02-14-2017, 05:11 AM
It had largely been Skeletor's forces which had suffered when the ceiling fell in; The brave men and women who followed Kelly MacAryn down into the dark had been unable to make a successful push more than ten meters beyond the earlier, partial cave-in which marked the underground border of the town walls. Dazed, injured and battered by the final collapse, ravaged by their repeated failed attempts to smash the desperate defenders and the fallout from the battle between the three Primes, the monstrous marauders presented easy prey for Darkshire's elite forces. With spears and shining shields at the ready the Spartan commander's hand-picked troops descended upon the sinkhole like a blazing hammer, sliding down the slopes of rain-slick mud and broken cobblestones to smash the bloodthirsty abominations who had come for their city.
A single rock among the piles of soil and broken street at the edge of the collapse, dislodged by a booted foot, skittered and bounced down into the pit. It was one of many pieces of debris caught amid the clamor of the valiant charge - but this one revealed a filthy, bloody human hand.
A finger twitched. Then another. The hand spasmed, then clenched into a fist. With a whisper of shifting soil, gasping, filthy and dazed, Ash Williams rose up out of the earth.
"... I'm Alive. Well hot damn."
The S-Mart warrior looked around, getting his bearings. Skeletor's body lay nearby, sprawled upon the wreckage of his own machine, bony jaw gaping wide in a grotesque parody of his trademark cackle. Ash smiled in grim satisfaction.
"Looks like laughing-boy wasn't so lucky."
Clutching the Twin Sword that still protruded from his abdomen, broken chainsaw dangling uselessly from his other wrist, the weary fighter watched the battle unfold.
Realizing that deliverance had arrived, a cheer went up from the armored underdogs at the far end of the passage as the reserves struck deep into the disorganized mass of monsters. Bolstered by the renewed prospect of victory, they found unsuspected strength in their exhausted bodies. The charge of Darkshire's elite was complemented by a sudden surge on the opposite flank. Confused, commanderless, and thoroughly outmaneuvered, the subterranean scoundrels were rapidly cut to ribbons by the two-pronged assault. Zombies fell in droves, less than useless without clear instructions. Lesser vampires were efficiently impaled, ogres and other dark beasts brought low by co-ordinated strikes, speared to death and stomped into the mud.
Sitting down gingerly on the lip of the pit, feeling the cold burn of the weapon stuck in his gut, it occurred to Ash that the scene unfolding below was like watching a pair of armored jaws closing on an oversize handful of screaming, evil popcorn. He tried not to laugh.
Behind him, he heard something stir.
"I see... you survived," croaked a voice, quiet, and unrecognizably hoarse. "Good. I wasn't certain you'd make it when the tunnel fell in, but your stamina is impressive."
Ash turned, and beheld a nightmare.
Behind him stood a ravaged human figure. Over six feet tall, it swayed unsteadily on its feet. The apparition had just one arm, the other ending at the elbow in a ragged wound, and it was covered in blackened sludge from head to toe. Rain poured off it, dripping from an outer layer of purplish, viscous tar. The creature's hair was a single rigid mass, so full of mud and gunk that the color was impossible to determine, and with the exception of a set of soiled-but-sturdy footwear, its clothes were rags.
Only the deep-set blue eyes were familiar. It took him a moment to place them.
"Holy hell... Kelly? Good lord, man - you look dead!"
"Nearly," the traveler said, his blood-choked tones shockingly casual. "About half of my bones are broken. I think I'm missing an... arm, but I can't move my neck far enough to check without putting my spinal cord in an even worse position than it already is. But..." He hacked, wetting his filth-encrusted lips with his tongue, "that's not important."
Ash stood, and stared, dumbstruck. "You don't say," he said.
Below them, the sound of a one-sided rout began to give way to the rapid-fire voices of men and women with a lot to do and very little time to do it in. With the immediate enemy destroyed, Atelos' unit took command of the beleaguered defenders, seeing that the wounded were tended to, and getting those who could still fight organized and prepared to re-join the battle elsewhere. Nobody was paying attention to the two Primes.
"I do... say. This particular war is over for me. My psychokinetic abilities ... are the only thing allowing me to stand up. But my energy levels are very... low. I certainly can't fight."
The psychic apparition pointed shakily at the Defender of Darkshire with his one remaining hand. "But... you can. There's still a battle going on beyond the walls. These people need your skill."
Both men paused. The din of conflict had become so omnipresent: the rattle of swords and spears, the clatter of arrows, the roars and shrieks of monsters and the screams of the dying - it had all ceased to register. But they persisted still, echoing over the walls and resounding through the breach. The smells of fire, viscera and blood drifted on the wind, mingling with the damp scent of the moors at night.
Ash regarded Kelly with a stoic expression. "Buddy, I don't know you've noticed, but I'm not doing so hot either. I've got a sword in my stomach!"
The psychic's face shifted under its mask of bloody grime, and he staggered closer, kneeling to inspect the wound with all the numb stiffness of an antique toy soldier.
" Mm. ... hold still."
"What? Why should I - AARRGHH!"
In one swift motion, Kelly yanked the Twin Sword from Ash's gut. Blood spurted from the wound, but the flow rapidly trickled away to nothing.
The hero seethed. "What the hell did you do that for, you crazy asshole? Haven't you ever heard of internal bleeding?!"
"It missed... the arteries. And the kidneys, remarkably enough." Said the traveler, visibly shaken by the simple effort of removing the sword. Nonetheless, he began to telekineticaly bind the wound using the remains of Ash's shirt, heedless of potential infection because of the Omnilium in the man's system. The fabric slithered and ripped, tearing itself into filthy bandages, weaving a poultice and then tightening abruptly, making the convenience-store gladiator gasp in pain. "Skeletor relied more on brute strength than... accurate placement. Besides... you're a Prime. If it had killed you... you'd be back. And dead with the sword... out, or disabled with it in, either way you'd have been no help to this city."
Ash rubbed his stomach, wincing as he tried some experimental movement. The pain was intense, a spreading, prickly chill, but he didn't feel like he was going to fall over any time soon. He gave his stricken ally an appraising glance.
"Thanks for patching me up... but, uh, has anybody ever told you you're kind of a cold son of a bitch?"
Kelly sank to the ground, his eyes fluttering. "Probably. This isn't the time for... sentiment."
The psychic rolled over onto his back. "I'm going to pass out now. Not dying, you understand... you may have noticed I'm very hard to kill. But I need to rest."
His eyes closed, and a sardonic smile flickered across his lips as he felt the cool, rain-soaked cobblestones against his ravaged back. He wasn't going to be able to stay awake but a few seconds more, but the traveler had one last thing to say.
"Nice working with you."
A single rock among the piles of soil and broken street at the edge of the collapse, dislodged by a booted foot, skittered and bounced down into the pit. It was one of many pieces of debris caught amid the clamor of the valiant charge - but this one revealed a filthy, bloody human hand.
A finger twitched. Then another. The hand spasmed, then clenched into a fist. With a whisper of shifting soil, gasping, filthy and dazed, Ash Williams rose up out of the earth.
"... I'm Alive. Well hot damn."
The S-Mart warrior looked around, getting his bearings. Skeletor's body lay nearby, sprawled upon the wreckage of his own machine, bony jaw gaping wide in a grotesque parody of his trademark cackle. Ash smiled in grim satisfaction.
"Looks like laughing-boy wasn't so lucky."
Clutching the Twin Sword that still protruded from his abdomen, broken chainsaw dangling uselessly from his other wrist, the weary fighter watched the battle unfold.
Realizing that deliverance had arrived, a cheer went up from the armored underdogs at the far end of the passage as the reserves struck deep into the disorganized mass of monsters. Bolstered by the renewed prospect of victory, they found unsuspected strength in their exhausted bodies. The charge of Darkshire's elite was complemented by a sudden surge on the opposite flank. Confused, commanderless, and thoroughly outmaneuvered, the subterranean scoundrels were rapidly cut to ribbons by the two-pronged assault. Zombies fell in droves, less than useless without clear instructions. Lesser vampires were efficiently impaled, ogres and other dark beasts brought low by co-ordinated strikes, speared to death and stomped into the mud.
Sitting down gingerly on the lip of the pit, feeling the cold burn of the weapon stuck in his gut, it occurred to Ash that the scene unfolding below was like watching a pair of armored jaws closing on an oversize handful of screaming, evil popcorn. He tried not to laugh.
Behind him, he heard something stir.
"I see... you survived," croaked a voice, quiet, and unrecognizably hoarse. "Good. I wasn't certain you'd make it when the tunnel fell in, but your stamina is impressive."
Ash turned, and beheld a nightmare.
Behind him stood a ravaged human figure. Over six feet tall, it swayed unsteadily on its feet. The apparition had just one arm, the other ending at the elbow in a ragged wound, and it was covered in blackened sludge from head to toe. Rain poured off it, dripping from an outer layer of purplish, viscous tar. The creature's hair was a single rigid mass, so full of mud and gunk that the color was impossible to determine, and with the exception of a set of soiled-but-sturdy footwear, its clothes were rags.
Only the deep-set blue eyes were familiar. It took him a moment to place them.
"Holy hell... Kelly? Good lord, man - you look dead!"
"Nearly," the traveler said, his blood-choked tones shockingly casual. "About half of my bones are broken. I think I'm missing an... arm, but I can't move my neck far enough to check without putting my spinal cord in an even worse position than it already is. But..." He hacked, wetting his filth-encrusted lips with his tongue, "that's not important."
Ash stood, and stared, dumbstruck. "You don't say," he said.
Below them, the sound of a one-sided rout began to give way to the rapid-fire voices of men and women with a lot to do and very little time to do it in. With the immediate enemy destroyed, Atelos' unit took command of the beleaguered defenders, seeing that the wounded were tended to, and getting those who could still fight organized and prepared to re-join the battle elsewhere. Nobody was paying attention to the two Primes.
"I do... say. This particular war is over for me. My psychokinetic abilities ... are the only thing allowing me to stand up. But my energy levels are very... low. I certainly can't fight."
The psychic apparition pointed shakily at the Defender of Darkshire with his one remaining hand. "But... you can. There's still a battle going on beyond the walls. These people need your skill."
Both men paused. The din of conflict had become so omnipresent: the rattle of swords and spears, the clatter of arrows, the roars and shrieks of monsters and the screams of the dying - it had all ceased to register. But they persisted still, echoing over the walls and resounding through the breach. The smells of fire, viscera and blood drifted on the wind, mingling with the damp scent of the moors at night.
Ash regarded Kelly with a stoic expression. "Buddy, I don't know you've noticed, but I'm not doing so hot either. I've got a sword in my stomach!"
The psychic's face shifted under its mask of bloody grime, and he staggered closer, kneeling to inspect the wound with all the numb stiffness of an antique toy soldier.
" Mm. ... hold still."
"What? Why should I - AARRGHH!"
In one swift motion, Kelly yanked the Twin Sword from Ash's gut. Blood spurted from the wound, but the flow rapidly trickled away to nothing.
The hero seethed. "What the hell did you do that for, you crazy asshole? Haven't you ever heard of internal bleeding?!"
"It missed... the arteries. And the kidneys, remarkably enough." Said the traveler, visibly shaken by the simple effort of removing the sword. Nonetheless, he began to telekineticaly bind the wound using the remains of Ash's shirt, heedless of potential infection because of the Omnilium in the man's system. The fabric slithered and ripped, tearing itself into filthy bandages, weaving a poultice and then tightening abruptly, making the convenience-store gladiator gasp in pain. "Skeletor relied more on brute strength than... accurate placement. Besides... you're a Prime. If it had killed you... you'd be back. And dead with the sword... out, or disabled with it in, either way you'd have been no help to this city."
Ash rubbed his stomach, wincing as he tried some experimental movement. The pain was intense, a spreading, prickly chill, but he didn't feel like he was going to fall over any time soon. He gave his stricken ally an appraising glance.
"Thanks for patching me up... but, uh, has anybody ever told you you're kind of a cold son of a bitch?"
Kelly sank to the ground, his eyes fluttering. "Probably. This isn't the time for... sentiment."
The psychic rolled over onto his back. "I'm going to pass out now. Not dying, you understand... you may have noticed I'm very hard to kill. But I need to rest."
His eyes closed, and a sardonic smile flickered across his lips as he felt the cool, rain-soaked cobblestones against his ravaged back. He wasn't going to be able to stay awake but a few seconds more, but the traveler had one last thing to say.
"Nice working with you."
Quote:And that's a wrap! This thread is donezo!
Kelly is out of this fight - though seriously not dead. 1 HP survivor! Whoo!
Ash got some basic - though quite risky - first-aid. No actual healing took place, obviously, but story-purposes have been served, and he had more HP left at the end of the fight than Skeletor and Kelly combined. His chainsaw is broken, but he's still got his boomstick, presumably, and a few shells left, so if he wants to help out elsewhere that could probably happen.
It also occurs to me that if he wanted to drop the OM for it, he might claim the Twin Sword, but that's a discussion for an OOC topic...