Hungry [Great]

[Pennywise]

It had learned to despise new things.

New things brought nothing but trouble. Things that were old hat, now those were good. Delicious, even, often filled with rich food and screaming, fleshy hominid meals. New... new was not something It wanted.

So, as the (frightening, terrible, scary— all newnewnew new! ) suddenness of Its crumpling defeat faded, It was even more enraged (fearful) to discover Itself drifting into yet another new state of being. A state where It was at an enormously strong being's mercy, instead of at the mercy of seven idiot human children.

(The aforementioned being could only ever be enormously strong— otherwise, how could it have ever succeeded in ensnaring It? How could it have dared? )

The strange other being had white skin and four limbs. No eyes, no snout, just a wide, smiling mouth filled with teeth. It appeared to be a perfect facsimile of the human form. Omni, it called itself, and It was not impressed. Actually, to be more precise, It was too busy being terrified and angry in equal measure. It was unable to move or voice Its mindless rage-loathing-hate. Unable to wrench Itself free and do what It usually did with all of Its most troubling of problems, aside from that stupid, lazy Turtle: Eat them. So instead It howled and roared and spat in the privacy of Its own headspace, but kept an ear focused on Omni's cheerful, odious explanation that chipped away at every facet of the comfortable existence It had grown so acclimated to.

Before It had arrived there, in that seemingly endless black void gripped within Omni's power, there had been a shrinking sensation, like a magician beckoning one of those colorful cloth trails back up into his sleeve, the myriad of hues slithering back into the mysterious space they usually inhabited. It was like so much cloth, squares of primary color and intricate transformations vanishing into this pale being's metaphorical sleeve, until all that remained was Its most favored of forms, one that children adored yet feared beneath Its layers of disguises. The wily clown, twinkling sterling-silver bells and all, dangling like a puppet in Omni's invisible grip.

It had never felt so... so powerless. Weakened? Yes. Diminished? Okay, maybe a little. But powerless? Never. It was too clever for that, too careful. Derry, Maine had been an excellent hunting ground for that exact reason, filled with imaginative fools and the potential to lull those fools into a state not unlike a dream (unable to tell that the sharp maw of danger was closing in around them until it was far, far too late), and yet, It could acknowledge that it had become somewhat overconfident in Its management of Its primary food source.

Most of the time, humans just weren't able to discern their proper place on the food chain, which was right about how It liked it. It had been exceedingly careful, almost to the point of overcompensation, never allowing for the adult human minds to even consider Its true presence... That is, until the first child escaped, and then the next, and then the next, until eventually all of them, those Losers, joined together as a united force to combat It. The fear that It felt as Omni kept Its form suspended and trapped was similar to the fear It had felt all the way back in the summer of 1958, but rage burned clear and orange in Its cosmic belly, expanding inward in infinite fractals of hunger, pain, and desirous wrath.

A pale-fingered hand reached out, holding an orb of swirling colors aloft. The glowing sphere shimmered and sparkled brilliantly, almost like how the yolk of an egg that has been frozen over and crystallized looks when sunlight strikes it just right, a sublime and striking contrast to Omni's chalk-white skin. Knife-sharp curiosity sliced through Its inner tempestuous fold, the incandescence of lustrous anger fading like traces of starlight. It looked upon this orb of many colors and promptly began to salivate, the deadlights of Its eyes flashing a bright coppery gold.

Omni ceased speaking while the sewer-inhabiting extraterrestrial stewed in Its furiously churning brain. The clown-shaped creature barely had time to blink before It was dropping, fading, plummeting toward something both inevitable and painfully bright—

[Pennywise]

The water glugged and trickled into the smooth concrete dish of the Fountain of Infinity, spurting out of the spouts in muddy, sewage-green jettisons. Glass-like images swam over the waters in storm clouds of oily gray, speckles of dew turning into great, swollen streams of water, all of this churning motion transforming the stone edge into a veritable waterfall as flickers of water toppled over the edge and onto the Nexus floor in distinct plop, plop, plops. And from this deluge of rain, a menagerie of vibrant color began to bloom— not with sunshine and warmth as flowers do, but slowly and insidiously, frothing and fluttering outward like a fungus that thrives on the damp.

This fungus shook and gave a kind of perverse shiver, a bright jingling of bells ringing in the air. There was no mistaking this creature for human, no hiding the distinctly unsettling wideness of the painted-on smile the thing wore. The entire frame of the thing shuddered, loose-fitting clown regalia and all, for the fabric and skin appeared almost bodily indistinguishable.

The Nexus unfolded all around, and at the center was the fountain and a clown. A being, an entity, an It.

Blinded by the sudden change in Its surroundings, It merely sniffed, chin tilting up in an approximation of a bloodhound on the scent. The stench of rotting vegetation, human detritus, and flesh already sapped of life commingled in the interminably bright space surrounding It. Overpowering decay met Its nostrils, drenched in maggot slime and fly eggs. Judging by the acrid smell staining the air in a bilious fog, sharp and acidic like stomach fluids, it seemed that someone or something nearby had quite literally busted a gut. But, as wonderful as this tapestry of sweet scents was, they all were surprisingly unappetizing to It.

The coppery brightness of Its eyes blinked and flickered, throat garbling out a toad-like croaking sound as Its pupils swam around from the back of Its eye sockets, cat-like slivers slicing across the glittering yellow sclera and iris. They seemed unnaturally large, round, and black as they finally adjusted to the incredible brightness of the Nexus, devouring light at an alarming rate.

Chancing a look around, It regarded the pile of oozing, stinking bodies It was lounging across with the same satisfied, chop-licking look a leopard gives a gazelle it has mangled and dragged into a tree, albeit tempered a little by confusion. The hunger was there, of course, pangs of it ricocheting about inside Its belly, but the dead flung in a pile on the once-pristine ground just weren’t doing it for the cosmic devourer. It was almost as if they weren’t even there, the scent strong but still hollow and insubstantial to Its senses… as if the plump meat was little more than bones and dried-up skins.

Thoughts of bright, eddying color rushed in, quartzy reflections and spherical glamors prickling at the forefront of Its brain. A thin line of drool slid down Its chin, plopping onto the ruffles of Its costume and soaking clean through the fabric.

Omnilium, the alien surmised with some frustration, was what Its stomach truly craved.

A growling, wet-sounding hyena-chuckle rent the air as Its limbs began to rearrange themselves, bones snapping and chalky skin stretching to accommodate the elastic twisting of joints and soft cartilage. Gradually, the massive entity shifted from a quadrupedal position to one where It was more or less reared upright, mimicking the stance of the slightly-evolved apes that were Its most favored of prey. Its teeth bared, dozens of shiny-sharp pieces of bone erupting from Its gums in a ghastly grimace.

Omni had said there were other out there, in this Omniverse, in a way that was possibly meant to be reassuring. It was not, in fact, reassured at all. Others, especially others whose intentions might be similar to Its own, could prove to be a problem for Pennywise. Competition, even! Too many sharks in the water, chasing after the same scant traces of blood…!

As a creature of habit, not to mention one already long accustomed to being the sole apex predator within a hundred-bazillion-million miles of the planet Earth, the mere idea of being in possession of anything but complete dominance set Its teeth on edge, claws digging into the cushiony corpses until pus and rancid fluids leeched out. The silvery clown costume split at the seams, the fabric pierced by a black exoskeleton as Its rage bubbled over. It would not, could not stand opposition, and yet…

With a quick stir and a noise like rippling silk, the clown costume knitted itself back together with warp-like speed as Its false skin became stable once more. It settled back on Its haunches, legs bent in a casual demonstration of Its elasticity. The clownish makeup curled into a candy red, grinning snarl.

And yet… It sensed an opportunity, here, or at least a decent meal. Surely— surely all of Omni’s chosen had the ability to gain Omnilium and hoard it for themselves, just as It now did. And surely, surely-surely-Shirley Temple, they would surrender that Omnilium when It devoured them. The pursuit would likely be difficult, yes, very difficult, but ultimately worth it. Besides, It wasn’t too worried. Food always turned up sooner or later…

“What in the name of the Emperor is that?” an incredulous, electronically-filtered voice asked.

It turned, pupils bouncing around like ping-pong balls in a supremely comical fashion. They shifted in color from a fiendish yellow to a bright, newborn baby blue in the blink of an eye, claws and teeth receding from sight, tucked behind a friendly smile and large white gloves. It winked at the bipedal creatures dressed in sleek white armor, only a pair of them, from where It sat atop a pile of fastidiously decaying bodies.

“Hi there!” It greeted, a goofy grin appearing on Its face, buck-toothed and cheerful. “Would either of you boys like a balloon?”

[Viola]

Cogs, oil, broken potion flasks littered the sanitised white room. Magical liquids oozed, pooling over the inorganic workstation at different rates. Some mixed, and others flowed over each other - all with different viscosities. A yellow gas fizzed out of the mixture, the wisps were sucked through metallic grills on the roof slowly clearing the air. And, closer to the sliding glass entrance door, was a young man with a panicked expression on his face. Surely, half the institute had heard the loud resonating BANG from his failure. Especially her. She was visiting today, wasn't she? The child prodigy. Their sponsor. He had to clean up his mess quickly before-

"Mr Hearth." Magic tugged on his collar, dragging him back through the door. It closed behind him with a sharp hiss. High pressures of gas forcing the mechanism shut. "Care to explain why you chose to mix manticore blood, concentrated hydrochloric acid, trinitrothaumicbenzene, crushed ruby, and..." He felt a sharp magical tug on his wrist, spinning him around before he could do so himself. His clenched fist was forced open and the surgical glove pried off revealing a lightly tanned, smooth, unblemished hand - all except for a slight prick on the tip of his finger. "Your own blood."

The voice had been calm and quiet, yet dull. It was high pitched and reminded him of his niece - although her voice was much more lively. This was devoid of tone, not the anger he expected given the forceful use of magic. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any calmer about the whole situation. He shuddered, then realised he'd been staring at empty air for the last few seconds. It was only then he realised he was supposed to look down. Down at the face of a child. He didn't know what he'd been expecting; he knew she was a child but there was a strong difference between knowing something and actually seeing it.

Mismatched youthful eyes looked up at him, patiently waiting for his response. His initial reaction was more suppressed than most, potentially due to his anxiety, but that didn't abate his shock in full. Two long pigtails of gently curling hair flowed down her sides - each was as blue as the sky, darkening gradually closer to her head. They shined slightly in the harsh white lights, flickering around gently and drawing his gaze. Her attire would have held a stronger air of formality if it wasn't so archaic. A black and white frilly knee length dress complete with a tie. Stuttering a little, he studied her face while trying to compose himself. It was like she was sleeping with her eyes open, all tension was gone from her stark-white skin as soft shallow breaths escaped her lips.

"I-I uhh. W-well..."

She remained motionless, frozen in time. Calm and expecting.

He gulped. "I was trying to extract the mana from manticore blood, using my own blood to initialise and the one-three-five-trinitrothaumicbenzene to absorb it. I had a filtration system set up, but..."

"The ruby?"

"The stored mana helps separate the thaumilogical components of the blood - it's restored afterwards."

The girl gently nodded her head, making her hair swing back and forth. "Continue. Send me a full report this weekend."

With that short comment, she spun around and walked away, leaving the scientist baffled and confused. How she'd identified the situation so quickly was a mystery to him. Before he could question it, she was already out of sight.

---

Viola sighed, sitting down on her favourite chair, the cushions let out a puff air as she gently eased herself into position. Her legs ached. Her mind was numb. What looked like a normal day to everyone else felt like a week to her. Some old people talked about how time flew by. To Viola, it was the opposite. She controlled her perception of time, bent it to her will. She'd lived years in the span of a few days once. It was horrible. A dull endless slog. A dull endless slog she'd had no choice but to initiate - if she hadn't done it, the world would be a very different place. A better place? A worse one? She didn't know. 

This was supposed to be her dream - trusted advisor of the crown, owner of the Mages Guild, benefactor of the Institute of Science. People waited on her. People lived their lives for her - she'd known the grandfather of the young aspiring scientist. But, what she really wanted was a friend. Not someone who treated her like a child. Not someone who looked at her like she was a god, princess, or queen. Just someone to talk to. By the time she realised that, it was too late.

The flickering candlelight cast distorted shadows over the rough wooden floor, lapping up at her tights-clad toes. Her tired eyes scanned the spacious room, settling on the pile of notes on her desk. They were old scrunched pieces of parchment, some of the paper was older than she was. Her forgotten project. She was bored. She had things to do, things she wanted to do. Yet she was bored. It was strange. Like a child given too many toys to play with and not knowing where to start - it felt like a chore to try them all. A hobby turned into a job. At times like these, she almost wished she'd truly stayed a kid.

Shrugging gently, she pushed herself to her feet, only to find her world engulfed in white, and a silhouette speaking to her. It looked like a child, similar to herself. A young boy shrouded in a black mist with nothing but a sharply pointed smile. He talked, and she had to listen. Her body wouldn't move. Similar to a dream - it wasn't that she was paralysed, just that the option didn't seem to be available. And yet, it all felt so real. His hold released her, plunging her down, up, sideways and inside-out through space and time. Stumbling, falling, tipping, and flailing.

She screamed, a faint hiss escaped her lips. The same sound as the pressure locks from the laboratory doors. Coughing and spluttering, she rolled out of depths, feeling like something gave her whole being a hard shove before dropping down into a world of white. She fell to the harsh white ground face first. Her hands barely extended in time, her left touching down sooner than the other. Spinning to the side, she flopped down onto her back, laying sideways by the side of an empty fountain. Just like everything else, it was plain white, made of hard glossy granite.

Immediately, she sensed something was wrong. It wasn't the dead white sky. It wasn't the sudden change of scenery. And, it wasn't 'Omni', the being who pulled and shoved her into this place. It was her magic, her mana. All gone. Missing was the flowing roaring stormy ocean inside her. Silence. A dying painful silence - it was only once the music had stopped that she realised how loud it was.

Viola bit her lip. The boy had mentioned 'Omnilium'. Perhaps, she considered, she might be able to replicate her prowess in other ways.

It was then, that she was alerted to the presence of others. An inhuman voice followed by a giggle. 'Balloons?' she wondered. She hadn't been listening enough to hear the context, just odd words and the tone of voice. Carefully prying herself to her shaky feet by using the fountain ledge as a support, her arms trembled, but she took a step closer to the nearer person. He looked colourful, with silly red hair, whereas the others wore white. Naturally, she strode over to him - the circus folk. She'd been a few times, they were funny, and he looked to be one of them. It wasn't long before she was in speaking distance, her speaking distance.

"Hello?" Quiet, and void as the world they were in, her voice spread outwards into a small dome. Hopefully, he'd hear her. It was embarrassing when she had to repeat herself. Anxiously, she looked back to the white-men. Then to the clown again. Eyes flickering between the two, she swooped up her long tails of hair with one hand, hugging them to her chest out of nervousness. Her other hand fiddled with her skirt, playing with the frills and running her fingers through the fabric. If he was stuck here like her, maybe he'd be able to help her. For the first time in centuries, she felt like a child once again. Helpless in a frightful new world.

[Pennywise]

"Hello?"

A bit miffed at having Its performance interrupted, It turned to welcome the unwelcome newcomer with a mouthful of razorblades, whoever they were, and then abruptly stopped short.

Oh! A child.

It was not a creature designed for companionship, this much was true, but It had always liked children. Not in a way that implied true friendship or compassion, though— both were the most powerful and insidious of bonds, in Its educated opinion. No, It regarded children similarly to how a sheep farmer looks upon his flock... Perhaps affectionately naming a few here and there, imitating a baa with too much enthusiasm in the wee hours of the morning when meandering out into the pasture, but ultimately sleeping soundly at night with the knowledge that his woolly little friends are destined for the slaughterhouse.

Still, apart from the inevitable and bloody act of the kill, It enjoyed the brief moments of interaction between Itself and Its prey. Children were so imaginative, so in awe of Its clownish tricks, yet quaked so awfully with fear once Its true nature revealed itself.

One of Its pupils slowed and remained fixed to the left on the armored bipeds, the other aiming squarely at the Nexus floor, the pile of soggy bodies, friendly blue irises and sharp little buckteeth making It appear spectacularly dopey and harmless. Well, right up until Its red grin widened at the tiny girl with rose-shaped ribbons in her — blue!— hair, painted-on nose crinkling in amusement.

There was a static-filled crackle, like that of a walkie-talkie. But, It paid little attention to the soldiers— it was showtime, after all. One gloved hand was swiftly tucked behind Its back as It swept into a goofy bow that had Its forehead almost brushing the ground, bells tinkling merrily and with a brightness that was crisp as silver starlight.

"HellooOo?" It repeated back to her in a parroty and chirruping kind of voice, still smiling. "And who might you be, then?"

The girl regarded Pennywise warily at first, her mismatched eyes flicking over Its face like she was trying to solve arithmetic. That was okay, though; they always did that. Plus, her hesitancy gave It time to assess how best to go about the hunt, quickly examining her from head to foot. How fun! How absolutely, irrefutably, posi-tutely ideal!

She was almost like a little dolly, short and tucked into a frilly black dress; the kind of toy a child might bring to a funeral, unsure of the true purpose of the event but at least noticing the overbearing amount of dark clothing involved. Her eyes, one a silly kind of blue that It had only ever seen in certain parts of deep space, the other redder than one of Its balloons, stared back placidly into Its face, uncertain and yet somewhat cold.

Finally, the girl appeared to give a minute twitch— like a daydreamer rousing from a light sleep. She'd hardly seemed to be breathing, even, causing It to wonder if she'd already died of fright, but she spoke up soon enough.

"Viola," she said, her voice trailing and soft as the gentle sweep of feathers over water. She tilted her chin up slightly in acknowledgement, hands fiddling anxiously with the edge of her dress, "Who... are you?"

It crowed, jittering with such incandescent joy that Its feet did a merry little jig. The bright orange pompoms lining Its front bobbed up, down, and all around. "Viola— what a name! Viola, violet, violins, violence! I'm Pennywise the Daaaanciiiing Clown! Happy to make your acquaintance. Mmmmhmmm, you betcha."

[Viola]

Viola giggled, her eyes darting around trying to track each individual strand of bouncing hair. The clown seemed so lively. So animated. Watching obsessively and trying to track every detail was an old habit of hers. Of course, she never remembered most of it - it was pointless in the long run, but she never knew what information might come in useful. Without slowed time to assist her, however, much of the movement was lost on her, appearing like a smooth blur. If anything, it made Pennywise seem even more animated, even more real. As if she'd been looking at the world through a tinted lens for the last six and a half centuries, only now seeing the world for what it was. Suddenly, the dreary plane appeared to be surprisingly fresh.

Deep down, her body cried out, screaming at her to run away from the friendly clown. Perhaps it was his large bulbous forehead, how his smile curled a little too much, or his fake makeup - as if covering something up. Yet, Viola still laughed at his silly display. Even if she did run, where would she go? She dismissed her fears as superstition, and that her recent loss of magic was making her overly cautious.

Flinching at another crackle - it sounded like static or a weak lightning spell - Viola glanced back at the soldiers in white, instinctively stepping away from the clown in the process. Shaking her head lightly, she cleared her thoughts, ignoring the strange people just like Pennywise had. She wanted to rhyme, or toy with his name just like he had with hers. But what could she do with 'Pennywise'? Penny, Pen... She scrunched her nose a little bit; it was impossible.

"It is nice to meet you, Penny-wise." Viola held almost perfectly still, a small hint of an upper-class lifestyle seeped into her tone, emphasised by her formality. Smiling faintly, she inched closer again, taking small scuttling steps like a deer approaching a pond during a drought. Resisting the urge the lean on the dead fountain, Viola meshed her fingers together, busying her hands and letting her hair flow freely. It trailed behind her, swinging back and forth mesmerisingly and making her head bob a little. Carefully, she reached out her hand, holding it within arm's reach of her new friend while her other fingers ran through the silky frills of her dress, turning odd folds up and revealing the fine stitches. 

The clown lived up to his title, doing a little hop. Tippity tap went the tips of his hard shoes upon the Nexus floor while he vigorously stretched out his arm, firmly grasping Viola's hand. Randomly and clumsily, he shook her limb, almost pulling her off balance but not quite - he pushed the boundaries, reaching equilibrium and leaving Viola near her literal tipping point. "Howdy-doo, little bluebell," he let go after what felt like a short eternity, speaking in his goofy tone. 

The over the top nature of it all left her laughing quietly, a near silent giggle mostly composed of air. Quickly, she forgot her fears. Had one of the soldiers shook her arm like that, she might have cried.

Keeping his happy grin donned across his face, Pennywise shuffled from foot to foot, bending and working his arms, using one to rub the shoulder of the other. He made a mock expression of pain for a moment, massaging his bicep. "Mighty strong grip you've got there, young'un."

"That was you, silly," Viola smiled, naturally playing into his game. She shuffled backwards, all the same, easing the strain on her neck from having to look up at him and giving herself a modicum of space.

"OooOOoh?" he dragged out, raising his voice to ridiculous timbres, varying it more randomly and effortlessly than any instrument could. "Are you suuUUuure?" With a solid looking grip, he twisted his shoulder forward, then back, then returned it to the middle where it made a slight popping sound. Viola simply tried to raise a single eyebrow (but failed, oddly twisting her face and lifting both), amused by his playful behaviour.

"Very sure." She nodded, then breathed out, puffing the air upwards to blow a couple of loose strands of hair out of her eyes. It fell back down again so she reached up, tucking it behind her ear.

"Well, who am I to deny a little girl?" He crouched down and ducked forward pretending to peer under a canopy. "Would you like a balloon?" He continued to speak to her, lowering his voice allude to great mysterious secrets. 

Despite having backed away a little bit, Viola found his smiling face close to hers. And, she was instinctively ducking a little bit too, like she was hiding behind the dead fountain despite being on the wrong side to avoid the two men watching them. Placidly, Viola made no attempt to move away. "Yes," her plain voice spoke before she momentarily blurted out a follow-up comment. "Please." While her speech was simple and short, or even quick (at least for her), she still took great care in pronouncing everything correctly and clearly.

She'd wondered why she was so accepting of the clown's treatment of her - new acquaintance, or friend, he treated her like a child. Normally she'd resent such a thing, or tell herself she did. Yet she was continuing with it anyway. Why? Why would she? Because it was a distraction? Or maybe, just maybe, because it was fun.

[Pennywise]

The lenses of ST-7677's helmet flickered with a steady stream of data from the nearest Imperial checkpoint, all of it scrolling like digital ticker tape across the glowing interface: secondary departure, ID#795000858. Secondary departure, ID#625800626. Prime entry, assigned ID#000000065... ad infinitum. Yet, the suffocating amount of raw textual data displayed on the inside of his stormtrooper helmet was not as daunting as it had been the first time it came online. With time and the remarkable ability to keep a level head, ST-7677 had become accustomed enough to the computerized visor that it was easy enough to ignore all but the most pertinent of incoming messages; depending on the situation, of course.

Still keeping a weather eye on the two newly-spawned primes, he paid special attention to the corner ticking near to his left eye— an orange, crescent-shaped graphic indicating the amount of ammo remaining for his blaster rifle. His lips pursed as he squinted at it, feverish sweat beading on his brow and prickling at the corners of his eyes. Maybe he would need to have the temperature-regulation mechanism inside his armor looked at.

He nearly jolted in surprise when a sudden voice came from beside him. Nearly.

"What are you thinking, Stat?"

It was a question from ST-7677's side. Turning, the trooper was unsurprised to see the designation tag for his usual scouting partner materialize on his screen, flashing briefly to indicate CU-5461's location and status as 'friendly'. Of course, he would've known it was CU-5461 (preferred designation 'Acute') anyway— no one else had ever taken the time to nickname him.

It was almost unavoidable to forget just who the other was when wearing their white plastoid shells, something which made theses small digital indicators a godsend, but the nicknames were something else. Something bright and colorful in a sea of endless white. Being faceless was one thing, but to be nameless? It almost didn't bear thinking about.

ST-7677, or "Stat", tipped his helmet to the side in acknowledgment, responding low enough that the primes would not hear. "Recruitment could be worth a shot, but it's not looking all that promising. Too many unknowns."

Acute snorted, a short huff of nasally amusement that produced the absolute strangest, but still distinctly recognizable sound through his helmet's chin piece. "Right. And there's a lot of dead bodies."

"... That, too," Stat admitted, because it was true. He wasn't sure which prime had triggered this grotesque change in the fountain's appearance, but the sheer number of scattered limbs and days-old corpses was definitely a cause for alarm.

"It's just a clown and a kid, though. Nothing to write home about, right?" Acute mused aloud, thoroughly derailing Stat's train of thought in the process. And, for the most part, his partner's deduction seemed to be reflective of reality. Still, something itched at the back of his brain. An errant thought, really, but one that really bothered him, one that appealed to his soldierly instincts. Because of this instinct, he looked closer, eyes straining to ascertain what, exactly, was so distinctly... off about this situation, aside from the obvious.

A bright chiming of bells came from the tall fellow in costume as he spoke giddily to the little girl, the both of them seeming as distinct as night and day, the clown's fiery red hair clashing mightily with the smooth blue locks that the girl sported. The pair of them outwardly seemed to be ignoring the two stormtroopers entirely. But, Stat could see the way the clown's disjointed eyeballs rolled and spun, seemingly in haphazard patterns, only to inevitably focus again in their direction. Every. Time.

Two emotions engaged in vicious combat within Stat's brain, the standard retreat-or-approach dilemma rising to the forefront of his mind. Appearances could be deceiving, especially in the Omniverse. Having a frail child's body didn't guarantee weakness, just as a friendly grin didn't always indicate good intentions. The girl could likely defend herself, or perhaps the clown was the one in danger, here.

He watched as the clown offered the girl a balloon, the fingers of one enormous gloved hand flexing, claw-like, when the rainbow pulse of Omnilium appeared, a myriad of colors bracketed fiercely between them...

[Pennywise]

"Yes, please," Viola said, each syllable enunciated with the utmost care, and really, how could ol' Pennywise resist a request like that, soft and sweet and all the things It was not?

"So polite!" It crooned, joviality emerging as a rattling chuckle from deep within Its diaphragm. Sinking down onto Its haunches, long legs bending in a spidery pose, It spoke to Viola through an ever-widening grin, "Which coloU~r would you prefer? Blue as the sky? Green like a cat's eye? Or perhaps a nice, juuuuicy red! Red... yes..." It attempted to keep the drool from pooling too visibly upon Its bottom lip, not quite succeeding. "Redder than the filling of a cherry pie?"

While the young girl's expression remained tranquil for the most part, barely-there signs of uncertainty made themselves known in the smallest tugs she made to the frills of her dark dress, the subtle stirring of hair over her shoulders as she wavered on her feet, physically torn between the multiple options set before her. Yet, the simple draw of a gift was too powerful, too tempting. After all, what kind of big, bad monster would offer a kid a balloon? How absurd! How strange! How utterly ridiculous! But, then again, didn't Pennywise the Dancing Clown seem to embody each of those things?

Leaning forward, Viola smiled a tiny little smile, an expression that paled in comparison to Its almost too-wide grin. Her mismatched eyes stared keenly up into the clown's face, one iris alight with ember-like focus and the other placid and cool, but both seeming chock full of intelligence. Of course, It mostly disregarded this, partly out of pride and also with regard to past experience when luring prey in. The young of other species just weren't very bright, the clown knew, just as lambs weren't supposed to lie with lions, but they would always attempt it anyway.

Viola bit her lip in thought, drawing Its attention back to her face. "Um... Blue would be nice."

The clown deflated a bit at that. In fact, Its flouncy, fiery red hair actually appeared to visibly wilt like the petals of a dried-out poppy, Its comically-painted mouth curving downward and blue eyes taking on an even more pitiful sheen. Darn, had It really been gearing Itself up for red! Red like roses, red like the mumps, red like arms bitten clean off and left as gory stumps! Blue was... calm. Pleasant. In short, blue just didn't have that same instinctual, viscerally fearful zing to it, but that just meant It would have to be creative— something It was, unsurprisingly, good at.

"Sure, sure," said the clown, Its brain already churning with a myriad of discordantly-arranged plans. It was tough, not being able to just sniff these kinds of things out, but the entity refused to be put out by simply having to work harder for a meal; after all, that is what distinguished IT, the greatest of cosmic entities, from lazy idiot-beings like Maturin. "Blue it is. A bit of blue for the bluebell, coming right up!"

As It spoke, one of Its massive gloved hands reached out, burbles of warm Omnilium beginning to flicker and take shape within Its palm. Every part of It recoiled at the idea of willingly sharing this new preciously-sweet substance, the creature's eyes simmering with swirling yellow seemingly of their own accord. Yet, It resolved to grin and bear it. For now, at least, sacrifices in the name of further gain weren't too gut-wrenching.

While It waited and observed the colorful shifting of the Omnilium with great interest (great interest being almost overcome by the urge to open Its mouth wide and consume the orb whole again), one of Its eyes drifted over toward the two figures in white carapaces once more. They hadn't moved to advance or retreat in the past two minutes or so, only conversing quietly amongst themselves. The creature wasn't of a mind to address them, either, not when they had so rudely ignored Its offer of a balloon. This decision wasn't at all influenced by the obvious weapons attached to their suits or Its current grievously weakened state. Nope, no sirree!

Returning to the task quite literally at hand, a thin, winding thread of white string gradually appeared from the centre of Its palm, drifting up into the air like a length of spider-silk caught in a breeze. A rainbow shiver of Omnilium prompted the blue elastic of the balloon to floomph outward in midair, the thin skin magically rounding out before their eyes until it was filled completely with air.

The long fingers of Its hand grasped the string, plucking the balloon from midair. A satisfied purr clicked oddly inside Its throat as It examined Its work, but at the same time, the interdimensional entity was reminded of the hunger gnawing at Its stomach. Pupils wrenching about like dumb goldfish eyes, it took the clown a hilarious amount of time until It could finally focus solely on Viola, both eyes fixed in her direction instead of the rest of the Nexus.

It spoke, but Its voice had... changed, somehow, at least in a way that was apparent to Viola. No longer did it fluctuate between octaves, curling around soft vowels before launching through the phonetic atmosphere into growly glottal throat-sounds. Instead, Its voice was oddly solemn, almost serene. Like a child admitting to leaving a puppy to burn inside a house on fire, calm and sure of themselves because at least they hadn't done something even worse, like broken a window to save the poor creature from a slow, excruciating demise.

"Here," It said, the balloon held aloft between them. "Take it."

[Viola]

Level 1 throwdown in the Nexus. Let's go!

Word Limit: 800
Posts Per Player: 3
Time Limit: 72 hours (extensions are fine, just throw a heads up)
Judge: None yet.
Other Notes: There are a couple of stormtroopers by the fountain who may side with Viola (since Pennywise is the aggressor). They're mostly fodder and I'd rather they don't impact the fight judgement too much - although she does need every advantage she can get.

OOC Thread: http://omniverse-rpg.com/showthread.php?tid=9732

---

Let's make this a good one.

It felt like hail cascading down her spine. The blue balloon gave off a deadly cold chill, the serene calm shattered like ice. Yet, tentatively, she reached out nonetheless. Her mismatched eyes met the clown's menacing yellows: piercing, deadly, they glared back. Akin to a cat sizing up its prey.

Every fibre of her being screamed at her to flee, yet bravely - or stupidly - she held her ground. Hoping, longing for the bubbly clown to return, to replace the fiend who stood before her.

Gently, her fingers curled around the string - frail. Her lifeline, and just as easily cut.

Claws, as white and dull as the Nexus sky.

Betrayal.

They carved through the dead air, slicing it. Fast. Swift. She didn't have time to blink

Time.

She needed time.

Time for something.

Time for anything.

To run away. To hide. To protect herself. To-

The world stopped. Halted.

Curled talons nicked the hairs on her outstretched arm, freezing the moment they touched her skin. She tried to scream, cry out in fear, recoil, flail - but she was just as still as her surroundings, her active mind locked within a frozen world. A prison of her own making. This was her power, her curse. Minutes, hours, days - how much time passed? She couldn't tell.

And those eyes. Those evil, vicious, glowing yellow eyes. They bore into her for every tantalising second of it.

Mentally, she took a deep breath, unable to do so for real. This was her reality, trying to hold it back was futile, childish, yet she’d tried anyway, delaying her grim future through sheer force of will. Reluctantly, she steadied herself, releasing her hold on time. This was going to hurt.

Swiftly and mercilessly, the grey-white razors gored into her flesh like butter. Forcing her eyes wide, taking in every detail of her defeat, she let out a silent scream. Her quiet voice breaking under strain.

She pulled away as best as she could, the hooks chewing and tearing, snapping through her wrist and ripping off chunks of juicy flesh.

Falling.

Her mangled limb clutched to her chest, ruptured arteries pulsed, spitting and spraying her life away.

Flailing, weak legs kicked out, gaining scarce traction on the sleek white floor.

Helpless.

Again the world shifted, as if submerging in jelly.

Claws, right leg.

Her leg glooped inwards, barely evading sluggish claws.

Mind beginning to burn, like lactic acid in an athlete's muscles, time resumed as normal, restored mana swirling through her veins. Amidst the crippling agony, power manifested within. She latched onto it, feeling it bubble and froth, drowning in potential while adrenaline wracked her heart.

Teeth, left foot.

The monster's skin rippled back, splitting its faux-smile into two. It snapped down, lashing out and biting, slurping up a black boot, her tight-clad foot slipping away. A rumbling growl resonated within Its throat as It towered over Its prey, spitting leathery shreds.

Claws, right shoulder.

Viola scrambled, her back hitting the dead fountain with a faint thump, knife-hands sending a rush of air past her face from their near-miss. She kept kicking, pushing off the floor, desperately trying to move further away. And then-

Ktch-Clang.

Two familiar floating blades, both a brilliant blue matching her hair. Crossed, stalwart and protecting. Glowing vibrantly, they cast a soothing light over Viola, parrying another strike. Catching Pennywise off guard, the swords snapped - like scissors. Quick and sharp, the counterattack propelled the clown back, slicing thin lacerations across Its chest.

Pssshhew.

One red bolt -

Pssshhew.

- followed by another seared into the beast, tarnishing Its outfit and peppering Its congealed flesh with light burns. A third shot fired, and then a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and -

She should have helped them. Screams and shouts rang out through the air. Hisses, laughter, and the vicious cracking of bone. Viola merely cradled her arm, hugging it tightly. Scraps of skin dangled off, like a half-torn cheese string. Blood pumped and throbbed, sticky, red, pooling out of the wound, soaking her fine silky clothes. Content it was them and not her, she hid in plain sight, blades brandished protectively, deterring It from coming back her way while clinging to the vain hope the two soldiers would be able to defeat It.

Hacking and coughing, speckles of blood dripped down her tongue, filling her mouth with the tangy taste of iron. Tears trickled down her cheeks. With every drop, she told herself it would be the last. That she would pry herself to her feet. That she would do something. Anything. If she died or fled, there was no telling how many others would meet the same fate. Tortured, mutilated, butchered, murdered. She grit her teeth, pain, fear, anger. She could not let that happen.

800 words. Viola has her Aetherblades (two floaty swords) summoned and has lost her right hand. Pennywise has some minor slashing wounds and some minor laser injuries from the stormtroopers. Minor clarification on Timekeeper. Only Viola sees time as moving slowly when she uses it. To Pennywise everything is normal. Over to you, Jade.

[Pennywise]

It hissed and gnashed Its teeth, agitated by the burn marks left by the armored soldiers and their primitive blaster rifles. The pair of stormtroopers held their ground as the ghastly clown advanced, firing blast after searingly-hot blast at Its wiry, hulking frame. A brave move, but one which would surely be their downfall. And it became their downfall the moment It began to shift, surge, change.

A series of sickening cracks rent the air as It lurched, limbs twitching in fits as Its body seemed to collapse, joints and malleable cartilage creaking and groaning like a decrepit house, the vertebrae of Its spine straining in visible bumps beneath Its skin. It assumed a quadrupedal pose, clawed fingers splayed across the ground and Its neck snapping 'round at an impossible, distinctly wrong angle, rough silk rasping over the Nexus floor as It skittered forward like a hungry spider over its web.

Gaping, powerful jaws snapped onto the first armor-plated limb It could reach, cracking the white plastoid like a crab shell. The man inside screamed like a stuck pig, hundreds of lamprey teeth sinking deep into his flesh, the coppery taste of blood beading up and cascading over Its tongue like sweet, sweet honey, eyes rolling up in delight as the bone buried within slick meat gave a final, quick snap!

The soldier's wailing cut off into a low, pained groan as It gulped up the mess of blood and shattered bone. His numb hands fumbled uselessly for a weapon, flopping like dead fish attached at his wrists, and he distantly realized he was going into shock.

"Stat," the stormtrooper choked out, watching blearily as the clown turned Its back on him, stalking back toward the fountain. His vision was fading fast, the first pinpricks of black smearing his view. "Stat, I..."

When he received no immediate reply, Acute tossed his head to the side, helmet jarring painfully against the Nexus floor as he did. He was prepared for a grotesque, horribly mutilated body. He was not prepared for empty white space. No sign of Stat at all, but surely... surely he would have gone to get help, right?

Shock could be a real killer, the trooper mused as the last vestiges of consciousness fled from him just as surely as his oozing lifeblood, but being abandoned was the worst fate imaginable.

Viola watched as the trooper went still, the soldier's body slackening from either unconsciousness or death. Her eyes pricked with hot tears, anger lending fortified steel to her gaze as she bravely met Pennywise's stare head-on.

Gore trickled down Its chin and into the ruffles of Its costume, staining the dusty suit with thick rivulets of arterial blood. A bestial grin stretched Its mouth wide, devil-red gums erupting with protrusions of saw-like bone, greedy yellow eyes fixated on the cowering child.

The clown chortled upon seeing the fury in her expression, the merry jingling of bells accompanying Its full-body laugh.

"Aw, what's the matter, sugarplum?" It tittered, a sly curve on Its lips as some of Its earlier humor bled through. "Feeling neglected? Don't worry, there's plenty of Pennywise to go around!"

It took an exaggerated step forward, purposeful and light as a strutting peacock... and then another, the ridiculously large clown shoes on Its feet flopping about with every step, a slow advance that had Viola's heartbeat hiccuping with every footfall. Drool slopped from Its wide mouth, dripping to the floor in translucent strings.

"What are you?" Viola demanded, ignoring the clown's mockery of her. The blades crossed before her sung with a metallic hiss as the clown took another step closer, the vibrations tingling up her arms.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" Pennywise chided, wagging a finger at her. "Why don't we play a little game?"

The girl stared coolly back at It. She clutched her arm closer to her chest, waiting as the creature continued to lope toward her. "No."

"So cruel! Weeell... I suppOs~e I can let you in on my secret, even if you're a mean, mean little girl to ol' Pennywise..."

It stooped down, still several feet away but close enough that Viola could smell the rot sloughing off from Its body in nausea-inducing waves. Its tongue traced Its teeth, saliva mixing with blood in an ugly, pinkish mix.

"I am fear," the creature growled, amber irises swirling, pupils expanding until Its eyes became empty black pits. "I am a bloodletting. I am the creeping thoughts which stalk your sleep, the darkest imaginings in the cracks of your squishy, spongy little brain, the wolf at your grandmothers door. But, most of all, Viola..."

The creature's face split in two, a garbled, warp-frayed howl ripping through to Viola's very core as It lunged. "I... am... HUNGRY!"

800 words exactly according to wordcounter.net

[Viola]

Viola's eyes scrunched shut, fear driving her innately flourishing magic.

"... HUNGRY!"

Ethereal blades swirled protectively at her command, opened eyes shining like lighthouses - warning stray beasts to stay away. Mana seethed through her brain and bones. Fueled by hidden rage, she moulded the smouldering power to her will, driving the swords into her attacker. The first connected with the clown's gurgling gut, piercing out Its back. The second wedged through Its shoulder.

Malleable flesh and bone churned, flowing around wounds and lessening the blows. Onwards It flowed, gnashing grinding teeth spread wide, infiltrating her squandered defences and snapping down. Slurping, sucking, crunching, It latched onto her shoulder like an oversized leech, bathing in her blood. She spasmed in Its clutches, silently crying out before slumping. Still.

"... HUNGRY!"

Dull, unresponsive, she drooped. Her limbs twitched, endless whites filled the gaze of her lifeless eyes. Was she... dead?

A snap of hundreds of teeth crunching on her good hand informed her otherwise.

It was like being woken up with a bucket of icy water, but infinitely worse.

Spluttering, thrashing, Viola felt claws wrench into her gut, tearing out her insides with a sickly squelch. Blood trickled from her jaws.

"... HUNGRY!"

Viola jolted up with a start, resolve visibly broken. She kicked out, scrambling away as best as she could, pressing herself firmly against the dead fountain. Her crimson life still splurged from her wound, gluing to her silky sleeves. Crying, screaming, she held her blades in a solid X. Her mind was muddled, the feeling of death ran fresh through her veins. Why was she still alive?

... was this all a dream?

A painful, lucid, evil dream.

Why couldn't her torment just end?

Pennywise flowed around her static shield, hissing as she twisted her weapons - cutting into It from odd dangerous angles. Crawling, It persisted, gobbling up her petite shoeless leg, gnawing all the way up to her thigh.

Fading.

Another chance wasted.

Black.

With a final screech of agony, her blades twisted and cleaved, sculpting the thing's meat to her own bidding, hacking through Its spine.

Nothing.

"... HUNGRY!"

Frantically, fueled by pure instinct, Viola lashed out the moment she regained consciousness. Her swords flurried aggressively, slashing over Its skin and ripping into Its clothes, blocking the assault and forcing It back. Actions came first; questions came later.

"No," she muttered under her breath, denying It a meal. Invisible mana spiralled outwards and manipulated time to her will.

It tried to engage, reforging Its face and brandishing deadly claws. It hacked and slashed, deflecting the false-steel with predictable strikes. A fire burned through Viola's veins, sending powerful ripples through her core, yet she held on - observing. Her cold, calculating glare overshadowed her prior inaccuracies. She took her time, slowing the world to a near-standstill and directing every swing perfectly. Again and again and again.

Cocky.

It scuttled back, howling. Every inch it gave was filled with her blades - yet even those looked slow to her eyes. At the low speed, she could barely feel more than a tingling in her arm. A soothing assurance that everything was going to be okay.

Her magic faltered. Over the minutes she'd felt, barely half of one had passed. A jarring rush of sensations hit her like one long sweeping wave. Her head bobbled, panting, while she tightly hugged her throbbing stump. In her moment of weakness, It lashed out, meeting both blades with violent slashes to the hilts, dispersing them into specs of light.

Quivering, Viola looked up, heart sinking to the depths of her stomach while It sprauchled forth, sickly blood bubbling from Its wounds.

And then, It pounced.

"... HUNGRY!"

Viola grit her teeth, unphased, bending time to her will. Slowing it. Distorting it just right. The calm before the impending storm - and she sat right in the eye of the beast. Another opportunity. Another life. One she could take, grasp, own. Fate belonged to her. Her last chance.

Predictably, Pennywise struck out just as she relaxed her hold.

Prepared, Viola swirled her blades, feinting both towards Its chest before flicking one at Its neck. Its back cracked, limboing to avoid the blow while Viola's other strike slashed deep into its right calf, pivoting around to hack at It from behind.

Calm.

Hissing, It twisted, flesh sifting and flowing as it rolled back, reforging its skull and trying to break past her relentless blades with powerful claws.

Emotionless.

Viola rose to her feet, watching calmly with lifeless eyes. Compensating for her lessened reactions, she'd returned with her own harsh strikes, forcing the clown to dodge away from her. She remained shrewd, conservative, always keeping at least one blade between her and It.

Serene.

She controlled herself, focusing intently, never exerting too much. Blades ever poised, she kept the wounded beast on Its toes.

Deadly.

800 words. Viola spent 1sp to use T1SU - Time Loop (600). 0/1 sp remaining.

Pennywise took a harsh hit to Its right calf, and probably some more general odd cuts.

[Pennywise]

“Ohoho! We’ve got a live one!” the clown cackled, inhumanly long tongue lolling from Its mouth in feral excitement.

Like a circus tiger stalking the length of its cage, It prowled around the fence of suspended blades the little treat had made for herself, pearly white teeth bared in agitation. A sense of being both hunter and hunted boiled Its lifeblood, fury coloring Its eyes a hair-raising red that clashed with the purplish-blue blades Viola had managed to wound It with. Blood dripped from Its serrated maw as It tracked every tiny movement the girl and her enchanted weaponry made, claws digging into the smooth white ground until it cracked like eggshells.

A stream of black smoke trailed from Its wounded leg, the wispy pulses of gore detaching from Its body and simply floating away, ghost-like, across the harsh white of the Nexus. Viola watched them go, her eyes glowing like pretty little jewels that Its claws ached to scrape out and pop between Its jaws. Her mouth pressed into a thin line despite the scarlet tear tracks burned into her cheeks— lily white cheeks still plump with a touch of baby fat, squishy and delightfully soft-looking.

Pennywise snarled, again making to swipe at her with Its enormous, paw-like hands, teeth churning inside Its cavernous mouth like the chain of a chainsaw. The blades crossed in front of Viola flashed and came swiftly to her defense, twin crescents of pale blue cast over her cheeks in reverse shadow. A screeching clang! rang out, sonorant and immeasurably intense.

Heart pounding, the girl expertly deflected the clown’s grab for her, razor-edged claws jarring against the violently violet aether-blades with such force that she was almost forced to take a step back to steady herself. Almost, because the strength of her magic was far superior to that of Pennywise in Its diminished state; the blades jerked mid-flight and sliced through the air seemingly of their own accord— biting deep into the clown’s silk jacket and encouraging even more acidic gore to spurt forth, black splashes of Its alien blood drifting into the air like spider-silk.

It reeled backward, a yowl twisting Its vermillion lips into a dreadful sneer as It gibbered vile, inhuman nonsense, swiftly assuming a stance that was hunched over, guarded. Viola did not balk in the face of this hateful expression, nor did she respond sympathetically when Its mouth sagged into a pout. Instead, her blades hovered in the space between them, fiercely-glinting tips aimed squarely at Its bulbous skull and poised for battle.

To the cerulean-haired youth, this brief impasse felt remarkably similar to staring down the sights of a gun into the hungry eyes of a lion. She would not allow this beast to get under her guard again.

“Stay back,” she commanded severely, and kept her voice from wavering as a drop of cold fear slid down her spine. “I will not hesitate to hurt you again.”

Eyes rolling widely within their sockets, the beast pouted even more, Its spit-slick, bright red bottom lip jutting deliberately out. When It spoke again, the clown’s voice was husky, almost a purr, choked with rumbling anger and starvation. “Stay back! Hmmm-zmmm, I think not. Nope, not gonna do that, short-stack. But, if you’re in the mood for making demands… I certainly wouldn’t say no to a polite request to eat you quickly!”

This was, of course, a bold-faced lie. It did not plan to kill Viola outright, not even if she pleaded for the sweet release of death. Oh, no. First, It would have to catch her, scare her a little, salt the meat with sweat, blood, and tasty, tasty fear. Then, Pennywise would make her float… keep her around as Its own personal go-to snack, picking off her limbs one by one until not a morsel was left for It to gnaw on… once the hunger grew to be too much, anyway.

The clown sprang forward onto Its hands, smiling ferociously as a gleaming bombardment of aether-blades came flying at Its face. One embedded itself into the creature’s shoulder, sliding out through Its fabric-covered back and tugging grotesquely at the sticky, silken membrane. The ruffles surrounding Its neck puffed out as Its body contorted into a frankly impossible handstand, spine cracking with such violence that Viola’s own vertebrae twinged, the blade Pennywise had been impaled with twisting horrifically.

It ambled forward on Its palms with surprising speed, eyes twinkling from within Its ghastly caricature of a face. Viola brought her blades back around, the one stuck into Pennywise’s flesh wrenching out with a sickening squelch, nearly severing that limb.

”Come play with the clown, kiddo! Don’t be shhhyyyy!” Pennywise growled, chasing the blade’s trajectory, jaws sealing around the cold steel as the blade swung ‘round to fend It off.

800 words exactly - wordcounter.net

Penny got stabbed some more. Poor clown!

[Viola]

"No," she refuted. Cold, plain, simple.

Shark teeth grated over the sharp blade, tearing its point further away from the clown's churning flesh as It held the weapon like a pirate. Flopping like fish mouths, the lips of Its purulent wounds puckered, asymmetrically flapping back and forth, never quite closing shut.

Her trapped weapon rattled, clattering against the clown's skull as she tried to dislodge it. It prowled forward, unstoppable. "SoooOOo ffff-feisty." Pennywise giggled, voice erratically rising and falling in pitch. Many black wisps floated from Its lips as her sword scratched the edges of Its mouth.

Freezing time to a standstill, Viola hesitated, although no one but her would ever know. Had she been able to move, violent shivers would have harassed her spine. She'd fought the clown back, she'd hurt it, yet it kept pushing forward as if nothing had happened. Its torturously menacing grin aimed at her even now. Unmoving, the empty world looked anything but calm. The corner of her eyes caught a glimpse of the mangled soldier's corpse. Her resolve hardened. Panic would get her nowhere, but that didn't stop the emotion simmering deep within. Maintaining her mental fortitude was like trying to stop water boiling by popping the bubbles.

Time resumed, slow and gloopy - like putty.

Breathe.

Breathing was good. Breathing let her know she was alive. Perception skewed, it was her best real measure of time in her distorted reality. It was such a simple forgettable thing, something one did without thinking. Yet, the sheer normality of the action was soothing, even when chased by the clutches of death. A constant reminder that she had a chance against the unknown. If she could survive for one breath, why not two? Or three or four or five? With grim determination, Viola fought for each and every gasp of air. The beast would steal none of them away from her.

The cogs in her mind turned, manufacturing ideas, tactics, strategies. Like clockwork, her defence was precise. Mechanical. Multiple disjointed actions culminating into a masterpiece. Her immortal game.

With a subtle jerk of her head, Viola’s trapped sword wedged deeper into Pennywise's maw, leaving torn flaps of skin either side of Its jaw. It gritted Its teeth, sprouting claws. A harsh cacophony of time-diluted scrapes crashing throughout Viola's skull as the talons etched into the azure handle, shattering the solidified mana into a bright burst of blue polygons.

Viola took a small step to the side. The fountain was no longer at her back.

Its back cracked, hips twisting impossibly to the side as It to cartwheeled to Its feet, pirouetting gracefully on Its good leg to avoid a telegraphed thrust from her remaining blade.

Running some calculations in her mind, Viola kept the sword close to her foe, sidestepping again.

Dealing with the immediate threat, Pennywise hissed, gurgling out of Its broken mouth. Predictably, it lunged for the handle, aiming to procure her last notable defence. It wasn't close enough to reach her before the blade, had It chosen a more direct path of aggression.

The sword swivelled, pulling away at the last moment and thrusting back, penetrating Its damaged shoulder with a burst of force.

Instantly, Viola began channelling her magic, still moving sideways.

One.

Pennywise staggered, the blade jerked with a grotesque pop.

Two.

It roared, dilute red-orange fluid spraying from Its mouth. Frantically, claws sliced through the air, wrapping around the hit and jerking it free. The sword flicked up sharply, snapping tendons and rancid flesh. Pennywise's hand closed tightly, crushing it, shattering the weapon into fleeting shards.

Three.

A long gangly arm fell to the ground with a dull thud, trailing dead black smog. A monstrous head snapped towards Viola, neck cracking, body twisting to follow. It stalked forward. "Playtime is-"

Four.

"-over, kiddo," It growled, voice rumbling, towering over her. Her heart thudded hard enough that she felt like it was bouncing up her throat. She pacified the fear as best as she could, breathing. It was not going to get what It wanted.

Claws, left shoulder.

With a flash, Viola stepped backwards. Two new swords taking her place, parrying Pennywise's strike, counter-attacking by rotating out of their protective X.

Hissing, It recoiled, barely avoiding the lacerations.

Still clutching her stump, gritting her teeth against the pain, Viola bravely strode forward, blades spinning ahead of her like angled sawmills in a shallow V; Pennywise was next on the chopping block.

Bvtvtvtvtvt...

The swords whirred, rhythmic ripples oscillated through the air, converging into a reverberating dissonance. The clown reeled, forced back.

Had It been paying attention to her manoeuvres, It would realise it was trapped. Sandwiched between the deadly azure assault and the fountain.

Faint breaths escaped Viola's lips. Her head bobbled. Dizzy. Short on blood, she pressed her attack.

800 words. Viola hacks off Pennywise's weakened arm, loses her swords, then gets new swords and goes all General Grevious on It (because spinny swords).

[Pennywise]

For the second time in so many days, It had grievously underestimated the tenacity of human children.

The young girl swatted at It like the cosmic devourer was nothing more than a disobedient canine, her aether-blades gouging deep into Its flesh— slicing off Its arm, of all things! The creature mewled, a piteously whimper-like sound that elicited anything but pity from the blue-haired girl.

Once, It had been incubated in a crib of constellations, feeding from that delicious, stellar heat. Now, however... Now It had ventured too close. The child... the light in her eyes burned more fiercely than even those stars It had viewed up close, the stark pigmentation of her irises flashing with every strike. It even had the scorch marks to show for it.

Bile and acidic gorge rose in a fiery torrent within Its throat, brackish fluid dripping down Its cheeks and sticking at the corners of Its throat, bright as the fuzzy orange pompoms adorning the front of Its clownish form. This sticky mixture of coughed-up blood and sick made Viola's stomach turn, a slight grimace passing over her otherwise expressionless face. It interfered with her concentration, and the immense and poofy ruffles of Its costume certainly weren't helping matters. They provided a weak kind of buffer against her repeated stabs, but the dusty fabric was so profuse in its volume that it was nearly impossible to cut through to the beast's neck. She needed to switch tactics.

Viola gestured with a hand, the blade telekinetically linked to it swinging at Its head. In an inexplicable move, the blade caught between Its teeth, carving a pathway of silvery agony wherever it touched. The painful crescent of metal would have sliced clear through Its skull and straight to Its sinister brain if not for Its churning teeth, hundreds of needle-like points thwarting the passage of the blade any further into Its throat.

By this point, Its lips were ripped and cut into thick flaps of ragged skin, the remnants hanging off from the lower half of Its face like a torn latex mask. Gurgling, expelling black blood like globs of odious smog, It pressed harder into the blade, perhaps intending to force the girl back. Its maw stretched ever wider, wider, like a snake trying to swallow around a butcher knife.

One corner of her mouth twitching up in satisfaction, Viola made her move.

With a flick of her wrist, the single blade trapped within Its mouth tilted like the dial of a compass, the sharpened point finally finding something it could pierce. The glowing blue steel sank into the flesh between Its teeth and the soft palate on the roof of Its mouth, slicking through with a disgusting squirch.

Efficient. Swift. Effective. Qualities that one would expect from the predator in this situation, not the prey.

Pennywise staggered. Its mouth slobbered and twisted around the blade, revealing just how deeply it was embedded in the meat of Its cheek, vitriolic gore gushing around the luminous weapon. Yellow eyes flickered, pupils swimming through a haze of pain, coppery-orange deadlights swerving to focus on Viola.

The girl froze. A beat of stillness passed as those eyes seemed to take in the entirety of her being, committing her retribution to memory. Marking her.

Slowly, Its upper jaw ground down. The blade sunk deeper into Its skull, pressing with a cold hardness against the bones of Its right cheek, ripping into the muscles that helped strengthen the powerful clamp of Its mandibles. The blade pricked against the muscle, tore through it like the meat of a lamb chop, breaching out through Its porcelain skin in a jagged slice of black gore. The dripping tip pressed close to Its eyeball, close enough to almost cut into the unblinking orb, and yet It did not flinch. All the while, Its eyes remained locked with Viola's, violent orange gaze dripping with fury.

A grin split Its face, the aether-blade's serrated edge jutting out from Its cheek in a curve of vibrant blue-purple, so very bright against the dark, bloody red of Its face paint. Its teeth and long, eel-like tongue visibly dragged along the blade, the metal letting loose a wailing screech like that of a newborn babe.

"Silly thing," It hissed, advancing a step. "Th... thinking with your tiny little brain that you could ever escape me. Look at you. Shaking like a leaf!"

"You can't pretend to know my thoughts," said Viola, eyes narrowed, the bloody stump of her arm pressed close to her side.

"I can smell your fear. Your hope," Pennywise insisted. Lied. It moved closer, head canted at an awkward angle from the blade jutting out from Its skull.

Raising a faintly trembling hand, Viola steeled herself for the final blow.

800 words - wordcounter.net

[Pennywise]

Agony! The blade punching through the top of Its mouth was pure agony, wedged somewhere between the soft cartilage of Its nose and the bony ridge beneath Its left eye socket. Yet, the creature knew that It could not deliberate on such a vile, disgusting, hated sensation for too long. 

Black blood darker than even a puddle under moonlight drifted up from the wound in a fibrous, veiny cloud, partially obscuring Its vision, but It was still spatially aware. Its back was turned towards the fountain, the trickling streams cycling in flashes of silver and sewage green against a plane of burning white. The girl stood across from It, her missing arm dripping blood and her dress shredded. Despite her ragged appearance, she had It trapped. Cornered!

It was at a disadvantage. It had not counted on the girl being so... Was 'strong' the right word? Perhaps. She was certainly strong in some ways— Its body had the painful marks to prove it— and yet so very weak in others. This knowledge was what made Its clawed fingers curl and beckon, Its grin widen, false skin writhing as It tried, tried to—

Deep within Its deadlights, a tiny, fiery hiccup sent ripples of life energy outward, prompting Its body to quake with an unearthly shiver. The creature clutched at Its skull with Its one remaining hand, claws scrabbling and wrapping around the embedded blade, but the thrice-damned thing refused to be dislodged. It was a truly frightful sight to behold, too, for while the blade was surely painful to Pennywise as the creature tugged at it, it also happened to be stuck in a very precise and surprisingly nonlethal area. Finally, It slumped a bit, apparently having given up on this course of action.

Viola waited. Her heart was pounding faster than hooves over a racetrack on derby day. She watched as It slouched forward, her hand upraised, tiny fingers trembling with slight exertion. She glared, too, just for good measure; her cold expression would've been enough to put a sweeter, more human soul six feet under. One ruby red eye, one a cool turquoise, and both filled with equal hate. She was prepared to sever this creature's connection to life and would have no reason to regret doing such a thing. 

Her other blades had fallen by the wayside, floating absently in the air at her sides like a fleet of long, glistening blue starships, only the one lodged in the beast's skull holding her complete attention for the sake of efficiency. She had to conserve her energy, after all, and just the one would surely do.

Suddenly, disaster! The girl wavered on her feet. Only slightly, but enough for It to immediately take notice, a streak of lightning strike knowledge flashing inside Its insidious brain.

Weak. Every one of Its instincts sang a merry ditty, the gentle sway of Viola's weight and the sheet-white pallor of her cheeks outlined in red, underlined, and lit up like a neon sign with a dozen exclamation points: Weak! Weak! She's weak!

Blood loss really was a terrible thing.

The creature lunged, one clawed hand managing to clip the girl's forehead and leave a deep, dark, and awfully bloody gash. Viola stumbled backward, stricken, mouth gaping open in shock, and promptly crumpled to the ground, her aether-blades erupting into a shower of blue-violet sparks around her fallen form. She barely had the time to cry out in pain before the clown-shaped terror was upon her, Its face a curious and disturbing mixture of red, white, and fragmented purple as the blade lodged inside Its head burst into fractals of crystalline light.

"S-stay b-b-back," she ground out, then fell mostly quiet as the creature's gloved palm settled over her throat, wickedly curved claws gouging lines of red into her neck. Cold and silky skin pressed down on her windpipe, feeling almost scaly— no, reptilian to her addled brain. Viola's remaining hand batted weakly at the arm, tugging on the ruffles of Its sleeve, her eyes and nose streaming, throat clicking uselessly as she tried to speak around the crushing pressure.

It bent forward, rows and rows of glinting, silvery teeth revealing themselves with achingly slow progress, prepared to seal around the entirety of her skull and sever her head from her shoulders. Viola turned her face away as best as she could, shuddering as one of Its long talons tickled over her carotid artery—

A static crackle like the crunch of an aluminum soda can pierced the silence. "Reinforcements imminent."

Pennywise paused. Its jaws diminished in the horribleness of their stretched proportions, closing until Its red-painted mouth was only slightly distended by the bulging shape of Its teeth. Turning Its head, the creature regarded the body of the dead Stormtrooper. Then, with an instinctive snarl curling Its mouth, It looked at what lay beyond all that.

Viola sucked in a greedy breath as the pressure on her throat lessened, coughing around the marrow-deep bruises she surely had. She squinted up at the narrow sliver of the clown's expression that she could see, noting with a purely scientific interest that Its pupils had flattened and stretched into a bar-like shape, like a goat or some other hoofed prey animal. Confusion and near-asphyxiation clouding her brain, Viola looked to the blindingly bright horizon as well.

Several shapes (or perhaps only one?) were able to be distinguished from the white of the Nexus, their forms shifting against the landscape. 

Moving closer.

Viola is still alive. I was given notice that Kopaka is intent on pursuing Pennywise's bounty, so here we are. Great fight, Viola!