Luci tightens her hoodie as she walks quickly across a freeway overpass on a cold night in Tier 5. She runs her hand along one of the chain-link fences that border the overpass, watching the traffic below. The artificial darkness emboldens her.

Luci takes a deep breath and becomes, to any watchful observer, transparent. She walks through the chain-link fence, and then exhales, and her body assumes its normal opacity. She hurriedly paints a glowing neon chrysanthemum onto the side of the bridge. It seems to pulse with a steady light. She climbs back up, takes a deep breath, and phases through the fence again. She continues on her way, unaware of the figure in the darkness watching her every move.

***

Luci yawns on her way home from a double-shift, looking forward to a good nap. She is riding a golden bicycle with a playing card clacking against the back tire. She turns down an ally and sees a figure lying in the middle of the road. She screeches to a halt and peers over her handlebars, and she sees that it is a mannequin in blue jeans with a burn hole in it's chest. The word 'Jimmy' is written across his face.

"Hands! Lemme see those hands!" a gruff voice yells from behind Luci. She does not move, which seems to anger the yeller. "I'm not fucking around, put those fucking hands up!"

Luci does not put her hands up.

She hears a whirring sound, and a bolt of blue fire zooms over Luci's shoulder and hits the mannequin in the face, leaving a smoking black hole where the word 'Jimmy' was.

Luci puts her hands up.

"Better. Now real slow like, take your money, and tuck it into Jimmy's pocket," the voice snarls.

Luci slowly tucks a small wad of glowing bills into the mannequin's pocket.

"Good. Real good," the voice growls. "Next month, you come back this way, you come see Jimmy again. You ever have a problem, come tuck a note into Jimmy's pocket, we'll take care of it. Now get back on your fucking bike and fuck off."

Luci does not look back as she rides off. On the way home, she notices that her chrysanthemum had been vandalized; someone has rendered it in greyscale.

***

In a crowded nightclub on Tier 4, during another split shift, Luci ducks a thrown beer bottle intended for an orc in a white tracksuit. The bottle thrower is a rowdy Slytherin flanked by several oily friends, all of them in matching black leather jackets. The jackets have been embroidered on the back with a large cobra and the word 'Slytherins' at the top and 'Tier 6' on the bottom. The Slytherins are yelling insults at the orc and and levitating various items and throwing them at him. The orc stares at the Slytherins, unmoving.

Luci signals security, but they do not see her. A second orc, this one in a red tracksuit, walks up next to the first orc. They exchange a few words, and the orc in the red track suit pulls out a very strange looking gun.

Luci has a belief; weapons come in many different shapes and sizes, but people know death when they see it, whether looking down the barrel of a revolver or (as in this case) an odd collection of glowing tubes and spheres crackling with electricity.

Patrons scream and duck out of the way. The orc guns down the Slytherins in a hale of blue fireballs. Each shot that lands sears away flesh down to the bone, and the rate of fire is horrifying. The Slytherins scream in agony as they try to retreat out the back door.

The orc dodges their clumsy hexes and follows the survivors out the back, flanked by his friend. Luci doesn't see whats happens next, but she hears the weapon discharge again a few times outside. She would later learn that in addition to the three Slytherins and six innocent club-goers killed inside the club, the orc would kill two more Slytherins outside the club, and disappear in a yellow Prius.

Luci leaves early so she does not have to make a statement.

***

Luci eyes a strange wriggling fruit in a farmer's market on Tier 5. The alien selling them does not appeared as interested as she is. She overhears a conversation between two young vampires.

"Hey did you see that throw-up on Hover Ave?" one of them asks. Luci's ears perk up.

"Yeah that um, what was it? The flower right? Yeah I didn't see it before Klowdy got to it though. He painted it all black and grey," his friend responds, holding up an amulet to see it glitter in the artificial sunlight.

"Klowdy? Oh the knife ear. Yeah, he's all moody and shit lately," says the other vampire, deftly grabbing some black eyeliner off the table and stowing it in his pockets. "But what do you expect? The orcs blasted a dozen of his boys over the last month."

***

Luci sits and sips a cup of glowing rainbow coffee in a small Alderon-themed cafe in Teir-5. Across from her sits the infamous Klowdy, young leader of the Westside Knife Ear Warriors. He has a soft face smudged with white war paint, and feathers in his long blond hair. His gang lounges awkwardly behind him, a motley collection of elves in a mix of Native-American garb and modern street fashion, leaning on their long bows and smoking cigarettes. Klowdy speaks earnestly.

"It's not just the Slytherins," Klowdy says, stirring. "The orcs have wiped out Westside Ewok Gang, and some Ewok kids while they were at it. They gunned down Pop-Eye and his girl in broad daylight, and their war with the Hut Mafia is the bloodiest in recent history. And it's not just that," Klowdy sips his coffee, seeming to look for the words.

"Things are just worse now. You can't walk down the street without getting mugged or worse. I've seen children on hard drugs. Civilians are dropping left and right. The Empire is breathing down everyone's neck. And everyone just keeps dying," Klowdy says. He and his gang stare at the floor sadly.

"We know how the orcs are getting their weapons," the elf continues. "They smuggle them in from Teir-2 disguised as electronics, then reassemble
them in Teir-6. This time though, they're never going to reach Tier-6. We're going to intercept them on Tier-4, and you're going to help us do it. I've seen what you can do," Klowdy says squarely. "I've been keeping an eye on you. And we need you."

Luci stares at him. She does not seem to believe that the needs of the Westside Knife Ear Warriors should affect her very much.

"Look, we're not even keeping all the weapons. The best thing for us to do, strategically, is distribute a good bit of the haul to civilians," Klowdy says.

Luci does not seem convinced.

"Really," he insists. "The orcs have ripped through our ranks, we'll end up with more guns than people to hold them. If we hand them out to civilians and shop owners they'll help curb the orc threat, at least here in Tier-5."

Luci does not seem convinced.

"And if you help, we'll cut you in some Om for your trouble," the elf says, grinning a little.

Luci sips her coffee quietly.

After a while, she speaks.

"Yeah, OK."

I've just woken up from a dream of somebody I'm not sure I want to kill. 

That's never happened before, being unsure I wanted to kill something. The privileged excitement of ruining, beyond all hope of recovery, things that are beautiful, complex and unique, is what I live for. The bright tranquility I feel while floating golden and perfect above the desolation I've wrought, and the darkly intoxicating thrill of my own irresistible inevitability as I bring a final nightfall upon the dreams of an entire thinking species - those are the things that give me purpose. 

But now I'm confused. I think the smiling shape in the darkness just saved my life, which is also a new idea. Lives don't get saved around me, not even my own.

I've never had language before, either. Sure, I picked up a few words here and there, gleaned from the signals of doomed civilizations as I soared between the stars  - the name they gave me, for instance, after I destroyed the Venusians, whispered across the galaxy in reverence and fear - but as far as vocabulary goes, I've never seen the point. "Bow down", "you're worthless", and "Die" are the only things I've ever wanted, or needed, to tell anybody. I could say them just fine with my golden lightning, my warbling laughter, and my mighty stomping feet. 

Having words for things is doing something I don't understand to the way I think, adding a new crispness and specificity (such satisfying new ideas, so final in their aesthetics) to my stream of consciousness.  All I can say for certain is that it changes me, changes the way I frame my experience, and I'm not sure I like it. 

I open my eyes - only one pair of eyes! -  and I try to spread my wings.

That's when I scream.

"OMNI," I howl at the blank emptiness above me, no longer uncertain, my voice ragged and high and wholly unfamiliar. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!"

My wings, my glorious, golden wings, are gone. In their place are two... two arms! With fingers! (Such a horrible word! They sound like a parasite!)

It's unthinkable. It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm certain I was decapitated not too long ago. 

Of course, that record doesn't stand for long.

In despair and confusion, I look at myself - only to discover that I have no neck! Just a stump on my shoulders with a head on top! I have a spot on my own back that I can't see! It's ridiculous, but my other two heads are even worse off. They're fused with my shoulders, comatose and unseeing, lacking even my pitiful excuse for a perch. 

An impossible, shattering truth dawns. This isn't my body! 

On top of my missing wings, and my missing necks - and I'm beginning to suspect two missing brains - my legs are far too long. My feet are strange, stretched out, with too many toes. I'm wearing pants, an entirely new and extremely stupid idea, but when I try to take them off they reveal something so awful that my one remaining brain rejects it outright. 

The only parts of my body that actually look like me are my chest, and my hide, covered in peerless bronze scales.  

I scream again, and I lash out with my lightning, not caring what I hit. The astral charge feels stunted, strangled - present but unable to flow properly through this mangled form. Still, I can't argue with the result. 

As it happens, I'm standing in a little basin of water at the center of a city (such a small way to describe something so much fun to ruin). The civilization that built it must have been advanced, because the buildings are thick and tall, with towers of glass and shiny metal. I can see my reflection in their polished walls, a cruel parody of my former glory, leering at me with an a flattened, hideous face in the moment before they shatter. One of them gets cut in half, and tumbles into the streets, burning as it falls.

I take a step, crashing through a skyscraper, and entire blocks crumble beneath my feet.

That's when I realize that my body isn't the only thing wrong here. This city has no inhabitants! There are no tiny creatures fleeing along its asphalt avenues, no little machines try in vain to pierce my glorious hide. 

Nothing is trying to stop me. 

In fact, beyond the edges of the city, nothing is all I see. Endless white, more terrible in its way than even the Anomaly who struck me down, and utterly empty. There isn't even a real horizon, just a vanishing point where the totally blank sky meets the totally blank firmament (which is another word I don't like). 

This is a... a prison.

No.

"NeaAOoo!" 

In a rage, I summon the lightning again, letting it build inside my chest. The power-flux still seems choked off somehow, like the tiny amount of energy this body can handle is barely worth my time, but when it erupts from my mouth - and my hands! - it still behaves exactly the way I expect it to. Buildings burst and crumble. Streets explode. I sweep arcs of crackling golden power back and forth across the city, only pausing to gather more astral charge as I reduce the entire metropolis  to rubble, smoke and flames in under a minute.

It tires me out enough to calm me down, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't extremely satisfying, but without people, little people, looking up at me and seeing the ultimate truth of their pointless existences, its just not the same. 

I kick over some burning piles of rubble, but my heart isn't in it anymore. Even the fire smells wrong - burning wood, not burning metal, and not even a whiff of life-essence.  I turn to go... and I stop.

I feel my face move in a way that it never has before. There's something else missing. 

I take another step. And another. My footsteps are quiet. I stomp. I run around the border, where the burning city meets the endless white.

I jump, and the ground doesn't shake when I land. 

No. Absolutely not. No, no, no, no no. 

No. This does Not.  Happen. To Me.

If what I'm suspecting is true, I'm not even able to be angry about it. This is outside of anger, beyond it. 

This is an abomination. (Which is an excellent word, but one I don't have time to appreciate right now.)

"Holy hell," says a crackling, distorted voice behind me. "This is a new one." 

I whip around, baring my teeth, and hiss. A group of four bipedal figures, their bodies rigid and mostly white, with arms, and fingers, and only one head each, are looking up at me.  They're short, but not small enough to trample beneath my feet. In fact, they're almost my size.

"A tiny city," says a different voice, similarly distorted. 

All of the figures look the same. Each one has black patches on the joints of their armored shells, and each carries what I recognize as a directed-energy weapon. 

 "And a big Prime," says another. 

There's something I have to do. I've never done it before, and the very idea is vile - King Ghidorah doesn't ask questions! There's nothing I've ever wanted to know that I couldn't find out by trying to destroy what was in front of me.

"You," I growl tentatively, not speaking to any one of them in particular. "How tall are you?"

They all look at each other. One of them moves its shoulders, up and down. "About a meter and half?" it says. 

My legs feel week. I sit down heavily on a burning building, not caring about the flames. 

This can't be happening. 

I'm small.  



   

So, I have some New Year's resolutions that I hope to hold to. Most in regards to my offline life, but the one that affects this site is:

I resolve to spend 1 hour a day doing something in regards to writing.

You guys have any roleplay-related resolutions you'd like to share?

Name: King Ghidorah
Spent OM: 29200
Consumed OM (400):  Wasteland - Tier 2 Supermove (400)
Proficiencies (3000); Ranged (1000), Physical Strength (1000), Area Attack (600), Area Defense (400) 
Powers (2600/8000): Flight (1800), Burst Movement (800)
Moves (3000): Golden Lightning (1200), Mighty Stomping Feet (300), Scintilating Scales (300), Glorious Golden Wings (600), Earthshaking Tread (300), Cosmic Power (300)
Super Moves (1200): Gravity Lathe - Tier 1 Super Attack (600), Golden Scales - Tier 1 Super Defense (600)
Transformations (2000): Young Star-Dragon (35 Meter Kaiju) - Tier 1 Powered Up Form (1000), Some Kind of Monster - Tier 1 Power-Up (1000).
Assists:
Items: Power Pill (Quest reward)
Artefacts: None
Bases:
Unlocks (17000): Stat Upgrade I (1000), Stat upgrade II (2000), Stat Upgrade III (4000), Power-Up Boost I (10000)
Base stats ( Young Star-Dragon Stats) (Some Kind of Monster Stats):      
ATK: 5 (7) (7)
DEF: 5 (7) (7)
SPD: 2 (4) (3)
TEC: 1 (1) (2)

Purchases and Deductions for THE UNSTOPPABLE KING GHIDORAH go here!

Current post count: (your current post count, viewable below your avatar)
Current Earned OM: (your current Earned OM, viewable next to your posts)
Current Spent OM: (total, viewable on your roster)
Buying: (whatever it is you want to buy. If purchasing a move you MUST link to the approval). Cost: (the cost) OM
New Spent OM in category: (your new total spent on Moves, Powers or whatever it was you bought)
New Overall Spent OM: (your total Spent OM after the purchase)

All moves must be approved here before purchase.

I didn't get any of my rest points for my latest post.

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Sweet unadulterated victory belonged to the Ashen Blades. They had triumphed over the fledgling Society of Supervillains, and Ballad was now nothing more than a frozen corpse. It was a good day, hell in Kuzuru’s mind it was the best day he had since arriving in the Omniverse. As the remaining blades made their way back to headquarters the demon replayed the battle over and over in his head. Every visceral detail was etched onto his brain and all he had to do was close his eyes to watch the movie all over again. This eidetic memory existed for every conflict he had participated in, thousands upon thousands of battles captured within his memory. However, over time these memories would dull, every detail losing that crispness that he so enjoyed. This battle with Ballad would satiate his need for war for the coming weeks, perhaps even months. 

After several hours worth of travel the Blades arrived back at home sweet home. Their fortress, which was carved into the side of a mountain sat unmolested in their absence. Inside they found the comfort of a familiar home. Kuzuru retired to his room and set to work recording a video chronicling their recent victory. Despite the physical exertion of the day he was no more tired than a neurosis patient. The demon paced about the compound, with rapid-fire thoughts assailing his brain. Wired was no more an accurate to describe his particular case. One thought that kept surfacing was the potential for retaliation. Forces more powerful than his crew of misfits were at work within this world and soon enough the Blades would draw their ire. It wasn’t that he was afraid of death or really any form of retribution from the denizens of the Omniverse, but rather it would be dreadfully boring if the Blades were stamped out before they became a reasonable force. So, under this assertion, he set to work.

Using the omnilium he had amassed over the previous week he began to carve deeper into the mountain. With nothing more than the miracle substance and his willpower he erased entire swathes of solid stone. First he forged a large atrium, and at the center he formed a pool and in the center of that pool he created a pedestal. Metal beams were used as buttresses to brace against the ever present weight of the mountain. The entire design was something reminiscent of a temple, murals featuring grand conquests covered the walls. Blood, sweet as honey to the demon’s nostrils, filled the pool. Perched atop the pedestal an orb, black as night, became a permanent fixture. Once all was said and done he called a meeting, ushering all of the Blades into the new room.

“What is all of this?” Dawn asked.

Kuzuru did not answer, but instead stepped closer to the pool of blood, forcing the others to form a semicircle around him. Murmuring rippled throughout the warriors, and after a few seconds to collect himself Kuzuru finally spoke, “we will inevitably be attacked, all great warbands will eventually fall, this is a trend that has stood the test of time.”

“What are you on about?” Charles demanded.

“We live within a world populated by the powerful, the wicked, and the kind, and there will come a time when those wretches that we hunt will rally against us and try to eradicate every last trace of our existence, there will be those stronger than us, crueler even,” Kuzuru paused, taking a moment to slick back his hair, “this will be our answer to their assault, those of you who wish to stand with me, those of you who wish to partake in the shared power of our brotherhood must offer your blood to the well, and in doing so you shall receive the strength of your companions, if you wish to stay, this is not optional.”

The Blades shifted around nervously, unsure of what to do or say. The first to break the silence was Cinder Salt. She stepped forward, her tawny fur shining in the light of the room. “This will make me stronger?” Cinder asked Kuzuru.

The demon smiled and answered, “Indeed, it will make everyone stronger.”

“Then I have no choice,” she responded and stepped towards the edge of the pool. The coyotle girl bit the pad of her thumb open, releasing droplets of that crimson liquid. She held her hand over the pool and let the blood flow freely. The pool began to swirl gently as her blood intermixed with the blood of countless others. A ominous red light emanated from the core of the black orb, like veins beneath the skin, faint but noticeable. The coyotle could feel energy coursing through her body, and she felt unstoppable. “This is incredible,” she muttered.

“Indeed it is,” the demon said, “and it will only grow as it is not only fueled by our victories, but also by our defeats.”

“Fuck it,” Charles said, lighting up a cigar, “I’m next.”

This is Kelly MacAryn, applying for an alt.

Character Name: King Ghidorah

Character Source: Godzilla franchise 

Character History: 
This version of Ghidorah is based on the original origin - the three-headed golden destroyer, the cackling, lightning-spewing ravager of planets who's traveled the galaxy for millions of years smashing entire civilizations. He's taken from immediately after the end of the movie in which he first appeared - 1964's 'Ghidorah, the Three Headed Monster' - with one minor difference. Rather than simply getting driven away by the combined efforts of Godzilla, Mothra and Rodan, the cosmic destoyer got the centermost of his three heads blown off in the fight by Godzila's nuclear breath, as per the ending of 1991's 'Godzilla vs King Ghidorah'.  

It is the fading consciousness of that severed head, alone for the very first time, which is brought to the Omniverse, albeit in a radically altered form. 

Physical description:
(not an original character per-se, but considering Ghidorah's canon form is 120 meters tall and not exactly verbally articulate, some changes have to be made)

Ghidorah is sinuously powerful, with muscles like a professional swimmer. He stands about seven feet tall, and wide enough that everything is in-proportion. He appears superficially human, but only at first glance. The King of Terror has golden skin, composed of thousands of tiny overlapping scales, and what a person might initially take for a golden, tightly-fitted scale-mail breastplate is actually an armored carapace. What seem to be a set of stylized pauldrons at first glance, crafted of gold in the style of a pair of slumbering dragon-heads, are upon closer inspection, parts of his body, permanently joined to his shoulders. His nails are long, pointed, and slightly too thick, and he doesn't wear shoes. 

Ghidora's face is thin and cruel, with a small nose, an almost feminine jawline, and red, slit-pupiled eyes. His ears are large and pointed, and there is a crown of three small horns hiding among his unruly tangle of dark blond hair.  

He has somehow acquired a pair of plain white cotton slacks, Thank (presumably) Omni.  

Starting Stats: (2 stat upgrades, 3000 OM)

ATK:5
DEF:5
SPD:2
TEC:0

Starting Proficiencies: Ranged Proficiency (1000 OM)

Starting Moves: 

Golden Lightning - variable, requires ranged proficiency (600 OM)
King Ghidorah's favorite means of attack, the King of Terror can fire jagged, golden-orange 'gravity beams' from his hands and mouth. They are about three inches in diameter, and travel at the speed of a bullet, out to a maximum range of one hundred meters before they arc to ground. These beams are very powerful, burning their target and tearing at them with intense tidal forces, comparable to an incendiary shotgun-slug (or an incendiary round from a more powerful gun. ATK score.) The beams can be fired in bursts, up to a maximum of three beams in three seconds (One from each hand, and one from his his mouth), but Ghidorah must charge for one second per beam he intends to fire. For all its power, using his golden lightning does not cause Ghidorah very much strain, though firing repeatedly for a minute or so without rest will wear him out. The trade-off is that the lightning is difficult to aim, even at less than ten meters, tending to arc in random directions and making the attack highly reliant on volume-of-fire.  Ghidorah can move around while using his lightning, but only in a straight line, and cannot take any other actions.

If Ghidorah chooses, he can make one or more beams in a given 3-second burst fire in a continuous arc for up to half-a-second each, allowing him to rake them across the battlefield. This version of the attack does incur a noticeable stamina drain, minor for just one persistent beam, like running a five-second sprint, but multiplied for each beam in the burst to which the effect is applied, so firing all three in this way is a major drain on his energy levels. The range is also reduced to fifty meters. 

I have read and agree to the rules of conduct.

How did you find us? Once again, I'm already on the site - Kelly MacAryn.

You like having more people to play with, right? That was a rhetorical question, because having more people to write with is awesome. Do you also like OM? If the answer is 'yes', which OBVIOUSLY it is, then please vote for us on the following sites!

RPGfix (every 12 hours. If you register, your votes count as x2. Worth the couple of minutes to make an account if you're going to be voting every day)
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When you vote, please post here with your total vote count for this month. So "Voted: 1", "Voted: 3" or whatever. Just keep track of 'em. For our counting purposes, clicking vote on all sites, or on RPGfix if only that is available, counts as 1 vote. If you post less than twelve hours since your last post, we won't count it. This means you can get up to two vote counts a day if you vote exactly every twelve hours. Simple? SIMPLE.

At the end of the month, if you posted ...

7-13 times: You get 100 OM.
14-23 times: You get 200 OM.
24+ times: You get 300 OM.
Every day: You get 300 OM, and a hug from me for being so damn diligent.

If you have an alternate character and wish to claim your reward on that account as opposed to your main one, please let us know in the topic before the month ends. If you don't, we'll assume you want the OM on the account you posted with.

We're going to trust in this that people actually click the links and don't just reply. I mean it only takes a few seconds to click these links anyway, but if there's a discrepancy between the posts here and the number of votes, and people really want to try and scam their way to a few hundred extra OM without voting, then we'll just remove this. Capiche?

Thanks for voting everyone! If you have time, please also leave a vote and review for us on Top RPG sites (once only) and Distant Fantasies.