11-07-2017, 11:41 PM
In the heat of the battle, they’d made a tactical misstep.
Charging the enemy all at once – it had seemed to be a smart move. The united move. But the Black Knight was a cornered dog, a feral hound, and the hunter should have known that he’d had an ace card up his sleeve.
But Samus, too, was a hound. And she’d tasted blood. Those instincts had kicked in. Perhaps it was the Metroid blood. Perhaps it was the Stalker blood. Perhaps it was the blood of Madotsuki, imagined.
None of these things ran through Samus’s mind at the time, though. Those considerations would only come later, when the bloodlust faded. At the time, Samus thought only one thing:
End it.
The Black Knight slammed his sword into the ground, and Samus immediately knew that something was wrong. She planted her feet, crossing her arms even as the azure spread through the air, the ground. She was already in its radius before she could stop.
The words are lost in the squall, a panicked frenzy of syllables blurted out and heard only by her suit:
“Missile Storm, Initiate!”
Some modicum of sense had returned to her in the moment, and with that, she’d formed a desperate, half-second plan: blow herself backwards with the missile storm. Intercept its force with the explosion of her own attack.
It had been worth a try.
The missiles launched too late. They sailed outwards and presumably hit their intended target, but Samus was unaware.
The pain that Samus felt wasn’t explainable – no pure pain on that level ever is. The brain can only process a certain degree of pain before it overloads, blanks out, and registers it on the ten-point scale as simply ‘nothing’.
At the point where it hit Samus’s abdomen, her suit was compressed like a tin can being struck by a pressure hose. It folded in, cutting into her gut, and the shock waves rippled outwards; blowing chunks of steel like orange confetti across the battlefield. Viewed in slow-motion, one could witness that stopping moment, where she seemed to pause momentarily, before being thrown backwards like a rag doll in a fireworks display.
And that was that.
.
.
.
At some point in some time, a woman woke up to a roaring silence. It was as though she was in the eye of the storm; aware, vaguely, of movement around her, but unable to perceive or make sense of it.
All at once the pain came, like the deep breath one takes after coming up from underwater; and she could perceive nothing else other than screaming agony, full-body sickness that made her want to retch and die.
Samus screamed as she clutched at the compressed metal at her midriff – what remained of that part of her suit – and tore away, relieving her of the immediate threat to life and mobility. Any normal person would have blacked out at the process. But any normal person would not have come here.
She gasped as she took in the scenery. The crowd were going wild. It was probably that fact that made her most furious. She didn’t care whether they were real or simulated – it was the insult. The principle. Violence was what she did, yes. Terrible violence. But only ever to counter violence. That her actions – that the threatening of her life – should serve as entertainment to somebody, was disgusting to the hunter. It was that fury that found the hunter her feet, that pushed her upwards in spite of the pain, and narrowed her eyes on the target, the focus of it all:
The Black Knight.
His sword was lowered against the upheld katana of Hiro. Samus watched as the diminutive ronin slid to the side, raking his blade against the knight’s armour.
Eager to join, the hunter stepped forward.
Her suit was not so eager. It still functioned, but the legs were markedly less responsive. She didn’t need the visor’s HUD to tell her that it was bleeding out, along with her true body. Fighting now would only lessen the time she had left.
That made her choice considerably easier.
Samus clicked open the breastplate storage compartment of her suit, reaching in. The dark chip immediately filled her fingers with a buzzing energy, like a bottle of wasps. It was almost as though it was angry for being contained so long. Anxious to be unleashed.
The image of a sniper’s scope. ZERO IN ON TARGET AND KILL.
Samus slotted it into the arm cannon and raised it towards the Black Knight. As dark power swelled in the cannon, her desperation was replaced with confident grit. The pain in her abdomen even seemed to subside a bit. This was the power to destroy evil. And who better to wield it?
Her eyes narrowed and, as though her very consciousness had lurched forward, she saw the Black Knight as though he were a hand’s breadth away from her.
She pulled the trigger and there was no delay. A purple lance of light shot into the Black Knight’s head.
Charging the enemy all at once – it had seemed to be a smart move. The united move. But the Black Knight was a cornered dog, a feral hound, and the hunter should have known that he’d had an ace card up his sleeve.
But Samus, too, was a hound. And she’d tasted blood. Those instincts had kicked in. Perhaps it was the Metroid blood. Perhaps it was the Stalker blood. Perhaps it was the blood of Madotsuki, imagined.
None of these things ran through Samus’s mind at the time, though. Those considerations would only come later, when the bloodlust faded. At the time, Samus thought only one thing:
End it.
The Black Knight slammed his sword into the ground, and Samus immediately knew that something was wrong. She planted her feet, crossing her arms even as the azure spread through the air, the ground. She was already in its radius before she could stop.
The words are lost in the squall, a panicked frenzy of syllables blurted out and heard only by her suit:
“Missile Storm, Initiate!”
Some modicum of sense had returned to her in the moment, and with that, she’d formed a desperate, half-second plan: blow herself backwards with the missile storm. Intercept its force with the explosion of her own attack.
It had been worth a try.
The missiles launched too late. They sailed outwards and presumably hit their intended target, but Samus was unaware.
The pain that Samus felt wasn’t explainable – no pure pain on that level ever is. The brain can only process a certain degree of pain before it overloads, blanks out, and registers it on the ten-point scale as simply ‘nothing’.
At the point where it hit Samus’s abdomen, her suit was compressed like a tin can being struck by a pressure hose. It folded in, cutting into her gut, and the shock waves rippled outwards; blowing chunks of steel like orange confetti across the battlefield. Viewed in slow-motion, one could witness that stopping moment, where she seemed to pause momentarily, before being thrown backwards like a rag doll in a fireworks display.
And that was that.
.
.
.
At some point in some time, a woman woke up to a roaring silence. It was as though she was in the eye of the storm; aware, vaguely, of movement around her, but unable to perceive or make sense of it.
All at once the pain came, like the deep breath one takes after coming up from underwater; and she could perceive nothing else other than screaming agony, full-body sickness that made her want to retch and die.
Samus screamed as she clutched at the compressed metal at her midriff – what remained of that part of her suit – and tore away, relieving her of the immediate threat to life and mobility. Any normal person would have blacked out at the process. But any normal person would not have come here.
She gasped as she took in the scenery. The crowd were going wild. It was probably that fact that made her most furious. She didn’t care whether they were real or simulated – it was the insult. The principle. Violence was what she did, yes. Terrible violence. But only ever to counter violence. That her actions – that the threatening of her life – should serve as entertainment to somebody, was disgusting to the hunter. It was that fury that found the hunter her feet, that pushed her upwards in spite of the pain, and narrowed her eyes on the target, the focus of it all:
The Black Knight.
His sword was lowered against the upheld katana of Hiro. Samus watched as the diminutive ronin slid to the side, raking his blade against the knight’s armour.
Eager to join, the hunter stepped forward.
Her suit was not so eager. It still functioned, but the legs were markedly less responsive. She didn’t need the visor’s HUD to tell her that it was bleeding out, along with her true body. Fighting now would only lessen the time she had left.
That made her choice considerably easier.
Samus clicked open the breastplate storage compartment of her suit, reaching in. The dark chip immediately filled her fingers with a buzzing energy, like a bottle of wasps. It was almost as though it was angry for being contained so long. Anxious to be unleashed.
The image of a sniper’s scope. ZERO IN ON TARGET AND KILL.
Samus slotted it into the arm cannon and raised it towards the Black Knight. As dark power swelled in the cannon, her desperation was replaced with confident grit. The pain in her abdomen even seemed to subside a bit. This was the power to destroy evil. And who better to wield it?
Her eyes narrowed and, as though her very consciousness had lurched forward, she saw the Black Knight as though he were a hand’s breadth away from her.
She pulled the trigger and there was no delay. A purple lance of light shot into the Black Knight’s head.
Quote:T1SA: Missile Storm used, 1 Order Point, 7 OP remaining. Samus and Black Knight both got hit, so Samus is now at 22 damage.
Dark Chip: ZERO IN ON TARGET AND KILL used.
![[Image: 0bwAI3j.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/0bwAI3j.jpg)