HoH season 10. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
Hill of Swords
Quote: At their peak, the Tyr-Kana had spread themselves out in a wide circle, 500 miles in diamater, building smaller cities and villages on the extreme ends near coastlines and even establishing settlements close to modern-day Lament. Only Syntaxis, which was reduced to ruins following the society's own civil war, and Dimas, the religious capital that took sides with The Forgotten One, remain standing today. Both cities are located near the heart of the empire.
Helicopter was by far the method of choice for Elia Noah when it came to getting his fighters halfway across the continent. The trip from the Hawk was fairly monotonous. Even with headphones on the members of Jormungandr could not escape the steady, overwhelming whirring of the rotor blades overhead. There wasn't much to see in the cabin, though the aircraft seemed to try to accommodate the fighters as much as possible by installing a video screen attached to a swinging arm above each of the seats. Should the competitors choose, they could reach up and pull the screens down in front of them. If not, they'd be free to stare at the back of the pilot's chair, or out one of the many windows nearby.
Griff in particular (if he hadn't shown the note to the rest of his team), might have been particularly keen on preferring the third choice. After all, wasn't he supposed to be looking for a signal from a particularly obsessed fan? Then again, the helicopter was currently in the mountains, moving through low visibility due to the wind and snow, so it was perfectly understandable to let his guard down, if there was any up to begin with. Apparently somebody had this in mind, as they sent him a friendly reminder right then.
Code: Remember me? I hope you keep an eye out for my signal here in the next few minutes. I put a lot of time and effort into it, and I'd hate for such a heartfelt sentiment to go unnoticed.
Were any member of Jormungandr not wearing their headphones (or for whatever reason, were tuning into the pilot's channel), they might have picked up on the change to the pilot and co-pilot's voices. They seemed to be speaking louder, their tone confused, with a tinge of fear.
"Radar's fuzzin' up. Don't think it could be the Society, do ya?"
"Probably just the weather up here. Not like we're flying in clear skies. Fifteen minutes, then we're out of this crap. It'll clear up in no time."
Somewhere, down below, a young man raised an arm, then dropped it. Typically a signal given to archers to loose their arrows, however the hulk standing behind him was no archer. He didn't even have a bow.
Those team members with window seats might catch it. A sudden flash of silver splitting the clouds like it was carving through the Heavens themselves. The exact profile of the object was unknown. At this point, one could call it a missile and be safe with their assumption.
"Wait a sec. I'm gettin' something here. Unknown bogey coming up behind us."
"What are you talking about? Nobody should even know where we-"
"It's coming fast! MOVE!"
SHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK!
The horrible sound of metal grinding against metal didn't last long, but was certainly loud. Just before the mysterious object hit, those taking notice of its approach would make out the profile of a very large, very sharp sword spinning end over end en route to the helicopter just prior to it tearing clean through the tail of the chopper. Pockets of small explosions behind the fighters shattered any dreams of it being a near miss.
"SHI- HANG ON!"
There was no hope for the pilot, no matter how skilled he was there was no tail rotor anymore. An uncontrollable spin threw anything not strapped down against the walls of the cabin and did a great job of disorienting all aboard.
The only thing that was certain was that the white-on-grey of the mountainside was getting closer and closer until finally, with one last glorious shudder of the cabin, a deafening roar followed by complete silence as the nose of the craft smashed into the mountain proper.
Not too far away, perched atop a rock, a thin blonde young man smiled.
-------------------15 minutes later-----------------
The fighters aboard the craft fared much better than their pilots. Or at least, that was the assumption, as neither of the two Noah Foundation employees could be found. Remarkably, none of the fighters present had any severe injuries. There was the usual throbbing headache and wooziness that typically accompanied head trauma, but no lacerations, no bruising, no shattered bones.
As soon as he finished taking stock of his teammates, the team captain, Griff, would hear the familiar beeping of his FIGHTER.
Code:
I'm glad you got my message. Head up the hill, keeping the mountain face to your left. I'd rather explain things to you in person than through this medium. Please hurry, I'd hate for you to freeze to death prior to our meeting face to face.
As if on cue, one of the side doors to the helicopter fell off, clearing the way for Jormungandr to escape the scrap metal prison. Upon leaving the downed aircraft, they would be able to take stock of their situation.
Fires in the back of the craft provided some semblance of warmth to the competitors, though it was a mystery as to how they survived seemingly unscathed considering the piss poor shape the rest of the chopper was in. One of the five rotor blades was simply gone, while the rest were shattered or snapped in half.
Turning their attention away from the craft would give them their first glimpse of what awaited them. Through occasional breaks in the driving snow the fighters would be able to make out sword pommels sticking straight up out of the earth. One or two at first, but as they progressed further up the mountain side the weapons became far more frequent.
The stamina-draining curse of the Northlands was subtle this high in the mountains, and the members of Jormungandr wouldn't begin to feel the nefarious effects of the region straight away. However, if they didn't start moving the frigid temperatures would hasten their fatigue, making the task set before them that much more difficult.
The ringing in Morivan's ears was remarkable, and ridiculous. But he slowly rose regardless, looking between his team mates. He suddenly realized that they were, in fact, in the ground. And to think, less than a moment later, he had begrudgingly thought that someone, somehow, would ******** with them. He sprang to his feet, crouched low to shake his team mates with very sharp grasps onto each one's shoulder. "Yo! Wake up! Get your wits about you. Everyone okay?!" He shouted, more for his own benefit, barely able to hear over that nefarious ringing.
His eyes wandered, now catching the front of the copter. Face down in the snow, buried, Morivan scowled. As he started trying to pop his ears with held breath, he noticed the lack of pilots. The pilot and copilot were both, in fact, gone. That was, to say the very least, troubling. But he gave it no mind, looking now to Suits first, then the women, helping them from their seats.
And then the FIGHTER went off. "Son of a b***h." he muttered, looking at Fayble, showing her first, and then Sabrina, and then Suits. And then the door, which promptly fell off. A short, sharp snap. "Huddle up!"
The ringing was fading as Griff grabbed the Fang of Midgard, stabbing the seats and tearing downward, collecting bits of padding and seat and whatnot. Cuts in squares. he'd look now to Suits. "Grab those seat belts, rip it out!"
Griff Morivan Wrote:The ringing in Morivan's ears was remarkable, and ridiculous. But he slowly rose regardless, looking between his team mates. He suddenly realized that they were, in fact, in the ground. And to think, less than a moment later, he had begrudgingly thought that someone, somehow, would ******** with them. He sprang to his feet, crouched low to shake his team mates with very sharp grasps onto each one's shoulder. "Yo! Wake up! Get your wits about you. Everyone okay?!" He shouted, more for his own benefit, barely able to hear over that nefarious ringing.
"Ughhhh... what the hell happened?..."
Griff Morivan Wrote:And then the FIGHTER went off. "Son of a b***h." he muttered, looking at Fayble, showing her first, and then Sabrina, and then Suits. And then the door, which promptly fell off. A short, sharp snap. "Huddle up!"
The ringing was fading as Griff grabbed the Fang of Midgard, stabbing the seats and tearing downward, collecting bits of padding and seat and whatnot. Cuts in squares. he'd look now to Suits. "Grab those seat belts, rip it out!"
The blond held the side of his head, a throbbing headache harassing his shaken head. He glances upward towards Griff as he barked orders and noted that the chopper doors had popped open.
"What the... are they ******** kidding?! I know this is Heaven or Hell, but this is a little much, don't you think?"
Griff Morivan Wrote:The ringing was fading as Griff grabbed the Fang of Midgard, stabbing the seats and tearing downward, collecting bits of padding and seat and whatnot. Cuts in squares. he'd look now to Suits. "Grab those seat belts, rip it out!"
He turned around and drew one of his swords as he cut the seat belts as commanded by his team captain. The straps came out without much of a problem. "Nylon... Hey Griff, you need help with whatever you"re doing?" he said, turning to the next seat belt and severing it as well. He didn't know what his captain had planned, but now was not the time to question. He would help Griff with whatever he had planned, and let the boss man order him about as needed.
Survival was the first priority.
"Yeah!" Griff shouted, still trying to keep his head through the ringing. He sat on the skeleton of the seat he destroyed, pinning the sword in the seat frame and in his legs, the handle out. He wrapped the cuts around the handle, the fingers of his iron hand forcing holes through the sheets, having Suti help him lash the belts in and around and through the handle. He then looked at Suits, directing him to his Machine Arm, instructing him on removing the SynthFlesh. That SynthFlesh would work as a sort of over-sleeve for the padding.
The sheets of fabric, although small, would work well for the women to cover their arms or faces. He then lined the blade up to his Machine Arm, lashing belts through the rods and gears through his arm, keeping very still to prevent any damage from coming to Suits. He helped point out where to and not to cover, the two men strapping the Fang of Midgard, and in fact, the tool that might keep them all alive, to his Machine Arm. For a split second, Griff decided if he ever so Colin again, he'd ******** kiss him.
The Arm was the first to leave the helicopter, Griff quickly noting the fire, which he press the improvised torch into. Flame.
With that, Griff kept it close enough to keep him warm, but far enough to keep himself from being burned. Issuing orders, Morivan told them all to get out of the Copter, surrounding the torch carefully, and with precise placement. It was going to suck, but they had to survive. Never mind Heaven or Hell. The only reason Griff gave the tournament much mind at the moment was just because heading to the target location was his only option, and it would likely result in survival, even if it cost a beating.
The ******** is with all these god damned swords!? He considered while he assisted Suits and the girls from the husk of a machine. First order was to identify their directionality, and then poise themselves for that. "Breathe in with your face toward the flame, but keep your head low to keep from inhaling smoke!" He shouted once more. "Let's get moving!"
A last order issued, Griff would draw Fayble close to his chest with his real arm, and Suits would do the same with Sabrina, and they would keep close to the flame as they moved forward.
The youngest member of Jörmungandr shivered and rubbed her arms as she climbed out of the chopper wreckage, pausing to touch at a bump on her head every now and then. She'd been sitting and listening peacefully to her gPod when their aircraft had been struck. Her head had been thrown against the window next to her so hard that she was surprised that the impact hadn't shattered it (the crash had taken care of that anyway).
She scowled when Griff showed her the text, and watched with acute interest made his TORCHFIST. Then they started to move away from the chopper. Sabrina started to voice her protest, concerned that they should all stay near the wreckage (and warm fire, too) in case help was on the way. But then it occurred to her that this was all way too convenient -- at least for the person sending these messages, anyway.
And if that were the case, then rescuers probably already knew where they were, and weren't coming . . . not until Jörmungandr had finished their fight and put on a good show for the rest of the world, anyway. If that was the case, then it would be better to get this odd onvitation out of the way as soon as possible.
Unhappily, she followed, grumbling under her breath as she trudged through the snow and tried to convince herself that she wasn't at all concerned about being discovered 20,000 years from now, frozen in ice and snacking on what remained of Sutii's inner organs.
Jormungandr would proceed up the hill without incident. The pace they chose, however, was completely up to them. While there was nothing to slow them down aside from the weather, there was nothing but their own determination to press them forward. It was about two hundred feet up the hill before the wind seemed to let up just a little bit, revealing a humanoid figure sitting atop an outcropping in the mountain face, bundled in a heavy cloak but otherwise looking no worse for the wear despite the frigid temperatures. Upon seeing the fighters he clapped his hands and threw his arms up above his head. The hulking man, the one responsible for actually downing their chopper (though not to Jormungandr's knowledge), was strangely absent.
"Ah good! You made it!"
He'd wait until the fighters drew closer, obviously not trusting his voice to cut through the wind so easily. Once they reached a comfortable conversation distance he held out a hand, beckoning the approaching competitors to halt. Assuming they did, he'd continue with his introduction, swinging his legs back and forth as he did so.
"I can't say how happy I am that you decided to show up. As competitors I'm sure you are all very aware of the eliminator system, yes?"
He nodded his head up and down several times, a wide grin spreading across his face. The adolescent, looking no older than fifteen or sixteen years of age, was obviously enjoying this encounter a little too much.
"You do not wish to know how much I had to convince Mr. Noah to grant me this honor, but I can assure you it's nothing compared to the pain you will experience if you disappoint me here today."
His tone changed and the smile was completely gone from his face.
"Up until now Jormungandr has been a pleasant surprise. An anomaly that I could not calculate. Today, you are going to show me if you hold anything in common to previous champions of both Heaven or Hell and Gaia itself. By the end of these trials you will either be deemed worthy or discarded like those who lie under this mountain."
With a large sweep of his hand, the young man was obviously gesturing towards the swords that dotted the landscape.
"However, the choice is always yours. You do have the option to deny my offer. To show me nothing of your resolve, and retreat with your tails between your legs. As with any display of cowardice, there will be penalties associated with it."
Arms came back up and crossed in front of his chest.
"So, what will it be?"
Designated Hero Wrote:"Ah good! You made it!"
Stephen grimaced through the damning cold at what he presumed to be his team's eliminator. Standing there pleasantly like a smarmy son-of-a-b***h.
Designated Hero Wrote:"I can't say how happy I am that you decided to show up. As competitors I'm sure you are all very aware of the eliminator system, yes?"
For Stephen, the eliminator system was something he knew all too well. His previous experience had been... an interesting one, but needless to say it hadn't exactly been the most fun experience of his life.
Designated Hero Wrote:"You do not wish to know how much I had to convince Mr. Noah to grant me this honor, but I can assure you it's nothing compared to the pain you will experience if you disappoint me here today."
Designated Hero Wrote:"Up until now Jormungandr has been a pleasant surprise. An anomaly that I could not calculate. Today, you are going to show me if you hold anything in common to previous champions of both Heaven or Hell and Gaia itself. By the end of these trials you will either be deemed worthy or discarded like those who lie under this mountain."
The blond's grimace turned all the more sour as the man spoke. Condescending piece of s**t... putting his team through this frozen hell like they were supposed to fall into the deepest depths of Dante's Inferno. The external temperature may have been below freezing, but inside the man's blood was boiling.
Designated Hero Wrote:"However, the choice is always yours. You do have the option to deny my offer. To show me nothing of your resolve, and retreat with your tails between your legs. As with any display of cowardice, there will be penalties associated with it. So, what will i-"
Desi would be rudely interrupted by Stephen roaring at the top of his lungs in rage like a wild animal.
The final button had been pushed. The last straw had broken. He wasn't going to take this st lying down - he was going to let that smarmy b***d know that surrender was not an option.
Charging forward (as best as one could in the heavy snowfall) the man grabbed the closest sword from it's frigid resting place and came in with a sudden strike across the eliminators chest (right shoulder to left hip.) The bloodrage in his eyes was reminiscent to that of someone familiar and the passion drawn by the will to survive and the will to break Desi's face was unquestionable.
Much like his predecessor, the time had come, and so had he.
Quote: Charging forward (as best as one could in the heavy snowfall) the man grabbed the closest sword from it's frigid resting place and came in wi--
"SUTIIVEN. STOP."
Morivan, behind the flame and between the girls, had issued an order. He bellowed, and hard, scowling. It wasn't a warning, he wasn't calling out to him as if you keep him from getting hurt. It was a gorram threat. Morivan, with the girls in tow, would press forward. He was cold, but his tone did not carry that fact. He spoke with the eloquence of a god damned king.
"That's no way to show our appreciation. They let us join Heaven or Hell, and although they insult us with this underestimation garbage, they've been so kind as to offer us a chance to truly change their mind." His voice shuddered a bit under the length of the word 'underestimation', but ********, it's ice nipples cold out here.
"So then." Griff began again, this time addressing the person before them all. "Are you our elimination? Or is it someone else? Because I would surely like to thank whoever it was who brought the boyscout out in me again." He said with a smirk, nodding to his arm.
The young man didn't move an inch as Stephen roared, a never-before-seen animosity directed at the adolescent before he even had a chance to receive an answer. All the same, he didn't flinch one bit when he grabbed a sword and moved in to attack.
"You shouldn't have disturbed that blade. He won't like that."
Kenneth's eyes widened to almost comedic levels as a bright smile came across his face. No matter the intent, the sudden surge of emotion could only mean one thing. That at least one member of Jormungandr was prepared to show his resolve. A splendid development if there ever was one. There was nowhere for the blonde to retreat even as Stephen came forward, though the fighter would have to ascend a fairly sheer rock face in order to reach him. None of that mattered, however, as Griff's warning saved him from what one could assume as being a grisly end before things even got started.
"Excellent, a voice of reason."
He cheered up upon hearing Griff's words and leaned forward, switching his stance on the rock outcropping so that he was now straddling the rock as though the entire mountain was his personal mount.
"Officially, I am only the proctor of your elimination. This mountain, and a loosely related associate of mine will be your true test. I will be relaying you information through your FIGHTERs, and monitoring your progress closely."
Now he straightened up, anticipating how the team would react to his words. Would the other half be as rage-prone? Maybe, maybe not. One could never be too careful.
"Do you have any questions, or shall we get started?"
At the prospect of getting started, his smile grew even wider.
Because the author of Griff Morivan couldn't reach the authors of Fayble or Sutiiven, and Sabrina said to just proceed, and since the author of the Designated Hero would likely agree that the five of them only have so much time to do what needs doing, Griff shook his head as Sutiiven fell back into formation. "Keep the FIGHTER out, eyes sharp, head held high, yeah? If there isn't anything else we absolutely need to know, I think we're all set here, friend." His tone was simple, but there was a scowl on his face.
Maybe the teen would recognize that the man was less than pleased for his disrespect.
During the entirety of this conversation, Sabrina simply lurked behind Griff's right shoulder, shivering and scowling at this . . . this kid. The guy looked even younger than her! And he'd shot down their effin' helicopter! For the moment, though, she stayed silent and let the little punk talk.
She was visibly surprised, almost shocked, when Sutii blew up like he did. So far, all she'd seen from the guy was dorky humor and smooth attitude. This was the first time she'd seen him RAEG in such a manner.
Even though it was understandable, considering this boy nearly killed them, but still, it was . . . kind of scary.
The little jerk, apparently unfazed, continued on yapping after Griff stopped the other man from going berserk, and Sabrina could feel her own desire to sock him in the teeth welling up inside. But Griff didn't seem particularly willing to let the rest of his team gang up on and curbstomp the guy, and she didn't particularly relish the idea of having a flaming metal arm placed across her chest to stop her . . . even if the possibility of some warmth did seem fairly attractive right now.
Then he had the audacity to ask if they had any questions. Well, Sabrina had one thing to say to that, and cut Griff off in midsentence to bellow her reply.
"Very well!"
Upon acknowledgement that the ball was indeed to begin rolling, the young man stood up on his rock and jumped up once, smashing his heels into the frozen surface and causing a crack to spread across the length of the mountain face he was perched upon. At least, it appeared to be a crack at first. Soon it became apparent that the crack was taking the form of a door as the mountain literally slid open to greet the fighters. The pathway that opened before them was dimly lit, so the fighters would at least be able to acknowledge that they weren't walking into a pitch-black cave.
"Your test will begin once all of you have entered and you have received my message. Should you emerge and exceed my expectations, I will grant you information concerning the artifact you seek."
As the fighters filed into the mountain side, the kid's head would pop into view one last time. He was, of course, staring at them while upside down, but that should not have detracted from the severity of the situation. The smile was gone, as was the wide-eyed innocent look. Whoever this kid was, he had some serious mood swings.
"Do not take these tests lightly. Failure to complete even one will severely hamper your chances when you return."
And just like that, the door in the mountain slammed shut behind the fighters.
Inside the cave the fighters would be overcome by a comfortable warmth that provided a much needed break from the cold and the wind outside. In regards to the latter, the wind's howl was strangely absent inside the cave, solidifying Jormungandr's separation from the outside world. For now, the only sound the fighters would be able to hear stemmed from a puddle of water receiving an additional drop every few seconds. A simple enough sound, but maddening if one was left exposed to it for too long.
The room was uncomfortably small for four normal sized human beings. Roughly five feet long by four feet wide, there was just enough room to keep things from being awkward between the teammates gathered. What little light there was inside the cave was produced by a cluster of strange crystalline objects suspended from the ceiling, illuminating the cave with a vast array of soft blues and greens. Should a competitor touch them, the crystal would flare brightly for a second before dimming again. Prolonged touch to any crystal would generate a surprising amount of heat that would ultimately result in the crystal shattering.
While there were no crystals lighting the wall directly ahead, the fighters would feel a strange warmth in the form of a steady breeze from that direction.
Upon cursory inspection, their current location looked more like a prison than a cave. Walls were on every side, with no easily accessible exit anywhere in sight. Before they could get a good feel for their surroundings, however, the familiar ringing of their FIGHTERs echoed off the walls. Should they choose to inspect the devices on their wrists, they'd be treated to a message courtesy of the strange kid out front.
Comradery Wrote:
Obviously, Heaven or Hell is the be-all end-all of tournaments. It requires skill, coordination, and effort far beyond that gifted to an average Gaian. But, above all, it requires a team. Past years have shown that teams can be made up of a vast array of individuals with an even wider sample of motivations, but one thing is always constant among those who have climbed this far up the ladder: They were able to work together in order to exceed even their impressive potentials.
A similar test will face you now. You will find that you have been stripped of your unique...talents. You must make it into the next room and complete the task that awaits you there before the timer expires using only your physical selves and your teammates. Once you leave this room, I will relay you the pertinent information.
Unite! Carve a path towards your destiny!
Immediately following that message, a digital clock appeared on their FIGHTERs.
10:00
(For the purposes of this test, each "round", consisting of one post from each team member, will constitute a minute of in character time. Should a fighter not be present, they may be puppeted by one member of the team.)
*I will be puppeting for Fayble, as we still haven't heard from Antique Queen
As the four were ushered in, Griff allowed his team mates to head up and in front of him as he crouched, plunging his fist and the torch into the snow, dousing the flame with a particularly loud Ka-SHIISSSSS. It pierced even the winds, persisting even seconds later as he stood to catch up to his team and file into this rock closet to hear the rest of their instructions.
10:00
Griff didn't mind the note, and Fayble took the hint, taking to reading the message aloud. Given their tight situation, there was quite the sense of relief that Morivan had doused the flame that would have killed the lot of them. Griff want right to inspecting the area, noting the crystal. He couldn't see a damned thing looking at the 'far wall', and the glowing crystals seemed like the key to this particular lock. "Fayble, I need you to pull your knife out, everyone, press to that wall." He ordered quietly.
For a moment, Griff wondered why he pulled rank for this situation, it's not like it was James or Connor, this wasn't the Fist of Gaia. But he pushed that aside as he took the knife from his Vice and went straight to slicing the nylon straps that covered his arms at the knots before tossing the straps at Sutiiven. "Hold onto these, just in case." They were nothing impressive, but enough to, say, wrap around a neck or use two or three as a tourniquet.
He set the sword and knife down in front of Fayble before crouching as low as possible, his arm pulled far back, that signature click taking place. As Fayble took to cleaning the padding, careful not to burn herself on the smoldering bits that weren't soaked, Griff would proceed to jump as hard as humanly possible, followed by a direct, upward punch. The piston would activate, the seals would pop in a couple spots, but god damn it, did it work. He made it high enough to knock the crystals, snatching it.
A thud as the man landed, and Griff would begin to feel the heat never mind the remarkable brightness. He set the Crystal down and went to resetting the seals of his machine arm, scooping up the crystal in the machine arm, looking onto Suits with his left, pointing. "I'll take the lead, Suits, help me keep an eye out in case it gets too dark. Sabrina, you and Fayble, I want you, weapons drawn. I don't know what's up ahead."
9:30
-Recap of the Past-
Griff Morivan Wrote:"SUTIIVEN. STOP."
The barking order snapped through the icy wind like a punch to the gut, causing the enraged blond to stop - quite an impressive feat, and a definite expression of how much respect he had for his captain. He lowered the blade, fuming hardcore.
Griff Morivan Wrote:
"That's no way to show our appreciation. They let us join Heaven or Hell, and although they insult us with this underestimation garbage, they've been so kind as to offer us a chance to truly change their mind."
He breathed heavily as the winds whipped around them. He so wanted to put a sword in the ******** face for putting them in such danger. The wind and the cold on top of the crash had his survival instinct ramped up to 11 and he was borderline primal at this point - an uncommon state for the usually more eloquent man, but not an unfamiliar one.
The winds subsided a tiny bit and enabled the man to see that his target of maiming was nay more a man than a teenager. His eyes widened in horror as he realized just how close he had been to slaughtering someone who was technically still a child; an act that would have made him feel as if he had run through his own. The cold was clearly ******** with his head.
Instead of breaking down in tears of shame like he might have in any other scenario, fight or flight kept his head focused. He threw down the sword violently with a loud "GRRAAAAAHHHHH!" before storming off back to the girls to take care of them while the Captain took care of diplomacy.
-Fast Forward to Present-
Griff Morivan Wrote:
"Hold onto these, just in case... I'll take the lead, Suits, help me keep an eye out in case it gets too dark. Sabrina, you and Fayble, I want you, weapons drawn. I don't know what's up ahead."
9:30
Stephen nodded in acknowledgment and shoved the nylon straps in his pockets as the team captain started throwing out orders. He kept his hands free so that he could react to traps or mechanisms quickly and without risk of losing his weapons prematurely. He couldn't help but smirk a bit though - brought him back to his old adventuring days. Who knew, maybe the loot at the end of this would be worth risking death by hypothermia?
Past dungeon raid-ery aside, the man added his eyes to Griff's in order to assist in the teams visual perception - as well as potential survival.
"Ready to bounce when you and the girls are, boss man."
9:15
As Griff caused one of the more elevated crystals to flare up with his punch, Stephen (if he was looking at the wall opposite their entrance) might have taken notice of what appeared to be a hole in the wall roughly ten-twelve feet up. Not high enough to be considered an insurmountable task, but high enough to be hard, if not impossible to reach on one's own.
The actual size of the hole was ambiguous, considering as soon as he noticed the hole's presence the crystal was no longer close enough to provide ample lighting. Then again, there were more crystals present than just the one Griff had managed to punch down from the wall. Maybe one of those would reveal more about their situation...
Outside, the kid was busy fumbling with a rather elaborate looking device in his lap. Through the viewscreen he could monitor Jormungandr's progress through any one of the competitor's eyes, and for some reason he felt Griff was a suitable target for now.
Jormungandr's captain would feel a brief migraine, lasting no longer than a split second, followed by a brief period of double vision, before the symptoms resolved without any further complications.
"There we go."
And he checked his watch, just to make sure the team was still on pace.
*Puppeting Sabrina due to the executive order of keeping things moving.
Sabrina was standing right in front of "Suits" as Griff transformed into mech-arm Shaquille O'Neal, sending the crystals to go flying. The sudden motion and sound caused her to look up in surprise, allowing her to see the hole up the shaft.
"Hey, there's a hole up there!"
But it was far too high, she knew. No one could climb to it without some sort of ladder, or at least without a boost. A boost would work, but then someone would be left behind to fend against... well, who knew what. Most likely hunger and boredom. At any rate, if one of them was getting out, they all needed to get out. The question though was how... how in the hell were they gonna-
Booya.
She turned back to back with Sutii, lining up with the hole, and grabbed his arms in order to lock the two of them together.
"Hey, have any of you guys seen 'The Emperor's New Groove?'"
9:00
((Edit: Timer Added.))
Griff blinked, looking at Sabrina, and then to the hole far above. "...Damn it, woman, I love you." followed by a short, sharp laugh. Back to back with Fayble, Griff locked arms with her and nodded. "Alright. We'll do this starting on the feet on our side of the room. You two take the lead." He said as he and his counterpart worked to position themselves.
Their feet planting to the walls would require a bit of time to make sure their balance was on par, and he looked to Sutiiven and Sabrina. "Make sure Sabrina is on the side with the hole, and then what we'll do is send the girls slipping through, and we'll twist ourselves around and hoist ourselves up." The first set of feet would begin to shift upward.
8:30
Griff Morivan Wrote:"Make sure Sabrina is on the side with the hole, and then what we'll do is send the girls slipping through, and we'll twist ourselves around and hoist ourselves up."
Hup.
Hup.
Hup.
Hup.
Ooumph.
Griff, being far less graceful than his team mates, was a little less coordinated from the others, was forced to grab the ledge before sliding, slamming into the wall. A short grunt, a quick inhalation, and he hoisted himself up. Standing (at least, to the full height the hole would allow), Morivan would brush himself off quickly before turning past his team mates to raise the shining crystal. Exposing...?
7:30
As soon as the team members reached the hole they'd find that it indeed served as a passageway. There was no room to stand, with the ceiling being a mere three feet above the floor. Similar, smaller crystals lined the walls of this particular path, giving a small amount of light to keep the fighters from cracking their heads on low hanging rocks.
There was no threat of falling here, as they were similarly enclosed on all sides by the mountain rock.
Off in the distance, roughly thirty feet past their entry point, was a spot of light, far brighter than any of the crystals Jormungandr had encountered up until this point. Getting closer, it would appear that the spot of light in the distance was also the source of the warm breeze they had felt earlier.
Sabrina would be the first to see it. The spot of light would grow dimmer as they drew near, revealing itself to simply being another opening into an adjacent room. Once she got close enough to peek her head out of the hole, 'room' would be considered an understatement.
Their short crawlspace would dump the fighters out three feet onto a ledge overhanging a massive hall. Whatever provided light to this place was of no natural origin like the strange luminescent crystals Jormungandr had used up until this point. The entire room was illuminated by a golden sphere suspended by a thick silver chain spiked straight into the underside of the mountain.
Archaic symbols were spread across the Northern and Western walls, their meaning long since lost to the passage of time. Similarly, murals painted the Southern and Eastern boundaries, depicting long-forgotten battles, contests, and rulers. Anyone with an inquisitive mind would get the sense that an entire society's culture was being put on display, though for whatever end was a mystery.
Just as Griff (who was bringing up the rear) set foot on the ledge, he and his teammates would receive another beep from their FIGHTERs.
Comradery Wrote:
You're making excellent time concerning this first test. I must say that I am impressed with how willingly you worked with one another to overcome that first obstacle. Your true test, however, begins now. You will find that your abilities have been restored, and while I encourage you to make use of them, know that it is only through the power of teamwork that you will be able to claim your seat at the throne of destiny. You have what's left of your time to enter the door at the bottom of this hall.
Good luck.
The task seemed easy enough. The ledge they were on was roughly fifty feet above the main floor of the hall. Not much of a task now, considering they had their abilities back, but of note was their goal. The door they were supposed to enter was blocked off by a massive, fifteen foot high statue depicting a Valkyrie-like maiden, shield in one hand, sword in the other. Archaic symbols covered the entire statue, acting as symbols of warding for any that sought passage deeper into the temple.
Sabrina crawled her way down the little passage on all fours, with the rest of the team close in tow. "There's an opening ahead," she called back, getting closer. "I see a room . . . . . it looks like . . . . . Oh, shhhhhh . . ."
The remainder of the expletive trailed off into silence, sucked out of her by the sheer enormity of this place. Slowly and carefully, she pulled herself out of the crawlspace and stood up, then shuffled aside to make space for the rest of them to come through.
She could practically feel the history here, weighing down on them and pressing in with all the weight of the mountain above, and more. People, from a powerful and wealthy civilization if the murals were anything to judge by, had made and lived in all of this, a long time ago . . . and now they were just gone. She thought back to the hundreds of swords littering the mountaintop, and it occurred to her that many of those swords had probably belonged to those same people, once upon a time.
Sabrina felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the room temperature run along her spine, and hoped they would be getting out of here soon. She had as much of an interest in history as anyone else, but something about this mountain creeped her out. She felt, deep in her bones, that they didn't belong here.
It occurred to her, then, that maybe this kid was trying to send them the same message about HoH, that they were intruders into the tournament. Suddenly, she experienced a marked change in attitude:
"Screw you," she whispered to the empty hall, directing the comment at both the kid and whatever spirits might have lingered here, just as the last of Jörmungandr crawled out into the open and her FIGHTER beeped.
After reaching the fourth sentence of the message, she sighed with relief. "Thank gods," she said, and released a pulse of earthly energy through her boots.
Abilities Wrote:-- Sense: This is another basic technique, and very simple. Sabrina pulses a miniscule amount of energy through any earth she has contact with, using it in a manner similar to (but not the same as) sonar. This allows her to obtain a snapshot of the earth’s structure and its composition within a certain distance (depth included). A master can use this to gain a minutely detailed image of any earthen feature for several hundred feet in every direction. Sabrina is at a level where it extends to roughly 30 feet, and she is unable to discern anomalies smaller than a fist.
Having gained a general idea of their earthen surroundings, she turned to the rest of her team. "I'll go down first, leave a way for you guys to follow."
Recalling one of the drills she'd practiced during her years at the Academy, Sabrina lowered herself over the ledge, fingers firmly gripping the edge and boots braced against the wall. From there, she kept herself anchored in place, using Bond through her left palm, and on both of her boots.
Abilities Wrote:-- Bond: Bonding is a technique wherein a Geomancer sticks earth to a solid surface (with the exception of other living, animate beings) in a magnet-like manner. Subsequently, the Bond can be released at any time by a Geomancer, but removing it through other methods proves somewhat difficult. They can also Bond earth to their own bodies, but doing so requires constant focus and is a minor, but steady drain on their stamina. A master Geomancer can maintain full-body coverage, like a suit of armor, but Sabrina is at a level where she can only manage a couple of square feet of coverage at a time.
With her right hand, she scooped out a sizable pocket from the rock face in front of her, and tossed it out into the open air behind her, letting it fall to floor below, cracking like a gunshot in the cavernous space when stone struck stone.
Abilities Wrote:-- Mold: An advanced Press technique. Sabrina can project her innate "earthly energy" around her hands, allowing her to sculpt and scoop earthen materials, as if they were made of clay, even solid rock. This usually takes very little energy, unless she is Molding very large amounts.
She placed her hand in the recess she had just carved out, then released her boots from Bond and lowered them further down the wall before anchoring them once more, one at a time so she never had less than three holds on the wall at a time. From her new position, she scooped with her left hand and created another pockmark in the smooth stone face, about a foot to left and two down from the first one. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Recalling the numerous practice sessions she and her classmates had endured at the insistence of their Geomancy instructors, who educated them in a number of useful applications of "the tools in their magic toolbox", she settled into a smooth, steady, and speedy rhythm born of hardwired muscle memory. In this manner, she would carve out a trail of hand- and foot-holds for the rest of her team. It would take a bit of time to cover 50 feet, but she'd get it done.
6:00 - 10 feet down
Griff, Sutiiven and Fayble all proceed to check their equipment and preform the necessary rites and rituals to begin drawing energy or preparing for their methods. For instance, Griff draws the Fang and simply allows the energy to start drinking up. Fayble focuses heavily, hammer at the ready to charge herself up. And good ol' Suits just focused as they followed Sabrina down the way. Basically, just enough to keep moving.
Ha Bisky.
5:15
Another minute elapsed, and Sabrina finally reached the floor. She stepped away, and looked up at the rest of the team. She waited there, and collected energy within her body, ready to help in case one of them slipped on the way down. The divots were roomy, with plenty of space to grip, but you never knew when something might go wrong.
5:00
(So, like, ten hours later, not sure where Desi is, but I suppose I should keep moving forward with the intent to try and keep this moving. Enough delays on our end as it is.)
Griff, Fayble and Sutiiven fanned out. moving slowly, taking in the scenery. It wasn't much of an action, but they pushed forward slowly.
Griff stepped forward, sword at the ready, his machine hand out in front, sort of extended, his eyes narrowed. Getting close to the statue, sorta glancing it over.
"Guys... I'm fairly sure this thing is gonna move when I..."
4:45
As soon as Sabrina's feet touched the ground, the light in the temple, supplied by the mysterious globe, flashed off. Those still on the wall, if they were in the middle of transitioning handholds, would find themselves temporarily blinded before the arcane symbols on the Northern and Western walls flared up considerably and pushed out from the walls themselves, bathing the room in a blue/purple light. Should one have taken notice of the statue, they'd be aware of a sinister change overwriting the beautiful and noble features of the valkyrie. The face became obscured beneath a shroud, the wings became torn, the shield disappeared, instead being replaced by another sword while a pair of dark purple rings encircled her eyes.
Here on the ground floor, particularly with Sabrina being the only one on the floor, she'd feel an incredible amount of power residing within those walls. In contrast to her own abilities, the power she felt here had a disturbing, unnatural feel to it. While she wouldn't be able to pinpoint the source, Stephen would have more insight concerning the nature of the energy.
The power contained in those wards was definitely spiritual, but twisted and warped. No single man could have been capable of producing the sorrow present in the room. Hundreds of hushed voices, some scared, some angry, but all equally confused, all expressing a feeling of betrayal in a language that Stephen just couldn't understand.
And then, just as soon as Fayble and Griff touched down, the voices stopped. The symbols lost some of their brightness, pressing themselves closer to the wall as the golden globe lit up again. A semblance of harmony was reached, with the overbearing dread being balanced by a general sense of well-being. The valkyrie reverted to a more neutral state, losing her wings entirely while both swords simply faded from existence.
The vast majority of the hall was simply empty. No ancient guardians, no ornamentation save for the single statue barring their path, nothing. The walls were, as described before, decorated with murals and mystic writing. The Southern and Eastern walls, in addition to the murals they depicted, were also adorned with various weapons of war. Typical standard military fare for the most part, though the weapons seemed to be of exceptional quality considering their age. Whatever shape the swords outside were in while exposed to the elements, the quality of these weapons could be considered immaculate by comparison.
Griff had chosen to approach the statue, which was not a horrible idea by any means. There was no point to rule out any option without at least trying it first, after all. Oftentimes the most subtle approach was the most effective.
Griff Morivan Wrote:Griff stepped forward, sword at the ready, his machine hand out in front, sort of extended, his eyes narrowed. Getting close to the statue, sorta glancing it over.
"Guys... I'm fairly sure this thing is gonna move when I..."
This, however, was not one of those times.
FWOOM!
Something moved, but it wasn't the statue. The young man outside watched from Griff's perspective as, without warning, the man was launched back from the statue, all the way across the fifty-foot room, to impact against the Southern wall with enough force to crack one of the murals in half. Aside from the disconcerting noise of the flesh-on-stone impact, there was a curiously loud rattling noise from an outcropping directly above Griff's head.
Assuming he looked up, he'd have just enough time to witness a massive sword, easily eighteen feet in length, begin to slide off of it's housing.
From thirty feet up, the sword would fall point-first towards Jormungandr's captain. If he didn't get out of the way, or if one of his teammates failed to move him, the sword would pierce through his left leg, go clean through the entirety of his thigh (it was a big sword, after all), before smashing into the solid stone and embedding itself at a curious forty-five degree angle facing away from the wall, presenting its equally massive hilt towards the statue on the opposite side of the room.
FWOOM!
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
SMACK. Griff slammed into the wall with some percussion, his eyes socked open as the air was kicked from his lungs and his head lulled back. Lulled back just in time to see he was about to be Sworded to death from above.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
His Machine Arm, the one that his author needed to brand name so that he didn't have to keep typing Machine Arm, rose and slammed backwards as he tried to scramble up. He knew he was cutting it close, especially when once his fist contacted the wall, he was shoved forward, and he felt the ground between his legs split open as he flopped forward. A short shimmy forward, and Morivan saw himself face to face with the gorram GODSWORD.
"...WHO MAKES THESE THINGS!?" Up and to his feet, Griff quickly went back to barking orders. "Okay, look around. THINK. We need to move that big rock without any of us ACTUALLY touching it, you hear me!?"
4:30
Griff Morivan Wrote:"Guys... I'm fairly sure this thing is gonna move when I..."
"Hey, wait a second," Sabrina said as he extended a finger. "I don't think that's a good i-"
Designated Hero Wrote:FWOOM!
She had to suppress an exasperated sigh as Griff was sent careening through the air. If there was one lesson she'd learned from playing Tomb Raider, it was 'never touch the big, ominous statue guarding some point of passage'.
And then, there was a sword.
Griff Morivan Wrote:FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUU-
Griff wouldn't even have time to scramble up, or even finish screaming before Sabrina was using that stored energy of hers to Shift the section of floor beneath his sorry rear end several feet to his right, pulling him out of the way of danger.
Teamwork, yada yada.
"You're welcome," she called out to him, smirking, then turned back to look at the statue. Obviously, it wasn't just a piece of decoration. And, though she didn't like the idea of disturbing it any further, the damned thing was in their way. At the very least, if the thing was going to spring to life and attack them, it was best to see if you could inflict some damage first.
Once again, focus . . . and then release.
The sound of rock breaking echoed sharply through the air, as Sabrina triggered her Split ability.
Abilities Wrote:-- Split: With a burst of power, Sabrina can create a hairline fissure in earth. The longer and deeper the fissure, and the harder or denser the material she splits, the more energy required (e.g. a five foot long, one foot deep fissure through limestone expends roughly the same amount of energy as running a short distance). A much more powerful burst causes a "spiderweb" Split in all directions, destabilizing the ground as it causes a "micro-quake" (affects only the immediate area, between 3.0 and 4.0 on the Richter scale).
A fissure appeared in the floor, running from where she stood, towards the statue. It diverged once it reached the feet of the thing, going around and meeting up again behind to form a circle. She'd separated a wedge of the earth on which it stood.
"You say the word," she called to Griff, "and this thing goes down like a five-dollar whore." Sabrina's language tended to get colorful when she was nervous.
4:15
"Fan out!" Morivan shouted now, having risen to his feet, his hand fiddling into his pocket for a cigar, snatching the only one he had left. He'd meant to buy more in Strata, but that'll have to wait, it seems. As he clicked his lighter open, Sutiiven and Fayble took to his orders while Sabrina focused her energies on the fissure. The team moved as one, coordination at it's peak.
Fayble would move off to the far side, occupying a space near the wall some fifteen feet away from the statue. Out of the perceived line of fire or crash zone of the statue. He feet stamped quickly and a single wandering charge of electricity ran from her eye, down her arm, across the hammer and into the air as she grounded herself for concentration.
Sutiiven, using his own concentration method of charging pushed forward, acting as the 45* marker between Griff and Fayble. His hands were at the ready. Between his powers and the swords lashed to his side, he was prepared, the energy in his body slowly accumulating, his skin crawling, hair waving, a spark of resonance. He was alive with the energy.
Griff struck fire to the cigar, his eyes narrowed. A deep inhalation, and a plume of smoke as he pocketed the lighter, gripping the cigar in his teeth. He bent down quickly, popping up with the Fang in his left. He'd collected a bit of energy, Truesight being cast as he looked to Sabrina, another quick puff and that cocky grin.
"Bring'er down, baby."
The fissure beneath the statue shuddered for a second, maybe two, and shattered, the dust and debris clearing from the indent. The balance for the statue was now all kinds of off, over half the weight of the statue entirely unsupported.
4:00
Griff Morivan Wrote:The fissure beneath the statue shuddered for a second, maybe two, and shattered, the dust and debris clearing from the indent. The balance for the statue was now all kinds of off, over half the weight of the statue entirely unsupported. And yet...the statue still refused to move.
A ward flared out underneath the statue, supporting it when the ground underneath gave way and, much like it did with Griff, shot Sabrina backwards at an angle, smashing her against the top side of the massive sword that had nearly impaled her captain. Amazingly, in spite of the impressive speed with which Sabrina was traveling when she hit against the golden blade's surface, the sword did not budge an inch when Sabrina hit against it, resulting in her taking the entire force of the blow to her back from the flat side of the blade.
The statue was not of natural origin, the way it shifted with the rest of the room when the geomancer set foot on it, the way it responded to Griff's touch, no sane architect would place something so complicated directly in the path of a hallway, so it would go without question that simply trying to cheat the system would not yield the results they desired. Team Jormungandr would have to keep in mind that this test was designed to measure their skill as a team, and not individually test each of their abilities.
Should the fighters turn their attention away from the statue to check on their teammate, by the time they turned back around they would have noticed that the statue had taken a different stance. Her arms were now at her sides, palms turned outwards, head tilted at a slight angle to face a familiar outcropping of rock on the opposite end of the room, as if she were expecting something out of that particular ledge.
Designated Hero Wrote:FWOOM!
"YYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHWOOF!!!"
The young woman rebounded off of the unyielding surface, and dropped straight to the floor. She laid, unceremoniously sprawled out, facedown, on the dusty floor.
She didn't move . . . until a few seconds later, when she started coughed, and pulling her limbs under her to push herself back up with all the agonizing slowness of someone dazed.
She seemed to be struggling to get breath back in her lungs. However, she did manage to wheeze, "Brute force . . . don't work . . ."
3:45
Griff blinked, his crowning moment of team work taken from him in an instant. Rage washed past him as he helped Sabrina, trying to get her to her feet when he looked up.
Wait a minute. It moved. Again. And it seems to be looking... wait... What?
"..." Griff's eyes wandered around the room, finally looking at Sabrina, and then nudging the fully stuck blade. "Sab... Can you break apart the ground under the sword?"
He snapped to his feet, pointing to Sutiiven. "Okay, you catch the handle, Fayble, you prepare to catch the guard on that side, Sabrina, you stay outta the way. We'll put the damn sword into that ********' uglies hands!" And so, everyone got into position, waiting for Sabrina to shake off the pain and begin casting. "We gotta hurry. Time's almost up!"
3:00
As her coughing died away, Sabrina accepted Griff's help and got to her feet.
Griff Morivan Wrote:"Sab... Can you break apart the ground under the sword?"
"You got it," she rasped, and ignored the strange ball of pain in her torso as she gathered energy, once more. A few seconds passed . . . and then she stomped her foot down near the sword. The time, it sounded like a small explosion as spider-web of cracks appeared just around the blade. Now they would be able to pull it loose easily, assuming the three of them could carry an eighteen-foot sword. Fayble had her Power-Up! ability, though, and activating it would probably allow her to carry the brunt of the weight.
Sabrina stood aside, a hand over her stomach, grimacing. She had a sneaking suspicion that the impact had done something bad to her . . .
2:45
As soon as Stephen reached up to grab the hilt of the sword on its descent, he'd realize he was in trouble. Not even Fayble or Griff's intervention would be enough to keep him from nearly being smashed under the immense weight of the sword. Even for its size, the weapon seemed impossibly heavy, perhaps composed of some strange alloy or just magically enchanted. Whatever the case, six hands were not enough to slow the weapon's descent, let alone pick it up off the ground.
To further complicate matters, their intent to place the sword in the maiden's hands was perhaps a little shortsighted, though one could easily chalk it up to the distance between the fighters and the statue. Her palms were turned outwards, to face the fighters, not upwards, to receive something.
Even if they were, the statue was still nearly twelve feet tall, and to place the sword in her hands would have required them to be standing at the base of the statue, standing on their tip toes with arms fully extended. With the hole that had been tried to tip the statue over, such an option was out of the question as it was.
But now with the sword on the ground and Stephen grasping the hilt, he'd find that his hands were permanently affixed to the weapon's hilt, about as close to the crossguard as one could feasibly get while still maintaining a 'comfortable' grip. So while the sword tipped over and he was able to shift himself out of the way of being crushed, he'd nearly have his arms pulled out of their sockets if he didn't follow the weapon's path with his torso.
Of particular interest (and something that Stephen would probably notice right away) was the abnormally lengthy hilt, even for a weapon nearly twenty feet in length, there was enough comfortable room there for four pairs of hands.
A quick look back at the statue would see that it had again changed its posture. It was now beckoning the fighters forward with her left hand. Her right was held to her forehead.
The room's lighting also faded. The ominous feeling regressed even further, the golden globe glowing brighter as the archaic symbols' influence waned.
"Guys!" Sutiiven finally spoke up, looking over the sword and with the realization regarding the handle of the sword. A quick glance to make sure everyone wasn't crushed as he rose to his feet. "There is enough room, everyone grab onto the handle!" Griff and Fayble turned to one another, and then to Sabrina before Morivan nodded, standing opposite of Sutiiven, Fayble next to him, leaving a space for Sabrina.
Griff didn't know what they were doing. They needed to make a move, and this sword seemed like a key. Even if it was a key they couldn't pick up. "C'mon! We'll see if we can't just crack this b*h wide the ****** open!"
2:15
-edit, undeleted-
"You're kidding," Sabrina grumbled as she did a once-over of the enormous blade, but walked over to it anyway, cringing a little bit as she bent over to take hold of the handle and pain pulsed through her body. And then . . .
1:45
Once all eight hands grasped the sword, they would find that they were capable of lifting the sword. It wasn't easy, by any means, but as long as they were all acting together and not trying to work individually, they would find that their combined strength (or maybe just the act of their teamwork), was capable of lifting the otherworldly weapon.
All that remained now was the statue, which stood still, beckoning them forward. A semblance of a smile present on her lips that was not there before.
Sabrina grunted as she pulled on the blade, along with the rest of her teammates . . . and gasped in surprise as it miraculously rose from the ground, broken stone crumbling around the blade as they freed it.
"Wow," Sutii said. ". . . Didn't know I had it in me." He flashed a grin at the rest of them.
Sabrina couldn't help releasing a chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan when it brought on more pain. "Let's just get this over with," she said, and gritted her teeth as she, Sutii, and the others hefted and moved quickly across the room towards the statue, the clock ticking down in the backs of all their heads.
"Go figure," Griff muttered, looking across the handle at Sabrina and Sutii. Fayble raised an eyebrow. "And to think, all it took was that goofy falcon punch in the room before this one, and then we me and Sabrina getting slammed across the room. . ." He groaned as the sword slowly moved behind them. "Cracked rib for her, a small concussion, nearly losing my balls, and all for this? Seriously. When all is said and done? I'mma take the check from Mr. Noah and then. . ." They halted, his eyes narrowing. "Kick his a**."
Griff and Sutiiven planted their feet, lowering their bodies briefly before sharply raising themselves, while Fayble and Sabrina rested the pommel against the floor, hands on the sword at all times as they began to push upward, the blade slowly lifting up at an angle . . . and then, once it reached its peak . . . well, they'd give it one more nudge towards the statue and let gravity do the rest.
0:45
Keeping in mind that their hands were firmly affixed to the sword with no hope of release, Jormungandr opted to throw out all of that momentum they had built up with their approach and just stopped, planted the sword down on the ground (with Fayble probably laying on the floor, since standing and holding onto the bottom of an eighteen foot sword was probably impossible with all of those other bodies in the way), and...tipped it over?
It seemed Jormungandr was going out of their way to make their job far more difficult than it needed to be, and sacrificing flare to boot. With all four fighters focusing their strength at the bottom of the sword, they'd find that it would require ALL of their strength to try and tip the weapon back up and forward with nothing but their wrists, and since they were just nudging it forward, they'd be dragged along with the sword as it shifted on its axis. Fayble was actually picked up off the ground as the sword started its downward swing, and given the immense weight and width of the thing, the other fighters would follow suit as it cleaved through the statue's head like a knife through butter. So fast was the motion that, when the wards locking the fighter's hands to the weapon's hilt were destroyed as a result of the statue's demise, they were flung into the air. Since they weren't moving forward at the time, they were just basically launched straight up into the air.
That wasn't all. As soon as the statue's head was cracked open a bright white light spread out from within, enveloping the entire room in a matter of seconds before flashing out of existence entirely, with the statue or its remains nowhere to be seen.
Outside, the youth's eyes went wide and a great big smile crossed his face. With the statue out of the way, the fighters had nothing to stop them from entering the door.
However it had taken them a lot of time to actually get the statue taken care of, and they still hadn't crossed the threshold.
Woulld they be able to get up in time?
Griff was the first to make his move, landing hard. He saw the situation at hand, he felt the pain of that blinding light and the ringing. He saw what was going on as his team slowly rose to their feet. Griff's actions were simple and succinct, scrambling to his feet, he went straight for a dash. Only three words. "PICK UP FAYBLE!" He could hear the clock ticking down, they were on their last seconds, but the only way they'd have time to make this was to bust their asses and get out in time.
And damn it, Fayble and Sabrina are slower than the MEN!
The DOOMTRAIN flattened out, and with his palm extended nearly floor level, Griff would rush through Sabrina, scooping her up and onto his shoulder in probably the least flattering method possible, his feet carrying him as hard as possible. From behind, he heard the sharp, shrill scream of... Sutiiven? Morivan's eye shot back for a second to see Fayble Potato Sacking Suits, hammer over the other, roaring.
Griff didn't say a word, couldn't be bothered. There wasn't enough time to ******** around, ask questions, or have a laugh. The timer was ticking, and at this rate, it'd be by the skin of his teeth that they'd make this work. C'mon, Guys... Regardless, they would run as hard as possible, women over their shoulders, Griff finally releasing a roaring battle cry in that last stretch of time...
0:15
Can our heroes make it through the port hole in time!? Will the DM allow the two man act/move as a thirty second action, since Sabrina and Sutiiven didn't actually act!? WHAT WILL HAPPEN!?!?
FIND OUT NEXT POST!
It was a classic race against time. Timers beeped in warning as Griff and Stephen carried their teammates towards their destination. As Griff drew near (he was the closest, after all), he'd have to be blind to not notice the hallway on the other side of the door fading into a white emptiness. Every step he took, no matter how much he picked up his pace, the room ahead just seemed to fade away that much quicker. It was a futile race, but one Jormungandr seemed determined to finish.
Just as Griff took that last stride, to breach the entryway with Stephen right behind, the entire team was swallowed up in the bright white light. Griff and Fayble would find their loads lightened significantly when they came to the realization that both Sabrina and Fayble were simply gone. Likewise, Stephen and Sabrina would find that they were simply...floating, as if they were still being carried but by invisible hands. Each team member would find themselves completely isolated from the others, with no form of communication between them. Any sound they attempted to make was lost, as it soon became apparent that they were in a vacuum. Seconds passed, but it probably felt like an eternity with no air to breathe.
What was going on? Did they pass? Was this their punishment for failure?
And then the world came rushing back to greet them. Sabrina and Sutiivan were dropped by their invisible hands to fall rather unceremoniously to the ground. Griff and Fayble would get off slightly better, simply arriving standing in their new location.
Jormungandr was still separated, with each member standing in a narrow hallway barely wide enough to fit one person comfortably. Currently their backs were to a far wall, meaning that their only room for movement was straight forward. Naturally, that was also where the only point of interest was in the entire place. A pedestal stood on the opposite end of the hall, a sword embedded in the rock all the way up to its crossguard.
While they could scream and shout all they wanted now, they couldn't hear or be heard by their teammates now. Whatever the test set before them now was obviously meant to be taken on an extremely personal level.
Not long after they were able to survey their surroundings, they'd be treated to another update from their FIGHTERs.
Faith Wrote:While I appreciate your dedication to cutting things close, I assure you that these tests are not designed for my entertainment. Please exercise better judgment for the next battery of tests, or you'll be unable to reap the rewards of success.
A disturbing trend in Heaven or Hell tournaments past is that a team is often "carried' by a single individual. That fighter shows no faith in his team, opting to fight every single round, allowing his team to stagnate in the process. Many times that team will advance to the elimination round --this round-- only to falter when their prize fighter is knocked out of the subsequent battle, proving that the rest of the team is unable to carry the load. What I offer each of you right now, is an escape from that.
You'll find that you are separated from the rest of your teammates. Don't worry, they're safe. Each one of you now faces the same test. At the end of the hallway you find yourselves in is a sword embedded in stone. The first two to remove that sword will be guaranteed allowance to compete in your next round, regardless of the outcome of this eliminator.
There are no traps, no monsters to halt your progress. Simply you, and the faith you have in your team.
You have two minutes.
After that message, their FIGHTERs went dark save for the timer ticking away in the center. They were truly alone.
((For this section I would prefer if EVERY TEAM MEMBER posts at least once. I will only consider a puppet as a last resort.))
See, it's funny, cause Fayble was carrying Sutiiven, so the Dungeon just called Suits a girl.
Not that Griff knew that as he found himself phasing back into reality, his hands pressing to the wall. For a moment, he glanced around. Not a whole lot of room. Lots of air, it seemed, just... no people. No room. Griff hated that. Too tight a space. Ugh. "Guys?uys?uys?uys?uys?"
...
No sounds. No response. That's unsettling. And then that sound. Griff's face scrunched into a scowl. "I swear to God, when I see that kid, I'm gonna kick his smug a**. And Elia's two." He reached up now, grasping the cigar on his teeth, taking a short drag before activating the FIGHTER's PDA.
FAITH
While I appreciate your dedication to cutting things close, I assure you that these tests are not designed for my entertainment. Please exercise better judgment for the next battery of tests, or you'll be unable to reap the rewards of success.
A disturbing trend in Heaven or Hell tournaments past is that a team is often "carried' by a single individual. That fighter shows no faith in his team, opting to fight every single round, allowing his team to stagnate in the process. Many times that team will advance to the elimination round --this round-- only to falter when their prize fighter is knocked out of the subsequent battle, proving that the rest of the team is unable to carry the load. What I offer each of you right now, is an escape from that.
You'll find that you are separated from the rest of your teammates. Don't worry, they're safe. Each one of you now faces the same test. At the end of the hallway you find yourselves in is a sword embedded in stone. The first two to remove that sword will be guaranteed allowance to compete in your next round, regardless of the outcome of this eliminator.
There are no traps, no monsters to halt your progress. Simply you, and the faith you have in your team.
You have two minutes.
"...Great. Gurreat. A groan, the team captain emitted from his lips as he looked around the hall once more. There was a count down that bleeped into his PDA" Booreep. That bright 2:00 began to shine as Griff continued to monologue. "Morivan found himself trapped in the hallway, hearing no breeze, his fingers feeling for snags or loose stones, his digits working hard to find even the smallest of hitches."
As he spoke, he did as he dictated, the oddest of self comforting methods. "He pondered the situation in depth, considering that Sabrina and he had been the only two to be in every round of combat thus far. And while he felt he was the strongest, the fact of the matter was, he had faith in his team mates. And he turned now to look at the stone and the sword embedded within."
"A dark scowl as he looked through the hall, just thinking. He saw the blade. He knew that if he moved on, he would have the opportunity go forward, fight a team full of men he respected, men he looked forward to going head to head against. But, he also knew there was no justice in that. Griff let off a short, quick sigh before lowering himself to the ground, crossing his legs, and closing his eyes."
"Two minutes is a long a** time when there's no stimuli. But Griff would endure. Beyond this sword, there was more than likely a man who would test them on their mettle in combat. And Griff?"
Inhale.
"He was the best there was. And he had faith in his team."
Sabrina wondered if she had passed out, somehow, when she was enveloped by emptiness and the phantom sensation of being carried. Yeah, she felt a little tired after expending all that energy with her Geomancy, and the pain in her abdomen was still nagging at her, but neither was that bad.
In fact, when you passed out, weren't you supposed to stop feeling exhaustion or pa-
Thump
Unceremoniously, she was dropped to a dusty floor. Again.
"Always hurting my stomach. Always dropping me in the dirt," she thought, unhappily. "Can't anyone think of something ********' new?"
Sabrina proceeded to pull herself to her feet, grunting and coughing. She looked around, then spat against the wall to get the taste of dirt out of her mouth and started walking towards the sword. "Hello?!" she called out, to see if her teammates were somewhere nearby.
She failed to notice the streaks of crimson in her saliva.
After taking a few steps forward, the young combatant's FIGHTER let her know she had another message. Her eyes scanned the text, and she scowled. Huffing through her nose, she tapped a few buttons on the device.
Outside, on the cold and snowy mountaintop, the little device the young man had been using to send them messages chimed, letting him know that he'd received a text.
RAEG Wrote:EAT c**k >8[
Nifty little thing, the 'Reply' function was.
Back within the mountain (or wherever the Hell they'd been sent), Sabrina let her arm fall back to her side, and walked up to the sword. She knew this little twit probably had this set up as some sort of mindgame. Also, like Griff, she had a feeling that there was a fight coming soon, if the Elimination rounds of past tournaments were anything to judge by. Why else give them swords? . . . Well, ones that weren't eighteen feet long, anyway. And she was itchin' to hurt someone.
She refused to give in to his little tricks and spend the whole two minutes overthinking the whole matter when the best solution was often the straightforward one, so she reached for the hilt. Besides, whatever point he was trying to make about one of them carrying the team certainly didn't apply to Sabrina, not when they could all get along just fine without her --
That thought made her hand stop, centimeters from the pommel.
She didn't know if the kid had somehow been aware of it, but these past couple of days, the young woman had been struggling with doubt about her place on Jörmungandr, and he'd managed to drag those worries out into the light again. Sure, she was a fighter through and through, always just as ready to settle a conflict with fists as she was with words, but the fact remained that she was young and inexperienced. Good, but not great. Sure, she had some talent, but surely there were other people in Gaia with more? She couldn't stop questioning why they'd put her on the team, when they could have chosen anyone else. She'd asked Griff directly about this, and had been given a short and simple response:
"Attitude."
How could she be satisfied with an answer like that?
Sabrina's hand dropped away from the sword. What worth did she contribute to this team, this tournament as whole? She was just a lucky fangirl who'd . . . No. NO!
Sabrina shook her head. She wasn't gonna let this place and its stupid tests do this to her! The girl was loathe to admit it, but that kid had a point about cooperation. She had to trust her teammates, trust that they'd had some reason for choosing her, trust that she was worthy, no matter what anyone else, even this ******** mountain, had to say about it. Even if she was young and didn't have the skill or experience some of the other competitors possessed, she had a right to be a part of Heaven or Hell.
And now that she'd reached a conclusion . . . Sabrina wasn't sure if she should take the sword or not. She wanted to take it, so she could prove to everyone that she didn't have to be carried, but on the other hand, it could mean keeping someone else from participating in the next round . . . not to mention it was probably what that little c**t was expecting her to do. In fact, she doubted that he'd ever been part of a team. He couldn't understand that, sometimes, you just had to let yourself be benched, knowing that there was someone who could handle the situation better than you. Letting ego get in the way just ended up hurting everyone.
In fact, the idea that the kid was planning for her to do it helped her decide. And so, Sabrina folded her arms over her chest, ignored the twinge beneath her ribs, and leaned against the wall to watch the timer tick down. If she sat the next round out, so be it. Take one for the team, so to speak. In the end, as long as her fellow combatants, her friends, recognized that she was good enough . . . well, that was all that mattered. They had faith in her, and vice versa.
She knew the kid was expecting her to grab the sword. She would have expected herself to do it, before coming in here. He probably didn't anticipate that she would leave the sword. And it gave her a mild sense of satisfaction, knowing that she was going against whatever furtive little plan he'd made.
. . . She could be wrong of course, and he'd anticipated exactly what would happen, which would mean she was playing right into his hands. But that would require a deeper understanding of her nature that he didn't, couldn't possibly have.
. . . . . Right?
Dictionary Wrote:Faith
/feɪθ/ [feyth]
–noun
...
...
Faith... such a funny word, yet few tend to look at it's non-religious meanings. There was no question that theology had coined the term, but now was a proper example of how the other meanings would come into play.
As Stephen found himself in the hallway, he contemplated the various meanings. He had faith in his teammates - confidence and trust, expecting them to do the right thing in whatever situation they found. He had no reason behind this belief, no solid proof that they wouldn't turn around and back stab him... but he believed in them anyway.
He knew that ones personal ethics could be shaky in times of stress (heaven knew he had made his fair share of bad decisions.) He trusted his teammates to not let that stress overtake them, and to make rational decisions despite the time crunch. At this time, however, his own personal code of ethics was screaming one thing, and one thing only:
Action.
He had an obligation to his teammates. He had made a promise to fight alongside them, to protect them, to make sure that everything would be alright. A promise he had made to many in his day, but one he intended to take to the grave if it ever came to that.
Now... now was the time to make good on his obligation.
At this conclusion, the man began running full tilt down the hallway in attempts to reach the sword and pull it from it's resting place. He didn't care of he was first or last or even capable of drawing the blade from it's stone sheathe, but he had to trust that his friends we're doing the right thing. Was it a trap? Probably, but now wasn't the time to deliberate. He was going to do what he felt was right by him, what was right for the betterment of the others, whatever he could to support them. He had the faith that they would do the same.
They were a team, after all.
Don't believe in yourself. Believe in me, who believes in you!
((Minor edit to fix a couple of typos.))
Fayble stared at the FIGHTER for what seemed like hours, but was really a mere few seconds, reading the message four, five times. It was odd. Such a simple out like that. She could barely fathom it, really, but it seemed necessary. She pondered it time and again, hearing about prior years where entire teams were nearly wiped clean from the Eliminations. With something like that as the case, it might be that they, once the fight came to be, that there would only be those who took the swords.
She thought long and hard. At this point, she mused, Griff and Sutiiven had probably taken the blades into their hands, make sure to go forward. But it couldn't hurt. She had faith in her team mates, but you never know when someone is going to have that revelation and realize that THIS IS THE MOMENT that they have to prove themselves for good and all as MEN. Or what have you.
With a sigh, she turned at last. "It's... The Team would rely on me... to make sure someone passes forward."
Kuh-Shhuuoockuhk.
"...Right. For you guys."
Faith. The belief that, even without your presence, your team would carry on. It was a very basic concept, one that all of the greatest teams had in common. There were many successful teams in Heaven or Hell composed of mortal enemies, people with conflicting interests, ideals, backgrounds, races, but for one second they did not doubt that the other members of their team would be capable of holding their own in a fight.
As soon as Fayble and Sutiiven drew the swords from the stone, the time limit became irrelevant. Each fighter would find the ground beneath their feet shifting white, growing around them, enveloping the room much like it had before with the test of comradery. There was no vacuum, no threat of suffocation or separation. In fact, turning to the side would result in all of Jormungandr being reunited, if not a mere five feet separated from one another.
Then the world came rushing back to them. They were no longer inside the mountain, but outside it. Standing before them was the young man that had introduced them to their tests beforehand. The look on his face was still filled with the same wonderment that one would expect of a young man being put face to face with athletic icons.
"You have completed the tests of Comradery and Faith. Only one trial remains before you face the one who stands between you and victory.
Sacrifice.
Not every team is able to emerge unscathed from a worthy trial, and the one you face right now is no exception. The bravest among you, right now, must step forward to face this trial. Know that I will only accept one of you, so in the event I have multiple volunteers I will simply select the first one to step forward. Should you step forward at the same time, I will simply pick at random.
Also keep in mind that there is a difference between a worthy sacrifice and a needless one. Throwing fodder to the slaughter achieves nothing and holds no significant meaning."
Arms crossed, the boys eyes closed to help invoke a slightly more serious countenance as he waited for one of the fighters to step forward.
Designated Hero Wrote:"You have completed the tests of Comradery and Faith. Only one trial remains before you face the one who stands between you and victory.
Sacrifice.
Not every team is able to emerge unscathed from a worthy trial, and the one you face right now is no exception. The bravest among you, right now, must step forward to face this trial. Know that I will on-
Snow crunched beneath beneath Sabrina's boots as she took two large steps forward, directly towards the kid. Her Sense pulsed through the permafrost beneath the snow each time her feet made contact. Standing less than four feet from him, she narrowed her eyes and spoke, breath misting in front of her. Her hands rested on the grips of her tonfa, ready to draw them at a moment's notice.
"I'm sick and tired of your stupid tests and incessant blabbing. Let's get this over with. Now put up, or shut up."
Sabrina was no idiot. It was fight time, and whoever lost here would be sitting the next round out. Her thoughts during the Faith trials kept coming back to her:
Master Nemesis Wrote:Sometimes, you just had to let yourself be benched, knowing that there was someone who could handle the situation better than you.
If they had to risk a handicap, she was going to be the one to suffer it. Better her than any of the rest of them. She kept repeating an old adage to herself: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.
Well, whether or not she lost here, she'd first show this punk that it was a damn strong chain.
Heart pounding in her chest, pain in her body ignored, cold wind temporarily restoring her vitality, Sabrina stood defiantly and waited to be tested.
Griff looked to Sabrina, having hung back just to see what his team would do. He was taken aback that it would be Sabrina who would step forward, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His arms crossed as snow began to paste itself to his face, around his shades and onto his crossed arms. From the beginning, he watched her, knowing full well her biggest fear being a detriment to this team. His arms slowly sank, his left sweeping across his torso.
"Sabrina!" Griff barked once more, The Fang of Midgard popping into the air before landing down on his shoulder, the bone of the blade and the steel of his arm rattling with a rough clank. "Team Jörmungandr, Member Number Three. Win or lose, you have proven your courage." A grin flashed, his teeth strikingly whiter than the swarthy man's lips and face. Granted, with the snow storm eating the sun, there was no gleam. "Now make me proud. Kick their a**."
Sabrina did not turn to look at Griff, did not take her eyes off of the kid. Her scowling expression did not budge . . . except for her eyebrows, which twitched a little, as if they'd started to lift in surprise but she'd caught herself before doing so.
She felt . . . better.
Again, the young man's face brightened up considerably and he rose his right arm, beckoning the brave warrior forward. He was no longer perched atop an outcropping, but in knee-deep snow like the rest of Jormungandr. The only thing that separated him from the rest of the team was a rock jutting up out of the snow at roughly waist height.
"Despite your attitude, your courage and dedication are admirable. Very well. Step forward, Sabrina Miles."
When she did, she'd find that the wind died down the instant she came within two yards of the young man. The cold remained, but at least she wasn't getting pelted in the face by millions of snowflakes and chipped rock. She'd notice the young man reach into his pocket, then produce a trio of thin, rectangular objects. As he laid each one out on the rock in front of him, it became apparent that they were officially licensed, Heaven or Hell playing cards.
"Your task is simple. Choose one."
And his hand swept over the tops of the cards, as if he needed to elaborate on what Sabrina was choosing.
"More games?" she thought, but said nothing. Instead, Sabrina took no more then two seconds to deliberate before reaching out, and flipping over the card the center.
She'd had enough of overthinking things.
Sabrina would find that the card she had chosen was of a special sort. The strange young man, Kenneth, simply smiled as her hand reached out for the card, and he responded to her decision with a single motion of his index finger.
One dozen of the resting swords were suddenly shorn in half by an invisible force in the time it took Sabrina to flip over her card. The entire mountain shuddered, the child's smile disappeared, again replacing itself with a deadly serious look. And, in a voice that was far too sinister and deep to be his own, he spoke.
"It's time."
Pushing away from the table-shaped rock, the young man allowed himself to fall backwards, hitting the ground and simply...disappearing into the snow. The wind picked back up, and the members of Jormungandr would notice a flash of black against the whiteout of the blizzard they were in.
The card that Sabrina had turned over?
The Fist of Spades
In the time it took to squint to determine the disturbance's origin, it was suddenly upon them. There was no hope for Sabrina, she had stepped forward and knew what was to come. Before her teammates could intervene, before Sabrina could even make out even the frame of her attacker, she would feel an incredible pressure against her chest.
The force of impact released a sonic boom, sending Sabrina spiraling down the hill, nearly one hundred yards away from the point of impact where only the Helicopter's ruined shell would provide her with enough resistance to stop. Even if she remained conscious after the strike, she'd find herself trapped by some sort of barrier, preventing her from reaching the rest of her team.
As for the figure that now stood in Sabrina's place, he had already retracted the gauntleted fist he had struck with, the knuckles of the armor dented and partially broken due to the force of impact. The fingers could not fully extend, inhibited as they were by the wrenched piece of shadesteel. His face was concealed beneath a hood, his chest and upper arms concealed mostly by a tattered black cloak. His left arm moved across his body, removing the gauntlet from his right hand to reveal normal, unharmed flesh underneath. He callously removed the piece of scrap, tossing it off the side of the mountain.
He stood there, obscured eyes staring down the remaining members of Jormungandr. His right hand rose, fingers peeling away the cowl to reveal a face matching that of one Athan Cole. In appearance alone the resemblance was striking, but in expression there was...nothing. Just a blank stare as he regarded the fighters before him as if they were nothing more than cattle fresh for the slaughter.
Just then, they received another update on their FIGHTERs.
The Climax Wrote:So you have reached the climax of your adventure here. You have performed admirably, but not perfectly throughout the course of these trials.
Comradery: You demonstrated a willingness to work with one another in spite of seemingly impossible odds. No matter how close you were to the time limit, you managed to successfully complete this test.
Faith: No matter your intentions, you failed the test of Faith the moment one of you drew forth the sword from its resting place. The fact that two of you performed the action only further cements your choice.
Sacrifice: Sabrina's sacrifice was not in vain, for she had indeed proven her worth by competing in both of your rounds to date. For the betterment of your team, she passed this test, though she may not feel like it at the moment.
For passing two out of these three tests, you will be granted a measure of power to bring you closer to your eliminator's level. This strength I lend to you is only temporary, it will not last into the next round, but it will give you a puncher's chance against this man. I regret that it had to come to this, for both you and him. But when your first choice is...hesitant to don the armor of an eliminator, one has to take certain steps to ensure that their meticulous planning is not ruined by something silly like choice.
Speaking of which, you are now faced with one. You may choose to divide this power amongst yourselves, trading strength for numbers, or instead opt to give all of it to one person. I will not lie, no one option is better than the other, and even should this fight be between individuals your strength will only be a fraction of his.
Choose quickly, however. I have no idea how patient he is, and I can't guarantee he will leave any of you standing should you hesitate for much longer.
To those that knew him, there was reason for Athan to take a particular shining to this mountainside. After all, the temple and the bodies underneath those swords had belonged to his people. This was nothing personal concerning Jormungandr, this was a case of trespassing, plain and simple.
Right now he seemed content to just watch the group assembled. They didn't register as much of a threat, so their fate was entirely in their hands as far as he was concerned.
"Jesus ******** Christ!?" Morivan shouted as he spun around, the husk of Sabrina's body shooting past him in a hurry before he turned back. He turned back immediately, his eyes fixed on the massive figure 'shaded' in the bleach white snow. Pieces of cracked steel falling into the frost, his eyes trailed up to fix on the face behind the black cowl, and in a moment's time, he was revealed.
Athan Cole. Griff had never seen him in the flesh, but he'd heard the stories. A monster with a sword. Before he could really try and recall it all, the damned FIGHTER went off again. It was at this moment that he realized why it was he despised text messaging.
A quick read through, complete, fail, complete. And some sort of power. For a moment, Griff sighed heavily, wishing that Fayble and Sutiiven had left the blades to rest. Maybe then they'd all have a boost in power. But it didn't matter. It couldn't matter. What's done was done, and there was only one option left. As he tossed his cigar aside, he spoke clearly. "Sutiiven, Fayble. Get to Sabrina, make sure she's okay."
DOOMTRAIN pumped, and he swallowed hard. "I'll take it all."
Something was coming!
Sabrina let the card fall from her hand and into the snow, and started to pull her tonfa free of her belt, but there just wasn't enough time. It was too quick.
The next thing she knew, Sabrina felt as as if someone had detonated a grenade on her chest. Her world was filled with pain, motion, and the sound of rushing air. Her body skipped through the snow like a stone over a pond, limbs flying about like she was a rag doll, throwing up fountains of powder in her wake. Eventually, whether by chance or Athan's intent, she smacked into the side of their wrecked chopper with a heavy Thump, landing splayed out against it with her back against the wreckage of the door and her legs stretched crookedly in front of her.
She was still for several seconds, until her head slowly started to rise.
"Air, want . . . breathe . . . can't . . . air . . ."
Hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, black spots dancing in her vision, Sabrina only knew that her body was screaming at her for oxygen, but her lungs didn't seem to want to inflate, refused to give her release from torment. "Breathe . . . breathe," her mind and body pleaded . . . and one side of her chest relented, drawing in the air she so desperately sought.
She immediately wished it hadn't, when the organ's inflation ignited suffering across several shattered ribs.
A G O N Y
Reflexively, she tried to cry out, but all that her broken body could manage was a gurgling whimper. This caused her to gag on fluid in her throat, and she tried to cough it up weakly with her single functioning lung, sending more thunderbolts of pain lancing through her chest. She watched in disbelief as a thick mixture of blood and spittle oozed out of her mouth, staining the front of her favorite white shirt, red.
Hot tears coursed freely down her frost-dusted cheeks, unnoticed amongst all her suffering. Mercifully, she slipped completely under the dark blanket of unconsciousness moments later.
Griff Morivan Wrote:"Sutiiven, Fayble. Get to Sabrina, make sure she's okay."
DOOMTRAIN pumped, and he swallowed hard. "I'll take it all."
Stephen didn't have the energy or will to give the man who had pretty much sucker-punched his teammate the time of day. Following orders, he ran to Sabrina's unconscious self and unceremoniously drug her off to the side where he would attempt to tend to her as best he could.
A chopper crash, three timed trials, and still they wanted more. This test of endurance was growing more and more disgusting in the man's mind as they toyed with the team, only now giving them a fair fight (if it could even be called that.)
He wanted to say so much. He wanted to scream, cry, yell in frustration. He wanted to go and fight against the pawn that the brat had been saving for the last minute, acting like some twisted monster playing with it's food before the kill. He wanted to show the little b*****d what kind of crazed animal he was dealing with.
But he couldn't. Nothing felt appropriate. He just sat there and watched over Sabrina, choking out one violent, hateful request to his captain.
"******** him up, Griff."
No reaction from Athan as Griff stepped froward. He simply cocked his head to the side a little bit, measure up the man that separated himself from the rest of the pack. At the moment he was still not worth considering a threat, just a man with a prosthetic arm. It was typically a waste of effort and energy to act against lesser beings, but the vandalism taking place on his mountain was something that demanded an answer. While Sabrina was technically innocent, she served as an excellent scapegoat for the puppet master in charge of things.
It was then that Griff would begin to feel a change in himself. Internally it manifested itself very subtly. He wouldn't "feel" stronger, in fact he wouldn't feel much different at all. For all he knew, the kid had played him for a fool, setting himself up with just enough false hope to walk headlong into a slaughter. But if he were to pay close attention, he'd notice his senses of perception were much higher. The entire world seemed to slow down as he processed information quicker and his body responded in kind.
As the foreign energy manifested itself within Griff, Athan's eyes went from tracking Fayble and Stephen (interested to see if they were showing the same courage as their captain, no doubt), to focus squarely on Griff. His power was increasing exponentially. This man was no longer a pebble to be cast aside.
This man was a threat.
Like before, he came straight forward. To Fayble and Stephen the situation was similar to his attack against Sabrina, where they would find themselves incapable of tracking much, if any, of his movement aside from the general forward movement.
Griff would be able to perceive things a little differently. Athan was moving incredibly fast, even to his beefed-up senses, but it was a manageable speed. He had time to react, time to defend himself albeit in a very short window.
If he didn't react, Athan would act much like he had with Sabrina. One right fist, aimed directly at the sternum, in an attempt to smash Griff against the mountainside. A similar sonic boom was delivered as soon as the fist reached peak speed, temporarily silencing even the roaring wind itself before sending a nearby drift soaring into the air.
Fayble hesitated just a moment before rushing in kind behind Sutiiven. For all intents and purposes, Griff and Athan were left alone.
God damn it, why was it always Griff!?
Indeed, seconds passed without effect, and at first, he was remarkably aggravated by the fact that time itself seemed to slow down as dread washed past him. And then it dawned on him that it wasn't just in his head, it wasn't because he was panicking going head to head with a legend.
It was because time had slowed down. Not a great deal, but his eyes, ears, skin, it all seemed to slow itself to a crawl. But his enemy did not. The burst of speed was less than surprising, and repeating an action? Just tacky. But he'd take no time to wait and have himself destroyed. A hard strafe to his left, to the warrior's side, and Griff would raise his left arm into the defensive over his face, his right - The DOOMTRAIN - would extend in a punch aimed for the armpit.
Fairly standard, really.
[Griff notices the time change, sidesteps to the left, circling his enemy slightly to punch for the armpit with his steel arm.]
Athan had not acted soon enough, but there was no look of surprise as Griff managed to step to the side of his bullrush. No look of anger, either. Just a blank, emotionless stare that followed Griff even though his momentum carried him past Jormungadr's captain. Athan's fist was still delivered, smashing into the side of the mountain even as he stomped his left foot down, shuddering the entirety of the hill they stood upon.
As he turned his body to face Griff, he'd feel a solid impact against the underside of his extended arm. Shaking the ground beneath their feet managed to throw the punch off center just a little bit, but it wouldn't stop the steel arm from landing. Curiously, the steel arm would find itself straining from the force of impact, just as Athan's steel armor buckled under the pressure.
Whatever strength Griff had recently come into possession of, it didn't seem to translate well to things that weren't natural.
But before Griff could put too much thought into that revelation, two things would happen. First, and probably most important, Athan was pivoting on that planted left foot, responding to the punch by tucking his elbow in and driving that left elbow of his straight into Griff's temple.
Second, and a factor to consider later, that punch of Athan's had split the mountain face in half. A crevice began working its way both through and up the mountain. With both fighters essentially standing in the foothills, that left a few thousand feet of rock, snow, and sparse vegetation above them. And at the very top of the mountain, it all started to come down in the form of an avalanche.
Griff was no fool, and his torso felt the strain that DOOMTRAIN felt. After all, it was essentially a sort of Biotech, jacked directly into his central nervous. Sur, he couldn't feel pain in the traditional sense, but he could 'feel' when things weren't right. The movement of his body, however intensified, did not carry over into his DOOMTRAIN. And where normally that wouldn't matter, the fact that it buckled inside the Nervous Dock was concerning.
Only slightly less concerning that the fact that the revelation was met by the sight of the snow shifting directions in their immediate vicinity. He heard the quiet rattling of armor folding. This whole extended senses thing was amazing, but it was hardly enough to prevent Griff from taking a blow. Sure, he managed to move a bit, his reflexes being to back off and get a better view, the elbow strike would glance past, slicing his forehead with a pretty sizable gash.
Morivan wasn't a screamer. But with his senses sharpened, and his perception of pain not in any way dulled, his nervous system suddenly took a remarkable, horrific jolt. Even with such a glancing blow, it hurt so incomparably badly, that his lungs and his throat just could not keep it back. In an instant, an earth shattering noise.
"GUURYEEAAGUGH!"
The entire time, however, Griff's eyes remained wide open, even as blood began to stream past, around and into them, his eyes burned forward. The gash failed to slow him down, although the screech of pain turned into a roar of fury. He didn't move so much as a full blown backwards step. More like a backwards shift, if you will, his left now rocketing forward. He had no doubt in his mind that this'd hurt, but he was going to win. Because Jörmungandr Never Loses! His fist was tightened as hard as possible, the aim being just below the breastbone.
His right? Tightened backwards, elbow cocked. Gotta have both fists ready, right?
[Griff managed to dodge the brunt of the hit, his forehead being cut instead. He would move back slightly, and punch with his left (natural) fist. his right (DOOMTRAIN) was pulled back, ready to punch immediately.]
Blood.
It had been a long time since the hulking man had spilled any. Even longer since he had seen his own. The ear-shattering scream didn't seem to phase Athan in the least, as he just reset himself following the spin, then lunged forward to try and capitalize on his advantage. Something from above caught his attention, something Griff couldn't have noticed just yet.
His punch would land true, stumbling the eliminator as his armor again caved around the point of impact. Whatever sensory enhancements Griff seemed to have gained, his natural strength seemed to have increased as well.
Catching himself, Athan closed his right hand into a fist and then smashed it into the side of the mountain again. A far louder rumbling followed after impact, and the wind seemed to die down just a little bit. The crack that had been caused by the missed punch suddenly opened into a fissure that spread the entire length of the mountain. From just above Griff, one stray boulder separated itself from the mountain face, threatening to crush him beneath its weight. Or...crush the old him. Only experimentation would tell what it could possibly do to him now. As for the rest of the mountain, the entire geographical landmark fell apart shortly after that moment, the mountain and snow crashing down on top of the two fighters.
Or at least, so it would appear. A shockwave erupted from Athan's center of mass, blowing the snow and swords planted within it completely away. Whatever hindrance the snow provided earlier was gone entirely. As for the mountain crashing down upon them, the entire thing was simply suspended roughly four feet above the two by an invisible force.
Fayble, Sabrina, and Stephen would be spared their fate by simple luck of positioning. The wind that had plagued them before was nonexistent now, and in the distance they could hear the sound of helicopter rotors spinning.
Instead of actually retaliating, Athan seemed somewhat distracted by the task of supporting an entire mountain with his will alone.
Griff was taken aback as the snow whipped past him, the shockwave being one of significant force. His eyes narrowed as he rose his left arm to block his eyes. And then Athan destroyed the mountain. The cataclysmic destruction was impossible to miss, and it was something to behold. He almost found himself in awe. Were it not for the fact that he had to finish this. He had to win.
"SA!" Morivan shouted at first, a single syllable floating in the air, he body curling forward as he began to approach Athan once more. As the fingers of the DOOMTRAIN tightened around it's palm, his eyes blasted open, the blood pouring into them burning like hell the entire time. "BRI!" He planted his foot, his eyes bugging for a split second before snapping to attention. He saw the suspension. He knew there was trouble. ****** all that noise. He was Griff Mother **** Morivan! And you don't mess with anyone associated with Griff Mother ****** Morivan. "NAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Aim? Destination? Ah, hell, center mass. He planned to strike square to where he had before. Sure, the metal arm wasn't up to the stress. But Team Jörmungandr was depending on Griff, and his DOOMTRAIN. Gotta make the kids happy, huh?
[Using Athan's distraction, Griff would strike the same place he hit a moment before, this time with DOOMTRAIN.]