"Well... No more being the best healer on the east coast." Vicky sighed, and Amy frowned as well. No one really noticed that Amy's heart wasn't quite in her sorrow.
"Water control." Taylor admitted, seeing no one else step forwards to volunteer. "I'm sensing a theme here. Small scale stuff for now, it'll take some practice for it to be useful." Already she'd noted several limitations. Limited quantity, intense focus to get it to do anything precise, inability to draw it from nowhere, and inability to affect the liquids inside of people. Lots of limitations, but that was how the game worked. Improvements would come with time. "I took a Thinker power too, it's a combat based one, should give me inspiration in a fight."
"I guess I'm fire then," Emma shrugged, "as if it weren't obvious. I took a brute power, general increase to physical 'stats' based on danger, until I'm strong enough that the dangerous stuff isn't dangerous any more. A bit like Lung's but without the transformation or regeneration." Spotting the looks, she gave an indignant huff. "After what his gang did? I intend to get out of here strong enough to kick his ass."
"Darkness." Sophia sighed. "Or Shadow, or something. I can move shadows around, make them solid and stuff. I don't know, the description says it'll involve other things eventually, but I miss my-" She stopped, clicking her teeth together audibly. "I took a striker power too. I can draw matter from people I touch to heal myself."
"Sounds pretty balanced then." Vicky nodded. "Let's get on with the game then, what are the rules?"
"Who made you the-" Sophia began, before the game master suddenly returned.
"Excellent decision! Wouldn't want to keep the viewers waiting, after all! The rules are relatively simple. You'll be given one dungeon a day to complete, these can range from vast treks across untamed wilderness filled with dangerous monsters, to exploring ancient tombs filled with esoteric traps. From slaying dragons to pulling off the perfect heist on a modern day office building." The voice explained. "Each task will have clearly defined rules, as well as bonus objectives, some visible some hidden. Achieving these tasks will allow you to move on with the game, achieving bonus objectives will grant you extra rewards."
"The main thing you need to keep in mind, is that I don't decide who gets experience, beyond the rewards at the end of each task. It's the viewers who decide who gets what. Maybe they think you did a great job, maybe they take pity on you, maybe they think you're the sexiest one of the bunch. I don't control the criteria. If you get more fans, you'll get more power." The grin is audible as the voice continues. "If they don't like you? Well, viewers can give up their daily vote to punish you instead. It may be a spot of bad luck at an inappropriate time, or even a buff to a particularly dangerous challenge, so try not to offend too many people."
Emma visibly blanched at that, holding her lips shut and forcing a thin smile on her face. "Finally, you'll notice a little health bar at the corner of your vision, just down to the right." Sure enough, each contestant glanced down and found the little green bar. "This represents your hit points. It's not an absolute, you can keep fighting while empty, but..." The tone could only be described as 'ominous'. "Every time you would take damage, your clothing receives the hit instead, so long as you have clothing left to sacrifice. Once the bar is empty, and your clothing is all gone, you're on your own. Better let go of your shame, or it'll get you killed."
"Son of a-" "Pervert." "You've got to be kidding me." Emma, Sophia, and Vicky protested weakly.
"So, let's start off with something fun, to warm you all up!" The voice continued merrily on, and the room began to rumble and shake. "This'll be a dungeon run. Get your whole team to the exit and you win! Careful though, slow and steady may win the race here! Oh, I almost forgot. On the wall behind you are some weapons. You might want to grab one of those. Things are going to get messy."
With a nearly deafening 'boom' the wall before the assembled group dropped into the ground, revealing a dimly-lit stone hallway beyond. At first, it seemed like nothing was there, leaving the group to turn and inspect the medieval weaponry. "Why can't they give us a grenade launcher." Vicky joked, picking a spear off of the wall.
"Oh hey! Monsters!" Madison called, drawing attention back to the hallway. Sure enough, a trio of strange slime-like creatures slid their way slowly towards the group, taking vaguely humanoid forms as they did so. "Aww, they look kind of cu-" SPLAT!
With a muffled squeak of surprise, Madison toppled backwards onto the ground clutching at her face, desperate to peel the green gunk off as she rolled around on the ground.
"Begin!"
The Best Has No Limits
(Автор: SamPardi)
"You know, I've been looking a long time for an individual such as yourself." Jack Slash said conversationally.
The man he was talking to took a quick step to one side and easily avoided a veritable tornado of glass. His arm flicked out and there was a solid thump of knife meeting flesh. The tornado fell under the weight of gravity as its owner clasped already bloodied hands around her throat, unable to stop the bleeding. "You have? I must say that I find that statement remarkable. Very few people have ever chosen to seek me out beyond those that I would call my brothers. Among those others there is a certain propensity towards wishing to do violence to my person."
"Remarkable, such class. And yet you throw off the rules of the world around you without a second thought." Jack said.
"The rules of the world? I admit I have no use for such a concept," The man agreed.
"Then why not come with me? Flaunt those rules on a grand stage! Let everyone see how pointless their playing pretend really is!" Jack enthused.
"Why? I already know why I don't need such rules. It seems to me that the figures around me have great need of them. I can't blame them. They're just figures of my imagination and I guess my imagination just isn't that good," The man replied.
Jack blinked, trying to regather himself in the face of this unexpected worldview. "Well — "
"Like I imagined there was this dame who was the spitting image of my Chane. I knew it wasn't her, Chane's too easy to read, but I figure my imagination needed me to have a reminder so I wouldn't get confused between this dream and the last one. As I was saying this dame was innocent in a way my Chane isn't, hasn't been in a long time, and I have to admit I kind of like that. Not enough to give up on quest to return to the previous incarnation of my mind's creation, but I find it enjoyable. Only some guys were hanging around her neighborhood making trouble. So I took care of them. I would have to guess all the other crazy guys and dames I've had to take care of since I got here sprung from that incident. Still, even when things seemed to be going badly I didn't see her cry, not even when that monster came from the bay. Not until she heard you and your family were in town anyway, then she really cried and looked terrified." The man told Jack.
"I see." Jack said subtly moving into a more combative stance. "I didn't really take you for the sentimental type."
"I'm not. But seeing her reminded me of what my Chane would do. But seeing as she wasn't here to kill you all, I figured I'd do it in her stead. If I ever get back, the story may even earn me a small smile." The man replied with the look of someone remembering the best spring day of their life.
Jack sighed, "And I was so hopping I wouldn't have to kill you."
The man barked out a laugh and grinned through the blood coating his face. "Kill me? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can't die. Like I told my Chane, I'm a man who'll never die."
Jack sent out a flurry of strikes but his foe dodged with inhuman agility while still eating up the ground between them. "And what should I call you, man who'll never die?"
There was a short tussle at point blank range almost too fast for even Jack to keep up with. When they separated Jack had a deep cut on his left arm and a series of nicks on his face and shoulders. His opponent was entirely unharmed except for the bottom half of his tie that was slowly fluttering to the ground.
"Around here most call me The Hunter, but I prefer the name Claire Stanfield," The redhead grinned as he once again closed the distance between them.
(Worm/Bacanno)
A Grimm New World (RWBY)
(Автор: NaughtyBanette)
(Don't know where I'm going with this, really. The idea popped into my head from the CYOA, where Aura from RWBY was one of the options. The premise is that something goes wrong with Taylor's trigger event. Probably the S9 getting involved because 'reasons'. Rather than controlling anything, she instead winds up killing almost everyone in Brockton Bay.
Of those that survive, they are either resilient enough to endure it, trigger with something to resist it (Which is where Aura comes in), or get turned into monsters. Existing parahumans become twisted monsters with mockeries of their powers. Those with the potential that aren't resilient enough to trigger instead become lesser monsters with horrible physical mutations. Basically, Worm-Resident Evil style, with RWBY splashed in.)
* * *
Cold.
Nothing but biting, sickening cold.
It clings to me, a cloying mist that ensnares my very being, capturing my heart and soul and dragging me surely downwards.
I'm falling. Sinking. Drowning in the pervasive cold that has neither beginning nor ending. It is infinite in breadth, and unlimited in its callous disregard for human life.
There is nothing there, only death.
For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death.
The cold fades to the background. It become distant, bearable, tolerable even. Something stirs within me to push it away.
I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.
I wake shivering, desperate to cast off the last of the oppressive weight of my own mortality. That feeling, that awful lingering feeling of the icy touch of death, remains with me even now. It fades, slowly, in the face of an inner warmth that struggles from my very core to the surface of my skin.
I'm alive.
I'm alone, in that regard.
The bus I was travelling on is lodged in the side of a building, the driver slumped across the wheel. The passengers are sprawled about, their skin pale and drawn. There's blood. A lot of blood.
The nice old lady beside me, who spoke at obnoxious lengths about her grandchildren during the trip, is only halfway on her seat. Her skin is pale, her lips are blue, and she isn't breathing.
I want to be sad for her. I want to feel sorrow for all the death around me. I want to cry for all the senseless loss, but there's oh so much of it. On the street I can see several more bodies, laying in the evening sun. Whatever happened, it must have been wide-spread. City-wide? World-wide? Surely someone else must have lived through the destruction.
Numbly, I climb to my feet and begin picking my way gingerly towards the front of the bus. The cold creeps into me, but I fend it off by flaring the warmth inside. It's like a light, a torch, a bonfire of life itself that wards off any influence that isn't 'me'.
It is my soul. No. Not quite. I am my soul, and I protect my body.
There are cars all over the road. Many crashed against one another or slammed into buildings. Such a sudden wave of death has devastated the area, and it takes time to move around the debris. I don't even know where I'm moving to, really.
The goal had been to take the bus to Brockton Bay, and then move on to Boston. I doubt there's anyone alive to drive a bus to Boston now.
It seems like hours, walking through the devastated streets. There's the occasional flicker of fire, both among the cars and up in the windows of a few apartment buildings. In the distance, the occasional explosion fills the night. I don't understand, even now, what caused such a thing to happen, but I know my own powers are all that spared my life.
Powers.
I never wanted powers. Everyone else, growing up, would brag and boast, fantasize and hypothesize about powers. 'If you could have any power...' They'd say, and then argue about invincibility and time travel, of teleportation or shapeshifting. They always acted like powers brought freedom.
I always disagreed.
Powers brought nothing but burdens. Chains, which held heroes down, restricted them until they were puppets for the people below them. Chains that held deadly ultimatums over the heads of villains. 'Step out of line...' a constant threat that always loomed over those with powers.
People with powers could never be normal. It was a death sentence. A curse. 'May you live in interesting times'.
Powers were the reason everyone in the city, save me, was dead.
What was that saying? A million is a statistic? How fitting, that after the umpteenth dead body, of seeing small children laying dead on the streets on their way home from school, I stopped feeling that gut-wrenching horror. I stopped feeling much of anything at all, really. Just focusing on fending off that cold feeling of death still clinging to my body.
A crash to my left, the sound of garbage being kicked down an alleyway. A haunting, creepy sound that none-the-less filled me with hope. Could there be other survivors? Am I not the only one?
In a city this big, surely someone else had the power to survive.
There was, and there wasn't. A mixed bag meets me in the alleyway. There is a girl, younger than me and dressed in nothing but filth-covered rags, alive and fighting. There is also... Something else.
It lurches and shambles, like something out of a zombie movie, made of flesh and bone that fit no real structure of a living thing. Like someone had picked up the pieces of a human, fashioned them into something human shaped, and sent it out to stalk the nightmares of the living.
The girl lets out a muffled squeak as it pushes its entire mass against her, pinning her to the wall with its bulk, even as a single hand-a gnarled mass of hooked claws pushes her neck to the bricks behind her. Even from here I can smell the raw, meaty stench that wafts off the creature as the girl kicks and pushes at it in vain.
The way she fights, the way she struggles, kicking and punching at the bulk of misshapen flesh that pins her... The way her body practically glows with that same power that keeps me alive. It stirs me to action, and somehow within a few quick steps I am upon the wretched creature.
