10-09-2016, 05:31 PM
“Qe meria?!” Was about the only thing Ratione could spit out when the monster he had taken for a man suddenly stood back up, after being choke-slammed into the ground and having a sword tip get plunged through their skull. Where the right eye should have been was a massive gaping slice through the whole head, all the way to the other side, splitting all the way to the top. Inside the soldier could see brain matter and bone, cleanly separated but now mixing together and sloughing out.
As soon it finished its words, the Furtumin could see some kind of energy building up. Something that looked like a raw-energy battery about to break down. He reacted in the quickest way he could, turning his back plate away from the source of the explosion, putting his left arm up to protect his visor.
The heat was unbearable, and Ratione could not help to let out a roar of pain as he waited for the whole thing to wash over. Once it was finished, steam radiated off of his plate, his muscles felt like tenderized meat, the cut on his left shoulder had been completely cauterized. He also found that he could barely breathe in his helmet, despite the homeostasis systems kicking into overdrive and pumping oxygen from the outside air as fast as possible.
Despite the pain all over, the Novan managed to turn his head back to where the man had been. Suddenly, his visor blacked out with the bottom of a shoe which attempted to ram itself into his visor. Instead the heel and toes impaled themselves on the two prongs sticking out. Ratione took the opportunity given to him, grabbing the ankle, grunting against the complaints from his nerves, and whipped the entire body past him. Throwing his whole body into the toss, he collapsed onto the floor as his opponent flew down the hallway and slammed into a cellphone kiosk.
Ratione pushed himself up, getting onto both feet while using his sword as a support. The Furtumin gave his helmet a quick command to burst forward, leaning forward so the jump pack would accelerate him at the monster. He brought his blade’s tip to bear, and thrusted forward the second he collided with his enemy. The sword buried itself deep into its chest, all the way up to the hilt, and Ratione quickly backed off and away from a swipe.
The veteran stood there, and noticed that he was not dealing with the same face as before. Something had replaced his original assailant, different hair and eyes and even demeanor. This one seemed to be more level-headed and calm, not frothing at the mouth or roaring in rage. It was at this time as well that Ratione felt his mind slow to a crawl, the sudden exertion making it feel as though the room was spinning.
Looking around, everything had been turned to ash and melted down. Black silhouettes marked where people had once stood only a few moments before. Most were tall, adults, but too many were too short.
The Novan forced his eyes back to focus on the monster, who had only managed to pull out some of the length of the blade. He seemed to have conveniently jammed it straight through the marble in the floor, as well as the kiosk frame itself. His assailant’s hands were bleeding from the palms as his arms bulged against the friction.
Ratione stepped over, putting the bottom of his boot against the guard, and pushed down with all of his strength. The blade slid all the way back in, slicing the monster’s hands and eliciting a loud curse in Japanese. The Furtumin stood back with labored breathing, every use of his muscles feeling like he was pushing them to their limits.
As soon it finished its words, the Furtumin could see some kind of energy building up. Something that looked like a raw-energy battery about to break down. He reacted in the quickest way he could, turning his back plate away from the source of the explosion, putting his left arm up to protect his visor.
The heat was unbearable, and Ratione could not help to let out a roar of pain as he waited for the whole thing to wash over. Once it was finished, steam radiated off of his plate, his muscles felt like tenderized meat, the cut on his left shoulder had been completely cauterized. He also found that he could barely breathe in his helmet, despite the homeostasis systems kicking into overdrive and pumping oxygen from the outside air as fast as possible.
Despite the pain all over, the Novan managed to turn his head back to where the man had been. Suddenly, his visor blacked out with the bottom of a shoe which attempted to ram itself into his visor. Instead the heel and toes impaled themselves on the two prongs sticking out. Ratione took the opportunity given to him, grabbing the ankle, grunting against the complaints from his nerves, and whipped the entire body past him. Throwing his whole body into the toss, he collapsed onto the floor as his opponent flew down the hallway and slammed into a cellphone kiosk.
Ratione pushed himself up, getting onto both feet while using his sword as a support. The Furtumin gave his helmet a quick command to burst forward, leaning forward so the jump pack would accelerate him at the monster. He brought his blade’s tip to bear, and thrusted forward the second he collided with his enemy. The sword buried itself deep into its chest, all the way up to the hilt, and Ratione quickly backed off and away from a swipe.
The veteran stood there, and noticed that he was not dealing with the same face as before. Something had replaced his original assailant, different hair and eyes and even demeanor. This one seemed to be more level-headed and calm, not frothing at the mouth or roaring in rage. It was at this time as well that Ratione felt his mind slow to a crawl, the sudden exertion making it feel as though the room was spinning.
Looking around, everything had been turned to ash and melted down. Black silhouettes marked where people had once stood only a few moments before. Most were tall, adults, but too many were too short.
The Novan forced his eyes back to focus on the monster, who had only managed to pull out some of the length of the blade. He seemed to have conveniently jammed it straight through the marble in the floor, as well as the kiosk frame itself. His assailant’s hands were bleeding from the palms as his arms bulged against the friction.
Ratione stepped over, putting the bottom of his boot against the guard, and pushed down with all of his strength. The blade slid all the way back in, slicing the monster’s hands and eliciting a loud curse in Japanese. The Furtumin stood back with labored breathing, every use of his muscles feeling like he was pushing them to their limits.
"Our fear is our weapon."