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I don't care.

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I don't care.

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Total Members Voted: 0

Voting closed: January 04, 2021, 02:28:47 am

[ZBridges]

Well, shit.

[Eschar]

In the wise and ancient words of the ascended Empyreals: shit.

Warn everyone and Absolutely [Christing] Scram.

[Superdorf]

Peace-- true peace-- with the beast that slaughtered countless myriads of our own? I'd have spoken against if I could only have found the words.

[Eschar]

Well, it looks like our infectious mutual friend found something a lot more forceful than words. We - and our team - need to get out.

[ZBridges]

Should we go down there and see what the situation is?  I don't have a good feeling about their health...

[19_EgarAlnis]

[I̵ ̸a̴m̸ ̶h̷e̶r̷e̸ ̶P̵h̷e̵o̸b̵e̸ ̷G̶a̴i̵n̴e̷r̶.̷ ̵I̵ ̷a̷m̵ ̷h̴e̶r̸e̶ ̷P̵h̸e̷o̵n̶i̶x̸.̸ ̸Y̷o̶u̷ ̴a̴r̵e̷ ̵s̷u̸b̴l̸i̶m̸e̴.̶ ̵I̷ ̷a̷m̵ ̷g̸o̴i̶n̸g̶ ̵t̴o̶ ̴e̵m̶p̶t̶y̷ ̵y̷o̵u̵ ̷a̶n̶d̸ ̵f̶i̴l̴l̸ ̶y̵o̸u̴ ̸w̴i̴t̴h̷ ̷m̷e̸ ̵-̵-̸ ̶I̸ ̴a̵m̷ ̸a̴l̴r̷e̷a̸d̶y̸ ̶h̵e̴r̸e̶.̴]

[14 vs 7+5] Lucille doesn't say a word -- she doesn't have to. The world blurs, twisting and shifting. Your vision darkens and it takes all your willpower to stop from ruining the arithmatic that keeps you from plummeting to your death below. Ichor drips from the skies, and you shut your eyes tight.

Stable. Safe. Φοίβη. Our Φοίβη. Bright moonlight. Φοῖνιξ now. Blood red. Emma. Freedom. Peace. The mountains. Pheonix. Pheonix--

[1 vs 17][I̶̢̡̧̡̧͍̠̣͔̙̻͇͉̖͔͇̱̤͉̙͚̣̦͚͚̮̖̻͉̪̭̲̖̪̪̮̪̒̌͂̓͗͌̌̃̈́̔̀͗̂̐̂̈́̃͛͋͘̚͜͠ͅͅ ̵̡̢̙̘̠̠̝̜͎̪̦̜͙͕͈̹̬͈͈̥̰̹͎̗̤̦̞̙̮͖͕̝̟͓͓̈́̌̋̈̅̀̈́͒̑͐̊̌͒͒̇̈́̋͊̂̊̒́̀͒̅͗̄͛͐͑͐̋̓̐̃͜͝͝͝͝͝͝A̴̢̡̧̳̟̠̼͉̥̮̥̠̦̜͇̞̳̲̱̥̼͖͇̞̘̳̫̱͌̽̓͛͌̓̏͒̋͜͝͝ͅM̴̨̡̨̨̰̣̗̲͍̼͚̝̥̹͕̭̭͎̪̾̿ͅ ̴͖̤̰̱̥̹̤̞̳͕̣͙̩̻̲̟͇̇̒̋͑̇̊́̀͝Í̶̧̨̳͉̫̫̺̰̖̳͉̜͚͖̥̹̯͓̟͓͇̜͙̳̭̞͉̯̭̱̗͖̟͇̥̖̻͓̗͈͔͎̞̟́̄̈́̓̈́̔̈̈́͒̂͛͒͊͑͛̇̐̿͋̌̽̈́̌́͑̚̚̚͠Ň̵̡̲̜̣͕̩̥̞͇̠̬͉̗̙̫̭̺͍̗̦͉̺̼̭̹͇̈́̐̄͊͌̓͝ͅS̵̖̏͌̽́̿̾̄̀̃̈́̓̊̽̎̋̓̔͑̀̕Ḯ̴̧̨̹̼̙̼̤͓̞̝̙̬̣̘͚̪͕̰͇͇͚̖̗̹̣̦̹̟̞̝̤̞̅̓̅̂̋̑̓̾͑͑̌̈͗̾͘͘͘͝ͅD̵̡̈́̌̾̆̈͐̇̄̈̄͑̂̂̅͛͗͘E̶̢̢͖͖̲̝̦̟̼͎͇̼̞͉̰͎͍̭̗̹̦̩͈̠̮̳̺̼̣̳̠̮̗̻̬̖̔̾̓̾͋̂́̃͊͒͒̃͊͒̃͌͒̂̀́̓̒̚̕̚͜͝͝͝ͅͅ ̷̧̡̢̡̧̛̝̪͍͕͎̜̱̝̲͎͖̥͔̼͈̤̺̦̘͔̮̬̙̗̤̯̟̬̠̙͙̩̗̻̟̹̄̀̄̒͛͌̏̍̐͗̿̊̆̈́͗̍̾͐̈͐͌͋́̌̉̾̊̏̑͆̓́͊͑̕̚̕̕͠͝͝͝͝Ỵ̷̡̢̧͖̼̤̭͙̦͍̞̱̯̗̥̮̱̤̤̟̖̝̤͔͉͓̯̺̞͖͖̗͙̼̗̣̱̖̉͂̈́̅̒͒̀́̑̓̓͑̂̌̈̀͊̍̏͌̀̃̎̾͊̀̉̇̿͆͑̂̅̋̊̕̚͝͠Ǒ̷̢̧̨̨̡͙̪̟̞͈͙͎̞̰͈͈̮̘̹̞̖͓̣̰̼͉̘̥̩̖̦̦̱̙͙̐̇͌͆́̈́̒̈́̑́͛̐͛͘̕͘͠ͅͅͅŲ̷̪̠̬̟̠͖͓̫͕̯̗̯̆̒̋̎̀̊͗̎̂̆͗̓͗̀̋̂̎̃̑̅̃̌͋̍̂͒͋̉͊͋̿̐̚̕͘͘̕͝.̵̧̨̢̧̼̱̥͉̬͇̳͙̯͎̤̤̗͍̯̤͎̫̠͚͖̲̱͈̮̺̘͕̺͓̲͈̩͚̐̀̏̓͛̎̉͗́̆͒͜͜ͅͅͅ ̶̡̨̧̡̡͚̙̹̙̺̱͎̜͕̮͖̳͕̞̗̳͎̩͓̘̣̙̫̝̼̤̺̬̹̫̭̼̘̙̟́̍͑͑̾̑̍̉̽͆̾́̉̒͑͑̕̕͘͘͜͜͝f̵̧̢̨̡̧̧̡̡̢͉̫̙̙̙̟̮̥̭̣̭̲̯͇̻̰̱̹͖͈̻͎̟̝͍̣̝̝̮͎̑̌͋̐̓̏̄̋̄̉̅͌͂̋̑̓̆̉̉͋̃̉͒̊̈́̈̂̈́̆̎͐́̏͛̚̚͘ͅͅṏ̷̡̧͖̹͖̖͉͓͈͚̲̠͖̹̺̺̲̤͕̹̺͔͕̼͖̦̠͚̞͓͈̝̻́͊̀͊͜ͅr̵̢̢̨̛̫͙̰̬̟̭̘̤͖̣͇̪̬̙̩̰̪̰̜͉̤͔̯̘͔̃͒̃͛̾̉̿̾̐̏͜͠e̵̢̢̡̧̞͕̼̥̥̳̦̥͔͔̗̼̙͙̊̓͗̕͝ͅv̶̧̡̛͚̬̹̺̟̳̺̱̹̪̙̻͔͉̥̖͇̠̦̳̝̜͓̼̹͉̯̱͈̣̣̓̆͌̈́̂̅͐̅́͋̅́́̈́͑̊͆̓̔́̑͘̚͘͝͝͝ͅͅé̴̢̨̼̳̫̫̥̖̫͕͔̲͈͍̝̤̭͓̪̙͙̀͆̾͊͌̃͆͐̌͗̿̏͗̑̂̆͊̂̂̓̎̚̚͝ͅͅr̶̨̨̢̧̛̰̤̮̦͉̬͎͎̤͍̦̣̻̭͚̗͕͕̖̮̳̰̙̗̙̥̞͈̯̤̖̩̻͕̬̩͓̽̃̄̈́̾͗̄̈̐̑̓̅͒͑̅̚͜͝͠ͅͅ.̵͎͉͈͉͚̘̙̮̝̐̿̃̽̐͑͑̇̈́̌ͅ]


...


...


...

Your wings burn fitfully on your back when you open your eyes. They provide just enough lift to keep your slumped form hovering in the sky. The voice is gone. It is gone. The sun begins to set on the horizon. You peel off your helmet, inhaling the cold radioactive air. The display within is covered with blood. Your head feels numb, and you glance down at your chest. Rivulets of blood run down from your wound, staining the front a dark, dry red.

[I've stabilized you. You've suffered a major hemorrhage of the brain. I would advise immediate withdrawal from the field, if possible. I've also disabled all non-vital powers -- you don't want to see your status.] Lucille's cold voice calmly explains.

Everything feels foggy, and the numbness extends into your limbs. It takes willpower to flex your fingers.

[Eschar]

I've also disabled all non-vital powers -- you don't want to see your status.

Oh yes we do - well, we advisors do, but I agree with Lucille it might adversely affect you, Phoenix.


Check status of our team. If possible order them to get out. Scram - whether that means finding where the team is rendezvousing as fast as possible and arranging exit strategy, or getting to a safe distance first to recover our strength before trying to fly to the exit point. We need to get away from this abomination. And our team certainly does too.

[Superdorf]

...yes. Away. To the hovercrafts. Our "status" can wait.

The things we put you through...

[Eschar]

We've learned one thing - except in truly incredible circumstances, ignore all attempts the Plague makes to negotiate or communicate. Regard them all as mere trickery. It's not interested in anything other than total war. Ironic, yes, to condemn it for that, but we have no other safe choice. The risk is too great.

[ZBridges]

I was naive to think it was capable of peace, and for that I apologize.

[19_EgarAlnis]

There is no soaring, no graceful maneuvers. You limp back to where the Hovercrafts were supposed to be in a holding pattern to instead find them landed. You slowly decrease your upward thrust, until your toes touch the ground. You cut your wings-- and hit the ground. Your limbs are not responding. The Crusaders rush towards you.

Lucille speaks for you, chiming in a cold, soft voice very much unlike your own "Withdraw."

[1] A medic tugs at your helmet -- you hesitate. But Lucille has no care for your discomfort. No care to hide your defeat from your Crusaders. The assembled soldiers gasp at the sight of your blood-smeared face and unfocused eyes. The medic shines a small light in your eyes --

"She's unresponsive. Get her on the craft -- SEED bless how do I even work on an Angel."

They heft you up and into the craft. Your consciousness swims, but you remain awake. They peel away your armor, plugging the hole in your chest with piles and piles of gauze, wrapping a tight bandage around the crater-- the chatter fades in and out-- before something stirs you from your twilight slumber.

"...what's taking so long? We need to get her to a--"

"We're being followed."

"...shit."

You pass out.

[19_EgarAlnis]

Spoiler: I call this image you got incredibly lucky (click to show/hide)

I am disappointed. Is my Line so willing to die on this backwater? Dying the death of the old and feeble? Too weak to die standing? Rise. Fight. Die.


"P-please...we need you...Pheonix."

[11] You answer the Medic's prayers with a twitch of your fingers, opening your eyes. Screams filter in from outside. You twist your willpower into your own body, moving your body with nothing but determination. Your wings flare forth; bright, bloody gold in the dim light of the ruined bay. The Medic is bleeding to death, but relief floods her features when you stand. When you put your helmet on.

[15] You leave the crashed Hovercraft. Two others, intact, sit with doors open as las-gun fire rains down on them from above. Abominations move to break makeshift barricade hastily constructed between the three, defending it from waves of the beasts. Soldiers even lay prone on the wreckage you walked out of, firing into the teeming mass that surrounds the vessel.

You pick up a las rifle in your hand, having to clasp it tightly, using your willpower to twist your hand on to the trigger. Everything is still numb, still cold.

Three hovercraft. Twenty-five abominations. Strategy?

[ZBridges]

Woah, are you okay?

[Superdorf]

[Lucille, what powers remain to us?]
We're a corpse with a gun in this state-- we need to get out. The surviving hovercraft, can we reach it without drawing fire from the abominations?

[ZBridges]

We can't leave our soldiers here to die.