Stacy wonders if the thing is gonna speak at all.
You feel cold clammy fingers close around your neck and in the same instant, the Nightmare appears in front of you, lunging towards you.
Before you can react. Before Rachel can react. Before even your assailant can react, something happens. Your plushy shudders with great and terrible power before leaping from your arms. As it does so, the sensations vanish and your foe finds itself further away than ever. It wasn't blown back, indeed it is still half way through it's lunge. It's the distance that has changed. The distance from its hands to your face, its mouth to your neck, magnified massively to the point that it is utterly impossible for it to close the gap.
Bursting forth from your mochi-turned-bulwark is a man. He is cloaked in quicksilver which shows the reflections of all that is, was and will be. His body is the wrath of forgotten gods. His face is a glass mask behind which is the very concept of omnipotence given form - a perfect, blinding sphere larger than anything that may be conceived. His heart is a conglomeration of concepts, of universal constants so fundamental they lack names, and its beating is that of reality and fantasy alike.
His cloak splays open, forming wings that seemingly engulf the very horizon as he ascends to just below the artificial sky. And this apex, he calls forth in a french accent thick to the point of physical palpability.
"LONG LIVE THE USA!"And with that he crashes down upon the Nightmare, annihilating it with a flawless elbow drop. He then proceeds to rap the entirety of
The Ballad of Reading Gaol while performing a hat and cane dance using its mask and a crowbar before passing out on the floor. His form dissipates like sublimating ice, leaving behind a different man. A far more regular and decidedly more confused man.
At this point, the corgi coughs, somehow managing to spit out someone larger than it out, despite not really having an esophagus and being an inanimate object. He has silver hair and is dressed in a parka, with a suit beneath.
The two plushies are unharmed by this ordeal.
-snip-
You wake up hungover with a
dragon beard hook, a badly damaged crowbar, and a wooden helix. What you don't have is any idea of where the hell you are.
-snip-
You awaken, sprawled on the cold metal floor, feeling like a plushy just spat you out and having a slight hangover. You have 100 dollars(?) worth of notes that lack all but denomination, a wooden helix and three identical memories in shockingly good clarity of
Carbon Core Capriccio, a musical piece that identifies itself as a combatant stimulant, complete with a warning to not take more than one at a time.
((And thus concludes my token acknowledgement of DRYH's intended purpose as a horror game.
Abe, just to be clear, you do not need to use the above description of METAMAN. Feel free to have him take a different form usually, or take forms at random.))
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Topic: Overhang - Sorry (Read 30330 times)