Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Finale Chapter 6 Subject: [CAoL Main] AAE 9: Last Dance On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:30:33 -0700 Roland Phoenix Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12926 Roland takes another step forward. The ground trembles. Orrorshan monstrosities, carefully constructed animate weapons, and villains from a thousand worlds throw themselves towards Defender, attempting to block his path. Most are stopped by the CAoL, but a few -- aside from gospog, zombies and mundane robots, which Roland could easily atomize with a thought -- get through. A woman of almost unimaginable beauty appears in front of him through a faintly glowing gateway. She smiles at him with an even blend of invitation, challenge and haughtiness. "Surely," Graendal says, jaw-droppingly complex Spirit Weaves combined with a threading of Air and Water that easily equals the Voice of the Bene Gesserit, "You Can Think Of Something Better To Do With That Magnificent Body." Defender pauses and shudders. Then he frowns, Spirit Weaves falling flat against his titanic mind shields and the Voice blocked by a combination of training and quickly raised kinetic filters. Magnetic waves tear ore from the earth, form bands of titanium steel, and wrap them around her arms, legs and mouth. The Forsaken's eyes bulge wide with terror, and her arrogant certainty tranforms almost instantly into submissive pleading. "Don't tempt me," Defender growls. "And I mean that most deliberately." The Spirit Weaves vanish, only glittering hate and fear warring in the exquisite face before the Champion. Fear is easily winning, however, with the thought of falling into the hands of a fellow Forsaken in her current state easy to discern from her. A crystal appears over the band holding her lips sealed. Graendal's eyes bulge twice as wide as before, and genuine whimpers follow on the very echo of the feigned ones. "That's right, monster, you're 'shielded.' And if you don't want to be..." Roland shakes his head violently and looks up. The Gaunt Man hides his smile an instant too late. "Frack," Defender snaps, picking up the occult ritual the High Lord had hidden behind the Forsaken's Weaves. Unlike Graendal, he'd known better than to believe that Roland would fall for the former Aes Sedai's tricks, but had intended to keep Defender busy with figuring out what to do with her. With a savage gesture, the Phoenix Blade whistling through the air, he teleports the woman into a holding cell on Champions Island. (Ironically, she collapses in relief; better justice from heroes than helpless among her own.) Defender takes another step. The ground quakes. A dimthread falls. Darth Vader appears in it, lightsaber at the ready. "We meet again, Eternal," he intones. Roland bares his teeth and almost hisses. "I don't have time for this," he snarls, and bears down on the newly-minted High Lord with all his power. Vader tries to block it with his saber and enhanced Force-born might. This lasts for perhaps a tenth of a second, after which Defender's power rips the Sith Lord's cybernetic arms apart like paper and pins what remains to the ground. "Ani or no Ani, I'm really getting sick of you, Mr. Hardcore." Vader grunts and tries to stand, only to have his weight multiplied by fifty for the second time. His armor groans. Roland casually levitates Vader's lightsaber into his hand. "It's too bad you weren't around Master Qui-Gon when he said there's always a bigger..." Defender slaps his forehead at the sensation of familiar occult energies. The Gaunt Man just did it to him _again._ "Go home, Anakin. Pray your family can save you." The Eternal gestures, and Vader vanishes with a 'whoomph' of imploding air. A flicker of thought turns the Sith lightsaber into a marble. A sudden vision fills his mind: Padme and Luke holding Anakin as he dies, the former Jedi and Sith having finally defeated the foul Device that had twisted his life. Roland smiles sadly. Defender takes another step. The earth trembles. In that moment, Randall Flagg, patron of the CAoL's rival Army of Darkness, is just _there_ in front of the Champion. "Hey ho, Sparky," he quips, drawing twin revolvers. "Time to die." Twelve bullets fly out in the space of a second. Roland's smirk vanishes when he realizes the bullets _don't_want_to_stop._ He senses the unbelievably powerful sigils on guns and bullets alike barely in time, and throws all of his considerable might and will into stopping them anyway. They slow, then finally come to a halt mere inches from his face. With a sweeping motion, he forces them to turn aside and fall, their energy spent. "Cute." "Like I said," Flagg continues, casually reloading as if he had all the time in the world, "I hate Rolands. You're number two on my list, by the way." Incongruously, Phoenix grins. "I'm flattered. And as much as I wish I had time to deal with you properly, it looks like someone's already called dibs on you." Flagg is about to respond when a big, beefy finger thumps against the back of his shoulder repeatedly. The Walkin' Dude says several unprintable things and turns. Mike Callahan, the Mick of Time, stands there glaring at him over one of his trademark cheroots. "This fight's for the kids," the Irish barman notes evenly. "Let's you and me step outside." The Walkin' Dude is in the middle of saying several _more_ unprintable things when then the two are gone as smoothly and quietly as each had arrived individually. The Champion takes another step. The entire mountain rings like a gong. The Gaunt Man's smile returns. "So you have come to kill me, then?" he asks casually, looking over his cane's head idly. It is a miniature sculpture of the Carredon's head, with a sphere of the same material as the Sword of Apeiros in its mouth. "The great and noble Defender, who is sworn never to take a life?" Roland pauses, wavering for a moment. "Earth's Mightiest Hypocrite, indeed." He strokes the cane's head gently with a finger, as if petting it. "I suppose, on the other hand, it shows less hypocrisy than leaving the dirty work for others, which is after all your traditional solution." "That's funny," Roland chuckles. "It turns out that you're right, for once. Which is why I'm here to do the job myself. 'Is it hypocrisy to strive for perfection, even knowing that perfection is impossible, even when remembering that purity can be the enemy of goodness? Is it hypocrisy to always try one's best? To do what is right and pay the price, always seeking the benefit of others ahead of your own, even if you cannot be perfect?'" [Thanks, Gandalf,] Roland thinks with a faint smile. The grin vanishes as quickly as it came, and twin swords spin in the Eternal's hands. "The challenge has begun. No more monsters, no more supers, heroes or villains, no more pulling cosmic entities out of our pockets." Roland smiles again, a mirthless, deadly smile. "Just you and me now, old man." "Posturing infant!" the Gaunt Man roars, and pulls at the cane head. It is, of course, a sword cane, with a sword made of Nothing -- the Nothing that is the origin of Oblivion and the Abyss. It is Not, and seeks to make that which Is, Not. "Even I could not make of myself a horror without flaw, so I _chose_ my True Death. You may have the Possibility Sword, callow boy, but you are no swordsman, and I have had countless millennia to hone my edge in an art I had already mastered in life." Defender brings up the twin blades crossed before him. "Then what are you afraid of?" "Afrai--" the Gaunt Man sputters, and his eternal control shatters. "I FEAR NOTHING! I _AM_ FEAR!" he howls like a thousand storms, and attacks. The moment their blades meet, Roland is fighting for his life. [Sprocking monster wasn't bragging when he said how good he was,] the Eternal thinks, wheeling and parrying desperately. Roland Phoenix has improved massively since marrying his beloved Morgan, which is all that keeps him alive in the first few seconds of the fight. He throws every psychic trick he has at the High Lord, from massive kinetic bludgeons to subtle telepathic distractions. Every last one collapses into the reality-shaking occult defenses the Gaunt Man has woven around his undead frame. Only his ESP helps, following the outer edge of the sorcerous sheath to warn the hero of onrushing death. While the cane-sheath the Gaunt Man uses in his right hand is no immediate threat, the High Lord uses it with preternatural skill, prying the Phoenix Blade aside to strike with the Nothing Blade. Several times, Roland barely interposes the Possibility Sword to protect himself, and even at that he has a few nicks that bleed motes of Not before the battle is ten seconds old. Fortunately, Roland recovers quickly. Realizing that his twin sword style is getting him nowhere and inspired by the Gaunt Man's own defenses, he switches the Phoenix Blade back to Rod form. On more familiar ground, he is able to deflect the blade of Emptiness away with relative ease, and even manages to take the offensive for brief moments, thrusting closely enough to force the Gaunt Man back. "You can surrender any time you like," Defender quips. The Gaunt Man sneers hatefully, retreating into a more defensive stance. Roland senses the trap immediately and backs off as well. The two circle, eyeing each other and weighing each other's styles. "You have no artistry to your swordsmanship," the High Lord says conversationally, moving with surprisingly fluid grace as he sidesteps. "It is as blunt as a hammer." "I only need to nail you once," Roland fires back. "And you. You're a natural show-off, oh baddest and most cunning of High Lords. You like to watch yourself fence as much as you like to hear yourself talk." The Gaunt Man's responding smile is sharper than his sword. "Style and cunning are siblings, puerile fool. My skill with a blade shows such beauty for the same reason my reality does -- because the true art of torment is most effective at its most magnificent." "Tell it to --" Roland begins, lunging without breaking the flow of his comment. "Bruce Lee," he finishes, gliding past the Gaunt Man. Crimson threads of lightning and sky blue winds crackle and flow around the slice along the villain's ribs. For a moment, Defender smiles. Then he grunts and clutches at his own side, a deeper cut eating orichalcum and flesh alike. "You were saying?" The Gaunt Man laughs as Roland turns clumsily to deflect a nearly lethal slash. "This duel was a fool's errand. For you." He twirls his blade in a feint, then feints again with a mock-lunge before nearly taking Defender's left arm off at the shoulder. "You were doomed from the moment you challenged me." "no," Rachel whispers. ^ROGER! HELP!^ Roland totters backwards for a moment, then smiles grimly. "Maybe," he admits, "but there's one thing you never seem to count on." "And what might that--" the Gaunt Man begins, stopping with a gasp as terror finally touches his empty heart. "What it means to be a hero." Roland leaps. He forms a shield of the Phoenix Rod to protect his head as he leaps, but leaves the rest of his body open as he jumps several feet into the air, Possibility Sword thrust downward. Realizing what Defender is about to do but seeing no way to stop it, the Gaunt Man brings up sword and cane alike in the threadbare hope of blunting the force of the blow enough to kill Roland completely before sheer momentum buries the Sword of Apeiros in his chest. Roland will die either way, but the tyrant realizes too late that the Champion had been willing to make that sacrifice from the start. "NO!" Morgan cries, and the Black Paladin briefly has a _very_ bad day. In the instant before the swords enter the duelists' bodies, the Phoenix Shield becomes a claymore, and with a workmanlike swipe familiar to every member of the CAoL, knocks aside the Nothing Sword. The sudden motion, one Roland was unprepared for, ruins his killing lunge, but the Gaunt Man ends up with a long rainbow gash along his ribs all the same. "...what...?" the High Lord asks, surprised at his reprieve but not wasting time pondering it. He resumes their duel, parrying and lunging. The claymore remains, spinning and slashing almost with a will of its own, or so it seems at first. "of course," Defender breathes. Then he smiles, a faint thing at first, but one that grows as the greatsword and the red-and-blue saber move as one, no matter that he uses two different styles with them. "It's over, Gaunt Man." "Bah!" The most monstrous of High Lords attacks again, the cane countering with a training obviously meant for Morgan's fighting style. "So your woman is aiding you, with you the puppet and she the mistress. Did you think I would not be prepared for that?" Roland smile continues to grow. "You just don't get it. She's not fighting for me. She's fighting _with_ me." Defender rolls suddenly, the claymore becoming one of Seeker's katanas as he slashes at the Gaunt Man's legs. The High Lord barely leaps out of the way, but when Roland springs to his feet, a drow elf's sword hangs in his off hand. "Impossible! You cannot use a style from an absent ally!" "Says you," Defender laughs, and Xzerrion's style spills from his arms as he attacks with blinding speed. "Does a candle lose anything from lighting another candle? Does love diminish or grow the more we give of it?" The smile vanishes, replaced instantly with laser focus and adamant determination. "And does a teacher lose her skill when she teaches a student?" Xzerrion's graceful style vanishes, replaced by a wildly spinning storm of improvised death. "By the way, is that a chicken in your jacket, or you just frightened to see me?" The Gaunt Man roars in pure, relentless hatred, and Roland laughs again as he dances away, hearing Morgan groan in spite of herself while the Champion switches from Driscoll's brilliant unpredictability to Roger's brilliant unpredictability, which are distinct in an indefinable yet undeniable way, which the Gaunt Man learns to his sorrow when he tries to compensate. A shallow slash to the abdomen later, the High Lord of Horror goes on the offensive, attacking with blinding speed. Briefly endangered by this deadly assault, Roland is able to quickly blunt the attack, and the Gaunt Man screams in frustrated denial as he meets Zia's impenetrable defensive style. With the fierce charge stopped cold, Roland is again able to surge forward, this time combining styles with fluid ease. Two old friends long absent enter the fray as the Gaunt Man finds himself facing a perfect blend of Dhyrclhanc's powerful style and Mike's superlative analysis. Immediately thrown back on the defensive, the former Ripper is shocked to find the Possibility Sword leaving a glowing slice on his forehead, a gift from BetNoir. Sudden death nearly takes him when Raver's relentless skill almost impales the High Lord, then Marivale's strutting genius barely misses taking his head off. The Callahanian Champion pauses for a moment, and when the Gaunt Man tries to take advantage, he is driven back by a starkly ingenious blend of Dhyrclhanc, Roger, Morgan and Quiet Moon. Mike reenters the equation with Roland's own defensive patterns as Dhyrclhanc and Quiet Moon fade into the background again, but most of the CAoL's blade styles can be found in the Eternal's movements. Only one of its masters is missing. Roland presses the assault relentlessly. "You CANNOT be DOING this!" The Gaunt Man shrieks, fear burned away in outrage. "Our battle is one against one alone!" Roland shakes his head in what is almost sympathy. "One on one, yes," he explains, "but I'm not alone. I _can't_ be alone. You've never understood what makes us what we are." Defender steps back, then takes an aggressive stance. "WE!" He leaps forward. "ARE!" The Gaunt Man spins to parry. "ONE!" The Gaunt Man stares in shock at his chest. Both Nothing Sword and indestructible cane are quivering in the ground behind him, and both of Defender's blades are in his chest, the Possibility Sword straight through where his heart would be if he had one. Pure Stranger. "Eternal, Champion," Roland notes dryly. "Well it's about time," Wrinkle quips. The time barrier around the battle shatters. The Liam from Blaze-Rachel's time, in full wolfman form, almost literally tears his way through Hypertime to his sister's side. "Gaia, Luna, and the Maidens, Blaze, you scared a thousand white hairs onto my hide..." he looks up at the apex of the mountain, just in front of Illmound Keep, and his lupine jaw drops in gaping astonishment. "...is that..." Rachel nods and grins. /Dad just kicked his ass./ /Language, dear,/ Roland notes fondly. The twins laugh in shaky relief. Most of the battles have come to a halt (OOC: with the exception of anyone who doesn't want their fights to pause or end here, of course) as most of the combatants witness the apparently final outcome of the showdown. "You can still live, you know," Defender continues to the helpless Gaunt Man. "Surrender to our world's authorities, and you can face justice --" "Die," the Gaunt Man rasps, becoming pure Nothing himself. The ensuing explosion throws Defender halfway down the mountain, but is hardly in any danger of killing him. The Gaunt Man is no more. Shakily, Roland regains his feet. "Well. That wasn't as hard as I--" A shaft of Oblivion fires from the highest tower of Illmound Keep. It envelops Roland, who briefly becomes an azure outline within it. */Now that's a sprocking nuisance,/* he sighs mentally. Then he is gone. Rachel and Liam scream as one. *"NUISANCE, INDEED,"* Heketon intones as Illmound Keep explodes, *"BUT NOTHING MORE. INDEED, USEFUL."* Heketon beats, just like a heart, and blood-like Nothing spills from it. In moments, a Gaunt Man-shaped hole in reality forms where the terrible fortress once stood. *"AND IF I WERE SUCH A FOOL AS MY COLLEAGUES ARE, I WOULD DIVIDE MYSELF IN SUCH A WAY AS TO GIVE THESE MOTES THE CHANCE TO MATTER."* The Heketon-Titan stares into the sky, where Yog-Sothoth and Shub-Niggurath appears. Seeker stares at the empty spot where Defender had been. "God. That's not...I don't..." Champions of both kinds, as well as heroes from across Earth-9 and beyond, turn to Morgan, a stunned question in every eye. Morgan looks around, then up, a look of dazed confusion crossing her face, concern creeping in as she tries to grasp what she's sensing and fails. Rachel and Liam have worked their way over to her, somehow; she hugs Rachel with one arm and scritches Liam's ear with her free hand. Liam bays quietly while Rachel sniffles in disbelief. Heketon chuckles, drinking in the pain and loss of the gathered protectors below it. *"INSTEAD, WITH THE GAUNT MAN'S AWARENESS NOW MINE, I SHALL SIMPLY OBLITERATE THESE PETS OF YOURS, STARSPAWN, _AND_ THEIR WORLD. THEN, WE SHALL END THIS AS BEFITS BEINGS OF CREATION AND OBLIVION SUCH...AS...We...what?"* */everyone matters, heketon,/* a familiar whisper echoes through reality itself. */didn't even _you_ get that from what just happened?/* Against its will, Heketon's power lances out to thousands of gospog of varying powers. Exactly as many as there are heroes, as it happens. */everybody, listen...grab a handle, no matter how small, and pull...fight them, trick them, mock them, it doesn't matter, just get in the game. it's not about power. it never was. it's about family./* And the voice is gone. Heketon pulses in fury, trying to steal power from all around it to face the Starspawn. Nearly all the remaining villains, realizing just what Heketon truly is, either start bailing or switching sides (with corresponding No-threads appearing, giving them 'handles' to yank on). Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she says, turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her hand. Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_...becoming attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. "Snag a thread and unravel the bastard!" -- (/) Roland Morgan /|\ Love conquers all. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE9: Beginning of the End, part II On Wed, 28 Mar 2007 23:41:35 -0700 Richard Bagnall Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12927 >On Mon, 12 Mar 2007 00:38:13 -0700 >Roland X Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12912 > > [Yep. Definitely on the right track.] With Solitaire-6 circling >warily, he can at least focus on the two deadly warriors attacking >him. Obsidian-6 is trying to drain his now overflowing powers, and >Defender's incredible Gate Key control is all that's holding the >energy vampire off. Jezrael is on an entirely different level, and >ironically it's primarily Anathema's powers, granted to him thanks to >Markoth's treachery, that are keeping Roland alive. */Backup would be >nice,/* he sends. Harlock appears at Jezrael's side. "Ask and ye shall receive, Milord." He turns to face Jezrael, drawing a bastard sword as he does so. "So, 'the King is dead, long live the King,' is that what I'm seeing here?" Jezrael spares him a backhand, still focusing its efforts on Roland. The Bard parries with the sharp edge of the blade, unleashing a burst of electricity as it connects with Jezrael's wrist. _That_ gets Jezrael's attention...unfortunately. The next few moments are a nightmare blur for Harlock, parrying some claws, ducking others, getting buffetted by razor-edged wings, and avoiding a barbed tail by sheer luck. Still, he does manage to bring his force-shield online again, and the battle starts to turn. "Your little tricks won't save you, pav monkey scum," the newest Demon Prince hisses at Harlock as it begins a magical assault. Harlock seems unaffected, but sweat starts beading his brow. Then Jezrael lunges, claw glowing in a crackling black aura that passes right through the Bard's force-shield. Harlock screams as Jezrael's claw buries itself in his gut, then pales with horror as inky black circuitry starts spreading across his abdomen. [Now would be--10011001--a good time for--00101101--that other--10101110--avatar.] A second Harlock appears behind Jezrael and taps it on the shoulder. "Y'know, Jezzie, the stories about my unintentional travels have grown in the telling, too." He grabs the technodemon in a full nelson and continues, "fasten your seat belt, it's goin' to be a bumpy ride." Then he disappears along with Jezrael. Harlock is beyond noticing, unfortunately. Not dead, but curled in a fetal position as runes of light and inky blackness trace themselves over his skin, obliterating each other by turns. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 00:33:01 -0700 Richard Bagnall Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12928 >On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:30:33 -0700 >Roland Phoenix Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12926 > > The Gaunt Man's responding smile is sharper than his sword. "Style >and cunning are siblings, puerile fool. My skill with a blade shows >such beauty for the same reason my reality does -- because the true >art of torment is most effective at its most magnificent." Marivale, seeing the duel in progress, starts studying the motions, parrying incoming gospog almost absently. As the next exchange develops, he calls out helplessly, "no, Roland! It's a--" > "Tell it to --" Roland begins, lunging without breaking the flow >of his comment. "Bruce Lee," he finishes, gliding past the Gaunt Man. >Crimson threads of lightning and sky blue winds crackle and flow >around the slice along the villain's ribs. For a moment, Defender >smiles. Then he grunts and clutches at his own side, a deeper cut >eating orichalcum and flesh alike. "--feint. Damn." > "Says you," Defender laughs, and Xzerrion's style spills from his >arms as he attacks with blinding speed. "Does a candle lose anything >from lighting another candle? Does love diminish or grow the more we >give of it?" The smile vanishes, replaced instantly with laser focus >and adamant determination. "And does a teacher lose her skill when >she teaches a student?" Xzerrion's graceful style vanishes, replaced >by a wildly spinning storm of improvised death. "By the way, is that >a chicken in your jacket, or you just frightened to see me?" > The Gaunt Man roars in pure, relentless hatred, and Roland laughs >again as he dances away, hearing Morgan groan in spite of herself >while the Champion switches from Driscoll's brilliant >unpredictability to Roger's brilliant unpredictability, which are >distinct in an indefinable yet undeniable way, which the Gaunt Man >learns to his sorrow when he tries to compensate. A shallow slash to >the abdomen later, the High Lord of Horror goes on the offensive, >attacking with blinding speed. Briefly endangered by this deadly >assault, Roland is able to quickly blunt the attack, and the Gaunt >Man screams in frustrated denial as he meets Zia's impenetrable >defensive style. Marivale's eyes light as he watches this dance of blades, shining as he drinks in every detail. Not that he stops mulching gospogs, of course, but mostly what he's fighting for at this point is a clear view of The Duel. [I wonder when he'll get around to using my technique?] > With the fierce charge stopped cold, Roland is again able to surge >forward, this time combining styles with fluid ease. Two old friends >long absent enter the fray as the Gaunt Man finds himself facing a >perfect blend of Dhyrclhanc's powerful style and Mike's superlative >analysis. Immediately thrown back on the defensive, the former Ripper >is shocked to find the Possibility Sword leaving a glowing slice on >his forehead, a gift from BetNoir. Sudden death nearly takes him when >Raver's relentless skill almost impales the High Lord, then >Marivale's strutting genius barely misses taking his head off. Marivale blink-blinks. [A throat slash? With a rapier? I'll have to talk to him about that. The join of leg and hip is a much easier target. Well, a harder target to defend, anyway. Besides, a lunge is _much_ quicker than a cut and it doesn't pull your blade off-line for defense.] Parry, dodge, parry, lunge, disembowel, parry... > "You CANNOT be DOING this!" The Gaunt Man shrieks, fear burned >away in outrage. "Our battle is one against one alone!" > Roland shakes his head in what is almost sympathy. "One on one, >yes," he explains, "but I'm not alone. I _can't_ be alone. You've >never understood what makes us what we are." Defender steps back, >then takes an aggressive stance. > "WE!" He leaps forward. > "ARE!" The Gaunt Man spins to parry. > "ONE!" > The Gaunt Man stares in shock at his chest. Both Nothing Sword and >indestructible cane are quivering in the ground behind him, and both >of Defender's blades are in his chest, the Possibility Sword straight >through where his heart would be if he had one. > Pure Stranger. Marivale smiles in pure aesthetic appreciation. "Oh, well cut, Sir!" > Heketon pulses in fury, trying to steal power from all around it >to face the Starspawn. Nearly all the remaining villains, realizing >just what Heketon truly is, either start bailing or switching sides >(with corresponding No-threads appearing, giving them 'handles' to >yank on). > >Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she says, >turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her hand. >Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_...becoming >attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. "Snag a >thread and unravel the bastard!" Marivale glances over his shoulder at where Arturo is struggling across the battlefield, one ponderous step at a time. He sighs with a combination of exasperation and disappointment, noting that Arturo is not threaded. The nearest threaded creature is...over there, still shambling mindlessly toward the fight. [My, but that's a big one.] Indeed, the creature is at least the size of an oliphaunt. Not that that's stopped Marivale before, nor does he hesitate now, ducking and weaving his way through the horde of creatures between him and his target. The huge gospog doesn't even seem to notice Marivale at first, so he takes the opportunity to climb onto its back, at which point writhing tentacular pseudopods burst from the creature's flesh to whip at the master swordsman and attempt to entangle him. Far from being snared by the fleshy strands, Marivale avoids some and severs others. The one that does make contact can't seem to find any sort of purchase and slides right off, leaving a trail of noisome slime in its wake. As Marivale continues to climb, several of the tentacles wrap themselves together, writhing until they form a humanoid figure with a whip in each hand. Standing perpendicular to the gospog's back. Which is to say, parallel with the ground. Marivale blink-blinks again. "Well, that's something you don't see every day." Even trained as he is to fight on shifting surfaces and peculiar angles, the need to keep a three-point grip on the gospog makes this fight decidedly awkward. Nevertheless, within a few seconds he has analyzed the creature's rather straightforward fighting style, and within a minute he cuts the thing free of its parent gospog to plummet to the ground with a sickening splat. Finally he reaches the titanic head and starts sawing away at anything that looks vulnerable. At length, the gospog decides to swat Marivale, since both tentacles and whip-wielder availed it not. But Marivale sees the blow coming and jumps away, driving his dagger into the creature's flesh to break his fall. The gospog succeeds only in knocking its own head off. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE9: Beginning of the End On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 07:18:41 -0800 (PST) Peter Eng Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12929 >On Wed, 21 Mar 2007 19:03:09 -0800 (PST) >Peter Eng Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12923 > > "An infinite number of universes means a slightly smaller number >of Washuus," Rob continues, "so having two of us show up is hardly >improbable. Actually, I could show you the math proving that in a >multiversal event like this, the odds of two of me showing up >approaches 1:1 - if I had a whiteboard or two..." > [What was that phrase about baffling them with bull?] Kagato responds a moment later by attempting to incinerate the second Washuu, who is promptly replaced by a Washuu-doll. "And that leaves you," he notes, as the golden serpents erupt from under Rob, dragging him into the air. "I do not know who you are, but you are not my sensei!" Caught by surprise, Rob finds himself on an improvised rack, with his arms and legs being pulled in opposite directions. "You're right," he replies, releasing the illusion. "I'm not Washuu." [Okay, time for plan B...] Kagato studies his opponent more carefully. "Hm. That is actually your true form, and yet you opposed me? What foolishness is that?" "Nothing you've described as foolishness so far is the act of a fool," Rob responds. "Ryoko's choice of friends destroyed you. As for opposing you? I didn't have to defeat you. I just had to make you stop fighting." The Ruins Buster looks at his captive. "You're mad. That doesn't make any sense." "Really? Who are you fighting right now? Rachel's not here - looks like she just gave Sinestro the 'tent peg' treatment. Washuu isn't here. All you've been doing is keeping me occupied. And compared with the people you could have been fighting, I'm not all that, I'm not a bag of chips, and I'm not even the toy in the kid's meal." Kagato studies the battlefield. While he's been distracted, the Gaunt Man's forces have been depleted. The Hunter has destroyed the Carredon, a beast that legend had described as unkillable. The few allies that the High Lord of Orrorsh still has are deadlocked, at best. And the Gaunt Man himself... >On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:30:33 -0700 >Roland Phoenix Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12926 > > The Gaunt Man stares in shock at his chest. Both Nothing Sword and >indestructible cane are quivering in the ground behind him, and both >of Defender's blades are in his chest, the Possibility Sword straight >through where his heart would be if he had one. Kagato's golden serpents vanish, dropping Rob to the ground. "I am impressed. Few people can out-think me." "It's a specialty, and I've had the opportunity to watch a master plying the craft," Rob replies, as he gestures at Roland. > Seeker stares at the empty spot where Defender had been. "God. >That's not...I don't..." Champions of both kinds, as well as heroes >from across Earth-9 and beyond, turn to Morgan, a stunned question in >every eye. > >Morgan looks around, then up, a look of dazed confusion crossing her >face, concern creeping in as she tries to grasp what she's sensing >and fails. Rachel and Liam have worked their way over to her, >somehow; she hugs Rachel with one arm and scritches Liam's ear with >her free hand. Liam bays quietly while Rachel sniffles in disbelief. Rob is one of the hardest hit. That's his *hero* that just got vaporized. If he'd met Roland fifteen years earlier, he would have gone fanboy, and annoyed the Freelance Immortal no end. Even now, it's a shock. Some things just aren't supposed to happen. >Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she says, >turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her hand. >Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_...becoming >attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. "Snag a >thread and unravel the bastard!" Rob pulls out the card that represents the last favor owed him. A jet-black card, it has only one thing on it - a heart drawn in silver. As he invokes its power, the card melts, dripping off his hand. Taking a deep breath, he concentrates on the effect he wants...and sings. "In troubled times, it's hard to get straight answers, between the lines that border wrong or right. The homeland cries, it struggles with confusion. But this feeling still remains like shelter from the rain. We live on faith in the hands of those who guide us and tear the page on the fear we left behind. We set the pace for every born survivor. Don't turn the other way when I need to hear you say: Allies! With our backs against the wall, I will answer when you call and take on the odds, for what we believe is true! Allies! In a world of too much choice, I only need your voice! Tell me you care, I'll be anywhere for you.... ...allies." His voice isn't anything special, but to the gospog he's focused on, he's singing of everything that anybody has ever wanted, from the sacred to the profane. The very wish to have more, the drive that makes a sentient being reach for something that may be beyond its grasp. (To be fair, with the power of Desire behind him, he could sing "I'm Henry VIII, I Am" and it would have the same effect.) The gospog shudders, and drops its weapon, looking up with a spark of something in its eyes. It isn't a servant now. It's a person, and it has a reason to live, to be. The Gaunt Man doesn't matter. Heketon doesn't matter. It turns and walks towards the nearest Maelstrom Bridge as Rob finishes singing. "I don't know where he's going," he rasps as the gospog vanishes, "but I hope whatever he's looking for is something good." =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE9: Beginning of the End, part II On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 17:58:28 -0600 Frank McCoy Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12930 At 11:41 PM 3/28/2007 -0700, you wrote: >Harlock screams as Jezrael's claw buries itself in his gut, then >pales with horror as inky black circuitry starts spreading across his >abdomen. [Now would be--10011001--a good time for--00101101--that >other--10101110--avatar.] > >A second Harlock appears behind Jezrael and taps it on the shoulder. >"Y'know, Jezzie, the stories about my unintentional travels have >grown in the telling, too." He grabs the technodemon in a full nelson >and continues, "fasten your seat belt, it's goin' to be a bumpy >ride." Then he disappears along with Jezrael. Harlock is beyond >noticing, unfortunately. Not dead, but curled in a fetal position as >runes of light and inky blackness trace themselves over his skin, >obliterating each other by turns. Something stirs in the grass next to Harlock; then appears to take on the shape of a Humanoid pile of grass. (Damn ... Didn't want to get into the really dangerous stuff...) As it stand, the figure isn't invisible ... Just truly hard to see; as it takes on the look of whatever is behind it, including sky, towers, and even fighting forces. Seeming to reach inside itself, the figure takes out ... something ... and seems to pour, shake, or just dump lines of ... code? ... on the figure writhing on the ground. Nothing immediately seems to happen to Harlock unless you watch closely; but each time a string of light appears end-to-end with a string of black, the white seems to grow longer at the expense of the dark. "Knew that anti-virus spell would come in handy sometime," mutters the now brick-looking figure as it blends into the remains of an old wall and then isn't seen again. A white lash of power from somewhere close by blackens the wall a few seconds later; but seems to have no other effect. Whatever, or whoever the person was, is no longer there to be fried. It's hard to just hide out and let friends take it on the chin ... even if there's little you can do personally in the large scheme of things. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 18:37:36 -0600 Frank McCoy Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12931 At 10:30 PM 3/27/2007 -0700, you wrote: > */everyone matters, heketon,/* a familiar whisper echoes through >reality itself. */didn't even _you_ get that from what just >happened?/* Against its will, Heketon's power lances out to thousands >of gospog of varying powers. Exactly as many as there are heroes, as >it happens. */everybody, listen...grab a handle, no matter how small, >and pull...fight them, trick them, mock them, it doesn't matter, just >get in the game. it's not about power. it never was. it's about >family./* > And the voice is gone. > Heketon pulses in fury, trying to steal power from all around it >to face the Starspawn. Nearly all the remaining villains, realizing >just what Heketon truly is, either start bailing or switching sides >(with corresponding No-threads appearing, giving them 'handles' to >yank on). Damn ... Getting roped in again .... Frank steps out of an impossibly small hiding place, puts a weird ... something ... on the ground and stakes it in place before grabbing a thread and feeding it into a hole in the top. The "hole" grabs onto the no-thread and seems to pull with incredible eagerness; thread vanishing into the top that you can't quite focus on at an ever increasing rate. A "no-thread" of this type shouldn't be even handled by anything other than a conscious entity; but the gadget seems to have no problems swallowing it; matter devices, magic, energy, dark-energy, even anti-energy without problems. While he stands there, seemingly unprotected against the mayhem going on all around him, beams of various kinds of destruction, ill-omens, and other stranger things all seem to just conveniently *miss* as he does the setup. Frank bends over to place the "device", just as an incredibly bright stream of destruction passes through the space his head just happened to vacate. A green dripping sword passes where his torso was a second earlier, as two fighting combatants struggle past; neither one seeming to notice he's even there. The hero and gospog too wrapped up in personal combat to really notice anything except their personal fight. "Always knew that portable black-hole would come in handy sometime, for something besides an ashtray or waste-disposal unit," comments Frank as he winks out of existence into some otherwhen. The device will vanish also, the moment it stops being fed, or some bright villain thinks to remove the stake holding it to the ground. Trying to damage the device itself would be ... Well, foolhardy at the least, if not impossible. The old saying about High-Technology and Magic being very true; and the device is *very* high technology indeed. Perhaps there *is* a use for people who aren't real heroes. A shower of sparks flies off a granite pillar nearby; cutting the solid stone monolith in two with the ease of a child cutting a cheese-stick, as somebody's magic sword misses an opponent and destroys a monument that has stood for millennia. "*Ouch!*" comes a voice out of said cloud of sparks; and Frank appears in a gray jumpsuit with an incredible number of pockets; putting out small sparks and even one flame before his eyes get really HUGE at the sight of the two super powered fighters heading his way. He scrambles frantically in two of the pockets before vanishing permanently, just as the two enemies roll across the space he just vacated. Well, we *hope* he vanished before they got there. If not, likely there won't even be remains to gather up from the dent in the turf. Perhaps people like him really are better off keeping their heads low. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Fri, 6 Apr 2007 02:36:19 -0400 Michael Seven Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12937 > On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:30:33 -0700 > Roland Phoenix Sent > Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12926 > > The Gaunt Man is no more. > Shakily, Roland regains his feet. "Well. That wasn't as hard as >I--" > A shaft of Oblivion fires from the highest tower of Illmound Keep. >It envelops Roland, who briefly becomes an azure outline within it. >*/Now that's a sprocking nuisance,/* he sighs mentally. Then he is >gone. Rachel and Liam scream as one. > Seeker stares at the empty spot where Defender had been. "God. >That's not...I don't..." Champions of both kinds, as well as heroes >from across Earth-9 and beyond, turn to Morgan, a stunned question in >every eye. > >Morgan looks around, then up, a look of dazed confusion crossing her >face, concern creeping in as she tries to grasp what she's sensing >and fails. Rachel and Liam have worked their way over to her, >somehow; she hugs Rachel with one arm and scritches Liam's ear with >her free hand. Liam bays quietly while Rachel sniffles in disbelief. Under the desert outside Baghdad, a battle concludes, with a General of Orrorsh destroyed, and a thing worthy of Lovecraft banished back into the outer dimensions where it came from. A pure white glow from the ornate ring on his right hand dims to nothing as Michael Seven sighed with relief, then gasped in surprise at what he felt from the lens link. "No," he murmured mournfully. Flarn, aware of his thoughts, came to his side. He blinked back tears as he held her. "Michael, I--" He stiffened and tightened his grip around her waist as a realization hit him, "Wait, no! Maybe...yes, he's surprised me before. And he's gotten more powerful since then." It wasn't much, at first. Just a faint glint of light. But he fanned it, and as it caught, he called to the rest of his family. In Mexico City, Molly held Tiara tight as they stared out over the city. The micro-invasion had been ended, the knife and the ancient shaman who wielded it destroyed. Molly took the offering of light as she learned of what was going on in Russia, thought of Roland and little Anna, and lit a fire of her own, adding to the light. In Israel, Melissa helped Grep limp out of the museum. They had agreed that was no little girl, despite the appearance. They felt the call, thought of their Uncle Roland, and Tink, and made a powerful bonfire between them with their share of that light. In Japan, Tink took the light and thought of her own future, and little David, and Uncle Roland, and lit nothing short of a Saturn rocket's engine with it. Then Tink punched B-ko through a building. Sure the Japan invasion was over. When did that stop a catfight? As the fire burned inside them, fanned and guarded by the Sevens who held it, they showed those flames to the rest of the Lens link, offered torches from it. /Pass the torch, friends!/ The Sevens sent out telepathicly, /We've seen him obliterated to nothing but an aura. And he. Came. Back. This is Roland -Phoenix-. He rises from the ashes. Pass the torch, light the fire of hope. A beacon to guide him home!/ =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Fri, 06 Apr 2007 16:58:56 -0700 Patrick O'Shea Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12938 Even with Rodyle defeated, the Gospogs pressed in, the weaker, earlier plantings being replaced by higher level creatures, bearing an assortment of weapons, well beyond the simple swords and handguns used before. Quiet Moon's arms were aching now, and he could feel the psychic strain Rian was undergoing as he added what energy he could. The two duck, roll clear of a rather vicious swing of a massive cleaver, and the blade plunged through the torso of another shambling revenant. "They appear to have saved the stronger ones for later. Wise strategy," the Kai remarked. *Once was enough, thanks,* Rian replied. *At least here, there's no unexpected enemies. Roll!* leaping forward, Quiet Moon almost missed what happened next Roland X wrote: > Seeker stares at the empty spot where Defender had been. "God. >That's not...I don't..." Champions of both kinds, as well as heroes >from across Earth-9 and beyond, turn to Morgan, a stunned question in >every eye. Quiet Moon's new to the Army of Light. Not much in the way of emotional investment. He's seen acts of carnage before, mad excesses of power. Rian saw his friends, his whole *order* wiped out by one man. They've both seen their shares of death. Through the mini-lens link, they could both sense the anguish, the sudden, almost microscopic seed of doubt as everyone saw Roland removed from existence. Even as their spirits hardened, preparing for one final assault, there was still that mocking bit of self doubt, challenging the two in their weakness, asking if they can really fight Nothing. You can't win, it whispers. All things become nothing in the end. Even you know that. Go ahead, attack. Take the express train to death. Take the easy way out. The two want to believe otherwise, but Rian's blade dipped towards the ground, the mingled auras of Force and Kai Mindforce fading to a faint glimmer. >Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she says, >turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her hand. >Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_...becoming >attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. "Snag a >thread and unravel the bastard!" Reaching out to the nearest beam, Quiet Moon and Rian feel it, even before they make physical contact with it. It goes beyond any mortal comprehension of power, beyond anything either of them could describe. the two notice that some of the other warriors are simply able to tap the power without being in physical contact. That's alright. In the instant of contact, the two know how to win. "Come, mockery of life." The affected creature lunges forward, batting Rian aside, expecting this to be an easy kill. Another fool, done in by his own...fist to the chest? Stabbing Rian's blade into the ground, Quiet Moon Spirit Walks into the wraith, his spirit overtaking the crude mystical network that drives the Gospog. He can see the connections, the bound spirits forcing it into motion. And, he can see connections. *Quiet Moon!* Rian called, worried that the Kai was losing himself. *Thanks,* the Kai Grand Master replied. Refocused, he did something he hadn't done in a while, so caught up he was in trying to keep pace with everyone else, too focussed on the physical side of the struggle. He banished the animating energies from the Gospog. Them with an impish nudge from Rian, etched a new set of commands in the undead beast with his Mindforce, and sicced it on the nearest unengaged enemy. *Is that possible,* Rian asked. *Reanimating an undead with holy energy?* "Well," Quiet Moon replied aloud, ducking as the controlled Gospog made contact with another small knot of attackers, then detonated rather spectacularly. "It can be unstable. Shall we?" =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Sat, 7 Apr 2007 04:25:03 -0400 Karma Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12939 The last time Karma had been seen on the field of battle, she had been running toward the gospog and Imperial troops after Count Dooku AKA Lord Tyrannus had been denied his fatal blow by the swift action of Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Anakin Skywalker. Karma had disappeared into the clash between Rebel and Imperial forces, leaving dead first planting gospog and stormtroopers in her wake. This quickly drew the attention of the third planting gospog, weretigers in Victorian inspired modern combat garb and with the latest in Earth-9 technology. As with Dooku, Karma found herself fighting desperately, but after two of these weretigers fell to her glowing red lipstick-sword, she found herself without an enemy combatant. In fact, as she approached other enemies, they retreated into the fog around Illmound Keep. [This is crazy,] she thought, [I wasn't handing those weretigers their butts, I just got lucky. That second nearly had me before I got my sword arm unpinned! Why isn't anyone fighting me?] She turned on a heel, sword at the ready, but lowered. The ground around her was entirely devoid of fighting, noises coming from the fog was all she could hear. "I'm not sure what's more crazy," she muttered, "That no one would fight me or that I have a problem with that." "Perhaps something worse lurks in the fog," a feminine hiss said from behind her. Karma turned, adrenaline pumping through her veins, just in time to make out a robed figure emerging from the fog before it was a foot from her. She didn't even have time to raise her sword. Something cold, sharp and hard stabbed through her left side. She hadn't even had time to scream, just to gasp for the initial intake of air. Looking down, she saw a skeletal hand holding a steel broadsword. Covered in her own blood as it withdrew from where it had gone through her side, warm droplets falling to the cold ground. Karma looked back up into the black hood to see a skeleton's face. She staggered a bit as more of her killer became apparent. A feminine skeleton in a floor-length black robe, weilding a blackhandled broadsword of dark steel. Panting, her knees buckled and she fell sideways, rolling onto her back to stare at the sky. The Wraith were the ultimate in gospog, the fifth planting. Nearly impossible to kill, they would ressurrect in weeks of their apparent destruction. They were incredibly strong, incredibly fast, and loved to do just what this one had done to Karma, striking from the fog without warning to kill silently. The Wraith circled Karma warily, sword still held at the ready to strike her down, even in her prone position. Creeping closer as Karma continued to not move, the Wraith put a foot on Karma's sword hand, which only held a tube of lipstick. Blood pooled on the cold ground around Karma's abdomen. When she continued not to move, it knelt to look into her eyes from above her head, so it might keep an eye on her entire body at once. "You do not look dead, hero," it said in that feminine sibilant tone, "And you do not seem to be in shock. So, what holds you from striking out?" Karma finally licked her lips, murmuring, "I..." The Wraith took a long look at her body, seeing nothing tensed to move, knelt closer, looking into her eyes curiously. This was not the behavior of heroes, to just die quietly without a fight. "You what?" it asked, giving her body another quick, wary glance. "I remember you." The female Wraith stood up sharply, stepping back. Then it noticed the long rivulets of blood tracing paths out across the cold ground. As it continued to circle Karma, working its way away from her, it saw the tiny lines drew a five-pointed star inscribed within a pair of circles on the ground. Symbols of blood drew themselves around the star, with runes writing themselves within the two rings. Too late, the wraith attempted to leave the occult circle, but was barred by a glowing red light shining heavenward. Karma very slowly got to her knees, clutching her side, her hand covered in her own blood. "I remember you," Karma said, a bit more firmly, "You killed Gretchen Meyer, my beloved granddaughter." The Wraith turned on Karma where she knelt, ten yards away, in the center of the circle. It held up it's bloodied sword. "With this sword, I killed Gretchen Meyer, yes," it hissed, "But you don't look 200 years old to me, girl." "I was Heinrich Meyer. I searched for years to find the spell that could destroy you, tracking you across continents, even over the maelstrom bridges to new worlds. And I found you, didn't I?" "He did indeed. As you claim to be he, then I'll see to it you die like Heinrich Meyer did, girl." Karma barely had time to react at all. She moved a total of two inches. But they turned a stab through the heart into a punctured lung. The Wraith grabbed her by the throat and lifted her like a rag doll off the ground. It threw her across the circle, bouncing off the barrier and falling to the ground. As Karma tried to pick herself up off the ground, the Wraith took the opportunity to gain some distance, taking some satisfaction in the difficulty she seemed to be having in doing so. This, this was the behavior of a hero. It understood this. Though what was keeping her alive, it wasn't sure. As she got to her knees again, it noticed something in her hands. A beam of Nothingness struck the Wraith as the skies cleared and the fog lifted. Karma was too busy to care why, her eyes locked on the sudden light and reflected it off a compact mirror into the creature's eyes. As the Wraith shielded its eyes, she threw a slender knife at the creature's chest. A ribbon formed from her own blood, red as crimson and tied to the hilt of the silver blade, linked it to the compact's mirrored surface. The Wraith started to run across the circle, but ribbons of blood lashed up from the lines inscribing it, tangling in the Wraith's limbs and bones like Gulliver being bound by Liliputians. The thin lines drew the Wraith mercilessly toward the center of the pentagram, the heart of the star, then drew it down to it's knees, its sword held flat on the ground, the Wraith's bony fist still clutching its handle. Karma still couldn't get to her feet. Her knees would have to do. The mirror shone a shaft of brilliant light at the spot where the knife stuck in the Wraith's chest, the crimson ribbon taunt between the hilt and the mirror's surface. The Wraith stared at its chest, then at Karma as she wheezed and blood dripped from between her lips as she spoke the words of the spell. "I may die, but you shan't survive either," it said finally. Karma finished the spell. The ribbon began to reel itself into the mirror's surface and disappear into the light within. The knife, acting as hook, drug the Wraith across the intervening distance, the threads of the circle snapping and vanishing into their anchoring points within the lines painted on the ground. With its bonds absent, save the line drawing it toward the mirror's surface, the Wraith was drawn at breakneck speed into the light. Its sword swung as it was pulled bodily across the several yards to where Karma knelt with the mirror. The Wraith's blade would remove her head as it flew through the space where she knelt. A last ditch effort to make sure their destruction was decidely mutually assured. Karma fell backwards, keeping her mirror arm erect, as the sword sailed past her, bouncing off the barrier behind her and clattering to the ground just above her head. She grabbed for it as the mirror, the Wraith having disappeared into it's brilliantly lit surface, now drew in the beam of Nothingness. Using the Wraith's sword to help her to her knees, she kept one hand on the mirror, now trying to draw in the beam of Nothingness as it had the blood ribbon and the Wraith, and thus that part of Heketon, into the light. The Wraith's blade turned into a tall pole, shoving her up onto her feet as she clutched at it. Hobbling into the center of the pentagram, she held out the mirror defiantly. The circle reformed under her feet, the barrier around her shrinking to five yards across, as a bit more of her blood dripped onto the ground to feed it. A part of her mind finally gathered the final fate of Roland Phoenix, now that she had time to think. "This one's for Defender, monster," she spat, struggling to keep herself upright. [I will hold on. I'm not done with this life, yet.] But her wounds were telling a different story. Bene Gesserit training from lifetimes ago was all that was keeping her upright. [I'm not done yet, monster, but you are. I'm not done yet.] -- Karma "I don't want to go on the cart!" OOC: And no, she's not going to die. Although fainting into Mobius's arms once Heketon's gone is not at all out of the question. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Sat, 07 Apr 2007 09:56:01 -0500 Frank McCoy Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12940 At 04:25 AM 4/7/2007 -0400, you wrote: > "This one's for Defender, monster," Karma spat, struggling to keep >herself upright. [I will hold on. I'm not done with this life, yet.] > But her wounds were telling a different story. Bene Gesserit >training from lifetimes ago was all that was keeping her upright. > [I'm not done yet, monster, but you are. I'm not done yet.] From seemingly nowhere outside the barrier a small square package comes flying in. Unlike living (or nonliving) things or even weapons, this seems as unaffected by the pentagram as the air, dust, and fog. Landing near the woman it rolls and finally lands flat near her side. The bundle is about six inches square, white, and with the familiar symbol of a red-cross covering most of the visible area. Sadly, a high-tech antibiotic-laced bandage is all Frank can spare at the moment. Even a healing-spell or spelled material wouldn't have made it across the barrier Karma had placed around herself. A small whirlwind around air collapsing inward, a faint "Whoomf" sound, and Karma is alone again ... if anybody was ever truly there. OOC: An old adage of medics: First stop the bleeding. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] Re: AAE 9: Last Dance On Sat, 07 Apr 2007 19:15:30 -0700
Dane Anderson Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12941 >Roland X wrote Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12926 >Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she says, >turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her hand. >Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_...becoming >attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. "Snag a >thread and unravel the bastard!" /*"Bastard? That would imply that it had something approximating a mother."*/ Aurora scoffs as she takes up a thread. Upon contact with her, Heketon discovers something that Ebon would have given ANYTHING to know. She is absolutely incoruptable. What's worse, she knows EXACTLY what needs to be done to do the maximum amount of damage possible for her to do. Which she proceeds to do, of course. Like Aurora, Hydra takes up a thread. As he does so, Heketon discovers that Hydra is, if anything, even LESS corruptable than Aurora. Then Heketon realizes that unlike Aurora, Hydra is NOT nice. Where Aurora seeks to destroy Heketon as painlessly (for Heketon) as possible, Hydra doesn't even TRY to make it painless. In fact since applying pain, to the avatar of The Great Adversary, seems to accelerate the process of its destruction, Hydra seeks to CAUSE it as much pain to it as he possibly can. With 1500 BILLION years of experience, few know how better to inflict pain. Hydra is NOT NICE! /*"You err fragment of Evil! Aurora's people would help this world at any time. Simply because it is the neighborly thing to do. My people do so because your attack has angered the One Being all our kind fear. To anger That Being brings a sentence of death or it's equivalent. This is a LAW among ALL our kind. A law which we enforce upon ANY being, race, world, system, galazy or universe which breaks it, for the safety of all others. The ONLY thing which would prevent us from enforcing that law is That One Being itself. Pets? These are not our pets...."*/ Hydra casually states as he rips into Heketon's very essence. /*"They are our friends."*/ He finishes as one of his heads gazes at Earth 9's defenders. =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] AAE9: End of the Beginning, 1 of 3 On Mon, 09 Apr 2007 22:50:21 -0700 Roland, Phoenix Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12942 OOC: I apologize for the level of snippage, but this last post is a monster as it is, and I'm trying to keep it something relatively manageable. >On Mon, 19 Mar 2007 11:44:06 -0700 >Richard Bagnall Sent CAoL Post Number: 12921 > >>On Sun, 18 Mar 2007 23:07:01 -0700 >>Roland X Sent CAoL Post Number: 12920 >>Three Cylon Raiders divebomb Glitterlock, firing with suicidal >>abandon in a strafing run - slash - kamikaze dive. > > OOC: Thenk yew, thenk yew. *g* >PFC Harlock notes the approaching puffs of dust indicating an >incoming strafing run. Then he notes two more sets. [Aw, drat. Angles >are wrong to get 'em to shoot each other. Timing could be tricky on >this. First things first, though, are the weapons mechanical or...] >With the grenade launcher built into his off-hand gauntlet, he >launches an EMP grenade at each of the incoming Cylon Raiders. The >rail gun in his primary hand is still steadily mowing down Metal Men. Cylons and EMPs don't mix. At least, not if you're a Cylon. In spite of the pulse-hardening, they crash quite gracefully...into the rapidly dwindling numbers of the Metal Men, of course. Ming looks around at the rapidly changing odds, up at the diving rocket ship piloted by his arch-nemesis, and over at the approaching Dr. Mobius, and sneers (melo-)dramatically. "We'll meet _again,_ Flash Gordon!" he intones in that legendary voice, then opens a ficton portal and dives back to his secret lair on Mongo. (OOC: This is Ming, folx. He's as good at the impossible escape as Doom himself. ;-) >>"I do not fear even the Gaunt Man as I am, but he pulled me from a >>month-long walk at the bottom of this world's sea, and gave me my >>old panache back." A flintlock pistol spins out of one arm into the >>hand that held the whip and fires in a tenth of a second. > >With a slight "ping" the bullet veers off course to strike an >approaching gospog. It would appear that Marivale somehow managed >to deflect the bullet with his rapier. Marivale smirks. > >>It takes a full second to reload while Arturo presses his attack >>with his strange, rust-colored blade, but he fires again far more >>swiftly than a normal flintlock would allow. > >Marivale's smirk disappears as he ducks just in time to avoid getting >lead poisoning. > >>"Among other things. What tricks have you left against an >>invulnerable man, sword-swinger?" > >Marivale sighs again. "You keep using that word. I do not think it >means what you think it means." OOC: *G* and 8888888888888888888 >"I have been watching you fight me, you know. And so I know you have >eyes." With a flick of the wrist, he dips his off-hand into a belt >pouch and flips a flashpellet into Arturo's face. "You respond to >people's voices, so you have ears." Marivale boxes Arturo's ears >quite soundly with the pommels of his weapons. His next attack shaves >a wide patch of skin off of Arturo. "And frankly, I don't care what >those gears are made of. Nothing turns forever." And he sheathes his >parrying dagger, yanks a small ceramic jar out of yet another belt >pouch, and shoves it into a handy cavity. If Arturo's eyes have >cleared by this time, he may have noticed the label: "Sovereign >Glue." But by the time he can do anything about it, a loud "crunch" >announces the shattering of the jar. When his vision clears, Arturo looks at the jar in mild annoyance. "You cannot believe that this will delay me for...long..." he grimaces as the sealant proves far more effective than he believed possible. "...by the...Abyss...Syrneth _glue?_ Theus...is an...iron..." Then... >On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 00:33:01 -0700 >Richard Bagnall Sent CAoL Post Number: 12928 > >>On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:30:33 -0700 >>Roland Phoenix Sent CAoL Post Number: 12926 >> With the fierce charge stopped cold, Roland is again able to >>surge forward, this time combining styles with fluid ease. Two old >>friends long absent enter the fray as the Gaunt Man finds himself >>facing a perfect blend of Dhyrclhanc's powerful style and Mike's >>superlative analysis. Immediately thrown back on the defensive, the >>former Ripper is shocked to find the Possibility Sword leaving a >>glowing slice on his forehead, a gift from BetNoir. Sudden death >>nearly takes him when Raver's relentless skill almost impales the >>High Lord, then Marivale's strutting genius barely misses taking his >>head off. > >Marivale blink-blinks. [A throat slash? With a rapier? I'll have to >talk to him about that. The join of leg and hip is a much easier >target. Well, a harder target to defend, anyway. Besides, a lunge is >_much_ quicker than a cut and it doesn't pull your blade off-line for >defense.] Parry, dodge, parry, lunge, disembowel, parry... It does seem nonsensical at first, until... >>The Callahanian Champion pauses for a moment, and when the Gaunt Man >>tries to take advantage, he is driven back by a starkly ingenious >>blend of Dhyrclhanc, Roger, Morgan and Quiet Moon. ...the Gaunt Man's resulting imbalance becomes clear. Roland wasn't going to penetrate with a rapier style while wielding a saber as the killing weapon, after all... >> The Gaunt Man stares in shock at his chest. Both Nothing Sword >>and indestructible cane are quivering in the ground behind him, and >>both of Defender's blades are in his chest, the Possibility Sword >>straight through where his heart would be if he had one. >> Pure Stranger. > >Marivale smiles in pure aesthetic appreciation. "Oh, well cut, Sir!" The Eternal somehow finds the time to turn and bow to appreciative swordsfolk. Alas, the reprieve is brief. >>Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she >>says, turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her >>hand. Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_... >>becoming attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. >>"Snag a thread and unravel the bastard!" >Even trained as he is to fight on shifting surfaces and peculiar >angles, the need to keep a three-point grip on the gospog makes this >fight decidedly awkward. Nevertheless, within a few seconds he has >analyzed the creature's rather straightforward fighting style, and >within a minute he cuts the thing free of its parent gospog to >plummet to the ground with a sickening splat. Finally he reaches the >titanic head and starts sawing away at anything that looks >vulnerable. At length, the gospog decides to swat Marivale, since >both tentacles and whip-wielder availed it not. But Marivale sees the >blow coming and jumps away, driving his dagger into the creature's >flesh to break his fall. The gospog succeeds only in knocking its own >head off. Heketon rages. Its power weakens, but each inconvenience should be infinitesimal in scope. Emphasis on _should_be._ It hadn't intended to _play_ this game, it knows how that ends! Earth-9 and the damnable CAoL would have been dead, save for the Starspawn, but this...what _is_ the blasted Eternal up to?! >On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 07:18:41 -0800 (PST) >Peter Eng Sent CAoL Post Number: 12929 >>On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:30:33 -0700 >>Roland Phoenix Sent CAoL Post Number: 12926 >> >> The Gaunt Man stares in shock at his chest. Both Nothing Sword >>and indestructible cane are quivering in the ground behind him, and >>both of Defender's blades are in his chest, the Possibility Sword >>straight through where his heart would be if he had one. > > Kagato's golden serpents vanish, dropping Rob to the ground. "I am >impressed. Few people can out-think me." > "It's a specialty, and I've had the opportunity to watch a master >plying the craft," Rob replies, as he gestures at Roland. "Not to mention," Rachel rumbles, lightning crackling in her voice, "that you didn't think I was going to _abandon_ Uncle Rob, _did_ you?" Kagato turns...and the multiverse is treated to the Ruins Buster coming as close as he is capable to 'eep'ing. The real Washuu-chan is floating above one of Rachel's shoulders. "Kaggy, Kaggy, Kaggy," Washuu admonishes with a throaty chuckle, "you've been a bad monkey." Kagato vanishes before he can object to the familiarity. Rachel grins. "Where did you send him, Washuu-chan?" Washuu's smile is twice Rachel's. "The Jusenkyo springs. I was aiming for the Spring of Drowned Octopus, but there are so _many_ possibilities, really..." she winks conspiratorially at Rob. >>Morgan looks around, then up, a look of dazed confusion crossing her >>face, concern creeping in as she tries to grasp what she's sensing >>and fails. Rachel and Liam have worked their way over to her, >>somehow; she hugs Rachel with one arm and scritches Liam's ear with >>her free hand. Liam bays quietly while Rachel sniffles in disbelief. > > Rob is one of the hardest hit. That's his *hero* that just got >vaporized. If he'd met Roland fifteen years earlier, he would have >gone fanboy, and annoyed the Freelance Immortal no end. Even now, >it's a shock. Some things just aren't supposed to happen. There is a pause, as if something is being decided. Then, those with incredibly subtle senses pick up a decision being made; 'essence of nodding,' if you will. The Possibility Sword appears at Rob's feet. There's a message 'written' in chi along the blade, visible to those with the appropriate abilities (this, of course, includes Rob): "This is yours, Rob. You will do well. :-)" Yes, there _is_ a smiley on the end of the message. *g* >>Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she >>says, turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending her >>hand. Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_... >>becoming attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. >>"Snag a thread and unravel the bastard!" > > Rob pulls out the card that represents the last favor owed him. A >jet-black card, it has only one thing on it - a heart drawn in >silver. As he invokes its power, the card melts, dripping off his >hand. Taking a deep breath, he concentrates on the effect he >wants...and sings. > His voice isn't anything special, but to the gospog he's focused >on, he's singing of everything that anybody has ever wanted, from the >sacred to the profane. The very wish to have more, the drive that >makes a sentient being reach for something that may be beyond its >grasp. (To be fair, with the power of Desire behind him, he could >sing "I'm Henry VIII, I Am" and it would have the same effect.) > The gospog shudders, and drops its weapon, looking up with a spark >of something in its eyes. It isn't a servant now. It's a person, and >it has a reason to live, to be. The Gaunt Man doesn't matter. Heketon >doesn't matter. It turns and walks towards the nearest Maelstrom >Bridge as Rob finishes singing. > "I don't know where he's going," he rasps as the gospog vanishes, >"but I hope whatever he's looking for is something good." Heketon actually shudders as well, the heart quivering in outrage in mid-air. There's no visible effect from these various tuggings, save perhaps the utter obviation of the body around it becoming a little less...utter? Yes, it's slightly less absolute... -- TBC in part 2 =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] AAE9: End of the Beginning, 2 of 3 On Mon, 09 Apr 2007 22:52:18 -0700 Roland, Phoenix Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12943 >On Thu, 29 Mar 2007 18:37:36 -0600 >Frank McCoy Sent CAoL Post Number: 12931 > >At 10:30 PM 3/27/2007 -0700, you wrote: >> */everyone matters, heketon,/* a familiar whisper echoes through >>reality itself. */didn't even _you_ get that from what just >>happened?/* Against its will, Heketon's power lances out to >>thousands of gospog of varying powers. Exactly as many as there are >>heroes, as it happens. */everybody, listen...grab a handle, no >>matter how small, and pull...fight them, trick them, mock them, it >>doesn't matter, just get in the game. it's not about power. it never >>was. it's about family./* >> And the voice is gone. >"Always knew that portable black-hole would come in handy sometime, >for something besides an ashtray or waste-disposal unit," comments >Frank as he winks out of existence into some otherwhen. The device >will vanish also, the moment it stops being fed, or some bright >villain thinks to remove the stake holding it to the ground. Trying >to damage the device itself would be ... Well, foolhardy at the >least, if not impossible. The old saying about High-Technology and >Magic being very true; and the device is *very* high technology >indeed. > >Perhaps there *is* a use for people who aren't real heroes. [you _are_ a hero, as far as i'm concerned,] some...one? thing? thinks. Heketon recoils, beginning to worry now as bright-thread after bright-thread forms, pulling at the fabric of its epic countermeasure. >A shower of sparks flies off a granite pillar nearby; cutting the >solid stone monolith in two with the ease of a child cutting a >cheese-stick, as somebody's magic sword misses an opponent and >destroys a monument that has stood for millennia. Ganon's left-hand (sinister? *eg*) blade tears the stone with ease, the Hero of Time just blocking the arcing sword with his nigh-invulnerable shield. Link bumps back to back into a hero clad mostly in blue, and the two wielders of unbreakable shields that symbolize their nations look at each other in surprise. "Duck," Captain America warns, and Link does instinctively, Ganon just barely missing again. Ancient enemies tear through the landscape... >"*Ouch!*" comes a voice out of said cloud of sparks; and Frank >appears in a gray jumpsuit with an incredible number of pockets; >putting out small sparks and even one flame before his eyes get >really HUGE at the sight of the two super powered fighters heading >his way. He scrambles frantically in two of the pockets before >vanishing permanently, just as the two enemies roll across the space >he just vacated. Link tries desperately to cover for the escaping ally, but Ganon could care less. >Well, we *hope* he vanished before they got there. If not, likely >there won't even be remains to gather up from the dent in the turf. >Perhaps people like him really are better off keeping their heads >low. Truly vexed now, the young Hero gestures, and both sword and shield vanish, to be replaced by...a giant hammer? He whacks Ganon a good one upside the head, and while the Big Pig is reeling, points at the looming outline of Gaunt-Man-shaped Nothing. "What are you..." Ganon begins. Link looks at him as if lecturing a particularly dense child. Ganon snorts in annoyance. "Oh, very well," he relents. "I'll kill you later." The master of the Triforce of Power turns against his summoner without another moment's hesitation. Link takes one more moment to look for the endangered ally. >On Fri, 06 Apr 2007 16:58:56 -0700 >Patrick O'Shea Sent CAoL Post Number: 12938 >*Thanks,* the Kai Grand Master replied. Refocused, he did something >he hadn't done in a while, so caught up he was in trying to keep pace >with everyone else, too focussed on the physical side of the >struggle. > >He banished the animating energies from the Gospog. Them with an >impish nudge from Rian, etched a new set of commands in the undead >beast with his Mindforce, and sicced it on the nearest unengaged >enemy. *Is that possible,* Rian asked. *Reanimating an undead with >holy energy?* > >"Well," Quiet Moon replied aloud, ducking as the controlled Gospog >made contact with another small knot of attackers, then detonated >rather spectacularly. "It can be unstable. Shall we?" *"NO...you will not defeat me, infant...you will not outmaneuver me, speck..."* Heketon grunts, straining to hold his awesome, terrible form in place. It was, initially, composed of enough Oblivion 'force' (with the understanding that 'force' is an entirely inaccurate term, but is used for purposes of rough comparison) to swallow Krona whole without being even half neutralized. The doom of ten thousand fictons resonates within the emptiness Heketon clothes itself in, pumps from its mockery of a heart-self, echoes in its inversion of life...yet a handful of Storm Knights survive it, defy it, even weaken it! Why? HOW?! >On Sat, 7 Apr 2007 04:25:03 -0400 >Karma Sent CAoL Post Number: 12939 > > The last time Karma had been seen on the field of battle, she had >been running toward the gospog and Imperial troops after Count Dooku >AKA Lord Tyrannus had been denied his fatal blow by the swift action >of Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Anakin Skywalker. In five minutes, Darth Tyrannus will be dead at last, put to rest by his former Padawan and a young student freed from the Dark Side by love and faith. (OOC: Unless someone else wants him.) It will be too late to help Karma. > The Wraith's blade turned into a tall pole, shoving her up onto >her feet as she clutched at it. Hobbling into the center of the >pentagram, she held out the mirror defiantly. The circle reformed >under her feet, the barrier around her shrinking to five yards >across, as a bit more of her blood dripped onto the ground to feed >it. A part of her mind finally gathered the final fate of Roland >Phoenix, now that she had time to think. > "This one's for Defender, monster," she spat, struggling to keep >herself upright. [I will hold on. I'm not done with this life, yet.] > But her wounds were telling a different story. Bene Gesserit >training from lifetimes ago was all that was keeping her upright. > [I'm not done yet, monster, but you are. I'm not done yet.] "-no-" Former High Lord and Pharaoh, now 'simple' pulp hero, Doctor Mobius obliterates another Wraith with a kitbashed weapon that is part mystical staff and part ray gun, and reaches her side. "no." He snarls something that would make someone who speaks Ancient Egyptian blanch and cuts open his arm with a ritual blade older than most civilizations on this world. Sand pours out. "O Gods...I have no right to ask anything of you, but _this_woman_does._ What grace I have left, I give to you. Take it, and _let_her_live._" His throat spasms. He will not cry. Not yet. "Please." Lost to the Pharaoh is the whiplash reaction to Karma's sacrifice; Heketon screams at last, the travesty of a body it's made throwing its head back and wailing in agonized fury and loathing. At last, cruel Heketon knows pain. At the end, sadistic Heketon knows fear. Too late. >On Sat, 07 Apr 2007 09:56:01 -0500 >Frank McCoy Sent CAoL Post Number: 12940 > > From seemingly nowhere outside the barrier a small square package >comes flying in. Unlike living (or nonliving) things or even weapons, >this seems as unaffected by the pentagram as the air, dust, and fog. > >Landing near the woman it rolls and finally lands flat near her side. >The bundle is about six inches square, white, and with the familiar >symbol of a red-cross covering most of the visible area. Link, relieved that the one he feared for lives, lands at Mobius' side. For Mobius' part, he almost weeps in relief himself at the sight of the first aid pack. He immediately starts using it, proving that he actually has the right to the title Doctor. "Feels a bit like mummification here, though," he murmurs to himself. Link's lips go flat. Should he? ... yes. "zelda," he whispers. A woman of jaw-dropping beauty, radiating wisdom like a beacon, appears by the side of the Hero of Time. "Link, what...Din, Farore and Nayru," she exhales. "Go, warriors. I will care for this one." "No," Mobius says simply, continuing to work. Zelda sighs, smiling faintly, and looks up at Link, who looks exasperated in turn. "I will protect her. I swear by Re-Horakty, Osiris and Isis," Mobius adds, never looking away from Karma's wounds. Link nods reluctantly, then begins striding towards Heketon itself. "Nayru's Heart," Zelda intones, the healing magic spiraling from an alien divinity, while the Hylian champion points his blade at the monstrosity before him. A wave of sacred might flows from him -- the Power to Repel Evil. Heketon's screams redouble. >On Sat, 07 Apr 2007 19:15:30 -0700 >Dane Anderson Sent CAoL Post Number: 12941 > >>Roland X wrote CAoL Post Number: 12926 >>Morgan smiles and turns to her bairns. "You heard the man," she >>says, turning toward the nearest 'threaded' Wraith and extending >>her hand. Magick pours out, and it shudders, with..._something_... >>becoming attenuated as a deadly gospog becomes a stately evergreen. >>"Snag a thread and unravel the bastard!" > >/*"Bastard? That would imply that it had something approximating a >mother."*/ Aurora scoffs as she takes up a thread. Upon contact with >her, Heketon discovers something that Ebon would have given ANYTHING >to know. She is absolutely incoruptable. What's worse, she knows >EXACTLY what needs to be done to do the maximum amount of damage >possible for her to do. Which she proceeds to do, of course. All of that would no more than annoy Heketon under other circumstances. Feeling her despair as it swallowed her exquisite rainbow-symphony of Possibilities and obviated them would have been nearly as satisfying as corrupting her. And _that_ is what _should_ have happened. Instead, like its Wraith undone by Karma, it is a titanic Gulliver of pure hatred, bound and distended by thousands of minuscule defenders of hope and possibility. And Aurora is no Lilliputian. >Like Aurora, Hydra takes up a thread. As he does so, Heketon >discovers that Hydra is, if anything, even LESS corruptable than >Aurora. Then Heketon realizes that unlike Aurora, Hydra is NOT nice. >Where Aurora seeks to destroy Heketon as painlessly (for Heketon) as >possible, Hydra doesn't even TRY to make it painless. In fact since >applying pain, to the avatar of The Great Adversary, seems to >accelerate the process of its destruction, Hydra seeks to CAUSE it as >much pain to it as he possibly can. With 1500 BILLION years of >experience, few know how better to inflict pain. Hydra is NOT NICE! >/*"You err fragment of Evil! Aurora's people would help this world at >any time. Simply because it is the neighborly thing to do. My people >do so because your attack has angered the One Being all our kind >fear. To anger That Being brings a sentence of death or it's >equivalent. This is a LAW among ALL our kind. A law which we enforce >upon ANY being, race, world, system, galazy or universe which breaks >it, for the safety of all others. The ONLY thing which would prevent >us from enforcing that law is That One Being itself. Pets? These are >not our pets...."*/ Hydra casually states as he rips into Heketon's >very essence. /*"They are our friends."*/ He finishes as one of his >heads gazes at Earth 9's defenders. A friendly laugh echoes _within_ Earth-9's reality. It is as if this universe itself is laughing. [you tell 'im, hydra!] something thinks, and while it's not exactly projected, the true cosmics can 'hear' it as clear as if a Callahanian had mini-Lensed them. Heketon is no mere object, but THE icon of Nothing in this greater expanse of the multiverse. Even now, neither Aurora's nor Hydra's attacks can damage its frame, designed to shrug off a hundred imploding realities, and their mightiest assaults on its mentality should be no more than pinpricks. _Should_be._ There is, after all, still one being watching this battle that _can_ destroy Heketon, that it _does_ fear. After millennia of planning, though, it had been _ready_ for the Stardragon! How?! How could this have happened!? Buffeted by the two epic Starspawn, Heketon reels. Even now, it cannot be truly harmed by them, but _something_ is terribly wrong! That's when it senses the end. All those threads, all those connections, all those efforts and sacrifices and triumphs, are doing what even the fall of the Gaunt Man could not -- they are severing Heketon from Earth-9. And Heketon knows full well what waits beyond Earth-9. Waiting for the evil Heart is a power and wrath denied release, held at the ready because the Enemy had prepared for it. Those preparations are now shattered. Earth-9's reality does not tear, exactly. Instead, it opens and flows away from itself, the judo master inviting his foe to be somewhere away from him. [it does not have to end like this,] Earth-9 thinks with Roland's voice. [you can still choose something better.] *[PHAUGH!]* Heketon thinks back loudly enough for telepaths to 'hear.' *[Go ahead! Throw me to the Stardragon! May he CHOKE on me!]* Earth-9's reaction is not unlike a reluctant shake of the head. [as you wish.] With that, the efforts of the many heroes throw Heketon outside of this ficton and straight into the reality the Stardragon has waited in for so long. Even that unimaginably mighty being will have to put some effort into destroying the Heart of Darkness, expelled by the Army of Light, but the outcome of their battle is hardly in doubt. But that is not the end of the story... To Be Concluded =========================== Subject: [CAoL Main] AAE9: End of the Beginning, 3 of 3 On Mon, 09 Apr 2007 22:58:20 -0700 Roland, Phoenix Sent Callahanian Army of Light Post Number: 12944 "Funny. I expected a plain of light, featureless, some androgynous figures in white robes, you know the drill." Roland chuckled. To his amazement, he wasn't nervous, just a touch awed. "Well," a cultured British voice replied as a matching body appeared, "I am hardly androgynous, but will I do?" The young Phoenix grinned broadly. "John!" The Galactican 'Seraph' smiles back. "Indeed." Roland looked around again, as if to reassure himself that he'd seen what he thought he was seeing. He was in a bronze-gold sphere of uncertain material, but seemingly at least partly made of orichalcum, hovering above a Metropolis that sprawled over dozens of miles. Beyond that, pristine nature spread out in every direction, ocean to the east, lands of every healthy type to the west. The heart of the sphere was a gold-and-crystal control room to make Destroyer green with envy, and there, Defender regarded his heroes, his colleagues, and was regarded in turn. There was no 'head,' as the council was gathered 'round a gathering round, but if one seemed to Roland to lead, it was Arthur himself, the King's legendary blade in its scabbard on his seat's high back. To one side of the Eternal King was John Sheridan, looking smugly ageless and self-satisfied. To the other was, of course, Superman, the original Golden Age archetype and host to the gathering. Neo grinned from a floating chair made of tiny green characters, while a young, bespectacled man in wizard's robes toyed nostalgically with an indulgent, animate knight from a chess set. [Harry?] Roland wondered idly. Jeanne d'Arc peered over a goblet at the Champion. James Kirk winked conspiratorially, while the first Wonder Woman, Kal-L's colleague, smiled and nodded in friendly greeting. The first Astro Boy, looking almost greyscale, waved with his trademark childlike innocence. "So." Roland looked down through the clear floor at the bustle of the Metropolis beneath them, then back up at the gathered legends. "I take it I'm not exactly dead." "Give the man a prize," Neo chuckled wryly. "But you're not exactly alive, either," 'John' explained. "Hence both your presence and mine." Roland's smile faded. "'And yours?'" He looked at his one-time idols, still his role models, in slight confusion. "I know I'm...more...than I was. I'm here, but I'm also _there,_ everywhere. It's like I'm one with...with..." "Your whole world? Perhaps even your entire reality?" Superman asked, nodding as if in understanding. He gestured, and screens appeared around them, each displaying different scenes of the battle Roland had 'left.' Kal-L's Silver Age counterpart was working side by side with Ultraman and his Lex Luthor. Destroyer helped Darkseid up while Professor Preserver -- Destroyer's bright counterpart -- coordinated twin sets of Ultimates. Aes Sedai and Asha'man joined Lensmen and Jedi -- and even Forsaken, Boskonians and Sith -- on the far side of the battlefield. All of them had been forged into a single force to battle a threat to their very existence "You were at the cusp of an epic conjuncture of powers and fictons, lad, and you were already close." The screens vanished. Defender nodded. "That's why...that's why Oracle said...why NEMO..." the smile vanished entirely. "I Know." Arthur nodded back. "You have transcended what you were. Now, you are something more, but you have also lost something." "Why the bumblebee flies. Why the hero can drive a car on two wheels between two semis. Why a puny speck of a superhero can trick the ultimate Darkness Device." Roland's smile returned, wry but also amused, and he laughed. "It's the Observer Effect, isn't it?" "Not the one you know from time travel," Sheridan explained, "but yeah, something like that. When you can see all the possibilities--" "--or Possibilities," the young wizard put in with a smile. Sheridan gave Roland a 'what can you do?' shrug and grin. "--you can't just make them happen by instinct." "Or create them from scratch," Roland realized. "The improbable is no trick at all, but the impossible..." "Remains impossible," Arthur finished. "That's why all those cosmic beings and super-geniuses followed me," the Eternal chuckled. "No," all nine said as one. 'John' chuckled. Roland blinked and opened his mouth to speak...then closed it, looking puzzled. "You choose a leader," Jeanne said with the air of a quote, gesturing at Arthur, "for his heart." "Your level of awareness was necessary," Superman added, while Arthur hid a blush behind his wine glass, "but insufficient. They needed someone with the creative power to turn the impossible into something possible...and the nobility to use it for the highest ideals." Roland swallowed, eyes wide, and pointed at himself. "me?" "You," Kirk replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "So," Roland said, clearing his throat as the gathered legends looked satisfied, "as Morgan would ask, 'now what?'" "Well," Astro replied, "you have to decide if you're going back or not." "Wait, I can _decide_ what to do now?" Defender asked in astonishment. "I thought this was, I don't know, a trial or something." He blinked. "Oh." "Yes, you do still have to _use_ your Oneness for it to function," 'John' explained. "It will become second nature in time, but for now you are still not wholly attuned." "Particularly with so much of your 'cosmic' self still in the battle against Heketon," Wonder Woman added. "But...why?" Roland asked, dumbfounded. "We're cheating," Sheridan and Kirk said with a shared laugh. "We're good at that," Kirk added. "Since you lack your true Knowing here, now, yet remain connected to it, you can do what even the most enlightened of beings can find difficult," Neo explained. "You can _choose_ to make a decision intuitively." "Cheating," Sheridan and Kirk agreed again. Roland licked his lips. [I can't leave my friends. I certainly don't _want_ to. Still...do I even belong with them any more, if I'm --] >On Fri, 6 Apr 2007 02:36:19 -0400 >Michael Seven Sent CAoL Post Number: 12937 > Under the desert outside Baghdad, a battle concludes, with a >General of Orrorsh destroyed, and a thing worthy of Lovecraft >banished back into the outer dimensions where it came from. > A pure white glow from the ornate ring on his right hand dims to >nothing as Michael Seven sighed with relief, then gasped in surprise >at what he felt from the lens link. > "No," he murmured mournfully. Flarn, aware of his thoughts, came >to his side. He blinked back tears as he held her. > "Michael, I--" > He stiffened and tightened his grip around her waist as a >realization hit him, "Wait, no! Maybe...yes, he's surprised me >before. And he's gotten more powerful since then." > It wasn't much, at first. Just a faint glint of light. But he >fanned it, and as it caught, he called to the rest of his family. > In Mexico City, Molly held Tiara tight as they stared out over the >city. The micro-invasion had been ended, the knife and the ancient >shaman who wielded it destroyed. Molly took the offering of light as >she learned of what was going on in Russia, thought of Roland and >little Anna, and lit a fire of her own, adding to the light. > In Israel, Melissa helped Grep limp out of the museum. They had >agreed that was no little girl, despite the appearance. They felt the >call, thought of their Uncle Roland, and Tink, and made a powerful >bonfire between them with their share of that light. > In Japan, Tink took the light and thought of her own future, and >little David, and Uncle Roland, and lit nothing short of a Saturn >rocket's engine with it. > Then Tink punched B-ko through a building. Sure the Japan invasion >was over. When did that stop a catfight? > As the fire burned inside them, fanned and guarded by the Sevens >who held it, they showed those flames to the rest of the Lens link, >offered torches from it. > /Pass the torch, friends!/ The Sevens sent out telepathicly, >/We've seen him obliterated to nothing but an aura. And he. Came. >Back. This is Roland -Phoenix-. He rises from the ashes. Pass the >torch, light the fire of hope. A beacon to guide him home!/ Roland laughed. "Thanks, guys, but my family's waiting up with the light on. I can't exactly stay out with the guys for a few centuries, you know?" They all laughed with him, Lady Jeanne most of all. Besides...I'm sure a few of you are familiar with Wally West?" Nearly all of them nodded knowingly. Astro looked confused for a moment, but with a flicker of Oneness, he joined in. Images flickered around the heroes -- Trinity first, almost solid next to Neo, with Delenn at Sheridan's side an instant later, followed by Lois and Steve in the next moment, but they weren't the last. "It's not Heaven if she's not here," Neo said. It wasn't a question. "It will be difficult," Superman explained, "finding the right balance between getting involved and letting people learn from their own mistakes." "I know, it won't be easy," Roland replied, "but to quote an absent friend, 'what worthwhile thing ever is?'" 'John' laughed. "I told Them you wouldn't need me." Arthur nodded and stood. The other eight immediately followed suit. "May fortune blow you gentle winds, and Avalon welcome you home when your Time comes." They gestured. Roland felt the world fade, then choked up at the last sight he saw... ...James Phoenix, smiling proudly and motioning at his saber in Roland's katanaspace. He wrote a message on it: "You will do well." * * * There is a moment of peace with Heketon gone. A moment to breathe, to take stock, to heal. Atlan falls to the ground next to his wife and queen. Stellara gasps and lays her hands on him, and his physical wounds heal. "My love?" "I am well...but Defender...my burden is now his..." Atlan begins. Then a sound like every rusted gear in the world groaning in protest screeches across the battlefield. Illmound Keep rumbles, then collapses in on itself. The horrors vanish, melt, fade, or otherwise implode, consumed by the Nothing they served. Only their devices, if any, remain, bits of metal, stone and plastic falling almost to the ground. None dare touch the earth. Still the gears turn. The mountain heaves. Gaia groans in protest -- perhaps literally -- as her surface is violated one more time. Like some volcano of blasphemous ruins, the monstrosities of Orrorsh are consumed in a conflagration of raw power, vastly cleaner by comparison yet still disturbing for those not acclimated to the greater horrors they faced. Out of the ruins, from the apex of the mountain, rises the top half of a robotic body, woven through with strange artificial 'wood' and sigils of some alien power. "Mechanon," Morgan says simply, shaking her head. "Indeed, deviant," Mechanon cackles. "But far more, as well." Obsidian frowns deeply. "Even Tyrannon's might will avail you not, machine." "Oh?" If a life-hating robot can look gleeful, Mechanon does. "You are exhausted. Your cosmics battle with Outsider Things for the fate of existence itself. And your leader, your precious Defender, is dead." An arm the size of a skyscraper turns into an energy cannon. "What hope have you -- SKQUARZZK!" */"SORRY I'M LATE -- OOO, ALL CAPS,"/* a familiar and welcome (if excessively emphatic) voice calls from above and beyond. The entire sky glows with a growing golden light. */"JUST A SEC."/* There is a sense of something through the very fabric of the Possibilities being adjusted. */"There. Testing, one, two. Better."/* Morgan chuckles. "DEFENDER!" Mechanon wails. *#"Yep,"#*, Roland replies. *#"Go home, Mechanon, while I'm still in a good mood."#* Ignoring the gigantic Ultra-Mechanon, Defender returns his attention to his friends. */"Those of you with human-class eyes may want to look away for a minute here. I'm still adjusting."/* "Adjusting?" Seeker asks calmly. *"ADJUSTING TO WHAT?!?"* he asks a bit less calmly. */"This."/* Roland's form finally becomes visible through the golden light, though it's almost like staring into the sun. Something like a Golden Surfer, he is a living being of light, orichalcum and Eternal flesh combined. It takes him a few seconds of consideration, but he then clothes himself in the crimson undergarment he wore -- wears? -- as Defender. The azure armor forms out of the Power Cosmic itself, and the first Champion is restored at last, and the light has been turned down to a faint glow. The only difference is that he once more wears the Phoenix proudly on his chest. */Like I have a secret identity any more,/* he notes with dry amusement. He blinks in astonishment at the sight of Mechanon adapting and shifting. In even greater amazement, Roland holds out a hand as the murderous android fires a beam that could take out a small continent at him. The energy stops and gathers into a foot-wide violet ball hovering just in front of his palm. #"Physical energy? Against _me?_ Have you lost your mind?"# #"Err -- err -- err --"# Mechanon beeps, pouring even more power into the cannon. Most of Asia experiences a brownout, and the drain on Zero Point Energy is actually noticeable to those sensing that field. The other villains -- at least, those capable of it -- wisely take this moment to depart for their own realities. "Like a child," Morgan says resignedly. "He has to learn the hard way." Defender blinks again, then shrugs. /"Okay."/ He fires the violet ball back at Mechanon, azure force to beggar Mechanon's mountain-blasting might following it. The ball flies right up the cannon's muzzle, blowing it to shards that all shoot up to avoid hitting allies. Defender closes his fist, and the rest of the power shoves Mechanon back into the mountain, then fries every last circuit and wire -- individually. Defender grins as he lands next to his beloved Morgan. */"I guess he needs a time-out."/* Then, for a moment, the only thing in his universe is twin green eyes. They kiss. A lot. When they come up for air, Roland whispers with a smile, "Heaven." With a casual side-thought, he cleanses the invasion area of all remaining physical, psychic, magical, spiritual, and Possibility taint. His eyes dance over to the rock platform that brought most of the CAoL to the battleground, and an X-Window to the Place appears over it. "After-party," he says. Mike Callahan is already setting up drinks, showing no signs of having had to fight anyone recently. "We earned it. _You_ earned it," Roland adds. "Morgan and I need to talk for a minute; we'll be back as soon as -- grmph." "Hugs first," Rachel whispers, glomping her father to within an inch of his life. Liam, decorum gone, does more or less the same. OOC: Well, that's all, folx. Wow. As mentioned, there'll be after-party for as long as interested parties want to party after, and The Announcement will take place therein, but, well, smoke 'em (villains, of course -- cigarettes are bad for you *VBG*) if you got 'em and have a great time! -- (/) Roland Morgan /|\ "We were strangers on a crazy adventure Never dreaming how our dreams would come true Now here we stand unafraid of the future At the beginning with you..." Anastasia Soundtrack, "At the Beginning" ===========================