My muse has been sidelined enough times by snippets, quest and otherwise, that I thought it might be a good idea to make an official thread for it. So, uh, that's
what this is. The Bloopers for Sanctioned were a good start, but a little too limiting.
So, without further ado...
Knowledge of Practical Guide to Evil is not necessary for this story.
An Impractical Guide to Ascension
(Worm / Practical Guide to Evil) Or: An Impractical Guide to Villainy Heroism
"The best defence is to have killed all your enemies."
—Dread Emperor Terribilis I, the Thorough
From everything I've heard on the Internet, that bastion of truthTM and people who never ever lie, power usage is supposed to be instinctual. Mine don't give me that benefit, and indeed, what little they do divulge only raises yet more questions. Like the part where brooding is supposed to be done from some sort of throne or velvet chair, something worthy of my Name.
Heiress, my powers whispered. My Name, a description of the form my powers would take. What I'm supposed to inherit, I honestly don't know. I think my own abilities are even more nonsensical than superpowers usually are. I was faster, stronger, and tougher now, with a pool of power I could call on to further boost these traits as needed. A growing pool, I noticed. Time and exercise seemed to help it grow while spending a few days lazing about stopped its progress altogether.
In addition to that particular pool, I had a bundle only just barely linked to my Name, a bundle that is perhaps the most puzzling piece of my entire powerset. Rise. I believe it's primarily used for on-demand personal healing, although I might be able to use it on other creatures as well. My experiments with injured insects were not particularly encouraging; instead of being healed, they outright exploded. Animal testing would have to wait until I could get a cancerous rat or something.
My Name — my powers — also seem to be linked to thoughts and dreams somehow, although I'm still working out how. I dimly remember a nightmare of being hunted by shifting figures with inhuman stamina from when I first got my powers, but unfortunately, I can't recall much more than that. More recently, it's shown me various psychopathic villains killing people who'd troubled them in their civilian identities.
I think it's safe to say my powers are evil and they want me to kill the Trio. No, thank you. Even if they seemed intent on making my life a living hell, I was a Cape now. A strong cape, I felt, or at least one who would eventually become one. Growing powers are abnormal; Dauntless is the only US Cape with a rate of ascension rapid enough to make him Triumvirate-tier in a few years or decades. Still, as hard as it is to admit, the conditioning seems to be working; I've had to fight down the urge to physically or emotionally attack them more times than I could count. Unfamiliar words arrive at the tip of my tongue, an urge to fight back, the certainty that I would win. Promised power is all well and good, but it's not really doing much to help me right now, is it?
At least Rise might give me a method of getting on the cape scene before I could tank bullets. The PRT and Protectorate are supposed to be all about helping capes not be a danger to themselves or others, right? Wouldn't they be all-too glad to have another healer on hand and willing to help with whatever tests are necessary to get one? The next Endbringer fight is supposed to be coming up soon and they need everyone they can muster for those. What better way to introduce myself to the world at large?
Still, that left me in dire need of that most basic of props, a costume. My powers, as usual, seemed only too happy to make a suggestion of their own: a long, flowing dress of crimson dyed with the blood of the innocent and imbued with sorcerous might—
No.
. . .
Wait, what was that last part?
So it turns out that I'm a magical girl. No, wait, hold on. I'm a girl with magical powers—no, that doesn't sound right either. I can use magic, okay? Or something my powers insist is called such. Since using it seems to make me hungrier, I'm increasingly convinced it's just repurposing energy instead of anything mystical. Provided, it involves glyphs, weird materials, chanting, and other strangeness, but… I give up. Fine, I'll call it magic, but not in public.
Fitting. Sorcery is the art of deceiving the world; deceiving others can only add—stop that.
I was slowly starting to imagine my powerset as a beautiful busybody endowed with everything I didn't have, but insistent on making sure I'd get it no matter the cost to other people. Even if it was fairly easy to distinguish the Villain's thoughts from my own, she was only too happy to drape herself over my shoulder and offer her opinion on everything.Something I would be able to do for other people, given time; as the Heiress, I would become respected and feared sooner—fear is not a good thing, Villain.
I groaned and buried my head in both hands. Why couldn't I have gotten normal powers? Even something boring like Alexandria's powerset wouldn't come with the weird mental baggage, would it?
...Wait, do all capes have these thoughts and nobody talks about it? It would explain all the villains...
I shook my head and tried to ward off the honestly-baseless speculation. Somebody would've mentioned it by now even if they feared being thought insane. Even the boring maniacs like Jack Slash didn't mention weird advisors. Still, I suppose I should really get back to why I have a knife on my desk. One of the most disturbing revelations of the day is how my "magic" seems to operate off some of the more frightening fantasy rules. That blood-dyed dress the Villain proposed earlier? It was actually viable. Virgins don't yet have their… essence, I suppose, mixed and contaminated by that of other people. Their blood and pain is simply purer and easier to use for enchantment, and the easier magic is, the less power you need for it. Pain objects to pain just as it can beget yet more suffering, making blood one of the best possible reagents for direct attack and protection.
Which is why I was trying to work up the courage to drain my wrist for a bowl full of blood. I was still an innocent, so why couldn't I just use that? I didn't yet have a suitable full-body garment to enchant, but I had more than enough bracelets and other baubles I could start with.
Sacrificing my enemies would get me enough blood for a full outfit, Villain reminded me. Why harm myself when there are those who would deserve their fates?
Because murder is illegal, likely to get me sent to prison, and just plain wrong? That's just handing them a victory of a different sort.
They aren't heroes, Villain insisted. They don't always win. And would their deaths not be the first stage of my plan? My victory would be assured.
...I'm not even going to begin to go into all the things wrong with that. Arguing with myself—with my powers was just a recipe for insanity, especially when they seemed to be insane themselves.
Many great people have been called insane in their time. Calling others mad is simply a defense mechanism for the uninspired.
I just called you insane and no never mind please ignore that opening.
Villain is blissfully silent, a rather gratifying change from my primary social interaction — which is to say, the Trio. Unfortunately, that very same silence brings me back to the knife sitting on my bedroom desk. Sacrifices had to be made for power, I knew; Villain's existence was a perfect example of that. The trick was simply to make sure other people are the ones making them. Fortunately, my power would have no luck convincing me to...
I hesitated and tried to reconsider my kneejerk reaction. Murdering the trio is right out, I knew, but what of volunteers? I couldn't trade healing for blood until I was officially introduced to the world at large, but nothing said I couldn't change alter my costume in the middle. I could even recycle whatever dress I started out with. But how would I explain my specific need for innocent blood? A lot of fantasy magic systems claimed sorceresses could do some pretty unpleasant stuff with that, including mine. Considering the fact that some spells created glowing runes in midair, the general public would learn of my magical theme sooner than later. Best to avoid the problem entirely; money, unlike blood, is something I couldn't generate on my own. Couldn't I get paid for healing? I was pretty sure New Wave and Panacea accepted donations, which was honestly close enough.
Already cringing inside, I grabbed the knife, pulled my hoodie sleeve back, and held my opposite arm over the bowl.
Five, four, three, two—
I sliced on one, beginning my climb toward true power with one of the most fitting sacrifices known to sorcery. Which was, of course, when Dad opened the door to my room and walked in.
I sliced on one, beginning my climb toward true power with one of the most fitting sacrifices known to sorcery. Which was, of course, when Dad walked in.
If you write more of this, will it continue to be fairly silly, or will it get a bit more serious here and there? (not that it doesn't already have some serious )
If you write more of this, will it continue to be fairly silly, or will it get a bit more serious here and there? (not that it doesn't already have some serious )
I expect the tone would/will remain fairly lighthearted throughout. Villain doesn't seem to think of the local gangs as anything more than thugs and that harms Taylor's ability to consider them frightening threats, among other mindset changes.
I do like the idea of trying to use the powers of World's Most Stereotypical Villain to try to be a hero. She might also have interesting interactions with Damsel of Distress and her need to monologue.
"You have to enjoy life's little pleasures, like lazy mornings and strawberries and invading Callow with an invisible army."
—Dread Empress Malevolent II
"Is this the part where you tell me about your superpowers?"
Roma of Ater, more recently known as Dread Empress Maleficent the Third of the Dread Empire Praes, was rather starting to miss the hell she used to occupy.
Heroic propaganda had painted Evil afterlives as some sort of horrifying landscape where the damned suffered for eternity, but honestly? It was really quite pleasant. Devils respected power down there, would toil and labor for her benefit just to keep her from blasting them into oblivion and essence reformation. Many other Villains she'd met seemed to be in much the same boat; even if none of them still had their Names, they were still stronger than most Devils. Any stronger Devils had their weaker counterparts to bully and tended to leave Named alone.
Regardless, Maleficent wasn't finding life as a Name-sustained shade as entertaining as it should be. A whole new world to work with, one where any local gods hadn't officially revealed themselves? Fascinating. The realization she couldn't form moderately-unstoppable killer juggernauts out of their nearby scrapyard, couldn't use their fascinating transportation system as part of a city-wide ritual, couldn't directly do anything? Rather less so.
Molding the newest Heiress was somewhat entertaining, but she was forced to stay on that project even when, in life, she'd have long since wandered off and terrorized a few outlying Callowan villages. The girl was stubborn and worked hard to resist any Name-assisted influence Maleficent attempted. Maleficent had never been the sort of girl to enjoy long, ongoing plots requiring all of her attention. She much preferred multiple simultaneous ones with hidden preparations, an impressive climax, and using any newly-made weapons of mass destruction until they broke. She could always make new ones.
If Maleficent still had lungs, she would sigh wistfully. She'd had such a good speech prepared for her own downfall, too. She'd even partially starved some orphans to help it along! Shame the White Knight had to go and lop her head off barely two sentences in; she hadn't even gotten to reveal their presence! Heroes had no appreciation for proper presentation.
And oh, what performances she could gift had she still been alive! This world had true monsters, ones which slaughtered men and women by the hundreds of thousands. What could she do with control of one of them? What couldn't she accomplish with all three? If she knew where they'd attack, it wouldn't even be that difficult to set up a suitable array — provided she had peasants or similar minions to carve the necessary lines, of course, and enough innocents to sacrifice. Forget following in Dread Empress Triumphant's (may she never return) footsteps and controlling a continent; she'd outright conquer the world. Who could stop her with such might at her beck and call?
Sadly, Maleficent was well aware she'd missed her chance for such glory. The best she could do was attach herself to a few demon-like biological abominations when they passed by and outright stole the essence of Creation. They didn't know what to do with it, but that didn't stop them from devouring every last hell they could find.
Still, the very existence of such beings all-but proved that the gods were even more full of poison than she'd originally thought. They weren't all-powerful, hadn't created each and every dimension. They were just powerful beings playing on the biggest board they could make. Well, she was off their board now, so HAH! Who's laughing now? Not her, because she didn't have lungs, but she was doing it on the inside!
At least Heiress took to magic like a tortured prisoner to water. Maleficent only had to tell her how to do something once for the girl to understand. Turning theory into practice was a little trickier, but still several orders of magnitude easier than it should be. It hadn't even been two hours since she learned sorcery existed and she was already planning her first enchantment. Provided, Heiress would be using her own blood for it, but there didn't seem to be any other sorcerous practitioners in this world. Her choice to reject high-quality raw materials was unfortunate, not dangerous.
It wasn't as though virgins were the only type of innocent; really, anyone who avoided violence would do. But as long as Heiress thought her Name wanted her to do one thing, she'd reflexively go in the opposite direction, so why not go with one of the rarer versions of sacrifice? She'd come to accept harming others soon enough, and if she didn't, it would be due to finding a suitable substitute. Power was power; who cared who it came from?
If Maleficient was being honest with herself, she'd admit Heiress was the sort of daughter she'd always wanted. Ambitious, strong-willed, intelligent, magically talented, constantly proving a challenge to raise, forever trying to ignore her yet still slowly being corrupted...
Really, Maleficent wished one of her own numerous bastards could've been as much fun. Their own attempts at succeeding her had been outright pathetic, to the point where Maleficent refused to publicly acknowledge they'd even tried anything. Even had they somehow succeeded, the High Lords of Praes would've eaten them alive. Possibly literally; she knew at least one of them had been a secret fan of Dread Emperor Sanguine's work.
Why, Heiress had understood that power required sacrifice before they even met. Even if she eventually remembered her original Name dream and Maleficent's own existence, she still wouldn't give up her Name. Any prices were worth the power granted and Heiress knew it.
Speaking of prices, Maleficent did wonder how much damage her last surprise had done before it was subdued. She couldn't remember any heroes save for the White Knight; perhaps she should take that as a sign they'd died against the Absence Demon she'd freed?
...No matter. For now, she had an potentially volatile situation to talk Heiress—
"Taylor, I'm not stupid. There were scratches on the floor from one of our heaviest cabinets being moved, you've been hiding knives all around the house, you're sprinting on your new morning runs, and now I find you draining blood into a bowl. What did you expect me to think?"
What? No! That is not how you drop major plot points! Have some class you unnamed brute!
"Taylor, I'm not stupid. There were scratches on the floor from one of our heaviest cabinets being moved, you've been hiding knives all around the house, you're sprinting on your new morning runs, and now I find you draining blood into a bowl. What did you expect me to think?"
Also, I know Ater is supposed to be a title or a place or something (sounds latin and I haven't studied the language) and Roma her name, but Roma is how we call Rome in Rome, and ATER stands for "Agenzia Territoriale per l'Edilizia Residenziale" (translation word for word: territorial agency of residential building), which is in Rome.
That's it. More of a "fun fact" than anything else.
Though roman accent and dialect make for hilarious villains.
"My dear friends, I have a confession to make. Some creative reframing of the truth may have taken place during the planning of this coup."
—Dread Emperor Traitorous, addressing the Order of the Unholy Obsidian upon successfully usurping the throne from himself
Keep your assets a secret until their dramatic reveal would do the most damage. An unknown weapon is one your foes cannot account for.
Must you make everything sound evil?
I sighed and rubbed at my forehead with one hand. Dad had convinced — although pressured might be a better word — me to visit the Protectorate sooner than later. Apparently, he did not approve of me using myself as a human test subject. I was rather starting to regret not telling him what I actually needed the blood for; now I'd need to collect it in secret. Plus, it was hard to properly preserve blood. Making even passable regalia — a good costume would take a long, long time. A ludicrously conservative red dress Dad had helped me pick out during a last-minute shopping trip, some makeup, and a domino mask would have to suffice for now.
Hesitation is one sin. Weakness, the other. All else is merely delusion.
Your face is delusional.
Villain's stunned silence gave me enough time to actually think about, and regret, what I'd just thought. I really did sound like a fool. I'd need to practice to avoid any similarly embarrassing lines in public.
I shook my head and returned my focus to Dad, belatedly realizing he'd asked me a question at some point. I honestly didn't catch what it was, but I recalled the original subject matter well enough.
"It's best if they don't realize you already know I'm a Cape," I tried. Judging by Dad's unimpressed expression, that question might've been important.
First sin, hesitation, Villain reminded me. I forced myself to take the hint and follow the tracks already laid.
"That way, they'll expect you to be off-balance and uncertain when you are brought in. They might suspect me of controlling you when you aren't and any resulting humiliation would chip away at their bargaining power. At the very least, your foreknowledge should surprise them and force them to take us a little more seriously. They're unlikely to do so without something forcing them. Not to mention the minor deception would give us a better idea of how they intend to treat us. Given as they're a government agency, I'm pretty sure they're used to having the biggest stick and resort to it first."
Dad stared at me for quite some time before echoing my earlier sigh.
"I think you're being paranoid, Taylor. This is just..."
"Sensible tactics that honestly can't hurt anything?" I tried.
"A good way to harm their trust," he corrects. "First impressions are important. Do you really want them to think you're going to lie for no good reason?"
Trust must be earned. If they aren't aware of that, they might allow someone horribly unsafe to join. Best they learn that lesson if they haven't already.
I tried to ignore Villain and say something that didn't sound quite so crazy. Trust was the stitching keeping society together; I honestly preferred a world with it over the one Villain was peddling.
"If they want me as a Ward," I began slowly, "they'd need to offer good terms in order to get a possibly-stubborn teenager to bring their parents into the larger picture. We want them to think of us as two independent entities when negotiating; I'll start off and you can simply build on whatever I accomplish. If they give you terms worse than what I negotiated for, even that will give us a better idea of who we're negotiating with. Trying to escape from being a Ward after joining is infamously difficult and their compensation is, quite frankly, rather meager. A trust fund of fifty thousand dollars annually — plus minimum wage — for men and women who can bend reality to their will? Small wonder there are a disturbingly high number of villains if this is the alternative."
Dad stared at me as though I'd suddenly grown horns and a tail. This state of affairs persisted for long enough I began to fidget, something Villain quickly chided me over and helped me suppress. Second sin, weakness.
"Isn't the main purpose of the program safety?" he tried eventually. "Making sure someone isn't a danger to themselves and others? Getting paid anything for something a lot like an after-school program is actually pretty good."
"That's just propaganda," I dismissed. On this, Villain and I were in agreement. "Power usage is usually instinctual, Dad. They can help ingrain reflexives and with refinement and that's it. Plus, there's video of the Wards patrolling around town. Why would they use Capes to patrol if they weren't actually stopping crime? That means fighting, and being in combat is literally the exact opposite of being safe."
"Practice?" Dad tried. "Most of them go into the Protectorate after they turn eighteen."
If your opponent has a legitimate point, deflect it.
"And how many don't?" I asked. "Something like twenty percent, I think? That's just plain ridiculous. What kid would rather go to school for four-plus more years or work in retail, hive of scum and scumbags, than stick in a career path that's supposedly pretty good?"
Honestly, I had no idea how many Wards actually joined the Protectorate after turning eighteen, but pulling statistics out of thin air was a time-honored tradition in arguments. I could always claim a mere memory slip-up if he checked and my claim turned out to be wrong.
Dad finally gives up on his stubbornness and holds both hands up in the air.
"Taylor, I still don't think this is a good idea, but..."
Hesitation doesn't make Dad weak, shut up Villain.
But what about how he wasn't there after Mom died?
"...You're growing to be just as stubborn as your mother was," he sighs. I think it was supposed to be a complement? I am sorta arguing with him at somewhere around midnight; little wonder he's faltering. "Go ahead, I suppose."
Strike while the crater is fresh; obtain the other permissions you require.
How does that even work? Why do you expect me to be making craters?
Out of sheer spite, I decided to not ask for permission to modify our home phone. I'd use my stockpiled allowance to buy a burner phone or something.
Fighting against myself is pointlessly self-destructive. Save that energy for true enemies.
Then maybe you should stop acting like a cartoon supervillain!
I'm arguing against my own powers. Why am I wasting my energy?
You have nobody to blame but yourself. Can't you give me, I don't know, heroic advice instead?
There was an almost disturbingly long silence from Villain before she responded. I was beginning to worry she might actually be intelligent. Or maybe I was beginning to hope? Intelligent beings can be reasoned with; a computer reciting the Evil Overlord list can't.
Ignore the attempts of villains to negotiate, for you are strong enough to refuse compromise?
That is actually very good hero advice! Good job Maleficent! I mean, it's maybe not great hero advice for an earth bet context because villains can negotiate in good faith here, but if they were in Mal's world, a villain attempting to negotiate would pretty much always be planning a backstab, so ignoring them is really good advice.
"The closest equivalent I've found to the Imperial court is the act of shoving your hand in a bag that could be full of jewels but is, most of the time, full of razor blades."
—Dread Empress Maleficent II
The following morning, I stared at one wall of my bedroom and slowly came to regret my life decisions. I was now sure that Villain was at least semi-intelligent — nothing could be this annoying without a mind directing it.
Always be polite to the Abyss. Offer it tea. Taunting the Abyss is never a good idea.
Cute, but I think the only "Abyss" we have is the Endbringers and they don't drink anything except the purest terror.
She'd let me sleep in peace, but the moment I woke up, she started bombarding me with vaguely-heroic "advice." I wasn't sure if she was trying to irritate me or genuinely thought her advice would somehow help.
The power of Villains is directly proportional to how many heroic parties they are fighting at any given time. Have your allies combat their minions instead.
Okay, then why don't you try fighting the entire Protectorate sometime. Tell me how that works out for you.
Ninety percent of it was nonsense, five percent was poorly-rephrased villainous advice, and only the last five might somehow be useful — a much, much worse ratio than Villain's original advice had possessed.
Monsters always die eventually. If they didn't, we'd have to call them gods instead.
I blinked. Religion wasn't a subject she'd ever touched before.
Um, what?
You must go where angels fear to tread, for they are cowardly bastards in dire need of a good evisceration.
No really, what? How'd we get to religion?
Villain didn't quite ignore my commentary, I noticed; that would imply a continuous pace without regard for interruptions. She paused to let me think after each fortune cookie, then continued.
If any hero over the age of fifty becomes evasive when asked about your parents, you may safely assume yourself to be royalty or related to your archenemy in some way.
That one earned a suppressed snort and a small mental note. Not just knowledge from fantasyland, then. I don't think Star Wars is a good guide to life.
Avoid using your full power from the very start of a fight. Save it for a well-timed dramatic reveal.
Why don't I just shoot them?
Better before a tyrant than behind them.
That one actually made sense, but it's a little obvious?
Even the kindest hero stands over a spreading graveyard.
...Wow. That got dark quickly.
Always walk into traps. Evil is never as vulnerable as when it thinks—
Interrupting my own thinking was a rather odd experience. I tried it anyway; it's not as though it was actually mine.
Could you please just stop? The other advice made at least a little sense if I put it through the "evil fantasy supervillain" filter. This is just nonsense.
Villain didn't even seem to stop to consider my request, merely moving on to the next point. Still, considering the following subject matter, I think she might've complied.
An unstoppable monster is merely one that has yet to be properly shackled.
A decades-old clip of Behemoth rampaging through New York flashed through my mind. Guessing Villain's intent was as easy as it was disturbing.
That's impossible. Nobody is that powerful except them, and I know I'm not an Endbringer.
The impossible is merely that which has yet to be achieved. What hero would give up on saving countless lives before even trying?
I was beginning to wish I hadn't told Villain my heroic inclinations. Blatant manipulation or not, she had a point.
...Okay, I'm listening.
Unfamiliar thoughts and images slowly oozed their way out of my Name's pool of power. Days of preparation, lines carved into the city to make a massive ritual array—
Nobody can predict the Endbringers.
—Fifty thousand lives sacrificed to forever—
No. Absolutely not.
More people than that die in every new attack and its aftermath. You'd likely save more than that merely by—
What if it failed? What if the Simurgh got to me? I'd just have become one of the worst mass-murderers in history for less than nothing. For that matter, how would the array even stay intact in the first place? They're not just killers, they're destructive. And, and, what happens if the Simurgh gains control of it instead? We'd be handing her control of Eidolon or worse.
Rise will perform what it's named for; who's to say you couldn't heal an array should it be damaged? It would be fueling your rise to ultimate power.
That barely even makes sense — and again, if it didn't work, what then?
If you need it to succeed, it will. That's how the world works for heroes.
No, it really doesn't! Hero died!
I fully expected Villain to continue arguing with me, but for whatever reason, she seemed to decide it would be a good time to leave me in peace. Or at least, the sad imitation of it I could manage after being told I might be able to control an actual Endbringer. I was pretty sure they'd dropped nuclear weapons on those abominations before with no results to show for it.
My depressing excuse for a daily routine forced me out of bed sooner than I'd prefer. The first steps of plan "get ready for school" couldn't fail, but sometimes, I really wished they would.
Now that I'd actually started looking for it, I'd come to realize Villain really was incapable of staying quiet for more than an hour or two. Math problems? She'd complete questions two and three for me while I was working on question one, then feed me the answers without regard for little things like "showing my work." Chemistry? Commentary on what common materials made disproportionately good magical reagents for their cost. Programming? Confusion on why I didn't just make a semi-intelligent spirit to possess an object. It was a gratifying distraction from the Trio — or at least, it should have been. It wasn't until two that I realized they hadn't actually done anything to me all day.
I wasn't stupid enough to think they'd be leaving me alone, not after the Locker. Mere psychological warfare was beneath the thugs; they weren't smart enough to simply do nothing for the sake of instilling fear. They were plotting something, preparing some singularly unpleasant surprise for me.
Surprise is only viable as a weapon if you truly possess it,Villain whispers. Move first. There exist objects capable of automatically recording events surrounding their users; buy and modify a 'smartphone' instead of purchasing a temporary solution. If you insist on acting like a victim, at least be an intelligent one.
I carefully avoided displaying my annoyance to the outside world. While that was a good idea, there was a reason I hadn't done it before; good cameras were expensive and smartphones were even worse. Also, I was pretty sure that sort of thing was supposed to be inadmissible as evidence for some stupid reason.
We don't have enough money for one of those.
So steal, Villain proposed casually. It need not harm anyone important to my morals; fey-inspired glamour would let me raid local criminals without fear of consequence. Their funds would only go toward ruining yet more lives should they be allowed to keep them.
I tried my utmost to search Villain's proposal for some sort of ulterior motive — needing to sacrifice puppies for the glamour, killing gangsters for blood magic, something. As far as I could tell, it really would be as harmless as she claimed. I could ambush someone after they stepped outside to smoke, steal their face, and head back inside with nobody the wiser.
Not all gifts are trapped. You want to insert just enough harmless ones to lower the guard of your target.
Great. Now even my own powers want to mess with me.
Clearly, I make it too easy.
Impractical Guide to Ascension now has its own threads. A new update can also be found at either link. (SB / SV)
Unfamiliar thoughts and images slowly ooze their way out of my Name's pool of power. Days of preparation, lines carved into the city to make a massive ritual array—
Realistically speaking, if she could make a small-scale demonstration, using one human or several animal lives, and demonstrate scaling, then the ethical side of thing should be pretty easy - finding fifty thousand volunteers is not likely to be a problem for such a thing.
Realistically speaking, if she could make a small-scale demonstration, using one human or several animal lives, and demonstrate scaling, then the ethical side of thing should be pretty easy - finding fifty thousand volunteers is not likely to be a problem for such a thing.
... honestly, you're probably right. The Endbringers are feared and loathed to such an extent that if she could prove that she could predict where they'd arrive, even if just hours before hand, there would be more than enough people that would be willing to give up their lives to save millions. Hell, Cauldron would try it in a second even if they weren't 100% sure it would succeed.
The Simurgh would be the problem, though. Not sure how to get around her.
Unfamiliar thoughts and images slowly oozed their way out of my Name's pool of power. Days of preparation, lines carved into the city to make a massive ritual array—
I'm interested as well. A lot of Villain's quotes in this one seem come a bit out of nowhere, though I'm imagining that's at least partially due to Maleficent not being good at heroic advice
I think I'd be interested in seeing a more in-depth crossover of these two stories. I'm not super familiar with PGE, besides it being based on the idea of villains playing off story tropes and cliches, but somebody from Worm bringing over those mechanics would be really interesting. Worm is such a storm of deconstruction that it's almost the antithesis to that idea, but some sort of 'bleedover' would be fascinating. Just the idea of, say, Coil figuring out how to play off Bond Villain tropes, or Armsmaster realizing through thorough analysis of literature that he's the oblivious love interest for Dragon. The concept of everyone in Brockton bay adapting to the weird 'Shaker Effect' or however they rationalize it is the perfect combination of hilarious and awesome.
tempting with the shiny huh?
