10-29-2015, 06:37 PM
Was this supposed to impress him?
For someone so skilled in the art of banter, the woman had certainly managed to invalidate any sort of threatening undertones from their exchange by plunged head-over-heels into the virtually opaque miasma that lined the floor of the Colosseum. When she made no effort to move, Shang shrugged his shoulders and glanced around for some sort of timekeeper or tournament official.
Unfortunately for the sorcerer, there weren’t any individuals in striped shirts to tell him how he should react to his opponent toppling several stories and smashing her face on the ground. Had he won?
With a shrug, the former monk glanced around, realizing that the people in the nearby sections were scowling at him. They had come to this tournament with the hope of seeing an entire day full of blood and violence, and as they watched from their uncomfortable stone chairs, one of the fights had just seemed to stop dead in its tracks.
If blood is what they want…
Shang turned his focus toward a nearby platform. Much like all the others, it was made of steel and stood glued in midair by unseen forces. Unlike the others, it had a large, twin-barrel turret—a massive gun that could have been stolen from the deck of a twentieth century dreadnought—mounted to it. A small leap took the sorcerer over the gun platform, and with a sigh, he slipped in behind the glistening barrels of the weapon. The controls were by no means complicated. Two heavy handles controlled the aim, and there were bright red buttons for his thumbs. A child could have operated the heavy gun, and the thought of a toddler mowing down rebels brought a faint grin to the man’s face.
Although the controls were easy, the gun itself was probably a little to heavy for a child to manipulate. It twisted and groaned softly as it moved along its horizontal and vertical axes. When he had the smog-shrouded body of his adversary within the targeting reticule, the sorcerer looked up from the gun sights and flashed the crowd a ‘thumbs up.’ He got the reaction he wanted—a cacophony of deafening hoots and hollers that called for blood.
Without looking back down at his target, Shang mashed the pair of red buttons.
There was a warm whoosh of air as the turret belched out a pair of condensed laser bursts from its barrels. Despite shooting energy and lacking any shell casings to eject, the gun still managed to have enough recoil to jar the sorcerer’s shoulders and nearly knock him off balance.
Once he shook off the surprise and the soreness, Shang glanced back through the targeting apparatus. His inability to account for the gun’s kick and his halfhearted grip had caused his shot to miss its mark. Instead of reducing the spandex-clad woman to chunks of gore, the blast had hit the ground a few yards away from her, hurtling her like a ragdoll into the side of a crashed machine. A black crater marred the floor of the arena, and the force of the blast had dispersed a nearly six yard diameter worth of whatever foul chemicals made their home down below. Shang watched for a few moments as the thick cloud slowly started to repair the smoldering wound.
As he leaned over the weapon, the sorcerer smiled as the smell of cordite burned at his nostrils. The Omniverse was a wonderful place. How long had it been since he smelled cordite? The First World War? Honestly, the nearly opaque layer of smog on the floor below and the pretense of so many wrecked vehicles jutting up from the toxins made it look akin to the last days at Passchendale or the Marne. All that was missing was the clatter of machineguns and the screams of men dying over a few square yards of blighted, blood-soaked soil.
Back to business. The sorcerer looked back through the targeting apparatus, and in an instant, he felt the fleeting sensation of joy flush from his system. Much to his surprise, the woman in spandex had regained consciousness.
Despite the initial fall and the laser bombardment-assisted flight into a now dented combat vessel, she seemed to be holding herself together. She lurched forward, clearly favoring muscles that were weakened by toxins and battered by injuries. Even so, she managed to catch her stride, and after a short sprint, she leapt up from the layer of fog.
For someone so skilled in the art of banter, the woman had certainly managed to invalidate any sort of threatening undertones from their exchange by plunged head-over-heels into the virtually opaque miasma that lined the floor of the Colosseum. When she made no effort to move, Shang shrugged his shoulders and glanced around for some sort of timekeeper or tournament official.
Unfortunately for the sorcerer, there weren’t any individuals in striped shirts to tell him how he should react to his opponent toppling several stories and smashing her face on the ground. Had he won?
With a shrug, the former monk glanced around, realizing that the people in the nearby sections were scowling at him. They had come to this tournament with the hope of seeing an entire day full of blood and violence, and as they watched from their uncomfortable stone chairs, one of the fights had just seemed to stop dead in its tracks.
If blood is what they want…
Shang turned his focus toward a nearby platform. Much like all the others, it was made of steel and stood glued in midair by unseen forces. Unlike the others, it had a large, twin-barrel turret—a massive gun that could have been stolen from the deck of a twentieth century dreadnought—mounted to it. A small leap took the sorcerer over the gun platform, and with a sigh, he slipped in behind the glistening barrels of the weapon. The controls were by no means complicated. Two heavy handles controlled the aim, and there were bright red buttons for his thumbs. A child could have operated the heavy gun, and the thought of a toddler mowing down rebels brought a faint grin to the man’s face.
Although the controls were easy, the gun itself was probably a little to heavy for a child to manipulate. It twisted and groaned softly as it moved along its horizontal and vertical axes. When he had the smog-shrouded body of his adversary within the targeting reticule, the sorcerer looked up from the gun sights and flashed the crowd a ‘thumbs up.’ He got the reaction he wanted—a cacophony of deafening hoots and hollers that called for blood.
Without looking back down at his target, Shang mashed the pair of red buttons.
There was a warm whoosh of air as the turret belched out a pair of condensed laser bursts from its barrels. Despite shooting energy and lacking any shell casings to eject, the gun still managed to have enough recoil to jar the sorcerer’s shoulders and nearly knock him off balance.
Once he shook off the surprise and the soreness, Shang glanced back through the targeting apparatus. His inability to account for the gun’s kick and his halfhearted grip had caused his shot to miss its mark. Instead of reducing the spandex-clad woman to chunks of gore, the blast had hit the ground a few yards away from her, hurtling her like a ragdoll into the side of a crashed machine. A black crater marred the floor of the arena, and the force of the blast had dispersed a nearly six yard diameter worth of whatever foul chemicals made their home down below. Shang watched for a few moments as the thick cloud slowly started to repair the smoldering wound.
As he leaned over the weapon, the sorcerer smiled as the smell of cordite burned at his nostrils. The Omniverse was a wonderful place. How long had it been since he smelled cordite? The First World War? Honestly, the nearly opaque layer of smog on the floor below and the pretense of so many wrecked vehicles jutting up from the toxins made it look akin to the last days at Passchendale or the Marne. All that was missing was the clatter of machineguns and the screams of men dying over a few square yards of blighted, blood-soaked soil.
Back to business. The sorcerer looked back through the targeting apparatus, and in an instant, he felt the fleeting sensation of joy flush from his system. Much to his surprise, the woman in spandex had regained consciousness.
Despite the initial fall and the laser bombardment-assisted flight into a now dented combat vessel, she seemed to be holding herself together. She lurched forward, clearly favoring muscles that were weakened by toxins and battered by injuries. Even so, she managed to catch her stride, and after a short sprint, she leapt up from the layer of fog.
![[Image: Shang.jpg]](http://www.omniverse-rpg.com/images/Shang.jpg)