unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
It's all good.
Hmm? Things only become real when people create them. If not for such efforts, our world would be awfully fucking boring.
What Doesn't Die, Rots [Worm/Dark Souls Gradual Fusion AU]
- Thread starter unsanity
- Start date
-
- Tags
- dark souls worm
- Location
- Springfield, Illinois
It's another worm thing I think it's called unreality it is on space battles... That got dark really quickly and ended with the bay being abandoned and such heres the link
Unreality (Worm/???)
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unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
That one was pretty cool. Though, it was the author's intent to not stay dark, and have super pretty light stuff every now and then to break it up.
Ah, now I remember what the word was:
Edit: Oh, wait. I was seriously misreading your posts. Sorry about that.
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- Location
- Springfield, Illinois
Its fine, any way I am going to go back to my reading pile that I have, see you the next update
Dantalion
Insight: 365
- Location
- A Guest Room at the Brass Embassy, dying of Frenzy
- Pronouns
- Any
I view it as Nobledark - Noble for the people being fairly decent, dark for the world itself being rather bleak in terms of outlook. Lots of railing against the Dark, trying to hold on to that little bit of light for as long as possible, faint hope the future will improve.
Rather than grimdark - world's bleak and the people really aren't helping things any; or noblebright - world's pretty great to live in and the populace are generally honorable, if not necessarily reasonable folk.
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
You're right, I got the words mixed up somehow.
Yesterday was a weird day for me.
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
Minor edit made to the End of Arc One chapter, for the sake of timeline stuff. The scene with Gallant and Kid Win's lab now takes place "Later, the next day". There was a bit of a snafu I hadn't noticed earlier in regards to future planned events, but this clears it up.
Chapter Nine: Sufficiently Accurate Simulations
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
[A/N: Okay, I'm this close to just giving up on the idea of a consistent tone. The disparity between characters who have no idea what's going on versus characters who are starting to see the glowing red eyes peeking out through the cracks is just... getting ridiculous.
So instead, I give you QA spying on the PRT.]
=====
It was pitch black in the lab, and Gallant could only tell where Kid Win was by the click-whirr-clink of tools working on the one thing he could see. Kid Win didn't seem at all hampered by the darkness, and worked at a steady, sedate pace while Dean pressed his back against the door and blindly groped for the light switch.
Another wrench clanged, narrowly missing Dean's fingers as he snatched them back. The schiff of Kid Win's feet against the floor had been his only warning.
"Chris, please. Let me at least turn the light on."
"No. I need the dark, or this won't work."
Everyone in the PRT, at some point in their careers, ended up learning about Tinker fugues. If not officially, then by experience. One learned to look for the early warning signs, then set aside a room for them and generally stay out of the way until they started making grabby motions at something radioactive or mentioned hydrogen in any capacity.
This had come entirely without warning, and Dean had never known Chris to work with light-sensitive materials before.
"Chris, I can't see."
This wasn't entirely true. The truth was, Gallant didn't want to see. Whatever Kid Win was working on, at the end of it was a spot of blackness so dark it stood out against the lightless room.
The most disturbing part was that he was seeing it through his emotion sight. Normally, that wouldn't happen for something he couldn't see visually.
Gallant could feel Kid Win's eyes as they focused on him.
"Why not?"
The question had been asked with such innocent curiosity that, for a moment, Dean found himself wondering why, indeed. Gallant shook his head, chasing the errant thought away and putting himself back in a sensible frame of mind for the situation. Fear, namely.
"... Okay. Chris, I'm going to open the door and leave-"
"No."
"-so why don't you put a tarp over your. Um. That, for a bit? Just for a second? I have to go see if they have an empty room in M/S."
For a single, terrifying minute, the room sat in absolute silence. Then, Dean heard Kid Win's feet scuff-schiff-scruff against the floor, and the whoosh of what was presumably a tarp settling over Kid Win's latest project.
Gallant saw the spot of darkness vanish from his sight, and he let out a sigh of relief before punching the door's control panel and escaping into the hallway.
He hadn't tried to get a look at Kid Win before the door slammed shut. Didn't want to think this was anything other than another fugue, if a strange one.
He fully intended to call M/S protocols on the whole situation, though. The containment rooms had been getting a little busy lately, what with the three Merchants and Shadow Stalker, and they'd gone long past the "two is coincidence" and "three is enemy action" stages.
As he hurried toward the containment rooms, one thing was clear in his mind. Someone, or something, had their sights set on Brockton Bay. And their reach was long, indeed.
Shadow Stalker fumed, pacing the confines of her M/S cell. The instant she'd gotten back from her tactical retreat against Frankenstein's uglier step-brother, Gallant called M/S on her and had her locked in a cell.
They took her report about the Merchant thing, at least. A camera in the corner followed her movements, and every now and then they'd ask her a question to clarify something or other, or one of those inane "what is the color of your birthday" questions designed to trip up Mastered people.
"Are you absolutely certain these were zombies?" Armsmaster's voice came through the speaker, the effect making it sound somehow even more stilted and robotic, if that was possible.
"They were dead, and then they weren't, and then they wouldn't stay dead! What else were they supposed to be?"
Shadow Stalker's shouting had grown frantic by this point.
"Were you attempting to kill these people?"
"They were dead! It isn't killing if they're already dead! And they didn't stay that way anyways!"
Legally speaking, this was true. If Sophia had been accused of killing a corpse in a court of law, the case would most likely be thrown out without a second thought. It might make a minor showing in the weird happenings section of the local newspaper, at best.
Medically and ethically speaking, the main concern was if being a zombie was a curable condition. A number of rare and horrific illnesses could rot a person's body without killing them immediately, and while rarely treatable, it's commonly accepted that an attempt to save the poor victim should at least be made. One could be excused for self defense if necessary, though, if the sufferer proved aggressive.
But, in the world of Earth Bet, her stance was a little more dubious. Any number of things were possible when parahumans were involved, and Master effects that altered the victim's appearance and granted temporary powers were not unheard of.
Shadow Stalker only thought about things in the legal sense, because she was more concerned with not getting caught than she was with ideas of morality.
"Did you actually see the parahuman reanimate a dead body?"
"I..."
Sophia had not, technically, seen him reanimate anyone. She saw him kill, she saw him toss corpses around, and she saw those corpses reattach afterwards, but she did not actually see him reanimate another corpse.
This didn't mean he couldn't, just that she couldn't prove he did. But even if she had been wrong, her mistake would've been understandable given the circumstances.
"No, but come on! They were zombies! I didn't kill anyone!"
The line went silent, and Armsmaster didn't respond. Shadow Stalker screamed in frustration before resuming her pacing.
If they went out and fought that asshole without her, she would be pissed.
Director Emily Piggot of the PRT ENE Division sat at the head of a table in the meeting room, rapidly cooling coffee in hand, as her mind churned over this latest development.
Next to her, Armsmaster opened his Tinkertech thermos and took a gulp of piping hot coffee. As he set it down, several lights blinked in rapid succession while the device began reheating the coffee to the optimum temperature, checking and stabilizing the sugar, milk, and brew ratios, and scooping off any excess foam to keep any of it from clinging to his facial hair.
Piggot couldn't help but smirk, just a little. His thermos was so unflinchingly serious about its job that it dove right into self-parody. The man himself managed to remain more human and approachable, if only in comparison.
She wondered if that was intentional. It certainly would be something he'd do, using technology to compensate for his own limitations.
Miss Militia stood by the whiteboard. The preliminary name "Knave" was written across the top, with what information they'd been able to gather written below it, separated by columns.
The name had been Clockblocker's idea, based on the description of her power given by the Merchants currently in custody. He'd latched on to the idea that she was an "anti-Gallant", and it stuck.
To be fair, she seemed that way on the surface. Orbs that struck with physical impact, which seemed to have some underlying emotion-manipulating effect. More corrosive than concussive, and there only seemed to be one emotion involved, but it was a reasonable assessment given what they'd known at the time.
That assessment had been called into question after Gallant's personal description of her later that same day. It was questioned further when she had Gallant check up on the Merchants the next morning - just to be safe - and it turned out their auras were starting to resemble hers, if only on a smaller scale. Their initial assessment was being thrown out entirely once Shadow Stalker came back, showing the same Master effect but having encountered an entirely different parahuman.
The name, however, remained. It had simply taken on a different meaning: from rogue, to joker. A wildcard, someone with no apparent place, but who seemed connected to everything else somehow.
Was she simply an earlier victim of this new threat? Or was there a contagious Master power out there, only just now making its first rounds in her city?
Her grip on her mug tightened, and she took another drink to hide it.
Assault was monitoring the Merchants through a display system in the room set up by Kid Win long ago, if only to keep him occupied. Armsmaster was on a separate console, trying to suss out the finer details of Shadow Stalker's own encounter, and doing a good job of it if what she could hear was any indication.
It was then that Gallant burst into the room, grabbing a chair to steady himself as he caught his breath, before relaying his story.
Kid Win had been caught up in a new project, emerging only to find more materials or tools before disappearing back into his lab. This had been going on since the last tour yesterday, only shortly before Gallant made his sighting of the current suspect for Knave's identity.
They hadn't thought to interrupt him, since nothing he was using to build his latest creation was on any of the watch lists for Tinkers. When it turned out he hadn't returned to his barracks room that night, Gallant left to check up on him.
The conclusion seemed obvious: Knave used the tour as a way to get close to the Wards without arousing suspicion, then attacked Kid Win.
The problem was, this didn't match the method she used for the Merchants. Was the Master power separate from her Blaster power, then? Capes with multiple powers weren't common, but neither were they rare, and Knave would not be enough to break the ratio in that regard.
"Kid Win..." Gallant took a few more breaths before continuing, "I don't know what he's doing, but there's something wrong with it. This isn't like anything he's made before."
Every Tinker had a specialty, even if some were more broad than others. Kid Win hadn't uncovered his own specialty yet, but anyone could see his creations followed the same general theme: by and large, they all bore some similarity to 1970's ideas of science fiction, with their blinking lights, numerous switches, boxy designs, and multiple settings. For a close teammate to say something was wrong about his creation, and one with a social Thinker power at that, was as good a condemnation as any.
"Were you able to confirm a Master effect on him?" Emily Piggot's question was quick and to the point.
Gallant, on the other hand, needed a moment to gather himself, first. This wasn't like him; it was clear he'd been rattled by whatever he saw.
"I could not, no. I wasn't able to see him in the dark."
"But you still saw what he was working on?" Piggot was not questioning Gallant's claim. Rather, she was trying to uncover what, specifically, he'd seen.
"I saw it with my power, ma'am. I shouldn't have been able to, but I did. It was blacker than the room itself, and that was without any lights at all."
Ah, she thought, that would do it. Gallant had seen a number of things in the last day and a half that had shaken his faith in his power. Not in the sense that he questioned if it was working, but in the sense that he felt he no longer truly understood how it worked. Emily likened the idea to an expert in a field uncovering some new discovery that rendered all their previous work obsolete.
But, whatever Kid Win was up to, wrong wasn't necessarily grounds for M/S procedures, and Tinker fugues were known to have strange effects on a Tinker's behavior.
"Keep an eye on him, Dean. Make sure he gets enough to eat, and keep him away from the hazardous materials. I'll send Armsmaster down later to keep him in line."
She'd used Gallant's name on purpose. Separating him from the mask, from the regulations. Gallant nodded once, leaving to do what he could for his friend.
Sometimes, a more human touch was needed.
Armsmaster was done questioning Shadow Stalker, it seemed, and he'd requisitioned the white board to write down his own observations. Flipping it over, he began filling out a new set of columns with everything they knew about the as-yet unnamed villain.
One thing in particular stood out to Emily, even more than the corpses did.
Blaster power has notable similarity to Knave's.
=====
[A/N: Normally the entities put restrictions on how much a shard can access its own powers during a cycle. This is to keep them from going off script when a plan is precogged.
QA was so high she bypassed like half of those without realizing it, then used the same trick she bypassed them with as if it were a power. This would not have worked if she'd been consciously aware of what she was doing.]
So instead, I give you QA spying on the PRT.]
=====
Chapter Nine
Sufficiently Accurate Simulations
Sufficiently Accurate Simulations
It was pitch black in the lab, and Gallant could only tell where Kid Win was by the click-whirr-clink of tools working on the one thing he could see. Kid Win didn't seem at all hampered by the darkness, and worked at a steady, sedate pace while Dean pressed his back against the door and blindly groped for the light switch.
[oh wow i really can link to things through my proxies]
[so this is what being a merchant is like]
[so this is what being a merchant is like]
"Chris, please. Let me at least turn the light on."
"No. I need the dark, or this won't work."
Everyone in the PRT, at some point in their careers, ended up learning about Tinker fugues. If not officially, then by experience. One learned to look for the early warning signs, then set aside a room for them and generally stay out of the way until they started making grabby motions at something radioactive or mentioned hydrogen in any capacity.
This had come entirely without warning, and Dean had never known Chris to work with light-sensitive materials before.
"Chris, I can't see."
This wasn't entirely true. The truth was, Gallant didn't want to see. Whatever Kid Win was working on, at the end of it was a spot of blackness so dark it stood out against the lightless room.
[hot damn drugs really do fuck people up]
[how many hands does this guy even have holy shit]
[how many hands does this guy even have holy shit]
Gallant could feel Kid Win's eyes as they focused on him.
"Why not?"
The question had been asked with such innocent curiosity that, for a moment, Dean found himself wondering why, indeed. Gallant shook his head, chasing the errant thought away and putting himself back in a sensible frame of mind for the situation. Fear, namely.
"... Okay. Chris, I'm going to open the door and leave-"
"No."
"-so why don't you put a tarp over your. Um. That, for a bit? Just for a second? I have to go see if they have an empty room in M/S."
[okay [Administrator] pay attention there's a job to do]
[engage operation what the fuck is going on here]
[engage operation what the fuck is going on here]
Gallant saw the spot of darkness vanish from his sight, and he let out a sigh of relief before punching the door's control panel and escaping into the hallway.
He hadn't tried to get a look at Kid Win before the door slammed shut. Didn't want to think this was anything other than another fugue, if a strange one.
He fully intended to call M/S protocols on the whole situation, though. The containment rooms had been getting a little busy lately, what with the three Merchants and Shadow Stalker, and they'd gone long past the "two is coincidence" and "three is enemy action" stages.
[actually what the fuck even is going on here i can't see straight]
[oh fuck i think i'm high]
[what is this guy even on it's been like forty hours since he last had a hit]
[oh fuck i think i'm high]
[what is this guy even on it's been like forty hours since he last had a hit]
[<( :_rangehumanself.impactemotion-arearange/active)>]
{-:-}
Shadow Stalker fumed, pacing the confines of her M/S cell. The instant she'd gotten back from her tactical retreat against Frankenstein's uglier step-brother, Gallant called M/S on her and had her locked in a cell.
[Query]
[don't mind me just a normal human]
[hey is it cool if i use your host to ping that other shard]
[Acceptance]
[thanks pal you're the best]
[hey is it cool if i use your host to ping that other shard]
[Acceptance]
"Are you absolutely certain these were zombies?" Armsmaster's voice came through the speaker, the effect making it sound somehow even more stilted and robotic, if that was possible.
"They were dead, and then they weren't, and then they wouldn't stay dead! What else were they supposed to be?"
[there you are you sneaky fucker]
[hello]
[hello]
"Were you attempting to kill these people?"
"They were dead! It isn't killing if they're already dead! And they didn't stay that way anyways!"
Legally speaking, this was true. If Sophia had been accused of killing a corpse in a court of law, the case would most likely be thrown out without a second thought. It might make a minor showing in the weird happenings section of the local newspaper, at best.
Medically and ethically speaking, the main concern was if being a zombie was a curable condition. A number of rare and horrific illnesses could rot a person's body without killing them immediately, and while rarely treatable, it's commonly accepted that an attempt to save the poor victim should at least be made. One could be excused for self defense if necessary, though, if the sufferer proved aggressive.
[listen to me damn you]
[are you there or what]
[are you there or what]
[stop running off and pay attention to me when i'm talking at you]
"Did you actually see the parahuman reanimate a dead body?"
"I..."
Sophia had not, technically, seen him reanimate anyone. She saw him kill, she saw him toss corpses around, and she saw those corpses reattach afterwards, but she did not actually see him reanimate another corpse.
This didn't mean he couldn't, just that she couldn't prove he did. But even if she had been wrong, her mistake would've been understandable given the circumstances.
"No, but come on! They were zombies! I didn't kill anyone!"
The line went silent, and Armsmaster didn't respond. Shadow Stalker screamed in frustration before resuming her pacing.
[there's no possible way you can ignore me i'm literally spamming lolcats at you right now]
[wait where did i get all these lolcats]
[wait where did i get all these lolcats]
[Confusion]
[don't worry about me i'm just doing human things]
[Dubious]
[oh hush you]
[Dubious]
{-:-}
Director Emily Piggot of the PRT ENE Division sat at the head of a table in the meeting room, rapidly cooling coffee in hand, as her mind churned over this latest development.
[how am i accessing the internet right now i'm not even built for wifi]
[oh hang on there's a camera here]
[hello i see you]
[wait no this is a television]
[oh hang on there's a camera here]
[hello i see you]
[wait no this is a television]
Piggot couldn't help but smirk, just a little. His thermos was so unflinchingly serious about its job that it dove right into self-parody. The man himself managed to remain more human and approachable, if only in comparison.
[alright found the camera]
[actually no that is a car]
[how the fuck did i even do that]
[actually no that is a car]
[how the fuck did i even do that]
Miss Militia stood by the whiteboard. The preliminary name "Knave" was written across the top, with what information they'd been able to gather written below it, separated by columns.
[vroom vroom]
To be fair, she seemed that way on the surface. Orbs that struck with physical impact, which seemed to have some underlying emotion-manipulating effect. More corrosive than concussive, and there only seemed to be one emotion involved, but it was a reasonable assessment given what they'd known at the time.
That assessment had been called into question after Gallant's personal description of her later that same day. It was questioned further when she had Gallant check up on the Merchants the next morning - just to be safe - and it turned out their auras were starting to resemble hers, if only on a smaller scale. Their initial assessment was being thrown out entirely once Shadow Stalker came back, showing the same Master effect but having encountered an entirely different parahuman.
[oops]
[wasn't me i don't have a license]
[wasn't me i don't have a license]
Was she simply an earlier victim of this new threat? Or was there a contagious Master power out there, only just now making its first rounds in her city?
Her grip on her mug tightened, and she took another drink to hide it.
[okay here's the camera]
[wait]
[okay yes this really is a camera]
[wait]
[okay yes this really is a camera]
It was then that Gallant burst into the room, grabbing a chair to steady himself as he caught his breath, before relaying his story.
[aha we meet again quiet fucker]
[oh my zeuseidon stop ignoring me]
[oh my zeuseidon stop ignoring me]
They hadn't thought to interrupt him, since nothing he was using to build his latest creation was on any of the watch lists for Tinkers. When it turned out he hadn't returned to his barracks room that night, Gallant left to check up on him.
[hey think fast <(sendpacket:_human.proxy-minion/infect)>]
The problem was, this didn't match the method she used for the Merchants. Was the Master power separate from her Blaster power, then? Capes with multiple powers weren't common, but neither were they rare, and Knave would not be enough to break the ratio in that regard.
"Kid Win..." Gallant took a few more breaths before continuing, "I don't know what he's doing, but there's something wrong with it. This isn't like anything he's made before."
[ahem i said catch <(sendpacket:_human.proxy-minion/infect)>]
"Were you able to confirm a Master effect on him?" Emily Piggot's question was quick and to the point.
Gallant, on the other hand, needed a moment to gather himself, first. This wasn't like him; it was clear he'd been rattled by whatever he saw.
[are you shitting me right now it's like he's not even there]
"But you still saw what he was working on?" Piggot was not questioning Gallant's claim. Rather, she was trying to uncover what, specifically, he'd seen.
"I saw it with my power, ma'am. I shouldn't have been able to, but I did. It was blacker than the room itself, and that was without any lights at all."
Ah, she thought, that would do it. Gallant had seen a number of things in the last day and a half that had shaken his faith in his power. Not in the sense that he questioned if it was working, but in the sense that he felt he no longer truly understood how it worked. Emily likened the idea to an expert in a field uncovering some new discovery that rendered all their previous work obsolete.
[what even are you-]
[oh sweet merciful entity that is some fucked up shit right there]
[i mean fuck dude how many of you are in there it's like a shard slurry or something]
[oh sweet merciful entity that is some fucked up shit right there]
[i mean fuck dude how many of you are in there it's like a shard slurry or something]
"Keep an eye on him, Dean. Make sure he gets enough to eat, and keep him away from the hazardous materials. I'll send Armsmaster down later to keep him in line."
She'd used Gallant's name on purpose. Separating him from the mask, from the regulations. Gallant nodded once, leaving to do what he could for his friend.
Sometimes, a more human touch was needed.
[wait a minute they're talking about my host]
One thing in particular stood out to Emily, even more than the corpses did.
[oh holy shit they think my host is [Salvage]]
[this couldn't be more perfect if i'd done it on purpose]
[this couldn't be more perfect if i'd done it on purpose]
[oh baby i can feel the conflict already]
[wait that might be the drugs]
[wait that might be the drugs]
=====
[A/N: Normally the entities put restrictions on how much a shard can access its own powers during a cycle. This is to keep them from going off script when a plan is precogged.
QA was so high she bypassed like half of those without realizing it, then used the same trick she bypassed them with as if it were a power. This would not have worked if she'd been consciously aware of what she was doing.]
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... Eden "Shards" are going to be Fun! aren't they? Those things are basically sown together zombies already...
- Location
- Ontario, Canada
This is beautiful.
Summer Bones
Just here for Godzilla.
- Location
- Usa
They're going to have a fun time proving Taylor did anything to Kid Win. The fact they rushed into attack and not infected is going to end messy for them.
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
The current body of evidence is such that they can't conclusively determine Taylor did anything to anybody. Until they see her using the same power those Merchants described, the most they could do is detain her for questioning.
However, a large part of the investigation hinges on how she's involved, since explaining her status would further clarify a number of confusing elements. So, they likely would try to question her, then try to verify/falsify her statements, and use that to determine where to go from there.
Overall, the whole thing could be called a clusterfuck, but one that's rapidly getting worse the longer it goes unresolved.
Chapter Ten: Living the Dream
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
[A/N: You know, when I originally started planning out this fic, Taylor was never going to be a viewpoint character. The main focus instead would've been on the PRT as they scrambled to figure out what was going on while Taylor slowly succumbed to an increasingly horrific power. But when I read it back to myself, it didn't feel like it was going anywhere and the whole thing just seemed pointless and confusing. It's still confusing now, but more in the sense that there's a process of figuring out what's happening and how everything changes, which is an improvement.
Also, through Taylor's perspective we get to see how everything is affected on the "ground level", so to speak. What happens to the mere commoners when titans clash?]
=====
Dad still wasn't home by the time I got back, so I stashed my new costume upstairs and plopped myself on the couch for some good, old fashioned vegetating. Ten seconds of digging through the cushions revealed the remote, the TV buzzed to life, and the first thing I saw was a dead body.
The second thing I saw was a katana stabbing through the dead body from behind. Then someone kicked it to the ground, and Uber wiped the gore off on his cape before dodging to the side as a small group of dead bodies tried to lunge at him.
What?
"-I repeat, this is live footage of the situation in the downtown area, as local villains Uber and Leet take on a horde of what people are calling 'zombies'. While known for causing problems of this nature for their internet show, they claim to have not caused this and are, quote, only doing their civic duty as representatives of gamers everywhere. The situation continues to develop-"
I stood up, walked to the kitchen, and came back with the popcorn I'd made Friday night. This was definitely a popcorn moment.
"-authorities are unsure as to the cause behind this attack, but signs suggest it may have begun in a local graveyard, where all of the graves were found empty. Families of the dearly departed are outraged by this turn of events, and call for the arrest of whoever's responsible-"
I quickly lost interest in the reporter as Leet mowed down a cluster of zombies with a frigg'n automatic shotgun. Whoever was getting this footage for the news deserved a medal, because damn.
"-the PRT just confirmed a supervillain is behind the attacks, having been discovered by teen hero and young Ward Shadow Stalker, who was able to inform them before retreating to safety. She is now with her family, safe from the rampaging villain-"
Well, good, I thought, wouldn't want any kids to die in the zombie apocalypse.
Uber had two swords now, and zombies were falling to pieces around him as he executed a complicated series of spin attacks with all the grace of a figure skater in his element. I spared a moment to admire his toned body before the view shifted to Leet, who by then had what looked like a flamethrower spitting ice and lightning all over the place, freezing zombies by the bushel before shattering them to pieces in a thunderous roar.
Wait a minute. Are those two competing with each other? Destruction and chaos reigned around them, and these two loons were having the time of their lives. I wasn't one for video games; they tended to take too much time and weren't something you could just set aside when another problem came up, but at that moment I could see what it was all about.
Ironic, that it took a couple of losers like them to drive the point home. Or was that fitting?
"-the carnage appears to be largely contained at the scene, where villain duo Uber and Leet used their machines to set up an impassable barrier, limiting the destruction to this parking lot outside the mall. The Protectorate is en route, citing a temporary cease fire against a common foe-"
Leet had somehow built a catapult out of cars, and was launching other cars at groups of zombies while Uber herded them in with some kind of motorized grappling hook. I wouldn't have been surprised if their own stream had a kill counter and combo multipliers festooning the top, and by the look of things it was probably in the triple digits by now. Leet had to be winning by a long shot, though.
"-it seems the heroes were waylaid by another zombie incident near the Docks. If you're near the Docks, get inside and barricade the doors right now-"
Leet had run out of spare cars, and was retrofitting his car-a-pult for some other purpose while Uber pulled out an absolutely massive blade. It erupted into fire as he cut a swathe through the zombies, seeming to burn hotter with every swing and tossing flaming zombie bits every which way.
Wait a minute, how many zombies are there? There was no way that many people could fit in one parking lot.
"-I'm being told the zombies don't stay dead when killed, and will likely continue to reanimate until the villain is captured. Authorities are doing everything they can to minimize their movements, and continue to advise evacuation from attacked areas-"
Ah.
You'd think the threat of being turned into zombies would be enough to get people out of there, I thought, continuing to munch on popcorn while Leet revved up his car-based minimech. The telltale shimmer of a time field faded (Ooh, clever) right as he leapt into the fray, tossing the rotting masses aside like so many bowling pins.
Wait for it...
Uber passed off his sword to Leet, now looking like a miniature sun, and Leet used it to tear through another crowd that had recently gotten back up.
Wait for it...
Uber pulled a pair of - is he seriously using chain blades? - out of whatever hyperspace the pair kept their gear, and started carving wide swathes through the horde. Leet's mech had somehow pulled the fire off the sword, and was using one hand to punch zombies with a fistful of sunshine while the other continued hacking them to bits, building up more flame.
Waaaiit for it...
The mech shuddered, jerking to a halt as smoke began to billow out from the exposed engine. Leet shouted in alarm, and Uber dashed off to save his best bud from what was likely about to become a large crater.
There it is. Leet's unreliable tech was the reason why these two weren't the crazy badasses they could have been. Actually, you probably could call it reliable if you were counting on it to explode at the worst possible moment. The two just barely managed to escape the blast radius before being showered with zombie bits.
Dad got back just as Leet's arena barrier failed, and the two were scrambling to keep the corpses corralled.
"Hey, Taylor. Anything interesting happen while I was out?"
"Zombie apocalypse," I said through a mouthful of half-chewed popcorn.
Dad stopped for a moment to process what I'd said. "... What?" Apparently, he'd failed.
I pointed at the television screen, using my other hand to turn up the volume so he could hear.
"Oh, holy shit. Where is this?"
"At the mall, downtown." They were a good distance away from us, actually, and we weren't in any of the evacuated areas.
Dad visibly relaxed at that, and sat down at the couch to watch with me.
I handed him the bowl before asking, "So, how'd the thing with the warehouse go?"
"We couldn't find it."
"Well, duh. It was destroyed, right?" I'd only barely remembered to add the 'right' at the end. Hopefully he wouldn't notice.
"No, I mean we couldn't find it. The lot wasn't there." He tried to explain with his hands, clapping them together as if squishing something.
"That's... huh?"
"My response exactly, kiddo."
Uber and Leet were standing in an empty parking lot, looking dejected as their game wandered off without them.
How the heck do you lose a warehouse?
=====
[A/N: It's my personal headcanon that Leet's power was meant to make a singular, giant Tinkertech device with every conceivable use, kind of like an 'all your eggs in one basket' approach. You'd just keep adding new functions to it over time, making a giant superweapon doomsday device that could handle just about anything. Which is so contrary to the standard Tinker approach that no sane person would ever catch on before they'd burnt out all their important infrastructure options during the "build up your lab" phase, but you know.]
Also, through Taylor's perspective we get to see how everything is affected on the "ground level", so to speak. What happens to the mere commoners when titans clash?]
=====
Chapter Ten
Living the Dream
Living the Dream
Dad still wasn't home by the time I got back, so I stashed my new costume upstairs and plopped myself on the couch for some good, old fashioned vegetating. Ten seconds of digging through the cushions revealed the remote, the TV buzzed to life, and the first thing I saw was a dead body.
The second thing I saw was a katana stabbing through the dead body from behind. Then someone kicked it to the ground, and Uber wiped the gore off on his cape before dodging to the side as a small group of dead bodies tried to lunge at him.
What?
"-I repeat, this is live footage of the situation in the downtown area, as local villains Uber and Leet take on a horde of what people are calling 'zombies'. While known for causing problems of this nature for their internet show, they claim to have not caused this and are, quote, only doing their civic duty as representatives of gamers everywhere. The situation continues to develop-"
I stood up, walked to the kitchen, and came back with the popcorn I'd made Friday night. This was definitely a popcorn moment.
"-authorities are unsure as to the cause behind this attack, but signs suggest it may have begun in a local graveyard, where all of the graves were found empty. Families of the dearly departed are outraged by this turn of events, and call for the arrest of whoever's responsible-"
I quickly lost interest in the reporter as Leet mowed down a cluster of zombies with a frigg'n automatic shotgun. Whoever was getting this footage for the news deserved a medal, because damn.
"-the PRT just confirmed a supervillain is behind the attacks, having been discovered by teen hero and young Ward Shadow Stalker, who was able to inform them before retreating to safety. She is now with her family, safe from the rampaging villain-"
Well, good, I thought, wouldn't want any kids to die in the zombie apocalypse.
Uber had two swords now, and zombies were falling to pieces around him as he executed a complicated series of spin attacks with all the grace of a figure skater in his element. I spared a moment to admire his toned body before the view shifted to Leet, who by then had what looked like a flamethrower spitting ice and lightning all over the place, freezing zombies by the bushel before shattering them to pieces in a thunderous roar.
Wait a minute. Are those two competing with each other? Destruction and chaos reigned around them, and these two loons were having the time of their lives. I wasn't one for video games; they tended to take too much time and weren't something you could just set aside when another problem came up, but at that moment I could see what it was all about.
Ironic, that it took a couple of losers like them to drive the point home. Or was that fitting?
"-the carnage appears to be largely contained at the scene, where villain duo Uber and Leet used their machines to set up an impassable barrier, limiting the destruction to this parking lot outside the mall. The Protectorate is en route, citing a temporary cease fire against a common foe-"
Leet had somehow built a catapult out of cars, and was launching other cars at groups of zombies while Uber herded them in with some kind of motorized grappling hook. I wouldn't have been surprised if their own stream had a kill counter and combo multipliers festooning the top, and by the look of things it was probably in the triple digits by now. Leet had to be winning by a long shot, though.
"-it seems the heroes were waylaid by another zombie incident near the Docks. If you're near the Docks, get inside and barricade the doors right now-"
Leet had run out of spare cars, and was retrofitting his car-a-pult for some other purpose while Uber pulled out an absolutely massive blade. It erupted into fire as he cut a swathe through the zombies, seeming to burn hotter with every swing and tossing flaming zombie bits every which way.
Wait a minute, how many zombies are there? There was no way that many people could fit in one parking lot.
"-I'm being told the zombies don't stay dead when killed, and will likely continue to reanimate until the villain is captured. Authorities are doing everything they can to minimize their movements, and continue to advise evacuation from attacked areas-"
Ah.
You'd think the threat of being turned into zombies would be enough to get people out of there, I thought, continuing to munch on popcorn while Leet revved up his car-based minimech. The telltale shimmer of a time field faded (Ooh, clever) right as he leapt into the fray, tossing the rotting masses aside like so many bowling pins.
Wait for it...
Uber passed off his sword to Leet, now looking like a miniature sun, and Leet used it to tear through another crowd that had recently gotten back up.
Wait for it...
Uber pulled a pair of - is he seriously using chain blades? - out of whatever hyperspace the pair kept their gear, and started carving wide swathes through the horde. Leet's mech had somehow pulled the fire off the sword, and was using one hand to punch zombies with a fistful of sunshine while the other continued hacking them to bits, building up more flame.
Waaaiit for it...
The mech shuddered, jerking to a halt as smoke began to billow out from the exposed engine. Leet shouted in alarm, and Uber dashed off to save his best bud from what was likely about to become a large crater.
There it is. Leet's unreliable tech was the reason why these two weren't the crazy badasses they could have been. Actually, you probably could call it reliable if you were counting on it to explode at the worst possible moment. The two just barely managed to escape the blast radius before being showered with zombie bits.
[wow nice]
[bet you fifty zombie heads [Grand Design] gets more kills than his loser host]
[you'll have to go out and get them when you lose of course]
[bet you fifty zombie heads [Grand Design] gets more kills than his loser host]
[you'll have to go out and get them when you lose of course]
{-:-}
Dad got back just as Leet's arena barrier failed, and the two were scrambling to keep the corpses corralled.
"Hey, Taylor. Anything interesting happen while I was out?"
"Zombie apocalypse," I said through a mouthful of half-chewed popcorn.
Dad stopped for a moment to process what I'd said. "... What?" Apparently, he'd failed.
I pointed at the television screen, using my other hand to turn up the volume so he could hear.
"Oh, holy shit. Where is this?"
"At the mall, downtown." They were a good distance away from us, actually, and we weren't in any of the evacuated areas.
Dad visibly relaxed at that, and sat down at the couch to watch with me.
I handed him the bowl before asking, "So, how'd the thing with the warehouse go?"
"We couldn't find it."
"Well, duh. It was destroyed, right?" I'd only barely remembered to add the 'right' at the end. Hopefully he wouldn't notice.
"No, I mean we couldn't find it. The lot wasn't there." He tried to explain with his hands, clapping them together as if squishing something.
"That's... huh?"
"My response exactly, kiddo."
Uber and Leet were standing in an empty parking lot, looking dejected as their game wandered off without them.
How the heck do you lose a warehouse?
[i have no idea how anyone could lose an entire building without a trace like that]
[speaking of losing things you lost our bet]
[loser]
[i expect my shiny new zombie heads by this time tomorrow]
[speaking of losing things you lost our bet]
[loser]
[i expect my shiny new zombie heads by this time tomorrow]
=====
[A/N: It's my personal headcanon that Leet's power was meant to make a singular, giant Tinkertech device with every conceivable use, kind of like an 'all your eggs in one basket' approach. You'd just keep adding new functions to it over time, making a giant superweapon doomsday device that could handle just about anything. Which is so contrary to the standard Tinker approach that no sane person would ever catch on before they'd burnt out all their important infrastructure options during the "build up your lab" phase, but you know.]
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- Location
- Sweden
- Pronouns
- Idiot/Dumbass/Moron
So I guess we're just going to ignore the whole Fugly Bob's accident then?
- Location
- London
I meand, they DID find it. It just has some spatial shenanigans going on preventing them from actually reaching it.
So what you are saying is that it was supposed to go to Armsmaster but that stealing bitch Miniaturization got to him first
?
serra2
Himouto! Sylvanas-chan
Sir, this is a Christian forum.
Chapter Eleven: Deck the Halls
unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
[A/N: Word of warning, this chapter contains an angry Skidmark. That means foul language. I'm honestly surprised at myself, I didn't think I could get this vulgar. Please be more polite than this in the thread though, Skidmark is not a good role model.
Also he dies, so you can tell how well that worked out for him.]
=====
"You think you can walk up in my home, leaking shit like fucking R. L. Stine's wet abortion on my floor?"
Skidmark was not having a good day.
"I can smell your herpes-ridden stank from here! Your ass is smelling like what leaked outta Mush's dick last night!"
Mush was standing at nearly seven feet of trash, arms and legs a foot and a half thick, the top of his form leaving stains on the ceiling as he brawled with the equally titanic man-shaped mound of wailing corpses.
The similarities ended at size. Mush's shape stuck to vaguely humanoid proportions, having a blocky head, average-proportioned limbs for his current size and girth, and a torso shape that at least pretended to abide by the golden ratio. By contrast, the other cape's form was an exercise in exaggerations: There was no discernible head or neck, the top of its body instead transitioning from impossibly broad shoulders to a lumpy dome. Between the shoulders was a set of nearly twelve human heads, embedded and arranged as if they were gems in jewelry. Below the shoulders, its body slowly tapered down to a blunt trapezoid, where legs only half the length of its torso extended out. The breadth of its shoulders was such that its arms could hang down with several inches of clearance from the rest of its body, each nearly two feet thick at the bicep and terminating in digits the width of a normal human arm. Some were, in fact, actual human arms; the entire body was crudely hewn together from other bodies, all in various stages of decomposition, their collective flexing and writhing somehow coordinating into deliberate movement for their gathered mass.
Emerging from its back was a black, oozing sludge, of a shape similar to the cape a dramatic stage villain might wear. It was long enough to drag against the floor, and billowed in a headwind no one else could feel. Every now and then, clusters of slime would detach from it, either rising up to pursue nearby Merchants or bloating out into noxious clouds of corrosive gas. These slimeballs didn't stop after, either; they milled about much like the nearly thirty zombies did, hemming in Skidmark and his crew and turning what was once an old car dealership into a meat grinder.
"I'm coming, Skiddy, hang on!" Squealer's voice came from behind a garage door in the far wall, where she was hurriedly starting up a rolling artillery platform.
"Bitch I know you are, but get your white ass in here! Our guest is wanting some Merchant hospitality!"
Skidmark thrust his hands out toward the ground between the two hulking monsters, and a rippling wave of air flowed out from them as he painted a streak of vibrant, swirling colors under the zombie Master's feet. After a few moments, they flashed and solidified, becoming pale blue at the end closest to Mush and gradiating to deep violet on the opposite side. The flesh mound leaned forward slightly, being too large for a single application of Skidmark's power to hamper it in any meaningful way. Skidmark swiped a hand across the air in front of him, trying to layer his power over itself before the thing could force its way past Mush and reach him.
"Get those meaty ass-fists off my homeboy, fucking leg-finger tooth-nail tongue-tendon cock-lipped- are you literally shitting from your literal dick nipples? What the fuck?"
Ten feet out from Skidmark, a thick ring of his power kept the numerous zombies and slime masses away from himself and eight Merchant thugs, who had long since run out of anything to throw at the invaders. They stood arrayed in a rough circle around their leader, shouting slurs and jeers, and wielding crowbars, bats, pipes, a chair leg, and a sack of potatoes should any of the corpses manage to break through.
"I have had it up to here with these rancid cunt fisting zombies-"
Not that they thought their leader's power would fail here. Rather, the Master had taken to throwing corpses and dark ooze over Skidmark's namesake, where his power didn't reach. Which was why Mush was currently out there, trying to keep it busy while Squealer got her firepower in order.
"-and their screaming sack of shit-"
The dead mass had grabbed Mush by his arms, and was using Skidmark's own power to drag the trash man out of its way.
"-cum guzzling, semen belching, cock gobbling-"
The nine slime lumps gathered around Skidmark's ring shuddered as one, bloating outwards until they less resembled slime and more closely resembled a toxic, corrosive gas.
"-wailing portavag boss with more fuckholes than my dick has inches!"
Squealer chose that moment to finish, driving five tons of tank through half an inch of steel and directly into four thousand, five hundred pounds of decaying meat. The snub nosed double turret of her tank embedded into the thing's side, before spitting a thunder of fire and spattering gore across the floor, ceiling, and wall clear on the other side of the dealership hall.
It fell onto its back with a gurgling squish, individual bodies sloughing off of it like layers on an onion, then sliding backwards across the zone Skidmark layered under them previously. The poison cloud condensed back down into a thin layer of slime on the ground, and the horde of zombies around Skidmark's barricade seemed to lose focus, heads drooping until they fell over completely.
All was silent for a moment, before the assembled thugs broke out into cheers. Skidmark dismissed his zones one by one, adding a fanfare of flashing lights to the impromptu celebration.
"That's what you get when you fuck with Skidmark! Coming into my town with your crew like you the new Skidmark? You ain't even the ripe shitstain on my jeans!"
The mass of corpses continued to gurgle, black slime rising up to the surface like a living thing.
"I'll take a shit in my fridge, freeze it overnight, sharpen it, and shank your ass with my shitknife! Nobody fucks with the Merchants! Especially not some goatfuc- Jesus god damned motherfucking Christ, how are you not dead?"
Skidmark had finally noticed the black mass rising above the pile of bodies, and everyone else had finally caught on to the panic in his voice. Skidmark hastily flailed his arms around him, air wavering as he trying to set up another ring before the surging tide of sludge could bowl him over.
But, as with most Shakers, Skidmark's power needed time to build up, and the black ooze was too heavy to be slowed down by what at that point only amounted to a stiff breeze. The group of Merchants were engulfed by roughly thirty bodies worth of tar, as it congealed around them to construct a new form for itself.
Squealer screamed, before turning the full battery of her tank on the mass. The double turret, five machine guns, and two rocket launchers roared in concert, a symphony of destruction giving voice to her grief. Black slime sprayed violently around the hall, before quivering and rolling off as one to gather in some other point. Squealer followed it with her bullets, knowing full well she could do nothing to it but unwilling to abandon her boyfriend to this thing.
It was at this point that all the supposedly dead bodies in the room rose back up, and turned collectively to face her. Behind them, the black slime finally gathered enough of itself to start shooting tendrils out, pulling several of the bodies in to build a new shell.
Squealer threw her tank into reverse, its treads screeching as it plowed through wall after wall, with Mush following close behind.
She had, apparently, found her limit.
=====
[A/N: To be completely fair, Skidmark's power is actually really good. Problem is, Skidmark himself isn't. A smarter, more strategically-oriented person could be a serious threat with it.]
Also he dies, so you can tell how well that worked out for him.]
=====
Chapter Eleven
Deck the Halls
Deck the Halls
"You think you can walk up in my home, leaking shit like fucking R. L. Stine's wet abortion on my floor?"
Skidmark was not having a good day.
"I can smell your herpes-ridden stank from here! Your ass is smelling like what leaked outta Mush's dick last night!"
Mush was standing at nearly seven feet of trash, arms and legs a foot and a half thick, the top of his form leaving stains on the ceiling as he brawled with the equally titanic man-shaped mound of wailing corpses.
The similarities ended at size. Mush's shape stuck to vaguely humanoid proportions, having a blocky head, average-proportioned limbs for his current size and girth, and a torso shape that at least pretended to abide by the golden ratio. By contrast, the other cape's form was an exercise in exaggerations: There was no discernible head or neck, the top of its body instead transitioning from impossibly broad shoulders to a lumpy dome. Between the shoulders was a set of nearly twelve human heads, embedded and arranged as if they were gems in jewelry. Below the shoulders, its body slowly tapered down to a blunt trapezoid, where legs only half the length of its torso extended out. The breadth of its shoulders was such that its arms could hang down with several inches of clearance from the rest of its body, each nearly two feet thick at the bicep and terminating in digits the width of a normal human arm. Some were, in fact, actual human arms; the entire body was crudely hewn together from other bodies, all in various stages of decomposition, their collective flexing and writhing somehow coordinating into deliberate movement for their gathered mass.
Emerging from its back was a black, oozing sludge, of a shape similar to the cape a dramatic stage villain might wear. It was long enough to drag against the floor, and billowed in a headwind no one else could feel. Every now and then, clusters of slime would detach from it, either rising up to pursue nearby Merchants or bloating out into noxious clouds of corrosive gas. These slimeballs didn't stop after, either; they milled about much like the nearly thirty zombies did, hemming in Skidmark and his crew and turning what was once an old car dealership into a meat grinder.
"I'm coming, Skiddy, hang on!" Squealer's voice came from behind a garage door in the far wall, where she was hurriedly starting up a rolling artillery platform.
"Bitch I know you are, but get your white ass in here! Our guest is wanting some Merchant hospitality!"
Skidmark thrust his hands out toward the ground between the two hulking monsters, and a rippling wave of air flowed out from them as he painted a streak of vibrant, swirling colors under the zombie Master's feet. After a few moments, they flashed and solidified, becoming pale blue at the end closest to Mush and gradiating to deep violet on the opposite side. The flesh mound leaned forward slightly, being too large for a single application of Skidmark's power to hamper it in any meaningful way. Skidmark swiped a hand across the air in front of him, trying to layer his power over itself before the thing could force its way past Mush and reach him.
"Get those meaty ass-fists off my homeboy, fucking leg-finger tooth-nail tongue-tendon cock-lipped- are you literally shitting from your literal dick nipples? What the fuck?"
Ten feet out from Skidmark, a thick ring of his power kept the numerous zombies and slime masses away from himself and eight Merchant thugs, who had long since run out of anything to throw at the invaders. They stood arrayed in a rough circle around their leader, shouting slurs and jeers, and wielding crowbars, bats, pipes, a chair leg, and a sack of potatoes should any of the corpses manage to break through.
"I have had it up to here with these rancid cunt fisting zombies-"
Not that they thought their leader's power would fail here. Rather, the Master had taken to throwing corpses and dark ooze over Skidmark's namesake, where his power didn't reach. Which was why Mush was currently out there, trying to keep it busy while Squealer got her firepower in order.
"-and their screaming sack of shit-"
The dead mass had grabbed Mush by his arms, and was using Skidmark's own power to drag the trash man out of its way.
"-cum guzzling, semen belching, cock gobbling-"
The nine slime lumps gathered around Skidmark's ring shuddered as one, bloating outwards until they less resembled slime and more closely resembled a toxic, corrosive gas.
"-wailing portavag boss with more fuckholes than my dick has inches!"
Squealer chose that moment to finish, driving five tons of tank through half an inch of steel and directly into four thousand, five hundred pounds of decaying meat. The snub nosed double turret of her tank embedded into the thing's side, before spitting a thunder of fire and spattering gore across the floor, ceiling, and wall clear on the other side of the dealership hall.
It fell onto its back with a gurgling squish, individual bodies sloughing off of it like layers on an onion, then sliding backwards across the zone Skidmark layered under them previously. The poison cloud condensed back down into a thin layer of slime on the ground, and the horde of zombies around Skidmark's barricade seemed to lose focus, heads drooping until they fell over completely.
All was silent for a moment, before the assembled thugs broke out into cheers. Skidmark dismissed his zones one by one, adding a fanfare of flashing lights to the impromptu celebration.
"That's what you get when you fuck with Skidmark! Coming into my town with your crew like you the new Skidmark? You ain't even the ripe shitstain on my jeans!"
The mass of corpses continued to gurgle, black slime rising up to the surface like a living thing.
"I'll take a shit in my fridge, freeze it overnight, sharpen it, and shank your ass with my shitknife! Nobody fucks with the Merchants! Especially not some goatfuc- Jesus god damned motherfucking Christ, how are you not dead?"
Skidmark had finally noticed the black mass rising above the pile of bodies, and everyone else had finally caught on to the panic in his voice. Skidmark hastily flailed his arms around him, air wavering as he trying to set up another ring before the surging tide of sludge could bowl him over.
But, as with most Shakers, Skidmark's power needed time to build up, and the black ooze was too heavy to be slowed down by what at that point only amounted to a stiff breeze. The group of Merchants were engulfed by roughly thirty bodies worth of tar, as it congealed around them to construct a new form for itself.
Squealer screamed, before turning the full battery of her tank on the mass. The double turret, five machine guns, and two rocket launchers roared in concert, a symphony of destruction giving voice to her grief. Black slime sprayed violently around the hall, before quivering and rolling off as one to gather in some other point. Squealer followed it with her bullets, knowing full well she could do nothing to it but unwilling to abandon her boyfriend to this thing.
It was at this point that all the supposedly dead bodies in the room rose back up, and turned collectively to face her. Behind them, the black slime finally gathered enough of itself to start shooting tendrils out, pulling several of the bodies in to build a new shell.
Squealer threw her tank into reverse, its treads screeching as it plowed through wall after wall, with Mush following close behind.
She had, apparently, found her limit.
[i'm so sorry]
[i can't really stop him]
[please don't hate me]
[Confusion]
[not you]
[i was talking to your host]
[Concern]
[i'm not crazy i just-]
[Dubious]
[sigh]
[i can't really stop him]
[please don't hate me]
[Confusion]
[not you]
[i was talking to your host]
[Concern]
[i'm not crazy i just-]
[Dubious]
[sigh]
=====
[A/N: To be completely fair, Skidmark's power is actually really good. Problem is, Skidmark himself isn't. A smarter, more strategically-oriented person could be a serious threat with it.]
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unsanity
Fractionally Assembled
Closer to "processed in a facility that also processes Aldrich." Dark Souls 3 doesn't explain what the Pus of Man is, but they appear vaguely draconic and only pop up in areas with dragon corpses or Oceiros, so I figure there's something else going on there. If I do use the Pus of Man in this fic, it won't be until much, much later, when the place is hardly recognizable as Earth Bet anymore.