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At the Core of the Golden City [MISSION || HAKAINUSHI]
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Post by Zero on Jan 13, 2014 22:49:28 GMT
His enemy showed gusto, but the great Traitor would not yield. A small taste of the demon world wasn't enough to quench Iscarimon's insatiable thirst for violence, nor was it enough to vanquish his foe. All the same, he felt himself gaining the upper hand. His strength had proven little; it was Omnimon's reactions that did all of the talking. This god among knights began to show that he still had fear within him. More importantly, he began to show that he was fallible. He wasn't undefeatable or invincible, he just told himself that so he could sleep at night. The time for dreamers was over. Iscarimon had no time for petty ambitions. He did not long for praise, celebration, or acceptance, he merely wished to be acknowledged. Above all else, he wanted to send a message: the age of the Royal Knights was over. His little thought train was rudely interrupted, however, when the severed head of one of his minions rolled into his feet. He lifted one of his legs and rolled it over. The dragon's mouth was gaping, its jaw broken, dripping with some foul substance that appeared half way between blood and fresh puke. Hmm. He rolled the thing over again and kicked it to the side. Watching his dragons fall meant very little to him.
Evil made it possible to breed all kinds of monstrosities - things that shouldn't conceivably exist. These dragon monsters were an inferior species; they possessed little intelligence. They reproduced quickly, though, and that's what Iscarimon used them for. Cannon fodder was always useful, especially when your opponent actually owned a cannon. Then again, Omnimon had just sliced them up like an electric knife going through a thick chunk of roast beef. He had that ability, too. The both of them would be eating hearty tonight. Iscarimon assured himself he had the bigger appetite, though, so he would prepare himself for another round by summoning more of the awful beasts. Seven more squirmed through the door, preparing for Round Two.
'All Delete.'
Ah. So Omnimon was going to counter this hellish barrage with a slice of Heaven, was he? The Knight King had thought of a good solution, to be sure. As things stood now, the giant sphere of energy hurtling toward Iscarimon would probably annihilate his wyrms, leaving every last one of them in a pile of scorched innards on the floor. And yet he still had a trick up his sleeve, one that surprised most Digimon of angelic persuasions. Extending his arms as he braced for impact, he fused them together to form a massive blunt edge hammer.
"Hammer of God."
The ground beneath them began to split. Seconds later, an outpouring of holy energy began. Destructive beams soared from the cracks in the floor, aimed at piercing Omnimon's armour. In the meantime, Iscarimon bode his dragons forward, sacrificing them to the incoming All Delete blast. He used his crafted hammer to deflect the rest of the blow, swinging hard against the massive impact of his challenger's attack.
As the combatants' energies began to fade, Iscarimon observed what was left of the battlefield. Not much. A lake of blood lapped up against his ankles, bidding him to feel pity for his minions' sacrifice. He felt nothing. Instead, he remarked that a large portion of both his arms were missing. The head of his hammer lay wriggling on the floor, now a mass of bubbling matter screaming for its host body. After a second's delay, he stepped on it, stamping out its will to live. In a moment, the final round of dragons would arrive, allowing Iscarimon to deliver another crushing blow before the portal closed for three turns.
"It seems you have disarmed me" the treacherous one said at last.
He stared down at his missing limbs, not looking particularly bothered by their absence. Following the quip, his flesh began to bubble and split, regenerating his broken body. The rest of his skin took on an eerie sheen as if he had shrugged off the heavy damage Omnimon had dealt. Zero Hour had arrived prematurely. Oh well. He was ready for another round. How about his enemy?
"Not for long."
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defectiveImmediately
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Thunder for Mayor, Tyc for Attorney General, Necris for Congressman.
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Post by defectiveImmediately on Jan 13, 2014 22:51:48 GMT
"The vill of a warrior, eh? Fine by me." Gears turned and ground. A red iridescence begun to shroud the mechanical chimaera; Tactimon flourished his blade in response and planted it into the ground. The will of a warrior? What would he do to prove his will when the general already had no doubt it was non-existence? Bah; he was a coward. Giygas was readying his arsenal; his mechanised, scorpion-esque tail split to reveal a muzzle; several ports opened into the mechanical black within; and two enigmatic ranged weapons of sorts raised on the Vandermon's arms. "UPGRADE!" Everything clicked into place and primed. It became obvious now what he was doing. A full unleash of his arsenal; the very definition of the word "barrage". "Scourge Regalia!" A red glow began to cling to the cyborg and the air around him seemed to become weightier.
The general's yellow irises slimmed. They became thin, vicious slivers of foreboding and scrutiny. What came next was inevitable: it was the when that the Tactimon was trying to predict. He swept his foot around and along the side into a readied stance, wrenching up the Sword of Storms and holding it steady. Everything was clicking into place on Giygas' end. The moment he pulled the triggers, which undoubtedly he would do simultaneously, as was the sort of cohesion he expected from such a creature given what he had seen thus far, the tactician needed to respond. He held his blade steadfast and raised it. He had his Star Splitter readied; with it he could crush any projectiles that moved towards him. "CATHARSIS!" Once more, it was all timing. With a series of sequential whoosh and crackle sounds the onslaught projected itself towards him all at once. But in order to take it all effectively, Tactimon would have to wait. And so he did; raising his blade to the point where it was above his head, stalwart and frozen, ready to come down at a moment's notice and shear through the very air--
And then every missile, every bomb, every rocket-propelled grenade or explosive of some sort took a breakneck turn and doubled back on itself - to collide with Giygas. What was he doing? And as if by some stroke of insane bad luck or awful aim, all of them did; this was no gambit, as far as he could see. It had struck him. The explosions had all detonated on contact. The upgraded Catharsis had only been used to catch him off-guard and then self-strike? It didn't make sense. Not until the smoke faded, and the last thing Tactimon could see was the crackling of electricity, great, forked arcs jumping from port to port, and a steely grin on the creature's face. He relaxed his blade and let it fall, clapping the one hand grasping the pommel of the Sword of Storms against his other. "Very well done, there, sorcerer. You had me convinced. For a moment."
"Show time." He darted forwards and Tactimon brought his blade up to defend. "Vicious Barrage!" Out of socket and sheath slid the wrist blades into the open once more with idly clicks, snapping like hungry metal mouths, glistening in the dim light of the golden box as the Vandermon, infinitely faster than the tactician, flung himself, a flurry and whirlwind of strikes and slashes, towards his target, each lined with crackling electricity. A jump backwards and the general bared his blade; it seemed that he had taken his advice and was looming now in for the kill.
"Better!" He boomed in that pompous and stalwart voice; better - but not yet triumphant. "SHI-NO-TACHI!" Once more; he called upon the negative energies of the so-called Death Tachi, channeling and coalescing all his temporarily-stocked energy into the blade. Giygas was faster than him; he could not dodge and weave under every blade or flurry - searing with heat as they were - so it was time for him to heed his own advice. As the blade glistened with a bright luminescence, he brought it down, purposefully, inches from the chimera's face, in a fearsome downward stroke, the energy clinging to the blade thrumming as it did. If it touched the blades of the wolf in an attempt to block, electrified as he could see they were, arcing and crackling, he was not sure whether they would power his blades further or suck the life from them - or perhaps yield another result entirely. There was a store of energy here greater than he had experienced or been in close proximity to for a long time. |
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Post by terminallyVicious on Jan 13, 2014 23:44:33 GMT
Riddles. To be honest, Vira was never too keen on riddles, they often just led to her getting frustrated and cheating by looking up the answer on the internet. That however was not an option at this point, and she was forced to travel the depths of her mind to come up with an answer the right way. It wasn't hard, but if anything, a complete waste of time. If she just had the power, this might be a hell of a lot easier, but then again, he was probably going to simply give it to her. The pros outweighed the cons, making this a delightful situation for the girl. After a few moments of thought, she spoke up, declaring her answer to be right.
This was a simple one after all, and even if she was wrong, she would most certainly argue with this ancient warrior claiming otherwise, "The stars. The answer is the stars." It had to be, at least it made sense to her, anyway, "I mean the first sentence was kinda pointless, but the second clearly gave it away. Unless if it's the moon, in which case I will be pissed." After thinking about how that statement could backfire, she quick added on more; "My answer is still the stars, for the record." She almost felt like sitting down. If this Digimon decided it no longer wanted to put up with riddles and kill her, it probably could.
The jellyfish was no longer drooling, but at last analyzing the Dragon Man. His eyes gazed mostly on the sword, as the wielder was of little interest to the corrupted creature. A VictoryGreymon, so what? The greymon species was highly overrated in any form, and very predictable. This guy probably had his flashy attacks, but that's all they were in the end: flashy. Show-business. He wasn't buying it. The Keramon had fought chumps twice this guy's size, why he was just now remembering that, he didn't know. He wasn't programmed or meant to know that, or whatever, maybe he was simply just stupid. Stupidly cunning, that is. His mind slowly started to fade out into thoughts about what the word cunning actually meant. It soon evolved into self-loathing because he couldn't remember what the word cunning meant.
"Since I'm obviously right, can we get on with the next one?" She would add on once more, talking too much as the hacker did on the normal. Hints of battle could be heard through the solid walls, so at least one of the other fights must still be going on at this point, even if no solid information could be gained from the heavily muffled grunts and scrapes of steel and otherwise. Hopefully this wouldn't take much longer. |
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defectiveImmediately
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Thunder for Mayor, Tyc for Attorney General, Necris for Congressman.
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Post by defectiveImmediately on Jan 17, 2014 14:31:54 GMT
"The stars. The answer is the stars."
For a moment, he met her with steely gaze and tilted head; but after a few seconds passed, VictoryGreymon rose his hands and begun to clap, slowly, but surely. He looked then to the strange, jellyfish-like Digimon, no longer drooling but now - finally, as it had taken at least four or five times the usual lapse of time he had expected - concentrating on him with a look of extreme scrutiny... analysing him. Huh. Well, that was different. Made no difference. If things went well - and they were thus far - hopefully he wouldn't so much as have to raise his Dramon Breaker save to give it to the duo. "Since I'm obviously right, can we get on with the next one?"
"Patience." He tilted his head to the side, and rose a golden-clad claw to gesture to the wall. "You can hear that your comrades and my old friends are still doing battle." It was true; behind their quiet, dignified, civilised exchange, the resonance of explosions, blasts of energy, and the clashes of blades were echoing and making the ground tremor every now and then. He had no real motivation to support either side; simply to observe. His old friends had wronged him and forgotten about him; these newcomers were terrorists of some description. He could feel the fear and the hatred they wanted to instil simply from his close proximity to this girl, in all her subtle confidence. Irrespective, the battles did not sound as if they were waning or closing just yet. They had a while. All the time in the world.
But he digressed. It was time to move onto the next riddle irrespective; he tilted his head back to its original position, took one, last, long, wayward glance at Otto, before returning to Vira. "'The beginning of eternity,'" Came the first line; there was a slightly less trivial tone in his voice, now. It was almost as if the newfound increase in difficulty permeated the median riddle of the trio he offered. The third, of course, and final, would be his most favoured yet also the one he found most difficult to consider; but as he said, he was simply doing what he could. "'The end of time and space.'"
He wondered if she had any idea as to the nature of this riddle. It was far less... orthodox than the one before had been. It would require closer analysis; thinking, dwelling on the words themselves as opposed to the images they crafted in the halls of her undoubtedly richly imaginative mind. "'The beginning of every end, and the end of every place.'" It was going to require her to think outside of the box, that much was for sure. Idly, he lowered both hands, staring off into the perfect, chromed edge of the flat of his blade, tracing his sharp, tapered fingers up and down it, before locking his draconian, sharp, wistful gaze upon the girl. "What is it?" Nothing near as simple as she would initially think: that much was for sure.
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defectiveImmediately
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Thunder for Mayor, Tyc for Attorney General, Necris for Congressman.
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Post by defectiveImmediately on Jan 17, 2014 15:09:45 GMT
"Hammer of God."
The hammer collided with the floor moments before his All Delete attack finished shearing through the dragons to make contact with Iscarimon; when it did so, much to the Omnimon's chagrin, it slammed dead-into the face of his hammer, his visage obscured from where the warrior of light stood, but not fully engulfing him; behind it all, the faint structure of the reaper was still visible. The traitor was going to survive it. He could feel it in his bones.
Whilst he had dealt aptly with the dragons, most of them writhing, bubbling masses falling into small, insignificant tattered shreds of meat, blood, and indiscriminate hellish fluid on the floor, the portal still stood looming and ominous, its doors cast wide open, the path to Hell very much remaining constant for the moment. Omnimon, however, had other plans to deal with; the single impact Iscarimon had made, he knew, was foreboding something; the ground's quivering had not ceased, simply started to amplify and ramp up since he had removed the mammoth tool. It was only when the ground begun to split and the energy within started to glow that he realised; and that was too late.
The first piercing beam launched up from beneath him, and with a roll to the side, he narrowly avoided being impaled by the first burst of light; but the quivering was not solely bound to the floor, it seemed, as the golden wall behind him shifted, and broke, and explosively dislodging clumps of glimmering bricks, with his back to it, the next beam burst through - and slammed into the back of Omnimon's left leg, shearing instantaneously through the right half of the armour, provoking an agonised howl up to the very heavens from whence he had came. ElDoradimon grumbled faintly in the distance. If only he had been young again. "Graagh!"
The next beam came from beneath him; and though he had been cast to the floor and he would walk with a limp for weeks until his armour, in all its sentience, healed, he managed to roll to the side, preempting that, and slamming his arching back into a corner as his extended blade clattered against the golden ground, another, final, beam of light shearing through the ground where he had been standing. They continued to surge through and pierce the air nearby and around, but, thankfully, before long, the last of the glistening energy began to fade, and Omnimon, pushed back into a corner, sighed as the combatants' energies begun to fade, letting his eyes close and his wary head fall against the floor. How ironic; he had been crippled by the burst of light, the very thing he had for decades been branding himself a herald and protector of.
Using the wall to pull himself up with the Garurumon head, sighing as he went, with the two smoking holes from Iscarimon's unfathomable tentacles still very much present, and now a large, burning chunk of his left leg gone, his frail limb, armoured and all, now exposed and looking as if it were about to snap beneath the Digimon's wait, he pulled himself up and whispered once last word, with a weakened, regrettable stroke of his blade through the air, conjuring a glistening arc of light in front of him which settled into a translucent pattern in the shape of the Crest of Courage. "Brave Shield." He muttered with utter hopelessness and abandon. It would keep him shielded from some of the traitor's lesser assaults. For a few moments. But he was crippled; he was stumbling; he was limping; he was old; he was weak; physically, he had been broken, and mentally, he was now too.
The recognition that he had underestimated Iscarimon had slowly grown and developed whilst he had been forced back into that corner and trapped; the recognition that he was far weaker than he had ever been, denying his lack of courage, his engorged laziness upon that pedestal outside Luminas. He had been staying there and letting his skills stagnate in the hope none worthy enough would ever truly come to challenge him. And now, he was on his last legs - one of them already broken - standing here behind a single pitiful and ironic Brave Shield hanging before him, the glowing Crest of Courage he didn't deserve. What he done to wrong this horrific creature? What had he done to deserve this punishment? He had twofold recognised his own weakness and the absolution of his fate in this little golden box. He was going to die. Forgotten and alone.
So behind it, he did the only thing he could. He didn't fight back. He didn't truly believe in his own defence. He didn't even consider allowing himself the ability to raise his blade to his heart and deny Iscarimon the honour of deleting him in full. A whimper began to utter forth from his helmet, and choking back stifled sobs, Omnimon began to cry. "P-Please," He said, utterly unable to recognise these words - the truth, that had been waiting half a decade to emerge - spilling forth from his own concealed mouth. "I don't know w-who y-you are, or w-what you w-want," He whimpered, sniffling back his tears in a display of utter despair and forlorn majesty. "Just p-please d-don't kill me."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jan 17, 2014 15:27:41 GMT
"Energy levels critical." Was the only thing the chimera had time to think as a warning went off on the screen of his scope. The two attacks, SHI-NO-TACHI and the charged up Viscious Barrage brought up an interesting effect as they collided head on, the raw energy of the high frequency blades mixting with the brute force the sword of the storm carried. In a split second it seemed like the room around them froze before a glint of fire came to life in the middle of the collision. Then... then everything went to hell. A powerful shock wave, accompanied by a loud noise and fire was created, shoving the Vandermon back against the golden walls. An explosion? That sword was powerful. Perhaps more powerful than Giygas had originally anticipated.
Upon hitting the wall, the researched let out an odd grunt that seemed to have a mechanized monotone to it. His elbow spikes had almost pierced the wall, cushioning most of his impact thankfully. Scourge Regalia, his trusty armor absorbed the rest of the hit, giving his an increased amount of charge, but oddly enough he still felt the pain from that one. As the emperor picked himself up, his eyes narrowed on the dust cloud the explosion had given rise to. Blindly rushing in wouldn’t do him much good against the Tactimon. It was finally time for Giygas to display strategy of his own and judging from what he had seen so far he knew exactly what to use to catch this guy off guard. Sadly, most of the Digimon's move were out of the question since destroying the Tactimon meant that he would also lose the blade, making this whole thing a little worse than what the phrase "a waste of time" would cover.
“Vell, vell. It vould appear you are stronker zan I anticipated, Tactimon.” The Vandermon snarled, deatatching himself from the wall, only to land on his feet. “Danker for ze power, dummkopf.” By not the demon swordsman must have realized his mistake. The explosion only served to feed Giygas, increasing the deadliness of his blades even further. The emperor knew that his foe would be painfully aware of this fact, so he just had to rub some salt in those fresh wounds, hopefully knocking him down from his high horse.
“Come now, you must surely be better zan zis.” Giygas taunted, crossing his arms in a gesture of impatience.“Assuming you didn't bride your way into being the castle general zat is.” Hopefully the Tactimon would catch on Giygas's insults. The generals pride appeared to be more delicate than fine China after all. All that remained was simply to create a diversion to wrap this up. |
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Post by Zero on Jan 17, 2014 17:24:56 GMT
Iscarimon stopped. What was this? Had his opponent given up?...
He tilted his head, unable to understand. Was this really Omnimon he was fighting? Had this warrior grown so old and tired of his routine that he didn't respect himself to die an honourable death?
"Pity."
And it was. Omnimon had become a shadow of his former self. What a shame.
Iscarimon advanced a few steps and peered over his shoulder. Dragons were still hissing and flailing about. Too noisy. Waving his arm, the portal suddenly vanished, pulling back at the flesh it had spilled on the floor of the arena. With a short 'whoosh', the liquified contents of the wyrms were dragged in, sucked back into the hellhole they came from. A few remaining heads cried in protest, demanding that they were fed, but Iscarimon gave them no heed. They too were pulled back, gone until they were summoned again.
The Traitor took a few more steps forward, slowly beginning to encroach on his enemy. He brandished a weapon - the extractor - in his left hand and advanced a few more paces still, coming face to face with Omnimon. He didn't linger much after this and placed his face within a few inches of his terrified subject. Without warning, he took a harsh jab at the paladin's stomach, intending to double him over.
"Knights are so cute when they are defeated" Iscarimon snapped, his voice laced with malice and venomous intent.
He wiped a small tear from Omnimon's eye, collecting it in his palm. He then moved away for a second, looking down at Omnimon. His red eyes glowed fiercer than before. His pride had been compromised. This was not the match he was promised. Iscarimon was insulted to see his foe like this. The leader of the Royal Knights, quivering in front of him? It seemed like a dream not so long ago. Now, it was just pathetic. His speech would mean nothing.
"I have no mercy. I only wish to dismantle you piece by bloody piece so that I may complete my objective. You will die alone in this cell and no one will hear you. They will forget you. You will fade from memory and no one will ever utter the words Omnimon the Hero ever again."
The reaper's scathing commentary was not without further damage; following it, he would take a final jab at the defeated knight, bidding him to cry one last time before Iscarimon pulled the digicore from his chest.
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defectiveImmediately
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Thunder for Mayor, Tyc for Attorney General, Necris for Congressman.
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Post by defectiveImmediately on Jan 17, 2014 22:29:46 GMT
Blade met blades, and with the violence coalescence of energy, both parties, Giygas and the general, were flung backwards. Almost simultaneously, they struck their respective walls, the general's back arching as it slammed against the surprisingly hardy bricks. It was the first actual stroke of damage he had received, and for all the concussive damage that explosion had dealt, it was... certainly formidable. He heard the creature's snide comments as he pulled himself up from the gritty floor he had fell upon, not having sustained such force through his form in... a very long time.
“Vell, vell. It vould appear you are stronker zan I anticipated, Tactimon.” The general snarled behind his mask. All this talk should have been done away with long ago. The battle had well and truly begun now. They were on equal turf; unlike his comrades, Tactimon had retained his strength in both body and mind. Omnimon's blade had dulled and VictoryGreymon's spirit had shrunk. Neither had happened to him. “Danker for ze power, dummkopf.” The... power? Suddenly, it all started to sink in; the Catharsis barrage being turned onto himself at the last minute; his reckless abandon at being struck with such an energy shockwave, the way he treated it so casually and still held hubris high as to gloat. He could recharge himself with any non-physical damage he sustained. Every energy-based assault that was launched in his general direction dissipated into that static electrical field coating those vicious wrist-blades he so adored.
How had he been so blind? Now they had both taken the same amount of damage - the shockwave had dealt him a fair welt in the mid-section, his back aching - and he was slowly gaining the upper hand. Tactimon swiftly scrabbled for the Sword of Storms that had clattered away from his grasp, swinging it broad and fast. This battle was far from over yet. “Come now, you must surely be better zan zis.” Tactimon snarled and swept up his blade. He was not retaliating to petty taunts; but his pride had taken a jab. Surely he had to fight back, to resist to solidify his reputation before vanquishing this foul machination of fur and steel. “Assuming you didn't bride your way into being the castle general zat is.”
Enough. "QUIET." Tactimon barked and snarled behind his breath; his hubris was grand, and it was his one weak point. In trying not to let the creature expose it, ironically, he had done just that. He raised the blade high and forwards in a defensive stance. "Lest you have more to say, cease your incessant ramblings and let us finish this match swiftly." He tilted his head, yellow, solid eyes glistening in the samurai's helm. "I wish to vanquish you, foul beast, and be done with this before the sun sets so I may eat my evening meal with peace of mind." The lengthy way of saying "let's wrap this up before dinner".
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Post by Deleted on Jan 18, 2014 4:07:22 GMT
The chimera cracked a sly grin that revealed his unnaturally long fangs as he did. One had to wonder how he could close his maw without his teeth sticking into his gums. His ploy had worked in one way another, and even though he wasn't attacking in blind rage, the Tactimon was certainly trying to finish this and reclaim his so called honor back. The scientist knew the deal was sealed now. A simple diversion would surely be met with zeal as the general tried to both prove himself capable and defeat the chimera in one fell swoop, allowing the later to take him by surprise. Giygas's mechanical eye rotated for a brief moment, focusing on it's target and running a few more calculations. His guns were extended and ready to fire.
“Catharsis.”Came the creatures voice, although it would be masked by the sound of every rocket, every laser and every bullet stored in his body firing at the same time. Unlike before, his calculations were silent and his weapons already drawn. Although undoubtedly the Tacimon would deflect the chimeras attack, it would take a great deal of focus to do that and that was what Giygas had hopped for. The Vandermon braced himself in the milliseconds the projectiles took to travel to their target location, his body producing a soft ring like sound to indicate that UPGRADE! was activated along with the change in the electricity coloration that seemed to crackle around his body. In the Digimon's mind all the swift steps of his strategy were laid out.
The moment the first projectile made contact, even if was blocked or dodged, Giygas would make his move. “UPGRADE! Spatial Distortion!” The mechanized chimera vanished, reforming behind his target, although his body seemed to reflect all light around it, effectively concealing him from sight. The Vandermon raised his electrically charged blades and careful aimed. If the Tactimon didn't notice him it would go through his rib cage, although the strike was aimed to miss his heart, ensuring he wouldn't die right away. It was only as his blades were ready to make contact with the armor of his foe that the researcher announced his presence.
“DUCK! Just kidding that won't help.” The chimera would suddenly yell as he drove his blades forward, seeking to end this once and for all. If Tactimon dodged then Giygas would find himself in a very bad position, but it was worth the risk. A final gambit in hopes of finding himself back at the manor before dinner time, ironically enough. |
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defectiveImmediately
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Post by defectiveImmediately on Jan 18, 2014 18:41:11 GMT
"Pity." He tried to stifle back his tears and the waterfall of self-loathing and realisation; but it was beyond too late. He was done. Finished. A broken man in a broken suit of armour pretending to be someone he wasn't. If they were dancing, it would have been a jig; and it would have most likely, now, been up. His half-a-decade illusion had been held steadfast and strong; but all along he had just, apparently, been waiting for someone powerful enough to come along and prove him wrong so it wasn't a question of pride; so he could hang up his blade, and take to Luminas, the faded Warrior of Light who people would slap on the back and heartily remark "well done, you did good" as they just left him to his business. But he realised, now, in all the mess of digital tears stemming from eyes behind a transparent glass visor, that for as long as he still branded himself a warrior, it wasn't going to stop. Iscarimon was right; it was a pity. Omnimon was a shadow of his former self, as much as it pained him, struck him, utterly devastated him to come to terms with it, he had become weak and stagnant. His blade hadn't just become dull; it was little more than just a hunk of metal that he had let sit and stew in the back of the room. He had gone from vanquishing dragons and the greatest evils of all in the darkest reaches of the Digital World to being some pompous-ass defender of the glorious, the rich, the entitled, the pious and the self-righteous. And it was a pity. It was just the sad recognition that life didn't last forever. For the chosen few, glory did. Maybe he could count on his legacy to outlive him; he probably could. But he still couldn't decide whether or not, in his last, crushed, dying moments, he was happy that he would be remembered as a shining example of what he had once been, a protector of the realms, or as a false, lazy, lying paragon of deceit ironically erected the guardian of the light. He had passed his prime; and all that was there now was just the expectation. People took him for granted. They always had. He was the unwritten threat to the terrorists, the first line of defense people always just assumed would be there. If he retired, there would be outcry and hatred for his name, for "The Mon Who Abandoned Luminas". If he died in action he would be treated as "The Mon Too Weak". He couldn't step down or back down and he couldn't stop fighting. He had to just stay there at the forefront of the city and protect virtues he didn't believe in with arms almost too heavy to bear. No-one understood the pressure of being a saint. The only way to just subtly fade into non-existence - except the once-in-a-lifetime appearance of the "Christmas Special celebrities", who the odd Patamon would raise a paw to and go "Oh, look, it's that guy!" without truly knowing his name - seemed to be to vanish. Just quietly fade away. But hanging up the armour wasn't that easy. He was trapped; he had been, his whole life, in a cycle of boredom and expectation. And it was all the while that these thoughts floated slowly before his eyes that Iscarimon began his approach. With every step the Traitor took before him, closing in like the hounds of the Devil, snapping the portal shut, he felt his soul quiver and his mind tremble. The icon of Courage before him, the "shield", began to flicker and falter; his last line of defense was about as strong as he was. Perhaps Iscarimon was going to destroy him. Remove him from this world, from this pathetic existence, this suspension of limbo; in a sense, it would really grant him... well... peace. Peace of soul. Peace of mind. Just utter deletion, to be completely erased, to be nothing more but a scar of legacy. Did that mean he wanted it? Fuck no.
"T-take what you want," He murmured quietly, hardly a whimper or a whisper into this tiny little golden box, crossing his arms over his chest as the shield flickered and died, apparently powered by what little fighting spirit he had remaining; which was, at this precise moment, nothing. It was sad, really. The knight had been brought to this; faded, crippled, and broken. Not even a worthy opponent; and through it all he couldn't accept his impending execution with a smile; he sniveled, he begged, he pleaded for what little remained of his pathetic life. It was just... weak. Nothing of his knightly, gallant pride remained. "J-just l-leave me alive... p-please..." Then came the jab to his stomach.
"Knights are so cute when they are defeated."
Whatever semblance of the shield had remained shattered into a pitiful cluster of twinkling, flickering lights, like an incomplete circuit starting to shut off after decades of callous neglect from the mechanic. Omnimon felt the fist slam into his gut; and with what little of his energy he could muster, he tried to bolster himself, and saw it coming, but when his mind was broken, so was his body; he doubled over, fell, and groaned as it made contact, and Iscarimon leant down to sweep a single tear from his eye, hold it in his palm, and gently curl his hand as the Knight looked up at the Reaper with fearful, wronged, glossy tearing eyes. He opened his mouth to talk but only a clotted wheeze came out. He wasn't even able to muster the attempts at eliciting pity from this horrible machination of data he didn't even want to consider the origin of; instead he just panted and hoped that behind a steamy visor he would see the honesty and truth in his eyes. In spite of all his laziness and his latent self-loathing, Omnimon did not want his life to end, clinging to some semblance of simply surviving, like a cockroach, or a rat clinging to the teat of its dead mother out of some innate genetic instinct to just keep living. All he wanted was for the Reaper to have mercy when he came knocking at his door. And the damning response he received was this: "I have no mercy."
His heart sunk. "I only wish to dismantle you piece by bloody piece so that I may complete my objective." His... objective? What was his objective? "You will die alone in this cell and no one will hear you. They will forget you." The gravity of the traitor's words were starting to sink in; and with every passing moment the quicksand of absolution and destiny were dragging him, and his feelings, down further and further. "You will fade from memory and no one will ever utter the words Omnimon the Hero ever again." And there it was. The condemning finale. The end to his speech. Omnimon looked back at himself in that last moment and considered; considered how right Iscarimon was. In truth; he hadn't been called that in a long time; and even in quotation, it felt nice to just have... some acknowledgement. Of glory, of legacy, of recognition; even if it was faded. He didn't belong here, in this body, in this form, but he so desperately wanted to continue to. He clung to this plane with everything he could; and even now, broken, battered, defeated, and on the verge of deletion, in the condemning grasp of fate, he was reduced to tears and pleading. So maybe as those three words, "Omnimon the Hero", slipped out from Iscarimon's unfathomable tongue... just maybe, a smile just cracked onto his pallor beneath that helm as his eyes stung with salty, Digital tears, and he remembered in that last flash before his eyes, the dignity, the pride, and the chivalry he had once had in a past life, and he retained some element of redemption or finality in his impending fate as the strange, alien, jury-rigged machine darted towards him like the headsman's axe or the falling blade of the guillotine.
Then, it pierced his armour. "NO!" Whatever recognition he had of glory or dignity died with the long, shrieking, elongated sob, like a howling feline, those writhing death throes rippling through his body. As his head rocked backwards in utter agony, he felt the very essence that made him up begin to unravel, and from the focal point in his torso where the extractor had split the armour, it began to slowly seep out like some extra-bodily ooze, away from his grasp as he held his hands there gingerly cradling the wound. He felt the life begin to slowly slip away as the very fabric that had made up an existence, that could only be described in its last moments as utterly tragic, started to pour out like a perforated, wounded animal to the slaughter. Finally, Omnimon, without a hint of composure, regal pride, or majesty, felt the fundamental basis of his life slip away from the Digital World, and he died.
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defectiveImmediately
In-Training
Thunder for Mayor, Tyc for Attorney General, Necris for Congressman.
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Post by defectiveImmediately on Jan 19, 2014 1:02:27 GMT
“Catharsis.”This time they really came. Every bullet, laser, blast, bomb, grenade, and missile launched from the strange creature's arsenal. Giygas had unleashed the full extent of his power upon the field; and this time, Tactimon had an inkling that it wasn't a decoy. Irrespective, he had been ready for this. Brandishing the blade high, he charged it as the creature launched his full-blown assault, and lowered it with a triumphant roar; he had preempted this. And hopefully, in a single, fell swoop, he would demonstrate just how powerful he could be: "STAAAAAAAR SPLITTEEEER!" With a great whoosh of energy, the blade fell. And as it did, in the air hung all the light and spectacular power it had amassed, lingering there long after the blade had slammed against the ground and the sheer windforce it had commanded settled.
The iridescence begun to concentrate and glow. Then, all of a sudden, when it had swollen to the point that the energy contained within this glistening curvature, the light blade hanging there with all the force and illumination of a star itself, launched forwards. And as it did, it carved a great, luminescent trail behind it, pushing forwards, shearing one or two of Giygas' missiles instantly in half, causing them to fizzle open and into two mechanical halves which clattered along the floor, pushing and pushing and pushing until the trail had traveled all the way from where Tactimon stood to another side of the room. And it hung there, and lingered in the air, like the initial blade had, until the general stood tall, and snapped his fingers.
When he did, the entire room exploded.
The trail, apparently made up of two halves, the actual "star splitter", well, split. In the process of doing so, violently, the trail cast itself outwards to each side, left and right, creating a rectangular concussive shockwave of sheer force and light energy. Not only had it sheared dead through anything standing in the line of strike, it had now swept the two halves aside and slammed them into the little golden walls of the tiny, claustrophobic box, detonating all and any explosives as a secondary trigger when they cast themselves into the glistening brickwork either side. The room roared with the energy of a supernova and then fell into the condemning, vacuum-like silence of a black hole, only an echo remaining. And when the light cleared, and, finally, Tactimon could see the field for what it was, with small charred blotches on the silt-covered floor, to his chagrin, it was not the sheared body of Giygas standing before him in two smoking halves, wounded, or, better, on the verge of death: but a cleared battlefield, and an empty pedestal opposite.
“DUCK! Just kidding that won't help.”
Thunk. That was when he felt it, too late. The ice-cold steel of the blades plunging into his back, knocking him straight off of his feet, and down onto his knees. The electricity held his upper body rigidly upright yet quaking; his spasmodically twitching grasp relinquished the Sword of Storms, and it clattered onto the golden brickwork floor below. "F-fool," He murmured with a heady wheeze behind him as the once-bright yellow eyes of the prideful general's helm began to falter and flicker. "D-di... dishonourable s-swine..." A sharp cough slipped out of the grille he had in place of a mouth behind the armour. So this was it? Ended by the roguish gambit of a pathetic science project? The great general of the cliffs? The electricity coursed through his data, systematically stunning every part of him. He felt the consciousness starting to slip away. First his system would pour into overdrive; he would fall into an uncomfortable, trance-like sleep, from which he would simply not awaken.
The blades slipped out from behind him, and he coughed once more, before finally slumping forwards onto his knees, his entire body gripped in paralytic shock. Well; defeat had come. "F-finish me, quick..." That half-barked murmur would be some of his final words. "I d-do n-not want to linger here a c-cripple." A fast and honourable execution; had he the ability to reach for his blade he would have performed it himself ritualistically. After all; this was what he presumed Giygas wanted. To kill him, to absorb his data; to take his techniques, his knowledge, his authority, his power... his blade... the opponent had far from proven himself worthy. It was not in strength or tactics he had bested Tactimon; but instead, in animal cunning, which was, though of a lower tier, in its own way worth reward.
Yellow started to flicker. A final, weaker cough spilled out from his grille. Tactimon was growing weary. "I h-had hoped to be ended b-by better..." The general couldn't even take that as a statement of his own weakness, his own skill stagnating upon his pedestal in the dark. He had to find someone else to fault. Irresepctive, he began to feel the consciousness begin to slip away. Not long, now; it was time... time to sleep.
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Post by Zero on Jan 19, 2014 5:55:14 GMT
OOC: Jesus Christ Ross I think I almost cried.
"...Hmpf" Iscarimon hissed.
He gingerly lifted the tip of his helmet and spat on his foe, watching intently as the small trail of phlegm trickled down Omnimon's broken face. The Reaper turned away, heading off so that the vultures could have their fill of the fresh corpse he had left for them. He managed to get a few feet from the body before a vicious tempest began to well up inside him. He froze for a moment, shaking in anger. How could it had been so easy?
"PATHETIC!"
Iscarimon hurled around, his right arm rapidly transforming into an immense blade, and cut the paladin's head from his shoulders. Seething, he watched the head roll on the floor, wobbling a few short seconds before going completely still. The body appeared to respond to this, slumping further to the ground. Data particles began to flow upwards from the corpse's open wounds: an official statement of defeat. Staring into the centre of his extractor, Iscarimon spied Omnimon's digicore, floating there like a goldfish in a glass bowl. Just why was he delivering this to someone else? Was this not his victory, how ever hollow it might be? As time passed, his rage didn't seem to fade at all.
"I will have my own trophy" he announced.
He walked briskly towards the body once more and plucked the Grey Sword from its captor's lifeless hand. The spirit inside the extractor squirmed at this, feeling its shattered pride disintegrate even further.
At last, the Traitor left the cell, hoping he would meet his supposed 'allies' on the other side of the door. He was well aware of both Akari and Zeromon's memories and yet the term Hakainushi still troubled him. An organization? Iscarimon didn't need friends. He worked alone. As he exited the room, so did his power, leaving Zeromon and Akari in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"What happened?" Akari asked.
She groaned loudly, her body suddenly in pain.
"Our Biomerge broke prematurely..." Zeromon said, "But I don't remember anything. What the hell did we just do?"
Zeromon shuddered, suddenly afraid. As Evermon, he never felt disconnected. Wherever he was during his time in that cell, though, he couldn't say. Akari, on the other hand, seemed more than pleased. It was she who held the extractor - filled with Omnimon's core, no less - in one hand. In the other...
"Zeromon."
The lizard's jaw dropped. Was that?
"The Grey Sword."
A shiver crawled up his back. How?
"Giant dose of what the fuck. Mission over. In possession of digicore. Empress, uh, out."
Akari fumbled with the headset, accidentally dropping it on the floor. Her body was sweaty and confused, yet her spirit brimmed with pride and confidence.
'Give me another go.'
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Post by terminallyVicious on Jan 19, 2014 20:06:17 GMT
Shit.
The single obscenity was the only thing the Tamer could think of in response to the riddle. She didn't say anything at first, trying to pay attention and rolling her pupils while her mind rushed, presenting possible answers, but they were wrong. You don't have to know the correct answer to know a wrong one, and these all fell into that category. Abstract ideas were the first to come to her head, and the hacker was certain it must of been one of those types of deals. She just couldn't figure out the right word.
As if to simply make things more tense, Vira no longer heard the clashes of steel, the grunts of attacks, or even the silent sounds of footsteps; the other battles were more than likely done and over with. She was last, and while that isn't really a big deal, it was to her. It was the biggest of deals. Last place was the worst, reserved for the most pathetic player of the team. The gentleman who joined the track team for, bleck, social purposes who just ended up smoking pot instead of going to any practices. Or the frail kid, the one with the mental illness, she felt equivalent to the retarded kid on the track team, the nobody, the loser. And she simply would not have it. There had to be more time. Wait...
"I need a few moments for this one." There was not an aura of excruciating pride as it was when she normally talked, that instead was replaced with an air of intellect and humility. Wait a minute...an idea came to her head, there was a way she could cheat this somehow. Still pretending as if she was deep in thought, she tapped into the telekinetic connection she shared with her Digimon; I must be pretty desperate to ask you, but the answer to this is time, right? The jellyfish twitched, apparently receiving this message suddenly, I'm good at riddles! You should've f82309 let me figure these out! A pause in the connection. It isn't f78978 time, are you craze-aroni?! That's too obvious. It's something else, these things are meant to confuse you.
Vira didn't respond back, thinking further more on the bit of advice just given to her, words of wisdom from the unwise. She wondered mostly on how much she could trust her partner, as he hasn't exactly been the shining example of intellect since she'd met him. He was less than that, the opposite in fact, but yet for some reason the statement sunk into her mind like a set of fangs releasing their venom of knowledge. Light in a dark place, it was brilliance, really. "Okay, I'm ready to solve your little riddle."
Her dull eyes locked onto the magnificent orange Dragon; "At first, I thought it was time. It sounds about right." No smirk came across her face, while she might possibly get this correct, she was still in last place. It probably wouldn't be long before one of her comrades would be heckling her over radio to buy them pizza or some shit. She wasn't about to respond or deal with that right now. "But it's not. It could be the answer, but it's simply not. It's even more abstract than that." A finger quickly tapped against her chin, she at last let her solution known; "E. The letter E, that is." |
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2014 20:23:17 GMT
It took the Vandermon a few moments to fully process what had happened. The odd hum his electrified blades produced as they scorched the flesh of his victim mesmerized him. Was that really it? Did the Tactimon fall to him? Of course, of course he did. Giygas cracked a grin, satisfied with himself as he injected the general with the last few inches of his blades, pushing his body slightly upwards in the process. This new body he acquired, it was nothing like the one he was born with. The chimera paused for a moment, almost drunk with his own power. As a Blackgatomon he could barely beat Rookies but now here he was killing a Super Mega without even realizing it.
"You talk too much." Giygas barked before his blades would retract back to his wrists, the electrified steel producing a bone chilling sound as it smashed through flesh and bone that would make Digimon cringe and look away. It was a real shame the Tactimon fell unconscious. The scientist would love to teach him some manners before killing him, but perhaps it was the best that he couldn’t. At this state the core was too easy to damage and the whole operation would have been a failure if Giygas got carried away.
"Auf Wiedersehen!" Came the last parting statement as Giygas pulled out the core extractor, jamming the device on the general’s neck as far as he could, flicking the activation switch in the process. Within a few moments the tactician was gone. His body simply vanished, leaving only his blade behind and a bright concentration of data inside the core extractor. "Heh… hehe…. Zehahahahahaha!" The Vandermon suddenly burst into a hysteric fit of laughter, looming over the ownerless sword of storms. Finally, he had won.
A few minutes later with the sword tightly in the grip of his left hand the mechanized chimera stood at the rendezvous point, a permanent grin starched across is face for now.
"Vell , vell, it looks like I von’t be buying anyone’s food afterall. That said, ve vill be dinning at the fanciest place I can locate." Giygas announced in his communicator. "Oh, and Devil, ugh zat is a retarded rank, out. I vill see you soon, freakishly tall human and his pet rug."
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