The Card With No Name (Kujo)

MKR

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#1
September 5th, OE 102
Swordian Impact Site Outskirts
Hellas Basin, Shura Controlled Territories
11:43 AM, Martian Standard Time


A silent procession, in the heat filled distant haze of the Martian surface a lone pair of legs marched with purpose. Red lights came from the 'face' of the lone unit, its limbs barely seemed to hold themselves together as they unwound and forced themselves back together, it was like they were made out of shoe laces. A passing cloud of dust obscured the encroaching machine for a moment before it moved aside, giving a clear view for any of the Shura moving about paying attention to the almost matte black thing inside their turf.

Just as it observed them, and then the Swordian. Half buried in the basin with its hull still in a state of disrepair. Whatever the Shura were using it for now didn't matter, the whale was beached and no convoluted method of entry was required any longer. Perhaps this was fulfilling a promise, or duty. Either way it was a frustrating thing. Both the machine's arms firmly took shape again as it marched once more.

There was no effort to conceal itself, almost the opposite as the dark stain on the environ would be even clearer against the picturesque red of Mars. Its make, as well was clearly not that of the Shura. In fact compared to their machines it was a giant, standing over twice as tall as a Flaus as it encroached on the ship with unknown intent and enough confidence to make one believe it wasn't by itself even if no allies could be seen at this instant so as such, the question posed was a theoretically simple one.

Did any of the warriors think themselves hard enough to come and have a go?

 
Nov 14, 2018
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#2
"What's with the mummy?"
"Is it the locals again? Maybe some secret weapon."
"No way, just look at that thing. It's probably with that horned guy"
"Should we do something about him?"

A town of tents had sprung up about the shore of the Hellas basin lake, Shurashin looming above their campfires and milling about between the transient structures. Some of the machines turned to look at the approaching figure along with many of the Shura at their feet. One Shura looked to his side as the latest quip came from those around him. The man who said it was one of the various Martian thugs that had wandered in looking to pay respect to the Shura for beating the constables so handily.

The Shura's face shifted in a not so subtle way of hiding amusement as he sized up the goon. "Tell you what, 'Champ'," he said, "Why don't you take that Gremory over there and see what his deal is?" The thug stared in surprise, stammering in confusion and attempting to thank the Shura for the opportunity to which he was promptly waved off towards the Shurashin with a grin. "Just gonna scrap a Gremory like that?" Another Shura came up as the thug left. "Eh, it'll be fine," said the first warrior as the mole-like machine started off with a waddle towards the mysterious unit.

After figuring out the functions of the Shurashin the thug rolled the Gremory up to face the dark machine, creating its own cloud of dust and debris as the serrated shields of the Shurashin tore up the soil.

"Oi!" The Martian exclaimed commandingly in contrast to the beady eyes and dopey look on the Gremory's motionless face. "What's the big idea here? You think you can just walk up here without sayin' nothing? C'mon, as envoy of the Shura I'll hear you out."
 

MKR

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The so called 'mummy' paused as one of the Shurashin approached, its gaze tracked the peculiar if visually amusing enemy during this time, its gaze firmly aimed down at the tail end of the approach, whether it was metaphorically looking down upon the loud commanding voice as well as literally was as of yet unknown. As it continued its loud blabbering the machine's gaze went around as if awoken from a daze and for the first time taking in the environment around it.

Rows of machines, the so called Shura. Finally the gaze returned to the lone Gremory sent out to test the waters. silence continued as motion resumed this time however it was the arm, stretching out before suddenly sharply folding back in on itself. Where there was once a hand now was covered by a blade. Schools of combat all over the world and beyond would have professed to see ones weapons as an extension of the self for millennia, whether any of them would have ever deigned to consider it to be so literal especially when it came to giant robot combat was another.

And now, a blade equal in height to the Gremory itself was staring it down, inside the weapon pulsed a faint green light. Anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with DAMON or otherwise would know this could only be one thing. Dimensional Energy. Purple lights began to flare up on the back of the mummy as thrusters activated. The blade would hang by the side of the machine as it engaged in a sudden forward motion. Still silent as the low hanging blade was positioned to slice in between the two shields during its forward momentum.

It was less the camp that was the target and more the looming shadow behind it. The Swordian itself, still if they would bar its path... Thoughts bubbled.

They would of course, perhaps not the Shura, their nature was somewhat a mystery still but humans. Especially those this dime a dozen would try to exact vengeance or make something their business. Thinking 'what happened to the last guy would never happen to me'. Prideful to a fault and thinking they were way more than they actually were.

Dealing with them all personally would take too much time.

A presence began to hang over the battlefield, it was like something was or perhaps more adequately somethings were arriving soon...
 

GEAR

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#4
OE ???
Christmas Day
L5 Cluster
A dirty, forgotten alleyway


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A pale, pallid eye unscrewed itself, weakly in the dingy light.

Even in the cold, there was a sharp sense of pain. With a cry, the young girl's hand lashed out in a panic, meeting soft, warm, mangey fur - and she saw, retreating into the darkness, the black, bloated bodies of several rats.

Shaking, she slid back against her makeshift shelter, culled from remnants of shipping crates and cardboard boxes. Her thin hands shook as she turned them over, feeling the bite wounds from the rodents, the blood running gently down her fingertips. They had even managed to gnaw through the thin fabric of her clothes. At least, she thought, it was a distraction from the growing of her stomach... or, she thought, as her fingers traced her sides, the dark, swollen bruise across her flank from her last attempt at getting food.

How many days now had it been, since she'd eaten?

Tilde Cortaine's head lilted in the direction of the street, gently, and closed her eyes. She could hear the happiness of the crowd. Families, Christmas shopping together. Sometimes she peeked out, trying to get a look at the other children, to imagine - just for a moment - what that kind of life would be like. How different things could be.

So tired.

That was all she felt now. Fatigue, gnawing at her bones, making her eyelids heavy - but she fought it still, without knowing why. As if she knew, somewhere deep down, that she would never open them again if they fell, and she'd be nothing more than another statistic. Nobody would remember her. Nobody would mourn her. She would leave the world the same way she came into it - alone.

Unwanted.

As her eyelids fluttered, there was a sudden sound.

Paf.

Something tugged at her senses urgently - and she was suddenly awake as could be.

A white paper bag, its top folded over. The scent of meat, grease, bread and potatoes - real food. A colorful, garish character adorned the side of the package, and she regarded it with a sense of wonderment, hands touching it, as though it were anything but real.

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As she unfurled the top, she became aware of the shadow stretching now, across the alley... and froze.

A man was standing there. His hair was wiry and blonde, his skin tanned and taut, appearing as in his mid fifties, wearing a long coat with his hands stuffed in the pockets. His eyes weren't on her, however - no, he too, was watching the crowd.

For a moment, she hesitated. You heard stories about men like him, who came and took children away from the streets, where they were never seen again. Part of her wondered how he'd managed to get so close without her even hearing him... but hunger, eventually, won out.

The man spoke.

"Life... just ain't fair." He said, dryly. His eyes now flicked to her, as she ripped into the packaging.

"Ain't that right?"

Tilde's hands were a flurry, stuffing everything edible she could find into her mouth, her body practically screaming with happiness for nourishment. All the while the man talked, returning his stare to the outside world.

"You eat right. You work out. Go to the best school. Marry your sweetheart. Get made company vice president. Check every box. Do everything right. And then?" - he snapped his fingers, as if to emphasize the suddenness of the change - "You drop dead, because some minimum wage slave undercooks your burger."

Tilde stopped with a whimper - but the man waved her on, adding:

"...That one's fine."

As she returned to her feast he continued, letting his hands slip into his pockets as he paced, shadow stretching long before him under the dancing, festive lights.

"All that effort, all that work... and your life, in the end, is just the setup for a punchline to some cosmic joke you were never let in on. That whole sense of control, nothing but a comforting illusion."

His hand came down - and patted her head. Tilde looked up at him with starry-eyed awe and reverence, her face smirched with mustard and ketchup. His expression, however, was more... muted. A kind of faint amusement, as though he himself was in on some other "cosmic joke".

"Today, however..." He said, "Let it be unfair in your favor."

At these words, the little girl finally seemed to find the courage to pipe up - a timorous squeak, shaking with newfound energy, as she tugged at his coat with one hand, causing her savior to look down.

"Um." Tilde stammered, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Are you... God?"​

A strange smile crossed the man's features, as he narrowed his eyes. As though he hated the question... but tolerated it, from the mouth of a child.

"Close enough." Said Zivon.​
 
Nov 14, 2018
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#5
The Thug tensed as the dark machine lunged. The primitive intelligence of the Retsukyuu Shurashin allowed the human's frantic movement to bring its twin shields together as they rotated. The metal ground madly against the energy blade and eventually wore down and bound against the weapon catching the Martian off guard as the force flung him through the air away from the stranger, screaming all the while. The wails of fear continued as the Gremory used what was left of its shields to bury itself into the ground. Off to the side, the Shura who sent the lone Shurashin out received a small pouch from his fellow warrior with a grin on his face and a scowl on the other's.

Meanwhile, a thin cloud of vapor began to condense around the lower sections of the Swordian just above the water. "Can't you boys be quiet for five minutes? How is a lady supposed to get her rest with all this commotion?" A shrill voice came from the Swordian as a lithe figure appeared from its warped beams and plates.

"Uh oh."
"Get that fire going, would you?"
"I'll be in my tent."

The Shura began to quietly hustle about as the stark white figure gazed down at them, a long mane of blonde hair drifting in the wind. Eyeing the dark stranger for a moment, the feminine Shurashin raised its arm level to the thing. The vapor around the Swordian began to coil its way up and over to the Peirenes, swirling and condensing. "Please, stay your hand, milady," came a deep, solemn voice off to the Peirenes' side. The large form of Andras waddled out of the shadows, wide hands clasped as if in meditation. "The Lord of Black Dragons has seen the coming of this being and bids us to allow its work to go unabated. It is no foe, but also no friend; we will monitor it and study its movements. This the Heavenly one has said to me." Andras bowed as the man finished, its rotund form shaking despite its metallic material. Peirenes simply glared with its usual cold stare for a moment before its pilot clenched the Shurashin's fist with a huff, jewels of ice shattering off its slender arm before it strode back into the depths of the swordian. The cloud of cold moisture dissipated as its mistress left the scene.
 
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MKR

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#6
With the shura machine safely bouncing off into the distance the dark machine laid its gaze on the new arrival the weaponized arm unwound once more, almost dragging across the dusty surface and definitely being partially submerged in the water between it and the swordian. For a moment the presence looming intensified and then relaxed when the Shurashin did, it was distant now but yet to fade. Whatever Andras' intervention had avoided lurked yet beyond a veil.

It's path completely unimpeded for the moment the intruder laid one hand upon partially destroyed plates of the swordian and in one swift motion peeled it open, water flowing forwards through the opening. The figure stepping inside, not bothering to close the 'door' behind it. The shura were not further dissuaded from following except perhaps by the issue of a round shape in a square hole. Nothing however that proper application of martial arts could not alliviate.

The advancing machine, now more than a property trespassers and as such home invader, continued taking a mostly direct route deeper and deeper into the Swordian advancing upon its heart calmly, or well. Mostly calmly, as it properly breached the inside it paused, observing where it arrived first before continuing.
 

GEAR

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#7
The wind howled.

Tilde Cortaine blinked rapidly, against the sharp, sudden sunlight. The sounds of battle being joined were on the air, and she watched transfixed from atop the dune as the black sentinel advanced, intent on fulfilling some nebulous goal. Something about the very sight of it chilled her to the bone - but she was transfixed, as if paralyzed from head to toe by the aura of power it exuded.

”Don’t be too impressed.”

Thwock.

She gave a start as something arced through the air to her left, vanishing somewhere in the dunes. There was a familiar voice, and a grunt of disapproval.

The man from all those years ago stood before her, virtually unchanged. A tacky umbrella had been hoisted up over a deck chair, under which a plastic tee had been placed precariously into the red sands. As he spoke, another golf ball was placed atop its quivering form, and he took aim with his club - a gleaming driver, its head spotlessly clean.

KRAK!

This time, the ball went sailing into the distance, over the horizon. The man nodded, approvingly.

”Last thing I want is for them to get an ego.“ He finished, now deigning to give her his attention in full as he dusted off his hands.

Tilde’s mouth tried to form words - but he seemed already aware of what she was going to say, waving his hand irritably, as though he wished to “fast forward” through the boring parts.

”Mars, in case you’re wondering, Tilde Cortaine. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’ll be back home before you know it. As for why you’re here…”

They both turned to watch the violence unfolding not too far away. Once more, Tilde shivered - but couldn’t look away. Zivon, meanwhile, inspected another ball between his fingertips, holding it up to the light as he smirked to himself.

”…Let’s just say: I’m a believer in insurance policies.”
 

MKR

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#8
As the monstrosity looked around there was a singular moment where it looked back. Tilde and the watching Shura could perhaps feel its gaze narrow as if squinting at something, the former of which may even perceive this glower as being aimed at her... Or was it going for the man besides her. It was tough to tell based on the sheer inhumanity of its origin. Still, with the Shura not impeding its pace the glance continued around before landing on something. A piece of hull, far from where it had been before the ship elected to involuntarily move from its previous position.

Damaged yet intact, stained black with a blast that seemed ancient but in a sense more like a mural. It had survived, of course. A low rumble came from the black machine, its loose arm quickly rose forming a hand as it hung over its face, claws slightly digging into the metal around its eyes before they simple entwined as it seemed to... For lack of a better term scream in rage at the sight of this stained plating. The consciousness within lamented the cruelty of it all, the inevitability of things set in stone and of things yet to pass. Spikes shot out of the back of its arms, reaching out like claws into the air as the limb itself took a silhouette more like a cylindrical tripod and was lowered at the piece of hull.


A ball of red and black energy coalesced in the tripod for but the briefest of moments before erupting forth, likewise it vented from the back spikes that had blossomed like a bouquet of malice as the singular stream of energy carved forth uncaring for who was possibly in its way. Yet for the briefest of moments the shadow this machine cast as the interior was cast in this warped light, seemed so much grander than itself as it seemed to look down at itself from the ceiling, its wrappings like claws that gripped the metal in an embrace of death.

Soon the light vanished, replaced by a more natural source of illumination. The blaze the blow had started.
"Radi Es Radius..." a hollow voice spoke as if emanated from a long plastic tube, for but the briefest of moments as the black machine continued its march, uncaring of the fires stoked by its hand. Worse still, relieved by them. Yet as it continued on, the piece of hull it had fired on remained. A black stain of a deadly angel looming over the Swordian still, obscured by flames but untouched by them.

The path led ever deeper, towards the center of the grand construction lying on the floor of Mars like a beached whale.
 

Admin

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#9
"Insu...rance?" Murmured Tilde, still somewhat in shock as the scene before her played out, as if in a dream.

Zivon nodded, watching approvingly as the murderous black engine advanced on its - his, rather - objective. Keeping a leash on those things wasn't easy, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He just tried to look at the bright side, and think of them as a sort of... advance payment.

"Like I told you back then: Life just ain't fair."

The golf club was swung up over one shoulder as he regarded her. There was the glimmering of iridiscent irises behind his cheap-looking sunglasses, and the sight of them filled her with a curious mix of terror - and unsurpassed excitement, adrenaline pushing through her veins, such that she could hear her heart beating in her ears.

"The way things are going, you and your savior'll both end up face down in a ditch. Or dangling from nooses. History ain't exactly kind to losers, know what I mean?"

Tilde found herself nodding dumbly, the howl of the Martian winds whipping about their feet as Zivon gave a strange smile.

"But, that's the thing: Who wins... who loses... all these big, important decisions? Sometimes they come down to very, very... small details. As simple as being in the right place, at the right time... or putting the right tool, in the right hands."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the Swordian, as though to indicate the "tool" in question was what interested him as she listened, spellbound, hanging on his every word. He was, after all, her guardian angel.

"You'll get your wish, Tilde." Said Zivon, with a knowing chuckle.

"The one you're trying so desperately, even now, to deny yourself. The purpose you awoke the moment you touched the Celestial Reactor will be realized. I'm not big on promises... but in your case, I'm making an exception."

His laugh rumbled, reverberated, through the surroundings for a moment. As though his very presence, she thought, offended the world around them. As if the surface of Mars pulled away in fear of this being, who deigned to step foot on its surface so casually, knowing he was far beyond its ability to harm him in any way, shape or form.
 

MKR

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#10
Smoke began to billow forth from t he damaged exterior of the Swordian, the interior which was set ablaze like a mismanaged campfire was spreading and burning. The monstrosity within continued its march deeper and deeper still, heading in towards the core of the massive structure where its target lay waiting. With the Shura granting free passage.

The 'advance payment' moved from one elementally aligned room to the next, leaving the boiling heat behind for a room where water had encroached. Sinking property ratings in equal measure with the massive tablets that lined the interior. However, if anything the addition of an indoor pool must be quite appealing to prospective buyers or the current owners who were sure to enjoy exercise. Perhaps however, the insurance was feeling less grateful to its 'borrower' than the man thought, or perhaps it would not appreciate this advanced exchange when the hour came.

Could it even experience that feeling? Being 'grateful', 'appreciation', 'respect'? In a similar vein, could it even experience the frustration of being used? Would it even care about these events when that day came or would it move on, uncaring of both the positives and negatives of that exchange. A figment of humanity perhaps envisioned. Nay, bestowed on something beyond it.

Ironic? No?

Purple light bellowed forth from the back of the machine as it stepped into the water, taking off shortly after and speeding up its advance on the target it was given. That man's goal, the insurance. Had anyone considered its thoughts on this process? Would it wish to be taken from its place in the Swordian, was it capable of making such a decision or would it simply lay there awaiting any who dared approach.

Would it guard itself?
 

GEAR

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#11
The black sentry approached the innards of the Swordian, hovering effortlessly through the air as reality bend and churned about its outline, as though causality itself shivered at the sight of it. There, nestled in the heart of the once great edifice in the stars, was the prize it sought - surprisingly small, a gnarled, veined thing that was neither flesh nor machine, yet both. It pulsated weakly in its cradle, the wounded heart of the world-striding behemoth still dimly aware enough to recognize the approaching threat.

As if in response to its silent beckoning, there was a great and terrible groaning, like the grating of cliff-faces against one another as something stirred. The rubble before the Angeloi heaved and gave way, as something truly vast rose to its feet with inexorable, yet unyielding slowness, towering over twice the height of the messenger, casting it in its shadow.

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Its surface was pitted and scored, but undented - not even the crash landing had been enough to halt the Swordian's Guard. It gazed down at all beneath it, the lights in its helmet-like face flickering to life to stare out in absolute hatred of the scene before it. Simple as it may have been, its creators had delighted in the revelation that complexity was something of an afterthought when one possessed the ultimate settler of dispute:

Overwhelming force.

A halo-like ray of power sparkled to life above the Guard's back as its chest yawned open. Five enormous barrels jutted forth, energy building in their depths-

Then, a roar, an ear-splitting screech of atoms being shorn, as the Guard unleashed a wave of absolute might in the direction of the interloper. The God's Edict lived up to its namesake as it carved a new scar into the very surface of Mars, the force of the wave-impact cannon - designed to bury even the most resilient and otherworldly of foes, visible even from the red planet's orbit.
 

MKR

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#12
The intruder placed its gaze firmly on the intervening guardian, returning not hatred but instead regarding it with callousness. Even if a final line of defense like this was not to be underestimated, for doing so would lead only to a swift death, a one way ticket to non-existence though how true that statement really was was unknown. The messenger knew better than to simply let it throw its most potent attack at it uncontested for that reason alone already, so as the lumbering giant opened its chest the black machine began to move.

Purple lights flaring to life as it evacuated the sight- no, chestline of the Guard. The God of War in the night sky was scarred for eternity beneath, surely an event that would make astrologers ponder until they realized what caused this. At which point they would fear.
The Arca would not survive unscathed, far from it. Every second, every millisecond, every zeptosecond it remained inside it could feel its very existence being peeled away, layer by layer it was not just disintegrated but outright removed. Even in the few moments it had spent within the blast radius the damage was visible, the front of the machine was removed, several of the ribbons that made up its arms were outright gone, cut like string.

But, the brunt of the attack was elsewhere and if there was one thing these two entities could agree on currently, it was the answer to their respective problems.

Overwhelming, uncompromising, power.

The dread machine coated itself with light, dimensional power swelling in and around it in a literal whirlwind. Sections of rubble collapsing downwards from the immense blow dealt moments earlier caught in this concentrated tornado, flinging themselves violently at anything nearby. From the, former, chest area of the Angeloi Arca came a light amidst this whirlwind blasting out with violent power, aimed at the origin point of the Guard's lethal assault albeit not in a clash with the outgoing beam.

Instead it was done to destroy the chest mechanism which enabled it. A true part of bigger stick diplomacy was cutting off part of your opponent's stick.
God's voice may be the biggest stick but, could it endure a blow and still continue to threaten anything bar its user? Such was the question posed by the flow of green energy.
 

GEAR

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#13
"Ah... Ahhhh!"

Tilde shrunk back in terror as the blast surged towards them, with the two placed directly at its epicenter. Never before had she witnessed anything of its magnitude. The way the world shook, the way it rent the skies... but she didn't flinch. She couldn't. She stared certain death back in the face, into that blinding light, unable to avert her gaze.

Zivon gave a grunt of vague annoyance. The light lit up his cheap sunglasses so brightly that they were practically white - but as the wave surged forward…

Something interposed itself between them.

L'Isola's resident deity had lazily raised a hand. The roar of the world around them was deafening, Tilde standing behind him, as the blast parted about them in a V-shape. No, around Zivon.

Vaguely for a moment, she glimpsed the silhouette of something hanging over him - and there was a sound, only barely audible, of clicking and ticking. Like the most sensitive of instruments, as enormous gears ground about them, like the workings of a vast watch, with him nestled at its heart. Just as quickly as it appeared, the mirage faded, and with it the skies of Mars hung above them once more.

Carved on either side of them, were two perfectly measured canyons stretching for miles, the rock still glowing.

Zivon, as though the entire episode had barely registered, shook his hand a little - like a man whose wrist had cracked picking up his morning coffee.

"And here I was, hoping you'd have the decency to go down with the ship. Whatever, man." He said languidly in the direction of the Guard, before motioning to the Arca:

"Beat his ass."

For its part, the Guard surveyed the destruction left by its blast, scanning the surroundings. Nothing, it knew, should have been able to survive such an attack. But, erring on the side of caution, light once more began to gather in the chest emitters, preparing to eradicate the intruder-

A miscalculaton.

With a riproaring BANG, the Arca's blast punched into the exposed chest of the Guard, causing it to stumble. Flames belched from its innards, smoke rising into the air as the giant's body groaned - but it was not, it seemed, so easily felled. Just as it seemed ready to topple wholesale, there was a flash of light - and it was gone.

But only for a moment.

A shadow stretched over the Arca, as the Guard rematerialized overhead, one titanic blade-like arm coming down with a force that could tear battleships in twain, and a deceptive speed that carried the full, calculated weight of Mars' gravity behind it.
 

MKR

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#14
There was the glance of fury, of hatred. Not aimed at its opponent but backwards along the carved path, this new sightseeing spot on Mars. The red dots that formed the arca's eye or equivalent thereof glanced backwards only momentarily as Zivon spoke towards it. If anything was made evident, it wasn't here because of a positive relation with the one directing it here.

Still, with the explosion in front of it the machine readied itself to continue the assault both its arms unwinding and rebinding into blades as the giant toppled down. Once it hit the ground it was prepared to pounce, intent on ripping through the new chest hole to find its core and carve it out like one did a pumpkin for the Halloween season. But that thud never came, instead a flash of light. Its purpose clear at a glimpse, doubly so as the shadow stretched over the flying machine. It was evident that the giant's lumbering speed was not as it seemed quickly the Arca flipped around both blades held in front of it as the part of its body easily reconstructed. Catching the blow with the twin weapons yet with no soil beneath it to support this contest the machine was swatted down at the ground.

It impacted where the Guard had been moments prior. Bracing itself as its left arm transfigured again, jutted spikes lurching backwards as it took a four pronged appearance. Aimed upwards at the face of the giant, it had shown it was slow in physically moving around at least. Even if its strikes were quick and it could teleport the latter had to have a catch, there always was a catch.

Some window of time where it couldn't, after all it would have evaded the blow to its chest. Black energy fired itself at the face of the Swordian's protector. With its biggest weapon disabled the next step was making this as difficult as possible for the giant while setting up a killing blow. The bladed hand at the same time cut at a segment of the floor beneath, it could teleport yes but its reappearance bringing it back to ground level had shown one way to force its hand.
 

GEAR

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#15
The Swordian's Guard fell through the air towards its farget, arm swinging down like an executioner's axe, its victory all but certain. The foe would be crushed like an insect, meeting the same fate as so many before it.

But the target didn't move. Didn't flee. It simply raised its arms, hands like black spires whipping and whirling into a new shape. The two collided - and a shockwave spread out that seemed to rock the very space the two occupied, as momentum discharged in uneven and horrific ways that defied natural law. Below, Tilde watched open-mouthed and wide eyed, unable to shake her gaze from the sheer display of power from the Arca.

"Origin Law." Said Zivon, noting her admiration.

"The power to impose one's will upon the outside world. To make the impossible, possible, and bend existence to the designs of man."

Too slow.

The ancient guardian remained almost stationary, its fall arrested by coming into contact with the Arca alone, freezing it in the air as gravity fluctuated about its person. The spear of black energy punched forth from its diminutive foe - and slammed home into the giant's faceplate, sending cracks running all across the surface of its helmet-like armor. Spikes of dark energy bled out of its surface before it detonated spectacularly in a spray of stone, metal, and burning components.

The headless body, now seized by gravity once more, tumbled towards the red planet below... and crashed into the remains of the Swordian, one of its other enormous arms snapping off at the slender wrist joint as it rolled down, down, until it finally came to stop in a cloud of dust, flame, and rubble.

"Dangerous stuff. You could be forgiven for thinking it's the be-all, end-all." Continued Zivon.

Grrr... Grrr--kk--kk-kkkkr....


With a sound like the roar of some ancient God of the mountains, the Swordian's guard rose slowly to its knees. It dragged itself forward on its one arm... and reached out towards Zivon, shakily. Its pyramid like arm unfolded into a grasping claw as it tried to pull itself forward, pitifully. Was it a plea for mercy? Or a last, desperate attempt at retribution on the one who had harmed it?

L'Isola's arbiter gave a cold smile.

"Course... That's far from the truth." He said with a shrug, "Not that you heard it from me."
 

MKR

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Aug 19, 2018
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#16
The cannon shaped arm tilted down as silence overtook the arena for a moment. Dust looming in the air until the giant made sound once more, and so the weaponized appendage stabilized once more resting only a moment as it watched the giant not turn towards it but instead point its 'eyes' elsewhere. The monstrous machine gazed that way for a moment as well, it was not looking for a Caesar's decree however. Not a thumb aiming up or down to decide the fate of the defeated in combat, no it merely gazed to affirm its choice that had happened before the Guardian's defeat the choice that death was a better fate than any alternative that man could decide for the remains of this machine.

And so the red light congealed once more in the barrel, now aiming more squarely at its center since its head was not its core the next logical location was the one protected by the most mass. Even should it not have that as its core the machinery inside that was damaged prior would be primed to explode and take the rest of the defender with it upon being struck. Once more black light billowed out of the arm, a conclusion to the duty this machine must have upheld for eons if not longer.

The guardian of the tomb had fought and hereby it had lost. It would not be left to simmer in its defeat but instead put out of its misery. The arm unwound, ribbons dragging over the floor as the murderer, the interloper, the victor, turned away and towards the reason it came here. The treasure amidst the ruin and wreckage, or one of many of them. Just an extra special treasure in a vault beyond age. The black machine advanced further, one hand retaining function and form of a hand as it pressed forwards looking for the object of its search to unceremoniously 'liberate' it from its rightful place.

But the findings here were in all likelihood not heading towards public display.
 

GEAR

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Jun 15, 2018
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#17
"You ever wonder what happened to the guys who made this thing? Why there are none of them left?"

Zivon smirked, as Tilde slowly shook her head.

"...I'll tell you."

As the Angeloi Arca picked its way through the rubble, a gentle pulse of sorts reached out to it. A resonance, from deep within. Were it to peel away the piles of rebar and shattered steel, it would find that which the defender had fought so painfully to protect.

The light of the Martian sun fell on its dust-covered, pulsating surface. So small, no bigger than the chest of an ordinary MW, yet the resemblance to a heart was uncanny. The way it beat gently, wretchedly, as though it had been torn from the heart of some massive creature, and enshrined deep within the Swordian like a hunter's prize.

The Directory's holy grail, the so-called Origin Unit.

"This "Swordian" was originally meant to be a life raft of sorts, capable of traveling from world to world. The humans from that world were under siege from their wayward enemies, and didn't think they were going to make it. So they put everything they had into its construction, a way to escape - and by pure, dumb luck, touched upon something incredible.

The other side of the Infinite Power. Of Origin Law. Let's just call it... Apokalypsis."

Zivon's eyes gleamed behind his sunglasses as he saw the prize being unearthed. This trip had indeed been worthwhile.

"Wasn't long before they realized that, given their discovery, it would be easier to destroy their enemies than run from them. And boy did they ever.

Course, when that was all said and done, they turned that same power on each other. The result? A little incident we called the Zero Point Break.

All of creation, left hanging by a thread. Entire worlds, entire timelines, gone - erased from existence overnight. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

You wouldn't believe what a hassle that was to clean up."

He spread his arms wide, indicating to the wreckage of the Swordian for Tilde.

"So... This is all that remains. This is their legacy: an oversized coffin without a single carcass to call its own."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She finally blurted out, tearing her eyes from the obscene spectacle unfolding in the Swordian's depths. Zivon paused his rambling, as if trying to settle on a point, and finally leaned in. There was something about this man that, unconciously, made her shrink back in response. Something in the back of her mind was crying out in fear, and yet being muffled as instincts, thoughts and feelings she had long fought to suppress were boiling over.

"When two infinite forces come into conflict with one another, the more destructive one always wins out." He said, finally.

"But, you already knew that, right?"
 

MKR

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Aug 19, 2018
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#18
The Angeloi looked upon the still beating heart of the Swordian, its bandage made arm gripping it tightly. Seemingly tempted to crush it in its grip for but an instant before relaxing its hold, it wouldn't let go and maintain a fierce hold but none that threatened to interrupt the beating flow or the integrity of the item. It marched backwards through the damage wrought by the Guardian, the previous path no longer needed as it advanced upon the hill rapidly.

All as Zivon continued his exposition towards the poor girl. The black titan tilted its head as he spoke, as if it was listening to what she was told. A thought- nay, memory came to it when it approached. When it heard that final statement. A proclamation that the layman may consider true without any consideration as to why, a statement so grand and philosophical that its very existence seemed uncontestable.

But to those there on that fateful day, who saw an avatar of destruction falter this truth was far from that.
Its voice loomed above them, distorted but brought forward. As it spoke some distance away, advancing from a place where perhaps it should not even be part of this conversation but still, decided to contribute.
"False." Came the reply, as confident as the one made before. Yet labored in its delivery.

In the distance, in the direction of the Lunar Scar, the prized excavation site of the Kingdom, source of its wealth and prosperity... There came a great radiance, a blinding light. A pillar of energy crested up, over the landscape - impossibly vast, impossibly huge, stretching all the way to the Earth above. In seconds... It was over... Yet the ominousness of the act remained, hanging over the assembled Knights like a dark omen of things to come.

As the smoldering, crackling smoke began to fade, what remained...
Was fate.

"It was protection that won that day we met." The Angeloi stated, stretching its hand down as it presented the treasure to the one that held its reigns. Banished, sent beyond. Slave before and slave after to different masters. The facts were easier to align than the fiction. But it would offer no further context for the poor girl thrust in this situation, only a solitary pitying glance as if it understood the situation she found herself in here.

The Black Angeloi loomed above, its task done as like Galahad before it. It claimed the grail.
 

GEAR

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Jun 15, 2018
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#19
"Nice. Real nice. Good work there, pal."

Zivon chuckled as the Origin Unit was deposited at his feet. He opened his mouth to speak - but was interrupted as the Angeloi, surprisingly, added its own thoughts. He stopped for a moment, staring at it from behind his glasses, his face a mask of surprise and fury... but the moment passed, and he just shook his head, clapping his hands.

"Anyway. I've kept you long enough." He sighed... and then grimaced, as if remembering something unpleasant.

"You'll know what to do with this, in time."

He snapped his fingers - and the shadow beneath him seemed to spread out like a pool, forming a large, dark, winged shape. Two red eyes like pinpricks materialized in the depths, and the form of Dis loomed over Tilde. The mere sight of it caused the breath in her lungs to freeze -

For it was in her nightmares that those same hues had stared back at her. Always, always in the midst of great and terrible destruction, like an angel of death.

"Oh, I guess you can take this thing too... Just a little compensation for the damage that golden fuck wrought. Don't worry. You'll set her kind straight in time." Added Zivon, absent mindedly as his fingers moved through the air, languidly choosing a place to insert her back into the world. But before he did, he gave her one last look - and she caught a glimpse of the terrible shimmering of his eyes, that even so called Gods trembled before.

"You can't escape fate, Tilde Cortaine. I am everywhere. I am everything. And I am always watching.

Now, beat it. Do what you were always meant to do."
And then she was gone in mid-faint, before her body could even hit the floor. Zivon was left alone, with the Angeloi Arca, together for a brief moment of tranquility. He raised his eyes towards the distant Moon of Deimos, silently calculating, counting down... but that wasn't something he'd concern himself with. On the other hand-

"I don't recall asking your opinion there, sport."

There was a pointedness to his words as he address the Arca... or, perhaps, the consciousness that had emerged within it. For once, it was not accompanied by a disapproving glare. Merely... disappointment, it seemed. A sigh, and a slight droop of the shoulders as he swung his golf club back over his shoulder.

"That compassion..." He gave a vaguely sympathetic shake of his head. Like a wise uncle, imparting wisdom that wouldn't sink in until old age.

"Nothing but ghosts, man. Ghost of... chemicals. The sooner you accept your new lot, the happier you'll be. Trust me on that one."

With those sullen words, he too blinked out of existence - as if he had never been there. The only trace of his existence being a couple of golf balls, left half-buried in the Martian sands.