Hyperspatial Travel
24-11-2008, 03:07
OOC: Anything is welcome. Just be idly warned that excessive force can be met by excessive force. Those with a talent for weaving a plot rather than calling in a massive fleet of ships will not face this problem.
IC:
A beggar's white eyes stare pleadingly up at the man. The voice croaks a few indeterminable words before it is cut off.
The man's eyes stare at the beggar's. They are as blue as the sky at its purest, and as merciless as such a cloudless sky in the centre of the desert. No violence comes, though it seems inevitable.
After a moment, the beggar curls up into a ball, and begins to mumble to himself, as if to hide from the man - and worse, from himself.
A dry chuckle emerges from immobile lips.
"No change, no pause, no hope! Yet you endure. Why?"
No answer comes from the beggar, and the sound of artillery echoes across the town. The man looks up, and fire and wrath fall from the sky, obliterating the buildings there, pulverizing them into little more than heat and dust.
From the maelstrom unleashed, the man walks out, undisturbed - though not untouched. The lips are curved in an upward crescent; one could almost say it resembled a smile. His flesh is burnt beyond recognition, his eyesockets are covered with melted skin and scorched flesh.
As soon as it has come, it is gone, and the face is perfect once more.
A paroxysm of mirth takes him, and his laughter is uncontrolled. It is frightening, somehow, for a face such as this is never uncontrolled.
"Look at them."
The laughter comes again, more strongly, and he is doubled over in the burning dust, hysterical, painful bursts of laughter punctuated by short, sharp breaths.
"They're dying. All dying. Why?"
He looks over at the scorched skeleton that had once been a person.
"I can tell you why. Do you want to know?"
The skeleton does not answer.
"All you have to do is ask, and I'll tell you. Tell you the secret to all this. Tell you how to stop it, even. I learned the secret. Everyone died for it, and the knowledge was mine. Do you want it?"
The skeleton's eyesockets stare at the man accusingly. He picks it up, ignoring the flesh steaming from his hand, and screams at it.
"Do you hear me? Do you? Why don't you answer? Why? Answer me! Damn you! Damn you!"
In his rage, he beats the skeleton against a nearby pile of rubble, breaking it into pieces.
His hands quake with fear and anger - he looks at them, and they stop.
"I don't even want your world. I just want to see it burn. Why? Why did they burn us?"
He giggles.
"My friends were burnt. I wasn't. I learnt the secret to fire. It can only kill you if you don't light it. Light all the fires, and they're all yours. Forever and ever."
In space, satellites prepare for a final barrage on another nation. There are only really two nations left on this world. There were hundreds, but they are wastelands, now. The two remaining cannot hope to survive without making peace, yet they cannot make peace without risking destruction most absolute.
So nuclear weapons are readied, armies are gathered in wastelands, and bunkers are built for the final extermination of a planet. It is not overly pertinent to galactic affairs. It is a minor planet, with no real resources, no real industrial capacity - not even enough people to make it worth conquering. Largely irrelevant, it is entirely possible it will be seen by others. Of course, it would merely seem an ordinary case of mutual annihilation.
The man laughs.
"They're all fools. They'll all burn, in the end."
He looks up, at the sky. In the depths of space lurks something far worse than this destruction by man. It watches, and waits, and even the man fears it, for all that he loves it.
"One, my sweet. One of many. So very many."
All that remains to be seen is how the next victims are picked. Will he need to search for them, or will they reveal themselves as they come upon this planet?
IC:
A beggar's white eyes stare pleadingly up at the man. The voice croaks a few indeterminable words before it is cut off.
The man's eyes stare at the beggar's. They are as blue as the sky at its purest, and as merciless as such a cloudless sky in the centre of the desert. No violence comes, though it seems inevitable.
After a moment, the beggar curls up into a ball, and begins to mumble to himself, as if to hide from the man - and worse, from himself.
A dry chuckle emerges from immobile lips.
"No change, no pause, no hope! Yet you endure. Why?"
No answer comes from the beggar, and the sound of artillery echoes across the town. The man looks up, and fire and wrath fall from the sky, obliterating the buildings there, pulverizing them into little more than heat and dust.
From the maelstrom unleashed, the man walks out, undisturbed - though not untouched. The lips are curved in an upward crescent; one could almost say it resembled a smile. His flesh is burnt beyond recognition, his eyesockets are covered with melted skin and scorched flesh.
As soon as it has come, it is gone, and the face is perfect once more.
A paroxysm of mirth takes him, and his laughter is uncontrolled. It is frightening, somehow, for a face such as this is never uncontrolled.
"Look at them."
The laughter comes again, more strongly, and he is doubled over in the burning dust, hysterical, painful bursts of laughter punctuated by short, sharp breaths.
"They're dying. All dying. Why?"
He looks over at the scorched skeleton that had once been a person.
"I can tell you why. Do you want to know?"
The skeleton does not answer.
"All you have to do is ask, and I'll tell you. Tell you the secret to all this. Tell you how to stop it, even. I learned the secret. Everyone died for it, and the knowledge was mine. Do you want it?"
The skeleton's eyesockets stare at the man accusingly. He picks it up, ignoring the flesh steaming from his hand, and screams at it.
"Do you hear me? Do you? Why don't you answer? Why? Answer me! Damn you! Damn you!"
In his rage, he beats the skeleton against a nearby pile of rubble, breaking it into pieces.
His hands quake with fear and anger - he looks at them, and they stop.
"I don't even want your world. I just want to see it burn. Why? Why did they burn us?"
He giggles.
"My friends were burnt. I wasn't. I learnt the secret to fire. It can only kill you if you don't light it. Light all the fires, and they're all yours. Forever and ever."
In space, satellites prepare for a final barrage on another nation. There are only really two nations left on this world. There were hundreds, but they are wastelands, now. The two remaining cannot hope to survive without making peace, yet they cannot make peace without risking destruction most absolute.
So nuclear weapons are readied, armies are gathered in wastelands, and bunkers are built for the final extermination of a planet. It is not overly pertinent to galactic affairs. It is a minor planet, with no real resources, no real industrial capacity - not even enough people to make it worth conquering. Largely irrelevant, it is entirely possible it will be seen by others. Of course, it would merely seem an ordinary case of mutual annihilation.
The man laughs.
"They're all fools. They'll all burn, in the end."
He looks up, at the sky. In the depths of space lurks something far worse than this destruction by man. It watches, and waits, and even the man fears it, for all that he loves it.
"One, my sweet. One of many. So very many."
All that remains to be seen is how the next victims are picked. Will he need to search for them, or will they reveal themselves as they come upon this planet?