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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arknights: gavial,
- baroque: koriel xii (dextera),
- bastard!!: dark schneider,
- boy's abyss: gen minegishi,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fire emblem: byleth eisner,
- fire emblem: claude von riegan,
- fire emblem: dimitri a. blaiddyd,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- granblue fantasy: eustace,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): midna,
- locked tomb (the): john gaius,
- oc: liem talbott,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- vampire hunter d: d
Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle
NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH
You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.
Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.
As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.
When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.
It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.
You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.
Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture theflag Oracle!
Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.
As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.
When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.
It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.
You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.
Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the
SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )
Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.
The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.
Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.
For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.
DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.
The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!
DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.
They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!
The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.
Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.
Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.
For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.
DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.
The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!
DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.
They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!
UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )
The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.
That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.
You are disruptive to their way of life.
The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.
They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.
Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.
It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.
Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!
That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.
You are disruptive to their way of life.
The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.
They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.
Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.
It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.
Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!
IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )
The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.
Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.
Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.
On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.
A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.
Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.
Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.
Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.
On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.
A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.
Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.
MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )
As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.
With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.
Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.
Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?
With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.
Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.
Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?
NOTES
Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle!
— The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.
— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.
— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.
— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.
— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.
► john
It's the vague thought that crosses his mind as Gen -- having finally put enough distance between himself and D -- mulls over as he emerges from the ground. The pointy canine ears on his head flop when he shakes his head to dislodge the one or two crumbs of dirt stuck in his hair, and he looks around cautiously, scanning his surroundings for any signs of movement, whether it be wildlife or fellow Shardbearer. Stays silent for a moment, squinting into the oversized greenery surrounding them, making sure that he can't spot anyone around.
And it's only then that Gen opens a clenched fist to double-check and make sure it's really that necklace he has in his possession. It looks ... fine? Normal? Not that he knows much about necklaces in the first place, but still.
Strange to think that all this fuss is over something so small.
A pointy ear flicks in thought before Gen sighs and tucks the necklace away in one of the pouches at his belt, tucked close against his body. And having traveled so far through the ground, he's admittedly exhausted that option for a little while. Ugh.
Time to make the long trek back to the Zenith base to make sure this object's kept nice and safe. ]
i foolishly assumed i hit the post button ffs....
although he had said he'd choose hayame to kill when set had posed the question, it was mostly a joke. john has already let that go; under those circumstances, her actions were justified.
the same can't be said for gen, however.
in john's mind, what gen did was worse than having his skull crushed by a centaur. he has to live with the humiliation of having let himself be pushed around by a child.
and in the most mature way possible, this is how john will get some satisfaction — by bullying the kid right back. nobody has to die, but he's going to make someone feel bad so he feels better, as one does.
john is waiting along the path leading back to the Zenith camp, knowing gen would need to come this way. he'd been keeping track of the necklace itself, so the fact that it had fallen into gen's possession was a lucky opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. ]
There he is, just who I wanted to see.
[ john is doing nothing to lessen the eeriness of his eyes or the unpleasantness of his energy — just rancid vibes all over. ]
You have something that belongs to me.
no subject
Less a personal insult and more a testament to just how little Gen cares to cultivate his interpersonal web, willing to make enemies without a second thought and deal with the consequences later. Because, like -- how is he supposed to resist the immediate satisfaction of getting to lord over some dumb schmuck when the opportunity presents itself? Even moreso when the very world keeps conspiring to fuck with your head? As far as he was concerned, what had happened down beneath the tree's roots during the last Oracle battle was water under the bridge, and now he has much better things to be concerning himself with.
And so, when John greets him on the way back to Zenith camp, Gen allows his pace to slow to a stop. He raises an eyebrow, regards John in silence for a moment. Then, straightfaced, deadpans: ]
Who're you again?
[ He knows, of course. Obvious in the way he follows that (immature!) slight with a snort, before resuming his pace. ]
I don't got shit to do with you. If I ended up with something belonging to someone as boring and indecisive as you, I would've already let you know and chucked it into a wasp's nest. So fuck off.
[ Gen pretends not to even look at John, making like he's just about to keep walking to his destination. But a keen eye might spot the way his pointy ears are swiveled in John's direction, alert to any sounds; Gen is brash and stupid, but not so stupid that he'd dismiss the possibility of inter-faction aggression, of course. ]
no subject
[ saying nothing more, john grips the thumb of his right hand and twists like he's trying to open a bottle, separating it at the joint without so much as a wince. the bleeding has already been staunched, and a new one regrows in its place, which he tests a bit before tossing the bits of — now clean — bone on the ground like dice. in an instant, john is flanked by a pair of fully formed skeletons that seem to have unfolded themselves somehow from the bits of finger bone with red pinpoints of light glowing in their hollow eye sockets. ]
Let's try again.
[ the skeletons are already moving to try and grab at gen, which john calmly observes with his hands clasped behind his back. ]
Now that I've made it clear that continuing to underestimate me is a mistake.
no subject
His gaze had focused sharply on John once more the moment he'd heard the crack of cartilage and ripping of flesh; it's the emergence of those two skeletons that really has him on-guard, dirt crunching beneath his bootsoles as he turns to face John with shoulders squared and lip curled in a disdainful sneer. ]
What, I'm supposed to be scared of your tryhard magic tricks? What are you, twelve?
[ Which isn't to say that Gen is particularly looking forward to dealing with this whole mess. If John is able to so easily summon himself some helping hands, that means this fight's going to be annoying. Enough that he'd simply leave -- if he hadn't already exhausted his ability to glide through the earth. Ugh.
So he settles for the next best option: dodging back a few steps, staying out of the skeleton's grasps as he instead focuses his attentions on John directly, aiming a wide swipe of the arm in his direction. He isn't anywhere close enough to land a punch, of course -- but that gesture does immediately make the earth beneath John's feet slide out beneath him, aiming to spill him to the loose ground and rattle his focus. ]
time to bully a teen 💯
What was that about tryhard magic tricks? Tripping people? Very mature. [
john he's an actual teenager shut up][ as petty as ever, john targets the same arm gen had used for the spell as he picks himself up off the ground. it's as if an invisible hand grabs gen by the wrist and yanks it firmly upward above his head to hold it there, twisting it harshly. the skeletons crumple into piles of bones, their presence no longer necessary now that john is being so direct. ]
Ooh, sorry. See, ideally, you want me to stop at tricks. The tricks are usually pretty painless, but I can't say the same for everything else.
[ john takes his time walking closer because this is the kind of thing he enjoys as much as he'd like to pretend that he doesn't. this is partly because john has a grudge, and partly because he's tired of people acting like he's someone to trifle with. ]
Are you going to hand over what you've got, or should I start breaking things? I mean—... [ a laugh. ] I'm probably going to anyway, but maybe I'll be nice if you cooperate. What do you say?
It seems like no one ever put the fear of God in you, so I'll be happy to fix that.
doing the whole game a service
He'd intended on either making a run for it or lunging it for a proper punch (right in the middle of that insufferably smug face) depending on how John reacted to the side-swipe. So when it looks like it's worked, Gen throws himself forth, arm cocked back to deliver the perfect haymaker -- and gives a stifled yelp when that same art suddenly yanks him up into the air. The jolt is so sudden that it sends an ache all the way through his shoulder, the strain pinging painfully through to his chest, and Gen struggles and fights in mid-air for a good moment, clawing at whatever invisible force is keeping him aloft with his other hand before realizing it's not something tangible he can tangle with.
So it's all just John, then.
That realization has his gaze sparking bright with anger anew, and Gen simply glowers at John at first, teeth gritted as he endures the twisting pain in his arm. And while it'd be a lie to say he isn't afraid of what John might be capable of -- the tension is clear in the line of his shoulders, and the way his whippy canine tail pulls close against his leg, those pointy ears flattened back in caution and aggression -- Gen does an admirable job of keeping his voice level when he responds. ]
I can't fucking believe it.
[ A bark of laughter, short and derisive. ]
You can't decide what side you wanna be on, can't decide what you wanna do -- and now you can't even decide how you wanna deal with me? Just how spineless and indecisive are you? Fucking pathetic.
cw: for the body horror to follow lol
Nah, I know exactly what I want. You will learn some respect.
[ he punctuates his statement with the cracking of bones as that invisible force crushes gen's hand, offering an unobstructed view as it twists and contorts unnaturally. john could deaden the nerves, but he won't, and only releases gen once he's done the same to his forearm. he isn't worried about gen getting away; that would simply inform him what to break next. ]
Ready to try again? It's fine if you want to keep resisting. Everyone has a limit, and I've still got plenty of time to find yours.
[ again, he moves in at his leisurely pace, the entire point of this to be as irritating as possible. he wants to show how effortless it is because that's his gimmick as the the God who became man and the man who became God. what's the point in having the power of you can't elevate yourself above the little people? gen simply hasn't been properly indoctrinated. ]
Do you want to call me spineless again? I can show you what that feels like for real if you wish.
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Ah, god. It hurts so much he can barely think.
But against John's expectations, he makes no attempt to run even once he's back on the ground. Because like hell he's going to give this fuckface that satisfaction. His movements are halting when he struggles to pull himself back up onto his knees, but the bright, focused anger in his eyes makes it clear he hasn't given up just yet.
Case in point -- he surges to his feet the next moment. Not to flee, but to lunge at John with a wide sweep of his prosthetic arm and an indistinct, furious snarl. Along with that gesture comes a shift of the earth beneath John's feet, more drastic than before -- a grave-sized hole opening up directly below him, aiming to drop him into cold dirt. The side of the hole immediately begin to cave in afterwards, trying to bury him alive.
Will this even work? Who fucking knows. But he at least has the try. ]
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as far as his ego is concerned — this stings like hell.
for a few moments, it probably seems like it worked as dirt fills in the grave. time enough to breathe, at least, before a sharp length of bone breaks the surface. several others push their way up next to it — spindly arachnid legs churning up the soil as he frees himself. ]
The grave was a nice touch, I'll give you that. [ his eyes look especially horrible when he's covered in dirt and part-bone spider. ] Are you done? This shirt was already ruined, but now I've had to put holes in it.
[ ... because the legs seem to be emerging from his back, possibly because he made them using his ribs. even so, it doesn't seem to cause him any discomfort to support himself on the eight spider's legs. six are plenty to walk on while the two topmost legs curve forward menacingly.
sure, he could use his same tricks as before to pin gen down, but at this point, it would be too easy. instead, he rushes forward, out for blood this time. the ends of the legs are tipped in long bone spikes, which he now aims at gen as he stabs at him, waiting for him to make the wrong move. john's aim is unpredictable, mostly because he's treating this like a game. ]
You're making me have to get creative. [ a sigh. ] You've blown right past brave and circled back to suicidal.
[ not that he intends to kill gen; death is sort of pointless when it's not permanent, and it just makes the Tree sad, but it's better when everyone assumes it's still on the table. ]
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only to hear the creak of bones and the rustle of dirt as John emerges once more like some terrible B-movie monster rising from the deep. Bootsoles grit against the ground as Gen's forced to face that incoming threat once more, and there's an unmistakable pallor to his face as he mutters, ]
God, I hate you cheaters.
[ Because in what world is it fair that he has to face off against these sorts of overpowered assholes? It's fucking unfair.
For better or for worse, he doesn't have the time or breath to waste on any further snide commentary. It takes all his focus just to avoid the first incoming stab of a spindly leg; a second stab whiffs past his hair, a third narrowly dodged, and a fourth skims against his thigh, tearing through fabric and drawing blood. The next one finally hits its mark -- there's just no way he can maneuver his shattered arm properly, and one of those long bone spikes punctures right through the forearm, pinning him to the ground.
Gen goes down with a pained snarl, though there's not much more he can do than that. Despite his reflexive clawing and shoving at that bone spike, there's no way he can dislodge it. And for all his efforts kicking and thrashing in his attempts to free himself, throwing his weight against that impalement only exacerbates the wound. His struggles have only served to further pulverize his flesh, pulling it bruised and stringy around that spider-like leg by the time he looks back up to John, teeth bared and lips curled as he spits, ]
-- just kill me already then, you indecisive fuck!
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[ he lowers himself to the ground to stand on his own two feet, but keeps the pressure on to keep gen pinned. ]
I was never going to kill you from the start. The Tree gets sort of bummed when we die, and I don't need you withholding vital information from me out of spite, so you'll get to live another day.
[ not that john has any say in who gets what information from the Tree, but there is no point in sending his enemies off to potentially get magic dreams he'll never get to hear about. ]
First of all, I still want the necklace. That is what this is all about, after all.
[ since anyone could have assumed this was all personal. ]
Secondly, you have a commendable amount of fight in you, given what you've endured so far, but I've broken better people with more significant reasons to hate me.
[ he tilts his head and seems to be considering something, savouring the moment. this is what it's all about, honestly. he doesn't care that he's literally stepping on someone to make himself feel powerful. that's the point of having power! when you need to, you get to grind little punks into the dust. ]
Everyone has something. Everyone has their "thing." The one thing they couldn't live without. Something I could take from you, and you'd beg me to put you out of your misery...
[ another one of the legs arches up over john's head, a hovering spike seeking a target. ]
I mean— that arm of yours is pretty fucked already. Going for a matching set?
[ john brings it lower, letting it sit poised above gen's head, tensed enough to shake a bit with anticipation. ]
Your tongue would definitely shut you up. We have something called the Sewn Tongue where I'm from. Can you imagine what that might entail? Or, hmm, what about your legs?
[ the limb held just over gen's forehead doesn't move, but two of the others do, driven through both thighs to pin him like a specimen on a board. john, of course, is delighted with his own sense of dramatic timing. he loves to hear himself talk, but it's at least clear that he's nearing the end of his speech. ]
The point is that it's effortless to take that from you any time I want. Not to be all, "I have over ten billion confirmed kills," but: maybe do not fuck with me.
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Though it's probably a good thing he's squirreled away the thought somewhere so hidden. Because otherwise, the fear and tension of what follows probably would have ejected it straight from his mind.
Gen plays strong because of course he does. Showing weakness is something that simply wasn't permitted to him, no matter the circumstances. So he grits his teeth and maintains a fierce glare even as that bone spike hovers above him, dominating his field of vision as the shadow it casts roaming idly over his features. John's each and every obnoxious, insufferable word rings in his ears, somehow audible with painful clarity even past the steadily-quickening huffs of his own breathes and the thundering of his pulse. And honestly, with the way John orchestrates the steady buildup of tension, it's almost a relief when those spikes finally find their mark.
The sudden assault on his legs catches him off-guard, of course. Gen screams as those spikes find their marks, jerking and twisting against those painful restraints. But just as quick, he fights to contain that noise -- clenching his jaw, swallowing it back, instead breathing in jagged huffs past gritted teeth. His eyes might be watering, but he tries to blink it back. Opens his mouth, catches himself when a pained noise begins to emerge, and instead forced a guttural laugh. ]
-- f ... fuck you.
[ Of course. He laughs again, but it's breathless and cracking from the strain. ]
You think you're so cool just 'cause you can hurt me? Nothing's ... nothing's gonna undo the fact that you let someone like me affect where you ended up. [ One more wheezing laugh. ] You've got no fucking clue what you're doin'. An' you're just taking it out on me.
[ He can't stop shaking, for some reason. Is it the pain or the stress or the bloodloss that's starting to make him feel lightheaded? Surely, some combination of all three. Though that last one -- the bloodloss -- does have him forcing one last laugh, the noise manic and reedy from the effort of playing strong. ]
'Not gonna kill me,' my ass. H-how much longer do you think I'm gonna last like this? [ Maybe a few minutes, with how much he's bleeding. Surely, if he can hold one for just a few more minutes, he'll dissipate. It would be a lie to say he's not scared of it, but the sheer spite of going against John's proclaimed plans is motivation enough to hold on just a little longer. ] Or what, you gonna pretend it was your plan all along?
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You haven't figured it out yet? [ some of his anger gives way to an awful grin that can mean nothing good. ] You won't die until I let you. It's quite easy to keep you lingering at the threshold indefinitely.
You're right though; I am taking it out on you. I didn't have to do any of this to get the necklace from you, but that would've been a waste of a perfect opportunity.
[ with gen staked to the ground and what's already been said, it's not like john has to hold back to protect his image here. humanity is now just a mask for someone who lost touch with his a long time ago. ]
I can heal you as easily as I can hurt you. Even growing that arm back is possible. [ not that he's going to. ] I can make all of this stop and go away, but whether that happens now or later is up to you. The only person who suffers for your stubbornness about this is you.
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then pales further when things finally click.
It's telling that he's at a loss for words at first. Because what the hell retort can he give when faced by a threat like that? He's been here too long to doubt what John is saying; he knows people here are capable of all sorts of bullshit, so healing someone should be a cakewalk, probably. Even when Gen does eventually find his voice once more, it comes out wobbly this time, each word rasped between shaky breaths. ]
... s-so what d'you want me to actually do, you pretentious fuck.
[ He refuses to actually buckle and admit defeat; like hell he's going to beg for mercy. Mouthing off at John like that isn't even a conscious choice, but a stubborn reflex -- too proud to tuck his tail beneath his legs and act docile. But he's moved on from playing strong to bargaining, seeking a way to escape from this situation with his pride at least partially intact. ]