05-23-2018, 05:40 PM
The world crumbled and fell apart. The factory rusted and warped away, twisting and shrieking as it splintered into pieces. The ground warped and writhed like the ground was liquid, quaking and frothing like the sea in a storm. Craters and gorges gaped wide in the earth, the ground just falling apart and splitting open like skin under the blade of a scalpel. Craters and pits yawned and snapped closed; there one second, then gone the next. Boulders lifted and crumbled to dust, blasting in all directions in a chaotic wind.
The ground and terrain began to shift, curling and rolling up, the nature of the pocket verse as just one giant sphere becoming more evident as the support gave way and disintegrated, the land the heroes stood on sinking down to rest on the bottom of the tiny pocket dimension.
The few straggling remains of Nebula's forces were little more than shadows of their former selves. They were dying, the dark flames that burned around them reduced to weak, guttering sparks, like a candle in the wind. Dull red glowed dimly from burned out eye sockets. And yet mindlessly, they threw themselves in the way. Weapons and claws, barely-functioning firearms and chipped, cracking swords being wielded by broken or breaking hands and arms. Mostly quiet, their former screaming savagery reduced to a ghastly, whispering gurgle; barely a groan compared to the boisterous shrieks and howls of limitless energy of before.
They could barely even slow the Liberators down. They were too weak, too few in numbers. But they threw every last ounce of their crumbling strength at them, hurling themselves at the mines and explosives still littered in the field of spires and pits. Self-sacrifice, in some last ditch effort to do something. Damage the heroes, slow them down, just halt them for another second so the collapsing Nebula Space could claim them.
....they were almost successful.
Their mad rush carried them safely through it all, though. The four heroes escaped. The world fell to pieces, crumbling literally at the heels of Proto Man as he supported and all but carried Cole out. Purple lightning flashed and a dull rumble of mountains sliding against mountains filled the air with an indescribable cacophony.
And then it was over. The final dregs of the Nebula Space exploded, belching out an abundance of dark fire, lightning, and scrap. Pieces of darklings, a handful of ones still mostly whole, and four very charred, battered, but alive primes.
With one final noise like thunder, the threshold to the dark pocket dimension snapped shut. The pieces of scrap and debris spat out from it burned away, leaving only ash behind that was swiftly carried away by the breeze.
The ground and terrain began to shift, curling and rolling up, the nature of the pocket verse as just one giant sphere becoming more evident as the support gave way and disintegrated, the land the heroes stood on sinking down to rest on the bottom of the tiny pocket dimension.
The few straggling remains of Nebula's forces were little more than shadows of their former selves. They were dying, the dark flames that burned around them reduced to weak, guttering sparks, like a candle in the wind. Dull red glowed dimly from burned out eye sockets. And yet mindlessly, they threw themselves in the way. Weapons and claws, barely-functioning firearms and chipped, cracking swords being wielded by broken or breaking hands and arms. Mostly quiet, their former screaming savagery reduced to a ghastly, whispering gurgle; barely a groan compared to the boisterous shrieks and howls of limitless energy of before.
They could barely even slow the Liberators down. They were too weak, too few in numbers. But they threw every last ounce of their crumbling strength at them, hurling themselves at the mines and explosives still littered in the field of spires and pits. Self-sacrifice, in some last ditch effort to do something. Damage the heroes, slow them down, just halt them for another second so the collapsing Nebula Space could claim them.
....they were almost successful.
Their mad rush carried them safely through it all, though. The four heroes escaped. The world fell to pieces, crumbling literally at the heels of Proto Man as he supported and all but carried Cole out. Purple lightning flashed and a dull rumble of mountains sliding against mountains filled the air with an indescribable cacophony.
And then it was over. The final dregs of the Nebula Space exploded, belching out an abundance of dark fire, lightning, and scrap. Pieces of darklings, a handful of ones still mostly whole, and four very charred, battered, but alive primes.
With one final noise like thunder, the threshold to the dark pocket dimension snapped shut. The pieces of scrap and debris spat out from it burned away, leaving only ash behind that was swiftly carried away by the breeze.
Quote:It's over, it's over; that's all she wrote!
Everyone took some further damage from the chaos of an exploding and collapsing world, but you all survived.
This thread is done; the Vasty Deep is safe. From Nebula, at least.