The contraption consists of three parts: The fabrication, the assembly, and the setup.
The execution consists of two parts: The baiting, the luring, and the deployment.
The finale consists of one part: Death.
Perhaps the finality of the act was what drew him to it. During all the hours spent carefully constructing the scene, he had the opportunity to reflect on his own motivations and the rewards he would reap for coaxing his fantasies into reality. He mentally catalogued, in a way that would make Kafka proud, the absolute facts of his venture. The possibilities of the outcomes, branching from a Schrödinger effect to nothing short of a miracle. He considered his reactions, measured his actions, discovered his internal motivations. Overall he considered it an enlightening experience, and a highly meditative task. Were he friendly with he comrades, he would recommend it without a second thought.
The orchestrated event remained suspended from the crane, with a variety of ropes splaying out from their central location. They snaked around their victim solemnly, and the man within their repeating folds hung upside down, bleary with exhaustion and fraught with nerves. Though he groaned and struggled against his unyielding bonds, Bischofite doubted he understood the gravity of his situation, or appreciated the amount of thought and care that lent to his current predicament. Maybe he had an inkling of an idea, but it produced little more than a rancorous hatred for the black-haired captain.
Perhaps that only flattered the man.
Though it required a great deal of effort, he finished his composition in a way that any composer would appreciate. The first and final note came full circle of one another, and tied the symphony together in a fitting, albeit monstrous, fashion. Despite the physical exertion in finishing the piece, it maintained its own tenuous beauty. Should he hook an unwitting captive audience that night, certainly they would appreciate its effective simplicity.
The man bound in ropes hung from the crane via a length of airplane cable. This was no easy feat to manage; between the man's incessant fighting for survival and the amount of effort required to attach the cable to both his feet and the crane's thick steel cord, he found the task nearly insurmountable. Upon its successful completion, the ropes were applied in a winding fashion, encompassing the captain's victim from ankles to shoulders, restricting his ceaseless, superfluous struggles. As each rope tapered off from his body, the captain wound them around various steel poles in the vicinity of the crane, and finally dropped them next to a winch system on the back of another vehicle. He chose this object for its spring-loaded retraction, and after tugging out a great deal of the steel rope, he tied the loose ropes to the crank on the side.
Despite the heavy pressure the taut ropes exerted on the man's body, his experimental setup remained precariously functional. One final touch was necessary to complete the project, to finish his cacophonous symphony laced with the groans of pressure-induced torture. With the remaining length of steel cable stemming from the winch, he looped the cable around the man's neck and secured it. It hung loose, though if the ropes snapped, they would surely strangle the stranger with little effort. Such was the nature of the winch.
Finally, after hours of meticulous setup, he hoisted the man into the air via the crane's hydraulic system. He hung a good thirty feet, enough to ensure certain doom should he come unhooked from the peculiar plot. It became his failsafe, should his strange machinations fail to come to fruition. And, if his devious little fishing expedition yielded not a single senshi, then perhaps it would make an excellent news report.
Now he waited patiently, perched at the tip of the crane, occasionally kicking the steel cable to silence the man's protests. Bischofite required silence, an environment encouraging concentration, as he repeatedly scanned his surroundings for any sign of senshi activity. In a place so far removed from the typical bustling scene of Destiny City, he expected little.
However, his expectations were soon proven wrong.
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Posted: Tue Jun 18, 2013 3:24 pm
It was one of his alternation nights- staying in just one space, just around the University, all the time seemed like it could be dangerous. He'd taken up a system of two days-one day- the pair spent nearer to the campus district and the single further abroad in all the reaches of the city.
The single days were always more harrowing. He didn't know as many of the paths and buildings, he didn't know safe spaces to hide if he needed, he didn't know what to expect at all. And as much as some of the few others he'd met had advised- Maia, Athene, Aegir- he didn't have team or even a partner to patrol with. He didn't have anything still. Just a few numbers on his phone, that seemed as likely to be accessible as the police would be should he really get in a bind.
Something improbable is better than nothing at all? He dodged uncertainly along sidewalks and trees, then fences and buildings as the former grew sparse with industry. Then he felt it- a chaos signature. It felt strong, a good deal more than himself. They were alone, though, no others very near. And the signature wasn't moving.
It was curious on its own, but most of all it was the duty of the Senshi to protect the city and all that civilization stood for from the rot. He had to at least check it out, even in the face of a greater foe. Scouting it was not just option, it was necessity.
The signature felt like it was in the scrapyard to his left, so he leapt the fence and started precariously hopping along some of the i-beam frames that libraried the stacks of crushed vehicles and other detritus. The signature was further, a little further- then he saw the crane with its odd nebula of wires above- what was going on? What was in the wires? Sounds of protest, that sounded human. Was that a person in there?
A figure silhouetted at the top? It had to be the source. It was the center of the energy signature there. He tried to sound authoritative or stoic, but it came out a little more appalled to his own ears. "What are you doing?"
Who would just hang out in a scrapyard with a person spider-webbed to a crane?
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Posted: Wed Jun 19, 2013 8:52 am
Bischofite watched the admittedly weak senshi's approach and made no move to stop him. Though the boy assailed him in a very stereotypical fashion, Bischofite felt that their chance encounter might yield a wonderful night of fun, for the both of them. However, that feeling did not extend to the civilian dangling beneath him. Pity.
"I was waiting for you," he returned evenly. He stood from his precarious perch on the crane and began his descent down its neck. When he reached the ground, he began pacing around the various poles and struts that he'd wrapped the rope around. Each time he passed one, he touched it lightly with his fingertips, let his nails sing along their weathered surfaces. Occasionally he'd reach skyward and just barely brush the rope. As he paced, he spoke the hastily-contrived rules of their engagement; he hadn't given thought to it before. Another pity.
"I tried draining energy from him, but I decided I liked hearing him struggle and groan more zan I liked filling arbitrary quotas. Maybe you'll appreciate it for what it is - he's expressing his realization of his own mortality, somesing he didn't give a second sought to just hours before now. Curious how zat works - it's like we all need reminders zat we can die any moment." He offered the new arrival an enigmatic smile, and leaned against one of the poles. "But if my guesses are wors' anysing, I suspect zat you don't appreciate zis scene like I do. I sink you understand it, you know what would happen if ze ropes snap, and you can imagine how much pressure he's under right now. But..." He trailed off and tapped his finger against his chin. "You don't see people like I do."
Finally he beckoned for the senshi to follow him into the lopsided circle of poles and struts. They flanked the half-finished building adjacent to him, as if added as an afterthought. Perhaps the same could be said of his next proposal - another afterthought.
"You'll fight me if you want zis man to lif', child, but I don't blame you if you'd razzer walk away. I can already tell you zat your life is wors' more zan his, and I'd like to feel it weighted in my palm, like teeth." He flashed a dark grin to accentuate his statement. "If you win, I'll show you how to get him down wis'out snapping his neck. Of course, zat means you can't kill me or all your effort is for naught." Then again, the boy's efforts would accomplish more with Bischofite's demise than if he survived. "And if I win, you're dead. His fate is mine to decide. And..." He almost laughed. "You can run if you want. I won't hold it against you, but he might." With a curt nod toward the crane, he indicated his captive.
The black-haired captain held his arms out and materialized his chakrams efficiently. Though he had little practice with weapons recall as a lieutenant, he found he had a latent talent for it as a captain. Chaos-fueled power was a curious thing. "Now are you ready, or do you prefer to gawk at zis spectacle?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 19, 2013 3:07 pm
He had serious doubts that this feathered freak was waiting for him specifically as much as any unfortunate sot with the marks of Order coursing through their veins. He had no name in this war, having at most tangled with some youma and Wasp. And that other captain at the carnival.
The thought raised the hair on his arms. Protect your chest better this time, alright?
While the captain beckoned, Thraen kept his feet firmly planted, not following the man into the closer quarters of webbing right away. The proposal was distasteful, the insult 'child' was tawdry- they could both see they were not much different in age. Other definitions, such as soldiery and battlefield prowess were as inconsequential- anyone was a veteran as far as he cared after having a hand in their chest or he supposed, for the Negaverse, putting their hand in someone's chest. This wasn't playtime. Not for himself and he doubted very much it was for the captain despite his apparent flippancy. Only as playful as any predator.
Thraen's eyes were bright, and his jaw set to stern, looking from the hood of a hunk of metal at the glint of the metal circles. Those look sharp. This isn't going to go well. I need to keep something between us as much as possible until I can either tire him out or get him to fall asleep. Not bloody likely in this set up- it IS a set up. He has been waiting here for someone.
And he couldn't in good conscious walk away, even knowing that much. "Speak or do your effete will. I will hinder you, if I may."
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Posted: Fri Jun 21, 2013 10:50 pm
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"If you seek to hinder me, zen you'll haf' to do more zan stand zere and gawk. I'm flattered, really, but I sink ze man up zere expects more of you. Or do you speak to pay your dues, and indulge in his demise wis' me?" To test the boy's purported moral compass, Bischofite used a discarded box cutter to slice one of the ropes. It unraveled meekly, tumbled from around the man's body and collapsed into a lazy pile. Consequently, the winch groaned and the pressure redistributed amongst the still-constricted areas of the man's body.
Oh, did those cries sound sweeter than antifreeze.
Bischofite paced around the perimeter of the poles, waiting for the senshi to join him in his contrived domain. "I know what you're sinking - why did he use a box knife instead of his weapons? And perhaps in telling you zis, you'll learn to join me for a little dance. You see, zese sings -" he splayed the chakrams outward, and ran one across a pole. It rang out clearly into the night. "- zey are quite dull. Maybe I can cut butter wis' zem, but I suspect zey'll do nossing more zan bruise flesh or tear skin. Are you so scared of me now?" He flashed what he thought was a fairly welcoming smile.
"But... If you prefer to stand around and act tough, I can continue wis' sealing zis man's fate." Such a carefully orchestrated stage deserved an equally interested audience. Though he suspected the boy lacked a taste for the violent, surely he would appreciate the amount of time and effort that went into constructing this piece de resistance. If he didn't, well... Perhaps he'd appreciate Bischofite's remarkable depravity when considering a human life.
During his pacing, he hesitated just beneath one of the ropes and ran his fingers along its taut surface. He brushed the material with his thumb, and it emitted a low twang. "I suggest you join me, or zis one's next." Maybe the boy's hesitance was advantageous - he could use his inactivity as a reason to snap more ropes, and see which occurred first - the man's bones break under the pressure, and organs burst, or his neck snaps from the winch. As he considered the tangential hypothesis, he suspected the latter.
Posted: Wed Jun 26, 2013 7:57 pm
He'd had enough language classes, more than enough hours spent with immersion exercises and with chat partners to recognize the accent. Was this one a citizen? Did the Negaverse even apply to regular country borders? Ultimately, it didn't matter. It was as probable that the guy had a green card as that he didn't. These shores were a melting pot, and they were strongest that way. The captain was blathering more insults, more goads. Inconsequential. He had no use for the sweven of madmen.
The box cutter, however, wasn't. Time wasn't afforded to try to parse out the exact physics and how to release the man while the captain was standing. "You violate every inherent dignity and equality of natural law. "
Thraen obliged in action, leaping down and into the nexus of skeins. The first step had to be getting the captain on him instead of the hostage or the hostage's lines. It wasn't much of a prospect. But he went for it, keeping in the sprint until close-ish, then dropped under the roping instead of dealing with it like he was sliding into a base-trying to cleat the baseman (in this case the captain), to get them to fall over and drop the ball. Lose the out.
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Apologies on the delay
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Posted: Thu Jul 04, 2013 5:30 pm
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"Cute, but zat's a little long-winded, wouldn't you say?" He grinned at the senshi and tucked the box cutter into the folds of his uniform. Someone needed to learn the magnitude of few words spoken in driven tone. However, now wasn't the place to teach linguistics, and he wasn't the person to ask. No - he'd much prefer the wordless expulsions from the civilian hanging far above them to the meandering accusations of the senshi.
Finally his frazzled audience began his approach. This one required a great deal more goading and encouragement than the others he'd entertained, but that would simply enrich the challenge presented to him. Bischofite wanted to ingrain his presence, his limitless vision and capacity for violence, into anyone who had the ability to comprehend it. Man, child, senshi, knight, it didn't matter. They were all the same in terms of coping with harrowing experiences. Whether he chose to fight or simply retain his attentions in hopes of prolonging someone's life, it was inconsequential. He came out to play today, and Bischofite would oblige him.
Bischofite would impress upon him the absolute lengths of his treachery against the human race.
The boy's dive was quaint, but avoidable. Though Bischofite hoped he might collide with one of the many steel poles and set off an interesting chain reaction, possibly ending the civilian himself, such fortune failed to greet the captain. Instead, he set upon the boy in the most natural way possible - via pursuing him with weapons raised, poised to strike at the slightest signs of weakness. The close quarters offered by his chosen arena proved challenging to work with, but if he intended to cement his name within the boy's mind, he needed to seek deep wounds regardless.
Each slice was executed in a minute manner. Each slice was aimed at a particular area of the body. Each slice was performed with ruthless bloodlust. Whether they struck true was inconsequential - with every second directed toward the boy, his victim surely watched in horror. With every focused strike attempted, it delayed any attempts to foil his game.
Should that spindly little senshi lose to his unfettered fury, they would both bear witness to pure, unadulterated murder by design.
Posted: Fri Jul 19, 2013 1:55 pm
He hissed as the captain easily sidled the slide, flickers of foreshadowing falling down the rabbit holes in the back of his mind. Or was it confirmation, rather? He was as fast as the red haired man in the hat, motions blending into fluidity that even his powered sight was only on the edge of following.
I am not strong enough for this. It was a wicked mantra. As damning as Fear, but more crippling to him - Truth.
Thraen didn't lie to himself any more than he did to anyone else. In this case more than others, he wouldn't have been able to if he wanted to- the first strike he'd expected enough to dodge by leaning awkwardly as he popped up from the slide. He was no warrior, his own dodge worsened his balance in robbing Peter to pay Paul. All the successive strikes hit until momentum carried up his feet and acceleration landing him back into heaped scrap.
Where was the blooming pain? With precision it followed the progression of his body both reacting and being pushed back with the blows- left chest, right shoulder, right shoulder blade. Right arm not moving right. Scapula might be fractured. Does that mean its doing its job protecting other organs?
With the captain close anyway, Thraen closed his hands instead of trying for a lamed punch, "Thraen Annual Planting!"
Thraen folds his hands together like prayer, the opens hands and they are full of seeds. He blows over them, dispersing the seeds. Hundreds of flowers spring up, growing and blooming magically. Their scent causes those who stand near them to fall asleep.
Range - The patch of flowers that grows is a 10 ft. radius around Thraen
Duration - The flowers bloom in the post he casts them. If those in the flower bed or near it do not get at least 10 ft. away from the flowers, they fall asleep like Dorothy in Wizard of Oz. The sleep lasts for 15 seconds. The flowers last for 20 seconds.
Weaknesses - If someone doesn't stay near them long enough, they don't fall asleep. If people hold their breath, wear a breathing mask, or cover their mouth and nose with wet cloth can avoid the scent as well. Once a person has fallen asleep in one flower bed, they cannot be affected by that bed again. Only a separate bed would affect them. This is an AoE (area of Effect) spell that effects allies as well as enemies.
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Posted: Sun Jul 21, 2013 11:12 pm
Trouncing the man was no insurmountable task. With each fluid movement, some measure of his effort was reflected on the senshi's body, and he found greater motivation to pursue the blonde's death. Yet, he gleaned little excitement out of this. Was it a spark of conscience? No, it couldn't be - he thought far outside the common logics. Only one explanation remained: he disliked easy. Where was the challenge? Where was the jolt of fear at the sudden tidings of battle?
Absent.
Once his opponent landed upon a pile of twisted shrapnel, Bischofite approached unceremoniously, almost lackadaisically. He walked with his chakrams at his sides. He eyed his prey with a stoic expression; the weak earned no privies to his insights. "I'm winning," he stated matter-of-factly. "Sounds like you want zat man to die. Or are you actually trying?" Afterward he flashed a derisive grin while he continued to close the distance between them.
Bischofite broke into a dash to build up momentum before a final strike, and he hadn't the ability to draw to a stop before the senshi finished his attack. The dark-haired captain braced himself, steeled himself for some kind of impact, yet... Nothing came. Nothing but the sudden scent of flowers.
It didn't matter. Flowers held no hope of breaking his siege. Bischofite began one final attack on the blonde, yet it never connected. Rather, he collapsed soon after beginning his assault, and in that passing whisper of consciousness, watched the senshi feverishly. No words spoken - sonant unnecessary.
The victim above struggled against his restraints and tried desperately to claim some of the senshi's attention. Though he couldn't speak, he gestured via nodding toward his restraints. He desperately hoped the man might be able to puzzle out the mess and secure his safety once more, though his hopes weren't high. The senshi savior looked even younger than his captor, but if one of them could come up with such a contraption... Surely another might be able to dismantle it?
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Posted: Sun Jul 28, 2013 8:15 pm
Yes, unfortunately, this was trying. Bearing likely defeat with some measure of grace because it was to do what was right. He was obligated to try, the only one near to try to free the man. A paper tiger to face flames, saving nothing, stopping nothing. It was a dismal outlook, and not productive. It took strong hands to see other necks bent to the yoke, or to the axe. His weren't yet, but where his hands failed in strength, the strategy bought him scant time. One try. The captain was down.
Fifteen seconds is what I can spare to play the spider's web. One. Take the box cutter. Two. Look up. Wires. Traction device? Physics. Three. Pergamon's physician, Galen, the second century. Four. The helix, biaxial, the reduction of angles in struggle. Five. Stuggle and tighten. Figure-eight, reef and clove hitch, no, no the Bowline. The weakness of both. Six. "Relax." Both knot and the traction helix had tendency to loosen when not under load.
Seven-Eight, "You have to relax. Chinese Fingertrap." Nine-ten-eleven. No use saying to not panic to those under fire. Make them relax. Thraen moved, scooping flowers in hand, calculated, leapt. Stuffed them in the man's face.
Can I catch him in time, if it does loosen and he falls? If I can't, he could break his neck. It might break anyway much more of this. He dies if I don't try. What if I catch him? It doesn't last long. The black Grim will wake, and my back will be open if I have this guy sleeping in my arms.
Thirteen. Land. Wait. Breathe. Catch him if he falls. Fifteen. Thraen glanced like the Thin Man hunted from the shadows, only the danger was the brilliant patch of flowers.
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I don't know actually what sort of device you intended Bischofite to craft that tightens so. As your device, I leave the success of the guess and/or tactic up to you. and if it does, whether he even does get the chance to catch dude without bischofite thwacking him away or killing poor dude on the way down, or whatever you plot up.
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Posted: Sun Aug 04, 2013 10:54 am
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I don't even know why I didn't see this before. I have no excuse. @_@
The man watched at his skewed angle while the stranger below studied the contraption. "Hey!" He tried, in his cracked and beaten voice. "Get me down!" Though obvious, it was the best he could manage. The only way to notify the lone stranger that he still clung to consciousness, that the iniquitous crow of a man had yet to squeeze the life out of him. However, he lacked the strength and leeway to struggle against the bonds. Even so, did he want to? Knowing he hung thirty feet high, with no means of survival?
To his relief, the man knew what he was doing. Though he wasn't present for the construction of the device, he threatened to unravel the convoluted web in little time. In addition to that, he somehow incapacitated his captor, and from a great distance he couldn't discern any presence of life. Was this how he survived the night? At the hands of a young man whom he had nary a name for? Was he one of the terrorists, just like the shadow of cruelty lying nearby?
Impossible. Why would a terrorist seek to unwind this nefarious plot?
His hands begun to quake with relief. Shudders threatened his stilled form, as the presence of life previously quelled. He'd survive. He'd live to see his family again. He'd live to smell the rain and taste fresh coffee and set to work with unstained hands. He could kiss his wife and hug his son and visit his mother. Life blossomed with realizations upon possibilities mixed with capabilities. No longer would he hang in his rope coffin, all thanks to this one man.
Alois Bischofite woke to a disoriented state of reality. The world enshrouded itself in a mix of colors, all drab and cold in their appearance. A few ghosts of flowers lingered, only to dissipate in the evening breeze. Where was he now? Upon sitting up, upon clearing his groggy mind of all extraneous meanderings and thoughts, he slowly pieced together what he remembered.
The wailing.
That's right, the man spewed claims of familial piety and an insignificant plethora of reasons to let him live.
The burning in his hands.
The rope pulled taut, though it slipped twice. Oh, how it hurt.
The frozen air.
He sat atop the cold crane with his cold view of the cold city.
The welling excitement.
Finally he felt the presence of a senshi, though he snarled out of sheer reflex.
The algid sounds of steel.
They fought, didn't they? And he was winning.
In the breadth of a moment, he recognized his adversary, who sought to dismantle his endless efforts. And before Bischofite could rise to his feet, the man fell from above without ceremony, without incident. The senshi struggled greatly under the initial impact, perhaps at terminal velocity, perhaps not. How much did that hurt to catch a burden so heavy? No matter - the fact remained that the boy was indisposed and prime for his assault.
"You lose," he mentioned with a heinous smile. Weapons at the ready, he set upon his foe.
Posted: Mon Aug 05, 2013 4:49 pm
When the victim dropped, instinct wanted Thraen's voice to break jubilant from his throat, but hard reason wrenched all celebration mute. This was no victory, not as he focused and maneuvered, catching the body to break the fall. The impact was worse than he'd hoped on the already bruising impacts from the first bout from the Captain. The grinding of his own teeth shivered through all his limbs.
Then he heard words, only just beats before impact again, exactly as he'd hoped against. His mind registered three words, Oh please no. Crepitus crept out from his scapula along his ribs and he was sent stumbling forward again, tangling legs with the man he'd saved from breaking. Parts of his body felt like chalk grinding against teeth. He lobbed as best he could the man, one armed only, to get the guy out of the beating path. He could taste dust and fire. Or did he breath it? The captain was accurate, he had to give him that- calculating where had been hit already and following the earlier preamble with solid thesis.
It was disorienting, having had his eyes open and then having to manually open them again-- being so near the ground and muck of the fill. Since he was on the ground anyway, his good hand went for his phone and he grabbed a handful of the detritus in the bad hand and threw it up at the Captain. A hope to blind him? It tore a sound from him raw to move that arm.
"Not yet." It didn't sound toned as an answer to the comment about losing, though. Losing was already in process. His will, and the will to fight to live to the last breath, was the more robust. Not dead yet. Pathetic, keep moving. Keep moving maybe someone will come? Is there a distress signal on this stupid phone? Just hit every button. Maybe someone will come. Hear me. Feel me.
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 1:57 am
Dirt, sand and metal shavings scathed his eyes. In a swift hiss of propulsion, Thraen's meager attempt at defending himself achieved success. With a pained grunt, Bischofite staggered backward while rubbing the refuse astray using the back of his sleeve. It worked to little effect; he had to drop a chakram to grind the remaining offense from his sight. What a paltry trick; did he honestly think some impulsive decision to kick up a little dirt might preserve his life? Hardly - he may as well have stirred up a pool of gasoline.
Kein Mitleid*.
Once he maintained some measure of vision, eyes still plagued with bleariness, he set his sights on the meager senshi slinking off with the scraps of a victory not yet rent. With a seething snarl corrupting his features, Bischofite pressed for the man through a determined stalk. And when he reached the boy's broken and bleeding form, still trying desperately to hoard what little vitality still coursed through his veins, Bischofite sought to turn that optimistic hope to live and bleed it into a forlorn despair.
He sought to distill terror and agony and hate into one streamlined response. After seizing the swaths of hair entangled in ivy, he gave the senshi's bone-white hair a relentless jerk before hauling him backward back toward the scene.
Oh, how he loved the sound of dead weight on dirt.
Once he centered himself in the series of protrusions beneath the crane, Bischofite nearly threw the boy into the far poles. He couldn't manifest that kind of strength, but he managed to slide his adversary a good distance across the gravel and scrap. Satisfied with the new distance between them, he addressed his prey. "If zere's anysing I'f learned about you senshi, it's zat you never fail to heed ze call of ze helpless. It's almost endearing." The black-haired captain began his slow approach, chakrams held tightly at his sides. "Did you lose sight of yourself, boy? Did you forget zat..." He smiled and clicked his tongue gently. "You haf' your own limits? Or does zat power of yours suspend your self-preservation? Es ist egal.
"You already traded your life for his." With a great sweep, he lunged forward and aimed straight for the right side of his chest - he held every intention to draw out his triumphs. As he swung the circular blade, ht caught one of the tension lines and tore it, causing the rope to whip wildly and strike the captain across the side of his ribs.
With a pained gasp, Bischofite tumbled across the dirt.
Pain was a shocking reminder of one's desperation.
*No mercy.
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hope this works!
Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 10:29 am
Help wasn't going to come- hope born of too many saturday morning cartoons or fantasy novels growing up. The brave are always the first to die. I will not regret something I chose to do. I will not regret my duty.
But as his cell phone dropped from his hand, all ten nails lifted to claw at the grip in his hair and the pain of an adult weight being pulled along, hauled around like so much meat. The sound in his own throat wasn't human-like being jerked back. This captain had turned back on the rightful rule of order for no better reason than obscenity and fever dreams of power. He would not forget him, not in this world, nor any other. If Thraen lived, there would be no forgiveness but justice, no forgetting but injury and death paid forward.
He tried to roll with being tossed, but found his back and ribs were no good for it. He stopped, lifted, teetered to a hands an knees, looking over and up at the approaching blackbird with eyes lit like magma through the bone-colored scrim of hair. "Arzt, hilf dir selber. I don't need your opinions."
His eyes were fixed on the captain's approach, unwilling to close or falter if the final blow was about to land. He couldn't dodge fast enough, wasn't strong enough to block it, and wasn't yellow enough to cower or beg. He had made the trade. He couldn't win. The twang of the line, all of them nested too close as he'd observed at the start, startled him to looking at the source. He watched the line fly as a blur, knocking his assailant off feet and away from the offensive. Thraen was saved by the web trapping the spider in its eagerness- no valour or merit of his own.
It made survival as bitter as the prospect of death.
It took a moment to push up to his own feet again, stutter-steping and uneasy as he looked for the man he'd gotten into this for- off where he'd thrown him when Bischofite had taken him from behind. They needed to run, or approximate it. He called over to the blackbrid on the ground as he crossed to the civilian in a limping trot, "Kapitän. Du siehst schön aus. "
Because I want a next time. Even snide parting words can improve the chances of that. Petty. Get this man up and lets go. Before he gets up. If he can get up we're ********, and I'm not letting us wait around for that.
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 11:41 pm
Any attempt to move yielded an unconscionable amount of agony - even drawing a breath meant drawing fire and soot and scathing shrapnel throughout his core. Even summoning his weapons to his grasp seemed an impossibility; given his current condition, his arms refused to leave his sides, as if compacting the pain into a manageable size.
But nothing worked.
Nothing quelled the revulsion or the torment.
"Schenk mir dein Starseed, und wird ich mein unheiligen Zorn anzeigen*..." The words came at a shallow rasp, coiled in smoke and baser hate. He tasted the bitter truth behind his words, the realization of his predicament. And with each attempt to rise to his feet, to pursue the broken senshi slowly slinking away, his body remained magnetized to the ground. As his desperate need to slaughter the boy grew, his pain complied in a direct correlation.
But his predicament afforded no means to finish his plans. Crushed by his own contraption, he lacked the means to pursue the dwindling senshi and his bittersweet trophy. Even with the blood trail to confirm his meanderings, he couldn't even part from the ground. And how could he face himself after this? How could Bischofite fail so utterly, that he succumbed to his own machinations? What folly, what ruin. What an inexcusable waste of life and effort.
With the senshi now gone, signature no longer discernible, Bischofite railed against the roiling pain in his side, until ultimately he freed himself with a sickening rip. Blood splattered across the ground, pooling quickly. Unable to stifle any more of the agony, Bischofite echoed the intolerable wound in his own wordless vocalizations. His side... Even as he clasped his hands over the hole, his fingers twined around a fragment of pipe - only a piece of his near-demise. He wrenched the sliver free and discarded it thoughtlessly; despite the fresh blood, his teeth remained steadfast in the concept of reclaiming and destroying that pathetic senshi.
Impalement be damned - he would enact his will.
*Give me your starseed, and I will show you my unholy wrath.
