It seems like its been months since you were back here,but you are glad to finally be HOME.And the IMPS and SALAMANDERS haven't caused any trouble while you were gone.
You thank Lily for everything and ask her to continue to make sure the critters around here stay out of trouble.She smiles and goes about her business,something you should do as time is still ticking down.But first,you have something to say to the little IMPS.
In a short while,and with a bit of Lily's help,you manage to round up all of the IMPS that have currently taken up residence in your HOME.
You kneel down to the 'group' a warm smile on your face and say I am glad to see that you all have been good while I was away.You are free to stay here as long as you like. You then stand up and look out into the IMPS I know about the war.How you should be enemies.That you should be agents of destruction.But I find that hard to believe.I also believe that others,others like you,may find the war deplorable and wish to stop all the fighting.And that those who do wish to find some place safe. You motion to the area around you I want this area to be that place.If any wish to escape to a place of safety,be they Dersite,Prospitian,or Consort,know that they shall be given a warm welcome here,provided they mind there manners and not case trouble.And if you do.. You point at Lily and give a playful grin I sick her on you.
You fold your arms and nod your head then finish So,how does that sound?
Death from above! Feeling unusually HOPEFUL, you proceed to unleash the wrath of your awkwardly-named BOOM BANG BLAM upon the crowd of Dersites, focusing your fire on the big ones in back - particularly the OCCULUSI - in order to distract them from the relatively vulnerable, not-airborne Chas.
>Rich: STRETTO BURST.
Hoping to supplement your efforts, you surround as many of the OCCULUSI as you can with DEADLY FLOATING MINE-THINGS. With any luck, that'll keep them out of the fight, at least until the rest of the Dersites have been dealt with. You resume firing upon any non-trapped OCCULUSI remaining, as well as the other heavy enemies in back, darting back and forth erratically in an attempt to dodge any return fire.
>Dirk: Oh, I think you are far mistaken. This is not some grand country, a new world for you to explore and revel in. This is not a paradise, not a place of peace and rest. You can head further in, most certainly, but never further up. There is only one path in these hallways, and it leads down.
You proceed down the desolate hallway, the only sounds being your own breath and that mysterious crackle. You walk for what feels like miles, heading ever downwards.
Eventually, you notice that the hallway begins to grow more narrow. At the same time, you realize that the slope of the passage beginning to increase, forcing you to tread carefully. As your descent continues, past countless lanterns, you become more and more aware of your increasingly claustrophobic surroundings. Eventually, your breath begins to echo in your ears, and you're forced to hunch over in order to continue your advance. You feel the cold talons of fear slowly latching onto your mind, sapping your sanity bit by bit.
Then, thankfully, mercifully, relief. The hallway ends at the top of a spiral staircase, one that extends far, far into the misty gloom beneath you. There are no railings, no supports, nothing but pure oblivion as far as you can see. The occasional floating orb, glowing with some strange light, provides illumination for the mysterious area. With little choice, you are forced to descend the steps, wincing as every step drives a small lance of pain through your wound.
The stairs wind on for hundreds of feet; you lose count at 1,760. Eventually, however, they draw to a close, depositing you upon a small, circular platform. Upon this platform lies a single, solitary item:
Well, the item is supposed to be whatever instrument Dirk plays, but I can't remember if he's ever actually played anything. So, I guess that's up for you to decide, CJ. Have fun with that.
>Dirk-F2:
An alchemic endeavor such as this one is a powerful sight, one that few are blessed enough to behold. Forging the might of a trio of potent blades with the skill and cunning to alter the path of Time itself, and adding a bit of a Hero's life to complete the mix. The resulting item will become the stuff of myths and legends. Countless beings will fight with tooth and claw to possess it; songs full of its praise will resonate throughout all of history.
Such an item could banish a race from a garden of paradise, could raze Rome to the ground with a storm of light, could burn Versailles with a single swing. It could topple nations, save millions, change the course of history itself.
In your hands, you grasp the simple hand and a half hilt, forged of pure steel and dyed a brilliant golden hue. A fiery gem, blazing with light, is set in its pommel, its multifaceted face reflecting your own a dozen times over. A three and a half foot blade, made of some shining metal, extends from the cross-hilt, projecting a terrible strength and impossible warmth from its length. Carved into the metal is some word that you do not recognize, runes from a bygone age, or from a time that never came.
>Chas and Rich: Well, that's a large number of the IMPS dealt with, though a few more are still scurrying about. However, you're still facing an obscene number of OGRES, BASILISKS, and LICHES, at least ten GICLOPSES, and four OCCULUSI.
So, yeah. Keep the awesome posts depicting your battle coming.
On the platform you find something you never thought you'd see again. It's a GRAND PIANO. You remember back when you were a little kid, your SIS decided you needed to learn an instrument. You picked this one, though you never explained why.
You WEREN'T VERY GOOD AT IT. Every day she would stand behind you and judge your (lack of) progress. You eventually convinced her to let you quit. At least, publicly. In secret, you kept practicing. You think it was your only secret that she never found out. As much as you'd love the riff of a guitar, or the pounding rhythm of a drum, you always wanted to learn this instrument so you could learn to play your FAVORITE SONG.
And you guess now is as good a time as any. You sit down, and take a deep breath. Then you begin to hit the keys...
>Dirk-F2: Prepare
You head back outside and meet up with KAMINASPRITE again, clutching the SWORD OF TRUTH. You can feel the warmth behind this blade. You can tell this sword will do great things long after you're gone. But for now, you will use it to deal righteous vengeance on the monster who murdered your friends. Or at least, the one who will, given the chance.
You say your goodbyes with your sprite friend before strapping on the JETPACK and taking off. It's going to take a while to get to DERSE from here, but you're in it for the long haul.
So yeah, I tried to think of a single instrument piece and this was the only thing that really came to mind. Incidentally, this is now canon for Dirk's voice.
You think that went well.Granted,all they did was shrug but hey,you will take that as a good sign.And with that little business sown,its time for you to do what you came here to do.
Of course you make sure to give your MOTHER'S CAT fresh food and water before you think about anything else.Your MOTHER may be a prisoner of Derse,but you have little doubt she could still kick your ass if you let her cat die from thirst or hunger.
With that done only one thing left to do.
You return to your ROOM,still in largely the same shape as it was last time you were here,and you gently lay on your bed.You don't want to break it by jumping onto it in heavy ARMOR.
You look up at the ceiling,thinking of everything that has happen,and is still to come.So much to do and so little time it seems.And your friends as fighting among each other.This you will not allow.You all need to stand united,or all hope will be lost.
With a last sigh,you close your eyes and drift to a little sleep.Prospit awaits.
>Dirk: The notes of your melody echo around you, wafting through the mist and fog of your surroundings. As your fingers flow over the ivory keys, as your voice chants along, the music flows through the air, reverberating through the piano, through the stairs, through you. The floating orbs, their flickering light slowly growing stronger, pushing away the darkness, begin to descend.
As your soul pours out through your fingers, the lights begin to encircle you, slowly forming an orbit around the desolate dais. They seem to twinkle along with the music, shining brighter and growing dimmer as your tempo changes.
You play for what might have been a short eternity, your music and emotions soaring through the mists. Like all things, however, your song eventually draws to a close, your notes and tempo slowly petering out with one final, absolute, beautiful, "Hallelujah."
As the last reverberations of your voice fade away, swallowed by the absolute darkness surrounding you, the mysterious orbs, still orbiting you, begin to descend into the stone beneath you. The gray, ancient rock begins to shine with a life all its own, rays of gentle blue reaching into the empty oblivion far above you. A series of carvings inscribed in the platform?s center, unnoticed by you before, glow with shades of dark green energy, winding around each other in a recognizable pattern: An enormous, ten pronged cog, stretching all the way across the dais, each tooth touching the platform's edge. Set in the middle of the cog is another familiar pattern, that of an old-fashioned clock face, much like the one tucked away in your SYLLADEX.
Soon, the glowing symbols are all you can see, their light nearly blinding you, even through your shades. That?s when you hear the ticking.
Like the strikes of an enormous clock, forever alternating between its countless ticks and tocks, the sound echoes around you, growing louder and louder. Though you cannot tell what's making the noise, you can sense that whatever it is, it's located somewhere below you, hiding somewhere in that unyielding darkness. And it?s getting closer.
CLANG.
With the grinding of metal against stone, an enormous hand, the size of your torso, slams onto the dais, blocking a bit of the platform?s light with its size. Countless gears and pistons, locked together in an impossibly intricate dance, make up the appendage, their ticking and grinding filling your ears as fingers grip and joints creak. The hand's wrist, as it slowly bends upwards, proves to be attached to a metallic arm; this arm in turn is joined to a massive body, slowly rising upwards.
The mysterious form climbs onto the platform, its body emitting all sorts of clicks and whirrs and clanks and clacks and hums and buzzes and ticks and tocks and grinds and every other mechanical noise imaginable. Sluggishly, the massive silhouette forces itself erect, standing at easily three times your own height. You find yourself staring at a pair of boot-clad legs, one covered by plates of metal, the other made of flesh, with tubes sticking out of it at odd intervals.
Moving your gaze higher, past the one knee comprised of cogs and rods and the other made of yellowed bone, you find yourself staring at a mismatched pair of arms. The left, the one that had latched onto the platform before, was a rather fanciful, steel affair, its long, sharp digits easily reaching its owner's knees. Mechanisms clacked back and forth as the fingers slowly balled into a fist, and then relaxed, hanging loosely. The right arm, on the other hand (no pun intended) was clearly made of flesh and bone, albeit ancient examples of both. Thin and emaciated, the limb looked as though it could snap at any moment; it seemed that the only thing keeping it attached to the figure?s body was a series of transparent tubes and hoses running through the appendage, pumping some black liquid with a steady rhythm. A cluster of these pipes circled about the being?s shoulder, their oily contents occasionally pausing on their journey as they traveled through the mass of transits.
These tubes looped and crossed across the being?s torso, slipping in and out of patches of flesh, and running over blots of metal screws and slowly turning gears. Shreds of cloth, that might have shown with color a thousand years ago, clung desperately to a few spots, as though attempting to provide some slight modicum of modesty. One of the places that remained uncovered draws your interest; a circular plate of glass stuck into the figure's left breast, surrounded on all sides by horrifically scarred flesh. Beneath this transparent portal, flexing weakly but steadily, lies what appears to be a human heart. Tubes, identical to the ones that wind their way around the rest of the being?s body, stick into the dilapidated organ, the strange black ichor pumping through them.
Slung across the figure's back are three massive rods of metal; such is their size that it takes you a moment to recognize them as keys. The keys' bows (The top part that you turn. I learned something new today!) are each forged in the shape of a clock?s face, each reading a different time. The teeth cover most of the keys' blades, forming complex, intricate patterns and shapes, protruding from every possible angle. Chains, forged from black iron, hold the keys close to the being?s body; they look almost impossible to break.
Finally, your eyes drift up to the figure?s head. A marred, split visage greets you; one half of the being's face is covered by flesh, disfigured by criss-crossing staples and stiches. The other half is predictably forged of steel. Two glinting orbs rest in the eye sockets, countless tiny mechanisms whirring about as they stare at you, unmoving, unblinking. A ragged hood, made of the same material as the rest of the ruined cloth, frames the face with its last few threads.
For a few moments, the being simply stares at you, analyzing you with its never-blinking eyes. Then, slowly, painfully, its jaw pries open, the groan of metal and bone scratching your ears with its harsh resonance. An old voice, one tarnished by a mechanical, robotic edge, pours forth from the ancient hole, its words slowly reaching you.
>Greg: You feel the familiar sensation of slumber slipping over you, gently drowning your thoughts in its ethereal grip. Then, of course, you get the annoying feeling of waking up in the morning, as your eyes flip open to your golden bedroom. At least this body isn't so ungodly sore; waking up back on LOCAF is going to be painful.
Right, let's see here. Got your bedroom here, with your posters, bookcase (Still missing the tome you lent to LS, of course), and bed. Skaia is right outside the window, what with all its fancy clouds and shiny lights. You can also spot the other two towers, glancing out your window. Though Rich's still looks pretty normal, you note a couple of ropes hanging from one of Chas' windows.
You can also hear the low wailing of distant sirens; sounds like they're coming from the Palace.
>Chas: Um... uh... Let's see here... HATE BEAM EYE BLAST? Anyone else here remember "Jackie Chan Adventures?" No? Just me? ...Shoot.
Your OCULAR ASSAULT, using darkness of the grim variety as a power source, tears through the OCCULUS, leaving a smoking hole in the creature's chest. It blinks at its new cavity in mild surprise, before shrugging it off and resuming its attack.
Yeah, OCCULUSI are kind of tough.
A massive fist swings through the air, about to pound you into dust with its weight. Your last attack left you breathless; you don't have time to get out of the way! As the enormous limb grows closer, and closer, you find yourself contemplating the mortality of man, the possibility of an afterlife, and the reason why women act so weird.
Time seems to slow down, as your doom grows ever nearer. Then, it skips. Yeah, this is supposed to be a montage, after all.
Next thing you know, you're hanging by one hand from the crumbling ceiling, your PAINIUM SPORK clasped in your other. A single OCCULUS stands beneath you, trying, and failing, to reach you.
You spot Rich standing in the middle of a pack of OGRES, his STRETTO BURST keeping them at bay. For some reason, he seems incredibly cheerful.
>XL: Read
You have no clue what the heck the language is written in! For all you know, it could be propaganda for Dersite empire to inspire the warriors going off into battle.
...Or it could be graffiti from a dyslexic person.
>XL: Make your own graffiti
You slash something on the wall that completely solidifies your ascent into a new persona.
"THE MAGE IS DEAD. OUR LIFE MAY BEGIN."
Genius, if you do say so yourself.
>XL: Investigate the coordinates of escapees
You scurry to whereever the first claim you hear leads you.
You stand there speechless, trying to think of some kind of magical weapon that can turn the tides against your hated and unmet foe, the BLACK QUEEN. You think to yourself, what can defeat an almighty boss enemy? A SWORD, maybe? Some kind of ultimate, unbeatable SWORD. Yeah, that's it. You wish for--
[21:39] -- studiousSchemer [SS] began pestering stabsSalesman [SS] at 21:39 --
[21:39] SS: I know what you're thinking, Dirk.
[21:39] SS: Don't do it.
[21:39] SS: =|==> Wait... how did you know what I was thinking?
[21:39] SS: I'm you, remember? I know how you think.
[21:39] SS: =|==> But you can't possibly know what I'm doing right now!
[21:39] SS: Wrong again, bucko.
[21:40] SS: You're currently in your Denizen's lair, being offered a chance to build anything you desire.
[21:40] SS: =|==> ...OK I am getting fucking sick of you with your know it all shit.
[21:40] SS: =|==> At least it kind of made sense before.
[21:40] SS: =|==> But seriously how can you possibly know that?
[21:40] SS: Because we've met.
[21:40] SS: =|==> When??
[21:41] SS: Well, little known fact, but sometimes I lie.
[21:41] SS: You know that little private chat we had during our training?
[21:41] SS: What I told you about my escape to your timeline?
[21:41] SS: =|==> Yeah, I do. You said you'd caught a quick glimpse of Daedalus, and that was how you knew about him.
[21:41] SS: Well, I lied.
[21:42] SS: I didn't catch a glimpse of him.
[21:42] SS: I saw a lot more than that.
[21:42] SS: =|==> Going to a weird place...
[21:42] SS: Shut up you sick fuck.
[21:42] SS: I'm trying to tell a story here.
[21:42] SS: =|==> Sheesh, everyone's a critic.
[21:42] SS: Anyways, like I said.
[21:42] SS: He wasn't just a quick sideshow.
[21:42] SS: He was how I got back to here.
[21:43] SS: =|==> He was? But... he's so blatantly a villain.
[21:43] SS: Sometimes your genre savvy fails, Dirk.
[21:43] SS: Sometimes tropes are specifically subverted.
[21:43] SS: Turns out, the denizens are on our side to a certain degree.
[21:43] SS: =|==> But, the iguanas said...
[21:44] SS: The iguanas said a lot of shit. But they're not the brightest of lizards if you haven't noticed.
[21:44] SS: Daedalus listened to me explain my plan to save everyone, but by that point the Black Queen and her agents had managed to destroy all of my gear.
[21:44] SS: They blew up our house, too, so I couldn't alchemize anything.
[21:45] SS: We were low on time, so he crafted me some basic clothes, our old katana, and a stop watch to go back and fix everything.
[21:45] SS: =|==> I see... I guess there's more to him than I thought then.
[21:45] SS: =|==> But I still have one question.
[21:45] SS: =|==> Why don't you want me to make a weapon?
[21:46] SS: =|==> A weapon strong enough to defeat the Black Queen?
[21:46] SS: Because I already made it.
[21:46] SS: =|==> W-what? When?
[21:46] SS: Just a moment ago.
[21:46] SS: You'll get it sooner or later, so right now just hold off on that waste of a wish, because you need to start thinking long term.
[21:46] SS: Tell me, once the Queen is dead, what do you plan to do about the King?
[21:46] SS: =|==> The... King.
[21:46] SS: =|==> Shit.
[21:46] SS: =|==> I forgot about him entirely.
[21:47] SS: Yeah, but I'm not surprised. You expected me to do all the planning forever, am I right?
[21:47] SS: Don't bother answering.
[21:47] SS: I know I'm right.
[21:47] SS: But as you should remember, I'm a beta Dirk.
[21:47] SS: I can't last forever.
[21:47] SS: By rights I should be dead right now.
[21:48] SS: It's a miracle enough I've been able to deal with this plan, but right now the best I can do is set the cards.
[21:48] SS: Set them in a way so you can take down the Queen.
[21:48] SS: =|==> But once you do that...
[21:48] SS: You're on your own, pal.
[21:48] SS: It's time I told you something.
[21:49] SS: Chas is your best friend, and he can be inspirational when he puts his mind to it.
[21:49] SS: But
[21:49] SS: He is lacking something.
[21:49] SS: Tactics.
[21:49] SS: Strategems.
[21:49] SS: Wicked bizznasty marshalling skills to lead armies and spring traps.
[21:49] SS: You have those skills, Dirk.
[21:50] SS: =|==> Oh no, don't pull that bullshit.
[21:50] SS: Oh I'm pulling that bullshit.
[21:50] SS: You may not want to be the leader. You want Chas to lead, because you're certain he's a better leader.
[21:50] SS: And he is, in a way.
[21:50] SS: But a Time player's responsibility is to be the fucking man with the plan.
[21:51] SS: Because, you're the guy who can go back and forth in time, pulling everybody's little puppet strings like some kind of douchey anime rapping puppeteer.
[21:51] SS: You can do it, Dirk. I know you can. So man up, train your eyes on the horizon, and start marching forward.
[21:52] SS: =|==> Um... thanks for the inspiration, me.
[21:52] SS: =|==> But why are you suddenly getting all pushy and encouraging like this?
[21:52] SS: Because this is the last time we'll ever speak.
[21:52] SS: From my perspective, at least.
[21:52] SS: And I figured that before I go I should make sure you know what you need to.
[21:53] SS: Since, once I'm gone you'll be my replacement, for coordinating all the little pieces on this chess board.
[21:54] SS: =|==> Wait, how do you know that this is the last time we'll talk?
[21:54] SS: I'm riding a jetpack right now to Derse. I'm going to hide out there until you guys spring your attack. Then I'm going to free our guardians, and distract the Queen long enough for you to escape.
[21:54] SS: =|==> Don't say distract.
[21:54] SS: =|==> You mean kill.
[21:54] SS: =|==> Because I'm going to be right there helping you.
[21:54] SS: No,
[21:54] SS: I do mean distract.
[21:54] SS: But I do expect you to be there.
[21:55] SS: So don't forget to show up.
[21:55] SS: Goodbye, Alpha Dirk. Push your friend forward so he can lead your shitty-assed team to victory.
[21:55] SS: =|==> Goodbye, Beta Dirk.
[21:55] SS: =|==> Oh shit
[21:55] SS: =|==> Wait
[21:55] SS: =|==> You never said what I was supposed to ask him to build!
[21:56] SS: Take this advice, then: pierce the heavens with your drill, and break straight through. There, you'll find the key to victory for your session, and for all sessions.
[21:57] SS: See you, cowboy.
[21:57] -- studiousSchemer [SS] ceased pestering stabsSalesman [SS] at 21:57 --
[21:57] SS: =|==> Mysterious fuck to the bitter end, aren't you...
[21:57] stabsSalesman [SS] ceased pestering -- studiousSchemer [SS] at 21:57 --
You look at the Builder, a new idea forming. You toss him your SHADES so he can see the image of your request.
"I want you to build the GURREN LAGANN!"
If I'm taking too many fast and loose breaks from your canon Pappy, let me know so I can edit.
Great.You have been back in Prospit all of about thirty seconds and there is all ready trouble.Oh well,a Hero's work is never done.You make a mental note to check Chas' Tower later to check on the whole hanging ropes thing.Granted,you very much doubt someone would try to kill his dreamself here,but you would rather be safe then sorry,And he is still a friend after all,even if he is acting like a complete jerk ass.But first it may be wise to check that siren noise.
You leap out your window,flying through the skies of Prospit and land on the ground in front of the Palace of Prospit.
Time to see what all the noise is about.With the way this day has gone,probably trouble.
>Xavier: You can hear the wailing of police sirens echoing down one of the many alleyways leading into the marketplace; heading down said passage leads you to one of Derse's Darkened Streets [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kb_v4KCml-s]. Peering down the largely deserted boulevard, you can spot a cluster of several large Dersite soldiers, forming a semi-circle in front of a predictably purple building; several of them clutching torches flashing red and blue. Most of their uniforms have been defaced by crude images and funny captions, all scrawled in multiple hues of paint.
You can make out a tall figure standing in the midst of the Dersites, pinned between them and the building, brandishing a PAINTBRUSH and wearing a horrifying TANK-TOP and SPANDEX SHORTS. It seems that he and the soldiers are at a stalemate; neither party is advancing or retreating.
>Chas: Using your REFERENCES TO MOVIES AND FILMS THAT I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THEMED ATTACK, you manage to land on top of the massive Underling, and presumably proceed to deal quite a bit of damage. Enough to cause said beastie to explode in a fountain of Grist and oil.
Well, that was certainly effective, and not simply hurried up because the godlike being watching over you and your compatriots finds himself scrambling about to find enough material to throw a post together. Nope, not that way at all.
>Dirk: ...And this is why I love this RP. Because every page or so, one of you guys comes up with something that I just LOVE to run with.
With a flick of his mechanical arm, almost too fast for your eyes to follow, Daedalus snatches your SHADES out of the air, holding the ocular coverings in between two particularly large fingers. A few whirs and clicks emit from his hand, and a holographic projection of the titular Gunman is projected into the air, slowly rotating.
If it was possible for a few thousand year old machine-human hybrid with inordinate amounts of emotional trauma to look surprised, you guess Daedalus' face is what it would look like.
"...A toy? A plaything ripped from the stories of a long dead world?"
The Denizen's voice takes on a steely edge (Pun totally intended), as he continues to address you.
"Do you take me for a charlatan, a purveyor of trinkets and baubles? I offer you anything you desire, and you request an empty, lifeless machine? Pah. At least your future presence had some respect for my skills. Modifying your artifact to rip through the timelines, now that was a challenge. Replicating a vessel from your fallen world? Hardly.
"Make no mistake, if this is your choice, then so be it. I will give shape to it. However, a word of caution," As he speaks, Daedalus' eyes briefly flicker, before resuming their prior luminescence. "A decision made in haste, a foolish choice, can lead to burdens beyond your greatest nightmares. Be sure that this is what you want."
At CJ: No worries, you're doing fine. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I love it when people contribute stuff to plot and backstory. At least, that's true so long as I can understand said addendum, and it makes sense to a certain degree. As it so happens, I think that Future-Dirk's interactions with Daedalus would fit his personality perfectly.
That said, bit of a heads-up: Getting your own Gurren Lagann is not going to mean that you get access to a robot with limitless energy, capable of performing a Giga Drill Breaker the size of the universe. It means that you'll get a humanoid mech that can't stand under its own weight (As awesome as the show was, TTGL did kind of spit in the face of physics).
Also, please note that is has not been said that Dirk is obligated to make a decision now, or at all.
>Greg: As you alight in front of the Palace, you hear the grinding of enormous gears, and the roar of a thousand engines. Before your eyes, hundreds of golden ships lift into the air, the majority of Prospit's reserve forces. It looks like it's time to begin the assault on Derse.
The fleet begins their ascent, slowly breaking free from the golden world's orbit. Judging by their current speed, it'll be a few hours before they reach their destination.
"For the record, it was my future self that suggested this mech to me. And I think I know why. I have no idea what, but something is coming. Something bigger than anything SBurb has in store. I don't know what had my future self so worried, but I take stock in his final request of me. And that was asking you to make the Gurren Lagann. So if that's too much for the great Builder, I have a challenge. Make me a way to replicate those powers, so I can face the danger that is coming."
In response, all I can say is this Pappy: I haven't spat in the face of physics yet? Choice is still yours on workability. Also for context, the Gurren Lagann was not Future Dirk's response to the Black King. It was for Lord English.
...Ever have one of those moments where whatever paper/post/argument you're in the midst of writing makes perfect sense, but after coming back and looking at it later, you realize that you have literally no idea what you're talking about?
Because that seems to happen to me a lot these days.
Yeah, even assuming that you guys' fray-motifs and other powers fall outside of physics' thrall, I've still given you plenty of items that laugh in Newton's face. So, yeah, ignore that last comment. Please excuse my occasional insanity, and carry on.
Regardless, I like your latest request quite a bit more. Gonna have fun with that.
>MetroidNut: Apologize for being generally out-of-it lately.
Sorry, shitty week. I'm afraid it's safe to say my posts will be sporadic-at-best until, well, probably next Thursday.
>Rich: Continue montage.
You commence an action shot showing you firing your weapon at the OGRES. You're hitting a few of them, but you've never actually been very good at aiming while in flight! You proceed to get punched in the gut and sent flying. You hit a nearby WALL with a thud. After taking a few seconds to regain your bearings, you take once more to the skies...
Daedalus tosses your shades back to you; as he does, you hear a few clicks emitting from the ground beneath you. The dais begins to sink downward, eventually settling into a circular indent far below. As it locks in place, the glowing runes and glyphs that illuminated your descent begin to fade. The orbs of light that had powered the platform emerge from the dormant device and slowly spread out, shedding light on your surroundings.
You seem to be in the middle of a vast, flat plain of rock and stone, partially shrouded by fog and mist. You can barely make out a few odd lines carved into the ground. Far off in the distance, you can see a dim, red glow. It is towards this distant glow that Daedalus begins marching, his massive strides quickly leaving you behind. As he grows further and further away, he gives you a parting remark:
"By the time you make it through, it will be completed. Do not die."
As you make to follow the Denizen, a series of walls and pillars suddenly bursts up from the ground, forming a labyrinth of passages all around you. For the next few minutes, you can hear the sound of stone clattering against stone, as paths reform and walls shift. Eventually, however, all grows silent; it seems that the maze has finally settled down.
There are four entrances into the labyrinth, one to your front, your right, left, and back. A series of runes are carved into the rock above each of them; they read Blood, Iron, Fire, and Shadow, respectively.
>Chas and Rich: You proceed to thoroughly mop the floor with your remaining adversaries; the Underlings are no match for the combined might of two Heroes.
>XL: As you rush into the midst of the Dersites, spouting off pleas to spare Rich's UNCLE's life, you find yourself bumping into the back of a massive, hulking form. Slowly, the HERETIC BLUDGEONER turns around to glare at you.
"Hey, you ain't LA."
You suddenly find HB's rather large, meaty hand, wrapping around your throat. You also find that it's quite difficult to breathe while being held three feet in the air, and while having your esophagus squeezed tighter then an accordion. ...Wow, that was a horrid metaphor. As your vision slowly begins to fade away, you gaze into the pair of pure-white eyes shooting daggers at you.
"Nah, no way you're LA. At best, you might be the XENOPHOBIC LOSER, but even that's a stretch." A devilish grin crossed HB's face as you begin gasping for breath, your panicked struggling proving ineffective against his brute strength. Unarmed and unable to escape his grasp, you might be kind of fucked.
"I tell you what, we don't really care for impostors 'round here. Ya know what we do to 'em? Let me tell ya about this time me and DD got our mitts on this spy from Prospit..." Luckily for you, your hearing starts going out as HB begins his rather disturbing tale. Seriously, it's a good thing you're not hearing this; you would never be able to look at rubber chickens the same way ever again. And that part with the Rubiks Cube... gah.
As your sight begins to black out, you can barely make out the figure of UNCLE behind HB. Looks like he's frantically gesturing to someone or something. Well, whatever it is, you sure hope that it's more important than saving your life. I mean, as far as last sights go, this is a pretty sorry excuse for one. Some gross old guy jumping up and down, waving his arms around, spandex short shorts flapping uncomfortably high, the ugly mug of some Dersite strangling you, a black cat sitting on his head...
What was that last one?
A flash of metal crosses your vision; next thing you know, you're lying on your back, gasping down air, HB's hand and half of his arm still wrapped around your throat. You can dimly hear the sounds of clanging metal and cracking walls as the crowd around you is swiftly dispatched by UNCLE and a black-clad, feminine figure. You note that a pair of KUNAI have been lightly deposited on your chest.
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