The stage was set. The gold-and-white clad sniper took the first few steps away from the safety of the Obelisk and Nexus, not bothering even a silent farewell to the rest of the team. He would be handling this performace just as he preferred; alone.
The sky was a dull shade of blue. Leaning against the solid turret, the artist couldn't help but notice how ridiculously...dull, this place was. His breathing was steady beneath his mask, and the sound of his weapon twirling around his finger was the only thing keeping him from being bored.
He sighed and crossed his arms; the empty lane before him wasn't much to look at.
MINIONS HAVE SPAWNED
..the voice bellowed. He expected it and wasn't startled. He picked at a bit of moss on the hull of the turret. His gold armor made a scratching noise against the rock. The tiny blue minions shuffled their way down to meet by the river in battle, smacking each other with tiny staffs and shooting their little weapons.
How quaint.
They fell in packs as he watched. Should he just turn and walk away? There was nothing a starving artist could do in such a non-inspirational setting. The sounds of blunt objects walloping on each other was forcing a headache beneath his mask. He grumbled and loaded his weapon, finally deciding to let off a few rounds, if only to bring forth the silence for a bit.
He envied it, the silence. He often said this, because his artistic medium happened to be his beloved Whisper, and nothing was more wonderfully loud than she...
or so he thought, before a pile of the little fighting creatures exploded into a fountain of gold coins.
"Hey, tall dark and brooding!"
A voice called out from somewhere unseen. He shook his head free of the shock. He looked up and saw her, a skinny little girl with tattoos and messy blue braids; she held what appeared to be a metal shark over her shoulder, and the fact that it was smoldering and smoking told him it must be a weapon.
She held it so sloppily. The way she swung her hair in one hand made him twitch.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you! I want that turret," She called, sticking her tongue out and shooting another blast at the fresh wave of minions. They, too, exploded with a jingle of gold. The girl was overcompensating. Why on earth did she need so much firepower? It was bulky and made her look ridiculous.
And yet beneath his mask, the artists eyes sparkled... he could make her so lovely.
He rested his armored hand on Whisper's barrel, which was attached to his hip, and his left hand twirled the handgun around his fingers again as he stood from his lean.
"My dear girl, have you no manners?" He chuckled, taking a few long, slow strides toward his opponent. The way she laughed at the question made his head tilt in curiosity.
"Whatever, this way is so much more fun!" She laughed, pulling something from her belt. She pushed her launcher onto her back and pulled a pin on the little contraption in her hand, and the sniper watched in what seemed like slow motion as she chucked a chattering grenade at his feet. He reeled back at the sheer insolence of the action, but it was a moment too late, and the teeth of the bomb snapped around his ankles. He looked wide-eyed at the trap, and then to the girl; the pang of hunger in his chest made him close his teeth together.
She didn't stop laughing. She had replaced her bulky rocket launcher with a little hip-hung minigun, which she was gleefully letting mow down more minions with the artist trapped safely out of range.
He steeled his shock and crushed the little chatter grenade with his gold-armored boot, while pulling Whisper's barrel from his hip.
"You are sloppy and out of your place," He growled, more to himself than to the maniacal blue-haired girl. "Allow me to show you the proper choreography." He flung the weapon gracefully over his shoulder and aimed at the girl, who had suddenly noticed him moving. She leaped to the side as the shot was fired and landed, unbalanced, on her feet a few inches away from the line of fire. She stuck her tongue out again and laughed.
Mediocre. Primitive. Sloppy. Inelegant. Frustrating.
So many guns, all lacking in meaning or artistry.
He holstered the barrel back on his hip and poised his pistol before him, pointed at his new canvas. If this ugliness would not fix itself, he thought, he would have to take the matter into his own hands.
He fired a shot, and it connected. She let out a cry of pain, and the artist found himself excited to hear it. Perhaps she could be made beautiful, after all. She stood holding the wound in her shoulder, with a surprised look in her eyes.
She gritted her teeth as another shot rang out - he hit her in the leg. She tripped backwards and fell, just in time to miss the third shot. She grimaced and pulled her own pistol from her waist.
She aimed, and the zap of her handgun threw the sniper off balance. He recoiled, but the shot had only connected with his right shoulder, which was encased in a shiny gold armor. She took a moment to giggle, and wondered what the deal was with the silly hump on the guy's shoulder; he was still frozen and looking at where the shot had hit.
Ugh, what a drama queen.
She got to her feet with a little jump, and the guy with the mask finally looked back. She could see his eye locked on her, and he didn't look happy.
"You will know what beauty truly is," He breathed, advancing quickly towards her and away from the safety of the turret.
He pulled a shiny piece of metal from beneath his cloak and tossed it at her with a twirl; it landed at her feet. It looked like a little flower with razor-blade petals. "You missed, stupid!" She laughed, pulling her pistol from her waist again. She started forward with her arm out, and stepped right where the trap had landed. It ripped painfully into her foot, and she let out an annoyed grunt. She shot at him again, landing an energy bullet right on his jaw.
"Nngh!" He reeled, holding both hands to his face. She shot again, knocking him back. He looked at his hands, and then at her; she started at a run with her minigun drawn and firing madly. He threw down another trap in time for the girl to be stopped in her tracks. She lost hold of her weapon for just a moment; enough time for the furious sniper to step forward and get close to her. She looked up from the pain in her other foot and was nose-to-nose with the ivory mask.
"Only my actions will make you memorable," He breathed, his eyes studying hers. Somehow, she didn't look afraid. In fact,
she was smiling toothily again.
She snickered. The sniper tilted his head and was suddenly thrown backwards by a heavy punch to the temple. The gun girl stood up quickly and threw the rocket launcher onto her shoulder. The sharks mouth flew open, and the sniper was forced back again by the explosion in his chest. Beneath the smoke he saw the girl fly forward; she landed with hands on his shoulders and knees closed on his hips. Her braids hung down and snaked across the ground by his head.
"Impudent child!" He grunted, embarassed by her straightforward audacity.
"Mask-face!" She spat. She reared her fist back again, ready to punch, but froze when a barrel was pressed to her jaw. She blinked.
"Get off of me," He seethed. The girl rose to her knees, intimidated by the man's sudden severity. He stood up and kept his handgun pressed to her forehead. "You have been quite the provocation, dear girl, but it is time for your - disorganization - to be addressed."
There was a certain rigidity about him. He clicked the weapon's hammer back and smiled beneath his mask. He gripped the trigger and pulled; a resonant shot rang out, but the girl had moved her head to the side and away from the bullet.
The two froze for several seconds. Her pinkish eyes were wide, as was her smirk. The sniper was stupefied, his left eye locked on her's; he barely comprehended the sheer insult of what the blue-haired girl had just done.
She twisted suddenly and was on her back, and her feet kicked out into the artist's chest.
He was shot backwards against his turret, clearly knocked of all his air. He put a hand on his chest and watched as his assailant rose, uninjured, to her feet. To his surprise, she picked up her menagerie of guns and turned to run in the other direction.
She was trying to escape. Somehow, she knew she couldn't win, and she was trying to get away. The bruised artist stepped gently away from the turret. He held his shoulder with one hand, and gripped the pistol limply in the other. His eyes were wide and he gritted his teeth with fury.
He would not be ignored.
He pulled the barrel from his hip. With a twist and a click, the handgun had become an extension on the barrel.
The sniper pulled his cloak over his head in a graceful flurry, revealing an intimidating contraption with 4 glowing bullets. He cocked his shoulder forward to connect the instrument to the extended barrel. He crouched in a handsome stance, one foot forward to support the recoil of the now powerfully-sized rifle that was aimed down the lane and right at the back of the blue-haired girl's head.
He exhaled deeply... and fired.
She fell forward immediately and landed with an ugly "thunk", face first in the dirt. Her weapons clattered around her in a sad finale.
The sniper unclasped his weapon and put the pieces in their proper place. He cleared his throat in the quiet; he was admittedly embarassed at the lengths he was forced to go to take down this little...pest. He twirled his handgun in circles around his finger again as he strolled forward to the lifeless corpse and her pile of toys.
She was motionless and covered in dirt and blood. Her face was covered by her unkempt bangs, and the remnants of gunsmoke hung in the air like a gentle perfume. He kicked her weapons away with his gold boots, and crouched at her side. He tilted his head and examined his masterpiece. He scoffed and rose to a stand again, somehow still a bit unsatisfied. He cocked his pistol again and fired, and the body exploded into a pile of gold.
FIRST BLOOD
... the voice bellowed again. He was a bit startled this time; in all the excitement, he had all but forgotten that the fight raged on in all corners of the Rift. He blinked. He turned and set off towards his turret, which was being gently whapped by the little blue minions. As he walked, he reloaded his pistol with a "click".
The silence had returned, which came as somewhat of a relief...
And yet, he was still so...unsatisfied.
A hum was growing in the distance behind him. His temple throbbed and he asked himself, what could possibly be interrupting his work this time?
He stood still for a moment, facing his turret. The hum grew louder and closer; it was more of a burning sound now, rather than a humming. It was infuriating.
He spun on his heel and pointed his weapon down the lane...
A large rocket was hurdling towards him at an alarming speed, and, straddled atop it like a triumphant horseman,
was the girl with blue hair, her screams of laughter drowned out by the sound of his imminant demise.
AN ALLY HAS BEEN SLAIN