Description: In the wake of the disaster in the warehouse, Zach is trying to (as someone else put it) place himself in voluntary exile. This is interrupted by something best left uncontemplated, as Zach faces something he'd rather not have to face even if he was at his best.
It has been less than twenty-four hours after the blast that ripped through the Old Old Warehouse District of Southtown. The official story is that there was a gas leak that caused it, but there are a handful of people that know that the story is smoke and glass.
The one person who knows that most intimately has fled the scene, not wanting to be brought in by authorities. Spending time in a jail cell, before spending time in a prison is rarely desirable. It is considerably /less/ so when you know that there are people who want you dead and can find you seemingly at any time.
Without any place to turn to, without any allies or friends he would be willing to endanger by seeking their aid, Zach Glen has resorted to his course of action the /first/ time something like this happened: he simply picked up and went off the grid. Currently, he is sitting on the bank of a river, his back to a large tree that provides scant shelter from the elements. The location is about as optimal as one is likely to find in or around Southtown on such short notice. It is (somewhat) out of the way for the vast majority of the city's residents, and traffic is fairly light. The fugitive psychic is staring at the river bank, seemingly ignoring anything other than the water in front of him. He has much on his mind, and blood on his hands.
It is hardly ideal, but any port in a storm.
Seems like all the wayward spirits find their way to the outskirts eventually.
The periphery of society is its shadow--there, those who have done dark things can hide free from judgment from their peers without guilt. Sometimes, some people lose themselves off the grid--they become addicted to the freedom, and simply disappear. After all.. isn't that what running away is?
Without the context of what happened, the scene would be idyllic, a young man sitting at the edge of a river bank in the shade of some great cypress. As it is what it is, some would call it sad, some would call it desolate. Others... frustrating.
The river flows swift, like any other, but peaceful enough that one wouldn't begrudge a hand being dipped in. However, the cool waters, crystal clear only a moment ago, slowly become cloudy, with mud or something like. The source is a piece of brighty colored debris floating down from upstream. It's a .. doll. A small robed thing, with soggy hair and empty eyesockets where eyes used to be. It seems a once young woman's plaything, a toy from another age, another time. It settles on the bank, not far from where Zach is nurturing his malaise. It settles there, and a chill breeze, the remnants of a winter left south, catches the air.
A moment later, there is an audible voice.
heh. fine mess you've gotten yourself into.
Zach lifts his head, his head swiveling just enough to eye the doll. A voice is carried, perhaps on the wind, mocking him? He... can't be sure, really. Things... are not as /sharp/ as they normally would be; Zach has not slept since then.
The psychic lowers his head, and adjusts his grip on the slender, oblong bundle that lays across his lap. Whoever it is, they will show themselves in due time. Better to deal with a situation... when you actually know what the situation /is/.
It's the doll.
Though hard to pin down, the source of the voice is emanating from the toy nearby.
It's bizarre. The voice buzzes like cicadas from the doll. It's the type of white noise that gets inside your skull until your brain itches. Darkly amused, but certainly not young, certainly not old.
you know, its not often someone gets his attention like that.
that sort of mayhem. must've been somethin to see.
not that you care.
heh.
heh.
fuckin' heh.
Zach regards the doll with a dull look. Telepathy, perhaps... that would be a first. It would even be pretty novel were it not coming on the heels of the previous night, and mocking him for it. He doesn't know how to send thoughts /back/ at the doll, and even if he did, he figures he would probably be doing the psychic equivalent of yelling back.
The stare continues for a moment. Another judgemental asshole coming to get their kicks in, perhaps. It... doesn't matter. Zach blinks slowly at that realization. It is, in a way, surprising that he doesn't /care/ if someone is going to feel their moral oats on him after last night. In a way, it is not all that surprising. Zach knows there are people dead on account of his rather vigorous self-defense effort. People that had nothing to do with the fight.
So long as the 'judgement' is limited to just words, well, words are unlikely to really /reach/ the psychic at the moment.
That's funny.
Because the doll doesn't seem to care either.
At this point, you might hear something different in the air, something beyond the distant pasage of trucks on the highways. It's a rhythmic grinding sound. It's pretty hard to hear right now, actually, but someone who's senses are completely attuned like Zach's will pick it up. Something is approaching.
maybe a dead cat's got your tongue.
do you even have ears, kid?
i'd pay attention if i were you.
not that i am. or anything.
wonder how you even survived.
think you can keep doing that?
surviving, that is.
Survival... Surviving has been the name of the /game/ for the past six years. It has to be when you have, even unassisted by cursed relics, the ability to bring buildings down with a little adrenaline and a thought. Zach doesn't really stir. There's no fear, anymore, no anger. Zach is simply too tired, too run-down for either emotion at the moment.
He does, however, react just slightly: he turns an ear towards the direction of that grinding sound. Zach runs a hand down the length of that wrapped bundle. A less observant person might miss the fact that he has, in that one motion, undone the string holding the bundle closed. Its contents are now accessable to the sitting fighter.
He lets whatever is coming, come.
The doll shifts slightly. It seems to.. shake in place. Like a fish, that's been caught on the end of a hook. It lifts slightly into the air--and falls back onto the ground, perhaps a little more roughly than he'd like.
no problems.. no problems.
guess survival isn't going to matter in about twelve minutes anyway.
not for you.
guessing twelve days for the rest or the survivors.
days get numbered pretty fast around here.
you hear him, don't you.
if i were you, i'd start thinking about kneeling.
just a suggestion.
Zach stares at the doll for a moment, his face showing nothing at all as he focuses on the stupid little thing for a moment. Then he uses an old trick, usually only reserved for attempts at giving whoever is trying to do whatever a warning.
A barely audible thrum of power runs through Zach's frame as a ripple of wind radiates from the sitting psychic, hopefully knocking the little ragdoll back into the river. There is a furrow of focused concentration on the psychic's face now, made slightly eerie by the dead emerald eyes.
The next effort... may not be nearly so subtle. It is, however, very difficult to adequately deal with this when one cannot even really tell where the problem /is/.
ugh!--
Splash!
Just like that, the doll is swatted back into the drink. The little guy floats a ways into the river.. and seems to catch on some piece of underwater debris, possibly some weed or something. He bobs just there, on the surface. Maybe it's some fish. Kind of like the one that just surfaced. Uh, bloated. And.. not arguably alive anymore.
Another one just popped up upstream, floating past Zach. The dead fish seems to be looking at him.
There's another.
The river slowly tints red.
And.. another fish goes belly up.
Zach's eerie emerald eyes are, in but a few moments, reflected in what seems to be over a hundred dead fish, floating downstream on a river of literal blood and ill omen. The feeling of it seems to be livid with barely-restrained violations. That once-water is no longer clean, no longer pure. It's not just blood. There's something else in there.. And it's choking everything inside it to death. And the doll bobs there in the middle.
knew it. you. fucked. up...
The shadows get longer.
Zach growls as he pulls himself to his feet, a low gutteral thing. Whatever this game is, it has gone just a bit too far. Psychic sensing is /not/ one of his strong suits. Other psychics can pick a psion out of a crowd with barely more than a glance. Zach is not like other psions. He has plenty of raw power, and a fairly keen gut, however. The latter has been roiling since the doll started. The former... well, the former is starting to get warmed up.
"Okay," Zach says in a soft monotone, "Have you gotten your creepy jollies off yet, or do you plan on killing more fish to have your fun?" Zach's tone may not give much away, but his body still remembers four intense years of fighting and battles. His stance is relaxed, apparently ready to handle any kind of motion in any kind of direction.
Whoever is behind this, if they are after fear, they may be sorely disappointed. The only thing the violet haired psion is letting through the iron wall of his willpower is a vague sense of irritation. Whoever this guy is, he makes Alma look like an amature at the melodrama.
heh heh.
heh.
when he gets his jollies off.
you'll fucking know it.
The grinding sound is almost omnipresent now, a highly tooth-gnashingly irritating sound that reverberates inside your skull. The lengthening gloom seems to drip off of the tree overhead, and would almost be as believable as the fish that have been killed by--whatever it is--in the river. A long dark shape glides by in the viscous blood, and a twitch and a splash close to the surface leaves another dead fish, this time disible disemboweled by something underneath the surface.
anyway.
for surviving, you're lucky enough to get an audience.
That's when you see the source of the sound. It appears not from behind, or above, or anything like that. The source, however loud, is in the distance. A rusty blade, attached at an angle to a bowed snathe hewn of oak. A tall form seems to melt out of the horizon, rhythmically dragging the blade through the water and against the rocks of the bank. The reaper blade trails blood wherever it goes, and so does the unnaturally tall and lanky form carrying it. You can't see many other details, except that he's wearing a coat. And he has a somewhat gaudy looking large pumpkin jammed over his head. The light cast from inside the pumpkin seems to indicate that the jack-o-lantern is smiling.
He doesn't accelerate. He doesn't at all indicate he even sees Zach at all as he appears in the distance. He just... drags the long scythe along behind him, making his way up the river bank. Towards the psychic inexorably.
i said.
you got twelve minutes left.
better pack as much kneeling as you can in there.
Zach frowns, rolling his eyes slowly. Wow, a calm voice in the back of his mind thinks, I was right. Way /way/ overblown. He regards the walking man with those hollow eyes before giving the bundle a slight shake. Cloth falls away revealing the hilt of what appears to be an exquisitely crafted Japanese sword. Warning 2.
"I have a counter offer," Zach monotones, turning to face the man. "You have twelve minutes to leave. You'll need every moment of it to prepare yourself for what will come after you." Zach lifts the hand holding the sword to look at his watch. "I'll keep the time, you look like you could use it if this is all you have."
A faint aura of purple sheathes Zach. Where... whoever it is this is tries to intimidate through mind games, Zach seems to prefer... a more direct approach. "After all," he says, concern flickering across his face only briefly, "It's only a matter of time before they come for you."
In truth, it seems to be the asshole doll that's really making any kind of demands of Zach. For all he knows, the tall man could just be a random, strange passerby. He certainly doesn't seem to really be aware of Zach's aura, or his ominous threat. The pumpkinhead'd stranger doesn't really seem to be cognizant of an awful lot, truth told. He's making his way down the river bank, at a slow, meandering speed.
As the tall person approaches, the jack o' lantern's cheerful grin lights up various details of the pumpkinhead's long casual business attire. Coated in blood. It looks like he just got back from an abbatoir. The grin seems a little sicker in that kind of context, actually.
oh well.
i think.
YOU'LL NEED EVERY MOTHERFUCKING MOMENT.
to prepare for all the motherfucking bleeding you're about to do.
The tall man is getting closer. Slowly but surely. He's getting closer.
This would be an excellent opportunity to attack, if your heart's in it.
COMBATSYS: Eriya has started a fight here.
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Eriya 0/-------/-------|
"Oh look," Zach deadpans as he draws the wakazashi free of its sheath. "Psycho of the moment." Purple fire licks along the two foot length of the weapon for a moment before being absorbed into the blade. "Listen carefully," Zach says as he starts to slowly circle the madman. "Hopefully it will get through your horrible choice in headgear."
Zach trains an eye on the taller man. They are always taller, he thinks. As if size can be intimidating anymore. "There is a group of people who are out to kill people like us, Ichabod." Zach gives the sword an experimental flick, as if rechecking the wieght. "Not for anything we might have done, but just for existing."
Zach stops his circling motion; headgames are unlikely to work on this guy, and Zach has gotten a good look at the scythe. "I don't think either of us really have time for this."
COMBATSYS: Zach has joined the fight here.
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Zach 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Eriya
COMBATSYS: Zach still bears the choker, which shimmers an odd color.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Eriya
COMBATSYS: Zach takes no action.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Eriya
good. i hope.
The tall man suddenly pauses in mid-stride as Zach begins to circle him. His scythe--a /massive/ thing by any measure of the word--is held in only one hand. His other arm is completely limp, and his lurch seems to give him a certain spider-like disposition. He stops, anyway, and the blade finally stops dragging in the dirt, the muddy, dirty, rusted edge lifting slightly as the man stands still, breathing heavily inside of his helmet.
that they all know.
The scythe blade taps on the ground again. The pumpkinhead doesn't follow Zach as he moves. Instead, he leans slowly backwards, supporting his weight fully on the point of that scythe, the thing seeming as it if might snap at any moment. He snorts, and makes an audible choking sound inside of his helmet. The sound.. resonates throughout the area.
HOW TO KNEEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The blade twitches, and suddenly the massive scythe whips point-first towards Zach, at a point just under his ribcage, to pull the psychic closer. That blood coating it.. it seems.. it doesn't seem clean at all. it seems to crawl on the rusty blade..
COMBATSYS: Zach blocks Eriya's Writhing Black Cat.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Eriya
Zach whirls the sword around sharply, gripping with both hands as he slams the blade down on incoming scythe. He steps in, bringing the Miraitou down where the blade of the scythe meets the haft of the weapon before taking another step in. The scythe is huge, logic would indicate that close-fighting is not a good option for the taller man.
Something about the incoming attack sets Zach's teeth on edge. "Fair enough," Zach says through gritted teeth. "Don't go crying you weren't warned." Zach takes in a deep breath, taking one more step before slashing hard for Jack's midsection. He continues his movement, stepping and striking /through/ his assailant's position with determination!
COMBATSYS: Eriya endures Zach's Aggressive Strike.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 Eriya
The blade finds purchase. Zach goes through the tall man cleanly. The absolute determination of his swordblow checks the massive weight of the blade to ground before Zach strokes through him, stepping past him. pumpkinhead pauses a moment, as if deep in thought.
But beyond the sense of the blade hitting flesh, cutting through it, drawing blood, the sound of the blood hitting the ground at the tall man's feet, there is not even the vaguest sigh of recognition from him. While Zach's iron will has shielded him from the fear that radiates from the dark form standing over him, the same can be said of the tall man's vulnerability.
It's like you didn't even hit him at all.
There is a sense that the doll would be laughing at you, if he weren't busy watching.
The pumpkinhead raises his blade as he turns around to face Zach. When he does so, it's in a weirdly rhythmic pattern, first his body turns and then his bloodied scythe follows, the point of it coming towards Zach's torso in an agonizingly slow wait wh--
COMBATSYS: Zach endures Eriya's splorch..
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Zach [E] 0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Eriya
The blade protrudes from the chest.
Somewhere along the line, that scythe picked up a ridiculous amount of speed and planted itself square in Zach's chest. The pumpkinhead has little concept of mercy--he sank it as deep as the flesh would allow, til blood dripped freely from the wound. He lifts it up slowly, aiming to take Zach with him. From his sleeves, you can see it now. From this vantage, you might be able to tell why there's such an ominous and crawling psychic presence about the tall man--he's completely infested.
Mites. Red mites of -some- type crawl from his coat in the thousands, slowly marching up the snathe of his scythe as he tries to lift Zach. Some of them may be psychic impressions. But there a measurable amount that are real. They march up the snathe. Crawl down the blade towards Zach.
And then they start to feed.
Huh, Zach thinks as he regards this... hell if he knows what it is. He steps in, twisting slightly to force the blade toward a path less... immediately fatal. Zach is lifted, and then the bugs come. Damn if that isn't... patently uncomfortable. He lets out a grunt of pain he does the unthinkable.
He forces his weight /forward/, sliding down the blade before twisting /hard/ to force the blade free through his flank. There's... not quite as much blood as one might expect, actually. As if, perhaps, the wound was healing almost as fast as it was being inflicted. Zach uses the superior position to do a couple of things.
The first is to deliver a swift shoulder check to Jack's midsection to stagger it...
COMBATSYS: Eriya blocks Zach's Fierce Combo.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\1 Eriya
Zach slams the shoulder in, not getting much feedback from the monster. He is not, however, dissuaded as he pushes off and raises the sword one more time. Glen draws a diagonal slash that would cut from left shoulder to right hip.
Or, at least, it /would/ have if...
wrong.
The mites are literally everywhere. Getting this close to pumpkinhead might have been fruitful in gaining a tactical advantage against the walking horror, but it seems like attacking him right now is like trying to attack a weeping tumor of insects pouring out of his sleeves. Closer inspection reveals that there are not simply mites--serpents, spiders and scorpions of all shapes and sizes seem to be living in this creature's coat, and it's very, very hard to tell which ones are real and which ones are fake, because they all seem to move as a contiguous swarm. Hitting him with that shoulder check doesn't move him much--and seems to do all the good of aggravating Zach's discomfort.
Imagine what that discomfort is being caused by.
Instead of falling back, the tall man lurches forward, the oaken snathe of his scythe raising in a sudden dizying blow directed at Zach's right temple, the pumpkinhead grin never changing for a moment. Inexorable in this way, it intends to lay you low. And then... and then...
Somewhere unspoken, is a promise that the doll seems to make in the river, of /teaching/ Zach how to properly kneel before the dark messiah.
COMBATSYS: Zach dodges Eriya's A Brutal Psychopomp.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0 Eriya
Zach decides, right at this moment, that this guy is easily the creepiest thing he has encountered. Ever. However, he /also/ decides that he is not about to let this guy do... whatever it is he plans to do to Zach. He ducks, using his lack of height to his advantage. The strike sails over his head.
Glen throws himself forward, diving clear of the mess of bugs and snakes and reptiles. A look of pity washes across his face. He knows, /knows/ that some of those things are fake; they reek of psionic energy. But not all of them do. He knows that just as instinctively. "Good God," Zach breathes, emotion entering his voice for the first time during this encounter. "What in the hell happened to you?"
While he may feel some sense of pity for this poor bastard's condition, there remains the fact that Jack is actively trying to kill him. Some people can attest that trying to kill Zach Glen is a bad idea. As of last night, there are three who could not. This man, Zach can no longer see him as a monster, is suffering. Zach needs to either drive him off or drop him right here. Maybe then, Zach can get him to Alma. Or Rose. Someone who might be able to get this victim the help he needs.
Because all Zach can give him is a whooping. For that, Glen will need two things: more energy and a good spot to launch his plan from. His tactical evasion earns him the latter. The faint sheath of psychic energy that shrouds him intensifies as he lifts the blade of the Miraitou over his head, preparing for the closest Zach can get to that perfect swing of the sword.
COMBATSYS: Zach gathers his will.
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Zach [E] 1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0 Eriya
WHAM!
The next instant later, the tall man damn near tears the tree in half with his scythe trying to chase after Zach. Sightlessly, the lanky form stops as Zach ducks and rolls free of being made mincemeat of. The scythe hovers, the blade even with and perpendicular to the ground. He pauses.
Slowly, the tumor is reassimilated, the bugs and mites--a few of which are still creeping around on Zach as we speak--being agonizingly crawn back into his coat, where an ominous crunching sound is heard. pumpkinhead doesn't move yet, the sheath of power that envelops Zach bathing him with light. In truth, it's a lot like fighting an automaton--pumpkinhead, while arguably human, isn't feeling anything.
It is, however, a safe bet there's an awful lot he's planning to do to Zach.
He shuffles around, putting one impossibly long leg in front of the other.
easy.
he ascended.
what you should be concerned about.
is what in the hell's about to happen to you.
pumpkinhead is moving slowly towards Zach, not really cognizant at all of the energy pouring out of the boy, as if nobody taught him proper caution. As if he doesn't care. As if he can hear Zach's heartbeat. As if he's decided his heart isn't beating fast enough.
That'll change, when pumpkinhead gets within reaching distance, he's just going to grab Zach by the face and start dragging him along with him, towards the river. Energy aura and all.
COMBATSYS: Zach blocks Eriya's Quick Throw.
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Zach [E] 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Eriya
"Bullshit," Zach snarls as he bats the grabbing hand aside with his left hand. The energy flares, roars to be used. Blood starts to trickle from his ear, his nose as he takes a half-step in, the better to bring this off.
"I'm really sorry about this," Zach says. It sounds like he actually means it. There is a low, audible hum emanating from the shorter psion. The hum builds, slowly, inexorably until it reaches a howling crescendo. There is a breif pause.
And then Zach lights up the night sky in a display of unfettered soul power. The mites and bugs remaining on Zach are either dispelled or vaporized, depending on their make-up. It is uncertain what will happen to Ichabod...
COMBATSYS: Zach successfully hits Eriya with Storm Flare.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\0 Eriya
The blast utterly eclipses pumpkinhead.
Eradicating the area around the tall man completely as his coat is blown to tatters with damage, eventually even the bright glow from his pumpkin is bleached out by the light. It's actually kind of sad. Throughout none of it does the tall man utter even the faintest of cries.
When all's said and done, when the light fades, pumpkinhead is laying on the ground, his limbs splayed out at vast angles, as if he simply fell straight back into a pile of leaves. His coat is torn up. If he's bleeding, it's hard to tell because he was already caked in blood. A scorpion sizzles on its back on the ground, kicking its legs until it stops moving. His scythe is planted in the ground point-first by him. And, for a moment, the voices are mercifully silent.
But the river.. it's still filled with blood. The doll hasn't moved, still bobbing happily in the gory tide. The fish are not alive. There seems to be no illusion about it. The river yet still churns with whatever marine terror is swimming beneath the surface.
when are you going to get it.
The tall man slowly shifts from his stupor, getting to his feet.
there's only one way to placate us.
He handles his scythe in a grip tight enough to hear his knuckles pop underneath his gloves. Mites drip from his fingers. Brutally, he wrenches the rusty blade from the dirt.
hail.
And pumpkinhead... continues advancing towards Zach.
fucking hail to the dark messiah.
COMBATSYS: Eriya gains composure.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/-------|======-\-------\0 Eriya
COMBATSYS: Zach blocks Zach's Storm Flare.
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Zach [E] 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Eriya
Zach wipes the blood from his upper lip with a slight frown. "And yet you aren't advancing this time," he comments evenly. He brings the sword low and back, trailing from his right hip. "Maybe there is something to that."
Zach decides to test his theory, charging low. He roars as soul power erupts from the blade of the Miraitou, closing the gap quickly. He crouches before leaping, bringing the sword high over his head. Glen hangs in the sky for a moment, violet energy rushing up to meet the psion before he starts to plummet.
As he closes, be brings the sword down hard on Ichabod's collarbone... or at least where the collarbone /should be.
COMBATSYS: Eriya interrupts Blast Bash from Zach with Victimize.
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Zach [E] 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Eriya
The deadly sword cuts into pumpkinhead's flesh, chopping his collarbone open and almost tearing his arm off in the exchange--or--wait.. what's going on?
While Zach cuts through fabric and flesh with the enervated blade, it's not human flesh he cuts--not really, anyway. It's like.. cutting through a sack of beetles, the heavy fabrics making up pumpkinhead's coat boiling forth with not blood, but spiders, spilling forward and crawling up the edge of the blade, holding it fast in the sucking wound. The head doesn't seem to notice Zach's attack at all.. wait. Where is the head--
Instantly, the end of pumpkinhead's snathe appears, an instant away from slamming into the back of Zach's skull and pinning him to the ground brutally underneath it and a swarm of biting, angry spiders. It would seem to hurt even more, but the ground is unusually soft underneath Zach's body. As if it were churned.
As if it were worm ridden...
The worms wanted their taste of the new flesh as well.
can you feel it now?
the end, that is. our messiah brought you here. you should thank him.. as we do.
daily.
over and over again...
COMBATSYS: Zach endures Zach's Blast Bash.
[ < > ////////// ]
Zach [E] 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0 Eriya
Zach slams to the ground with bonecrunching finality. He exhales sharply as he tries to get his bearings. The spiders chowing on him help with that. His eyes snap open, emeralds shining with power that all but demands to be used. And used in full. Ayame may be amused; Zach is using his vast power to enforce his will.
Despite how low the psion may be, he is not yet ready to die.
"Get bent," Zach spits, blood spraying from his lips. There is that humming sounds again. Another moment passes, and Zach yells both in pain and primal fury as the night turns to day one more time. The psychic only prays that it is enough.
COMBATSYS: Zach can no longer fight.
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Eriya 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Eriya blocks Zach's Storm Flare.
[ \\\\\\\ <
Eriya 0/-------/=======|
Not.. ready.. to die..
The idea doesn't even register to pumpkinhead--that someone could not be ready to ascend. Not be ready for the truth. But when the scarecrow-like horror looks down at Zach, at the massive upwelling of energy, the killer tilts his head just so, a snake slowly curling from his coat, beetles crawling from the parts of the dress shirt underneath where the buttons were blasted off by the previous upwelling. Suddenly, all is white.
what a fucking horrible joke.
Livid energy crawls all over pumpkinhead as creatures slough off of his form like a second skin. Blood now actually visibly pours from the tall man's clothes, dripping off of them and forming obscene kanji as they hit the ground in fat thick drooling droplets. As if sensing the lack of resistance and becoming irritated by it more than anything else, he steps forward, roughly grabbing the psychic as he blacks out, dragging him bodily slowlyacross the river bank to the dark roiling waters.
told you. you fucked up.
pumpkinhead lifts Zach up.
should've fucking knelt.
And then the murderer pitches him, spitefully, into the teeming pool of blood, consigning him to the horrific deep. It churns, boiling with anger, and livid rage about those who don't fear, who don't pay proper tribute to the coming. The tall man stands there for a moment, breathing audibly for the first time, as if unable to decide between being elated and being livid. He's focusing on the bloody water as it stills.
shit. what's wrong?
Eels are beached all across the river, hundreds of them, along with one /massive/ eel, crackling with power. The last energy outburst from the psychic killed them. And pumpkinhead didn't notice until the water stopped churning.
A scytheblade slams into the flesh of the dead giant eel, gutting it instantly.
no. that can't be right.
Blood sprays across the riverbank as the blade lifts and drops again.
The doll lifts out of the water slowly, as if held by an unseen hand. no--don't--listen, you don't understand. he can still drown. even if he doesn't. he knows your name now...HE KNOWS YOUR NAM--
The doll explodes into bloody fragments across the river.
Log created on 16:28:38 03/22/2011 by Zach, and last modified on 21:38:42 03/22/2011.