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cradleproject2016-07-17 08:36 pm
al2955) wrote in cradleproject2016-07-17 08:36 pm
WEEK 6 - E̛x̛e̵c̴̷̀u̴͢t҉io͜n̶͞
| the pygmalion. . . ONLINE  Ç͜A̵̸͞P̨̡TĄ̷IŅ͡'̀̕S̷ ͞L̶͜O̷̵G̴: Ẁ̨E̛͜ÉḰ̴͠ ̴̸(̧̛͜6̷) |
s̛̕͜u̷n̴̕d͡ay͞ ͜͠͠EX͞È̢C̶̕U͏͜T̕Ì̡O͜͞N̡ (29̨)͘ ͏̶s̸u̴rv̀i͏v̶͝o̧͘ŕ͏s͟  As͡͝ ̕͞v̢̛o̵̢t̀́íņ̀g͡͞ ̵̨́co̸m̧e̶s͟ t͜o̢̢ ͝a҉n̵̵̵ ̀͢e̸n̨d́҉, ͏̡a̕͏ s̢͞o̕͢n̶҉̸g͏̴ f͢͠i͠ļ͟͡t͏̡e͠r͝͝ś҉͟ ͞į҉n͏̸͡ ͡͏p̸l̶̨͝a͜y͡҉e̷d̵ ̧̕s͘o͝ ̡l͝o̸͡͠u͘҉d ͘t̴ha҉̵͘t͏̢͞ ͡i͟͝t̸̀͠ ͟b̀e̕c̷͘͘o̢͏m̢e͟͝s ̀̕͢d͟ist̡͢o̕͡r̷̨ęḑ̶͡ ̧҉an͜d̢҉͜ ̴̷̢f͢͡͝r͟a͝g̸ḿeņ̢̛t̷́ed̡͡.̢͟ ̛̛ ̢̀͞I̷f̴͝ ̵҉a̷ ͢ṕ̴̀ar̛t̶i̧͢c̨̡͞į͢͟p̛̛͠á̕n͘͟t͟͝ ch͏ec̀ks̀͢͝ t̨̕͞h̴͞e͟͡i̕r ͘͘d̵a͘tá̛p͟͝a̶͘d͡,̡͡ ͡th̸̕͟ęy͢ ҉w͡i͏l̀͡ļ̀ ̵ş̸́e̷e̕͘͏ ́t͠h̵͝ȩ̸ ҉̵t̵̵͟h͜ę̶ ̡̛v̵ic͞t͘͜͡į̸m̀ ͢͡à̵͟n̡̛d̵́ ̴̷s͘͢ų͠sp͞͞e҉̸͢c̸̶̛t c̕h͟os̛en͟ ̶̴b̸̨̛y̧ ̴m̀a͞j̵o͢͞r̨̀͏i̵̶̛t̴̀͜y͏'̛͡s̵̸ p̛i̛͜c̛tu͠ŕ͠e̶̕s ̵d͠iş̨p͘͝l̛͏ay҉̷e͠d.̸̛͜ ҉Í̶̸f̸̢̕ ̵͏t͏h̀͟ę͝y͞ ̴͜͟a͠t͏͜t̨̛em̨̛ṕ͟t ͜͝tǫ ̧͞s̷c̴̛r̢͘ơ̧l̶͜͝ļ͠,̷ t́͜h́͘e̛y̶ ͡w̨͜i̢l̢l̸͢ ̢se̶̢͞e͝͝ ͏a ̷l̢i͝҉s̶̀͜t of̛͞ ̕ch̕ar̢a͘͡c̢t͝er̷ś ̴a̕n͠͏d̴ t͟h́ę̧ir̴͝ ̵͘v̛o͘͡t́͏ę̷s ̵́i̴̡n̸̸͝ a̷͘l̴̴p̡̀͞h̸̷̕a͟b̶̀͠ę͟ţ̵̛i͏͘c͟al̨̡ ͞ór̶͠d͢͡e͞r̵͟. ͘͝ |
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The suddenness of Clover's swing to her catches her forearm, Elizabeth defensively trying to deflect it. Bone rips away and skin peels at the flesh in a gush of blood. Instead, her limbs tighten and elongate into more of a parasitic fashion. She deflects with minimal damage, instead one of her tendrils that erupt from her back soon snaking around to choke the holy fucking shit out of Clover. Elizabeth was ready to decapitate her. Or so she thinks? Nope, the barrier dodges it, so her strength was used to hurl the girl at Judar. ]
No magic! That's not fair!
[ She's wounded, though. Elizabeth was ready to advance onto Judar and Clover with her other hand. Elizabeth isn't using the arm Clover used now, visibly weak with it.
It was Frankenstein's spear that saves her. The creature stumbles, pinned back towards the glass walls with enough force that they shatter. The creature may look down, twitching and convulsing on the ground. Elizabeth sobs, screaming an inhuman noise that could cause eardrums to burst if one didn't shield their ears quickly. The tendrils snaking around as the creature stands, all while impaled with Frankenstein's dark spear. ]
A challenge? Color me tickled pink.
no subject
It's so, so quiet.
Everyone is screaming and pulling themselves apart and each other away—it's so quiet. Light had always been in the back of her head, static, constant morphogenetic feedback she never realized she was always, always picking up on until—until it was gone. It's gone. It's gone. He's gone.
And the silence crushes her still, so much so that she hardly processes that Frankenstein is there and fighting beside her, the chaos and noise isn't enough to break through the void in her where Light should be, where he will never be again, and when she's thrown aside she doesn't let go of the axe, she tumbles to the ground with it in her grip and keeps it in her fists when she comes to her feet, hardly even waiting until she's finished falling to pick herself up again. A snarl starts to form across her face and the thing that killed her brother says it isn't fair and her mouth twists into—into a smile, wide and wicked and wrong in the way it stretches across her face more like a mask and when she charges forward again she's laughing.
It's not fair. Four games of life and death later, three times she was given every reason to believe she would never see her brother again, one where she had to be dragged away from underneath his corpse because he kept her safe, here is what Clover has learned about fairness: no one gets what they deserve.
She will avenge him. She will avenge him. It is all she can do, all she has left in her, all she has left to do.
She swings the axe again, aiming for its chest, its throat, somewhere hopefully final and fatal. She will avenge him, this thing will die like he did, will get what it deserves.]
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[Now, a twisted smile crosses his face. This is Clover's moment, this is for Clover, this is for Light, this is for himself.
This is for all the damage that was done during this trial. This is for continuing to put his children in danger. This is his last act of reckless abandonment, of pure chaos, of humanity.
Or is it?
(Idly, he can't help but wonder if this is enough to atone.
Master, I won't be at your side anymore, but I hope that you know that I left this world protecting innocents - just as you would want me to.)
In a flash, the rest of the black flames consume Frankenstein's body - and he can feel it from within. He can feel his soul being pulled apart from the anger of millions of spirits and inside, he is screaming. Inside, he is growling and fighting because this thing cannot be stronger than him. It is a weapon, it isn't him—
But it is.
So where Frankenstein was once standing, there is instead something else entirely. For a few moments, it's motionless as Clover swings her axe. Then all at once it roars.
The screaming of thousands of souls, Frankenstein's one voice drowned among them, resounds through the room. Its arms begin to move, directing the aura that had already been present and continuing to thread it, moving it to pierce through monster that was once Elizabeth - though it still methodically avoids vitals. No, this is for Clover, whatever last piece of Frankenstein's psyche remains knows that this is more important to her and not to him.
All that's left is this ghoul where Frankenstein once stood. With one last motion, it surveys the damage of the room and it smiles.
It already begins to crumble, unable to manifest without a vessel to properly take now that Frankenstein's very soul has been claimed.
The wisps of shadow begin to disappear just as they came, returning to whatever spiritual prison that they once came from, this time with one more in tow.]
no subject
He's silent at every hit that occurs, and then --
Frankenstein's move is made and the man who had been standing there was no more.
The man who made jokes casually, and watched over the children as well as a few others on this ship... a man he certainly trusted, who even bested him at one challenge. They never got a chance to engage in another, and he's sure in his moment of silence that he's not the only one wracked with grief.
There's nothing left.
There's nothing left.
This is always what happens isn't it?
At least... Frankenstein did something to assist in driving off that beast. His actions will never be forgotten. He will remember this. }