed in it's weight,
With his every inhalation and exhalation,
It both strengthened and weakened.
A quickened gaze struck the man in White and his weapon.
In all lack of thought and thoughtlessness, a single thought flickered in his mind.
"The sound of a cat's footfall."
As long as it had been, it was not.
"Do you hear that, sir?" asked abrupt the ghastly girl, "The sound of a cat's footfall?"
Though such eyes could not be seen behind white masks of pale alabaster and shadowed black hollows, the intent was there; a challenge. It was as though this Mask was careless enough to dare the man in White to pull the trigger, indeed, even to dare the bullet itself to come forth from it's chamber.
Perhaps such was the case.
The pressure of darkness grew;
It was enough to bring a normal man of considerably great strength to his very knees.
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Mar 2, 2013 17:18:36 GMT -7
White nearly choked as the pressure washed over him. What...Was that!?! It was...White tried to find something to relate it to and came up short, the closest he could get was something similar to that of the occasion he found his nightmares manifested in the Dream World but...It was like the monster he faced was some animal and this was a well and true monster.
A lesser man would have faltered. White was not a lesser man, he was a Fighter though unknowingly. Despite the pressure he felt, he felt "free" enough to still move...To still pull the trigger. The question was...Should he?
In a state like this, someone might have fired off a shot without thinking, an instinctual fear response. White's mind was steely and always asked the question before pulling the trigger though he longed for the simplicity of black and white morals in this grey world.
It was wailing on the corpse of the stone golem with brutal but maddened strikes...White would have to get creative if he got too close. It would not be a conflict of skill or strength but of control; the one who could control the flow of the battle and guide in the direction they wanted...Chess basically but faster and more action packed.
White sucked at Chess but he could control a fight. If he shot now, he'd either achieve his goal or he'd incite a fight that may or may not be the right thing...White decided. He'd wait...
So engrossed in his situation, White didn't even notice his two injured allies be taken away...
But something ate at White. This...This had been taking too long. If he kept his passive tactics...Would things even progress? Would they be here in this Mexican stand off till the entire mess was cleaned up?
Time to act. His mind processed the plan. He started to imagine where he'd have to aim to make the bullet hit five different spots on the body...Left knee, right knee, an inch to the right of the sternum, mask and left collar bone. He pictured the positions of his revolver to make the five bullets hit their five marks and he processed the movements that would link them together...Rehearsing them...All faster than any normal person could think it through.
His body moved in a fluid motion, his five shots being shot off with such a pace and connection that it just seemed like a constant blur of gunshot, all five shots launching from the barrel, the famed high calibre bullets of the .500 Smith And Wesson Magnum moving past the sound barrier, the kinetic force of each bullet coming from the sheer speed more than the weight.
White prayed he made the right decision.
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Post by Alexander on Mar 7, 2013 17:42:30 GMT -7
What God above that watched over such a one as this did surely provide, this day, a double portion of mercy for such soaring bullets did indeed pierce the flesh and cut the bone but the Mask itself was untouched.
Brought down to a knee by the sheer force of such unfelt agony gave only increase to the pressure abounding and it grew a violent and abrupt eruption; White would feel it for a moment upon him hard pressing and great, as though the weight of a thousand waters had suddenly collapsed atop his head and sundered his very being.
A shallow and deep exhalation.
And then he stood.
Rising to his very feet as though such injuries were naught but foolish frivolities, the Mask cast his stare yet again for but a mere moment and held such a haunting gaze upon White and White only. There was little time spared thereafter to fire such bullets as those once more, for as the pressure once was, it was yet again, and the Mask would soon make his approach. Inevitably, White would find himself, his own self, staring face and face with that Mask not long after an injured and slow stepping gait turned quickened sprint placed such a Mask at a standing but mere inches before White.
The swiftness was uncanny.
It stared a statue's stare.
A statue's stare and nothing more.
Shallow breaths once labored by the wound quickly turned to silent silence; the pressure followed suit. Where blood had once poured forth from flesh forcefully pierced by swift metal, there was completed bone behind hidden sinew behind closed flesh and the Mask was.
Hollow eye.
And She was there still also.
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Mar 10, 2013 15:16:04 GMT -7
White blinked and felt his body move almost unnaturally, on its own as well, pushing off the ground with his feet to launch himself backpeddling away from the Nightmare...Then he felt that crushing weight...Goddamnit...
White was strong but there was no way he could keep fighting long in these conditions. Had his mind been stronger and more like that of a machine he could accomplish this...But for now he was in the waters, alone.
He took in what he could in that short time...His mind reeling and working at a pace he could scarcely understand. First, his opponent classified as a Lightning Bruiser, endurance and speed, against White's own Fragile Speedster, speed but no endurance.
Goddamnit
Five shots had been fired, an effect HAD been made but it had been shrugged off. He had brought the monster to its knees it just got back up again. So he had to kill it outright or make it go through such agony that it ran away.
Goddamnit.
White holstered the revolver and pulled the freshly filled alternative from its holster. Quicker than reloading anyway. White's reflexes aside there wouldn't have been time to fire off any shots but somehow, he continued to think and plan.
...Had his opponent pushed the bulllets out? White had aimed for bone, which would have normally stopped the bullet so it was probably still there in the now gone wounds... .454 Cassul rounds were big for revolver bullets so the amount of mass lost would've been minimal...
White hadn't seen them come out, he hadn't heard them clink against the concrete. So if they were still in this monster's body - which had proved to follow the sense of biology - then either the slugs were in his joints, grinding away at his bones as he moved with such a speed or they were on the floor and had been pushed out or...THey were in there and they simply didn't matter. That last one made White sweat more than he wasn't already. Being able to ignore a bullet in the joints...There would be no hope for White if that was the case...
It didn't take long for White to work that one out. He had to go for a headshot, concentrate all his fire on that mask or the back of the head.
God. Damn. It.
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Post by Alexander on Mar 20, 2013 18:21:58 GMT -7
The stone stare stood secure for several seemingly longer seconds. What manner of thoughts stirred about in the mind of this White Mask was evidently and obviously an ambiguously hidden enigma. Was he analyzing White? Was such a given stare commonplace amongst Nightmares as this or did such an act carry with it a greater meaning with a given purpose.
All the while that child, that spectral little girl standing nearer to White than any other, simply stood with a head hung low as though entranced by some force unknown. She said nothing but clearly she spoke utterings of somethings in whisperings that seemed as mere inconsequential ramblings.
There was more amiss than prominent tidings have brought forth.
Regardless, such seconds remained passing and such seconds spanned lifetimes, lifetimes enough for whatever opposition to react hastily or slow, reluctantly or willingly. It mattered not; in the end such seconds were just that, seconds, perhaps less but no more, and whether White had time enough to react to what came next was entirely a feat determinable upon past or present circumstances.
Ready or not;
He moved quickly; he moved quietly.
Before any fathomable mind could comprehend, the White Mask appeared as though a blurred image upon a canvas being hastily erased in a quick flash of movement. The step was quick. Disappearing but again reappearing in a place behind White did that Mask bring down that pipe of iron unknown to deliver diagonal death upon his opposition.
There was no remorse in the intention; unrestrained force was given. The unruly and unyielding strength behind such a clubbing blow would surely spell the end of whatever such a crippling blow would touch. Should he not move place the man called White would surely become but a heap upon the cold hard pavement bludgeoned to death by cold iron-like metal striking upon the head.
A man behind the Mask;
Not a man, not a mask.
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Mar 24, 2013 5:24:30 GMT -7
A fresh revolver in hand, White's mind began to calm and take better stock. So when the image of the opponent vanished from his eye, White's body moved faster than he could think.
The Gunslinger exchanges close range strength for long range killing power. Naturally, the logic for being a long range fighter was be where your opponent is not.
The void of....Well everything wasn't in front of White. So that's where White should be. He launched himself forward too fast, falling to the pavement like the pipe would have sent him only in this scenario, White had the benefit of no concussion. Quickly scrambling to his feet and turning around, lo and behold was the white mask that clearly was now trying to kill him. This...This could get messy. White's heart was racing, his mind panicking and his hands trembling.
This...Thing outpaced him. It was fast enough to get behind him easily with only White's instincts to protect himself. This was bad. White had to be faster. Or the creature needed to be slower and previous shots had proved that the latter was not an option in this scenario.
White stopped his breathing and reclaimed control of it. Deep, controlled breaths rather than panting. His heart didn't slow but it softenend. It was...In a state of working, not panicking. White felt his hand lose their trembling.
That pipe had to go. It seemed simple enough, a lead plumbing pipe. Tensile strength of lead wasn't quite as high as steel and White's larger calibre rounds began to penetrate steel but...
Okay...Long shot...But...White wanted to make sure his bullets hit that pipe and either destroyed it or knocked it well out of the void's grip...
He gulped. He ran. Shooting while moving was difficult and especially while hitting such a small target but if White couldn't push things in his favour then there wouldn't be a victory anyway. One foot in front of the other
Only...Somehow White felt...Light. Light as a feather...Maybe he coul- Holy son of a gun how fast was White running?! He'd had to side step the void completely to avoid a collision with him. He wasn't even sprinting yet and he'd been running too fast...Something was up....
Still, no time to worry about that now. Quickly pulling one foot out of the motion of running, he threw his weight in a rotation, causing him to fall but he caught himself on the ground with his free hand, quickly moving his legs to that of a sprinting start.
He pushed off the ground, his boots digging deep into the pavement as he bolted towards this masked creature, raising his revolver as he did. Five shots. One target. His aim seemed to accomodate his running, his sights drifting over the pipe smoothly and two shots being fired from the black as night revolver.
White's speed, plus the bullet's speed, plus the smaller distance between the target and the launch... White estimated he'd added about 5% to that of the bullet's regular kinetic energy. Small but still a fair bit. If the estimates were right.
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Post by Alexander on Mar 30, 2013 17:07:29 GMT -7
He watched then as White ran.
It was a statue's stare.
Distance would not free him from the stare.
Perhaps White realized this when he decided to turn face and advance against the alabaster death that stood in cold stare as though the fear of battle, the adrenaline, the instinct to live were but minor points in the grand scheme of thought and consciousness.
Perhaps there were no thoughts.
Perhaps this one had no conscious.
Perhaps it was entirely instinct.
Just as his opposition ran forth toward him, the Mask too did mirror such an act with speed and speeds given that rivaled, or perhaps surpassed, that of White.
And then the thunderings.
The Bullets.
More soaring sorrows sent screaming to put ends the life of man, this man's life; this Mask.
Only,
He was no man,
But he was.
Such bullets failed not to strike their mark with all forceful force given. He felt their brutal shove in his hands and in his wrists but strength prevailed; the instinct to resist was all given to silence such screamers in their wake and send their collision elsewhere.
He held it in front of him as though a shield, yet he jbew the sting of such soaring wraths and such soars, with the impact of all their strengths, did little to slow him or make dull the weapons profound integrity yet it trembled still in the aftermath of their siege.
It felt beautiful in his hands yet such beauty was LOST on one such as this.
This was no mere metal and thus, no mere man.
And he ran toward White all the same slowed little by the given opposition. There, in the field of battle, two warriors ran forth to meet one another in the middle where their climactic clash would erupt in the violent outpour of blood and sweat.
Now, before anymore of those sorrowful screams could be unleashed with their thundering release, he came upon White with great violence and murderous intention. With both the speed of his advance, the strength of his arms, and the motion set forth, that piped metal was sent with it's own screaming.
A powerful swing,
Like a woodsman cutting down the mighty oak with an axe,
Like a batter at base,
It screamed for blood.
[/font] [/blockquote][/blockquote]
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Apr 7, 2013 17:14:47 GMT -7
Okay.
This was getting incredulous. Nothing but negative results in his “tests”. So now, White knew a number of things about his opponent
His opponent had a lead pipe that could withstand huge amounts of force. His opponent could also grip said pipe without it flying from the hand. He could also lead up with an attack, not receiving any muscle damage from the shock of the impact.
His opponent might be the biggest annoyance in the history of combat.
He had managed to resist any and all injuries sustained to his limbs.
Headshots may have been the only way to win, yet the Mask seemed to be bullet proof and keep the concussive effects off.
White had always fought humans and known exactly how to kill them thanks to his anatomical knowledge and the knowledge of what his firearms were capable of.
This thing, this rock on rockets had decided to not play by all the rules. So White had two options. Get creative. Run away.
White's knees bent and then stretched out pushed against the ground, leaping away from the strike...That...That was too easy. He was getting faster. His reflexes had always been fast but his body hadn't always been able to keep up...Now it could.
His eye tightened into a glare, his muscles contracting and relaxing. He was faster. No matter what, he was faster than this...Thing.
He launched forward, the sound of the air rushing past his ears as he soared. He ran past the thing, left it behind in his dust.
Creativity it was. It was time to start using the environment. They were in the City. Alley ways, gaps, hiding spots. This was a simple creature, obvious in its style and use of excessive brute force.
He slid to slightly before rolling into a alleyway, dissapearing into the darkness for a moment where he could reload and prepare his firearms once more. Ten little killers, safe in their chambers, two cylinders. Locking them into place, he began to dash through the labyrinth of alleyways.
Don't stop moving. Don't give them an opening. Don't let them predict where you'll be.
He dashed from the alleyway closest to the Thing, slowing himself to aim and fire a shot at the man's skull before running away once more into an alley way
“Come and get me, you cheating son of a bitch”
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Post by Alexander on Apr 8, 2013 1:51:47 GMT -7
Impeccable aim.
Not good enough.
Such a bullet would falter at what seemed a mere twitch of evasion as it struck whatever ether hovered about behind him before coming to an eventual stop. Instinct prevailed, pure and simple in it's essence, or was it something of a grander design? One could only speculate what workings worked within what wonderously wonderful mind lay therin behind that mask.
Brilliant as such a design as this was, it was yet unflawed. For within, two factors vying for control reigned a haunting prevalence; dominance and the control thereof.
He stopped there, at the edge of darkness, as if daring not to take another step further into such a labyrinth.
The mask gave no chase.
Was this animal truly displaying a sense of logic as a result of an intelligent method of processing rational thought or was it simply a reaction to something of a more shallow substance such as a crippling fear that gripped him and put a stop to his steps?
There was no chase given.
Indeed, whatever pursuit would otherwise be offered up was lacking and there was only stillness; a statue's stare given to the darkness of this labyrinth. Something hindered him but what? For indeed there were only mere nothings therein but perhaps he bore witness to greater somethings in the void.
Perhaps wind,
Perhaps snow.
He stared deep,
A statue's stare,
Into the deep dark depths of darkness.
Perhaps dust.
Meanwhile within, there loomed a greater force at work watching as it did that man called White from a place within darker shadows in their depths.
"You shouldn't be in here." Said that voice of she, who had been, until this moment, silent and unseen.
But not even crippling fear or rational thought would pose an opposition great enough to stop an unstoppable force.
His steps were slow,
He walked then against the wind.
Into snow,
Into dust.
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Post by Fatalis "White" Niveus-Aquila on Apr 8, 2013 23:54:58 GMT -7
White was in no mood for this spectre. She had shown up, out of nowhere, and started telling him what to do without any logical reason as to why he should. He ignored her and carried on looking for what he was after...
They were in a city after all. Cities had buildings. And all buildings had to have at least one of them.
A window, though to White it was an opportunity. A quick slam of the revolver on the glass was all that was needed to open the way for White to climb inside a hopefully abandoned whatever it was.
He moved through the floor he was on, checking each room with a methodic and rapid progression till he moved up to the next floor and repeated the process, and then again until he found himself on the flat roof...The thing would've heard the sound of the glass in all odds and would be coming for him...White made his plans.
A lot of buildings had their own supplies of natural gas in large canisters, either on the side of the building or on the roof. White was fortunate, and quite fairly after all the unlucky situations he had been in. He opened up the cage of the canisters that prevented their theft, with a safe but risky all the same, applied usage of a bullet on the padlock. More bait and reason to thank his lucky stars...
He leaned against the canisters and waited for the arrival of his opponent.
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Post by Alexander on Apr 22, 2013 3:41:26 GMT -7
The scream of glass breaking against the weight of forces much too powerful for it bear resonated throughout the thickness of dark as though it called forth specifically to be heard by the ears of one; the White Mask. Indeed, he heard such a wail in this deep dark and made haste, as a valiant knight to the rescue of the kidnapped princess, toward the sound.
Only his ears alone would not hear such a screaming, but that of another in the dark.
A single line of thoughts, like words written on a strip of paper, spoken by a voice familiar; too long ago to be remembered, "Only dream I ever have... is it her again? Every time I shut my eyes... it's always the same."
His pace ceased for a moment as his hands gripped at that mask that hid his face. For a moment it was given; An aggravated and vain attempt to rip that alabaster visage from upon himself and yet in all the force and strength of hand given, the Mask fought in opposition and it remained upon him.
Dominion and the pursuit thereof prevailed.
With that weapon of old clutched in his very hand, this man in the Mask struck the very walls around, and all that was around him, even the rubbish littered about. It was not long until he fell to his knees having been buckled by the crippling force of his own wrath, but he did not relent. For with his fists he beat upon the cold hard surface of the city until his knuckles bled red blood from their unyielding wrath.
All things seemed an enemy now.
And then the sound; a single firing from a gun not far off.
It called him out of his rage;
He stood and it lead them ever so closer.
Quickly the Mask came to that place, that tall tower where his enemy held himself in the safety of his fortress, and he made no effort to conserve what element of surprise he could possibly have had. His bodily frame broke whatever remainder of sharp glass lined the edges of that window, swift and heavy footfalls upon shards of broken glass littered on the floor followed giving clear premonition much too great of his arrival. And his arrival did come forth with the sound of such swift and heavy paces making their path upward along those long and winding steps.
Nothing slowed such an unstoppable force as this; nothing at all.
The doorway opened violently.
With great violence and the sound of it's clashing, the door gave way to the White Mask. His fell presence stood casting a stare, a statues stare, upon White for but mere seconds before the upheaval of his stirred wrath.
It sparked within whatever mind worked in it's workings; Something like a memory spoken in a place that could not be recalled. "Is it her again?" A single hand raised slowly upward toward that mask. So much so that the gentle caress of hateful and bloodied fingertips seemed near intimate in their touch.
But dominance and the pursuit thereof prevailed.
Quickly then did quickened steps swiftly eliminated vasts amounts of distance that stood between himself and his opponent. The vast ocean of his darkness and snow that enveloped them did nothing to muddle his tracks. Nothing at all would stop him; nothing at all could ever possibly hope to stop him.
A leap given to finish off the remainder of the gap.
That weapon held upward in an attempt to bring it down upon the skull.
Surely these were the final moments of a man called White.
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