11-02-2015, 03:31 AM
Never before had Adam had the peculiar chance to find himself staring down what had to be at least half a ton of rust, weapons and hate. And glass. He recoiled from the sheer sight of it as much as from surprise, the sudden impact of rusty into his appropriated fighter eliciting a badly-suppressed shriek of terror from the young former time god. He didn't quite bite his tongue, but he most certainly did bang his newly discovered fully movement capable leg.
Oh that's not good.
Scrambling about the controls, Adam hurriedly and perhaps a little unnecessarily violently smashed down what he sincerely hoped was the auto-pilot button, and then hit the ejector seat button. There was a groan of metal as Tartaros's fist smashed through the metal plating of the fighter, and if it had been a second quicker, it would have smashed straight into Adam's head as opposed to the seat, mid-ejection as it was, sending Adam's head and....well, everything, on a direct collision course with the rim of the ejection port.
"Running away again?" came the grating voice of the rust-covered giant of a man. "This makes the third time you've ducked away and avoided a direct confrontation just in this fight."
Adam could barely register the words over the pounding in his head. "Ugh...." He was still alive, which was good. But he was having more than a little trouble catching his breath. "Gotta remember to get the number of the dumbass who designed these fucking ejector seats..." He pulled himself up out of the hole in the fighter's roof, his rifle clattering away from almost nerveless fingers as he did, lodging itself between the core chassis and the wing of the craft. "...gonna file a complaint..."
A phantom pain in his chest, nearly sent him pitching off the crazily listing starfighter. Cold steel, soaked with warm blood. His blood. A sword, through his chest. From below. What was left of the cockpit. He retched, Oh god I'm gonna die, I am going to fucking die. Blindly he scrabbled across the deceptively smooth exterior of the fighter, landing on the wing strut. Just in time to hear shrieking metal. Looking back up, he could see the blade of what looked to be quite a large sword speared through the space he had occupied just a moment ago. "Well if that don't beat all," he mumbled, staring blankly. These wacky time powers of his returning were really starting to pay off. That was two fights now they'd saved him in.
"Do I go for my gun...or get ready to cross blades with the giant murder man who could probably snap me in half..."
An armored fist punching its way through the plating of the starfighter, along with a nasty spike of pain in his back made up Adam's mind for him. Turning around to grab for his fallen rifle would be a bad idea. Reaching down to his belt, he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Gotta time this right...in a straight fight this guy will tear me in half...
Tartaros tore his way up through the craft, violently tearing open and widening the escape hatch to toss out the mangled pilot's seat. And no sooner did it clatter down and vanish among the sickening muck below the arena's generously-positioned floating fucking platforms, did Tartaros hop his way up out of the new hole he'd torn in the fighter. The already barely-flying craft wobbled drunkenly as the huge man's weight resettled on it. "Not still running away, boy?"
"It's a long way down," Adam said flatly, and with the flick of his thumb, his lightsaber flared to life with its signature hissing growl, humming dimly in the background of his perceptions. Good god, his head hurt. His everything hurt, really. He'd knocked himself pretty good trying to get out of the TIE fighter with its faulty-ass ejector seat. His breath kept catching, and he was afraid to actually look down and see how bad off he might actually be. Something about things not hurting as much until you actually saw them or something like that.
A swift step forward, and Adam swung the crimson blade of energy up in an arc, being met with only a simple downward chop of the huge blade in the space marine's hands. The shock of blade against blade nearly made Adam's hands go numb.
This was a bad idea.
Oh that's not good.
Scrambling about the controls, Adam hurriedly and perhaps a little unnecessarily violently smashed down what he sincerely hoped was the auto-pilot button, and then hit the ejector seat button. There was a groan of metal as Tartaros's fist smashed through the metal plating of the fighter, and if it had been a second quicker, it would have smashed straight into Adam's head as opposed to the seat, mid-ejection as it was, sending Adam's head and....well, everything, on a direct collision course with the rim of the ejection port.
"Running away again?" came the grating voice of the rust-covered giant of a man. "This makes the third time you've ducked away and avoided a direct confrontation just in this fight."
Adam could barely register the words over the pounding in his head. "Ugh...." He was still alive, which was good. But he was having more than a little trouble catching his breath. "Gotta remember to get the number of the dumbass who designed these fucking ejector seats..." He pulled himself up out of the hole in the fighter's roof, his rifle clattering away from almost nerveless fingers as he did, lodging itself between the core chassis and the wing of the craft. "...gonna file a complaint..."
A phantom pain in his chest, nearly sent him pitching off the crazily listing starfighter. Cold steel, soaked with warm blood. His blood. A sword, through his chest. From below. What was left of the cockpit. He retched, Oh god I'm gonna die, I am going to fucking die. Blindly he scrabbled across the deceptively smooth exterior of the fighter, landing on the wing strut. Just in time to hear shrieking metal. Looking back up, he could see the blade of what looked to be quite a large sword speared through the space he had occupied just a moment ago. "Well if that don't beat all," he mumbled, staring blankly. These wacky time powers of his returning were really starting to pay off. That was two fights now they'd saved him in.
"Do I go for my gun...or get ready to cross blades with the giant murder man who could probably snap me in half..."
An armored fist punching its way through the plating of the starfighter, along with a nasty spike of pain in his back made up Adam's mind for him. Turning around to grab for his fallen rifle would be a bad idea. Reaching down to his belt, he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Gotta time this right...in a straight fight this guy will tear me in half...
Tartaros tore his way up through the craft, violently tearing open and widening the escape hatch to toss out the mangled pilot's seat. And no sooner did it clatter down and vanish among the sickening muck below the arena's generously-positioned floating fucking platforms, did Tartaros hop his way up out of the new hole he'd torn in the fighter. The already barely-flying craft wobbled drunkenly as the huge man's weight resettled on it. "Not still running away, boy?"
"It's a long way down," Adam said flatly, and with the flick of his thumb, his lightsaber flared to life with its signature hissing growl, humming dimly in the background of his perceptions. Good god, his head hurt. His everything hurt, really. He'd knocked himself pretty good trying to get out of the TIE fighter with its faulty-ass ejector seat. His breath kept catching, and he was afraid to actually look down and see how bad off he might actually be. Something about things not hurting as much until you actually saw them or something like that.
A swift step forward, and Adam swung the crimson blade of energy up in an arc, being met with only a simple downward chop of the huge blade in the space marine's hands. The shock of blade against blade nearly made Adam's hands go numb.
This was a bad idea.
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