10-28-2015, 06:04 PM
Clutching at his now-bandaged side, Tartaros let his eyes wander around the arena, searching for his opponent. Even with the short while's rest he had been provided, it still felt like the wound was burning through his abdomen...
Plates of steel and concrete hovered in the sky as the noxious smell of industrial waste and toxic fumes filled the air, flowing up from the abyss below. Foul things, suffocating everything around them in a blanket of heat, sweat and drowning all sound with the thud of pistons. However, such was the smell of progress, of success.
Finally, the soldier's eyes had settled on his target, a... another child, clad in a deep red set of clothes, grumbling to himself. Damn it, damn it all! What sort of child signs up for something like this?! Are the crowd honestly that desperate for violence? Argh, nevermind, let's get this over with and try not to hurt the sod too much...
Idly grabbing some sort of pistol from the rack behind him and clipping it to his belt, Tartaros clambered up onto another platform, only to be met by a shrieking yell.
"You have got TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME! ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER! THIS SHIT IS RIDICULOUS!"
Well then, the Astartes though to himself, it's starting to piss me off too. Wonderful.
Drawing his bolter with a grunt and firing off a couple of rounds at the boy's general direction, Tartaros was surprised to see his opponent quickly silenced, either by the almost deafening crack of bolts beating against steel, or by their own fear. Both were fine. The soldier couldn't help but smirk as the boy shuddered, and spoke. "Did you come here to fight, or complain all day, boy?"
Before Tartaros could speak any further, a loud bang emanated from where the boy stood, and a crackling red beam burst through the marine's helmet, scarring his cheek. Shrugging off the burning pain with a seething breath, he stood seemingly unfettered, and continued. "Bravo! Great shot! Now, see if you can hit me again."
Tartaros took off with surprising speed, at least for something his size, leaping from one platform to the another, firing off a half-dozen rounds vaguely in Adam's direction before ducking behind a small scrap metal barrier. "Well then?"
Adam found himself grinding his teeth again, turns out the rustbucket was a one for talking too. Just goddamned excellent. "Oh I'll hit you son of a bit-", wait... what's that thing flying through the air? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Superman?! Nope, it's a grenade. Wait... CHRIST ON A BIKE IT'S A FUCKING GRENADE.
Swallowing a veritable torrent of screaming and curses, the "brave" Heir of Time threw himself backwards... directly into the racks of weapons and banners that lined the wall. Fortunately, physics seemed to not be picky that day to what constituted decent cover, and Adam was mostly saved from the fiery blast. Though it still hurt like a motherfucker.
Right, right. It's fine. Nothing broken this time. All fine. Just take one of these guns and get on with it. He's got no chance.
Just as Adam grabbed one particularly intimidating glowing-red rifle, there was another explosive... making its way through the air. He was fucked, upwards, downwards, left, right, and twelve ways to Sunday.
"SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIIIIIIIIIT!", the Heir of Time only had one chance. He had to make it quick. Holding his breath, he counted down. Three... two... one!
With the snap of a finger, a ripple spread around around Adam, covering the whole platform. As the boy's eyes shifted around, nothing was moving. It worked! He was alive, well and safely un-bombed, but he had to make this quick...
Plates of steel and concrete hovered in the sky as the noxious smell of industrial waste and toxic fumes filled the air, flowing up from the abyss below. Foul things, suffocating everything around them in a blanket of heat, sweat and drowning all sound with the thud of pistons. However, such was the smell of progress, of success.
Finally, the soldier's eyes had settled on his target, a... another child, clad in a deep red set of clothes, grumbling to himself. Damn it, damn it all! What sort of child signs up for something like this?! Are the crowd honestly that desperate for violence? Argh, nevermind, let's get this over with and try not to hurt the sod too much...
Idly grabbing some sort of pistol from the rack behind him and clipping it to his belt, Tartaros clambered up onto another platform, only to be met by a shrieking yell.
"You have got TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME! ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER! THIS SHIT IS RIDICULOUS!"
Well then, the Astartes though to himself, it's starting to piss me off too. Wonderful.
Drawing his bolter with a grunt and firing off a couple of rounds at the boy's general direction, Tartaros was surprised to see his opponent quickly silenced, either by the almost deafening crack of bolts beating against steel, or by their own fear. Both were fine. The soldier couldn't help but smirk as the boy shuddered, and spoke. "Did you come here to fight, or complain all day, boy?"
Before Tartaros could speak any further, a loud bang emanated from where the boy stood, and a crackling red beam burst through the marine's helmet, scarring his cheek. Shrugging off the burning pain with a seething breath, he stood seemingly unfettered, and continued. "Bravo! Great shot! Now, see if you can hit me again."
Tartaros took off with surprising speed, at least for something his size, leaping from one platform to the another, firing off a half-dozen rounds vaguely in Adam's direction before ducking behind a small scrap metal barrier. "Well then?"
-----
Adam found himself grinding his teeth again, turns out the rustbucket was a one for talking too. Just goddamned excellent. "Oh I'll hit you son of a bit-", wait... what's that thing flying through the air? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Superman?! Nope, it's a grenade. Wait... CHRIST ON A BIKE IT'S A FUCKING GRENADE.
Swallowing a veritable torrent of screaming and curses, the "brave" Heir of Time threw himself backwards... directly into the racks of weapons and banners that lined the wall. Fortunately, physics seemed to not be picky that day to what constituted decent cover, and Adam was mostly saved from the fiery blast. Though it still hurt like a motherfucker.
Right, right. It's fine. Nothing broken this time. All fine. Just take one of these guns and get on with it. He's got no chance.
Just as Adam grabbed one particularly intimidating glowing-red rifle, there was another explosive... making its way through the air. He was fucked, upwards, downwards, left, right, and twelve ways to Sunday.
"SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIIIIIIIIIT!", the Heir of Time only had one chance. He had to make it quick. Holding his breath, he counted down. Three... two... one!
With the snap of a finger, a ripple spread around around Adam, covering the whole platform. As the boy's eyes shifted around, nothing was moving. It worked! He was alive, well and safely un-bombed, but he had to make this quick...
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