|REPLY TO THIS THREAD QUICK REPLY START NEW THREAD|
Mar 7, 12 at 10:10am ^Blood Red Summer: Corruption vs finalfight
Log in to remove this advertisement
finalfight's Ged Tenshi
We will be fighting in the midst of a crumbling city in disrepair. It is the Fourth Day since the Writing Well began to destroy the entire reality of the duelists' world. 95% of the entire multiverse's population has been reclaimed by the Well, body and soul, and only a few corpses and barely alive humans remain. And, of course, the duelists, destined to outlive even their own universes.
The sky is streaked a permanent blood red and a jet black scar cuts across it, the rift in reality. Red and white streaks of energy collide within it - the energies of the Well itself.
Frequent earthquakes rack the entire multiverse, and parts of reality itself have begun to vanish. Entire landmasses and parts of oceans have been replaced by bottomless black voids, a herald of what will be left of the duelists' worlds once the Well has reclaimed everything.
But even this destruction and despair cannot quench the flames of battle ever burning in the hearts of the duelists, and it is here that two flames would overwhelm each other.
This duel will be three battle posts long and will officially begin once the Speed Duel Tourney is completed.
1. Tseng_Eclipse (as if she wouldn't)
|Log in or register to remove this advertisement|
Mar 12, 14 at 7:25pm ^re: Blood Red Summer: Corruption vs finalfight
Kalek stumbled as the ground beneath him heaved violently. The sky ahead was a blood red canvas with a single black line smeared across it. Bolts of red and white energy clashed with each other in the sky and occasionally crashed down, boring into the ground and leaving small craters in their wake. Dust and debris drifted slowly but surely into the gaping maw in the sky.
”So this is how it ends.” Kalek thought despondently. The earth grew still once more and the hunter began to pick his way through the ruined city. Slabs of concrete jutted out of the ground; vehicles long abandoned by their owners littered the streets; and buildings that had once stood tall and proud were crumbling into ruin. Even as debris came crashing down, bits of particles and stonework were drawn into the obsidian scar in the sky. Kalek followed the trail upward.
”All of our greatest accomplishments destroyed, the very foundation of our lives broken down into the energy from whence they were created.”
That was how the Director had explained it. The Writing Well, an endless fount of energy and power, the source from which all Frequencies were derived, had been activated. Their world was not the real world. Their world was nothing more than the words of a madman given shape and life by the Well’s power. And now it was slowly breaking down all matter back into that primordial red and white energy whirling angrily above him.
”And all of our people gone with no trace left behind.”
Four days since he had learned all of this from the leader of the Organization. She had told him back then what would happen. On the first day, the old and the feeble would fade away into nothingness. On the third, the land itself would begin to die. Trees uprooted, the very ground itself no longer obeying gravity and drifting back into the Well. On the end of the fourth day, all normal life would cease. By the sixth day, there would be nothing of the world left except the duelists.
Nothingness. That was what the world was doomed to. An entire multiverse of lives, places, things, and stories that would simply cease to be, not even existing as a memory or long-forgotten myth. Who would be there to remember?
And then on the seventh day…
Kalek sighed and watched his breath mist in front of him. It curled out and then dispersed into the air and vanished.
The Duelists would be all that were left, the highest concentrations of the Well’s energy, the things that would take the longest to die. No life, no ground to walk on, no sights or sounds, smells or tastes. Only the darkness that would engulf them while they waited for the mercy of nothingness.
A tiny spark of the First Frequency drew Kalek into the ruin of a car park. Ordinarily, for him to even be able to sense the First Frequency would mean a duelist was nearby, but with the world so devastated and empty, the Anti-Duelist had found himself able to sense even the miniscule amount that normal people gave off. It was like drowning in a sea only for all water to suddenly cease existing. The mere hint of moisture was enough to draw his senses like a hound.
As Kalek strode inside, he caught the words of someone shouting above him on one of the upper floors.
“Do not despair! This is all part of God’s plan. Have faith! We who have survived are among the few who have tried to lead lives of purity! But who enters this world free of sin? The time is fast approaching where we, too, shall be judged. Let us come together and be cleansed in the light of judgment, purged free of our sins by fire! Repent, my children, for a small fee, I offer my services and the guarantee of salvation for your souls.”
Kalek sighed. One of those types. Corrupted filth. He plodded along the lower levels of the parking garage, in no hurry to confront the preacher and his crowd. Blind faith, in a deity or otherwise, was foolishness. The Director kept saying that they could stop what was happening. They had traveled all over the world gathering duelists, telling them to meet at an appointed place. But what good was it? If the Director hadn’t completely lost it and was actually right, if they actually could cross through the Writing Well and enter reality – whatever that was – and put a stop to this madness, it was too late. The world was dying. The only things left would be the planets and stars, and the duelists.
What was the point in a world where the only thing left would be battles? Too few duelists existed to repopulate an entire multiverse, and even if there were, many of them lacked the desire or ability to do so. Too many duelists were focused on old hatreds, vendettas that had to be carried to the grave; others just simply loved chaos and battle above all else. The world as they knew it would still die.
Was it really any better to be nothing more than a legend, a whisper carried on the winds with no one to hear them?
Kalek grimaced, his frustration bubbling over as he smashed a hand against a stone pillar holding up the next layer of the garage.
“Why can’t there be a way where we exist as more than memories!?” Kalek screamed, "Why can't I save these people!?" The Director seemed to think she had a way. She wouldn’t tell him when he asked, only spouted some cryptic bullshit about being unsure if her plan would work. If she was unsure about her plan, why wouldn’t she tell him? He could help! It would certainly be better than just running around as a messenger boy gathering up duelists…
The Duelist Hunter froze. The First Frequency spiked suddenly and the Necromantic energies of the Ninth Frequency began to ooze into the air. Kalek cursed. He had sensed this particular combination of power before, three days ago when he and the Director had tried to bring a duelist into their ranks for storming the Well.
Quickening his pace, Kalek flew up the stair well. If that man was here, he’d be up to no good. Probably trying to grab a few more souls before everything ended. Kalek had told the fallen angel that it didn’t matter. Even his precious souls would die with the world. And he, Ged, and all of the other duelists, would outlive them.
Finally reaching the top, Kalek rounded a corner, pushed open the doors to the roof and found a crowd of perhaps fifty gathered around a dais. Atop it stood a man in white, if muddied, robes with a large chalice of water in his hands. That would be the preacher…Kalek followed his wide-eyed, fearful stare to Ged Tenshi standing in front of a black flaming portal with a pair of skeletal creatures on either side of him with jet black collars around their necks that seemed made from the darkness itself.
Sep 5, 14 at 6:22pm ^re: Blood Red Summer: Corruption vs finalfight
The more a person loses, the more that is taken from them, the tighter they grip what they have left.
Even if that thing is just an empty lie.
They were crowded around the man of God, a pitiful number, but one of the largest gatherings of people left in the world. Widows and orphans driven mad with grief looking for an answer, and the 'father' who would provide it all. "I know you are hurt, that you feel that God has failed you, that we are forgotten, but my children I promise that he is still here, with us right now, still watching over us in our time of need."
There was bitter disbelief in his congregation's eyes, but even stronger was the desperate hope for these words to be true. "This is a test, I know the way, I know how we might be saved and given rise to the heavens above where all our loved ones wait to embrace us in their arms at the feet of God."
The preacher knew that he had them; he had always had a knack for reading the crowds. He didn't know what was happening, or what the future held in store, but he did know that even as the world was now there were the sheep and the shepherds and he had no intention of being a sheep. “Do not despair! This is all part of God’s plan. Have faith! We who have survived are among the few who have tried to lead lives of purity! But who enters this world free of sin? The time is fast approaching where we, too, shall be judged. Let us come together and be cleansed in the light of judgment, purged free of our sins by fire! Repent, my children, for a small fee, I offer my services and the guarantee of salvation for your souls.”
"Hah." It was a hollow laugh. The priest looked to see an unshaven man in scraps of black cloth, a dirty face, disheveled hair, and eyes that were... That were... It didn't take an expert at cold reading to see that the man was one of those who had come to revel in his misery; he did not want to be saved, he wanted to loathe and hate. Himself, those around him, God, it didn't matter. He could prove to be a problem.
The preacher would have to ignore him and hope he didn't make a scene before the people paid up, afterwards it really didn't matter. "Now who will be the first to step forward?" The crowd burst toward him with cash, jewelry, and whatever items of value they had left to them in their hands. It would be a good score.
"I will." It was quiet, but the words brought silence with them, the crowd growing still. The man walked to the priest and they parted for him. "You say you offer salvation, do you even know the meaning of the word?" The man scoffed, before the priest could reply, "Of course you don't, it will be in your interest to hold your lies in the future." He looked to the blood red sky, "Not that it matters."
"My journey was a simple one, ambitious perhaps, but there was a clearly defined goal and a means in which I might one day execute it. There was a price to pay, but I gladly paid it. Long had my trade been blood, taking a further progression was inevitable. And They," He scoffed, "made the offer quite tempting." He paused for a time, but no one spoke. "The fire may have made me susceptible I admit, but I held such hate..." he clenched his fists, "you cannot know of what I speak. In this way perhaps I gave my enemies power over me, because now... Now there is nothing and I am..."
"There is a... I hesitate to call it creature. A force of nature might be more apt. I have long known of its existence; it was a hard thing to learn. It swallows worlds and no one sees, infects life and death alike, until everything is just a walking corpse unaware that their former selves have been swallowed up. It grows and stretches and consumes and never stops and only infinity halts its progress. And now." The man's eyes moved and it hurt to look at them, "now it is starving."
There was terror in the man’s voice. He took his time regaining his composure, a poor attempt at a smile on his face. "I digress; we were talking about salvation were we not?" They nodded their heads, but he didn't notice or care. "Live a life without sin and be saved, atone for the sins that you have committed and be saved, with a true heart beg for forgiveness and be saved. And for those who fail..." He raised his hand, a ball of black fire appeared. He laughed so bitterly. "Such an empty promise. I had thought that I could..." He shook his head, "It'd be a lie to say that I wanted to offer anything so noble as freedom. It is an appealing thought but no; I wanted to kill that which had made me who I am."
He pointed to that blight in the sky known as the Tear, "And now what am I?" He stabbed the finger in the priest's direction. "Salvation Father? Paradise? Heaven?" He tried to contain a mad cackle, but it slipped free. "Heaven? Oh I have been there, I have walked past the pearly gates, and rested at the foot of the golden throne. And do you know what waited for me?" He looked into the eyes of the congregation, their dejected stares, the hopelessness that had taken root in their hearts.
"You know, you've known for a while. You came to this man to deny the truth you feel in your souls, well deny no further." He raised his arms to the air and shouted, "God is dead!" It was the most animated he had been since speaking, some small part of him perhaps still taking satisfaction in the concept. He lowered his hands and his face set in a downcast manner. "Whatever meaning that word still has in this world."
The others were crying now, held in place by despair as if it emanated off the speaker. In some sick way it almost seemed as if their sobs cheered him up. But the priest saw that the man was no longer looking at any of them, instead his focus was on the rooftop doors. A more genuine smile began to creep across his face. "You know it wasn't completely empty." He looked back to the preacher, "Heaven that is."
A staff appeared from black flame, the man gripped it and thorns ripped into his flesh, spilling his blood in a line before him. The crowd screamed and retreated away, he ignored them and slammed the staff down, the dark fire spreading along the bloodstained ground. He stepped over the line waving his staff, the air shuddered, and then as if torn it ripped away, consumed in the man's fire. Through that blazing darkness shapes could be seen, but they were too hard to make out. Clouds?
A skeletal hand reached through the shadowy inferno, it gripped the concrete of the rooftop and pulled, gouging it and freeing itself from whatever realm it originated. While all bone it was humanoid in appearance, shriveled wings arced from its back. Crawling on its hands and knees, it looked around with empty eyes, a pale white light shining from within. Its movements became stilted and forced as if it was being met with resistance; the creature reached up and began to tear away at its neck. The man looked at it with scorn and snapped his fingers, a collar of darkness revealing itself. The skull of its body looked at him, and radiated hatred. It tore even more desperately, but the shackle was not to be broken. It screamed in silent fury, the light within building.
Even as it did so a second hand reached through the portal and a man walked through the rooftop doors.
False hope leads to true despair, watch how quickly white turns to black.
|[All dates in (PST) time]||Threads List « Next Newest Next Oldest »|
|REPLY TO THIS THREAD QUICK REPLY START NEW THREAD|
Powered by neoforums v3.0.0b
Copyright Neo Era Media, Inc. 1999-2017