It's been a hellova long time coming. 72 chaps lmao.
Armour: Titanium Armour (Mage)
Weapon: Infernal Rift; Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf, Frozen Wings.
Health: (400/400)
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: [UNUSABLE]Mandible Bow (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Sailfish Boots, Luxor's Gift, Ocean Crest, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg, Aero Stone, Shield of the Ocean
Health: (325/400)
They had longed to see him.
The Hero. Their Hero.
They wanted to see him because he was their hope. They wanted to see the reason they had come here to congregate and risk their lives. Many of the troops standing here were men and women that had dedicated their lives to bringing down The Tyrant, only to be rebuffed the same way a horse shook off a fly. They tried and tried, but their strength was so meagre that the totality of their efforts was hardly enough to draw The Tyrant's attention. It was the ultimate insult. What hopelessness gripped them that Yharim, their sworn enemy, was so terrifyingly strong he couldn't be bothered to look at them...
But now, The Tyrant was looking at them. He had given them his undivided attention. His troops were at their doorstep. His mages at the rear. Why?
(that... is that him?... it's him... The Hero... look it him!... move, let me see)
Because now they had a weapon of their own, A Terrarian, an unkillable soldier. They knew legends of Terrarians. They were creatures whose raw strength exceeded that of dragons, whose skill with weapons went unmatched. They needed no sleep. They needed no sustenance. They could scarcely be injured. They could not die. They were beasts in the form of man. They spoke like men, they behaved like men, but their essence was entirely inhuman. They were not made for enjoyment, or eating, or sleeping, or drinking... They were made for battle. They were made to subjugate the world beneath them.
The Terrarian could build up. The Terrarian could tear down. His will could raze forests. He could carve lakes if he so desired. The very world bent to his whim... and The Resistance had bent him to theirs. He was their sword. A tool they had forged. A weapon to exact the revenge they so desired. His will no longer mattered, for they had instilled their own purpose into him. He was their Hero.
Their Terrarian.
(He's here!... look at him... I didn't expect that...)
They parted before him the same way sardines fled before a shark. His presence was entirely alien, and their hearts and souls cringed away in a primal sort of fear. The dust of the plain was thick and blustering. The sun above was blinding and beamed down on the spectacle below. There he was. He was coming through, straight to the front of the battle with an almost dismissive casualness.
(he... will he fight for us?... hey, try and talk to him... no way, you do it!)
He was armoured all in black. Titanium painted to the deepest shades. It clad his frame from head to toe as he walked. He wasn't dressed like a Hero. There was no veneer of kindness and compassion about him. His helmet hid his face, yet they could feel his nonexistent expression behind it. They could see the dark, blank eyes beneath the glowing red cross emblazoned over his visor; they could clearly feel the heat of a slight rage reflecting there. No, perhaps not rage, but annoyance seeping from the unthinkable soul within.
As he passed by, that great red cloak sweeping the dust, each of them became painfully aware of the divide that lay between them. Their Hero... he didn't acknowledge them. He trod past them the same way a man passed by bushes and shrubbery, stalks of wheat. They weren't predator and prey, no, something far lower. They were simply decoration. They were part of the landscape. He could cut them down if he wanted, but he wasn't bothered to. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, whether he did or didn't made no difference at all. Their entire army - a thousand strong - was made entirely useless by The Hero's presence. Whether they were here or not made not one iota of difference. He might as well be fighting this battle alone... that is, if it could even be called a 'battle'.
For although they only saw him walk, each man standing in formation felt they already knew something about him. He walked as if he'd done this a thousand times. He strode into battle as if he were watching himself on a film and he knew exactly what was coming next. Every step was exceedingly confident, but not in a boastful manner, no. It was the confidence one had when they walked into their bedroom. It was the confidence of control. This battle... it was not even an exercise to him. He was fearless, but his fearlessness did not stem from ignorance. He was fearless because he knew... he knew he was only fighting men.
There was no threat to him. He was a shark hunting sardines... no.
He was a warrior fighting stalks of wheat.
...
The dusty wind blustered by, howling mournfully over the plain.
The sun beamed down on this spectacle, this miserable excuse for a battle. They watched their Hero walk ahead of their lines, that lone figures striding across the great divide between standing armies without even the slightest hint of hesitation.
When he reached the middle, he stopped. Vultures circled overhead. Had they learned to follow The Hero into battle? Had even nature learned The Hero was a herald of death?
...
They could hardly see him for the distance, but they all watched as best they could. They strained their eyes. They pricked their ears. Nobody spoke for fear they'd miss something profound. The silence only broken by the whistling wind.
He raised his hand.
A staff appeared in his palm.
Silence, then -
In an instant, the beaming sun was shrouded in red. A great rumble emitted from the sky; It was like thunder - but more malicious.
The earth shook. The sky trembled... and from the heavens blood red magic rained down like knives, cleaving long furrows through the enemy ranks like a plow turning soil. He stood there, presiding over the pandemonium. He watched with cold eyes as he crushed an an army.
An instant and it was over.
As quickly as it had been summoned, the magic dissipated. The sky became blue once more. the sun beamed down, the wind blustered.
But across from them, the enemy army had vanished. The only evidence they had ever existed were the steaming bones peppering the blackened ground.
She... she didn't know what to think.
She didn't know what to feel.
Should she be outraged? Should she be thankful? Should she crawl over and slit The Guide's throat, or should she go over and embrace him. Everything was a muddle. She was so dreadfully confused. As a soldier, she wasn't often put into these situations. She was given her orders. She knew what to do... but now...
Ggh...
Steam lifted from the bones of The Dwarf officer. They were pure white, having been stripped, rotted and picked clean - then scattered carelessly into the peat by the 'Healing Rune's mysterious power. She looked on them with revulsion. What did this mean? The Lab Director had claimed it would heal her, yet look at these results! Had Draedon not equipped her with the standard magic resistance, then surely she would likewise be laying there - dissolved into a steaming pile of gore.
Did he betray me? If so... then why risk his life?!
She groaned and rolled to her back, feeling the mobile grass poke spines through her cloak. She panted at the shrouded sky as she waited for the residual pain to subside. What a nightmare. Perhaps the rune didn't have lasting effects on her, but it sure hurt like a bitch. It was like she was back in the labs, being experimented on. Well, she supposed the suffering she endured in those long months was paying dividends now. She was essentially immune to magic. She knew this from experience. The spell trapped in that rune must have been exceedingly powerful, otherwise she wouldn't have been subject to such an ordeal.
Perhaps he knew I was immune... and this was a trap for The Dwarf? Urgh...
She sighed and carefully propped herself to her elbows, and then into a sitting position. She was still bleeding from everywhere; the grass beneath her was slurping it up (disgusting). The blast and the hail of gunfire had torn a great deal of her skin away to reveal her subcutaneous scales. The glue like goop running beneath her skin had since hardened into lumpy nodules, and they were both painful and unsightly. Still, she could complain later. She turned her nose to the smell of her own blood and blinked the tears from her eyes. Her first order of business was to find a safe place to tend her wounds. The Dwarf may be gone, but The Arms Dealer was still at large.
I need to go before they find me.
The smog somehow had grown even thicker and more impenetrable. She felt as if she couldn't see the nose in front of her face. Her sense of balance had mostly returned. She felt she could stand, indeed, she was sure she'd be able to walk... but where to? Falling and flailing and screaming in pain had disoriented her quite thoroughly. Where was the front gate? Where was the Castle? If she struck out in a random direction, she could very likely find herself face to face with The Arms Dealer's shotgun barrel.
Still. Anything was better than just staying here and waiting to be killed. As carefully as she could, doing her utmost not to put undue strain on her terribly ravaged body, she crawled to her knees and then to her fe-
"-uide...Guide, stand up!"
She blinked. What was that?! Ah, had her eardrums must have just healed. That was a good sign. It appeared the rune hadn't effected her regeneration at all... but who was that? Why was he here, and why was he mourning... had something happened to The Lab Director? Perhaps he'd been caught in the spell? She narrowed her eyes and listened keenly.
"Guide?!"
The Voice was... strange. She couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was a man's voice, but not particularly deep and not particularly high. There was no accent... in fact, it was so plain and ordinary, she felt she recognized it from somewhere. But how was it speaking into her ear? She frowned and carefully, silently, climbed to her feet. Her legs trembled; her vision swam; she fought back a bout of vertigo.
"Why are you still asleep! Wake up!"
The Voice sounded quite distressed, very convincingly so - but something about it was simply off. The longer she listened to it, the more unsettled she became. On the surface, it was very pedestrian, yet it caused a strange itch to begin in the back of her mind. It was... it was Artificial. Ah, it sounded like something inhuman doing well to mimic humanity. Something unfeeling mimicking emotion. It sent a chill down her spine; something primal within her screamed 'Danger'.
I need to get out... I've got to survive.
She wasn't scared, persay. It was entirely irrational to fear a voice which sobbed brokenly out of sight... but still, terror gripped her heart. Spurred on by the panic slowly coiling in her brain, she gritted her teeth and took a hesitant step. Her ankle nearly buckled. Her lungs strained against her ribcage. Hell she felt awful. She felt like she was about to die... but she wasn't dead yet.
(shff... shff)
Thanks to The Guide, who was currently being mourned over by that strange, unknown entity, she could yet live. She had a chance. She glanced down to her clawed shoes, then at the predatory grass which squirmed and writhed like worms. The evil foliage had nearly consumed The Demolitionist's remains, and by now were beginning to crawl over her feet to suckle her blood. She stumbled free of them and fixed her eyes forward. She needed to get out.
The Arm.
There is was, it was merely a dark, flailing shadow in the blinding mist - but The Party Girl had no trouble recognizing it. It had been her only companion for the duration of her stakeout, and she knew it like the back of her hand. That Arm would let her escape to the safety outside confines of The Compound's mysterious barrier. The Demolitionist had been holding on to the limb it as he disintegrated, and it was currently thrashing away, clattering through the deceased dwarf's bones. Strangely, it had not dissolved - instead all of those small cuts and bruises that seemed to heal themselves miraculously quickly had ceased to seal themselves up. The Arm's regeneration had stopped entirely as a result of the rune's magic.
I wonder whose arm it is... tch. Doesn't matter. Let's go.
She took a stumbling step forward.
(shff... shff)
She took another.
(click.)
And on her third, a pistol's barrel slipped from the mist and pressed itself to the back of her head. A hand wrapped around her face and covered her mouth tightly. She couldn't turn her head, but she recognized the hushed voice which breathed in her ear.
"On your knees, Spy. And don't make a noise, or that monster will kill us all..."
Guide: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?
Hero: How am I supposed to know?!
Slayer: You're magic.
Hero:... (sighs)
Hero: You wouldn't be trapped.
(-McMake)
You better hope The Slayer doesn't fight The Hero anytime soon because he'll be red juice on asphalt faster than you can say 'oh fuk no'
Notes: The Iron Heart halts regeneration. Hence why The Guide isn't waking up at all/getting any better. The Party Girl is mostly immune. she's okay.
Lmao The Hero is like being all cool and badass, and T is just crying in the grass or something. GG.
Big love. many kisses. review