<![CDATA[Omni Archive - The Vasty Deep]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/ Wed, 05 Aug 2026 22:25:32 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Adventures of the Naval Carrier Ferros]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7646 Mon, 09 Jul 2018 23:33:13 +0000 Lord Zedd]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7646 Ferros rolled through the heavy waves of the Vasty Deep, tearing through them as though they were thin sheets of paper. The massive Imperial aircraft carrier was alone on its mission of exploration and protection, making sure the area around the Imperial islands was secure. The carrier was fully loaded and equipped, and prepared for the many threats of the uncharted verse. It was a good thing, because the craft was currently a great distance from the safe haven of Costa Del Sol or any Imperial fleet. However, amongst the skilled and experienced fighters assigned to the vessel, they had also made room for plenty of rookies.

On the top deck, Knox looked at his brand new X-Wing with an odd mixture of pride and indifference. He had finally been accepted into flight school after years of pushing for it within the Imperial command. If he’d been back in the universe he swore he knew, none of this would have mattered in the slightest. Even if he was, though, the privilege to fly such a craft would have been an exclusive honor. He couldn’t help but bask in the glory of such an accomplishment, despite the burning reminder in his mind that this whole world was twisted, fucked up, and didn’t matter. But, he was here, so he figured he’d make the most of it. He'd proven again and again his unnatural talent with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, so it was nice to see it finally rewarded.

Knox, Cade, Grace, and Laci were four stormtroopers that had initially been assigned to Lord Zedd on Coruscant. Upon surviving his extremely unique and neurotic management style, they’d been transferred to the Vasty Deep to help deal with the Darkling invasion. They’d proved to be unconventional members of the Imperial brigade, but no one could really argue with their unique ability to come home with the job done, even if the means were a bit unconventional or unprofessional. After becoming far more seasoned during their tour in the Deep, the assessment had been made to grant them specialty training. Likewise, their superiors in the Deep had agreed with Coruscant’s recommendation that they be kept together. While separated for their unique training, the understanding was that they would be working on missions together again before too much longer.

“Hey, hey!” a voice called from behind the black haired secondary.

The man turned to see his teammate, Grace, walking towards him, tying her red hair in a bun as she walked. She was wearing an all black Imperial flight suit and her Arwing wasn’t too far from Knox’s fighter craft. Grace had ended up joining flight school to be near a friend when she wasn’t sure exactly what to specialize in. The other two members of their squad had chosen Mech operations for their specialty, which they would be working on elsewhere on the carrier, so she'd decided to stick with Knox. Grace was nervous, but excited all the same. They’d done all the simulations, picked their ships, and were now waiting on whoever would be their instructor for the morning’s operations.

“Does this suit bug the hell out of you?” Knox asked as Grace stopped by him. “Its freaking hot out here.”

“You should have seen Cade and Laci in the lower decks,” Grace laughed. “They said it gets so hot in those big things they can’t wear much at all.”

Knox perked up an eyebrow, which set Grace into a fit of laughter. She knew there were unspoken feelings between Knox and Laci, so she tended to tease them from time to time like the little sister role she’d adopted within their group. Knox realized he was being messed with and rolled his eyes.

“Yea, yea,” he grumbled. “So you know anything about who we’re flying with?”

“Nope,” Grace commented, looking up at Knox’s X-Wing. “Some pro.”

“Better be, to put up with you,” Knox teased as he looked around.

“Uh huh,” Grace agreed, distracted as she looked over the ship. “Hey I’m gonna paint our fighters, and their Mechs. That would be a fun project, don’t you think? Team spirit and all!”

“I wonder if she’ll expect us to stand at attention and all that junk,” Knox ignored Grace’s chipper attitude this morning.

Grace rolled her own eyes this time and walked around the front of the fighter to start to get a game plan on how to decorate the crafts. Knox just looked out at the endless ocean and enjoyed the wind on his face. At least it was a clear and sunny day. But damn this suit was hot.]]> Ferros rolled through the heavy waves of the Vasty Deep, tearing through them as though they were thin sheets of paper. The massive Imperial aircraft carrier was alone on its mission of exploration and protection, making sure the area around the Imperial islands was secure. The carrier was fully loaded and equipped, and prepared for the many threats of the uncharted verse. It was a good thing, because the craft was currently a great distance from the safe haven of Costa Del Sol or any Imperial fleet. However, amongst the skilled and experienced fighters assigned to the vessel, they had also made room for plenty of rookies.

On the top deck, Knox looked at his brand new X-Wing with an odd mixture of pride and indifference. He had finally been accepted into flight school after years of pushing for it within the Imperial command. If he’d been back in the universe he swore he knew, none of this would have mattered in the slightest. Even if he was, though, the privilege to fly such a craft would have been an exclusive honor. He couldn’t help but bask in the glory of such an accomplishment, despite the burning reminder in his mind that this whole world was twisted, fucked up, and didn’t matter. But, he was here, so he figured he’d make the most of it. He'd proven again and again his unnatural talent with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, so it was nice to see it finally rewarded.

Knox, Cade, Grace, and Laci were four stormtroopers that had initially been assigned to Lord Zedd on Coruscant. Upon surviving his extremely unique and neurotic management style, they’d been transferred to the Vasty Deep to help deal with the Darkling invasion. They’d proved to be unconventional members of the Imperial brigade, but no one could really argue with their unique ability to come home with the job done, even if the means were a bit unconventional or unprofessional. After becoming far more seasoned during their tour in the Deep, the assessment had been made to grant them specialty training. Likewise, their superiors in the Deep had agreed with Coruscant’s recommendation that they be kept together. While separated for their unique training, the understanding was that they would be working on missions together again before too much longer.

“Hey, hey!” a voice called from behind the black haired secondary.

The man turned to see his teammate, Grace, walking towards him, tying her red hair in a bun as she walked. She was wearing an all black Imperial flight suit and her Arwing wasn’t too far from Knox’s fighter craft. Grace had ended up joining flight school to be near a friend when she wasn’t sure exactly what to specialize in. The other two members of their squad had chosen Mech operations for their specialty, which they would be working on elsewhere on the carrier, so she'd decided to stick with Knox. Grace was nervous, but excited all the same. They’d done all the simulations, picked their ships, and were now waiting on whoever would be their instructor for the morning’s operations.

“Does this suit bug the hell out of you?” Knox asked as Grace stopped by him. “Its freaking hot out here.”

“You should have seen Cade and Laci in the lower decks,” Grace laughed. “They said it gets so hot in those big things they can’t wear much at all.”

Knox perked up an eyebrow, which set Grace into a fit of laughter. She knew there were unspoken feelings between Knox and Laci, so she tended to tease them from time to time like the little sister role she’d adopted within their group. Knox realized he was being messed with and rolled his eyes.

“Yea, yea,” he grumbled. “So you know anything about who we’re flying with?”

“Nope,” Grace commented, looking up at Knox’s X-Wing. “Some pro.”

“Better be, to put up with you,” Knox teased as he looked around.

“Uh huh,” Grace agreed, distracted as she looked over the ship. “Hey I’m gonna paint our fighters, and their Mechs. That would be a fun project, don’t you think? Team spirit and all!”

“I wonder if she’ll expect us to stand at attention and all that junk,” Knox ignored Grace’s chipper attitude this morning.

Grace rolled her own eyes this time and walked around the front of the fighter to start to get a game plan on how to decorate the crafts. Knox just looked out at the endless ocean and enjoyed the wind on his face. At least it was a clear and sunny day. But damn this suit was hot.]]> <![CDATA[Delila Rising]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5757 Thu, 05 Jul 2018 00:11:14 +0000 Harry Potter]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5757 Quote: This post is rated MATURE for a good reason. You have been warned.
✶✶✶

Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming.

Little sound was coming out; her vocal cords were torn and ripped, scarred over, then torn and ripped again. Still, her strangled cries echoed around her tiny black cell within Costa Del Sol prison. She was shackled by her wrists, her emaciated arms suspended above her as she lay slumped against the wall, her legs twitching spasticly beneath her thin medical gown.

The only other sound was the steady drip of her faucet, a faucet that the dehydrated prisoner could not reach, a faucet that dripped all day and all night.

The room was lit only by a cone of light streaming in through Bellatrix’s food slot. A shadow passed over the slot, and a man’s face appeared. The face was fat, ugly, and smiling wickedly. The man lifted his hand to show a small device with multiple buttons, waving it at Bellatrix tauntingly. Finally, he pressed one of the many buttons on the device.

Bellatrix stopped screaming, stopped writhing. She slumped against the wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“How we doin in there, Miss Bella?” came the soft whisper of Bellatrix’s torturer, a charming southern voice.

Bellatrix took a few more ragged breaths, and then let out a long low moan. She spread her legs beneath her hospital gown lewdly.

“Thank you sir,” she said mockingly, a line of drool hanging from her mouth. “May I have another?”

The fat face contorted in rage. The man pressed another button.

Bellatrix’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she lost consciousness.

The faucet dripped.

✶✶✶

When Bellatrix next awoke, the first thing she noticed was her torturer’s mistake. He had left her food slot partially open, and a tiny beam of fluorescent light was streaming through, and where there was light, there was shadow.

There was a hiss is Bellatrix’s head as the shadows started to whisper.

The deranged witch let out a bark of laughter, her shackles rattling.

“H-Hey baby,” she slurred through a mouth full of broken teeth. “You come back for mummy?”

The shadows stirred, and then a dementor was floating silently above her

Bellatrix grinned, and bloody drool dripped down her cheek onto her medical gown in time with the sink.

A thin white mist began to escape Bellatrix’s mouth.

“Good boy,” whispered the witch, her heavily lidded eyes closing. “You’ve always known just how to hurt me.”

The Dementor stalked closer, lowering it’s hood.

Bellatrix spread her legs beneath her hospital gown and groaned, the silvery mist now escaping from her mouth like a faucet, creating a line leading back to the Dementors mouth.

“Good boy,” repeated Bellatrix as her soul escaped. The dementor was crouched down, kneeling between her legs.

“Give mummy a kiss.”

The Dementor obliged, performing the darkest act known to wizard kind, and eating the soul of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Yet another, darker hunger had awoken within the monster.

Even as the Dementor ripped Bellatrix’s soul from her body, it left something as well.

A seed.

✶✶✶

This seed would take just one month to grow, where most seeds of its kind would take nine months.

As for the host...

Nobody was surprised when Bellatrix Lestrange went comatose. Completely unresponsive to any outside stimuli, even pain. She would just sit, her stomach swelling each day, repeating the same word in a flat, childish sing-song voice.

“Delila, Delila. Delila, Delila. Delila, Delila. Delila, Delila.”

✶✶✶

Bellatrix Lestrange died giving birth to a black-eyed child mute child who was otherwise very healthy. The hospital staff at the prison wrote down her name as Delila Lestrange, as it seemed to be her mother’s last wish. The baby was transported to a orphanage in Costa Del Sol, where she stayed for nearly two months.

In those two months, Delila grew to the size of a young child of about seven years. The black haired, black eyed mute girl did not make any friends. She did not smile, nor cry, nor eat, nor sleep. She did not play with the other children, and at any rate the other children would not play with her. The employees of the orphanage had very much lost hope of finding a home for the strange child.

Then one day a man in a black cloak with a scarred face had shown up. He said he was the girl’s grandfather, though he had no identification to prove it. The staff of the orphanage were not concerned with such things as petty as paperwork, not when it meant they could get Delila off their hands.

Delila left that day with the man in the black cloak, holding his hand, walking towards the gate to the Nexus.

✶✶✶]]> Quote: This post is rated MATURE for a good reason. You have been warned.
✶✶✶

Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming.

Little sound was coming out; her vocal cords were torn and ripped, scarred over, then torn and ripped again. Still, her strangled cries echoed around her tiny black cell within Costa Del Sol prison. She was shackled by her wrists, her emaciated arms suspended above her as she lay slumped against the wall, her legs twitching spasticly beneath her thin medical gown.

The only other sound was the steady drip of her faucet, a faucet that the dehydrated prisoner could not reach, a faucet that dripped all day and all night.

The room was lit only by a cone of light streaming in through Bellatrix’s food slot. A shadow passed over the slot, and a man’s face appeared. The face was fat, ugly, and smiling wickedly. The man lifted his hand to show a small device with multiple buttons, waving it at Bellatrix tauntingly. Finally, he pressed one of the many buttons on the device.

Bellatrix stopped screaming, stopped writhing. She slumped against the wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“How we doin in there, Miss Bella?” came the soft whisper of Bellatrix’s torturer, a charming southern voice.

Bellatrix took a few more ragged breaths, and then let out a long low moan. She spread her legs beneath her hospital gown lewdly.

“Thank you sir,” she said mockingly, a line of drool hanging from her mouth. “May I have another?”

The fat face contorted in rage. The man pressed another button.

Bellatrix’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she lost consciousness.

The faucet dripped.

✶✶✶

When Bellatrix next awoke, the first thing she noticed was her torturer’s mistake. He had left her food slot partially open, and a tiny beam of fluorescent light was streaming through, and where there was light, there was shadow.

There was a hiss is Bellatrix’s head as the shadows started to whisper.

The deranged witch let out a bark of laughter, her shackles rattling.

“H-Hey baby,” she slurred through a mouth full of broken teeth. “You come back for mummy?”

The shadows stirred, and then a dementor was floating silently above her

Bellatrix grinned, and bloody drool dripped down her cheek onto her medical gown in time with the sink.

A thin white mist began to escape Bellatrix’s mouth.

“Good boy,” whispered the witch, her heavily lidded eyes closing. “You’ve always known just how to hurt me.”

The Dementor stalked closer, lowering it’s hood.

Bellatrix spread her legs beneath her hospital gown and groaned, the silvery mist now escaping from her mouth like a faucet, creating a line leading back to the Dementors mouth.

“Good boy,” repeated Bellatrix as her soul escaped. The dementor was crouched down, kneeling between her legs.

“Give mummy a kiss.”

The Dementor obliged, performing the darkest act known to wizard kind, and eating the soul of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Yet another, darker hunger had awoken within the monster.

Even as the Dementor ripped Bellatrix’s soul from her body, it left something as well.

A seed.

✶✶✶

This seed would take just one month to grow, where most seeds of its kind would take nine months.

As for the host...

Nobody was surprised when Bellatrix Lestrange went comatose. Completely unresponsive to any outside stimuli, even pain. She would just sit, her stomach swelling each day, repeating the same word in a flat, childish sing-song voice.

“Delila, Delila. Delila, Delila. Delila, Delila. Delila, Delila.”

✶✶✶

Bellatrix Lestrange died giving birth to a black-eyed child mute child who was otherwise very healthy. The hospital staff at the prison wrote down her name as Delila Lestrange, as it seemed to be her mother’s last wish. The baby was transported to a orphanage in Costa Del Sol, where she stayed for nearly two months.

In those two months, Delila grew to the size of a young child of about seven years. The black haired, black eyed mute girl did not make any friends. She did not smile, nor cry, nor eat, nor sleep. She did not play with the other children, and at any rate the other children would not play with her. The employees of the orphanage had very much lost hope of finding a home for the strange child.

Then one day a man in a black cloak with a scarred face had shown up. He said he was the girl’s grandfather, though he had no identification to prove it. The staff of the orphanage were not concerned with such things as petty as paperwork, not when it meant they could get Delila off their hands.

Delila left that day with the man in the black cloak, holding his hand, walking towards the gate to the Nexus.

✶✶✶]]> <![CDATA[Étude]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7617 Fri, 29 Jun 2018 04:16:19 +0000 Tearen Wover]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7617 Quote:The waves crashed against the distant shoreline, like rippled glass drawn across white silk. Somewhere a bullfrog croaked dolefully in the late afternoon sun, contemplating the opening strains of the evening's song. Nesheika walked up the plank-paved road from the stream with a fresh basin of water. It sloshed patiently within its vessel, artfully balanced on the veiled crown of the islander's head. The basin was a wide, terra cotta vase. Handcrafted, obviously, and scratched with decades of use.

Perhaps this village had a name. Maybe even the miniscule atoll that the village inhabited might have a designation in some rarely accessed Imperial shipping register. For all intents and purposes, however, the inhabitants of either simply had to call their home The Island, or The Village in order to know that it was home. On the matter of Imperial shipping, The Island never really saw any in a meaningful sense of the word. Oh, certainly, they could literally see the high-masted freighters cruising across the blue horizon, but they never served as more than a moment's distraction from the quiet bustle of the bucolic lifestyle.

As Nesheika reached her destination, a sudden cry of agony split the tranquility apart. It was long, drawn, and hoarse, and it was also accompanied by a string of obscenities that the young sand maiden could only fathom the meaning of.

"For all that is fucking holy will you sopping cuntwads just yank this fatherfucking bitch outta me already?!"

Nesheika's eyebrows bobbed upwards in a momentary, dull, look of surprise before dutifully pulling the beaded curtain back. The inside of the thatched, driftwood laden bungalo was warm, dim, and scented with the equally heady aromas of coconut and human effluence. Makeshift mannequins adorned the walls, along with bobbins of thread and skeins of yarn in more colors than can be responsibly listed here. Another teeth-grinding shriek issued out from behind a carved, teak partition. The scream was cut short by the soothing encouragement of Nesheika's mother and erstwhile instructor in the art of midwifery.

"Breath-breath-breath, deeeeep now." Assul said softly, mopping the sweat from her patient's forehead with an already soggy rag. No matter how many times Nesheika saw the woman currently writhing in her bed, Myla Wover would always be a fascinating oddity to the otherwise sheltered islander. Skin as pale as the coral sand, with tiny hornlets as dark as stained ebony...hair the color of the last mauve glints of sunset, and her eyes...orange and fierce. Candles in the night. Yes, it certainly had taken the villagers to get used to their newest member, but when the Angels had told them to take good care of the strange woman, they had no reason to refuse. Besides, despite her outwards appearance, Myla was still a normal woman in all the ways that mattered to the island's head medicine woman. Assul looked up, suddenly noticing her daughter's presence.

"Thank you, Neshy..." the midwife said, using her daughter's pet name, "...put it over on the stove, please, and bring the other."

Nesheika nodded softly and did as she was instructed, setting the warmed pot of water next to her mother. Assul dipped the cloth into the water and used it to clean up Myla's blood-crusted particulars. She tutted softly as she did so.

"We just might have to, k'ou aloha...but I'm afraid she's having trouble, comin' out kickin' first like she is. We'a have to cut the uh..." Assul said, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember the English word for perineum.

"Cut the what?!" Myla bitched, leaning up slightly before letting out a defeated groan. Her vaginal muscles clenched fruitlessly on the child half-way born. Everyone was exhausted. They'd been at this for almost twelve hours now, and to her credit, Myla's baby was still hanging to life. Assul's lack of a direct answer, but very apparent possession of a scalpel caused Myla's entire body to tense. The aging medicine woman nodded at Nesheika and then towards he bag, yapping something in the native tongue that the ex-succubus was still trying to learn. The younger attendant rummaged for a moment before producing a small, long tiki made of hardwood.

"For bite." Nesheika said softly, before cramming it Myla's mouth and imperiously grabbing Myla's sweaty forearms. The demoness's eyes went wild with panic, while she inwardly marveled at how such a delicate young lady could have a grip stronger than some of the road warriors she'd known in the Underverse. A strangled, gurgling scream tried to vibrate passed the tiki clutched in her teeth as a sudden eruption of white pain bloomed from her genitals. Myla's entire body contorted in confusion at the sequence of events, and the world spinned sickeningly. Nesheika lovingly cradled Myla's head as she dry heaved pointlessly off the side of her pillow, having already evacuated the last her stomach contents a few hours prior. She wanted to stop screaming, really, but the utter, unrelenting tedium and indignity of the entire birthing process was beginning to crack the last vestiges of sanity the demoness possessed.

When she was finally done with her hysterics, more due to exhaustion than adaptation to the howling pain, she weakly fixed her gaze out the open window towards the billowing palm leaves and sinfully blue sky beyond. Myla just focused on breathing for now, as he hearing gradually returned. Nesheika was no longer at her side. She could hear the two women speaking in hushed tones from the foot of the bed, and the intermittent clicking of medical implements. Myla swallowed dryly.

"Assul..." she murmured in a scratchy, distant tone. There was no immediate response. Myla's eyes drooped shut for a moment, and maybe some time passed. Maybe not. She couldn't tell.

"Assul...!" Myla tried again, still to no avail. A rising tension began to emerge in her throat. With great effort, she turned her head down to stare at the two women. Blood covered almost the entire lower half of her body, at least based on what she could see over her extended abdomen. A pale, yellow coil of flesh trailed over the foot of the bed, where Assul and Nesheika's heads bobbed up and down. More hushed murmurs came to her ears as the ringing in them subsided.

"Ladies...? What's going on? Talk to me."


"Is she okay?"



"Assul?! Wh-what's going on!?" ]]> Quote:The waves crashed against the distant shoreline, like rippled glass drawn across white silk. Somewhere a bullfrog croaked dolefully in the late afternoon sun, contemplating the opening strains of the evening's song. Nesheika walked up the plank-paved road from the stream with a fresh basin of water. It sloshed patiently within its vessel, artfully balanced on the veiled crown of the islander's head. The basin was a wide, terra cotta vase. Handcrafted, obviously, and scratched with decades of use.

Perhaps this village had a name. Maybe even the miniscule atoll that the village inhabited might have a designation in some rarely accessed Imperial shipping register. For all intents and purposes, however, the inhabitants of either simply had to call their home The Island, or The Village in order to know that it was home. On the matter of Imperial shipping, The Island never really saw any in a meaningful sense of the word. Oh, certainly, they could literally see the high-masted freighters cruising across the blue horizon, but they never served as more than a moment's distraction from the quiet bustle of the bucolic lifestyle.

As Nesheika reached her destination, a sudden cry of agony split the tranquility apart. It was long, drawn, and hoarse, and it was also accompanied by a string of obscenities that the young sand maiden could only fathom the meaning of.

"For all that is fucking holy will you sopping cuntwads just yank this fatherfucking bitch outta me already?!"

Nesheika's eyebrows bobbed upwards in a momentary, dull, look of surprise before dutifully pulling the beaded curtain back. The inside of the thatched, driftwood laden bungalo was warm, dim, and scented with the equally heady aromas of coconut and human effluence. Makeshift mannequins adorned the walls, along with bobbins of thread and skeins of yarn in more colors than can be responsibly listed here. Another teeth-grinding shriek issued out from behind a carved, teak partition. The scream was cut short by the soothing encouragement of Nesheika's mother and erstwhile instructor in the art of midwifery.

"Breath-breath-breath, deeeeep now." Assul said softly, mopping the sweat from her patient's forehead with an already soggy rag. No matter how many times Nesheika saw the woman currently writhing in her bed, Myla Wover would always be a fascinating oddity to the otherwise sheltered islander. Skin as pale as the coral sand, with tiny hornlets as dark as stained ebony...hair the color of the last mauve glints of sunset, and her eyes...orange and fierce. Candles in the night. Yes, it certainly had taken the villagers to get used to their newest member, but when the Angels had told them to take good care of the strange woman, they had no reason to refuse. Besides, despite her outwards appearance, Myla was still a normal woman in all the ways that mattered to the island's head medicine woman. Assul looked up, suddenly noticing her daughter's presence.

"Thank you, Neshy..." the midwife said, using her daughter's pet name, "...put it over on the stove, please, and bring the other."

Nesheika nodded softly and did as she was instructed, setting the warmed pot of water next to her mother. Assul dipped the cloth into the water and used it to clean up Myla's blood-crusted particulars. She tutted softly as she did so.

"We just might have to, k'ou aloha...but I'm afraid she's having trouble, comin' out kickin' first like she is. We'a have to cut the uh..." Assul said, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember the English word for perineum.

"Cut the what?!" Myla bitched, leaning up slightly before letting out a defeated groan. Her vaginal muscles clenched fruitlessly on the child half-way born. Everyone was exhausted. They'd been at this for almost twelve hours now, and to her credit, Myla's baby was still hanging to life. Assul's lack of a direct answer, but very apparent possession of a scalpel caused Myla's entire body to tense. The aging medicine woman nodded at Nesheika and then towards he bag, yapping something in the native tongue that the ex-succubus was still trying to learn. The younger attendant rummaged for a moment before producing a small, long tiki made of hardwood.

"For bite." Nesheika said softly, before cramming it Myla's mouth and imperiously grabbing Myla's sweaty forearms. The demoness's eyes went wild with panic, while she inwardly marveled at how such a delicate young lady could have a grip stronger than some of the road warriors she'd known in the Underverse. A strangled, gurgling scream tried to vibrate passed the tiki clutched in her teeth as a sudden eruption of white pain bloomed from her genitals. Myla's entire body contorted in confusion at the sequence of events, and the world spinned sickeningly. Nesheika lovingly cradled Myla's head as she dry heaved pointlessly off the side of her pillow, having already evacuated the last her stomach contents a few hours prior. She wanted to stop screaming, really, but the utter, unrelenting tedium and indignity of the entire birthing process was beginning to crack the last vestiges of sanity the demoness possessed.

When she was finally done with her hysterics, more due to exhaustion than adaptation to the howling pain, she weakly fixed her gaze out the open window towards the billowing palm leaves and sinfully blue sky beyond. Myla just focused on breathing for now, as he hearing gradually returned. Nesheika was no longer at her side. She could hear the two women speaking in hushed tones from the foot of the bed, and the intermittent clicking of medical implements. Myla swallowed dryly.

"Assul..." she murmured in a scratchy, distant tone. There was no immediate response. Myla's eyes drooped shut for a moment, and maybe some time passed. Maybe not. She couldn't tell.

"Assul...!" Myla tried again, still to no avail. A rising tension began to emerge in her throat. With great effort, she turned her head down to stare at the two women. Blood covered almost the entire lower half of her body, at least based on what she could see over her extended abdomen. A pale, yellow coil of flesh trailed over the foot of the bed, where Assul and Nesheika's heads bobbed up and down. More hushed murmurs came to her ears as the ringing in them subsided.

"Ladies...? What's going on? Talk to me."


"Is she okay?"



"Assul?! Wh-what's going on!?" ]]> <![CDATA[A Little Peace and Quiet]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7610 Tue, 26 Jun 2018 23:18:26 +0000 X-23]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7610
The sea was like a rippling blanket of azure. Squabbling seagulls flew overhead, harassing the beachgoers in their endless hunger. Gannets dive bombed the stretched surface of the sea, far out from shore. The horizon was edged with a silver tint, a cormorant flew into that place where the sun and water meet, its wings a blur of motion as he soon faded from sight. 

The slurpy slapping of the sea was muted, a metronomic murmur. The waves were merely snoozing, sluggish and slumbering in the midday sun. They dribbled up to the sands of the beaches, then shuddered and drizzled their sea spray onto its surface, whisking the stones before releasing. A current of cold electricity passed through the air and the wind whipped up. 

Sloshing, swollen to its confined depths, it’s cavernous bowels stirred, a growling from the fathoms. Suddenly, stone dashed sand teemed as the sea hissed, polished and lashed the pebbled before sloshing back. It hissed, slipped, dashed the sand and released. 

The echo of a raspy rumbling from the sea reached them, a tremulousness to fear. The waves licked at a cliff of a sheltered cove, then paused and pounced with malice at it’s ankle, slamming the rock before releasing, a rumour of its malevolence. The wind died down. The sea bubbled. Trembling, throbbing to its own rotten beat, its malicious soul stirred, a warning from the ages. Suddenly, rip-tide rolls heaved as the sea foamed, crashed and pounded the cliff-foot before sloshing back. It foamed and frothed, plunged down hard and pummelled the hated cliffs; it lathered and lacerated, bucked waves and buckled itself; it smacked and smashed, surging waves expunging its awful rage. 

Its hissy fit over, it swelled once more, juddered and was still. 

The clone inhaled deeply; humid, briny air flooded her nostrils. Her young companion giggled, atop her shoulder, finally home. 

“Alright, kid, it’s time to show me the way back, huh?” Laura spoke, addressing her partner. 

“Well, uh,” Cubone hesitated, “the quickest way back is through the city there,” he gestured widely down at Costa Del Sol before them, “but that’s where the men in white come from, Stormtroopers, I think they’re called.” 

Kinney sighed, her head hung dejectedly for a moment, “There’s nothing stopping us from wandering through, though, right?” 

“No, I guess not.” the Pokemon muttered, almost apprehensively. 

“No sense in hanging around then.” 23 spoke, rolling her shoulder. Cubone chortled, jostled around by the clone’s movements as she set off into the hubbub of the city that sprawled out in front of them. 

A deep, bassy thrum of music reverberated through the bustling streets of the city, drowned out by the chorus of happy tourists, static lined radio chatter and the quiet rumbling of a procession in a nearby district, the so-called Party District. Dotted in between the vibrant, colorful city wanderers, men dressed in white suits of armor, carrying black rifles, trudged the pavements, ever vigilant in their patrol. 

Kinney glanced around the busy street, muttering quietly to herself as she pushed her way into the crowd. She reached up and curled a hand around the Pokemon’s tiny calf, holding him in place as best she could. Cubone, quite happy in his perch, grinned to himself beneath his morbid mask and craned around the back of Laura’s head, peering into shop fronts and restaurants, wonder and intrigue ever present in the creature’s eyes. 

“What’s the plan, then?” Kinney inquired, “Which way do I need to head?” 

“Uh, to the coast,” Cubone began, “we’ll need to get a boat.. Cinnabar is a boat ride away. There might be a dock where we can borrow one.” The Pokemon raised it’s tiny hand, gesturing directly in front of them, to which the Clone nodded and continued to push her way through the crowd, pulling the attention of a couple of Stormtroopers as a tourist called out in anger at being pushed aside. Kinney groaned and decided to adopt a more tactful approach, slipping between tourists, rather than brute forcing her way through. 

The Clone weaved through the crowd, sidling her way through tourist and trooper alike.  She sighed to herself, crowds always had a way of setting her on edge, far from claustrophobic, but a very real sense of tension and uneasiness. She wrung her hands idly at her stomach, a vague grimace creeping across her features. Kinney huffed and pushed her way to the edge of the crowd, finding a little solace as she stood  in a small crevice between shops. 

“Miss! Miss! You look like you could use a break!” A little old woman approached the duo, a toothy grin plastered upon her wrinkled face. She reached up, a bundle of lei’s clutched in her clammy hands, one placed over Kinney’s head, the other twisted a couple of times and laid to rest upon Cubone’s shoulders. 

“There’s a spa, not far down the road, you could put your feet up, get a massage.. I’ll even get you a nice discount, huh? How’s that sound?” The woman rambled, despite the Clone’s silent protest in the form of wafting her hands around in whatever small space the woman had left between them. 

“We don’t have time!” Cuboned squeaked, “We’ve got to get back to Cinnabar as soon as we can, everyone’ll be out looking for me! But we can come back when we’re done, right?” The Pokemon’s tone grew helpful as he stared over at 23, gently swaying her to his train of thought. 

“We’ll see.. We’ve gotta get going though,” Kinney relented, shifted by the Pokemon’s demeanour, “We’ll be back in a couple days, I guess.” She nodded to the little old woman and set off, quickly, back into the crowd. Laura snorted a laugh, Cubone’s pluck was infectious, she couldn’t help but melt a little as the Pokemon decided their plans way ahead of time. She shook her head, smirking wryly as they joined the crowd again, quietly determined. 

Quote:1000 words done so far!
]]>
The sea was like a rippling blanket of azure. Squabbling seagulls flew overhead, harassing the beachgoers in their endless hunger. Gannets dive bombed the stretched surface of the sea, far out from shore. The horizon was edged with a silver tint, a cormorant flew into that place where the sun and water meet, its wings a blur of motion as he soon faded from sight. 

The slurpy slapping of the sea was muted, a metronomic murmur. The waves were merely snoozing, sluggish and slumbering in the midday sun. They dribbled up to the sands of the beaches, then shuddered and drizzled their sea spray onto its surface, whisking the stones before releasing. A current of cold electricity passed through the air and the wind whipped up. 

Sloshing, swollen to its confined depths, it’s cavernous bowels stirred, a growling from the fathoms. Suddenly, stone dashed sand teemed as the sea hissed, polished and lashed the pebbled before sloshing back. It hissed, slipped, dashed the sand and released. 

The echo of a raspy rumbling from the sea reached them, a tremulousness to fear. The waves licked at a cliff of a sheltered cove, then paused and pounced with malice at it’s ankle, slamming the rock before releasing, a rumour of its malevolence. The wind died down. The sea bubbled. Trembling, throbbing to its own rotten beat, its malicious soul stirred, a warning from the ages. Suddenly, rip-tide rolls heaved as the sea foamed, crashed and pounded the cliff-foot before sloshing back. It foamed and frothed, plunged down hard and pummelled the hated cliffs; it lathered and lacerated, bucked waves and buckled itself; it smacked and smashed, surging waves expunging its awful rage. 

Its hissy fit over, it swelled once more, juddered and was still. 

The clone inhaled deeply; humid, briny air flooded her nostrils. Her young companion giggled, atop her shoulder, finally home. 

“Alright, kid, it’s time to show me the way back, huh?” Laura spoke, addressing her partner. 

“Well, uh,” Cubone hesitated, “the quickest way back is through the city there,” he gestured widely down at Costa Del Sol before them, “but that’s where the men in white come from, Stormtroopers, I think they’re called.” 

Kinney sighed, her head hung dejectedly for a moment, “There’s nothing stopping us from wandering through, though, right?” 

“No, I guess not.” the Pokemon muttered, almost apprehensively. 

“No sense in hanging around then.” 23 spoke, rolling her shoulder. Cubone chortled, jostled around by the clone’s movements as she set off into the hubbub of the city that sprawled out in front of them. 

A deep, bassy thrum of music reverberated through the bustling streets of the city, drowned out by the chorus of happy tourists, static lined radio chatter and the quiet rumbling of a procession in a nearby district, the so-called Party District. Dotted in between the vibrant, colorful city wanderers, men dressed in white suits of armor, carrying black rifles, trudged the pavements, ever vigilant in their patrol. 

Kinney glanced around the busy street, muttering quietly to herself as she pushed her way into the crowd. She reached up and curled a hand around the Pokemon’s tiny calf, holding him in place as best she could. Cubone, quite happy in his perch, grinned to himself beneath his morbid mask and craned around the back of Laura’s head, peering into shop fronts and restaurants, wonder and intrigue ever present in the creature’s eyes. 

“What’s the plan, then?” Kinney inquired, “Which way do I need to head?” 

“Uh, to the coast,” Cubone began, “we’ll need to get a boat.. Cinnabar is a boat ride away. There might be a dock where we can borrow one.” The Pokemon raised it’s tiny hand, gesturing directly in front of them, to which the Clone nodded and continued to push her way through the crowd, pulling the attention of a couple of Stormtroopers as a tourist called out in anger at being pushed aside. Kinney groaned and decided to adopt a more tactful approach, slipping between tourists, rather than brute forcing her way through. 

The Clone weaved through the crowd, sidling her way through tourist and trooper alike.  She sighed to herself, crowds always had a way of setting her on edge, far from claustrophobic, but a very real sense of tension and uneasiness. She wrung her hands idly at her stomach, a vague grimace creeping across her features. Kinney huffed and pushed her way to the edge of the crowd, finding a little solace as she stood  in a small crevice between shops. 

“Miss! Miss! You look like you could use a break!” A little old woman approached the duo, a toothy grin plastered upon her wrinkled face. She reached up, a bundle of lei’s clutched in her clammy hands, one placed over Kinney’s head, the other twisted a couple of times and laid to rest upon Cubone’s shoulders. 

“There’s a spa, not far down the road, you could put your feet up, get a massage.. I’ll even get you a nice discount, huh? How’s that sound?” The woman rambled, despite the Clone’s silent protest in the form of wafting her hands around in whatever small space the woman had left between them. 

“We don’t have time!” Cuboned squeaked, “We’ve got to get back to Cinnabar as soon as we can, everyone’ll be out looking for me! But we can come back when we’re done, right?” The Pokemon’s tone grew helpful as he stared over at 23, gently swaying her to his train of thought. 

“We’ll see.. We’ve gotta get going though,” Kinney relented, shifted by the Pokemon’s demeanour, “We’ll be back in a couple days, I guess.” She nodded to the little old woman and set off, quickly, back into the crowd. Laura snorted a laugh, Cubone’s pluck was infectious, she couldn’t help but melt a little as the Pokemon decided their plans way ahead of time. She shook her head, smirking wryly as they joined the crowd again, quietly determined. 

Quote:1000 words done so far!
]]> <![CDATA[Ask and Recieve]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7566 Thu, 21 Jun 2018 01:50:52 +0000 Koehler]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7566 ”It’s been two days. How do you feel?” Alex dared to ask, having witnessed the devastation that was wrought via Cole’s eyes. Entire populaces were wiped out, islands lost, and fleets sunk, lost to the depths. It’s been two days since the invasion by the enigmatic organization known as Nebula.

Cole didn’t offer an answer, instead continuing to look out to the horizon at the fore of the Imperial ship, a simple twin-masted carrack with billowing white, triangular sails, the ocean water spraying across the front as it crashed through the waves. The salt-tinged wind blew softly behind him as the ship rocked about, sailing on without a care as sailors hustled to and fro attending to sail, cannon, and cargo.

He stood there, paying little heed to it all. The captain long since gave up on telling him to remain inside like the other passengers, the refugees that they had managed to recover. The ones they all had barely managed to save.

”Typical heroism, deriding yourself for failure outside of your power to avoid. I see my grandchild hasn’t grown up at all.” Fumetsu chided.

“Shut up.” Cole muttered, his voice washed out as the ship broke through another wave and heaved upward, then downward, crashing into the water as it sprayed upward.

”Your failure was being weak, not for some lack of initiative or intellect, much as you poorly rank in both. Had you relied on my lessons more, you would have fared better.” Fumetsu continued in his typical condescension.

“Shut up!” Cole shouted, bringing the sailors’ attention to him. Cole glanced back at them, reflexively grasping the empty sleeve of his jacket that was flapping in the wind. His missing arm ached again. So annoying…

Cole turned back to look ahead, letting go of the stub of an arm he had left and instead reaching into his pocket to grab the communicator he recently made. A phone, one of the newer models from his world, with a large, thin rectangular shape dominated exclusively by a blank, black screen. It was rather simple gadget to make using Omnilium, but according to the captain and the other officers he talked to while helping with the recovery efforts, it was all too important to have in this world.

Not that he knew what to do with it. It’s not like he remembered to note down the numbers of the other Liberators he parted ways with before.

He stared at the blank screen, as if waiting for something to happen. For answers, questions, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what to do in this world beyond fight machines and corrupted humans, like he used to always do, though usually with two arms rather than one.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly expecting it to light up at that thought and start ringing loudly, as it did, and in his surprise, he almost fumbled it into the water below. He bounced it from one knee, to the other, and then caught it in his hand again in a hurry, breathing a sigh of relief once he got hold of it again.

He didn’t even think to look at who it was that managed to find his number before answering.

“Hello?”]]> ”It’s been two days. How do you feel?” Alex dared to ask, having witnessed the devastation that was wrought via Cole’s eyes. Entire populaces were wiped out, islands lost, and fleets sunk, lost to the depths. It’s been two days since the invasion by the enigmatic organization known as Nebula.

Cole didn’t offer an answer, instead continuing to look out to the horizon at the fore of the Imperial ship, a simple twin-masted carrack with billowing white, triangular sails, the ocean water spraying across the front as it crashed through the waves. The salt-tinged wind blew softly behind him as the ship rocked about, sailing on without a care as sailors hustled to and fro attending to sail, cannon, and cargo.

He stood there, paying little heed to it all. The captain long since gave up on telling him to remain inside like the other passengers, the refugees that they had managed to recover. The ones they all had barely managed to save.

”Typical heroism, deriding yourself for failure outside of your power to avoid. I see my grandchild hasn’t grown up at all.” Fumetsu chided.

“Shut up.” Cole muttered, his voice washed out as the ship broke through another wave and heaved upward, then downward, crashing into the water as it sprayed upward.

”Your failure was being weak, not for some lack of initiative or intellect, much as you poorly rank in both. Had you relied on my lessons more, you would have fared better.” Fumetsu continued in his typical condescension.

“Shut up!” Cole shouted, bringing the sailors’ attention to him. Cole glanced back at them, reflexively grasping the empty sleeve of his jacket that was flapping in the wind. His missing arm ached again. So annoying…

Cole turned back to look ahead, letting go of the stub of an arm he had left and instead reaching into his pocket to grab the communicator he recently made. A phone, one of the newer models from his world, with a large, thin rectangular shape dominated exclusively by a blank, black screen. It was rather simple gadget to make using Omnilium, but according to the captain and the other officers he talked to while helping with the recovery efforts, it was all too important to have in this world.

Not that he knew what to do with it. It’s not like he remembered to note down the numbers of the other Liberators he parted ways with before.

He stared at the blank screen, as if waiting for something to happen. For answers, questions, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what to do in this world beyond fight machines and corrupted humans, like he used to always do, though usually with two arms rather than one.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly expecting it to light up at that thought and start ringing loudly, as it did, and in his surprise, he almost fumbled it into the water below. He bounced it from one knee, to the other, and then caught it in his hand again in a hurry, breathing a sigh of relief once he got hold of it again.

He didn’t even think to look at who it was that managed to find his number before answering.

“Hello?”]]> <![CDATA[Trouble in Paradise]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7561 Wed, 20 Jun 2018 00:20:12 +0000 Zack Fair]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7561
Abner White stood at the front of the ferry, inhaling a fine cigar as he watched the remote sanctuary grow closer. He’d existed underground for years, now, and looked nothing like the reluctantly well groomed Stormtrooper captain he had once been. A heavy beard now masked his face, overshadowed only by the empty gaze in his eyes. His brown boots were heavily worn and in dire need of replacement, just like the blue jeans and long sleeve, black button up shirt he sported. A camouflage ball cap was twisted backwards so the ocean’s winds didn’t steal it away from him and covered unkempt, longer hair. He was well armed, with an Imperial blaster rifle and a twelve gauge shotgun secured to either side of the small tactical backpack he wore, while a pistol was holstered to his right side, while a combat knife was ready for a cross draw on his left side. A little bit of ammo filled out the rest of his belt, with the rest shoved into the backpack.

Once a grumbling but well meaning Stormtrooper tasked with controlling the Empire’s presence in the Nexus, Abner had managed to escape the grind of the Imperial system through two adventures he’d never dreamed possible. The unfortunate side effect turned out that his position within the Empire had been forfeited, and by fleeing his handlers he’d become one of the Empire’s most wanted targets. After all, he was the man who’s seen Omni with his own eyes, survived the trials of the Danteverse, and had become a prime through nothing but his own grit and tenacity. The Empire wanted to know his secrets, but he was far from willing to share with them anymore.

Behind him he heard the chatter of the other mercenaries. They had all been recruited individually to this island paradise for briefing on some sort of elaborate mission. The specifics were being withheld for the time being, which had unnerved some of them. It was business as usual to the veteran stormtrooper, who was more than used to shadowy figures not telling others all the details of assignments. The payout promised to be enormous, and one glance at the island resort they were approaching suggested their benefactor would be able to make good on it.

Abner looked down at his palm, weakly attempting to summon an orb of Omnilium from it. Nothing emerged, as he had become used to in the past weeks. Something was wrong, and he had begun to lose his prime promised abilities. One morning it just hadn’t worked anymore, and he had begun to wonder if he had truly been made into a prime when he visited the Oververse. The deeper implication was that he and the others were not truly immortal. Christa was the only one he’d seen since the return from the Oververse, and she didn’t survive their excursion into the Danteverse. He had been relieved to hear that she was alive after a friend met her in the Nexus, but it had been almost two years since Abner saw her or anything else.

A few measly years was a long shot from the eternity he’d been promised by Omni himself. It was something he needed to investigate, but on the flip side he could sure use the money from whatever this job would be to keep himself going. With the size of the crowd, and the reputations of some of the people around him, it certainly didn’t appear to be an easy job, or possibly a moral one either.

Abner turned and walked through the crowd of killers, assassins, and bounty hunters, occasionally glancing at the stranger looking ones and sizing them up. Odds were that there would be a cutthroat or two in this crowd looking for a higher payday. Eternal life or not, Abner was fine with that. He managed just fine before he became a prime, and he trusted himself to handle whatever came his way.

For now, he wanted another drink before they made landfall.]]>
Abner White stood at the front of the ferry, inhaling a fine cigar as he watched the remote sanctuary grow closer. He’d existed underground for years, now, and looked nothing like the reluctantly well groomed Stormtrooper captain he had once been. A heavy beard now masked his face, overshadowed only by the empty gaze in his eyes. His brown boots were heavily worn and in dire need of replacement, just like the blue jeans and long sleeve, black button up shirt he sported. A camouflage ball cap was twisted backwards so the ocean’s winds didn’t steal it away from him and covered unkempt, longer hair. He was well armed, with an Imperial blaster rifle and a twelve gauge shotgun secured to either side of the small tactical backpack he wore, while a pistol was holstered to his right side, while a combat knife was ready for a cross draw on his left side. A little bit of ammo filled out the rest of his belt, with the rest shoved into the backpack.

Once a grumbling but well meaning Stormtrooper tasked with controlling the Empire’s presence in the Nexus, Abner had managed to escape the grind of the Imperial system through two adventures he’d never dreamed possible. The unfortunate side effect turned out that his position within the Empire had been forfeited, and by fleeing his handlers he’d become one of the Empire’s most wanted targets. After all, he was the man who’s seen Omni with his own eyes, survived the trials of the Danteverse, and had become a prime through nothing but his own grit and tenacity. The Empire wanted to know his secrets, but he was far from willing to share with them anymore.

Behind him he heard the chatter of the other mercenaries. They had all been recruited individually to this island paradise for briefing on some sort of elaborate mission. The specifics were being withheld for the time being, which had unnerved some of them. It was business as usual to the veteran stormtrooper, who was more than used to shadowy figures not telling others all the details of assignments. The payout promised to be enormous, and one glance at the island resort they were approaching suggested their benefactor would be able to make good on it.

Abner looked down at his palm, weakly attempting to summon an orb of Omnilium from it. Nothing emerged, as he had become used to in the past weeks. Something was wrong, and he had begun to lose his prime promised abilities. One morning it just hadn’t worked anymore, and he had begun to wonder if he had truly been made into a prime when he visited the Oververse. The deeper implication was that he and the others were not truly immortal. Christa was the only one he’d seen since the return from the Oververse, and she didn’t survive their excursion into the Danteverse. He had been relieved to hear that she was alive after a friend met her in the Nexus, but it had been almost two years since Abner saw her or anything else.

A few measly years was a long shot from the eternity he’d been promised by Omni himself. It was something he needed to investigate, but on the flip side he could sure use the money from whatever this job would be to keep himself going. With the size of the crowd, and the reputations of some of the people around him, it certainly didn’t appear to be an easy job, or possibly a moral one either.

Abner turned and walked through the crowd of killers, assassins, and bounty hunters, occasionally glancing at the stranger looking ones and sizing them up. Odds were that there would be a cutthroat or two in this crowd looking for a higher payday. Eternal life or not, Abner was fine with that. He managed just fine before he became a prime, and he trusted himself to handle whatever came his way.

For now, he wanted another drink before they made landfall.]]> <![CDATA[First Steps: Redux]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7339 Sat, 12 May 2018 23:16:10 +0000 Mickey Mouse]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7339
* * *

A few months back...

Discovered. Oh, brother.

Mickey Mouse leapt from palm tree to palm tree, moving faster than he could remember moving in years. In this moment, he regretted not agreeing to do P90X with Nani. Their sabbatical from heroism of any kind had transformed into a sort of lazy holiday, and as danger forced him back into action, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he would be very, very sore tomorrow.

He sped down the mountain towards Lilo and Nani’s cottage which had abruptly gone up in smoke minutes before unwanted visitors had barged into their own hut. “Go — get the girls,” Minnie had ordered as a squad of Stormtroopers burst through the doors, blaster rifle trained on the lion that stood guard. Simba let out a ferocious roar, knocking the troopers back, and before his wife had finished summoning her scepter the king has leapt through the window and begun his descent.

The distance between their two homes wasn’t far, so even a little wearied Mickey burst forth from the beachy brush within minutes. He landed squarely in the sand in front of the combusting hovel, where two troopers stood, seemingly awaiting his arrival, and two more hurriedly carried a large metal container towards their ship, docked nearby.

Mickey’s ears perked up enough to hear a clanging sound and a low growl coming from inside the box that he recognized rather quickly as the sounds of Stitch, Lilo’s strange pet. He screeched and rattled, giving his captors enough trouble to frustrate them, but the cage’s defenses kept him soundly at bay. The stormtroopers loaded the alien up onto the barge just as the fires swelled at the small abode.

His eyes darted back and forth between the boat and the house. He scowled, and his hairline furrowed with frustration. Rescue Stitch from the clutches of the Empire, or save Lilo and Nani from a fiery doom. Both didn’t seem feasible.

One of the stormtroopers standing in front of the burning house whipped out a long, electrically charged staff and lowered himself into a fighting stance. The other raised his blaster rifle and trained it at the mouse’s head. Mickey took one last look at Stitch’s captors as they shuffled him onto the lower levels of the barge.

I’ll come and get you, buddy, he thought as his keyblade materialized in one of his gloved hands. He clamped his fingers down on the hilt and bent at the knees, sliding into his own combat posture. It struck him that he hadn’t fought—not really, anyway—since he’d broken free of Jafar and some New Babylonian remnants all those years ago, in Nippur. He took a deep breath. Time to shake the rust off.

The rifle-bearing trooper began firing off energy blasts, and one by one Mickey batted them away, keeping his eyes fixed on the other trooper beginning his own, foolhardy sprint toward the king.

“Hey, batter batter, hey batter batter, hey!” Mickey shouted with a grin, winding back and hitting yet another energy blast with his keyblade. The bolt deflected away from him and right into the weapon hand of the staff-bearing trooper, who yelped and released the staff into the air.

It spun through the air at an accelerated pace, flying over the beach and splashing into the ocean. “Home run!” Mickey yelled, delightedly. “That was aweso—ugh!”

Just as his fancy baton had crashed into the ocean blue, the staff-wielding trooper flung himself—singed hand and all—into the mouse, knocking him back onto the sand and attempting to pin him there. Mickey struggled against the stormtrooper’s grip as his comrade jogged up behind him and aimed his rifle. Dangit, the mouse scowled. How’d he let himself get in this position?

How’d he let these losers find him? For a very long time, he and Minnie and Simba had lived in peaceful solitude, only the young Hawaiian girls and Stitch to keep them company. Months into their tenure on this uncharted island in the Vasty Deeps, Proto Man—Mickey’s best friend since inexplicably entering the Omniverse—had washed up on the beach, and they’d lived for a while as one big happy family.

Slowly, that illusion had been shattered, bit by bit. Being in hiding wasn’t the type of state someone could be in forever, and Mickey certainly had grown antsy in their time away from the world. Not only did the ever present threat of the Heartless in his home universe tug at the back of his mind, but he had witnessed so many unspeakable atrocities since arriving here. Could he really sit by and watch as Karl Jak and his Syntech goons coerced primes, year after year, into their sadistic death match? Could he sit by while the Empire’s grip on the Omniverse tightened, their outposts in the Deep and the Endless Dunes growing stronger each day? He and Proto Man had banished Gilgamesh, but Nippur still sat as a seat of corruption. And he harbored a sinking feeling that sending the King of Heroes to the Underverse wasn’t the last they’d heard of him.

Proto Man’s disappearance only magnified these thoughts. He’d left not long ago, under the auspices of attending a nearby carnival, and never returned. A bad feeling crept up Mickey’s spine after that — that somewhere nearby, something went wrong, and Blues had been forced to fight it without him. He couldn’t bear that idea, and many times had attempted to leave their small, secluded corner of this archipelago to find out why his buddy had yet to come home. His wife wasn’t having it.

“Blues can handle himself,” she’d say. “If he wanted your help, he’d call you on the communicator. Whatever it is, he must not need you to beat it.” And if he hadn’t felt useless before, that pretty much put the nail in the proverbial coffin. He wasn’t needed. Maybe Blues didn’t even want him fighting evildoers by his side anymore. Maybe he’d thought a year plus of retirement weakened the mouse, and at the moment, Mickey was inclined to agree. Pinned on the ground by an effectively one-handed stormtrooper, and staring a blaster rifle—and an embarrassing trip to the Nexus—in the face. Had he really been out of the game so long that he couldn’t defeat two of the Empire’s weakest goons? Was he really about to die at the hands of some nameless secondaries?

Thankfully, the answer to the second question was ‘no.’

A deafening roar called the rifle trooper’s attention away. Simba leapt through the air, tackling the trooper to the ground, and Mickey took that moment of distraction to shove his yellow shoe as hard as he could muster into the other trooper’s nads. Through the mask, the trooper let out a garbled, mechanized moan, and rolled off the mouse, clutching his… uh, well, his private area. Mickey leapt up in time to catch Simba lifting a paw and extending his claws for a killing blow.

“Lieutenant!” he called out to his subordinate, “We don’t kill.”

“But your majesty—”

“We don’t kill. Keep them busy, I’m getting the girls!”

And with that, Mickey Mouse sprinted into the flaming hut, dodging burning rubble this way and that as he weaved toward the muffled cries of Nani and Lilo. Luckily, their small hut wasn’t too big, so it didn’t take long for the mouse to stumble on them, huddled low to the ground and trying their best not to breathe in any of the foul, smoky air.

Lilo cowered in Nani’s arms, her long pink dress scorched a bit at the ends and her eyes dripping with tears, probably over Stitch’s disappearance. She had always been the stronger sister, but no little girl should have to endure all this terror in the span of fifteen minutes. Nani, for her part, looked paler than normal, but had steeled her face, using her own body to shield her sister from the flames. They lapped at the older girl’s bare legs, and as Mickey ducked beneath one last burning beam to enter the room they hid in, he heard some not-nice words spill out of Nani’s mouth. Normally, he might’ve scolded her for the language—but under the circumstances, he let it slide.

“Oh, hey, buddies,” he smiled as he found them, “Let’s getcha out of here, okey-dokey?”

“Your Majesty!” Nani exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief that she immediately regretted and coughed back up. “We—excuse me—we were worried they’d gotten to you guys.”

“Some measly troopers are no match for me and Minnie,” Mickey smiled, though he didn’t really know if he believed himself when he said it.

“Where’s Stitch?” Lilo piped in, breaking slightly free of her sister’s grasp and scramble-crawling to the mouse king’s feet. “Is he okay?”

Mickey’s expression bunched up. Outside, he heard the whirrs of the motor boat as it kicked into action. “He’ll be fine,” Mickey loosely promised, marking it on his mental to-do-list to prioritize Stitch’s rescue and safe return to the innocent Hawaiian girl. “Let’s get you guys out of here for right now.” He turned and aimed his keyblade at the roof, drawing a heart in the air and then launching a huge, golden beam of light upwards.

The energy beam smashed through the roof, sending planks of broken, burnt wood and clumps of the thatched roof flying in many different directions. Smoke billowed through the hole, and Mickey stuck two of his gloved fingers in his mouth and whistled for assistance. “Come on, grab my hands,” he ordered the girls, dissolving his keyblade and offering up two gloved palms. Nani and Lilo complied, and Mickey leapt towards the hole in the roof. Mickey would never have counted jumping amongst his skills, but they passed the hole’s threshold nonetheless, and just as they began to plummet back down, a dusty old magic carpet whizzed underneath them and came to a sudden stop. Mickey, Lilo, and Nani landed with a thud on the rug, and before they had time to catch their breath, it zipped away.

The carpet carried its three passengers away from the burning hovel and over toward the beach. Reaching that destination, though, had never been part of Mickey’s plan. They soared over the pair of stormtroopers scuffling with Simba, and the mouse king summoned his keyblade once again. He flipped off the magic carpet and sailed down toward the action, landing on the shoulders of one of the troopers. “—what the?!” the trooper shouted, glancing up and down as it tried to swat the mouse off his shoulders. Mickey quickly shut him up, placing the keyblade against the man’s neck and pulling it tight, trapping the trooper in a chokehold.

Simba turned, the enemy underneath him now sufficiently frightened into unconsciousness, and watched as his king grappled the stormtrooper’s neck with his weapon. The trooper fought back, and soon, Mickey lost his balance, his stubby legs sliding off the guy’s shoulders. He swung around wildly, holding on merely by the keyblade as the soldier tried to wrestle himself free. Simba blinked for a second at the king’s struggles, and then let out another ear-piercing roar. The trooper’s grip on the keyblade suffocating him loosened and, as much as he could with his throat under pressure, he let out a shout, stumbling away from the lion and tripping backwards.

With Mickey Mouse still attached to him, he fell onto his back, the little mouse’s body cushioning the fall. His armored form crashed into the small-figured rodent and within seconds, Mickey’s sight went black. If he’d still been awake, the mouse king might’ve sighed at how pathetic he felt. As it was, he’d been soundly smacked into unconsciousness.

Oh, brother, indeed.]]>
* * *

A few months back...

Discovered. Oh, brother.

Mickey Mouse leapt from palm tree to palm tree, moving faster than he could remember moving in years. In this moment, he regretted not agreeing to do P90X with Nani. Their sabbatical from heroism of any kind had transformed into a sort of lazy holiday, and as danger forced him back into action, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he would be very, very sore tomorrow.

He sped down the mountain towards Lilo and Nani’s cottage which had abruptly gone up in smoke minutes before unwanted visitors had barged into their own hut. “Go — get the girls,” Minnie had ordered as a squad of Stormtroopers burst through the doors, blaster rifle trained on the lion that stood guard. Simba let out a ferocious roar, knocking the troopers back, and before his wife had finished summoning her scepter the king has leapt through the window and begun his descent.

The distance between their two homes wasn’t far, so even a little wearied Mickey burst forth from the beachy brush within minutes. He landed squarely in the sand in front of the combusting hovel, where two troopers stood, seemingly awaiting his arrival, and two more hurriedly carried a large metal container towards their ship, docked nearby.

Mickey’s ears perked up enough to hear a clanging sound and a low growl coming from inside the box that he recognized rather quickly as the sounds of Stitch, Lilo’s strange pet. He screeched and rattled, giving his captors enough trouble to frustrate them, but the cage’s defenses kept him soundly at bay. The stormtroopers loaded the alien up onto the barge just as the fires swelled at the small abode.

His eyes darted back and forth between the boat and the house. He scowled, and his hairline furrowed with frustration. Rescue Stitch from the clutches of the Empire, or save Lilo and Nani from a fiery doom. Both didn’t seem feasible.

One of the stormtroopers standing in front of the burning house whipped out a long, electrically charged staff and lowered himself into a fighting stance. The other raised his blaster rifle and trained it at the mouse’s head. Mickey took one last look at Stitch’s captors as they shuffled him onto the lower levels of the barge.

I’ll come and get you, buddy, he thought as his keyblade materialized in one of his gloved hands. He clamped his fingers down on the hilt and bent at the knees, sliding into his own combat posture. It struck him that he hadn’t fought—not really, anyway—since he’d broken free of Jafar and some New Babylonian remnants all those years ago, in Nippur. He took a deep breath. Time to shake the rust off.

The rifle-bearing trooper began firing off energy blasts, and one by one Mickey batted them away, keeping his eyes fixed on the other trooper beginning his own, foolhardy sprint toward the king.

“Hey, batter batter, hey batter batter, hey!” Mickey shouted with a grin, winding back and hitting yet another energy blast with his keyblade. The bolt deflected away from him and right into the weapon hand of the staff-bearing trooper, who yelped and released the staff into the air.

It spun through the air at an accelerated pace, flying over the beach and splashing into the ocean. “Home run!” Mickey yelled, delightedly. “That was aweso—ugh!”

Just as his fancy baton had crashed into the ocean blue, the staff-wielding trooper flung himself—singed hand and all—into the mouse, knocking him back onto the sand and attempting to pin him there. Mickey struggled against the stormtrooper’s grip as his comrade jogged up behind him and aimed his rifle. Dangit, the mouse scowled. How’d he let himself get in this position?

How’d he let these losers find him? For a very long time, he and Minnie and Simba had lived in peaceful solitude, only the young Hawaiian girls and Stitch to keep them company. Months into their tenure on this uncharted island in the Vasty Deeps, Proto Man—Mickey’s best friend since inexplicably entering the Omniverse—had washed up on the beach, and they’d lived for a while as one big happy family.

Slowly, that illusion had been shattered, bit by bit. Being in hiding wasn’t the type of state someone could be in forever, and Mickey certainly had grown antsy in their time away from the world. Not only did the ever present threat of the Heartless in his home universe tug at the back of his mind, but he had witnessed so many unspeakable atrocities since arriving here. Could he really sit by and watch as Karl Jak and his Syntech goons coerced primes, year after year, into their sadistic death match? Could he sit by while the Empire’s grip on the Omniverse tightened, their outposts in the Deep and the Endless Dunes growing stronger each day? He and Proto Man had banished Gilgamesh, but Nippur still sat as a seat of corruption. And he harbored a sinking feeling that sending the King of Heroes to the Underverse wasn’t the last they’d heard of him.

Proto Man’s disappearance only magnified these thoughts. He’d left not long ago, under the auspices of attending a nearby carnival, and never returned. A bad feeling crept up Mickey’s spine after that — that somewhere nearby, something went wrong, and Blues had been forced to fight it without him. He couldn’t bear that idea, and many times had attempted to leave their small, secluded corner of this archipelago to find out why his buddy had yet to come home. His wife wasn’t having it.

“Blues can handle himself,” she’d say. “If he wanted your help, he’d call you on the communicator. Whatever it is, he must not need you to beat it.” And if he hadn’t felt useless before, that pretty much put the nail in the proverbial coffin. He wasn’t needed. Maybe Blues didn’t even want him fighting evildoers by his side anymore. Maybe he’d thought a year plus of retirement weakened the mouse, and at the moment, Mickey was inclined to agree. Pinned on the ground by an effectively one-handed stormtrooper, and staring a blaster rifle—and an embarrassing trip to the Nexus—in the face. Had he really been out of the game so long that he couldn’t defeat two of the Empire’s weakest goons? Was he really about to die at the hands of some nameless secondaries?

Thankfully, the answer to the second question was ‘no.’

A deafening roar called the rifle trooper’s attention away. Simba leapt through the air, tackling the trooper to the ground, and Mickey took that moment of distraction to shove his yellow shoe as hard as he could muster into the other trooper’s nads. Through the mask, the trooper let out a garbled, mechanized moan, and rolled off the mouse, clutching his… uh, well, his private area. Mickey leapt up in time to catch Simba lifting a paw and extending his claws for a killing blow.

“Lieutenant!” he called out to his subordinate, “We don’t kill.”

“But your majesty—”

“We don’t kill. Keep them busy, I’m getting the girls!”

And with that, Mickey Mouse sprinted into the flaming hut, dodging burning rubble this way and that as he weaved toward the muffled cries of Nani and Lilo. Luckily, their small hut wasn’t too big, so it didn’t take long for the mouse to stumble on them, huddled low to the ground and trying their best not to breathe in any of the foul, smoky air.

Lilo cowered in Nani’s arms, her long pink dress scorched a bit at the ends and her eyes dripping with tears, probably over Stitch’s disappearance. She had always been the stronger sister, but no little girl should have to endure all this terror in the span of fifteen minutes. Nani, for her part, looked paler than normal, but had steeled her face, using her own body to shield her sister from the flames. They lapped at the older girl’s bare legs, and as Mickey ducked beneath one last burning beam to enter the room they hid in, he heard some not-nice words spill out of Nani’s mouth. Normally, he might’ve scolded her for the language—but under the circumstances, he let it slide.

“Oh, hey, buddies,” he smiled as he found them, “Let’s getcha out of here, okey-dokey?”

“Your Majesty!” Nani exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief that she immediately regretted and coughed back up. “We—excuse me—we were worried they’d gotten to you guys.”

“Some measly troopers are no match for me and Minnie,” Mickey smiled, though he didn’t really know if he believed himself when he said it.

“Where’s Stitch?” Lilo piped in, breaking slightly free of her sister’s grasp and scramble-crawling to the mouse king’s feet. “Is he okay?”

Mickey’s expression bunched up. Outside, he heard the whirrs of the motor boat as it kicked into action. “He’ll be fine,” Mickey loosely promised, marking it on his mental to-do-list to prioritize Stitch’s rescue and safe return to the innocent Hawaiian girl. “Let’s get you guys out of here for right now.” He turned and aimed his keyblade at the roof, drawing a heart in the air and then launching a huge, golden beam of light upwards.

The energy beam smashed through the roof, sending planks of broken, burnt wood and clumps of the thatched roof flying in many different directions. Smoke billowed through the hole, and Mickey stuck two of his gloved fingers in his mouth and whistled for assistance. “Come on, grab my hands,” he ordered the girls, dissolving his keyblade and offering up two gloved palms. Nani and Lilo complied, and Mickey leapt towards the hole in the roof. Mickey would never have counted jumping amongst his skills, but they passed the hole’s threshold nonetheless, and just as they began to plummet back down, a dusty old magic carpet whizzed underneath them and came to a sudden stop. Mickey, Lilo, and Nani landed with a thud on the rug, and before they had time to catch their breath, it zipped away.

The carpet carried its three passengers away from the burning hovel and over toward the beach. Reaching that destination, though, had never been part of Mickey’s plan. They soared over the pair of stormtroopers scuffling with Simba, and the mouse king summoned his keyblade once again. He flipped off the magic carpet and sailed down toward the action, landing on the shoulders of one of the troopers. “—what the?!” the trooper shouted, glancing up and down as it tried to swat the mouse off his shoulders. Mickey quickly shut him up, placing the keyblade against the man’s neck and pulling it tight, trapping the trooper in a chokehold.

Simba turned, the enemy underneath him now sufficiently frightened into unconsciousness, and watched as his king grappled the stormtrooper’s neck with his weapon. The trooper fought back, and soon, Mickey lost his balance, his stubby legs sliding off the guy’s shoulders. He swung around wildly, holding on merely by the keyblade as the soldier tried to wrestle himself free. Simba blinked for a second at the king’s struggles, and then let out another ear-piercing roar. The trooper’s grip on the keyblade suffocating him loosened and, as much as he could with his throat under pressure, he let out a shout, stumbling away from the lion and tripping backwards.

With Mickey Mouse still attached to him, he fell onto his back, the little mouse’s body cushioning the fall. His armored form crashed into the small-figured rodent and within seconds, Mickey’s sight went black. If he’d still been awake, the mouse king might’ve sighed at how pathetic he felt. As it was, he’d been soundly smacked into unconsciousness.

Oh, brother, indeed.]]> <![CDATA[Orange Lightning and Boredem]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5173 Fri, 11 May 2018 23:52:01 +0000 Jak Mar]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5173
The ottsel kicked his feet among the bed, flaked out. His dreams consisted of him as various characters such as Neo, Indiana Jones and more. 

As his dream self played, he woke up.

"Whoa, what weird dreams!"

He played with the remote until the usual scene came on with a scream and he turned red "AHHH Sorry!"

He flipped the channel again and frowned "Bla, boring. Saw it. Same episode?"

It was time for the Ottsel to go for a spin again. He packed up some things in a haphazard make up sack. After all nobody could keep him from leaving, right?"]]>
The ottsel kicked his feet among the bed, flaked out. His dreams consisted of him as various characters such as Neo, Indiana Jones and more. 

As his dream self played, he woke up.

"Whoa, what weird dreams!"

He played with the remote until the usual scene came on with a scream and he turned red "AHHH Sorry!"

He flipped the channel again and frowned "Bla, boring. Saw it. Same episode?"

It was time for the Ottsel to go for a spin again. He packed up some things in a haphazard make up sack. After all nobody could keep him from leaving, right?"]]> <![CDATA[[GREAT] Awakening]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=548 Fri, 11 May 2018 16:43:22 +0000 PepsiWhirda]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=548 Awakening
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
- Edgar Allan Poe


Whirda Windstrom drifted through darkness.  Suspended in a realm without shape or form, her existence was bereft of sensation—at once weightless, sightless, and soundless.  Without any mechanism by which to measure the passage of time, the days—years, perhaps?—ran together in an interminable blur.  During this time, the voice of her mother found her.  And while Whirda could not hear, she listened.

Her mother’s voice intruded gently, coaxing Whirda to consciousness.  It began as a murmur—an incomprehensible ripple in the uniform void.  Words soon replaced murmurs, and the meaning of her mother’s message took shape. 

There is a world beyond this world, she told her child.  There is light beyond this darkness.  You can go there, she promised, if only you choose to awaken.

At first Whirda did not understand.  Her response was a silent outpouring of confusion.  To her enfeebled mind, the concept of another world eluded understanding. 

I cannot go, Whirda protested.  I am safe here.

Safe?  The word reverberated in the stillness.  You think yourself safe?  There is no safety in weakness, my child, only folly.  The only safety is the thrumming leylines of magic, the cold hilt of a sharp blade.  You knew those pleasures once, Whirda Windstrom.  You have become lost to the truth of power.

In its ravings, her mother’s voice became something different—something chilling and twisted.  Something familiar? Whirda wondered dimly.  She had not the time to pull on that spark of consciousness, withdrawing again as the insidious voice returned.

I am sorry, my child.  Having regained its composure, the voice once again sounded like an echo from Whirda’s distant past.  It is just that I cannot bear to see you in pain.

Like foul tentacles, the words pried and prodded at Whirda’s mental barriers, seeking a gap in her defenses.  Whirda withdrew further, disoriented by the intrusion and seeking the safe and familiar silence.  Somewhere in the tainted annals of her heart, though, she sensed tumult.  The discordance of spirit, the capitulation to baser urges she had fought so long to stifle rose, hot and bitter, like bile in her throat.

Yes, the voice intoned.  You feel it now, don’t you?  The primal truth of who you are.

Shaken from her stupor, Whirda recognized the voice to be that of Ahn’Thrix, the shade lich she had slain in the Pale Moors so long ago.  While she had ended the creature, Whirda had not escaped intact.  The shade’s foul dagger—the dagger she now held sheathed at her hip—had infected her with a contagion, turning her interminably into the very abomination she had cut down in the chambers beneath the mountain.  This experience, it seemed, represented the advanced stages of the disease, Whirda’s last chance to shake free from the transformation.

From that chilling realization, Whirda found her voice.  You will not have me, Ahn’Thrix.

The very air around her pulsed with mirth.  The shade appeared before her then, an apparition in the darkness.  He appeared just as she remembered, more than seven feet tall, ensconced in black robes, rotting flesh sloughing away from his stark white bones.  And his eyes—gods, his eyes—smoldered like blue fire in the recesses of his emaciated skull.

Impossible, Whirda imparted.  I watched you die.

Ahn’Thrix leaned in close, his face just inches from Whirda’s.  True power cannot be slain, Whirda Windstrom.  The shade offered a grotesque, skeletal grin.  It can only be repurposed.

You will not have me, she imparted again, a litany against her consuming terror.  She struggled fruitlessly to escape her intangible bonds, to draw the dagger from her belt and slash, maim, destroy. 

You do not understand, my child.  You are already mine.

The shade’s eyes flashed, illuminating the void in electric blue light.  Then Whirda was falling.  Her arms and legs flailed, seeking handholds and footholds that did not exist.  All around her, Ahn’Thrix’s cackling filled the air, chilling Whirda to the bone.  She flashed a glance down to see a pristine pool of black water rushing toward her.

There was no time to draw breath before she plunged into the pool, the icy water like knives digging into her skin.  Her eyes bulged as her lungs flooded with liquid, her voiceless scream emerging only as a stream of bubbles before her eyes.  Whirda tried frantically to swim, but an unknown weight bound her limbs, dragging her deeper and deeper, further from the distant blue light of the chamber above.

And then, nothing.]]> Awakening
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
- Edgar Allan Poe


Whirda Windstrom drifted through darkness.  Suspended in a realm without shape or form, her existence was bereft of sensation—at once weightless, sightless, and soundless.  Without any mechanism by which to measure the passage of time, the days—years, perhaps?—ran together in an interminable blur.  During this time, the voice of her mother found her.  And while Whirda could not hear, she listened.

Her mother’s voice intruded gently, coaxing Whirda to consciousness.  It began as a murmur—an incomprehensible ripple in the uniform void.  Words soon replaced murmurs, and the meaning of her mother’s message took shape. 

There is a world beyond this world, she told her child.  There is light beyond this darkness.  You can go there, she promised, if only you choose to awaken.

At first Whirda did not understand.  Her response was a silent outpouring of confusion.  To her enfeebled mind, the concept of another world eluded understanding. 

I cannot go, Whirda protested.  I am safe here.

Safe?  The word reverberated in the stillness.  You think yourself safe?  There is no safety in weakness, my child, only folly.  The only safety is the thrumming leylines of magic, the cold hilt of a sharp blade.  You knew those pleasures once, Whirda Windstrom.  You have become lost to the truth of power.

In its ravings, her mother’s voice became something different—something chilling and twisted.  Something familiar? Whirda wondered dimly.  She had not the time to pull on that spark of consciousness, withdrawing again as the insidious voice returned.

I am sorry, my child.  Having regained its composure, the voice once again sounded like an echo from Whirda’s distant past.  It is just that I cannot bear to see you in pain.

Like foul tentacles, the words pried and prodded at Whirda’s mental barriers, seeking a gap in her defenses.  Whirda withdrew further, disoriented by the intrusion and seeking the safe and familiar silence.  Somewhere in the tainted annals of her heart, though, she sensed tumult.  The discordance of spirit, the capitulation to baser urges she had fought so long to stifle rose, hot and bitter, like bile in her throat.

Yes, the voice intoned.  You feel it now, don’t you?  The primal truth of who you are.

Shaken from her stupor, Whirda recognized the voice to be that of Ahn’Thrix, the shade lich she had slain in the Pale Moors so long ago.  While she had ended the creature, Whirda had not escaped intact.  The shade’s foul dagger—the dagger she now held sheathed at her hip—had infected her with a contagion, turning her interminably into the very abomination she had cut down in the chambers beneath the mountain.  This experience, it seemed, represented the advanced stages of the disease, Whirda’s last chance to shake free from the transformation.

From that chilling realization, Whirda found her voice.  You will not have me, Ahn’Thrix.

The very air around her pulsed with mirth.  The shade appeared before her then, an apparition in the darkness.  He appeared just as she remembered, more than seven feet tall, ensconced in black robes, rotting flesh sloughing away from his stark white bones.  And his eyes—gods, his eyes—smoldered like blue fire in the recesses of his emaciated skull.

Impossible, Whirda imparted.  I watched you die.

Ahn’Thrix leaned in close, his face just inches from Whirda’s.  True power cannot be slain, Whirda Windstrom.  The shade offered a grotesque, skeletal grin.  It can only be repurposed.

You will not have me, she imparted again, a litany against her consuming terror.  She struggled fruitlessly to escape her intangible bonds, to draw the dagger from her belt and slash, maim, destroy. 

You do not understand, my child.  You are already mine.

The shade’s eyes flashed, illuminating the void in electric blue light.  Then Whirda was falling.  Her arms and legs flailed, seeking handholds and footholds that did not exist.  All around her, Ahn’Thrix’s cackling filled the air, chilling Whirda to the bone.  She flashed a glance down to see a pristine pool of black water rushing toward her.

There was no time to draw breath before she plunged into the pool, the icy water like knives digging into her skin.  Her eyes bulged as her lungs flooded with liquid, her voiceless scream emerging only as a stream of bubbles before her eyes.  Whirda tried frantically to swim, but an unknown weight bound her limbs, dragging her deeper and deeper, further from the distant blue light of the chamber above.

And then, nothing.]]> <![CDATA[Next Steps]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7334 Sun, 06 May 2018 11:54:01 +0000 Cell]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7334  
A silvery flash flickered towards Cell. Its round, unblinking eye caught the light as well as its dazzling scales. It wriggled, flapping its fins, and held them close to its sleek body as it cut through the water with the inertia. Cell’s tail angled downwards but not another muscle in his body stirred. He made sure the sun shone in his face so his shadow wasn’t cast over the seabed. The fish had no idea what was coming.
 
Cell’s tail struck like a cobra. The stinger penetrated the water’s surface and through the fish in one powerful stab. Cell lifted his prize free of the ocean. It writhed on his tail’s barb, the undulating motion of its thin body sparkling sunlight off its silvery scales. Cell watched with focused intensity as the writhing slowed, the fish’s body jerking sporadically, until it finally ceased all motion.
 
Drawing the limp fish to his face, Cell took a bite. He rolled the raw flesh and scales around in his mouth before swallowing it down. Hmm. Not bad.
 
Frieza’s cells had given him a yearning for seafood and this had been the first time he had indulged in it. The most processed and pure sustenance came from absorption of other creatures with sufficient biomass via liquefaction through his tail but in his perfect state, his body readjusted and could consume and break down food with the same efficiency as absorption. He wasn’t at his perfect state yet, but there was no reason why he couldn’t eat with his mouth rather than his tail if he so chose. It just wasn’t as effective at converting energy. Not yet anyway.
 
Cell swallowed the last mouthful of the fish and threw its untouched head and skeleton into the placid shallows. It sank with a splash. Enjoying the sensation of a full stomach for the first time ever, the bio-android trudged up the shore and into the cool shade of a palm tree to take stock of his options.
 
His earlier musing on absorbing a large power source to invoke his final stage of evolution wasn’t a bad one but he had no idea where or how to source such an item. He could continue exploring but it wasn’t certain to yield any positive results. However the concept of training himself to the next level intrigued him more. Cell had never trained a day in his life and yet had been the ultimate being on Earth when he absorbed both androids. What sort of strength could he unlock if he put in a little effort? Besides, his saiyan cells cried out for action.
 
But Cell had no equal in combat nearby that he was aware of and he had no desire to incite the local authorities. He may have been powerful but he couldn’t take on an entire police state by himself as he was. If only he could fight someone like himself...then there would be a proper challenge.
 
Cell hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. Of course! Thanks to Piccolo’s cells, he could create a perfect duplicate of himself that he could spar with. Until something better came along, it would get a sweat going. He might even be able to spot some flaws with his technique.
 
Kicking away the sand that covered the tops of his orange feet, Cell stood and closed his eyes, focusing on his ki. Energy swirled within his body, and its heady torrents bowed to the bio-android’s will that formed and shaped its direction. Light burst from Cell’s body so bright and blinding that only his outline could be seen. From his still form, another shimmering being stepped out of his silhouette. The brilliance died and two Cells stood facing each other.
 
“Well,” Cell said. “I knew I was handsome, but to experience it from outside myself...truly, I am envious of what everyone else gets to see.”
 
“Just imagine doing this when you’re perfect,” his exact copy said, smirking. “How lucky this Omniverse will be to see you in your full glory.”
 
Cell flapped his hand at his energy clone. “Oh, stop it! You’ll make me blush.”
 
“All right then. Let’s train and unlock your full potential.”
 
The clone tensed his body and a yellow cloak of light suffused his body, spraying sand in all directions. Cell imitated the motion, scaring a handful of seagulls squawking off the beach and into the air. His ki flowed freely through his veins, heightening the hardiness of his skin and the power of his muscles.
 
“Are we having a warm up?” the clone asked, tilting his feet down as he floated into the sky.
 
“Is there any other way to start a fight?” Cell replied, grinning while he ascended.
 
“No, I guess not.”
 
The two bio-androids dashed at each other like amber comets. They collided amidst a flurry of punches and kicks, each attack blocked or dodged. Small buffets of air burst from each impact as they spun in an aggressive tango in the sky.
 
“Is this all I’ve got?” Cell asked as he weaved past a punch.
 
“Are you trying to manipulate your own pride?” the copy said, blocking a knee with his forearm.
 
The two separated, suspended in mid air.
 
“If I know my own weaknesses, I’ll know what to look out for when I have to fight someone else,” Cell said, smiling. “It’s strange to even consider such a perfect being could have flaws, but even if they were simple arrogance and underestimation of my foe, I want to ensure those pesky inconsistencies do not become an exposed point in the future.”
 
“I see,” the clone said. “Then let me address a glaringly obvious one. Don’t tell your opponent what you’re going to do. Now I know just how to manipulate you!”
 
“It might be a little ironic if I point out your own hypocrisy,” Cell said. “But then, I’d be doing just what you told me not to.”
 
“This is getting confusing,” the clone said, lifting an open palm to the sky. “Best we just fight.”
 
A yellow disc of energy spun above the copy’s hand, its edges sharp and curved like a buzz saw. Cell recognised the Kienzan attack as his clone threw it forward. Aiming his palm at the encroaching projectile, Cell let loose a blast of ki that screamed like a bullet. It slammed into the Kienzan, detonating them both in a cloud of white light and grey smoke.
 
The clone sped through the aftermath of the collision, thrusting the barb of his tail towards Cell’s neck. The bio-android’s hands snatched the tail inches from his neck, his fingers quaking from the pressure. He dug his nails into his copy’s flesh and spun him around, picking up momentum with every revolution. Once the world around him twirled in an indistinguishable blur of blue, yellow and green, Cell hurled his training partner towards the sea. Unwilling to leave the matter lie, he pointed a flat palm at his descending opponent, his thumb tucked behind his fingers.
 
“Big Bang Attack!”
 
The energy ball technique stolen from the saiyan prince Vegeta exploded from his hand and slammed into the falling clone, engulfing him in fire and smoke and hastening his arrival at the ground.
 
The copy’s body halted jarringly moments before splashing into the ocean, sending up a spray of water. Steam wafted from his forearms crossed over his chest.
 
“Close one,” the imitation said. “Perhaps I’m better than I thought.”
 
“I’ll admit, I surprised myself with that sudden lunge from the smoke,” Cell said. “That attack almost punctured my neck.”
 
The clone clenched both fists and two crimson blades of energy coated them. He swiped at the air, making a buzzing sound as they moved. “Well I better make more of an effort. Can’t have me slacking off on the job now, can I?”
 
As his copy rocketed towards him, Cell birthed his own double Ki Edge blades. The two collided, their crimson energy weapons clashing with buzzes and smoky hisses. Neither managed to find the other’s flesh, but Cell felt the shimmering heat of the blades pass dangerously close over his skin more than once.
 
Cell cut down with his right hand, expecting his clone to meet and block the slash, but instead the clone dissipated the Ki Edge around his left hand. In the same moment, an energy ball expanded in his fingers. Cell widened his eyes as his exposed chest took the full brunt of the ki blast, knocking him backwards and breaking his hold on his Ki Edge blades.
 
“Such an easy opening,” his copy remarked, dashing with both Ki Edges at the ready.
 
Cell threw out his arms and legs and a green globe of energy formed around his body. His clone’s energy blades crashed against the barrier, crackling and sparking but unable to pierce it. Cell suddenly let the barrier fade and swung his tail, smashing his copy in the face and sending him flying.
 
“I should stop underestimating myself,” the clone said, shaking off his ki blades. “But we still haven’t done anything more than play around. The real fight hasn’t even started yet.”
 
“I know, I know,” Cell said. “But it’s in the warm up that you learn how an opponent moves, how they strike. I know myself well but I’m still learning exactly what makes me tick.”
 
“Then let’s see how you react to this,” his copy said, cupping his hands and bringing them to his side. “Ka...me...ha...me...” His eyes darted up at something in the sky above. “...huh?”
 
A ray of light struck Cell’s clone and instantly vaporised it.
 
“What the hell could-“ Cell said out loud, turning his head.
 
A powerful force smacked into the side of his face and the bio-android plummeted. His body plunged into the ocean, expelling a column of salty water into the air. His vision blurred and realigned as he bobbed beneath the sea’s surface, a mass of tiny bubbles fleeing for the surface. Cell looked up through the shifting and disturbed waters and saw a shadowed figure outlined against the sun.
 
Looks like I won’t need a copy of myself to train against any more, Cell thought as his golden aura enveloped his body.]]>  
A silvery flash flickered towards Cell. Its round, unblinking eye caught the light as well as its dazzling scales. It wriggled, flapping its fins, and held them close to its sleek body as it cut through the water with the inertia. Cell’s tail angled downwards but not another muscle in his body stirred. He made sure the sun shone in his face so his shadow wasn’t cast over the seabed. The fish had no idea what was coming.
 
Cell’s tail struck like a cobra. The stinger penetrated the water’s surface and through the fish in one powerful stab. Cell lifted his prize free of the ocean. It writhed on his tail’s barb, the undulating motion of its thin body sparkling sunlight off its silvery scales. Cell watched with focused intensity as the writhing slowed, the fish’s body jerking sporadically, until it finally ceased all motion.
 
Drawing the limp fish to his face, Cell took a bite. He rolled the raw flesh and scales around in his mouth before swallowing it down. Hmm. Not bad.
 
Frieza’s cells had given him a yearning for seafood and this had been the first time he had indulged in it. The most processed and pure sustenance came from absorption of other creatures with sufficient biomass via liquefaction through his tail but in his perfect state, his body readjusted and could consume and break down food with the same efficiency as absorption. He wasn’t at his perfect state yet, but there was no reason why he couldn’t eat with his mouth rather than his tail if he so chose. It just wasn’t as effective at converting energy. Not yet anyway.
 
Cell swallowed the last mouthful of the fish and threw its untouched head and skeleton into the placid shallows. It sank with a splash. Enjoying the sensation of a full stomach for the first time ever, the bio-android trudged up the shore and into the cool shade of a palm tree to take stock of his options.
 
His earlier musing on absorbing a large power source to invoke his final stage of evolution wasn’t a bad one but he had no idea where or how to source such an item. He could continue exploring but it wasn’t certain to yield any positive results. However the concept of training himself to the next level intrigued him more. Cell had never trained a day in his life and yet had been the ultimate being on Earth when he absorbed both androids. What sort of strength could he unlock if he put in a little effort? Besides, his saiyan cells cried out for action.
 
But Cell had no equal in combat nearby that he was aware of and he had no desire to incite the local authorities. He may have been powerful but he couldn’t take on an entire police state by himself as he was. If only he could fight someone like himself...then there would be a proper challenge.
 
Cell hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. Of course! Thanks to Piccolo’s cells, he could create a perfect duplicate of himself that he could spar with. Until something better came along, it would get a sweat going. He might even be able to spot some flaws with his technique.
 
Kicking away the sand that covered the tops of his orange feet, Cell stood and closed his eyes, focusing on his ki. Energy swirled within his body, and its heady torrents bowed to the bio-android’s will that formed and shaped its direction. Light burst from Cell’s body so bright and blinding that only his outline could be seen. From his still form, another shimmering being stepped out of his silhouette. The brilliance died and two Cells stood facing each other.
 
“Well,” Cell said. “I knew I was handsome, but to experience it from outside myself...truly, I am envious of what everyone else gets to see.”
 
“Just imagine doing this when you’re perfect,” his exact copy said, smirking. “How lucky this Omniverse will be to see you in your full glory.”
 
Cell flapped his hand at his energy clone. “Oh, stop it! You’ll make me blush.”
 
“All right then. Let’s train and unlock your full potential.”
 
The clone tensed his body and a yellow cloak of light suffused his body, spraying sand in all directions. Cell imitated the motion, scaring a handful of seagulls squawking off the beach and into the air. His ki flowed freely through his veins, heightening the hardiness of his skin and the power of his muscles.
 
“Are we having a warm up?” the clone asked, tilting his feet down as he floated into the sky.
 
“Is there any other way to start a fight?” Cell replied, grinning while he ascended.
 
“No, I guess not.”
 
The two bio-androids dashed at each other like amber comets. They collided amidst a flurry of punches and kicks, each attack blocked or dodged. Small buffets of air burst from each impact as they spun in an aggressive tango in the sky.
 
“Is this all I’ve got?” Cell asked as he weaved past a punch.
 
“Are you trying to manipulate your own pride?” the copy said, blocking a knee with his forearm.
 
The two separated, suspended in mid air.
 
“If I know my own weaknesses, I’ll know what to look out for when I have to fight someone else,” Cell said, smiling. “It’s strange to even consider such a perfect being could have flaws, but even if they were simple arrogance and underestimation of my foe, I want to ensure those pesky inconsistencies do not become an exposed point in the future.”
 
“I see,” the clone said. “Then let me address a glaringly obvious one. Don’t tell your opponent what you’re going to do. Now I know just how to manipulate you!”
 
“It might be a little ironic if I point out your own hypocrisy,” Cell said. “But then, I’d be doing just what you told me not to.”
 
“This is getting confusing,” the clone said, lifting an open palm to the sky. “Best we just fight.”
 
A yellow disc of energy spun above the copy’s hand, its edges sharp and curved like a buzz saw. Cell recognised the Kienzan attack as his clone threw it forward. Aiming his palm at the encroaching projectile, Cell let loose a blast of ki that screamed like a bullet. It slammed into the Kienzan, detonating them both in a cloud of white light and grey smoke.
 
The clone sped through the aftermath of the collision, thrusting the barb of his tail towards Cell’s neck. The bio-android’s hands snatched the tail inches from his neck, his fingers quaking from the pressure. He dug his nails into his copy’s flesh and spun him around, picking up momentum with every revolution. Once the world around him twirled in an indistinguishable blur of blue, yellow and green, Cell hurled his training partner towards the sea. Unwilling to leave the matter lie, he pointed a flat palm at his descending opponent, his thumb tucked behind his fingers.
 
“Big Bang Attack!”
 
The energy ball technique stolen from the saiyan prince Vegeta exploded from his hand and slammed into the falling clone, engulfing him in fire and smoke and hastening his arrival at the ground.
 
The copy’s body halted jarringly moments before splashing into the ocean, sending up a spray of water. Steam wafted from his forearms crossed over his chest.
 
“Close one,” the imitation said. “Perhaps I’m better than I thought.”
 
“I’ll admit, I surprised myself with that sudden lunge from the smoke,” Cell said. “That attack almost punctured my neck.”
 
The clone clenched both fists and two crimson blades of energy coated them. He swiped at the air, making a buzzing sound as they moved. “Well I better make more of an effort. Can’t have me slacking off on the job now, can I?”
 
As his copy rocketed towards him, Cell birthed his own double Ki Edge blades. The two collided, their crimson energy weapons clashing with buzzes and smoky hisses. Neither managed to find the other’s flesh, but Cell felt the shimmering heat of the blades pass dangerously close over his skin more than once.
 
Cell cut down with his right hand, expecting his clone to meet and block the slash, but instead the clone dissipated the Ki Edge around his left hand. In the same moment, an energy ball expanded in his fingers. Cell widened his eyes as his exposed chest took the full brunt of the ki blast, knocking him backwards and breaking his hold on his Ki Edge blades.
 
“Such an easy opening,” his copy remarked, dashing with both Ki Edges at the ready.
 
Cell threw out his arms and legs and a green globe of energy formed around his body. His clone’s energy blades crashed against the barrier, crackling and sparking but unable to pierce it. Cell suddenly let the barrier fade and swung his tail, smashing his copy in the face and sending him flying.
 
“I should stop underestimating myself,” the clone said, shaking off his ki blades. “But we still haven’t done anything more than play around. The real fight hasn’t even started yet.”
 
“I know, I know,” Cell said. “But it’s in the warm up that you learn how an opponent moves, how they strike. I know myself well but I’m still learning exactly what makes me tick.”
 
“Then let’s see how you react to this,” his copy said, cupping his hands and bringing them to his side. “Ka...me...ha...me...” His eyes darted up at something in the sky above. “...huh?”
 
A ray of light struck Cell’s clone and instantly vaporised it.
 
“What the hell could-“ Cell said out loud, turning his head.
 
A powerful force smacked into the side of his face and the bio-android plummeted. His body plunged into the ocean, expelling a column of salty water into the air. His vision blurred and realigned as he bobbed beneath the sea’s surface, a mass of tiny bubbles fleeing for the surface. Cell looked up through the shifting and disturbed waters and saw a shadowed figure outlined against the sun.
 
Looks like I won’t need a copy of myself to train against any more, Cell thought as his golden aura enveloped his body.]]> <![CDATA[Away from comfort [NPC/ Ashelin]]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5466 Thu, 29 Mar 2018 00:00:48 +0000 Jak Mar]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=5466
She was still annoyed at Jak for even summoning her in his sleep, the ottsel was hanging around and the long eared man had left her all alone to travel a strange land by herself. Not that she couldn't handle it but she usually preferred to have someone hanging around her, besides Daxter.

The Vastly deeps was a huge island with a lot of things to offer and she had tons of cash on her. How much was in the pack was left to be determined.

Her mouth was still agape on how much Jak, Ash and Desman could summon with just OM and free cash was hers. She groaned and continued the walk with a pack on her back, taking in the island's beauty.

So much so that she almost forgot her main mission. She found herself staring, almost. Maybe Torn's death had taken a lot out of her or maybe she was just used to being spoiled so much. 

She looked on the map and pointed to a location which was a little more than a few hours walk from her location if she still hoofed it. 

Perhaps she can load up more in this island's town. 

Perhaps the OM cash summoned would buy most anything.

But the one thing this "OM" couldn't do is buy someone's life back.]]>
She was still annoyed at Jak for even summoning her in his sleep, the ottsel was hanging around and the long eared man had left her all alone to travel a strange land by herself. Not that she couldn't handle it but she usually preferred to have someone hanging around her, besides Daxter.

The Vastly deeps was a huge island with a lot of things to offer and she had tons of cash on her. How much was in the pack was left to be determined.

Her mouth was still agape on how much Jak, Ash and Desman could summon with just OM and free cash was hers. She groaned and continued the walk with a pack on her back, taking in the island's beauty.

So much so that she almost forgot her main mission. She found herself staring, almost. Maybe Torn's death had taken a lot out of her or maybe she was just used to being spoiled so much. 

She looked on the map and pointed to a location which was a little more than a few hours walk from her location if she still hoofed it. 

Perhaps she can load up more in this island's town. 

Perhaps the OM cash summoned would buy most anything.

But the one thing this "OM" couldn't do is buy someone's life back.]]> <![CDATA[Your Ottsel'n me crazy]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=6639 Mon, 26 Mar 2018 17:55:36 +0000 Jak Mar]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=6639
He had checked Jak’s stash hidden under his bed as he smirked, so this is where his friend hid all those “secrets”.

He made a mental note to blackmail Jak about Ash maybe sometime.

But his own staring had led him back to flipping channels on the television set Jak and his room contained.

The ottsel seemed content, but yet bored.

He flipped channels as he groaned “Nah, nope, seen it... News network.. Hmmm.. Let’s see here.”

He looked on his own personal device Jak had summoned for him out of OM before he left as he checked his contacts for information.

“Hm, let’s see, contacts, Oh yeah!”

“Demetri.”

He began to call the thief and blinked.

“No such account exists. “

Daxter’s own phone began to buzz when nothing happened. That was odd considering the Thieves guild was a thing at one time.

The ottsel raised a eyebrow and frowned “There goes a job.”

He bit his lip and rubbed it. “NOW WHAT?!”

He mentally cursed under his breath, he had no idea of telling where or when Jak would return from his trip and the hotel was full of surprises but even those bored him for a bit.

Alright then, time to find some dataverse stuff.

“Hm? What’s this? He paused on a message that had been posted recently.]]>
He had checked Jak’s stash hidden under his bed as he smirked, so this is where his friend hid all those “secrets”.

He made a mental note to blackmail Jak about Ash maybe sometime.

But his own staring had led him back to flipping channels on the television set Jak and his room contained.

The ottsel seemed content, but yet bored.

He flipped channels as he groaned “Nah, nope, seen it... News network.. Hmmm.. Let’s see here.”

He looked on his own personal device Jak had summoned for him out of OM before he left as he checked his contacts for information.

“Hm, let’s see, contacts, Oh yeah!”

“Demetri.”

He began to call the thief and blinked.

“No such account exists. “

Daxter’s own phone began to buzz when nothing happened. That was odd considering the Thieves guild was a thing at one time.

The ottsel raised a eyebrow and frowned “There goes a job.”

He bit his lip and rubbed it. “NOW WHAT?!”

He mentally cursed under his breath, he had no idea of telling where or when Jak would return from his trip and the hotel was full of surprises but even those bored him for a bit.

Alright then, time to find some dataverse stuff.

“Hm? What’s this? He paused on a message that had been posted recently.]]> <![CDATA[The Semi-Perfect Holiday]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3974 Mon, 26 Mar 2018 09:14:25 +0000 Cell]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3974  
“We could have stowed away on a ship,” Cell said, dipping his barbed tail into the ocean and letting it drag as Davin plunged the oars of their flimsy wooden lifeboat once more into the waves. “It would have been much more comfortable. At least out of the damn heat.”
 
“Not ... an option,” Davin said between pants. “I’m not ... paying for a ... ship to take me ... to an island that ... has to stay secret. Besides ... I have no ... money.”
 
Cell glared at the sun, a bright white stain in his vision, bleaching the blue sky around it. When they first entered this vast network of islands, being spat out into the bustling city of Costa del Sol, the bio-android figured the trip to perfection would be a leisurely and relaxing one. Davin had quickly informed him that the police presence on the island city was also enforced by the Empire so they had to make themselves scarce. Apparently that meant avoiding all practical routes to their destination, stealing a lifeboat from a distracted or drunk sea captain and rowing for all they were worth. How many hours had they been baking in the sun now? It seemed petty to count them.
 
Eight. It had been eight hours.
 
“That is the island at least?” Cell asked, sticking a thumb at a clump of green on the horizon. It was the only thing that separated the blue of the ocean from the blue of the sky.
 
Davin nodded, his face a shade darker of red than his hair.
 
Cell frowned. The human scientist was slowing down. His strokes were more laboured, and the time from the oars leaving the water to slapping back down again had increased.
 
“This is taking far too long!” Cell said, standing up in the boat as it rocked. “I might be too weak to fly with another person on my back, but there’s other ways of making this unbearable journey shorter!”
 
Davin’s eyes lit up. “Are you ... going to ... take over the ... rowing for a ... while?”
 
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Cell said, unsure whether to chalk up the human’s intransigence to exhaustion or stupidity. “Energy propulsion works better than two fat-ended sticks! Step aside! Oh, and you might want to hold onto something tightly. Very tightly.”
 
Davin clambered around the edge of the boat as Cell crawled to the back. Cell stared back to the empty horizon from where they had come from, turned to spot their island destination, and bent his knees. He drew cupped hands to his side and unstoppered the energy in his body, channelling it into a single point.
 
“Ka ... me ...”
 
Blue light trickled into the space between his palms. It pooled into a single orb, growing in intensity with each passing moment.
 
“... ha ... me ...”
 
The orb ballooned until it fit snugly within Cell’s hands. Shafts of light struck out between his fingers.
 
Davin shielded his eyes from the light. “What are you doing?”
 
“Ha!”
 
Cell thrust his hands towards the horizon and a beam of blue ki exploded from his palms. The boat lurched forward, its bow tipping up and pointing at an almost forty-five degree angle as it screamed through the water. Cell’s kamehameha acted as a huge jet engine, launching them across the seas as if it were made of ice and the boat an ice skate. Davin screeched at their newfound velocity, his arms and legs wrapped around a beam of wood. Cell chuckled to himself. He turned and saw the island racing to meet them. Cutting the flow of energy, he crouched into the boat, finding the exertion more taxing than he had anticipated.
 
Even without the constant supply of ki, the boat carried slicing through the waves with the inherited inertia. The boat bounced as it hit a crop of waves and skidded to a halt in the sands of the island.
 
Cell hopped out. The sensation of warm sand between his toes dulled as he took in the enormous palm trees that grouped together and weaved a dense forest only a hundred paces from the shore line. He looked at Davin. The human flung himself over the edge of the boat, landing on the sands on hands and knees, and retched into the gently lapping waters. Gathering himself, he stood and plodded over to the bio-android.
 
“In there somewhere?” Cell asked, pointing at the tropical vegetation.
 
Davin nodded, his face pale beneath the red and flushed skin.
 
Cell pushed the human forward. “Lead the way.”]]>  
“We could have stowed away on a ship,” Cell said, dipping his barbed tail into the ocean and letting it drag as Davin plunged the oars of their flimsy wooden lifeboat once more into the waves. “It would have been much more comfortable. At least out of the damn heat.”
 
“Not ... an option,” Davin said between pants. “I’m not ... paying for a ... ship to take me ... to an island that ... has to stay secret. Besides ... I have no ... money.”
 
Cell glared at the sun, a bright white stain in his vision, bleaching the blue sky around it. When they first entered this vast network of islands, being spat out into the bustling city of Costa del Sol, the bio-android figured the trip to perfection would be a leisurely and relaxing one. Davin had quickly informed him that the police presence on the island city was also enforced by the Empire so they had to make themselves scarce. Apparently that meant avoiding all practical routes to their destination, stealing a lifeboat from a distracted or drunk sea captain and rowing for all they were worth. How many hours had they been baking in the sun now? It seemed petty to count them.
 
Eight. It had been eight hours.
 
“That is the island at least?” Cell asked, sticking a thumb at a clump of green on the horizon. It was the only thing that separated the blue of the ocean from the blue of the sky.
 
Davin nodded, his face a shade darker of red than his hair.
 
Cell frowned. The human scientist was slowing down. His strokes were more laboured, and the time from the oars leaving the water to slapping back down again had increased.
 
“This is taking far too long!” Cell said, standing up in the boat as it rocked. “I might be too weak to fly with another person on my back, but there’s other ways of making this unbearable journey shorter!”
 
Davin’s eyes lit up. “Are you ... going to ... take over the ... rowing for a ... while?”
 
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Cell said, unsure whether to chalk up the human’s intransigence to exhaustion or stupidity. “Energy propulsion works better than two fat-ended sticks! Step aside! Oh, and you might want to hold onto something tightly. Very tightly.”
 
Davin clambered around the edge of the boat as Cell crawled to the back. Cell stared back to the empty horizon from where they had come from, turned to spot their island destination, and bent his knees. He drew cupped hands to his side and unstoppered the energy in his body, channelling it into a single point.
 
“Ka ... me ...”
 
Blue light trickled into the space between his palms. It pooled into a single orb, growing in intensity with each passing moment.
 
“... ha ... me ...”
 
The orb ballooned until it fit snugly within Cell’s hands. Shafts of light struck out between his fingers.
 
Davin shielded his eyes from the light. “What are you doing?”
 
“Ha!”
 
Cell thrust his hands towards the horizon and a beam of blue ki exploded from his palms. The boat lurched forward, its bow tipping up and pointing at an almost forty-five degree angle as it screamed through the water. Cell’s kamehameha acted as a huge jet engine, launching them across the seas as if it were made of ice and the boat an ice skate. Davin screeched at their newfound velocity, his arms and legs wrapped around a beam of wood. Cell chuckled to himself. He turned and saw the island racing to meet them. Cutting the flow of energy, he crouched into the boat, finding the exertion more taxing than he had anticipated.
 
Even without the constant supply of ki, the boat carried slicing through the waves with the inherited inertia. The boat bounced as it hit a crop of waves and skidded to a halt in the sands of the island.
 
Cell hopped out. The sensation of warm sand between his toes dulled as he took in the enormous palm trees that grouped together and weaved a dense forest only a hundred paces from the shore line. He looked at Davin. The human flung himself over the edge of the boat, landing on the sands on hands and knees, and retched into the gently lapping waters. Gathering himself, he stood and plodded over to the bio-android.
 
“In there somewhere?” Cell asked, pointing at the tropical vegetation.
 
Davin nodded, his face pale beneath the red and flushed skin.
 
Cell pushed the human forward. “Lead the way.”]]> <![CDATA[Tea Party]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4928 Fri, 09 Mar 2018 08:20:03 +0000 Dust]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4928
Two very pale shadows cast across his form.

"Who do you think he is?" A young voice asked.

"I don't know, but maybe we shouldn't bother him. He could be sleeping." Another voice spoke back. "He could be a prime. We don't want to bother him if he is."

"But what if he's hurt?" The first asked.

"If he's a prime, he will be fine. Let's go." The second voice tried, getting further away and thus harder to hear due to his distance from the doll growing. One of the shadow's drifted away fully.

The other remained. "I don't think we should..." She replied, turning around.

She was of 3 foot tall, maybe more. Her light teal hair was pulled up in a top-bun, her sparkingly blue eyes looked down at the stranger in the sand. She clung to a huge pastel yellow bunny rabbit stuffed animal to the chest of her brown and yellow plaid over-alls. Her crisp white shirt ended in a circular collar that folded nearly where it was buttoned all the way up. She looked down at the washed-up hero, and just watched him.

Watching...

Watching...

Watching.

As she tried to come to terms with what she should do Jenna found herself staring.

She jumped when the washed-up man's eyes flick open quickly, his dull staring straight into her eyes. She let out a small squeal and hide in the ears of her rabbit. "DON'T HURT ME!" Jenna whimpered.]]>
Two very pale shadows cast across his form.

"Who do you think he is?" A young voice asked.

"I don't know, but maybe we shouldn't bother him. He could be sleeping." Another voice spoke back. "He could be a prime. We don't want to bother him if he is."

"But what if he's hurt?" The first asked.

"If he's a prime, he will be fine. Let's go." The second voice tried, getting further away and thus harder to hear due to his distance from the doll growing. One of the shadow's drifted away fully.

The other remained. "I don't think we should..." She replied, turning around.

She was of 3 foot tall, maybe more. Her light teal hair was pulled up in a top-bun, her sparkingly blue eyes looked down at the stranger in the sand. She clung to a huge pastel yellow bunny rabbit stuffed animal to the chest of her brown and yellow plaid over-alls. Her crisp white shirt ended in a circular collar that folded nearly where it was buttoned all the way up. She looked down at the washed-up hero, and just watched him.

Watching...

Watching...

Watching.

As she tried to come to terms with what she should do Jenna found herself staring.

She jumped when the washed-up man's eyes flick open quickly, his dull staring straight into her eyes. She let out a small squeal and hide in the ears of her rabbit. "DON'T HURT ME!" Jenna whimpered.]]> <![CDATA[Shot across the bow]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7183 Thu, 18 Jan 2018 01:51:07 +0000 Roger Smith]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7183 to getting it, really; but it didn't much bother him either way. It was a mess, and it was interrupting his peace and quiet, but that was all it was.

Besides...he was getting a little sick and tired of the whole 'peace and quiet' thing, anyway.

He was a prime, now. Stronger than he'd ever been since he came to the Omniverse; and growing pretty close to being able to use his whole bag of tricks from before he came here, too. Still a little weaker, still had a few more bits and bobs of his old equipment to scrounge up...but he was getting there. It was a good feeling, to be so close to being back on his A-game. It was inspiring enough for him to get up to his old tricks again.

That was precisely the reason he stood where he did now. At the helm of his (almost) newly-made ship, moving ahead full sail with the wind at his back. The crew was alive and active below, working at this and that to keep the ship running properly. It did his heart good. Chaos was running wild, the verse was seemingly alive and at war with something, but this was where he belonged. All was right and well with his personal world, even if the wider one it formed a piece of was on fire and falling apart around it.

"Cap'n." The voice broke him out of his reverie, drawing the old sailor back to the waking world. At his side there was his quartermaster. Hayden Carlyle; a right beast of a man. Seemed like was made of solid rock, and with a determination to match. "Closin' on the last location o' that distress call we picked up," the man noted. "Should be catchin' sight of who or whatever sent it out any minute now."

Crow let the trace of a grin creep onto his face. "Well, that certainly be some good news, eh, Mister Carlyle?" He let out a short cackle, packed with an eerie mirth. "Make sure every last one of this bunch is ready fer whatever we find. Want no surprises 'cause of laziness, not on my ship."

"Aye aye, cap'n." With a smart salute, the giant of a man turned and lumbered off, down the steps to the deck proper. A piercingly sharp whistle brought all focus on him, and orders were barked left, right and center. The crew went from their disorganized milling and lazy operation of the vessel into an ordered, if somewhat frantic, scramble. Rushing and dashing about; belowdecks, and up into the rigging above, readying for anything and everything.

Some might have called such a thing silly. Captain Crow called it being ready. And being ready was one thing that he very much preferred to be. After all, they might get there and find nothing at all. They might very well come across an all out war, unlikely as it was with so many occupied with that whole star and constellation nonsense. Might just run across an old derelict ship, abandoned or ruined and left to rot in the waters.

Whatever it was, there was bound to be something of interest just waiting to be found. And with any luck, it would leave to a sharp dose of the adventure the old man had been seeking. A good old fashioned ship to ship combat would even be welcomed, much damage as it might do. The thrill of it — and the resulting treasure and supplies, for that matter — would be very, very well worth it, in the end.

Those merry thoughts were what roamed through his mind as he heard the call from above; the lookout, perched in the crow's nest, called out: "Sail, ho!"]]> to getting it, really; but it didn't much bother him either way. It was a mess, and it was interrupting his peace and quiet, but that was all it was.

Besides...he was getting a little sick and tired of the whole 'peace and quiet' thing, anyway.

He was a prime, now. Stronger than he'd ever been since he came to the Omniverse; and growing pretty close to being able to use his whole bag of tricks from before he came here, too. Still a little weaker, still had a few more bits and bobs of his old equipment to scrounge up...but he was getting there. It was a good feeling, to be so close to being back on his A-game. It was inspiring enough for him to get up to his old tricks again.

That was precisely the reason he stood where he did now. At the helm of his (almost) newly-made ship, moving ahead full sail with the wind at his back. The crew was alive and active below, working at this and that to keep the ship running properly. It did his heart good. Chaos was running wild, the verse was seemingly alive and at war with something, but this was where he belonged. All was right and well with his personal world, even if the wider one it formed a piece of was on fire and falling apart around it.

"Cap'n." The voice broke him out of his reverie, drawing the old sailor back to the waking world. At his side there was his quartermaster. Hayden Carlyle; a right beast of a man. Seemed like was made of solid rock, and with a determination to match. "Closin' on the last location o' that distress call we picked up," the man noted. "Should be catchin' sight of who or whatever sent it out any minute now."

Crow let the trace of a grin creep onto his face. "Well, that certainly be some good news, eh, Mister Carlyle?" He let out a short cackle, packed with an eerie mirth. "Make sure every last one of this bunch is ready fer whatever we find. Want no surprises 'cause of laziness, not on my ship."

"Aye aye, cap'n." With a smart salute, the giant of a man turned and lumbered off, down the steps to the deck proper. A piercingly sharp whistle brought all focus on him, and orders were barked left, right and center. The crew went from their disorganized milling and lazy operation of the vessel into an ordered, if somewhat frantic, scramble. Rushing and dashing about; belowdecks, and up into the rigging above, readying for anything and everything.

Some might have called such a thing silly. Captain Crow called it being ready. And being ready was one thing that he very much preferred to be. After all, they might get there and find nothing at all. They might very well come across an all out war, unlikely as it was with so many occupied with that whole star and constellation nonsense. Might just run across an old derelict ship, abandoned or ruined and left to rot in the waters.

Whatever it was, there was bound to be something of interest just waiting to be found. And with any luck, it would leave to a sharp dose of the adventure the old man had been seeking. A good old fashioned ship to ship combat would even be welcomed, much damage as it might do. The thrill of it — and the resulting treasure and supplies, for that matter — would be very, very well worth it, in the end.

Those merry thoughts were what roamed through his mind as he heard the call from above; the lookout, perched in the crow's nest, called out: "Sail, ho!"]]>