Non-Weekly Quote:
(Updated when the fancy strikes us)
"Strong Pokemon, weak Pokemon. That is only the selfish perception of people. Truly skilled trainers win with their favorites" - Karen, E4
Did someone say missions? Because I think I just heard someone say missions. Current Tourney Leaders James Ramos - 2/0 Randy Savage - 2/0 Breia Exarch - 1/0 Daniel Genrud - 1/0 Sophia Blackwell - 1/0 Zackary Joel Ortega - 1/1 Devlin - -0/70 |
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| Liberi Fatali | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 18 2008, 02:19:25 PM (1,860 Views) | |
| Munchkinator | Oct 18 2008, 02:19:25 PM Post #1 |
Don't waste my time.
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A moment of silence ensued as Lachesis watched Jake's retreating form. Startled out of her reverie by his sudden approach and her ensuing uncharacteristic tongue-tied state, she managed little more than a mumbled affirmation before her companion busied himself with other matters. As the visions of shattered and twisted bodies faded from her mind, she slowly nodded, cursing herself for the moment of confusion and retreating in short order. As the world around her faded into the familiar sickening spirals and technicolor hues of teleportation, she halfheartedly gave a mental affirmation to Abra, designating the nearby Pokemart as the target. It took more effort than usual to resist the urge to vomit as the word snapped back into place around her like a massive rubber band, and the girl had to steady herself against one wall of the narrow alleyway with one hand while she clutched her heaving stomach with the other. As she stood there for a moment, bile receding from her throat and her swimming head slowly clearing, a moment of concern for Jake flickered across her face. After a moment, she had cleared her normally impassive face, driven the thoughts from her mind, and hastily turned to her dual psychics in an attempt to occupy herself. "Abra, teach Ralts to Teleport. Ralts, do whatever he says - I'm going to need both of you able to Teleport at will soon. I'm going to stock up on some supplies, and given the size of the line, I might be a few minutes. Keep busy and don't get into any trouble - use the rooftops to train." She hastily disappeared around the corner, wrestling with emotions that she didn't dare show in front of her Pokemon. |
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| Iseya | Oct 18 2008, 08:57:35 PM Post #2 |
Errant Guardian
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A ghost of a smile passed Ralts' lips as her master hastily excused herself: she knew far better than Lachesis herself the cause of the problem, but held her tongue. Perhaps it would be better for their master to work out her own emotions and face her growing attachment to her companion; if nothing else, it might help Lachesis to open a little. Keeping Lachesis relatively sane was already hard enough, given how much negativity she had to siphon off of the little girl, and she wasn't sure that she'd be able to keep it up without tainting her own mind with the displaced emotions. First things first, though, she had to figure out this teleporting shit. Glaring at the slightly bemused Abra - who, she realized with an unpleasant start, had been reading her mind and heard the entire monologue -, she growled slightly at the eternally sleepy creature. Establishing a more or less secure telepathic link to the smug little bastard, she spared barely a moment to arrange her thoughts before beginning to communicate. "Oh, you shut the hell up. YOU don't have to deal with an unbalanced little lunatic's tempestuous emotions every waking moment, so I'd appreciate it if you kept your damn thoughts to yourself and acted serious for once." "Whatever. So can we get this shit over with so I can get back to sleep, or are you going to sit there and bitch all day? Lach said she wanted you to learn to Teleport, and I don't think she's going to be too happy if I have to tell her that you spent the training session whining about her instead of trying to learn." The dimunitive green psychic intensified her glare and stomped up to her companion, smacking him upside the head with relish. "God damn, you're one annoying little fucke-errrr, I mean, uh, that is to say... DAMMIT, stop swearing so much! It isn't polite, and it's rubbing off on me 'cause I have to deal with your stupid ass all the time!" Abra grinned, ignoring the slight pain to antagonize his friend. "If you say so. Now, let's get started - unless, of course, you wanted to whine about shit some more?" If looks could kill... "...Didn't think so. Now, I'm going to use small words so you don't get as confused - HEY, WATCH THE FACE! -, so listen up. Teleporting... where to start? Oh, what the hell, let's go back to the basics. What DO you know of teleporting?" Recovering her balance from the recently attempted bitch-slap, Iseya pondered the question for a moment. It was a good question, really: she knew that Teleportation involved getting places really fast, and she'd always felt a massive influx of psychic energy each time she was teleported anywhere, but she wasn't sure what exactly it entailed. "I, uhh... I don't really know. Aren't you supposed to be telling me that?" "God DAMN you're dense. I'm trying to teach you, bitch! Don't freaking backsass-whatever. Alright. Here's the basics, since you know shit. Teleportation isn't quite as simple as thinking you want to be somewhere and showing up there. What actually happens when you Teleport is a rapid detachment from reality - this reality, that is -, followed by you attaching yourself to the psychic leylines for a moment and using them as a... well, uh, you know trains, right? Same idea: you sort of use the leylines as "tracks," jumping on whichever one goes in the direction you want to go, switching lines as needed if it's not a straight shot. That's why long-distance teleporting is so much harder than what I can do: you have to switch lines so often that it's actually pretty physically draining. If you could just stick to the same one the entire way, any psychic could teleport ANY distance. The problem with doing it, though, is the first part, 'cause, y'know... not a lot of Pokémon know how to rip themselves out of this dimension and implant themselves safely into another. We're lucky, though: the Abra and Ralts species have the knowledge implanted in their genetic code, though the Ralts line isn't quite as knowledgeable at it as us SUPERIOR Abras are. There are a few other species, though I don't know which, but in general it's damn rare to find something that can really teleport. I say "really" teleport because there are a number of species that can make nearly instantaneous transmission to other locations, but they aren't really "teleporting:" some imbue themselves with enough energy to make a lightning-fast dash at a fraction of the speed of light, some use the shadows and reform, and others, ghosts in particular, just go back to their home dimension and float a bit: for them it's not more complicated than letting themselves go home for a minute and walking for a few seconds, but to humans it looks like they're just teleporting around randomly." He paused to teleport himself and the silent Ralts up to the nearby rooftop, having sensed a wild Poochyena nearby. "So now that you know a bit more about what to look for, what can you tell me about that teleport?" Iseya started, having been so entranced by her companion's explanation that she hadn't been expected to speak. "Well, uh, I, that is, uhh... I'm still... not sure what happened, I guess. But I saw a glowing blue ray of energy for a moment just when we started to teleport...?" "Better. What you saw was our ride, basically: we turn into energy to travel the lines, but just before we do, in the moment between this world and the other, you can see what we're about to travel on. That is the other part of teleportation, and this is where we differ from the Dark-types and such that can do what we did and cross dimensional barriers: even when we turn into energy for the ride, we retain our consciousness. That's why we can come out of the web, rather than just traveling forever - we can know where we're going and when to get off, even though we can't "see" anything per se. We're going to practice that a few times so you can see what I mean. All you have to do is hold tight and focus on staying alert: right when you see the glow of the leylines, you have to sort of let your consciousness drift away from your body. Your body gets turned into energy as normal, but if you do it right, you can attach your mind to the energy flow and sort of follow your body down the line. Ready?" A tremulous nod and a nervous grip on his hand later, they disappeared in a flash, reappearing a moment later some ten rooftops away. Ralts looked confused, disappointed, and yet determined nonetheless: the yellow psychic didn't even need to ask to know what had happened. With a sigh, he teleported once more; she was small enough to not be much of a drain, but he didn't relish the idea of doing this all afternoon. A few minutes and nearly a dozen teleports later, Abra winced as his companion screamed in his ear, holding onto his hand with what amounted to bonecrushing force as she nearly danced in glee. "Could you-could you -please- let go of my ha""I DID IT! I FUCKING DID IT! I TOTALLY WATCHED THE WHOLE FUCKING THING! OH HELL YES, THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!" "That's fascinating, really, but could you please-hurk!" Cut off mid-sentence by a crushing hug, her battered teacher resigned himself to the fate of having his spine fractured by the hyperactive Ralts. "Please... ahh... please... let go of me, Iseya. I can't... I can't breathe." The grip was released as quickly as it had come, and a sheepish Ralts helped him back to his feet. "Errr... sorry about that, I sorta.. got excited, and... well... you know..." She trailed off uncertainly, and Abra couldn't hold back a small smile. "It's all right - you did great, just don't do that again. Shit, I'm beat though. Want to go get some ice cream or something?" "But Lachesis said- "I know what the hell she said, but she isn't going to find us either way right now. If she needs us we can pop up, but I think you need some practice in teleporting. And hey, what better way than to use it to get the hell away from angry salesmen, right? It's... training! There we go! We're just using the ice cream as a means to train! ...Memorize that defense, by the way. I have a feeling we're going to have to use it. Anyways, you try to teleport now, using what I taught you, and I'll be follow right behind you. If you fuck up, I'll drag your ass back to reality and make you do it again." As Ralts attempted to emulate her companion's teleporting capabilities, his omnipresent self-assured smirk grew wider. Iseya was so much more bearable when she shut up and listened. |
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| Munchkinator | Oct 19 2008, 05:51:10 PM Post #3 |
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Don't waste my time.
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Lachesis entered a Pokemart a moment later with an impassive face. Years of experience masking her emotions had given her ironclad control, broken only during the dizzying rush at the height of the kill, the point at which she let down her emotional barriers and bathed in the terror and pain of the victim. That was, perhaps, the only time at which she showed her true face; consciously or not, that had been as much of a factor in her addiction to killing as the sensation of absolute power and the thrill of the hunt. Now, though, there was no bloodied victim begging for salvation even as his lifeblood seeped out of his severed fingers. No innocents lay lifeless at her feet; no corpses, an eternal ghastly rictus on their bloodied faces. No, Lachesis had reinforced the bulwarks, and the momentary rush of emotion at the possibility of Jake's loss was gone, buried within the abyss of swirling emotion within. Lachesis, for all intents and purposes, was a walking corpse - no thoughts crossed her mind as she mechanically chose four Super Potions and an Ultra Ball, her walk was devoid of gaity, and her eyes had a darkness to them that went far beyond their natural hues. She paid for the merchandise without a word, exiting the Pokemart a moment later with the same lifeless gait. Introspective and preoccupied, she barely even noticed the lack of attendance by her erstwhile, thieving psychics: within her mind, blackened by hate, stirred only one thought. She needed to kill. Lachesis slowly made her way to the address Grant had given her, head hanging in thought as picked her way amongst the snowdrifts. Now that she was out of the Pokemart, her careful facade cracked for a moment. Plagued by thoughts of Jake and a completely uncharacteristic worry for his well being, she struggled to put her thoughts in order. I'm not-I'm not afraid for him! I just... just... I'm sort of worried that he'll end up dying, because what he's doing is so damn stupid, and he's so damn stupid, and-and-ugh. He's just a meat shield, even if he doesn't know it, so I must just be worried about having to find another one. That's all. I'm not even worried about him at all, just that I'll have to find some other gullible idiot to travel with and use as a scapegoat. An unwanted image of her companion flashed through her mind, and she cringed guiltily. Just a scapegoat... that's all. Nothing more. I'm just getting too used to using him, so it's unconscious, illogical attachment. I need to get a new pawn. As she attempted to explain away the obvious, the tiny psychopath's steps unconsciously quickened. She needed to get to work, and fast - work let her drown out useless thoughts and emotion, and she didn't want Jake and Grant to finish up before her. With multiple teleporting Pokemon and her superior mind, she was unwavering in her confidence in herself and her abilities: Jake was an amateur at best, after all, and Grant didn't seem competent enough to even find the warehouse, much less detonate the crude charges effectively. Yeah, she'd finish up first pretty much no longer how long she took - she'd have to check in with the idiots after she finished to see how much help they needed. What she lacked in size, she more than made up for with a crushing ego. {4x SP = -500 1x UB = -200 -500+-200 = -700 from profile} |
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| Iseya | Nov 28 2008, 03:47:22 PM Post #4 |
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Errant Guardian
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With the last remaining fragile link to her sanity currently located halfway across the town, entirely absorbed in what she was doing, our disturbed heroine was left to wander the streets aimlessly, wrestling with the rising tide of emotions without the loyal little psychic at her side. In her delirium, she barely even noticed; perhaps for the best, since she would have quite some time to confront her inner demons before her erstwhile Pokémon would once again appear. What of our new heroes, then? As it so happens, they were fleeing for their lives from an especially irate duo of Growlithe; Abra's prank had gone awry, and given Iseya's As per any dramatic situation, our heroine (and hero, but he's mostly just there for comic relief) quickly ended up trapped in an alleyway. Well, perhaps "trapped" isn't the proper word; she knew exactly where she was headed, a side benefit of having surveyed much of the town from the rooftops, and the main point of the exercise was tactical. No, she definitely wasn't going for the gullible, "maiden in distress" pattern; the alleyway was to disrupt the Growlithe's massive mobility advantage, forcing them to advance in narrow quarters, with plenty of refuse strewn about to watch out for - perfect for her tactics. After all, she had two priorities: keeping Abra safe, and beating the shit out of the Growlithe threatening herself and her companion. Dumping the golden retard into a trash can with all her might, no mean feat given her pitiful strength, the defiant toddler turned to face down her opponents. Free from the constant strain of having to keep Lachesis's turbulent emotions in check, it took but a moment to nearly collapse on the spot as psychic energy flooded into her in a violent maelstrom of power. All the psychic energy she had used to create bulwarks in the master's mind, the mental barriers she had carefully erected, even the gates of the link between herself and her master - every barrier collapsed, every link freed, the energy came rushing back to its creator: the unfortunate Ralts who was already nearly ready to lose consciousness. She hadn't anticipated nearly this much power from the release - that she had spent that much energy regulating and stabilizing Lachesis came as a shock to her. Had she not already been at her limits simply drawing the power back in, the brave little guardian might well have thought long and hard about just how worthwhile it would be to re-establish the links - fortunate, perhaps, that she hadn't the time. Though the initial shockwave of energy had driven back the Growlithe for a moment, the alpha male of the two had already begun edging in once more. Carefully, mind you; he hadn't the foggiest idea what was going on, but it didn't take Sun Tzu to realize that GIANT SWIRLING MASS OF ENERGY BEING ABSORBED BY OPPONENT CAN LEAD TO YOU GETTING RAPED HORRIBLY. Which, coincidentally, is a rough translation of the effects most psychic powers have! As the last of the tidal wave of energy entered the tiny Pokémon, she realized that her body could take little more without falling apart under the strain. A curious wave of euphoria washed over her as power coursed and crackled throughout every inch of her body, and with her mind no longer clouded by the ever-present cloud of negativity from her master that she had spent so much time attempting to negate, she found herself thinking more sharply than she had ever been able to before. A crystal clear mind, a sudden massive influx of power, and a few easy targets: what more could a girl ask for? Before she was able to examine the sentiment for the similarity it showed to her sadistic master, matters rapidly came to a head. To be precise, she realized with unpleasant certainty that if she didn't release a fair bit of the energy, her body would be torn apart by the constant storm of energy inside her - her fragile body, used to much lower quantities of energy, was having trouble coping with the immense excess that had so recently arrived. It needed an outlet, something to bleed off the excess force so that it could begin the process of absorbing what remained and exercising atrophied systems. The solution came to her as naturally as breathing, and letting her instincts guide her, she released a vast quantity of energy. Given the massive overdose she had so recently received, the blast was far stronger than she had expected in the back of her mind: an invisible maelstrom of psychic energy exploded out of her fragile body, aimed directly at the Growlithe... and everything else in the alleyway. Trash bags and garbage caught directly in the path of the shockwave disintegrated in a moment's time, garbage cans were blasted into the wall and disgorged their contents, and a veritable hail of shredded paper and unidentifiable material wafted to the ground in its wake. Even the resilient Growlithe were blown backwards by the force and ferocity of the detonation; the alleyway's inanimate occupants had taken the brunt of the energy detonation, but what had penetrated far enough to reach them had battered the alpha Growlithe quite effectively - he was bleeding from a number of small cuts, mostly via the shattered remains of several empty beer bottles that had been launched by the shockwave. Mentally and physically drained from the outburst, Ralts was able to do little else in the immediate aftermath - even had she had the presence of mind to go on the offensive once more, her battered body refused to respond. Energy still swirled haphazardly within her, but she was unable to release it in any sort of coherent form or fashion. It was perhaps for the best that the explosion had brought Abra back to consciousness and have given him the presence of mind to teleport both himself and his unfortunate companion to safety. Just one problem: without the comatose Ralts's guidance, he had no idea how tto locate Lachesis. Ralts was the link, after all; the little retard had made it her duty to pacify the master as needed. He didn't know where she'd gotten the sudden surge of power that had woken him up and shredded much of the insides of the alleyway, but he had a sinking feeling that it had to do with Lachesis - he was too far away to sense the girl, but a creeping cloud of insanity seemed to be slowly entering his mind. More than a little fearful for what would happen to him if he didn't facilitate the repairs of the link, but perplexed by the lack of a solid link to follow to the girl, he opted for what seemed like the best idea at the time: teleporting to where they'd last seen Lachesis, then hoping that there was enough of a trail to follow to find her before anything worse than usual happened. Well, the Pokemart hadn't been repainted red from ceiling to floorboards, so that was a good sign. The beggar outside still seemed to have his fingers more or less attached, and while the vacant look on his face suggested that he might not notice it, his head still seemed to be more or less functional. "Heh. Functional. That's debatable, considering how damn stupid he looks. Without the little bitch we can't find out if he saw Lach, though, so... hrmm." Disappointed but not defeated, our Let it be known that the definition for "gentleman" was the subject of much derision in Abra culture, and that Iseya really had it coming for backsassing him earlier and not getting back to the kitchen. Let it also be known that the "housewife" stereotype was the subject of much derision in Ralts culture, and she returned the favor by grinding his face off along the wall. It took some time for the fracas to be decided, but eventually it turned out that being slammed headfirst into the wall several times by an irate she-devil hit Abra's weak spot for MASSIVE DAMAGE. As with most psychics, the violence was short and brutal and the makeup rapid; they exchanged stories simultaneously, and quickly realized that Lachesis needed to be found and possibly sedated immediately. Without Iseya's stabilizing influence, she had rapidly regressed to blind rage - both psychics could feel the creeping insanity even over the distance separating them from the source, and neither wanted to approach the source and risk being consumed by it. For Abra, it was simple: they run. For Iseya... it was complicated. Her personality didn't allow her to back down from a challenge, but even more importantly, she cared for Lachesis. Worse yet, she knew that the dimunitive psychopath needed her - and, in her own way, cared for Iseya. Not that Lachesis would admit to as much even if she had any idea how to face it, but the dimunitive psychic's regular forays into the girl's mind had laid bare the fact. Given Lachesis's abandonment issues, Iseya wasn't sure that the girl would survive being left behind yet again by someone she cared for. She was terrified, she knew it was a suicidal mission, she knew that it was stupid and illogical, but... "I'm going." Before Abra could respond, she pressed on. "Yes, I know it's stupid. I don't know exactly how bad she's gotten, but if even you can feel her from here, it's worse than she's been since she found out her sister was dead from Amon. If we don't at least try to fix her now, it will be irreparable - then, I only barely managed to keep her dubiously sane. If we betray her now, I don't think she'll be able to recover. I can't..." Her voice cracked for a moment as emotion flooded over her, trying to search for the right words from a mind that didn't even know if what she was doing was right. "I can't leave her. Not now. Not ever. I swore to protect her... I won't... I won't let this happen! I can't fail her again." "So you done talking, or can we go find the psycho bitch yet?" She started at his words, but realized from the semi-serious smile that he was, for a sarcastic asshole extraordinaire, more or less serious. Supressing the urge to hug him - which wasn't that hard, considering he was an ugly fucker but would have been the cliche response -, she settled for slugging him in the gut and syncing their minds together; she would locate Lachesis, he'd teleport them there. {The energy detonation wasn't an official attack. Seeing as that the situation was crafted for character development rather than exp hounding, the Growlithe fracas wasn't meant to be a legitimate battle} |
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| Munchkinator | Nov 30 2008, 09:27:46 PM Post #5 |
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Don't waste my time.
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Hunger, a hunger in my soul I hunger for your word I hunger Only you can make me whole You satisfy my thirst I hunger A tiny fist, attached to a trembling arm, hit the wall with a dull thud. Ragged cement cut into the fair flesh with ease, coaxing a thousand tiny flows of blood out of the veins in her hand and coating her fist with a thin mask of the crimson liquid. It didn't help. Another blow did little to help, merely drawing the blood further and leaving a grisly streak on the wall. Unable to bring herself to strike again, realizing with what little was left of her reason that self mutilation did nothing to remedy the situation, she gave it up and settled for using the hand as support. It stabilized her body, but did nothing to stop the shaking - that came from within, not from something as petty as loss of balance or a battered hand. She stood immobile in that position for a moment, eyes tightly closed, as she attempted to hold back the rising tide of emotion. It was a failing effort, as had been becoming more and more obvious in the past half hour; each bout left her less prepared to deal with the next. The duo had been gone for over an hour now, and at no point had she found any trace of them - a clue, a psychic message, anything. It wasn't like them; the Abra was about as trustworthy as most of that species were, which was to say not at all; Ralts, on the other hand... The dimunitive psychic had always been there for her. Ever since they'd first met underground, when Ralts had kidnapped Lachesis to her home in the coffin and accidentally made a friend, the Ralts had been at her side. Even during the fight with Amon, Ralts had risked life and limb to protect her. The final attack had been mostly deflected by her efforts, forcing even the seemingly unstoppable juggernaut that was Amon to put the butchery on hold to recuperate. Afterwards, the Ralts had been one of the few Pokemon that had stayed with Lach; ever since, she had felt calmer when the psychic was around. Perhaps it was the Ralts' innate empathy; she vaguely remembered from earlier research into psychics that the species had a habit of forming empathic bonds with their trainers and feeding off the emotions, positive or negative. That wasn't likely, though - Lachesis knew full well just how fluffy and happy her thoughts were, and yet the Ralts continued to give off a positive aura. The girl was good at reading people from years of experience, and she was reasonably sure that it wasn't a facade - Ralts seemed to be a genuinely happy little thing. That raised more questions than it answered, but it was of little import to the current situation. For now, she had to get somewhere safe. She wasn't sure what had happened, but for some reason she loss of her Ralts was affecting her far more strongly than a single stupid Pokemon should have. With a wince, she withdrew her clenched fist from the wall and stood straight, sparing only a surreptitious glance behind her before walking into the darkness of the alleyway. If only Amon were here... I have strayed from your will On this path I've chosen I had closed up my heart But now it's open She realized with a start what blasphemy she had unconsciously whispered, covering her treacherous mouth in an instant. What the HELL? Why would she WANT that filthy monster here? He'd toyed with her for weeks, played with her emotions, butchered her Pokemon, left her lost and alone, and eventually even admitted to knowing that her sister was dead - he had known that all along, and yet he'd pretended to join her just to "help her find her beloved, long-lost sister." What bullshit. She'd known that he simply wanted her for her body - for different reasons than the average female, granted, considering she hadn't yet gone through puberty -, and yet she'd been so mesmerized by his raw, unadulterated power that she's gone along with him nonetheless. She had an inkling that when he had said that he wanted her body, he'd meant it literally. The way he'd looked at her when they had spoken... it was filled with a lust not born of desires of the flesh. It was a hunger that could never be satiated until the one thing he most desired was his, body and soul. It was a hunger that would leave the girl barren, stripped of all that she was or could have been. It was a hunger that could not be escaped nor defeated, a hunger that would not rest until one day she surrendered her soul, her very existence to his desires. It was a hunger that would kill her. However, in a strange way, she almost felt safer with him. It was inherently illogical, childish, and stupid, but... she knew what he wanted and what he was capable of, so he wasn't an unknown factor. They had no real secrets; she knew he wanted her life to sustain his own, and he had made no effort to hide that fact. It was almost comforting to only have a known threat, so that she could prepare herself for the inevitability. It was, in a way, safety: he would not destroy her before that day, no matter how he might toy with her. Just as importantly, he would not let another have his prey: he would, in his own twisted way, keep her safe. And there was one other thing, though her face darkened slightly in shame as she thought of it. Amon was... trustworthy. She knew that he would never leave her - unlike her father, sister, and Pokemon, Amon would shadow her until it was her time. He would not betray her like all others before had. It was strange, she realized: he had lied to her, deceived her, used her for his own benefit - and yet, beyond all that, he was in a way the most trustworthy being she had ever known. Her lips twisted into a cruel smile as she continued to walk down the twisted alleyway, too deep in thought to notice that no alleyway could have been so long, nor so twisted. Perhaps, if she'd been paying the least bit of attention, she might have even noticed that the "walls" were warping in ways that they shouldn't be; bricks and cement were sticking out at odd angles, and thin wisps of inky smoke were rising from random areas on the ground. Even the sky had disappeared - it was midday, but the overcast sky had gradually given way to an unsettling, churning mass of darkness. As she continued, the walls grew more and more eccentric; entire sections were missing, and in two cases, numerous pairs of glowing eyes appeared out to gaze at her malevolently before fading out. Eventually, even she couldn't fail to notice the difference; self-deprecation and thoughtfulness aside, there's only so many times you can pass houses that have been twisted into pretzel-esque shapes before even the least observant of people have to take notice. "...God dammit. I need to get life insurance." Strangely enough, her brooding depression had slowly lifted as she puzzled over her strange relationship with Amon. Whether it be because she finally understood the situation better or due to an outside source she hadn't the faintest idea, but it was refreshing to have a less muddled mind. Whatever the hell she was walking into, facing it with a dull mind and slowed reflexes would have done little to further her chance of survival. She didn't even think to question the cause of the depression - normally, something so minor as her Pokemon disappearing for an hour wouldn't have phased her in the slightest. Here, here am I Come, come live inside And then the empathic link broke. |
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| Amon | Dec 1 2008, 05:22:19 PM Post #6 |
The Deceiver
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The girl collapsed to the ground with an agonized scream, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of pain coursing through her head. It was far beyond anything she had ever experienced; months of repressed emotion had been abruptly let loose, as had the psychic energy holding them in place, and both were seeking egress through any means possible. Lachesis was used to pain and had a ludicrously high tolerance, but this sensation went far beyond anything she had ever experienced, physical or mental. It wasn't the sort of emotional pain she had once felt before carefully sequestering it away, and it certainly was nothing like the pain upon finding out she had lost Atropos. It wasn't the pain she had felt when her father had left her, nor was it even the pain she had felt when Atropos had left. It wasn't the pain that she had felt the first time she scraped her knee as a child. It wasn't the pain she had felt a few minutes ago upon punching the concrete wall. It wasn't the pain she had felt many times over her career as a professional deranged psychopath, whether from being punched or even knifed. It was all of them at once, and it was too much for her to bear. And it tasted good. As Lachesis writhed in unspeakable agony on the inky darkness that had long since replaced the cement of the city, an even darker shadow slowly formed above her, baring rows of serrated teeth as it gazed down upon her. It was quite pleased with how things had gone; in the absence of that damned psychic, the girl's emotions had been ludicrously easy to manipulate. All he'd had to do was magnify her repressed fear of having even her Pokémon abandon her,and he'd quite effectively separated her from her sanity for long enough to leave her wandering around the town aimlessly, farther and farther away from the Ralts that had proven to be such a pain. Even the Ralts had succumbed easily; she would have never severed the link for something as trivial as two easily-subdued Growlithes had he not implanted the idea in her mind. The Abra and Ralts had finally caught on to the fact that something was wrong, but that was of little concern - he had disguised Lachesis's and his own presence, so they'd be long done before the Ralts came into the plan. And what a plan he had for the Ralts. She had interested him too; she was unimportant compared to the quivering human piteously strewn beneath him, but she would play her part in his plan as well. After all, the Queens and Rooks in chess always had a meat shield of Pawns to soak up fire. It behooved any mastermind to have useful but ultimately expendable tools, and Ralts, with all her unexplored power and single-minded determination to protect Lachesis, would prove useful. Very useful, in fact, because it would save him from having to locate and manipulate a possibly unwilling Pokémon into filling that role - psychics were a pain to manipulate, generally speaking, but ones as naive and possessive as this... "Iseya," was it? Yes, she'd do nicely. Quite nicely. He sank to the ground with practiced ease, regarding the comatose girl for a moment before idly running a razor sharp claw over the curve of her cheek. A thin line of blood appeared an instant later, and his terrible smile grew toothier yet. What a perfectly delectable little morsel. He could have been tied to any human stupid enough to give an unfortunate Morghoul that level of power, but to be tied to one who was simultaneously one of the toughest humans he'd ever met and one of the most fragile was intriguing. It had been an odd relationship from the start; rather than running, as humans apparently usually did when an Amon came into existence, she had been so fascinated by his power that she had promised herself body and soul to him in return for a fraction of it. He had been just surprised enough at the time to not kill her, and somehow the little lunatic had managed to attach herself to him. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but when she had penetrated the darkness at the moment of his formation, a link had been forged between the two of them. She wasn't aware of it, given her pathetic human perception, but he was - he had been unable to stray too far from her in the aftermath of the fight in the human city, and had settled for silently shadowing her until the time was right to act. At least she'd proven to have some degree of unpredictability - the bond she had begun to develop with that filthy human she had been using as a bodyguard had been entirely unexpected. His smile dimmed for a moment as a flicker of annoyance passed his ghastly features; THAT was going to be an unpleasant section of their little chat. Still, he had planned ahead on that one... and there was always the final cog, yet to be introduced, that he had begun to influence. She would introduce some much-needed spontaneity to the proceedings. First things first, though - he could plan out the next phase of the proceedings later, but for now, he needed to get to work. It wouldn't do to deviate from the timetable. "Ah, but look at the time! Why, I was so overwhelmed by our fond memories together that I'd almost forgotten that we needed to have a little chat. You... do remember them, don't you? You wouldn't forget your only remaining friend in this world or any other?" The girl merely rose dead eyes to him, listless and void of understanding. A thin line of saliva continued to run down her cheek as what little was left of her coherent mind struggled to form a response, but to no avail; the recent explosion of pain had left her inert. His smile deepened as he watched her piteous reaction, gleeful at her absolute helplessness in the face of his power. "It's really quite a pity that that Ralts of yours left, isn't it? It couldn't have been an accident that she severed the empathic connection - she knew full well how painful it would be for you. It's in her blood, after all; the Ralts species are empathic little leeches. Didn't you ever think to wonder why you had been weaker lately? Why the hatred and energy that had once been so easy to call upon had faded into dull incompetence? Did you think it was a good thing, girl?" Hunger pains in my soul, telling me I'm empty. Well I can see what I need, Your word can complete me. As he drove in the point, he slowly began to restore her shattered mind. Piece by piece, memory by memory, a carefully crafted sequence of activity began to stir in her mind. Pertinent memories, tinged slightly with unholy power to change events and perceptions to make his point. Evoked feelings rose at the proper time; disgust as he continued to reveal Ralts' "treachery," understanding as her black deeds were laid bare... just as planned. But for the plan to work, he would have to repair her completely, even her paranoia and anger: that would be the most crucial part. It was imperative that he establish her connection to him first. "I am... sorry, Lachesis. I am attempting to repair your mind, but the damage done is extensive. Breaking the empathic bond in such a manner is generally fatal to the unfortunate human, and this one was quite nearly ripped out of your body; I'm amazed you're even breathing. I suppose fate could have picked a worse human for me to be bonded too; you're incredibly resilient." Ah, the glimmer in her eyes: she wanted validation. It had been easy to deduce her motivations and the like while he had sifted through her memories and emotions; each and every word had been carefully crafted to speak to her. "A very special human indeed. But merely a human, fragile and transient: like the rest of your pitiful race, doomed to live short, meaningless lives and be swallowed by the abyss. What a tragedy, to be so young and so full of promise, merely to die because of such things as biological clocks... or the bullet of an assassin. I see many possible futures for you, child, but all end in death. It is inherent to humanity, after all; any normal human can merely have some small degree of choice in how they die." By this point, he had restored many of her mind's higher functions; she was nearly back to normal, and his words continued to strike true. So close: all that was left was her motor functions and the highest functions of her mind. Neither the Ralts nor the Abra was near enough to ascertain the direness of their situation, and there were no intruders from the Other Side. Steeling himself for the coup de grace, he continued. "But you, child. You are not like them. You have a choice. The choice. Unlike the millions of maggots who roam this earth uselessly, you have proven yourself. To me, to others. Most importantly, you have proven your own capabilities to yourself. You are still too young, too fragile to survive the entirety of our agreement, and I would not deny either of us the pleasure of seeing it fulfilled. However..." Cannot move, cannot think, without You with me. What I need, You freely give. Renew my thinking. Even without the specter's guiding hand, she unconsciously leaned forward. Her mind had returned, thanks to Amon's careful machinations, and even her trademark paranoia had taken a temporary backseat - at Amon's bidding, of course, though she was unaware of the fact. "I would have you, child. I would that we share your body, frail though it may be. I would show you the twisted beauty of the Other Side and show you the flowers that bloom there. The beings that call that place their home. The creatures that lurk in the shadows even in a world of darkness. I would grant you use of my power, Lachesis, untamed and infinite, to do with as you please. To kill, maim, butcher... and to protect. To protect yourself from those that will inevitably seek your death. I have foreseen it, as I have foreseen many things in your ever-shifting future. I will give you the power to shape that future, girl. Will you accept it? Do you truly believe that you can tame my power and make it your own?" He stretched out one massive clawed hand, reaching out to Lachesis. Here, here am I. Come, come live inside. A tiny hand reached out, dwarfed by the size of his. Alabaster skin rested on shifting shadow for a moment, and for the first time, she spoke. "I will." |
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| Iseya | Dec 2 2008, 01:33:17 AM Post #7 |
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Errant Guardian
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"God dammit, where the hell could she be?" Iseya's panic had steadily become more and more obvious as they searched the town fruitlessly; Lachesis was nowhere to be found, and all trace of her had completely disappeared. Not even a local Kadabra had been able to locate the missing girl - every trace of Lachesis's presence had vanished. Even if she were dead, there ought to have been at least a faint, lingering presence. People didn't just disappear like that: escaping a probing psychic, much less two or more linked psychics, was humanly impossible. That was one of the many reasons Psychic-type Pokémon had held such an illustrious history for trainers capable of mastering them; though fragile, they offered unmatched raw power and a uniqe ability to probe the minds of anything except for another psychic. Dark- and Ghost-type Pokémon were immune to mind reading, but both could be dealt with; Dark-types could be avoided or overcome by controlling other Pokémon capable of handling the problem, and specters rarely bothered making a serious nuisance of themselves. The few times they did, they tended to be pains in the derriere to actually remove from play; though rarely masters of offense, shades had built up a reputation of being notoriously hard to kill. Still, enough force and superior tactics, and even they fell. Needless to say, psychic Pokémon across the world had never been on good terms with either type; theirs was an uneasy coexistence, only made worse by events such as these. And really, she thought, there's no other explanation. Either a ghost of a Dark-type is responsible for this - for Lachesis to be undetectable even by myself, something is definitely interfering. That was all well and good, but narrowing the search down to the most elusive occupants of the town didn't really do a whole hell of a lot of good overall. Compounding the problem, Dark-types were impossible to sense from a distance - their powers nullified all psychic energy in the vicinity, so the only way to find a Dark-type was to quite literally see it. Ghosts were no better; though they did nothing to nullify psychic powers, and sometimes even used butchered versions themselves, they were inherently ethereal. Without physical minds to locate, and without a body to scan, they were just as bad as Dark-types. Worse yet, even in visual range the damn things couldn't be sensed unless they were in the midst of attacking - and since they could turn invisible at will, even sight often failed psychics attempting to take them on. The overworked Ralts put a hand to her forehead and tapped the Abra on the shoulder with her other, silently signaling a temporary rest stop. Though he started at the sudden contact, he saw how exhausted she was rapidly becoming and acquiesced without argument. After all, the Her companion wisely shut up, valuing his internal organs more than a snappy comeback. He used the silence to evaluate his companion as she drifted off into thought; she was rapidly tiring, and he wasn't sure that she could keep up the search for much longer. He, too, was growing weary; a single Teleport was easy enough for a god of his caliber, but after nearly a half hour of constant teleportation, even he was reaching his reserves. It wouldn't have been such a damn problem if the useless bitch could Teleport alongside him, dammit! He chided himself for the harsh thought a moment later, remembering that the nearby psychic had been doing even more than he had. All he'd had to focus on was teleporting, after all; she had been continuously scanning and evaluating the vicinity for much of the time. Maybe he should have tried to create a bond with Lachesis too, so he could help? "No, it's... okay. This is something that I need to do." Before he could respond to the unexpected intrusion, she smiled wearily and spoke once again. "Listen, I have a bad feeling about this. For the past ten minutes there's been something-there's something wrong. I can't sense Lachesis at all, not even traces of her last known coordinates. That in and of itself is strange enough, but in those ten minutes, there's been something happening. I keep feeling an odd pull in my mind, like there's something trying to get in. But it's just a tiny blip, like it's either so weak that it can barely reach me, or..." She trailed off, unwilling or perhaps unable able to continue. Abra looked on in amazement; he'd known her for a few months now, and he was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the shadow in her eyes had been fear. Iseya didn't get scared. "...I think it's already inside me, and the only reason I can even feel it at all is because it wants me to." In the wake of her admission, she sheepishly smiled at the contemplative Abra, then dejectedly dropped her hands to her sides. This whole thing was so bloody stupid. Why couldn't Lachesis just sit still? With a grumble, she wandered outside the shelter and thoughtfully looked around the alleyway. Nothing too special about it; it was cold, hard, and full of discarded items. Just like every other alleyway they'd seen, albeit without the usual drunkard. "You're worrying to much, chica. We'll find Lachesis, and... hey, are you even listening to me?" Of course, if he had to ask, she wasn't. And she most certainly was not: instead, she was far too busy trying to hold back a sudden violent urge to vomit uncontrollably. She failed, and much of the next minute was spent vacating the contents of her stomach onto the snow - and once everything was out, retching. The instant she finished, she whirled around with a look of combined fear and determination that silenced even her mouthy companion. "We need to go. Now." Please don't it be too late! Before he could protest, she had grabbed a hold of him, fed him the coordinates, and initiated the Teleport. When they arrived, she wasted not even a second in detaching herself and scrambling atop a trash can to inspect the wall: a pair of bloody prints lay in stark contrast to the white around her, cementing the terrible realization that the scattered imagery that had suddenly appeared in her mind during the vomiting hadn't been a false alarm. Oh, no. It was real. It actually was him. There was no point in hiding it now; she was terrified beyond reason. The last time she had faced the monster, he had slaughtered the entire group in seconds. It was only due to his sick fascination for the little Ralts' master that either of them had survived; Iseya knew full well that her pitiful attempt at a barrier had been for no better reason than to give Lachesis peace of mind. There had been no way in heaven or hell that she could have actually stopped the creature that day: the sheer killing intent had nearly immobilized her on its own, even before the bastard's silvery tongue had broken Lachesis like no blade could ever have. They were playing Amon's game now, and he wanted them to find him. Her blood ran cold as she realized just how dire the situation was: separated from Iseya, Lachesis would have been exceptionally vulnerable to Asmodeus's subtle prompting. When the empathic link had been broken... oh, no. In an instant, she realized how utterly they had fallen into the Deceiver's trap; for all she knew, her and Abra's every action had been forseen... or worse yet, controlled. Though she had a moment ago thought the situation couldn't get any worse, she realized how naive that had been; the presence within her had been Amon, teasing her, daring her to find him. The entire time they had been searching, he had been watching their progress. He'd already had at least half an hour alone with Lachesis... They had lost the battle, but perhaps there was yet time to win the war. Lachesis was tough; even without the empathic bond she could resist him! If they could just reach her in time, there might still be time... no, not likely, considering how perfectly orchestrated every aspect of this debacle had been. But... still! How could she simply sit and wait for her charge to be butchered by the beast? There was no such thing as a perfect crime, as they said in the human world; there must be some way to stop Amon! She didn't even have to explain to Abra where they were going now; the shadows extended down the unnaturally long alleyway further than the eye could see, leaving a perfect entrance to the grand finale. They set off posthaste; Ralts desperate to save her master, Abra to protect his dimunitive partner. Their selflessness was admirable; neither thought of themselves for a moment. Perhaps they should have. Edited by Munch, Feb 12 2009, 02:08:47 AM.
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| Liberi Fatali | |
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| Iseya | Dec 5 2008, 10:52:49 PM Post #8 |
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Errant Guardian
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A lurid scream, echoing down the shadow corridor from the abyss deep within, steeled their resolve. Whether it was a trick of the creature they now hunted, or an unavoidable effect of the plane they now walked through, teleportation was impossible: the psychic duo quickly realized that the entire psychic network had seemingly disappeared. No choice but to walk - and walk they did, for though neither wanted to meet what had doubtless caused the scream, the likelihood that Lachesis had been at the time unharmed meant that their rescue effort might not be too late. Neither psychic was especially thrilled with the idea of walking after the amount of exercise they'd already had that day teleporting around the town, but Ralts was too focused on the task at hand to care and Abra knew better than to make a point of it. After a time, the end of the corridor came abruptly: they emerged into a large dome, which, like the rest of the area, seemed to be dimly lit by an unknown source. Of far greater importance than the lighting arrangements was the being at the center of the room: a small, silver haired girl rested on her hands and knees, facing away from the entrance. Oddly, she seemed untouched by the shadows around her; she was immobile, but the nearly imperceptible movements of her abdomen indicated that she continued to breathe. Iseya, unsurprisingly, was beside herself with joy: her master was not only still alive, but unharmed! In the spirit of the moment, her better judgment deserted her - rather than search for lurking presences or explore the utterly blank mind of the girl before her, she threw caution to the winds and advanced towards the girl with a happy heart. "Lachesis!" No sooner had she uttered the words than a wave of power blasted through her, stopping her in her tracks and robbing her of coherent thought for a moment. A few seconds later, as though the pulse of power had somehow reactivated her body, Lachesis slowly rose. Something was wrong with her movements, though, as Iseya quickly realized; they seemed jerky, stilted, as though she was unused to her own body. By the time the momentary paralysis had worn off, the girl had regained her feet, but made no immediate effort to turn around. A single whisper escaped her lips, barely audible save for the enhanced perception of the distraught Ralts: "Iseya...?" Finally, with uncharacteristic slowness, she turned to face the two psychics. Ralts started, raising a hand to her mouth in ill-hidden shock: the girl's face was completely void of emotion, and her head lolled to the side in a manner unpleasantly reminiscent of a puppet's. The brave little Ralts made as if to move towards her master, but a new development halted her once again: the shadows around Lachesis had begun to take form, inky darkness billowing forth around and above the girl's frail form. In a moment, the vague form of Amon's mocking smile had grown from the cloud of darkness, and a moment later, the rest of his upper body issued forth from Lachesis's. "Welcome..." As he spoke, an enormous shockwave of malevolent power erupted in all directions from the vessel. Abra succumbed instantly, collapsing to the ground without a sound; Ralts, out of sheer stubbornness, barely managed to remain standing. The monster before her noticed this fact with a grin that sent shivers down her spine, then spoke once more. This time, the small girl echoed his words. "We've been waiting for you" Lachesis took a step towards the paralyzed psychic, dead eyes betraying her lack of volition. "So good of you to come. I was rather beginning to wonder if you'd come at all, I must confess. After all, you've already abandoned her once... twice, if you count just how ineffectual you were at Riverwood." Another step. "How did that human saying go? "Third time's the charm," I believe? And to think, even after you've failed her so many times, after you intentionally severed the empathic connection to this poor girl, you still come back in the end. How touching." Yet another step. Lachesis, small though she was, towered over the even smaller Ralts: unable to back away, the tiny psychic had little choice but to watch in awe as the apparition continued to defile her master by using the girl as a mouthpiece. "Oh, come now! Harsh words - or should I say thoughts? - from one who abandoned her master to the big bad wolf so she could steal ice cream?" The disdain in his voice was obvious, and Iseya wilted in place. He was right: if she hadn't disobeyed Lachesis and ditched for ice cream, none of this would have happened. "Really, Lachesis deserves so much better from a proper guardian. Don't you agree? I mean... I'm just an immensely powerful ancient evil entity who could kill you with a thought, but even I know better than to disappear at a time like that! You're supposed to be her guardian, for crying out loud. Doesn't the job description include being there for Lachesis when she needs you?" Her powers of speech had deserted her long ago, so the forlorn Ralts was able to do little more than slightly incline her head in a poor facsimile of a nod. She didn't want to admit it, but he was right: she had deserted the master in her time of need, and now they would all pay the ultimate price. "Ahh, but I suppose I shouldn't hurt your feelings too badly. It might jeopardize our future working relationship, after all, and no one wants to deal with grumpy coworkers!" ...Wait, what? "You see, Iseya, this has been a... test, I suppose. Your friend passed it with flying colors; your ally failed miserably. Now we come to a crossroads; you are the last of the group that must decide your path. Grievous as your failures were, there is yet hope; you are young and inexperienced, ill equipped to handle so herculean a task as protecting the girl. in excusable though your past failures were, I will offer you one final choice. You must understand, I have no intention of ending the girl's life prematurely - she has a role to play in events not yet revealed, and I too have plans for her that stretch far into the future. It would seem that we have a common cause, and it seems dreadfully inefficient for us to work at cross purposes. Your loyalty is unquestionable, after all; though weak in body and mind, your spirit at least burns brightly." Iseya struggled to comprehend the situation, completely aghast by the unexpected turn of events. She'd expected nothing more than a quick and painful death, but to find out... this? She hadn't the faintest idea how to react. Amon striking up a casual conversation with her? Complimenting her? In her dazed state, she half expected him to turn into the Easter Bunny and hop away. "What you lack, little one, is power. The power to protect the one most dear to you, the might to turn aside the attacks of those who would harm her, and the clarity of mind and purpose that comes with it. Enough power to protect her from all harm... that is what you wish for, is it not?" Unable to respond, but with her interest piqued, Iseya once again ignored her instincts and listened to Amon's honeyed words. "As it happens, I've been keeping an eye out for a completely loyal guardian for my ward. I'd hate to see anything happen to her, after all, and I can't watch over her all the time - things to do, people to kill, all that nonsense. It seems to me that we could come to some sort of agreement; we do want the same thing, after all. Here's the deal: you promise to protect the vessel for me, I'll give you the power to do it. No conditionals, no extra costs, I don't want your damn soul, etcetera etcetera. Sound good to you?" ...Huh? Iseya's eyes glazed over for a moment as she tried to process the sudden shift in tone. First a heartless villain, then a sudden shift to concerned father? What the hell WASN'T Amon capable of? Even as her mind attempted to figure out what the hell was going on, another part knew better. Amon's act was merely that - an act. He didn't have Lachesis's best interests in mind, nor did he care in the least about the the Ralts. They were only tools, to be used as needed and eventually discarded once they were no longer useful. That was his nature, after all; no matter how he spoke, regardless of how he cushioned his words, it was a fact that not even his silver tongue could dispel. And yet... it was a tempting proposal, she grudgingly admitted. At the very least, it would help keep Lachesis safe for the time being; at best, she might even be able to eventually use the power to destroy Amon and save Lachesis entirely. Besides, she reasoned, if I refuse, he'll just kill me and force someone else to do it. They won't be loyal any further than his power can force them to, and if he ever makes a mistake and lets them free, they might turn on Lachesis. No, better to make the best of a bad situation by accepting the offer and using it to her - and her master's - benefit. Now, if she could just figure out a way to communicate that to Amon... Chilling laughter erupted from every direction as the possessed girl slowly raised a hand out to the Ralts. Amon, his vile grin growing ever larger, sank back into his vessel - and a moment later, the shadows surrounded the girl. Even the hand the had nearly reached the tiny psychic's head was covered in the shifting shadows. She tried to escape, to teleport, to move, anything. Nothing happened. She braced herself for the touch, then-nothing. No explosion, no death, and she could... move? She looked up into the face of her savior. Lachesis looked down on her with blackened eyes, a sadistic smile covering her face. When she spoke, her voice and Amon's were interlayered perfectly; no trace of individuality remained. "Don't worry, little one. This will only hurt for a moment." Edited by Munch, Feb 12 2009, 02:09:14 AM.
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| Liberi Fatali | |
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| Amon | Dec 10 2008, 01:12:39 AM Post #9 |
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The Deceiver
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He was lying, of course, but that revelation really shouldn't be much a surprise given his track record. A feeling of amusement tinged the air as a massive burst of darkness rushed into Iseya's body, driving her off her feet and into unconsciousness in an instant. After all, conscious psychics were such a pain to deal with - they seemed to have some inexplicable problem with having their minds twisted and their memories altered or removed that he'd never quite figured out. It couldn't be any attachment to the memories; victims always seemed much happier after he finished his ministrations. 'Probably for the best' he mused. 'If they actually knew that they usually tended to end up killing everyone they knew and loved, I'd imagine that would be very difficult on the poor things. Why, I'm doing them a great service!' He didn't bother adding that his unfortunate minions would have had done the killings with or without the memory wipe, as it seemed to be a point of contention early on before he learned that many sentient mammals had some odd fixation on other members of these "families" that they often complained about. He'd had to sift through several minds to convince himself that they weren't kidding, and when he'd finally realized how true it was, he'd nearly blew his cover of evil overlord by laughing himself to tears. Really, familial bonds? How pathetic was this society? The strong dominated and the weak served - that was the way of the world. At least he'd figured out how to use those strong feelings of possessiveness and caring to orchestrate this little escapade. Driving the previous train of thought out of his mind, he set to work. He was still getting used to the girl's body, but she was a remarkably pleasant host. A little on the small side, true, but she was fit enough to rival some Olympic athletes and her mind was brilliant. Not a bad choice for a minion, a willing one no less, though he'd have to make sure she ate a little better. You could nearly see her ribs - not healthy in the least. He idly wondered if he should see about getting her a Fire-type guardian, preferably one that could cook well enough to keep his host fed when she was out in the field. The train of thought went on for some time, but he shelved it to a back corner of his mind, right beside the discussion about the pros and cons of finding a Dusknoir in case the girl died and he had to get her soul back. He'd never quite decided how to work that one out. He frowned in concentration as the unconscious Ralts moaned, trying her best to stop the flow of energy that was rapidly removing or rearranging parts of her mind. It looked painful, he decided - he wasn't familiar with the feeling, but he was quite the expert on causing it. He -was- a floating fuzzball of darkness, hatred, and other such fluffy nonsense after all. It behooved him to act the part. ...Well, later. For now, he had to focus on the stupid runt. His host was trying to help, but her body would rapidly be transformed into a dehydrated husk if he forced too much more dark energy through her. One of the many downsides of being a real girl. Ah well, time to take a look inside the newest addition to his stock of minions - hopefully this one would last a little longer than, err, any of the others. He'd have to look into the 100% mortality rate sometime. Not a sound was made as he infused the Ralts with his presence, inspecting the strength validity of her mental wards. It was easy to control to dream world; many of his abilities already revolved around controlling or annihilating foes trapped within, so it wasn't especially difficult to restrain himself for once and concentrate on inspecting. It was dull work, but it was necessary - if Iseya had any memories of her "real" self, her loyalty to Lachesis could be sabotaged. That wouldn't do in the least, shockingly enough (to absolutely no one), so he had opted to completely erase her old self and replace it with a persona more fitting for a fanatically loyal guardian - namely, that of a fanatically loyal guardian. Evil deity or not, he wasn't too imaginative. The work took several minutes, but he was thorough. Months of practice, coupled with his frightening intellect and drive, ensured that by the time he finished the "real" Iseya had long since been erased from existence. Her replacement, also named Iseya - though whether from a sadistic urge to taunt the now-defunct original or simple laziness was never quite decided -, was a much more fitting replacement: she was single-minded in her adoration of the girl, ready to keep both the empathic link and guard the girl against more solid threats as well. Not bad for ten minute's work, though he was less sanguine about her eventual mental decay. He'd never actually forged a persona that would have to remain effective for more than a few hours - this was as much a test of several theories as it was the creation of a fitting guardian for the girl. Excessive mental trauma from the girl would end up bleeding directly into the guardian, so while Lachesis would be free to single-mindedly pursue her ambitions and leave that sniveling human filth Jake behind, her guardian would eventually shatter under the pressure. Oh well. He had a few theories as to what would happen then, but he estimated that the eventual collapse wouldn't happen for at least a few months. The arrival of the final sister might do much to destabilize the bond, but by that point he had two other guardians to take the Ralts' place. Iseya would have to be simply taken care of whenever she went rogue, regardless of how the dimunitive girl felt about her long-term guardian. He grimaced at the thought of that discussion; for all his power, dealing with the girl throwing a temper tantrum promised to be quite the experience. He'd have to be prepared. With a final probe, he satisfied himself that the Iseya of ten minutes ago was truly gone from this world. He'd had to expend more energy than he thought, unfortunately; he'd hoped that Lachesis's presence would calm the Ralts into lowering her shields, but the damage done to the Abra had apparently been serious enough to galvanize her will. Accursed psychics. Leaving the recovering Ralts to her own devices, he walked over to the comatose Abra with his temporary body, then roughly lifted it up. A jolt of power forced the Abra awake; a more sustained stream shattered his mind and rendered him effectively harmless. After all, what could a babbling moron do? He doubted the Abra would ever even make it to Kadabra, much less a 'Zam, so leaving the damned thing alive but insane would be fitting. Already in a foul mood as the magic binding his form to Lachesis began to fade, he impaled the defenseless psychic on one gargantuan claw before hurling it away. Just one more thing to take care of. Edited by Munch, Feb 12 2009, 02:11:21 AM.
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| Munchkinator | Dec 17 2008, 02:14:00 AM Post #10 |
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Don't waste my time.
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Lachesis crumpled to the ground in silence a moment later, her frail body taxed far beyond its limits by the strain of acting as Amon's host. The human body was never meant to take such abuse, and it was showing - parts of her had faded entirely into the shadows that carpeted the area, and much of what was left of her body was slowly decomposing into ethereal black smoke. As she lay there in an absolute silence only broken by the occasional shuddering breath, It struck her as grimly humorous: she'd made it through numerous brawls relatively unharmed, killed dozens of men and women twice her size and more heavily armed with naught but her knife and her wits, survived Amon's grisly evolution without a scratch, traveled three continents in search of her sister, and racked up a total death toll in the hundreds - and despite all that, she'd die in some fucked up pocket dimension by turning into smoke. Dracula, eat your heart out! The humor of the situation was too much for her to bear in stolid silence, so after a moment of trying to control herself, she broke into a rasping giggle of girlish glee. On the climactic-death-o-meter, this probably wouldn't even rate a one. Pity, really; she'd been hoping to take a lot of people with her when she died, preferably in either a fiery explosion or by ceding her body to Amon in a densely populated area - given his personality and track record, she was pretty sure that something along those lines would be more effective than carpet bombing the area, and she'd get to watch the havoc before eventually being completely absorbed into him. A fit of ragged coughing broke the spell of laughter, and when it had finished, all was once again silent. The humor of the situation was evaporating along his her body - there was only so much she could do to make light of what was happening before grim reality set in, and having your body slowly disintegrating while trapped in a plane of shadows by a malevolent, seemingly omniscient spectral sadist wasn't especially funny in the first place. At least it was cooler than freezing to death - how many people could claim to have killed in another dimension, much less in as creative a way? If there was an afterlife, she'd have to parade this story to- She froze for a moment, her situation momentarily forgotten, pondering the concept. If there was an afterlife, would she see Atropos? Had Amon really been telling the truth? It was possible that Atropos was still alive, after all - she'd never seen any mention of her sister's body being found during her several month long stay at Tohea, and it wasn't like Atropos to go out without a bang. Perhaps she'd simply traveled elsewhere, whether at her own behest or Team Rocket's orders: the organization had established itself solidly on Tohea, and the last she'd heard, the Black Rose had been all but annihilated. If it had indeed been a Black Rose assassin that had taken her sister's life, he would be dead now - if not... if not, her sister might still be alive. "You are an enigma, human. Against the odds, even against all common sense, you refuse to believe that your sister is dead. Why is that, I wonder? Is it because you idolize her so much that you can't bear the thought of you invincible sister being brought low by an assassin's bullet? Are you merely afraid that what happened to your father so long ago has happened to your sister? How pitiful. You would reject the truth simply because you don't want to face the idea, the fact, that your sister is no longer among the living?" Amon's voice echoed within her mind, penetrating each barrier, each article of disbelief or refusal to come to terms with the situation. "How unseemly. It seems that it falls upon me to discipline you, girl, to teach you the truth of this world. To teach you that even the strongest can be brought low. To force you to come to terms with reality." As he spoke, the world around her seemed to fade away. Black became grey, grey became white, and consciousness deserted her a few moments later at Amon's command. Edited by Munchkinator, Feb 12 2009, 02:11:58 AM.
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| Munchkinator | Dec 24 2008, 11:09:31 PM Post #11 |
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Don't waste my time.
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She awoke with a start. That, in and of itself, that was not especially surprising. She usually did, after all: years of living on her own had taught her to sleep lightly and awaken at the first sign of danger. She was, as a product of her environment, a light sleeper - even when she was in a relatively safe environment, such as a hotel or safehouse, she awoke to even the lightest tremor or sound in her immediate vicinity. It was a little annoying to be denied a consecutive eight hours' sleep on a regular basis, but she was still alive, and that made up for a lot of the unpleasantness. Catnaps made up for the lack of sleep, anyways, and she was willing to forego normalcy for a better chance at living. That said, it was with some degree of displeasure that she had been jerked awake to discover herself airborne. Flying, actually, which was rarely either a good sign or her first choice as to how she would prefer to wake up. The explosion of pain in her midsection really wasn't helping matters, though in fairness debilitating pain rarely did so anyways - it tended to be a Very Bad Thing(tm), on par with being gut-shot and being eaten by a horde of adorable fuzzy woodland animals. A combination of the three issues quickly defined the moment as a Very Bad Thing3, which would have been cool and all except for the minor fact that gravity apparently still existed in this horrible dream world and the pool of shadows that seemed to loosely replicate the effect of the ground (albeit less solid) was quickly approaching. With a muttered "Fuck you, universe" and a particularly sour look on her face, she prepared to go into a combat roll to survive the impact. Twenty feet later, a very dizzy Lachesis ended up alive and crouched on the ground, one hand at the sheathe for her knife and the other providing some degree of balance, having just come out of the roll to face her... assailant? After a moment of stunned silence, her mouth dropped open inadvertantly as the higher functions of her brain ground to a shuddering halt and what little remained of her intelligence struggled to piece together the situation to no avail. Nothing her shattered mind could do was even remotely capable of absorbing the sight before her, and to be perfectly honest about the entire situation, she wasn't sure any amount of time or effort would do the trick. I mean, there's only so much you can do when you suddenly and unexpectedly come face to face with your long dead sister after searching for her for half your conscious life. The woman was dressed differently and she had something odd over her eyes, but it was Atropos. The long purple-pink hair, the lithe body, even the odd martial stance... it was her. After the years she'd spent searching, after the trials and tribulations she'd undergone, after all the lives she'd cut short for a thousand different reasons, the only thing she could claim to live for was standing in front of her. She had spent countless hours trying to plan their reunion, plotted every movement and idle phrase - even after Amon had told her that Atropos was dead, she had continued doing so in a vain hope that he had been lying. Her very existence was built around her idol: emulating her, dreaming of her, thinking of her, finding her. To be so suddenly reunited with her... that she was even still alive, much less unharmed and looking well... She had barely begun to mouth the name of her beloved sister when reality cunt punted her hard enough to abort every fetus in this hemisphere. This was an illusion: convincing, but false. Atropos was gone, and the thing she was facing wasn't her sister. It was no more than Amon's sick machinations. Nothing more than an illusion... nothing more... The girl hesitantly drew the knife, gripping it as though it were her only tie to life. Placing it between herself and the mirage, she tried her best to shake away the lurid images of Atropos splayed out lifeless before her, blood staining her perfect body - this was an illusion, nothing more than a lifeless husk that had been made to resemble her sister. This was... this was no different than any of the other lives she'd taken, though this monstrosity deserved the fate of death more than any other for impersonating her sister. No mercy, no- her grip loosened for a moment as a thousand images of her sister appeared before her, then tightened again in determination. This thing would die for the crime of its existence, and she'd be having some very strong words with Amon about the exact content of his stupid little "tests" in the future. After a few moments of gathering her frayed nerves, she glared at the shadow of her sister. If Amon wanted a show, he'd... he'd GET a show. She had to prove that she could take on any foe to satisfy him. Prove that she had the strength to master him and to breach the barrier between life and death so that she could see Atropos one more time. Prove that she could control the shadows, rather than let them control her. For Amon, for herself, for Iseya... and for the true Atropos, she could not back down, and she could not fail. The mockery would die. It was her fate. Edited by Munchkinator, Feb 12 2009, 02:12:12 AM.
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| Atropos | Dec 25 2008, 01:00:28 AM Post #12 |
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Another test. She was tired of tests - they were inefficient and inelegant, and her competence should have been assured by this point. The only logical reason for more testing would be if they did not trust her or had altered the chemical concoction further, neither of which provided a sanguine future. She could already remember nothing, feel nothing, be nothing: whatever she had been was now dead. Her only loyalty was to those who now owned her; her only mission to please them. If they wished that the child died, she would die. There was no room for error and no time for pity. As she surveyed the girl, she noticed with clinical detachment that the small blonde seemed unnecessarily surprised and disgusted by her appearance. Unexpected, but not entirely so; few targets expected the attack. The disgust was odd, however, and it had quickly turned into hatred of such intensity that it seemed to roll off the child's body in waves. A conundrum, but one that required no answer and would brook no further delay. Not even the knife that the girl was now wielding with fierce determination would stop her, though it appeared to be of singular quality; its matte finish did little to announce its presence, but the wicked serrations showed its purpose and the unexpectedly competent grasp in which the girl held it announced her skill. Interesting. Tired of putting their precious pet project against real opponents, they had instead instilled all the prowess they could muster into a child. Insulting that they had thought that the project might operate at anything less than full capacity when fighting a young girl, but that could easily be remedied. She sank into a lower stance, bending her knees and leaning slightly forwards so as to increase the speed at which she could begin to move. She was likely being timed, after all, and it wouldn't do to keep them waiting. In what seemed to be becoming a habit, the opponent once again did the unexpected. Rather than attempting to use her smaller size and possibly superior speed to stay at a distance, she was charging directly towards the waiting woman. How odd: in any situation wherein the opponent is clearly at an advantage in both size and martial skill, why would one throw away their meagre advantage to lock themselves in melee? Shrugging, she hurled herself at the girl, intent on ending this farce as quickly as possible and with as little energy expended as she could manage. A few moments later, she realized why the girl had chosen melee: she possessed inhuman speed and agility, coupled with manual dexterity and an eccentric fighting style that seemed to focus on gutting her opponent as quickly as possible. The project hadn't expected the speed and ferocity of her opponent's assault, and had barely managed to deflect the blade with her wristguard before being forced to arc backwards at the stomach to avoid the followup slash. Categorizing the girl as a serious threat, she dropped all pretence of giving Lachesis a chance - the instant the blade had grazed her midsection, her left arm lashed out in an effort to snap the girl's neck. A last second offhand block barely deflected the chop, and once more the knife flashed back into view, aimed directly at her heart. She hurled herself to the right, once more narrowly avoiding the lightning quick strike, only to find her feet entangled as the child dropped down to sweep her off her feet. Effective in theory, but the project's specialty was in footwork - it took naught but a moment to recover her balance, and a followup crescent kick to the side sent the much smaller girl sprawling on the ground. She had underestimated the girl, but she was, first and foremost, a weapon - and weapons did not fall to children half their size, no matter whether or not the weapon had an additional weapon. The body of a weapon was itself a weapon, and it was all that she needed. Reference Picture Edited by Munch, Feb 12 2009, 02:13:13 AM.
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| Munchkinator | Dec 25 2008, 02:41:48 PM Post #13 |
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Don't waste my time.
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Lachesis fell to the ground heavily, biting down hard as another wave of pain coursed from her battered side. She was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the last kick had broken something; the amount of pain issuing from her left arm every time she attempted to bend it didn't offer any other explanation. It was fortunate that she'd barely managed to use that hand to block the unexpected kick - if it had actually hit her side, she had a feeling that half her ribcage would have been crushed. Bitch kicked hard. With a groan, she used her good hand to steady herself; the pain in her side made it distinctly uncomfortable to actually move. The mockery hadn't moved, other than to sink back into that damned spring-loaded stance. Lachesis decided that, in the unlikely event she survived this fight, she'd take a page from the shadow and add some tenets of the stance into her own; being able to move instantly from a dead standstill would be incredibly useful to further her usual style. First things first, though; there was the minor issue of surviving... and carving out the lavender-haired woman's heart, preferably in a manner that would induce as much pain as possible - and Lachesis was a master at causing pain. Letting out a long breath, she forced herself to stand up. Pain coursed through her the moment she began moving as the last kick's impact area made a nuisance of itself, but she gritted her teeth and focused on the real problem: the doppelganger of her sister. Who, she noticed with some displeasure, had sunk to all fours in the meantime; though the odd purple eye binding was still in place, Lachesis couldn't shake the feeling that unblinking eyes bore into her nonetheless. It was an unsettling feeling: she was used to being the one to give death glares, and here was this blind creature, in the form of her sister, paralysing her with a glare. She shook off the feeling and refocused on the opponent, just in time for said opponent to cannonball forwards with inhuman speed and a single arm cocked back for what appeared to be some sort of chop. Too easy: just move to the side and stick the knife out, and the foe would drop to the ground facefirst, arcing one leg backwards as though the concept of legs only bending one way at the knee didn't even exist, in order to launch a devastating strike at our heroine's midsection that would quite possibly go through her chest. ...Wait, what the fuck happened to running into and therefore getting impaled on the knife? Robbed of a suitable response by the blinding speed and unexpected nature of the attack, Lachesis was struck in the center of her midsection and lifted off the ground by the force of the kick. The assorted fluids leaving her mouth in response didn't seem to phase the woman despite landing on her face; she didn't even bother wiping them off before using her arms to push herself off the ground while keeping her forwards momentum, somersault through the air, and launch a devastating karate chop to the same region on the airborne girl that slammed her into the ground to the sickening tune of breaking bones and an ill-concealed gasp of pain. Edited by Munchkinator, Feb 12 2009, 02:13:45 AM.
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| Atropos | Dec 25 2008, 11:46:14 PM Post #14 |
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Twisting in midair, she landed in a perfect handstand, arms contracting to bear the weight of her body. Her body continued its forward motion, and the moment it made a forty five degree angle to the ground, she launched herself once more at the battered target. The girl had sustained serious injuries, having already lost the use of her left arm due to a fractured humerus and also having taken a direct hit to the body; the Project estimated three broken ribs given the combination of whiplash cracks she had heard on impact. The girl's preliminary skill seemed to have disintegrated along with the bones in her arm, so the inevitable conclusion to the battle was quickly approaching. ...So why was something gnawing at her mind, hinting at a memory of a time long past that might explain why the girl was beginning to look more than passingly familiar? The solution was niggling at the back of her mind, but try as she might, she couldn't quite put a finger on it. It was a trifle vexing, but she still had a job to do, and that required some degree of mental clarity. Attempting to push the thoughts aside for the time being, she landed on all fours not a dozen feet from her target. The girl, though clearly fighting a losing battle with consciousness after the amount of damage her frail body had sustained, had risen nonetheless: she was swaying slightly as she stood with her remaining arm and the bloodied knife it held between her body and the Project's. A pitiable effort; it hadn't kept her safe froim the quick, lethal movements of her opponent even when they had both been in stellar condition, and now that she was quite nearly broken, it was little more than a psychological prop to convince herself that she could still stand her ground. With the proper precautions, it could be removed from play quickly - the girl's entire fighting style seemed to revolve around it, so it would only be sensible to remove it. Doing her best to ignore a mounting headache and fleeting images of a smiling, younger version of the girl before her, the Project once more threw herself into battle, both to end the fight and to drown out the sinking feeling of familiarity that hindered her every action. Why was this girl so familiar? Why was it that it grew increasingly difficult to bring herself to strike the child with every passing moment? It couldn't be age or sex: she had had terminated children before with no ill effects. They were merely smaller versions of adults, after all: there was no reason to hold back out of some misguided maternal nature or a moronic belief that they were somehow worth protecting no matter their actions. There had to be something deeper than that... She opened the clash by sliding into a low reverse roundhouse, using her momentum to keep moving along the shifting shadows that compromised the "floor." Simple in theory, but slightly less so in practice: pumped with adrenaline, the girl managed to jump backwards just in time before taking the offensive with a horizontal slash, aiming for the throat. No sooner had the Project bent backwards to avoid the slash than the girl pirouetted a full three hundred and sixty degrees and brought the knife down again, this time in a vertical strike that was barely blocked with a wrist protector. Seeing an opening, she brought her free arm up to strike the girl's wrist in an attempt to knock the knife free. Though Lachesis managed to reverse quickly enough to go with the attack rather than having her arm snapped, she nearly lost her grip on the knife - with her distracted and attempting to retain her grip, the Project deftly swept Lach's legs out from under her, then brought a heel down on the unfortunate child's upper shin. Kersnap. Lachesis crumpled to the ground as her fibula shattered under the force of the blow, but used the opportunity to plant the knife down to the hilt a few inches below her opponent's heart; having already dedicated herself to the act of snapping Lachesis's leg, her larger opponent was unable to move backwards quickly enough to avoid the unnervingly quick blow. Biting back the pain with a hiss, she grabbed the offending arm and used it as leverage to hurl the girl away from her. The little bitch's deathgrip on her knife caused her to rather messily extract it in order to take it with her, but the unexpected resistance forced her to release her grip or risk breaking her wrist - by the time she fell to the ground some ten feet away from the force of the Project's throw, the knife had clattered uselessly even farther away in a different direction. Which was all well and good, except for the minor issue that she was now bleeding uncontrollably and facing some of the same issues as that little bitch: namely, pain every time she moved. It was... oddly familiar, she realized; she'd felt the sensation in her gut before. Strange, she didn't remember having been knifed there before... or was it shot? No, she couldn't have been shot there, or she'd remember it. Gut shots were ludicrously painful, though not immediately fatal, and she was sure that she would have remembered something like that. Nonetheless, her feeble attempt at rationalizing the sensation away did little to rid her of the constant nagging feeling that she should know the girl. Something about her was so familiar that she wanted to scream at herself for not being able to place it: a location, victim, name, anything. She couldn't actually remember anything about the girl, but unwanted images continued to flash into her mind, disappearing before they could jolt any real memories. For an instant, the image of the bloodied victim before her was replaced with the image of a much younger version of her, paralyzed in fear and drenched in blood. Someone's blood... whose? Not her own; she had seemed unharmed. Someone else's? Someone she should remember? A... man's? Yes, it was a man's, she was reasonably sure of that. But which? Forcing herself to ignore the pain and the molten river of crimson that stained her outfit, she slowly rose to her feet once more. The girl had already done so, but had made no move to re-engage - for obvious reasons, given that her right leg was twisted backwards in a lurid fashion. She realized that standing was about all the girl could do: she looked like a sapling trapped in hurricane force winds, despite her attempts to the contrary. The Project's stomach turned as the relentless barrage of imagery continued to assault her mind, trying to postpone the final strike - though she couldn't figure out why, the prospect of actually killing this frail child seemed unthinkable. Why, dammit, why? What was it that her subconscious knew that she didn't? Edited by Munch, Feb 12 2009, 02:14:07 AM.
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| Munchkinator | Dec 27 2008, 01:42:55 PM Post #15 |
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Don't waste my time.
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FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckdamnfuckfuckfuckFUCK. Cursing silently to herself, Lachesis clumsily stumbled backwards as the abomination rose once more, apparently unphased by the hole in her abdomen. How the HELL was that even possible? Being stabbed in the abdomen then ripping the knife out yourself caused pain, and lots of it - the amount of blood that was now seeping down the woman's front and soaking the matte black fabric a disgusting dark crimson hue was proof that the knife had been buried as deeply as she'd thought, and that amount of bloodloss would incapacitate anyone. "Myself included." she muttered wryly, sparing a glance down at the bone protruding from the back of her leg. She hadn't expected her false sister to be able to ignore the knife so effectively as to be able to crush Lachesis's remaining chance at survival, but how was she to have known? Atropos had never actually been hurt in front of her, so she'd assumed that she'd react normally to- She mentally slapped herself. She was starting to think of the fake as the real Atropos: of course a construct wouldn't feel pain, much less find a poorly aimed incision to be all that problematic. That thing wasn't the real Atropos. There was no way in hell that it could be her. Lachesis sank to one knee as her remaining leg gave out, but kept her eye on the opponent, who was... trying to staunch the bloodflow? Slightly bending over, looking decidedly ill to the stomach? What the hell? A moment ago she'd been able to shrug off the knife as though it were nothing more than a flesh wound, and now she was looking so... real. Iron resolve wavered and shattered as the being that so resembled her sister lurched forwards, her face a rictus of pain as the slight movement caused the blood flow to increase. This shouldn't be-it couldn't be happening. It was just an illusion, an inhuman doppelganger preying on her emotions. Never mind the pain twisting her beautiful face, the eyes that were signaling her distress from behind the veil. The pain she exhibited as she moved was nothing more than a carefully rehearsed act; the blood, if it was even real, nothing more than a minor distraction. She flinched involuntarily when the lavender haired woman took another hesitant step, her previous lithe agility having been replaced by an unexplainable reticence. A hint of fear bubbled up in Lachesis's chest, refusing her efforts to shove it down - the grim reality of the situation was showing. Amon hadn't made a move to help, so she had to face the unpleasant, but most likely situation: rather than killing her himself, he had set her up against the one opponent she couldn't defeat. All to fulfill his sadistic desires: she would die at the hands of his henchwoman, leaving Amon to swoop in at the last moment to feed on the negative emotions she would emit upon her ignoble death. Like all of Amon's plans, she'd fallen right into it, even tried to fight against it with a pathetic dream of victory. Her opponent stood before her, having slowly closed the short distance as Lachesis mulled over the situation. Rather than kill her quickly, though, it held back, hesitation issuing from her entire being. Lachesis couldn't hold back a despondent smile, almost laughing at the entire situation: after all this, the damn thing was toying with her, pretending to be unwilling to complete what she had so nearly already finished. Was this another instance of Amon's ghastly humor? Giving her a few more moments of life so she could stew in her own regrets, seasoning the dish, so to speak, for when he devoured her essence? ...Fucking ghosts. Sapped of her will to fight, she finally allowed herself to slump to the ground in a sodden heap. Her knife had been removed from play, the molotov and flamethrower had apparently not even made the transition to this shadowed hell, much of her body had already been broken beyond repair, and her opponent towered over her to deliver the final blow. As always, her sister had been better than her, more skilled, more competent. The dominant one, an impossible opponent that one could always strive to match, but never be able to. This was it, then. Eleven years and some months, brought to an abrupt end by a copy of the one she had dedicated many of those years to. How fitting. Finally breaking her gaze on the woman's face, she lowered her head, using every bit of her remaining willpower to not break into tears. If nothing else, she would meet her fate with a stolid countenance and as much dignity as she could muster. Amon would not have the pleasure of finding a broken little girl to assimilate: though her body certainly fit the bill, her mind and spirit would remain strong until the end. After the longest moment of her life, she finally steeled herself to utter the last words she had hoped to ever have to say. "Kill me." When the leg met her neck with an explosive crack, an explosion of pain to match the sound of bones shattering flooded over her. An instant later, it faded away into curious euphoria as the darkness claimed her. Edited by Munchkinator, Feb 12 2009, 02:14:55 AM.
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6:53 PM Jul 30
