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 Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 3:59 pm
"You won't, Master, I promise." he said quickly as he continued cleaning up the chapel as quickly and effectively as he could. He knew that if he was caught not working again he was going to be in big trouble. With a shudder he remembered what Alexander had told him when he was first brought in, that if he ever displeased him he would give him torments unlike he had ever expeirienced before.
Kalen didn't know who the man in black was, but he scared him a lot. He really hoped he wasn't going to come back, not only becuase of how he scared him, but also because he didn't want to risk being caught not working again. If he did come back, Kalen would just have to keep on working no matter what.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 8:57 pm
Somewhere out in the deadlands around Necropolita, among the graves and crypts there was a zombie.
Well... No s**t.
Except one moved with the swiftness of purpose. Wandering corpses meandered in widely dispersed groups hoping to catch a glimpse of brains. Or something.
Tombs, in an old Victorian-era suit stood hunched over a grave plot. Shovel in hand, his withered old head stared down into the damp soil. This only had another body in it; nothing he was looking for. Adjusting his tophat, Tombs turned to unearth another plot of earth.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 9:34 pm
And God said let there be light...
From high above the city, past the earth that separated it from the rest of the world, hovering majestically somewhere in the middle of the Northernlands, rested Michael. His eyes were open, but one wouldn't be able to tell where his gaze was directed because they flared a pure white flame. His flesh was pale, but with an etherial glow surrounding the finely sculpted physique that made him look suitably angelic.
A passionate smile crossing his face, the 'man' (since angels were androgynous, but he looked quite male), would reach with his right hand to the hilt of the sword that rested as his left hip. Aside from the belt that held the sheath of his blade, the angel wore single thonged sandals and a flowing, almost skirt-like loincloth that went down to his knees. Around his left forearm was a shining bracer of an unknown metal. With a sharp click and resounding shing, Michael would draw his blade, the sword granted to him from the infinite armory of the Lord setting aflame immediately as it was withdrawn, painting a firey line across the barren sky.
Rearing back his right arm, gripping the sword tightly, Michael would focus on a point in the ground. With a faint grin and a haunting multi-voiced roar, he would swing downwards directly for the earth, a tornado of fire issuing from the point of the blade and piercing the surface with ease, burrowing straight through the stone and bones and earth and bursting out the other side, right through the ceiling of Necropolita II. Despite the barriers and magical wards the unholy city held, nothing could resist the will of God Himself, and following his fire Michael would dive headfirst into the hole he'd created, his six wings flaring out behind him as he entered into the bounds of the city, loose feathers falling off gently and dispering into nothing.
Guided by the light of his Lord, Michael would swiftly make his way towards his prey, sparks of fire flying off the sword as more feathers fell off the wings, the city's aura affecting the angel's ability to manifest itself in this earthly realm. However, even at half strength he'd have more than enough power to defeat the beast he'd been set against. And lo, he'd be upon the creature, his light shining valiantly despite the lack of hope and bright in the underdark.
"Amen," an odd thing to say, considering things were just beginning.
But truly was this the hammer of God, and nothing could resist it.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 9:45 pm
Tombs could only watch as Bird Man plunged through a whole hell of a lot. Flaming swords were nice, but Tombs really lacked any kind of fear instinct. Being dead made you care about very little. "Hmph." An earthly groan sounding of rocks and stones grinding against each other as Tombs' ancient vocal chords forced speech. Lifting the shovel slightly, stepping away from the open grave plots on either side of him, he looked down. And stabbed his shovel tip into the earth, striking something solid just beneath the surface. The clank of metal on stone would maybe echo once before a massive stone pillar erected itself before Tombs; between him and the angel. Fifteen feet tall, four feet across in a perfect square. Perched on the tip of the pillar were small stone sculptures of angelic cherubs facing in the cardinal directions. Below that, among the decorations and engravings was large faced Gothic lettering. HERE LIES MICHAEL
SERVANT OF OUR LORD
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 9:59 pm
If Michael had more human-like emotions, he might've smiled at the sentiment implied by the tombstone, but certain matters of what it took to actually destroy or 'kill' an angel would cause the humour to be lost on his most innocent of minds. For truly, while it was his task to purge the most evil of evils from God's favoured plain, he could not comprehend their thoughts or actions, he could not understand evil. This fact had made the Morningstar's revolt all the more disturbing, but that was another tale.
Sadly, for the same reason the tomb lost its effect on the angel, so also did he fail to take part in the most basic of heroic rites, the offering of any last words. He had already said all he'd needed to say, and now Tombs needed to die... again. So ignoring all that irony, the angel would swoop in, bringing the blade up over his left shoulder to swipe horizontally across the zombie's waist, cleaving him in two.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 10:09 pm
Whoosh
Flop
Tombs' upper half hit the ground, landing on his new a**. The lower half fell to it's knees and hit the ground in a separate direction from it's counter-part.
No blood. No organs. No nerves, no pain, just dust. Brittle bones would have snapped under the force and let out a small plume of dust which settled quickly.
Tombs managed to balance on one palm and a short section of spinal chord, and use the shovel as a staff of sorts. With its end jammed into the ground Tombs could keep himself upright.
Though the smell would be pretty intense. Being in a rotting graveyard while being in sword-reach of a who-knows-how-old corpse was one thing. Splitting said zombie in twain unleashed the collection of age inside. Gross.
It seemed to attract flies by the swarm; whole opaque clouds of buzzing insects. Rather than going for the obvious choice, the corpse, they went for the pretty-boy angel. Landing on him by the pound.
Just landing on the skin before taking off again. No damage done, but it'd be pretty annoying.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 10:13 pm
Satisfied, Michael would fly past, turning around midflight to survey his work. Frowning at the thing's apparent ability to continue functioning, he'd soon be blanketed with a torrent of flies. Unaffected by their presense physically (the one's touching him would burst into flames as a minor unholy presence conflicted with a major holy one), he would still be distracted visually, and would point his sword out in front of him. Squinting with concentration, the blade would flare even brighter, its flames extending to encompass all the insects around him, all of them dropping like flies.
No pun intended, Michael didn't know how to make jokes.
He'd swoop down again, this time with a precise upwards vertical swing along Tombs' centerline.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 10:21 pm
The sword would go up, the corpse would go down. A neatly place 6x3' hole where Tombs used to be. Michael, while circling around, would have to notice the new found six foot deep grave where his target once was.
Tombs and his legs were safe below ground level. He'd pull himself over and situate it to where he could just plug his legs back in. Paraplegia really sucked.
Meanwhile, those flies would just cook. Another horde of swarming insects would approach with more purpose. Larger, now flies, wasps, and mosquitoes would be aiming for Michael's face. Go up his nose, poke him in the eye, whatever really.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 10:35 pm
A furious expression would find its way across Michael's face. While some of the more complex feelings failed him, he could easily understand frustration, and a simple monster such as Tombs shouldn't be causing him all this trouble. Like it'd been said, he was the hammer, a tool of irresistable force. One swing and it should be done.
So all these insects attempting to cover him were desperately annoying.
The bugs would still be burnt away, but the angel would feel more their contact with his being. He didn't have anything to speak of organs or human-like sensory functions, so even if the creatures invaded his flesh, it'd just mean they were closer to his sheer essence, and thus quicker to perish and be expelled through his holy flesh. Still, he saw with his eyes when the light of God wasn't completely with him, and they insisted on blinding him.
Attempting once more to finish this with one fatal blow, he'd raise his sword, aiming for the hole in the ground that signified Tombs final resting place. Unfettered by the insects, he'd just concentrate on this one point, swinging his blade downwards in a blow quite similar to the one with which he'd entered the underdark, but with many degrees less force.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 10:46 pm
Trying to stand on uneven legs, Tombs was affronted by the holy flame. Thrashed to the floor of his grave his pale dead skin grew tight like a drum. Sparse hairs shriveled into ash, skin blackened, muscles sizzled and curled. Yet, Tombs still lived.
Metaphorically.
A being such as Michael would know as well as Tombs just why this corpse was so defiant. Beings of force, of will, needing no body at all. But unlike Michael, Tombs was so intrinsically bound to the corpse that a need for existence persisted.
A weakness.
Tombs lay in his grave as a charred corpse. Muscles contracted and pulled him into the fetal position as ligaments, tendons, and muscles all pulled taught.
Birds of prey joined in. A murder of crows emerged amidst the insect swarm. Beaks would poke, prod, and tear. Rending any hair they could muster from Michael, gouging at eyes, pulling at ears.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 10:58 pm
Michael's wings would spread out straight as the angel dropped, standing at the foot of the grave with the sword held in both hands, raised over his head. The birds would tear away at his flesh, bits of golden 'blood' seaping from the open wounds as his hair frayed and his eyes tore open, the white flame contained inside them burning straight forwards like fire from a blowtorch.
But even as the wounds were opened they swiftly closed up again, the viscuous golden fluid sucking up back inside the holes, hairs re-issuing from his scalp as quickly as they were torn out. Like Satan had healed after Michael cut a hole in his side, so did each scratch repair itself with ease. The pain was immense, but God was still with His angel, and He had yet to forsake him.
The flames engulfing the entire sword and most of Michael's arms, the angel would stab downwards.
The blast itself would be seen as a soft white light through the hole he'd made in the earth.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 11:06 pm
Tombs, defenseless as he was, did nothing to stop it. He couldn't; quite simply. God had it out for him and Tombs was yet powerful enough to defy that will.
For a time, he would rest. Blasted back to hell by Michael's flaming sword.
He'd be back.
The ground shook momentarily as the massive pillar of stone slipped back into the ground. Tombs' grave filled again with dirt.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 11:11 pm
Like he'd said, Amen.
Smiling with some sort of inner pride at being able to complete God's work, Michael would flap his wings towards the earth, propelling himself swiftly upwards. With some effort, he'd rocket up and out of the hole he'd made, exiting through it with a flash of white light and something that sounded like the ringing of a bell as he sheathed his sword. Holding his arms at his sides, he'd continue up and up through the atmosphere, disappearing into a cloud and never coming out of it.
The Lord's will be done.
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Posted: Sat Dec 09, 2006 4:21 pm
"You'll never get this place cleaned up at the rate you're going," said the familiar voice of the black-robed figure, reappearing in the same spot he had vanished from some twenty minutes ago. He was sitting upon the altar again, still smoking a clove, watching the boy work.
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Posted: Sat Dec 09, 2006 9:32 pm
"Well I gotta do my best, if my Master comes in and I'm not working again I'll be in big trouble." Kalen said. He just glanced up at the alter, not really needing to confirm what he knew, that it was the same very creepy man that had been talking to him before. He just kept right on cleaning.
He honestly didn't know how he was expected to clean this entire place up all by himself, but if he did his very best to get it clean then no reasonable man would punish him for it.
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