- Joined
- Aug 4, 2005
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- 3,041
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- 32
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- In the place of prayer...
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Okay here's the next update. Hey, I think this is the record for how fast I've updated! Wow. Anyway, it may not be the longest chappie, but I hope you like it. Thanks to all the people who commented, I really appreciate it. Here we go.
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There were many things Haerthos was expecting as he dodged another one of the flaming tentacles, shouting and emptying canister after canister of combusting liquid onto the writhing snakes of darkness. He was expecting to be snatched up any minute by the sinister Heartless and ripped limb from limb until it held his beating heart, piercing its soft surface until it spilt his life upon the ground. He was expecting the Heartless to suddenly sprout wings, gain an elongated neck, and be able to breathe radioactive acid. He was expecting any second everyone would suddenly give up, sighing their final breaths before Ira’s Heartless lashed out in fury against them. He was expecting to see the deep, bright yellow eyes of the Heartless as it stared at him up close, prepared to dine splendidly on his heart. What he did NOT expect was for Wyrda to suddenly fall out of the sky and land like a teacher’s ruler on the top of his head five thousand years ago.
“Agh, Wyda!” he coughed, the wind knocked out of him as the Wyrda groggily tried to get up, pushing Haerthos deeper into the snow at the same movement, “Ack…”
“Huh?” asked Wyrda, blinking stupidly for a moment before looking down at the snow covered Haerthos, “What are you doing down there Haerthos?”
“Screw you,” coughed Haerthos, and Wyrda offered a hand, which Haerthos grabbed and pulled himself up, letting loose a spray of flaming acid onto a nearby tentacle, “What took you? I thought the battle was going to be over before you got out of there.”
“Well I appreciate your unending confidence Haerthos,” said Wyrda, his eyes flashing jokingly, “Why don’t you take a reward for yourself?” Haerthos just had time to scream before the lance shot forward like a bullet and… skewered a tentacle that was creeping up behind him, pinning it to the snow where it writhed like a squiggling eel before disappearing slowly into the dark mists from which is was wrought. Wyrda smiled quickly before his face returned to his passive blankness. “Haerthos this is bad,” he said, spinning his lance to stab a tentacle sneaking up behind him, “That thing can suck us up and manifest an illusion of our greatest temptations. I just barely got out of there, and believe me it’s not one of those chocolate strawberry temptations. This is one of those…”
“I get it Wyrda,” muttered Haerthos, pulling a grenade from his pack and hurling it over his shoulder while sidestepping a tentacle and then smashing it into the ground with his foot, “I guess that’s why we can’t do this thing damage. It operates under our own temptations, and every time we beat our own temptations, it loses power.”
“I cross-referenced the beast’s power levels with the Government main computer,” said Wyrda, stepping forward and turning so he and Haerthos were back to back, spinning his lance in a whirlwind above his head as white flames licked all that came to close, “Apparently, this thing is a Grade 9 Heartless, about three levels higher than a strong Darkside. It should have about five Sephiroth’s of health.”
“Since when did the government use Sephiroth’s health for the standard?” asked Haerthos incredulously, duel wielding his liquid nitrogen gun and his flamethrower, spitting flames like a dragon and simultaneously icing them like an inky black cake.
“Since Sephiroth had so much health the last time anyone beat him we couldn’t measure his power levels,” replied Wyrda sarcastically, upper cutting viciously with his lance, slicing a tentacle right down the middle as it sprang from the ground, “How am I supposed to know? All I know is that we take down one of its Sephiroth health bars every time one of us gets sucked in their. I took down one…”
“Sora and Riku the other two,” muttered Haerthos, beating down a tentacle wrapping itself around his leg, “That leaves two more to go. Think we’ll make it?” But Wyrda didn’t have time to answer. Suddenly Ira’s Heartless roared with a high pitch screech that shattered the air like a sub-sonic jet. The round face of the Heartless suddenly elongated, stretching until it formed a long snout, gleaming white fangs poking out of every side. The tentacles on its head grew longer, and thorns sprouted from them, snaking down it’s side like an evil case of disease. The Heartless howled at the sky, shooting a jet of thin green flames into the air, while it’s one snake hand exploded, instantly multiplying until it had seven fanged serpentine heads, each one glaring at the party, the dark red orbs that were their eyes shining with malevolence and glee. The black round sphere that hung from it’s other arm suddenly split in two, ripping right up until the shoulder and rotating around the back until there were two jet black spheres, hovering a thick, muscular cords above the head like twin stingers upon a mutant scorpion. Another arm grew back in its place, this time, a black muscular arm that ended it a shapeless stump, but to their horror when it dipped it’s hand toward the snow covered Earth, thousands upon thousands of wriggling tentacles sprung forth, this time wriggling free of their host and slithering like snakes on their bellies toward the tiring group of heroes.
“I was expecting this,” muttered Haerthos, “An elongated snout, two winglike items, and radioactive acid. I was expecting this. It seems to get stronger every time we beat it.”
“We better beat it fast then,” said Wyrda, and he reached back and locked arms with Haerthos, holding his lance in his other, “May I have this dance, Mr. Haerthos?”
“That’s just wrong,” muttered Haerthos but he leapt in the air, and Wyrda swung him around in an arc, as Haerthos let loose with a blast of flaming acid as Wyrda slashed the other way with his lance, creating a ring of flames around them in a matter of seconds. Haerthos landed and bent down, pulling Wyrda around in a low spin, and Wyrda flew low to the ground, kicking a tentacle that go too close, slashing at the thorny tentacle and pulling Haerthos toward him again. Wyrda landed on one foot spinning around in the same movement and spun his lance in a figure eight, yelling like a demon as he sliced the mass of tentacles shooting toward him. Haerthos leapt over him, vaulting over his shoulders and letting loose a wide fire blast that burnt a hole in the hordes in front of them. Wyrda used his lance as a pole vault and hurled himself over the crispy field and spun his lance in 360 degrees around his waist and torso, creating a whirlwind of deadliness that cleaved any thorns that got near him. Haerthos leapt toward him, and emptied an entire canister of the flaming liquid into Wyrda’s cyclone of power. The momentum of the wind movement spinning around Wyrda caused the flames to spin about him in an flaming cyclone of power, a burning maelstrom of raw energy, rage, and a hint of napalm. It spun like the fiery core of the world itself until it exploded in a fire red ball of raging sunlight, the golden light and crimson hues blossoming through out the entire field until all tentacles within the radius were incinerated, the white snow melting instantly to reveal the dark brown earth scorched by the flames of Haerthos and Wyrda’s limit.
Unfortunately giant firey explosion plus unstable snowy mountain does not equal pleasant. Wyrda slowly stopped spinning his lance and Haerthos frowned, listening to the growing rumble that shook the mountainside with its crescendo. The King stopped his rapid ataru attack on the Heartless, and looked with worry at the mountain, which had begun to shake even more now, enough to mess up Riku’s landing, who landed with a crack on the now brown earth.
“Damnit!’ he swore, and Kairi rushed over to help him, but another tremor sent her sprawling, and as Sora reached out to help her up, a retched crack split the air as well as the ground, as if a giant invisible knife was stabbing the very essence of life itself. Even the Heartless wavered, its tentacles quivering as the last tremor sent it sprawling, its great black tail waving in the air like great serpent arising from its pit of darkness. The growing rumble suddenly turned to a roar, and Haerthos shouted what everyone else had to be thinking:
“THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!” Okay maybe not…
“Avalanche!” shouted Wyrda, and everyone ran down the mountain, a great wall of snow emerging of the top of the hill and tumbling down with the force of a thousand Heartless. They scrambled down the melting snow, with the tumbling whiteness following relentlessly behind them. Suddenly Kairi tripped and tumbled headfirst down the mountain. She gasped in pain as she tumbled to a halt and Sora yelled, sliding the bank toward her. Riku, who had been assisted down the mountain by Sora, shouted as the sudden offset of balance sent him tumbling after the two, sliding on his back until he landed near Sora and Kairi, grimacing in pain as he clutched his ankle in agony. The King shouted and leapt over the three, trying to pull them to their feet as Donald tripped and his big webbed feet, sending Goofy sprawling and they crashed into Wyrda who was the only one still standing, causing them all too unfortunately land in a giant pile on the bottom of the mountain.
I thought that stuff only happened in bad movies, groaned Haerthos inwardly and he ran to the wriggling pile of people trying to be free. The Heartless had been taken up the avalanche before, swallowed up like a black spot on the floor by white bleach. Haerthos stared at the giant roaring beast of snow that charged toward them, and then he ran in front of the struggling group, planting his feet firmly in the ground and pulling a small silver orb out of his bag.
“Hope this baby holds,” he mutters and activated the Personal shield used for Sora’s reflect attacks, and the hexagonal transparent dome transcended on the group, barely including every limb of the group. Haerthos grunted and turned to stare at the oncoming rampage of pure white, the raging roar growing louder and louder as it grew nearer every second. Haerthos was feeling very, very small now. At least, he figured, if the avalanche broke through, it’s not like he could feel anything. He was missing his solid form less and less everyday. The white snow reflected in his eyes now, a growing whiteness that soon overcame their color and his orbs shown with pure white glory, the eyes of an angel blazing in defiance of sin. As the snowy avalanche was a foot away and closing, Haerthos had the most random thought as he looked blankly at the white snow about to crush over him.
“At least it’s not snakes on a plane…”
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I know, I mentioned possibley the most annoying movie title at the end, but I am so obsessed with the title that I can't help it. lol. Anyway I hope that was enjoyable for you and I eagerly await your replies. Please critique and stuff. Thanks, and have a good life.
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There were many things Haerthos was expecting as he dodged another one of the flaming tentacles, shouting and emptying canister after canister of combusting liquid onto the writhing snakes of darkness. He was expecting to be snatched up any minute by the sinister Heartless and ripped limb from limb until it held his beating heart, piercing its soft surface until it spilt his life upon the ground. He was expecting the Heartless to suddenly sprout wings, gain an elongated neck, and be able to breathe radioactive acid. He was expecting any second everyone would suddenly give up, sighing their final breaths before Ira’s Heartless lashed out in fury against them. He was expecting to see the deep, bright yellow eyes of the Heartless as it stared at him up close, prepared to dine splendidly on his heart. What he did NOT expect was for Wyrda to suddenly fall out of the sky and land like a teacher’s ruler on the top of his head five thousand years ago.
“Agh, Wyda!” he coughed, the wind knocked out of him as the Wyrda groggily tried to get up, pushing Haerthos deeper into the snow at the same movement, “Ack…”
“Huh?” asked Wyrda, blinking stupidly for a moment before looking down at the snow covered Haerthos, “What are you doing down there Haerthos?”
“Screw you,” coughed Haerthos, and Wyrda offered a hand, which Haerthos grabbed and pulled himself up, letting loose a spray of flaming acid onto a nearby tentacle, “What took you? I thought the battle was going to be over before you got out of there.”
“Well I appreciate your unending confidence Haerthos,” said Wyrda, his eyes flashing jokingly, “Why don’t you take a reward for yourself?” Haerthos just had time to scream before the lance shot forward like a bullet and… skewered a tentacle that was creeping up behind him, pinning it to the snow where it writhed like a squiggling eel before disappearing slowly into the dark mists from which is was wrought. Wyrda smiled quickly before his face returned to his passive blankness. “Haerthos this is bad,” he said, spinning his lance to stab a tentacle sneaking up behind him, “That thing can suck us up and manifest an illusion of our greatest temptations. I just barely got out of there, and believe me it’s not one of those chocolate strawberry temptations. This is one of those…”
“I get it Wyrda,” muttered Haerthos, pulling a grenade from his pack and hurling it over his shoulder while sidestepping a tentacle and then smashing it into the ground with his foot, “I guess that’s why we can’t do this thing damage. It operates under our own temptations, and every time we beat our own temptations, it loses power.”
“I cross-referenced the beast’s power levels with the Government main computer,” said Wyrda, stepping forward and turning so he and Haerthos were back to back, spinning his lance in a whirlwind above his head as white flames licked all that came to close, “Apparently, this thing is a Grade 9 Heartless, about three levels higher than a strong Darkside. It should have about five Sephiroth’s of health.”
“Since when did the government use Sephiroth’s health for the standard?” asked Haerthos incredulously, duel wielding his liquid nitrogen gun and his flamethrower, spitting flames like a dragon and simultaneously icing them like an inky black cake.
“Since Sephiroth had so much health the last time anyone beat him we couldn’t measure his power levels,” replied Wyrda sarcastically, upper cutting viciously with his lance, slicing a tentacle right down the middle as it sprang from the ground, “How am I supposed to know? All I know is that we take down one of its Sephiroth health bars every time one of us gets sucked in their. I took down one…”
“Sora and Riku the other two,” muttered Haerthos, beating down a tentacle wrapping itself around his leg, “That leaves two more to go. Think we’ll make it?” But Wyrda didn’t have time to answer. Suddenly Ira’s Heartless roared with a high pitch screech that shattered the air like a sub-sonic jet. The round face of the Heartless suddenly elongated, stretching until it formed a long snout, gleaming white fangs poking out of every side. The tentacles on its head grew longer, and thorns sprouted from them, snaking down it’s side like an evil case of disease. The Heartless howled at the sky, shooting a jet of thin green flames into the air, while it’s one snake hand exploded, instantly multiplying until it had seven fanged serpentine heads, each one glaring at the party, the dark red orbs that were their eyes shining with malevolence and glee. The black round sphere that hung from it’s other arm suddenly split in two, ripping right up until the shoulder and rotating around the back until there were two jet black spheres, hovering a thick, muscular cords above the head like twin stingers upon a mutant scorpion. Another arm grew back in its place, this time, a black muscular arm that ended it a shapeless stump, but to their horror when it dipped it’s hand toward the snow covered Earth, thousands upon thousands of wriggling tentacles sprung forth, this time wriggling free of their host and slithering like snakes on their bellies toward the tiring group of heroes.
“I was expecting this,” muttered Haerthos, “An elongated snout, two winglike items, and radioactive acid. I was expecting this. It seems to get stronger every time we beat it.”
“We better beat it fast then,” said Wyrda, and he reached back and locked arms with Haerthos, holding his lance in his other, “May I have this dance, Mr. Haerthos?”
“That’s just wrong,” muttered Haerthos but he leapt in the air, and Wyrda swung him around in an arc, as Haerthos let loose with a blast of flaming acid as Wyrda slashed the other way with his lance, creating a ring of flames around them in a matter of seconds. Haerthos landed and bent down, pulling Wyrda around in a low spin, and Wyrda flew low to the ground, kicking a tentacle that go too close, slashing at the thorny tentacle and pulling Haerthos toward him again. Wyrda landed on one foot spinning around in the same movement and spun his lance in a figure eight, yelling like a demon as he sliced the mass of tentacles shooting toward him. Haerthos leapt over him, vaulting over his shoulders and letting loose a wide fire blast that burnt a hole in the hordes in front of them. Wyrda used his lance as a pole vault and hurled himself over the crispy field and spun his lance in 360 degrees around his waist and torso, creating a whirlwind of deadliness that cleaved any thorns that got near him. Haerthos leapt toward him, and emptied an entire canister of the flaming liquid into Wyrda’s cyclone of power. The momentum of the wind movement spinning around Wyrda caused the flames to spin about him in an flaming cyclone of power, a burning maelstrom of raw energy, rage, and a hint of napalm. It spun like the fiery core of the world itself until it exploded in a fire red ball of raging sunlight, the golden light and crimson hues blossoming through out the entire field until all tentacles within the radius were incinerated, the white snow melting instantly to reveal the dark brown earth scorched by the flames of Haerthos and Wyrda’s limit.
Unfortunately giant firey explosion plus unstable snowy mountain does not equal pleasant. Wyrda slowly stopped spinning his lance and Haerthos frowned, listening to the growing rumble that shook the mountainside with its crescendo. The King stopped his rapid ataru attack on the Heartless, and looked with worry at the mountain, which had begun to shake even more now, enough to mess up Riku’s landing, who landed with a crack on the now brown earth.
“Damnit!’ he swore, and Kairi rushed over to help him, but another tremor sent her sprawling, and as Sora reached out to help her up, a retched crack split the air as well as the ground, as if a giant invisible knife was stabbing the very essence of life itself. Even the Heartless wavered, its tentacles quivering as the last tremor sent it sprawling, its great black tail waving in the air like great serpent arising from its pit of darkness. The growing rumble suddenly turned to a roar, and Haerthos shouted what everyone else had to be thinking:
“THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!” Okay maybe not…
“Avalanche!” shouted Wyrda, and everyone ran down the mountain, a great wall of snow emerging of the top of the hill and tumbling down with the force of a thousand Heartless. They scrambled down the melting snow, with the tumbling whiteness following relentlessly behind them. Suddenly Kairi tripped and tumbled headfirst down the mountain. She gasped in pain as she tumbled to a halt and Sora yelled, sliding the bank toward her. Riku, who had been assisted down the mountain by Sora, shouted as the sudden offset of balance sent him tumbling after the two, sliding on his back until he landed near Sora and Kairi, grimacing in pain as he clutched his ankle in agony. The King shouted and leapt over the three, trying to pull them to their feet as Donald tripped and his big webbed feet, sending Goofy sprawling and they crashed into Wyrda who was the only one still standing, causing them all too unfortunately land in a giant pile on the bottom of the mountain.
I thought that stuff only happened in bad movies, groaned Haerthos inwardly and he ran to the wriggling pile of people trying to be free. The Heartless had been taken up the avalanche before, swallowed up like a black spot on the floor by white bleach. Haerthos stared at the giant roaring beast of snow that charged toward them, and then he ran in front of the struggling group, planting his feet firmly in the ground and pulling a small silver orb out of his bag.
“Hope this baby holds,” he mutters and activated the Personal shield used for Sora’s reflect attacks, and the hexagonal transparent dome transcended on the group, barely including every limb of the group. Haerthos grunted and turned to stare at the oncoming rampage of pure white, the raging roar growing louder and louder as it grew nearer every second. Haerthos was feeling very, very small now. At least, he figured, if the avalanche broke through, it’s not like he could feel anything. He was missing his solid form less and less everyday. The white snow reflected in his eyes now, a growing whiteness that soon overcame their color and his orbs shown with pure white glory, the eyes of an angel blazing in defiance of sin. As the snowy avalanche was a foot away and closing, Haerthos had the most random thought as he looked blankly at the white snow about to crush over him.
“At least it’s not snakes on a plane…”
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I know, I mentioned possibley the most annoying movie title at the end, but I am so obsessed with the title that I can't help it. lol. Anyway I hope that was enjoyable for you and I eagerly await your replies. Please critique and stuff. Thanks, and have a good life.