New chappie 3 love you all.
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury(Unusable), Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
Armour: Aerospec Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: Galeforce (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Frostspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Deific Amulet, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Bundle of Balloons, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings
Health: (400/400)
It's noon in The Compound. The trees rustle gently in the breeze. The lovingly trimmed grass sways idyllically, as if waving their arms to herald the day. Above, the sky is a brilliant blue. The sun shines brightly. The puffy clouds moved slowly across the sky...
And floating down, slowly descending from high above is a figure cloaked in blue and gold.
The Lunatic Cultist.
She was doing her best to keep her breathing calm and under control. She fought hard to keep her hands from shaking or a grin from spreading across her face. Oh, how she wished she could don her CC Cowl and mask her expression... but alas, The Cultist would be well aware The Clandestine Corps were his enemy. For this mission, The Party Girl was a harmless Civilian.
A harmless civilian who had trapped the compound so thoroughly, she had to lock the other pink haired woman (That damn stylist had better colour than she did) inside a house, lest she accidentally spring a trap and kill herself. Naturally, The Party Girl didn't particularly care whether The Stylist lived or died. She was a soldier, after all... and not an ethical one. But she had spent a great deal of time preparing her ambush and wanted to maintain some semblance of normalcy so as not to raise The Cultist's suspicions.
After all, this was a mission that absolutely must succeed. The Party Girl was already well aware that failing to make contact with Central Command for such a long period of time automatically branded her a traitor. Especially since there was an active war in the north. The Tyrant King did not look kindly upon detractors and defectors, so even if she could leave The Compound, she would only be executed once she arrived home.
Unless, of course, she went back a hero. If she went home carrying The Lunatic Cultist's head, she would not only be spared execution and be cleared of all suspicion, but The King might even praise her!
Imagine!
Originally she wanted to lay Amidas's head at her king's feet. When that was no longer an option, The Party Girl fell into a sort of drunken depression. She wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed; the days melded into the nights that melded into the days... but soon enough, hope alighted before her. The Lunatic Cultist had visited. He landed right in front of her, just an arms-length away, and without raising even a hint of caution, asked her about the whereabouts of 'The Hero'.
Now, The Party Girl, had heard a great deal about this 'Hero' before setting off of her mission. An unkillable soldier that had apparently been created by The Resistance (nonsense, really. That lot of insects couldn't screw in a lightbulb with their collective mental power). Of course The Party Girl hadn't seen him, but she desperately wanted to see The Lunatic Cultist again. Last time, she was so drunk she couldn't stand straight. Today - she was ready to take The Cultist's head. She lied. She asked him to return in three days time... and now he's here.
"Woman. I must thank you for your help. Say nothing to The Hero when he arrives at th-"
The Cultist's voice had an odd watery quality to it, but she didn't listen to him at all. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and keenly on his feet, tensely waiting for them to touch the plate on the ground. His oddly shaped soles made an odd squelching noise as they landed. She froze in anticipation, blood pounding in her ears as she prayed her trap-
*click*
*fwippp*
A fantastic noise! A carefully woven fishing net whipped up from beneath the straw on ground and caught The Cultist neatly inside of it. In the same moment, The Party Girl whipped out a number of knives from her sash and hurled them at the blue-cloaked figure with pinpoint accuracy. The blades embedded themselves into The Cultist with a hollow thunk before the entire figure keeled over, caught in a bundle by the scarlet-stained fishnet. The Ivory bird's mask cracked upon contact with the loamy soil and the figure lay still. Under normal circumstances The Party Girl would have become suspicious - but she was simply too excited for her own good.
Got him!
Frankly, The Party Girl - despite her abundance of field experience, had not fought powerful magic users before. She could do nothing but stick to textbook protocol. Frankly, she though the instructions were so odd, she nearly didn't try it - but clearly it had worked. Magic was volatile and powerful, but Draedon had devised a certain biological agent that disabled the flow of mana (almost) entirely. It was for this reason all CC Agents were immune to magic. Mana simply did not react with them. The immunity ran in their blood and whatever they coated with their blood likewise became inert to magic. Why did The Party Girl need three days to prepare? Not only because she needed to sober up, but primarily because she needed to engage in a great deal of bloodletting. A normal fishnet would be torn apart in an instant by a sorcerer... but one coated in the blood of a CC agent? Unbreakable by magic.
These damn magicians are so weak, their muscles can't even tear a fishnet! Ha!
Of course, at the moment she wasn't thinking about all the intricacies of her plan. She was beside herself - but so occupied with her task, she hardly had time to be happy about it. She leapt to her feet, grabbed one of the many gardening shovels The Terrarian had laying around (he was quite the prolific gardener - although the only thing he ever tended to was grass) and ran to where the fallen Cultist lay - a tremendous grin spreading across her face. She had spent many days sharpening this particular shovel. It would serve as a fine guillotine for the traitor of The King!
"Traitorous scum! Off with your head!"
She crowed the words as she raised her shovel over The Cultist's neck. Finally she was free to return to The King! Finally, she was getting her promotion. Finally she could leave this cursed compound and return to her old life! Her cheeks hurt from the (likely sadistic) grin spread across her face. If The Cultist had any last words, The Party Girl didn't care to hear them. She plunged the shovels edge down, chopping the head cleanly...
What?
Confusion. Anxiety. Anger.
The high of joy was rapidly brought low. She stared in disbelief at the pile of cloth at her feet. Just a moment ago, she had plunged her shovel into The Lunatic Cultist... but there was no flesh there. No skin or bone or sinew... just dust.
A cracked mask. A gold-trimmed cloak. Dust.
The wind breezed through. It seemed to laugh at her.
The sun shone down merrily, watching her distress from its lofty perch.
"Ah... CC I presume?"
And that watery voice called out from somewhere behind her. The Cultist! She had killed a clone!
His voice was slightly amused if not disappointed, but the undercurrent of malice was as clear as day. The Party Girl turned slowly to look at him, her eyes wide in rage and terror. She knew very well how The Lunatic Cultist dealt with those who attacked him. He was fantastically cruel. Crueler than she was. He dabbled in all sorts of disgusting, forbidden arts. He had no conscious whatsoever. Of all the places The Party Girl had worked, The Dungeon was by far the most gruesome... and even then, she did not go into the depths of that cursed place. For it was there that the real horrors dwelt.
And the man responsible for all of that was sitting neatly atop of one of the house's sloped roofs. His gloved hands were folded over he knees. He was wearing a grin beneath his vulture mask.
"Did you know I helped to write the CC Protocols handbook? Hah. To imagine somebody would be so idiotic to use my own techniques against me. Regardless, you served your purpose, Imperialist Dog. Farewell."
He waved his hand, and a great electric sphere appeared in the centre of The Compound. Sparks crackled and flew from it, burning the grass as it charged itself up. The Party Girl had seen this before. She knew this technique. A bolt of lighting that always struck its target. A powerful strike that pulverized the normal person where they stood. She knew she was fast, but she was not fast enough. She knew she was resilient, but not against Lightning.
I'm dead.
She set her face like flint. She narrowed her eyes to slits, and gave her enemy the most hate filled glare she could muster. Perhaps he would kill her, but she knew he liked when people begged for their lives. She would do no such thing. At her final show of defiance, The Cultist chuckled and clapped his hands in a slow applause. He addressed her as the Lightning ball charred a large circle in the lawn; it was nearly at full capacity.
"You're not whimpering and begging for your life? Fine, at least you will die with your honor intact. Go on then. Die-"
*thud-thud-thud-thud-thud*
The Party Girl wasn't sure why The Cultist paused. He could have easily sent out the lightning bolt to kill her despite the disturbance - but perhaps he felt he was entirely in control of this situation and wished to entertain himself. After all, who in the world would think of attacking a ball of lightning? A volley of starlight arrows hurtled through the air... not targeting The Cultist, but plunging into the energy ball hovering over the lawn. The arrows disturbed the flow of energy inside the ball causing it to leak energy. A second volley caused it to burst. The Lunatic Cultist gazed briefly at her before deliberately turning his head to address The Terrarian - who appeared quite agitated.
He saved me? no way...
The Almost man was dressed in his usual garb. A furred blue cloak. Sloping horns on a visored helmet. A feathered plume... but something was different. He had feathered frills jammed into nearly every crevice of his armour. Initial inspection would concede he'd been tarred and feathered - but a closer observation revealed he had gone and crafted himself an armour of clouds. Well, in any case, The Party Girl wasn't going to hang around and admire it. She wasted no time in scurrying to safety, pausing only long enough to catch The Cultist's fleeting words.
"Hero. What are you doing? Who gave you a bow?"
"..."
Hero? She was fairly sure The Slayer wasn't The Hero. The Hero was wrecking havoc on Imperial troops up north. The Slayer spent his time hammering at the minute details of his buildings and obsessively cleaning. What in tarnation...
"Hero. I'm speaking to you! What are you doing?!"
"..."
The Slayer had opted to ignore The Lunatic Cultist. Instead, the entirety of his attention was focused on the large round spot of charred grass in his lawn. He stood over it mournfully before summoning a bucket of water and dumping it on the blackened ash. When that didn't do anything, he summoned his blade and pointed it at The Lunatic Cultist. He spoke in his signature monotone voice.
"You burned my lawn."
"..."
The blade vanished. In its place, a paintbrush appeared. A can of green paint appeared in his other hand.
"Fix it."
"... Hero, you-"
If the situation hadn't been so dire, The Party Girl would have laughed. The Cultist seemed less amused. She could almost see his brows knitting and his teeth clenching beneath his mask. He stood to his feet and glared down at The Slayer from the rooftop. He raised his voice, but clearly The Slayer (knew too little) to be intimidated. Neither of them budged. The Cultist became increasingly angry. The Slayer remained monotonous.
"How dare you address me this way! Have you forgotten who I am, Hero?!"
"Fix my lawn, Vulture Mage."
"Tch!"
With the wrath of a thousand Karens, The Lunatic Cultist leapt off the roof and landed on the grass below. He stalked up to The Terrarian and seized him by the scruff of his furred cloak, yanking him down to eye level and causing the can of green paint to splatter all over his glided robes. Frankly, The Party Girl had never seen The Lunatic Cultist quite so angry - ever. And the fact that The Slayer seemed so impervious to it made the scene so ridiculous, it was almost comical. The Party Girl watched from behind one of the buildings, her palm pressed over her mouth so she didn't begin laughing.
"Insolent child! Have you not yet learned obedience!? Have you already forgotten the consequences of such pompous speech!? Come."
"No. My grass is all burned because of y-"
*zzztt*
And with a flash of lightning, they were gone.
Hungry.
So Hungry.
The only thought running through the massive creature's rudimentary brain was just that... hunger. So hungry that it didn't notice the acidic water eating at its exposed flesh. So hungry it didn't mind smashing itself through the sandy banks in an effort to devour its target. It was single mindedly starving...
It didn't know why it starved. It hadn't the capacity for that, but had it been slightly more intelligent, it would have realized its ruptured intestines were trailing out behind it - bleeding bile and half digested prey into the acidic water. The Aquatic scourge had eaten everything... and its hunger was not satisfied. But still, it starved, and its instincts drove it to consume anything that moved.
Now, the target. It fixed its beady eyes on the small armored figure as it lunged down upon him. The man was hurling knives at it, but the monster didn't notice. It was simply too hungry. The blades pierced its already rotting body, bursting ulcers and tearing through scarred tissue and blisters... but the creature did not know it. There was a thunderclap as electricity struck its waterlogged body, causing the sea wyrm's entire length to seize and sizzle...
But the wretched creature's poor brain had long rotted to nothing. It felt no pain. It felt no fear.
Only hunger.
And even as it lay paralyzed on the shores of the sulfurous sea, wildly snapping its jaws open and shut as the small armored figure approached. Its tiny miserable brain screaming in hunger.
The man raised his blade over The Aquatic Scourge's head.
He plunged it down.
And...
And finally... it was hungry no longer.
*kzzt- CC#0225 what have you got? over.*
*A lizardman out of the Jungle - kzzt- some kind of shaman. Got random animal skulls all over him. Says he's headed south. What should we do with him? over.*
*Leave 'em. We've still got ground to cover. The King says the Resistance HQ is somewhere up north. over.*
*Roger. You reckon we're gonna scale the mountains, Captain? Hella -kzzt- cold this time of year, over.*
*If its cold, it's cold, Agent. The -kzzt- moment we find The Headquarters, the war is done. Rumor has it The King himself will destroy it. Over.*
*Damn, I wanna see that. Over*
*Then move your ass Agent.*
*Yes sir.*
Lunatic Cultist: Do you even know who I am?!
Slayer: I dunno... some kind of Vulture... headed... mage...
Guide (in distance): *you can do it buddy*
S: You can be my friend if you paint my lawn.
G: *dies*
Rip Slayer he got kidnapped. This is what happens when you talk to strangers.