03-28-2016, 01:44 AM
Oh that’s just fan-motherfucking tastic. Sight is a miracle that was robbed of him. The mire that swallows a portion of the nexus also happens to swallow the fusion’s entire world. Well, happy fun slaughterin’ time ain’t coming any sooner unless he gets a grip on himself. Heh.
Good luck with that.
---
It was sinful.
In the name of all that is Mirthful, Gamzee swore that he would end such blasphemy. Strawso provided the means to do so.
The clown’s elegantly simple mind could not find the words necessary to describe the raw, frenzied torrent of power that coursed through his royal veins as Strazio merged his unyielding anger into the teenager’s very being. Oddly enough, a sort of contradictory inner peace was achieved by the transformation. The pleasant little haze that generally accompanied Gamzee’s thoughts was dissipated. His mind was as clear as the heart on his sleeve. And then, shit got lit.
Gamzio wasn’t even sure what was going on. He was simply moving, existing, breathing. This putrid motherfucker swinging some nasty ass sword at him was so cumbersome, so clumsy. Soon, his opponent would not be doing any of the aforementioned moving, existing, or breathing. Another sluggish attempt at cleaving Gamzio in twain is deflected by a rainbow shower, a newly miracalized juggling club interrupting the infectious arc.
The armoured zombie grunts in a stupendous display of effort, rusty blade grinding into the ivory of Gamzio’s weapon.
“Yaknow, motherfucker, I kinda like you. Rough around the edges, like me. Us. But, you kinda got us messed up,” Sinewy muscles straining and sick grin proudly on parade, the blazing troll eases away the biznasty edge ever so slowly away from his face.
"A hero stands up for justice; not himself. A hero thinks of saving others; not destroying them," White hot magicks swirl around his free hand, levied point-blank at Okor's rotten mug. "A hero is motivated by justice. A hero plays fair." Gamzio's open palm angles itself, and a bolt of raw energy is propelled right into Okor's codpiece. Regardless of any actual sensitive parts even actually being present on this filth, the undead tank is brought to his knees by the sheer force of the bolt. His grip on the venomous weapon fails him as it clatters to the white tile of the nexus.
"We ain't no motherfucking hero, ill-blooded motherfucker. "Now, one thing we are? One thing we most definitely motherfucking are?” And that sickening, demonic, twisted, insane, broken smirk splits the grey skin on Gamzio’s face.
“We are higher than you, brother."
The colorful club is raised high in the air, poised for a K.O.
However, shit hits the whirling device. Sounds of a rather brutal scuffle are accompanied by the cacophonous sound of a GIANT FUCKING ASSHOLE invites him to walk away from the kneeling pawn. That scum, the flaming skeleton dude. He is the giant fucking asshole. The giant, flaming asshole.
Mister Rockara has a white-hot miracle with his name on it.
---
And here we are, kicking back in a miasmic hell created at the behest of previously notioned giant flaming asshole. Life’s a bitch. Welp! Gamzio can’t make a literal killing just standing here in this nasty ass fog, and the poor motherfucker he managed to nab from death’s hand seems to have been lost in the-
Oh.
Whistling nonchalantly, the Troll of Rage steps carefully over Agent Kanda’s body. Sure, he saved the weirdo from impending doom, but that’s because it seemed fun to keep another combatant in the game. However, if he can’t get himself out of this predicament, then the trash needs to be removed from the battlefield.
Now then, the abundant amount of logic that is most definitely present in his head tells Gamzio that if he just keeps on a steady pace in one direction, he will eventually reach a blindingly white light that will hopefully be maybe the Nexus. Maybe. Hopefully. With a quiet sense of inner focus, the Clown Warrior takes off at a brisk jog in a random direction.
But not for long. He might have been moving for a good ten minutes, during which this depressing, stomach-flipping sort of silence descended upon the fighting grounds. Also during this time, the invigorating energy from Strazio’s initial fusion that flooded and filled Gamzio’s very core was oddly AWOL. The rage and hysterically happy anger was ever present, but the vim and vigor was nowhere to be found. Truth was, he was exhausted. As such, it’s not even a major surprise when he drops to a half hearted jog with his eyes shut. Also as such, it’s an even less major surprise when the Not-Hero walks right into something very, very hot and solid.
Hot. Flaming, one could say.
A skeletal hand latches onto Gamzio’s painted face like a vice, obscuring his vision, but not the sharp, jagged teeth that constitute his crooked grin. Without a word, Mr. Bad Vibes lifts Mr. Rage Vibes off the ground by the face. The corners of Rockara’s lips peek out from behind his foe’s skeletal hand, a testament to the boy’s cheeky and wicked rebellion. If a flaming skull could express physical emotion via facial features, it would probably be conveying amusement right about now.
And you know what happens next? The bitch starts to monologue! Like seriously? Really? While the glowing teenager is just suspended in air by the face? How motherfucking rude. This isn’t Hamlet. Something about power, something about death and destruction and existential crisis yadda yadda yadda, Gamzio really could give less of a shit, which is why he lets his one club clatter to the ground. The sound is synonymous to bullet casings littering the floor. The boy splays his palms outwards, and begins to let Strazio’s sick magicks flow to his fingerti-
The light fades from his hands. This motherfucker is still in a soliloquy.
*sn~ap*
An indiscernible reaction sound emits from the clacking bowels of the Harbitcher’s chest cavity as this demon child, this pathetic brat, this insignificant excuse for an opponent lays a hand on him. Out of curiosity, the Skele-bitch releases his grip on Gamzio’s head. The angsty troll’s grip on his playmate’s carpal bones does not.
Constriction. Squeeze. Piercing marrow.
*SCR-AAAA-AAAA-AAAPE*
The Harbinger allows Gamzio Rockara to drag the monstrosity’s phalanges across his own face. The makeshift claws gouge three jagged, diagonal scars from his left temple to his right cheek. Royal, violet blood seeps across the scar tissue, painting the fluorescent adolescent’s face. Slowly, a long purple tongue slips past the horned boy’s lips, lapping up several rivulets of precious amethyst, right before spitting a cocktail of blood and spit into the Harbinger’s right eye socket with a satisfying hiss. A noticeable glob survived the flames, and now resides in the recesses of the bastard’s cranium.
Virulent, indigo lightning crawls across the berserker’s form. There’s a twinkle in the flamey motherfucker’s right eye socket. Like a fuse fulfilling it’s purpose, the twinkling peters out. A seizure inducing fireworks display of hellfire erupts from deep within the demon's dome.
*KA-BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFF*
Good luck with that.
---
It was sinful.
In the name of all that is Mirthful, Gamzee swore that he would end such blasphemy. Strawso provided the means to do so.
The clown’s elegantly simple mind could not find the words necessary to describe the raw, frenzied torrent of power that coursed through his royal veins as Strazio merged his unyielding anger into the teenager’s very being. Oddly enough, a sort of contradictory inner peace was achieved by the transformation. The pleasant little haze that generally accompanied Gamzee’s thoughts was dissipated. His mind was as clear as the heart on his sleeve. And then, shit got lit.
Gamzio wasn’t even sure what was going on. He was simply moving, existing, breathing. This putrid motherfucker swinging some nasty ass sword at him was so cumbersome, so clumsy. Soon, his opponent would not be doing any of the aforementioned moving, existing, or breathing. Another sluggish attempt at cleaving Gamzio in twain is deflected by a rainbow shower, a newly miracalized juggling club interrupting the infectious arc.
The armoured zombie grunts in a stupendous display of effort, rusty blade grinding into the ivory of Gamzio’s weapon.
“Yaknow, motherfucker, I kinda like you. Rough around the edges, like me. Us. But, you kinda got us messed up,” Sinewy muscles straining and sick grin proudly on parade, the blazing troll eases away the biznasty edge ever so slowly away from his face.
"A hero stands up for justice; not himself. A hero thinks of saving others; not destroying them," White hot magicks swirl around his free hand, levied point-blank at Okor's rotten mug. "A hero is motivated by justice. A hero plays fair." Gamzio's open palm angles itself, and a bolt of raw energy is propelled right into Okor's codpiece. Regardless of any actual sensitive parts even actually being present on this filth, the undead tank is brought to his knees by the sheer force of the bolt. His grip on the venomous weapon fails him as it clatters to the white tile of the nexus.
"We ain't no motherfucking hero, ill-blooded motherfucker. "Now, one thing we are? One thing we most definitely motherfucking are?” And that sickening, demonic, twisted, insane, broken smirk splits the grey skin on Gamzio’s face.
“We are higher than you, brother."
The colorful club is raised high in the air, poised for a K.O.
However, shit hits the whirling device. Sounds of a rather brutal scuffle are accompanied by the cacophonous sound of a GIANT FUCKING ASSHOLE invites him to walk away from the kneeling pawn. That scum, the flaming skeleton dude. He is the giant fucking asshole. The giant, flaming asshole.
Mister Rockara has a white-hot miracle with his name on it.
---
And here we are, kicking back in a miasmic hell created at the behest of previously notioned giant flaming asshole. Life’s a bitch. Welp! Gamzio can’t make a literal killing just standing here in this nasty ass fog, and the poor motherfucker he managed to nab from death’s hand seems to have been lost in the-
Oh.
Whistling nonchalantly, the Troll of Rage steps carefully over Agent Kanda’s body. Sure, he saved the weirdo from impending doom, but that’s because it seemed fun to keep another combatant in the game. However, if he can’t get himself out of this predicament, then the trash needs to be removed from the battlefield.
Now then, the abundant amount of logic that is most definitely present in his head tells Gamzio that if he just keeps on a steady pace in one direction, he will eventually reach a blindingly white light that will hopefully be maybe the Nexus. Maybe. Hopefully. With a quiet sense of inner focus, the Clown Warrior takes off at a brisk jog in a random direction.
But not for long. He might have been moving for a good ten minutes, during which this depressing, stomach-flipping sort of silence descended upon the fighting grounds. Also during this time, the invigorating energy from Strazio’s initial fusion that flooded and filled Gamzio’s very core was oddly AWOL. The rage and hysterically happy anger was ever present, but the vim and vigor was nowhere to be found. Truth was, he was exhausted. As such, it’s not even a major surprise when he drops to a half hearted jog with his eyes shut. Also as such, it’s an even less major surprise when the Not-Hero walks right into something very, very hot and solid.
Hot. Flaming, one could say.
A skeletal hand latches onto Gamzio’s painted face like a vice, obscuring his vision, but not the sharp, jagged teeth that constitute his crooked grin. Without a word, Mr. Bad Vibes lifts Mr. Rage Vibes off the ground by the face. The corners of Rockara’s lips peek out from behind his foe’s skeletal hand, a testament to the boy’s cheeky and wicked rebellion. If a flaming skull could express physical emotion via facial features, it would probably be conveying amusement right about now.
And you know what happens next? The bitch starts to monologue! Like seriously? Really? While the glowing teenager is just suspended in air by the face? How motherfucking rude. This isn’t Hamlet. Something about power, something about death and destruction and existential crisis yadda yadda yadda, Gamzio really could give less of a shit, which is why he lets his one club clatter to the ground. The sound is synonymous to bullet casings littering the floor. The boy splays his palms outwards, and begins to let Strazio’s sick magicks flow to his fingerti-
The light fades from his hands. This motherfucker is still in a soliloquy.
*sn~ap*
An indiscernible reaction sound emits from the clacking bowels of the Harbitcher’s chest cavity as this demon child, this pathetic brat, this insignificant excuse for an opponent lays a hand on him. Out of curiosity, the Skele-bitch releases his grip on Gamzio’s head. The angsty troll’s grip on his playmate’s carpal bones does not.
Constriction. Squeeze. Piercing marrow.
*SCR-AAAA-AAAA-AAAPE*
The Harbinger allows Gamzio Rockara to drag the monstrosity’s phalanges across his own face. The makeshift claws gouge three jagged, diagonal scars from his left temple to his right cheek. Royal, violet blood seeps across the scar tissue, painting the fluorescent adolescent’s face. Slowly, a long purple tongue slips past the horned boy’s lips, lapping up several rivulets of precious amethyst, right before spitting a cocktail of blood and spit into the Harbinger’s right eye socket with a satisfying hiss. A noticeable glob survived the flames, and now resides in the recesses of the bastard’s cranium.
Virulent, indigo lightning crawls across the berserker’s form. There’s a twinkle in the flamey motherfucker’s right eye socket. Like a fuse fulfilling it’s purpose, the twinkling peters out. A seizure inducing fireworks display of hellfire erupts from deep within the demon's dome.
*KA-BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFF*
Quote:Google Docs tells me it's 1200 words on the dot. Only thing that was really utilized was Deuce Clubs, Sparks, and Shatter.
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![[Image: dlpaou6b73f.gif]](http://www.auplod.com/u/dlpaou6b73f.gif)
-by Jade Harley
Never Falter in the Face of Infinity.
-Tearan Wover
-by Jade Harley
Never Falter in the Face of Infinity.
-Tearan Wover