Posts marked with *** are must-reads.
September 18, 2015 - Post #453 ***
The Abyss: 25/25 =========================
(+1 from Generic, Cobalt, K4yne, MZ, TT, and Pricey.)
The Clockworks: 11/20 ==================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
(+1 from Generic, Cobalt, Nimbleguy, and TT. +2 from Crusher. +3 from MZ.)
Nimbleguy's Pen && Iron Sword = The Rorschach (2/3)
Clock && Picture of Timetables = Antique Timeclock (1/?)
+1 to MZ and Crusher.
The shape writhing inside the flames of darkness summoned by the Scribe's chant lashes out on the Battlefield. A tentacle seemingly forged of solid darkness leaps forth, slamming itself against the ground and attempting to crush the Scribe. The Scribe leaps out of the way, apparently expecting the attack. The tentacle lifts away from the ground, the grass it touched shriveling away into dust, the dirt decomposing into nothingness, the stone cracking into bits. The Scribe takes out Nimbleguy's pen and clicks it, knowing what must happen.
This is a battle, a test. An opportunity to see who the more dangerous of two powers is. If the Scribe proves himself more powerful than the thing inside this darkness, then perhaps it can lower its guard. If the thing inside proves itself more powerful, then the entire plan is lost. The Scribe leaps towards the darkness, lowering his pen towards the ground as he runs. The pen trails ink as it does so, creating a deadly line cut right across the grass. It has an even stronger effect than that beast's tentacle, staining the ground pitch-black, causing it to corrupt out of existence from time to time, withering away at all life, and spreading - like a cancerous blot of darkness.
The thing inside of the darkness pauses for a moment, perhaps sensing what power lies beyond its flames. The Scribe grins, pulling a crossbow from the folds of his coat and loading up Nimbleguy's Pen as ammunition. He straps the Pen inside, readying the weapon for fire - and then it's clear that this isn't a normal crossbow, it's an autobow - a weapon that can fire anything as ammunition. The Pen is fired, its bright darkness streaming across the sky and aiming itself for the flames of the beast from the abyss. The two conduits of ink connect, and reality shatters.
There's no great fanfare, no massive visual scene, no gargantuan noise to contribute to it all. But everyone around can sense that something has gone horribly wrong. Something has failed on an unfathomable scale. It's like their stomachs have collectively dropped, like they have a great sense of unease hanging around their souls. Something has happened that shouldn't have. The Scribe senses this too, and thinks positively of it. He smiles. "'At the crossroads of the ink, throw thy blade, don't even think.' Just a prophecy I've heard. That pen isn't exactly a blade, but it'll do." The massive flames of ink are dispelled, turning into shattered glass, cracks running across the sky and staining it. It looks just as unfathomable as it sounds, trust me. The beast hidden in the ink is revealed, and the Scribe's pen bounces back to him, smoking with purple fire. He quickly stows it away in a metal pocket, and looks at the beast.
Truly, if darkness could have a form, it would resemble this thing. It's a massive cephalopod that should, for all intents and purposes, be solely a pitch-black empty hole through reality. Yet, even with its incomprehensible darkness, it manages to have form. Texture. Shape. And one thing's for certain - it didn't just have one tentacle. It has hundreds. Each of them are dripping with darkness, staining the ground around them so intensely that it looks like a meteorite crater, like hundreds of TNT blocks detonating at once. And the Scribe can tell, even though this thing has no eyes, that it's looking at him. Perhaps his plan had the desired effect - the beast will fight on his side.
In the next second, ten tentacles are barreling right for the Scribe's face. The Scribe sighs and adjusts something on his wrist, disappearing. The tentacles lash out at thin air, retreating inwards and staining the ground even more. The Scribe reappears, floating near the approximate head of the beast. "That's just an invisibility watch. It's for when things get too hot to handle. It does need a recharge, though, and you're going to need some unstable--" The beast roars, a guttural shriek that sounds like a torrential downpour of blackness raining onto an empty field. "Oh, so you don't care for my unholy knowledge. Fine, then. I've had this saved just for you."
The Scribe pulls out a two-dimensional image of some sort of rune and lifts it into the air, throwing it directly at the beast's head. The rune lights up intensely, managing to combat the void of the beast's darkness. The beast howls as the rune makes contact with it, and this time the effect can be seen as a massive light-show occurs. When the light clears and everyone can see, the beast has calmed down, and its corruption appears to be lessened. The Scribe tilts his head slightly, and the beast lashes out several tentacles in the air. The Scribe blinks, and the beast blinks out of existence, reappearing and hovering in the air. The Scribe grins. "Excellent. The Rune of Odal hasn't failed me yet. Now, what should I call you... Ah, yes, of course. Octothorpe."
The beast floats towards the opposing team. "Now, let's see what you can do."
Octothorpe: [AZ] HP: Whatever works. I guess higher than 70,000.
This is a massive squid monster forged from darkness itself. It's one of the monsters that resides in the Inky Abyss, and it uses the ink of insanity as its muse. Its connection with the Scribe is tenuous, and it's only following orders using a particularly strong rune known as the Rune of Odal, which bends the laws of nature to say that the Scribe has inherited Octothorpe in a sense, and that the monster is his to command. The Rune can be broken through a couple of ways, and then all hell will break loose.
ATTACKS:
Calligraphy: Will use ink to create a random symbol in the purest language of Ink. Roll a D6 for the attack. Each time it is used, adds one Corruption to the ground.
(1) Creates the symbol for Lightning. Lightning strikes an ally and an enemy for moderate damage.
(2) Creates the symbol for Flame. Smokey appears, dealing moderate damage to a random entity because he thinks they're about to start a fire.
(3) Creates the symbol for Insects. A plague swarms in and attacks an enemy for moderate damage.
(4) Creates the symbol for Pressure. Invisible plates crush an enemy for moderate to high damage.
(5) Creates the symbol for Time. Allows for a reroll and moderate damage to another enemy by way of paradox.
(6) Creates the symbol for Language. Symbols of all size and shape swarm at an enemy, dealing high damage.
The Pen: Creates a new symbol unheard of in the language of Ink. Its volatility will either add unpredictability to an ally's attack (causing it to minicrit, crit, or miss) or deal high damage to an enemy. Or it could just backfire on Octothorpe. (40% chance to hit an ally, 40% chance to hit an enemy, 10% chance to hit Octothorpe. If it hits an ally, 50% chance of a minicrit, 25% chance of a crit, 25% chance of a miss.) Each time it is used, adds two Corruption to the ground.
The Sword: Uses its tentacles to lash out against an enemy, dealing moderate damage to them and inflicting the Corruption status effect on them for two turns. Can attack multiple targets at once. Each time it is used, adds one Corruption to the ground for every enemy it hits.
Knowing: Gazes at an enemy with the insight that comes with having no eyes, psyching them out and causing the next attack against them to crit. Octothorpe becomes vulnerable, though - all attacks against him will minicrit for that EOTB.
Spill: Takes all the Corruption from the landscape and forms it into one giant volatile ball of ink that will deal damage to an enemy and recoil damage to Octothorpe. Deals more damage depending on how much Corruption there is.
In Front of Behind: Appears behind an enemy, assaulting them with the unfathomable knowledge of the Inky Abyss and corruption, dealing very high damage to them. Takes three turns to charge. Each time it is used, adds three Corruption to the ground.
Ink Rally: Creates the symbol for Companionship, instilling a sense of pride in three allies, causing their attacks to minicrit that EOTB. Takes two turns to charge.
White-Out: Destroys the Rune of Odal. Takes five turns to charge.
PASSIVES:
The Rune of Odal: The Rune of Odal is what allows the Scribe to control Octothorpe at all. If it is destroyed, Octothorpe enters Blot Mode, becoming more powerful but more unpredictable. The Rune of Odal can either be destroyed with White-Out or when Octothorpe is killed. If it is destroyed using White-Out, Octothorpe will enter Blot Mode immediately, and will stay in it even after death, where he will stick around for one additional turn. If Octothorpe is killed without White-Out activating, the Rune will be destroyed and Octothorpe will stay in Blot Mode for two additional turns.
While in Blot Mode, Octothorpe gains an increase in current HP and max HP if it's activated while Octothorpe is alive. It will also gain additional attack power, and the use of several new attacks in addition to the ones already listed:
Sink or Swim: Floods the field with ink and swims in it, sneaking up on two entities and dealing high damage to both of them. Each time it is used, adds two Corruption to the ground.
Spearhead: Assaults an entity head-first, dealing moderate damage to it and causing the next attack against it to crit.
Ink Rain: Creates a thunderstorm of ink and ink lightning, dealing moderate damage to three entities, Corrupting them as well. Takes two turns to charge. Each time it used, adds three Corruption to the ground.
In addition, since the Scribe is no longer controlling Octothorpe in this stage, Octothorpe will randomly perform an attack every turn, and will attack random targets every turn, whether they be friend or foe. In fact, let's simplify this further and say he goes Neutral after entering Blot Mode.
Corruption: Most of the attacks Octothorpe does produce some Corruption that stains the ground. Corruption is measured in units, and those units fill up a bar that's fifteen units long. Some attacks produce no Corruption, others produce one, others two, and others three. All attacks that produce Corruption fill the Corruption Bar in some way. Depending on how much Corruption is in the Corruption Bar, the Spill attack will deal more damage, and if the Corruption bar is at ten or higher, Octothorpe will gain a passive regen. Once the Spill attack is used, all the Corruption in the bar is depleted, and the cycle will begin anew.
Whew. Sorry I haven't been posting as of late. I don't feel like typing up the flavor text for the Clockworks right now. It's an upgrade to the Alchemiter, but not a complete one - only one part of it. Other parts will have to be added later in additional charges, either by me or any one of you. I'll hold off on making a new charge for right now.
Oh, almost forgot. Octothorpe uses The Sword on some Creepers, the Coveknight gains a Purple Aura, and the Coveknight uses Spectrum Snake on some Creepers. There!
I'll actually attack next post.
September 19, 2015 - Post #475
The Clockworks: 14/20 ==================== [DATA ENCRYPTED] (+1 from Bomber.)
Nimbleguy's Pen && Iron Sword = The Rorschach (3/3) COMPLETE
Clock && Picture of Timetables = Antique Timeclock (2/?)
+1 to Bomber and MZ.
The Scribe looks at all the Creepers, shrugging. "Interesting. A Creeper invasion. Well, this should do the trick. I just need to set up some holding stones here, here, here, and here... And then ready the secret ingredient." The Scribe flips open his Journal, settling on a specific page. He shuts it and nods, getting something from out of his pocket. It's an egg, colored pale yellow and speckled with black dots. "You don't want to know how I've gotten these." The Scribe places the egg on the ground, and within a second or two, it hatches, a fully-formed Ocelot hopping out of it.
The Ocelot takes one look at the mass of Creepers swarming around, tilting its head. For some unknown reason, only shared and genetically passed on through generations of Creepers, Ocelots are the natural enemies of Creepers. Creepers can't stand them, always running away whenever they catch even a glimpse or a scent of one. This Ocelot makes a beeline for the swarm of Creepers, and they're off, running aimlessly across the field.
The Scribe spawns more and more Ocelots, forcing the Creepers into a narrow line that travels in one direction, the only one that's away from the Ocelots - the one towards the Scribe's holding stones. The instant one of the Creepers walks by one of the stones, it and the other three glow a pale blue, and all of the Creepers in a certain radius are sucked into the middle of the holding stones' area, which glows with a powerful blue energy. The Creepers inside are incinerated.
I start a new charge.
The Outlaws: 1/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
September 21, 2015 - Post #556
The Clockworks: 17/20 ==================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
(+1 from Pricey and Bomber)
The Outlaws: 4/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
(+1 from MZ and Bomber)
Clock && Picture of Timetables = Antique Timeclock (3/?)
Meowmere || Hammer = Meownir (1/?)
+2 to Bomber.
Tazz, you forgot to give me the description of the Rorschach, and you forgot to say how long the Antique Timeclock would take.
The Scribe takes on an unpleasant expression. "That trick with the ocelots certainly proved fatal to some of the Creepers, but it didn't stop that massive abomination from reforming... This godmodder's tricks are foreign to me. I've heard of Terrors alright, but these Hybrids or what-have-you were only thoughts and stray experiments when I was investigating them... I'm at somewhat of a loss here." The Scribe draws a set of wands from his coat, a set of jet-black wands with rings of white metal fastened around them. They drip with power.
"These are of my own model and make. I based them off of a nifty thing called a Calligraphic Designix, only one of many Designix types that were produced back in ancient times. It holds the repository of all words and language, and using these, I can harness ink to make objects appear from thin air. I call them, for lack of a better term, the Scribe's Wands. Now, if we want to destroy this Colegmerate, we're going to have to fight fire with fire - not literally, of course. That would be more like fighting fire with chainmail."
The Scribe takes the Scribe's Wands, which glow with darkness. He holds them and moves his arms through the air, ink trailing wherever the wands move. Using the three-dimensional canvas of the battlefield, the Scribe creates an object made entirely of ink, every contour, line, and detail visible in varying layers of black. It appears to be a small avatar-like figure. The Scribe taps the wands' tips together, and the being he made explodes into being, turning from a silhouette into an actual avatar with only a faint dark aura around it.
The avatar has pure white skin, grey hair, and a grey outfit. Its eyes are the color of an explosion. The thing looks up at the behemoth of the Colegmerate and flashsteps below it, groaning intensely. It struggles and grows, boils forming all across its back, growing to a massive size and pulsing with red, orange, and gold colors. The eyes of the thing spew flame, its arms and legs grow, veining and turning a grey that's the color of thunderheads. There's a surge of blue lightning, and a massive explosion occurs. The Scribe deploys an additional set of glasses and stomps his foot on the ground, a purple circle forming over him. When the shockwaves blast towards him, they bounce off of a large purple cylinder encasing the Scribe. He adjusts his glasses. "Now, I just hope the illusion holds..."
When the smoke clears, something... else has taken the avatar's place. There is a massive blob of grey powder with various mouths and eyes all over its surface. Massive boils and spikes protrude from the blob's surface, throbbing with warm energy. The powder the thing's made of is constantly getting loose and trailing across the battlefield, lighting into sparks and making miniature explosions. It trudges over to the Colegmerate, roaring and slamming into it. The Colegmerate roars in response, but the gunpowder monstrosity senses an opportunity, and it loses shape, many arcs of gunpowder surging into every orifice on the Colegmerate's body. The gunpowder, when ingested, produces a volatile reaction.
The explosion is in the shape of a lime green mushroom cloud that can be seen a few kilometers away.
September 23, 2015 - Post #632 ***
The Clockworks: 20/20 ====================
(+1 from Cobalt and MZ.)
The Outlaws: 8/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
(+1 from Cobalt, Nimbleguy, and Maniac)
Clock && Picture of Timetables = Antique Timeclock (4/6)
Meowmere || Hammer = Meownir (2/6)
+2 Cobalt.
I repeat my earlier attack, this time on Conquest. If Conquest is dead, I use it on the Animated Blob of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.
The Scribe, satisfied with his work, turns to his Journal. "This Alchemiter is of superb make. It must be powered by one of the finer Designixes... But surely, there can be more to accomplish with this concept. It can be upgraded. And I know just where to start." The Scribe flips to a page in the Journal titled 'The Foundation'. Drawn in the middle of the page is a circular symbol emblazoned with arrows.
"Outside this universe, in another land, there exists a planet called Earth. Common knowledge, no doubt. On this planet, there exists a group of people much like myself. People who have dedicated their lives to researching anomalies and the unexplained. They go a step further. They make it their mission to contain the supernatural and keep it hidden from the public eye, to protect their dimension. They are known as the Foundation. And they have something I want."
The Scribe flips a page and scrolls through a list of random numbers. "The Foundation categorizes the objects they've contained by number. I've gone through several of their bases, located some of their files... And I've put together a list of what I think could be useful to me in certain situations. Ah, here." The Scribe underlines one of the numbers and closes the Journal. "SCP-914. This will be tricky, but I think I can manage it."
The Scribe pulls out the Scribe's Wands, moving them through the air in an insanely complicated way. Shapes begin to form in the skies, winding and twisting shapes of geometric architecture. The thing the Scribe is making is very complicated and very large - covering over three hundred blocks. Gears, springs, pulleys, pistons, and other antiquated machinery is being made, its inner workings obscured.
After several minutes, the Scribe finishes his work, connecting the wands' tips together. In an explosion of darkness, the thing falls from the air and slams onto the ground with a mighty thud. The Scribe has, somehow, made a copy of SCP-914 forged entirely from ink. "That took a lot of energy from me. It definitely needed to be charged up... Now, to the next part."
The Scribe then takes out the Rorschach, a gleaming pen with razor sharp edges that drip with ink. He grips it and then thrusts the pen into the copy of SCP-914. Its form loses shape, becoming chaotic and vibrating intensely. Dark electricity forms around the area, channeling into the ground and staining it monochrome. The Scribe keeps holding on, a slow but sure wave of complete darkness solidifying across SCP-914. After several seconds, the Scribe is blown backwards, an aura of darkness keeping the Rorschach inside of SCP-914.
"Alright. My pen of unstoppable ink has made this illusion a perfect copy of SCP-914 in every way. It took a lot of energy to do it, and I'm lucky I didn't just create a mushroom cloud of ink as a result of this, but if we wait for a few minutes it should... stabilize." Looking at the copy of SCP-914, it's obvious that it's not fully formed. Its surface is still vibrating slightly, there is a humming sound emanating from it, and its surface is made of some form of liquid that's bubbling and boiling. A random Pig walks towards it and sniffs it, trying to lick it. His whole body is immediately engulfed in black flame, and the Pig runs around screaming as it is vaporized.
True to the Scribe's word, the copy solidifies after several minutes, settling into a solid, yet still pitch-black, state. The Scribe takes out a metal flashlight with a tinted lens and shines it on the copy. Instantly, it shrinks down to the size of a normal Minecraft block. The Scribe lifts it up and walks over to the Alchemiter, adding the copy as an upgrade to the machine. Instantly, an add-on to the Alchemiter pops up, with two slots and a knob. The Scribe cracks his knuckles and surveys his handiwork.
"There, it's finished. Using the power of ink, I've made a duplicate of SCP-914 that's directly tied to the original copy a dimension away. That took a lot of power, but using the abilities of the original, I've given this Alchemiter an upgrade."
SCP-914: [Alchemiter Upgrade]
"SCP-914 is a large clockwork device weighing several tons and covering an area of eighteen square meters, consisting of screw drives, belts, pulleys, gears, springs and other clockwork. It is incredibly complex, consisting of over eight million moving parts comprised mostly of tin and copper, with some wooden and cloth items observed."
This charge has added the SCP-914 upgrade to the Alchemiter. Using this, people can modify existing items or alchemies that they've found or made (but not Spoils of War, I presume). In its original form, SCP-914 is a massive machine that can take an object and modify it through one of several modifiers - Coarse, Rough, 1/1, Fine, or Very Fine - into a new object.
Only the Fine modifier has been added, and here's how it works. There are two slots to SCP-914, an Input and an Output. You put an item in the Input and then change the knob in the middle of the two slots to whatever modifier you want. Right now, only the Fine option is able to be used. Once you "refine" an item, its level will be raised by 1 - so a Level 2 item will turn into a Level 3 item. It will take however many posts a normal item of that level would take to make, though - so a Level 2 item that is being refined into a Level 3 will take 4 posts to make. Level 5 items can't be refined.
Additional modifiers can be added through additional charges - but to my knowledge, none of them were really used much in DTG2 except for Fine, and occasionally 1/1.
I start a new charge.
The Winged: 1/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
September 24, 2015 - Post #686
The Outlaws: 13/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
(+1 from Maniac and Bomber, +2 from Cobalt)
The Winged: 7/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]
(+1 from Maniac, MZ, and Bomber, +2 from Cobalt)
Clock && Picture of Timetables = Antique Timeclock (5/6)
Meowmere || Hammer = Meownir (3/6)
+2 to Cobalt.
Okay, what the heck. Tazz, I put a lot of effort into that attack, and it was just one post away from being the one that killed the Colegmerate. As it stood, though, it was an attack with a target - one that was dead. Since the guy I was attacking had died, I felt it was fair that I redid the post I spent a fair amount of time on and redirected it to another entity. So why are you noping it instantly? It's not affected by the Curse of Repetitiveness if it didn't even go through in the first place. It almost seems like you're punishing me for trying to make a creative attack...
The Scribe sees the various people singing along to music made by a band that doesn't exist and grins, deciding to get in on the action. He pulls out a microphone made from pale gold and starts rapping into it, the microphone somehow adjusted so that his voice is blasted to the heavens.
Finally, he's here for you
It's the last member of the DK crew
This Kong's so strong, it isn't funny
Can make a Kremling cry out for mummy
Can pick up a boulder with relative ease
Makes crushing rocks seem such a breeze
He may move slow, he can't jump high
But this Kong's one hell of a guy
Huh!
The power of rap compels everyone around to listen to the Scribe continue the righteous DK Rap to its penultimate section. When he's done, the Scribe moonwalks away and drops the mic. It bounces around on the ground, somehow gaining momentum every time it hits the floor. It ultimately flies away to a nearby mountain range and hits a cow in the eye. That cow falls off of a cliff and onto some loose rocks, which create an avalanche that tears the mountain apart, which creates an earthquake that ends up creating a ravine right below UserZero. Of course, she's probably flying so that she doesn't fall. But her floating can't avoid the absolutely gargantuan spike that impales everything up to the max block height in UserZero's immediate area.
The Coveknight uses Eye's Beholder, and Octothorpe uses the Pen.
September 25, 2015 - Post #700
The Outlaws: 15/30 ============================== [BEGINNING DECRYPTION]
(+1 from Tazz)
The Winged: 9/30 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED] (+1 from Tazz)
Clock && Picture of Timetables = Antique Timeclock (6/6) COMPLETE For this, I'm thinking of an old-timey clock that can travel through time.
Meowmere || Hammer = Meownir (4/6)
I +2 Bomber.
Seeing that no one has finished the rap, the Scribe holds his hand over the ground, and his microphone flies back into it. The Scribe leaps into the air, a holographic platform forming below him. He lands on it, and a massive crowd materializes around him, spotlights, stage equipment, and an entire band forming. The Scribe surveys the Battlefield as he raps the last verses of the DK Rap
C'mon Cranky, take it to the fridge!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
Walnuts, peanuts, pineapple smells
Grapes, melons, oranges and coconut shells
Ahh yeah!!
With every repeat of the rap's last verse, more and more fruits spontaneously appear on the stage, until they form piles which turn into mountains which turn into Mt. Everests. Fruit explodes into the mouths of everyone in the crowd. They choke on all of the fruits being shoved into them, dying over the course of several painful minutes. The huge piles of fruit overflow off the holographic platform, which cracks, splinters, and shatters, sending the planet's worth of fruit tumbling onto the Battlefield below.
The DK crew stops dancing to the rap and stares in shock as they are flattened by the fruit. Their bodies are pulverized into a fine dust, as are the bodies of everyone and everything in the Battlefield. They can't move, as they are entranced by the sweetness of the fruit - they want to shove it in their mouths and eat it like there's no tomorrow. Soon, the entire Battlefield is covered in fruit. Soon, the entire planet is covered in fruit. Soon, the entire galaxy is covered in fruit. Soon, the entire universe is covered in fruit. Soon, Fiction is covered in fruit. Soon, fruit.
When everything is inevitably rollbacked, UserZero's head is a banana. It then falls off. Every enemy takes a good amount of damage due to the completed DK Rap!
September 30, 2015 - Post #876 ***
The Outlaws: 26/30 ============================== [DECRYPTING]
(+3 from jondanger, +2 from Tazz and Cobalt, +1 from Maniac, MZ, and Serpent)
The Winged: 20/30 ============================== [BEGINNING DECRYPTION]
(+3 from jondanger, +2 from Tazz and Cobalt, +1 from Maniac, MZ, and Serpent)
Meowmere || Hammer = Meownir (5/6)
Scribe's Wands && Rorschach Drop || Blot of Ink = The Spiller (1/?) (Rorschach Drop meaning, in this case, a drop of ink from The Rorschach.)
Interest in DTG waning... Feeling really sick... Ugh. Sorry I haven't been keeping up with this. I'm just really burned out.
+2 to jondanger.
After he recovers from his beatdown, the Scribe looks up in shock. "No... It can't be! It's you! You're the Captain! One of the twelve main combatants in the glorious Godmodding War! I can't believe I'm meeting you in person, or that I'm fighting alongside the Sleuth, for that matter! This is... I mean... Alright, let me take this from the top."
"I apologize for disturbing the--your Foundation. I was unaware that you belonged to it, but I can honestly say that your Foundation has several artifacts that, if used in the right hands, could potentially win this battle for our side. And this is a battle we must win, no doubt. The alternative is one of the worst threats this universe has ever seen." The Scribe stares into space, the wind whistling around him. "I hope that you can trust me on this. When you have been in this universe for as long as I, you tend to look at things a bit... differently."
The Scribe extends his hands outwards, and a shape flashes into existence around him - a wheel. The wheel has twelve symbols, each in alternating chambers of the wheel. "Pickaxe. Lapis Lazuli. Broken Bow. Wineglass. Escutcheon. Demon Door. Twisted Horn. Alien Visor. Pokeball. Golden Crown. Foxtail. Blue Cross." The wheel glows around the Scribe, the image of the Demon Door turning into a brilliant pink. "Long have I seen these symbols scattered across my travels. I've wondered what their purpose is, what their meaning is. I think the answer lies within you, Captain."
The Demon Door materializes in the middle of the Scribe and the Captain. The Captain takes a step back. "I've had a hunch that these twelve symbols are connected to the twelve legendary fighters of the Godmodding War. One of the reasons I came here, sensing a massive turning point in the history of godmodding, was to see if I was correct. You and the Sleuth are here, so this can be no coincidence. And just as this battle is a change for godmodding, I think it signals a change for your own life, and the lives of your allies. One that will not be forgotten."
The Scribe spins the wheel around until all of the symbols are in completely different positions. The wheel turns a bright goldenrod color. "I believe that, in the future, there will be another war. I know not the specifics, but I have a hunch that it will be fought by your Descendant, and the Descendants of those who were in your own war. That war will be as game-changing as yours was and as this was, perhaps even moreso. But this is all just speculation. Here's what matters."
The wheel turns indigo and then blinks out of existence. The Demon Door stays behind. "These symbols mean something. This war means something. You and I, well. We definitely mean something. The future may be uncertain, and the past may be set in stone, but it is the future's past that we must strive to change. It is the now that we must contend with. I ask you to realize your destiny. I ask you to join us, so we can both realize what my visions mean for those who come after us. I ask you to join us, and in return, I will give you knowledge beyond anything you can imagine."
The Scribe opens the Demon Door, but not all the way. In its ajar state, massive rumbling sounds can be heard. Some sort of magnificent beast lies beyond the door, with several ruined pillars surrounding it. There is a guttural roar and the Demon Door is slammed shut, blinking out of existence. "You already know that the end of your world is coming. You're dealing with some forces that are beyond even your own control. But worry about the future when it comes to you. Focus on the present. The present is our present, you know. It's a gift. So use it."
Meanwhile, the Scribe surveys his entities. He grimaces, seeing that the Coveknight has fallen and that the Rune of Odal has shattered, leaving Octothorpe out of his control. "No matter. They've certainly put on a show, and my next wave of superpowers will be out in due time. Now, down to business." Instantly, ten copies of the Scribe appear at once, each holding the Antique Timeclock. "Looks like some form of cavalry has arrived. How are you doing, me?" "Oh, you know." "My aim is getting better." "It's deja vu all over again." "You already know the answer to that." "All comedy is derived from fear." "Joaje." "Rising like the Shepard tone." "I wonder what will happen." "Nine hours, nine persons, nine doors." "Meh."
The Scribe looks at his clones with an odd expression. "Am I always this inscrutable?" "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Yes." "Meh." He then rolls his eyes. "Whatever; you're all here for a reason. Now get a move on!" The Scribe and his clones simultaneously take out the same thing from their coats - a one-sided die. "You don't want to know how we got this." The sheer paradox and unfathomability of a one-sided die causes blue lightning to form around all of the Scribes, bending space and time around them at once. Quickly, the Scribes all throw their dice at the Hoenn Starters. They land in a circle around them, focusing the paradox around their general area.
"That should do it," all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. "Jinx!" all of the Scribes say at the same time. ...That goes on for a while.
While the Scribes are waging a jinx war, the Hoenn Starters aren't doing so well. Their bodies are being ripped apart into pure coding, transmutating themselves back into broken and horrific incarnations of their forms with every passing second. Soon, they aren't even recognizable as Pokemon. Space and time eventually folds so much around the paradoxical dice that it rips, creating a massive black hole that sucks up the Hoenn Starters and then implodes on itself, leaving no sign that anything was around there at all.
The jinx war finally ends in a draw, with all of the Scribes out of breath. "Alright... you all know what to do. Use your timeclocks in order to become the next you in the timeline." All of the other clones agree, setting their watches. They phase out of existence in a blurry fashion, leaving only one Scribe. He dusts off his pants and pockets the watch. "I think that went well. Oh, here they come."
The sky disappears, leaving only a wireframe void. From the pockets between coding, the Hoenn Starters are ejected from nothingness given shape, screaming towards the ground from the sky and creating a massive impact crater. When the dust clears, the Hoenn Starters have been pulverized, their mutated and quivering forms unrecognizable. "There's a lesson to be learned here. What is it... Ah."
The ten one-sided dice all float into the Scribe's hand, burnt and blackened from overuse. He quickly pockets them away in the folds of his jackets. "Always misuse paradoxes. Seriously. It could never backfire in any conceivable way."
October 1, 2015 - Post #890 ***
The Outlaws: 26/30 ============================== [DECRYPTING]
(+3 from jondanger, +2 from Tazz and Cobalt, +1 from Maniac, MZ, and Serpent)
The Winged: 20/30 ============================== [BEGINNING DECRYPTION]
(+3 from jondanger, +2 from Tazz and Cobalt, +1 from Maniac, MZ, and Serpent)
Meowmere || Hammer = Meownir (6/6) COMPLETE
Scribe's Wands && Rorschach Drop || Blot of Ink = The Spiller (2/?) So what's the level for The Spillers?
+2 to Cobalt.
The Scribe grins immensely. "Perfect. Actually, very perfect. Of course paradoxes can lead to oftentimes inexplicable results. However, I wouldn't say that they backfire, necessarily. Yes, these Pokemon are powered up now. But that shall be dealt with in, oh, three seconds." The Scribe looks to his left, and the door to reality is kicked down. What looks like an intergalactic SWAT force storms through, holding a large array of crystals and rifles. They surround the Battlefield - and the Hoenn Starters.
One of the members of the team speaks. "Clear the area of any innocents! Form a Beta-Formation around the site of this anomaly!" A chorus of "Yes, sir"s emanates from the team as they throw down yellow crystals in a pattern, creating an energized shield that seals off everyone on the Battlefield from the Hoenn Starters, the team, and the Scribe. One of the other members notices the Scribe in the bubble and panics. "Uh, sir? Sir! There is an innocent in the middle of-" The one who spoke earlier raises his hand to stop him. "Stand down, officer. This isn't just any innocent." He walks towards the Scribe with a stern expression, and then the two of them break into laughter.
"Creating a paradox to summon us here? Ha! Priceless! I didn't think you had that in you--" "Careful, Hughes. I'd prefer my identity is kept private around here. And to be quite honest, heh, I didn't think I had that in me either. It took ten of me to preform it successfully." Hughes looks at the Scribe quizzically. "Ten? Surely you don't mean timeclones?" "Yes, indeed. No no no, don't worry. The time loops were all stable and taken care of. Trust me. I know how finicky time can be." Hughes chuckles. "Good. I was hoping you'd learned from the incident in Sector Obelus." The Scribe's expressions darken. "Trust me. I have. Now, to business."
The Scribe turns to look at the Hoenn Starters. The whole team has gathered around the edges of the shield, rifles pointed at the Hoenn Starters - or what's left of them. "In this war, I need all the help I can get. That's why I've forced your hand here. You, the Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron, instantly recognize when a paradox of any kind has occurred. Using your state-of-the-art metaphysical technology, you dispose of the paradox, hoping to minimize casualties. I recognized your talent here, so I made a paradox myself. It almost killed me, but it was worth it. These things were once a batch of creatures from Dimension 493. You know, the one ruled over by the incarnations of time and space? I fused them into this monstrosity. It's weakened, but if it reforms it will grow to be quite strong. I trust you can take care of it quickly."
Hughes grits his teeth. "You've got guts... Scribe. Under interdimensional law I should be dealing with you alongside this thing for willingly creating a paradox. So give me a reason why I shouldn't." The Scribe looks at Hughes. "Barring the fact that we've known each other and become close friends for years, you shouldn't lock me up because I'm dealing with a war that could potentially result in the largest and most concentric amount of paradoxes that you will ever see in your career - a career that could very well end, along with all others, if I lose. If I need you, I'll call you again - and I'll try to not break the law next time."
There's a short pause until Hughes sighs. "Very well. Squadron! Ready your Horizon Rifles!" All of the members of the Squadron hold their rifles parallel to the ground. "Aim your Vanishing Points!" Visors form over their heads, which glow in synch with the scopes on their rifles. Traces appear, streaking through the air and landing on the Hoenn Starters. "Prepare your secondary crystals! The purple ones!" The visors turn a purple hue, and purple crystals blink into existence alongside each of the members of the squadron. Finally, after what seems like an eternity: "Fire!"
In the ensuing carnage, no one could recollect exactly what happened. The Horizon Rifles barely seemed to fire anything at all, making no light and no sound as their projectiles cut through the code of Minecraft. But they had an effect. Their power was to cleanse any corrupted data that it could find, and there was a maelstrom of corruption right in front of them - the Hoenn Starters. The bullets tore through them, erasing their powers borne from paradoxes, and nullifying their existence. After several minutes of sustained fire, the rifles disappeared, and the squadron grabbed the purple crystals next to them. With perfect accuracy, as if they had practiced that maneuver for many an hour, they threw the crystals at the ground near the Starters.
Each crystal shattered into hundreds of pieces, and the debris, sharp and scintillating as a prism, began to glow with a purple light. Soon, their effect became clear as the sharpness and light of the crystals began to literally cut through and blind the Starters' existence. First came the cleansing. Now came the obliterating. Although the word "obliterate" carries with it an image of raw destruction, explosions and brimstone, entities and objects disintegrating nigh-instantly, Michael Bay movies, and the end of the world, this isn't what was going on. The only signs anything was happening were the light and the anguished screams of the Hoenn Starters as their form bubbled and boiled under the scathing light of correction.
At last, the threat was dealt with. The shield dispersed as the Starters were separated back into three badly injured standard Pokemon, not one horrific glob of Mega-flesh. They were more or less the same as before the Scribe's previous attack, with one difference - they had taken even more damage. Hughes and the Scribe shake hands, and Hughes orders his squadron out. They shut the door of reality, and that was that. A perfectly routine procedure, in and out - just business.
October 2, 2015 - Post #925 ***
The Outlaws: 30/30 ============================== (+1 from tc2142)
The Winged: 27/30 ============================== [DECRYPTING]
(+2 from jondanger, +1 from tc2142 and MZ)
Scribe's Wands && Rorschach Drop || Blot of Ink = The Spillers (3/?)
One-Sided Die && Wands || Arcade Cabinet = Integer Overflow (1/?)
+2 to jondanger.
The Scribe grins at FBSN. "There's a reason it's called Dimension 493."
"Let's see here. I have the Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron and its subsidiaries and my beck and call - and the Captain as well, if the bribery succeeds. Who else can I enlist..." The Scribe looks over his Journal. "Don't fail me now, book." He flips through its pages and then finds something that makes him stop - a series of pages called Residents of the Nether. "Hm. This holds promise."
The Scribe looks over the pages, examining the writing and images he put on them long ago. "Cults of the Pigmen? No, something tells me they'd end up becoming a neutral force. Brick Colossus? Perhaps, but I would have to uproot an entire Nether Fortress. I could just use the Rorschach, but I don't exactly know how it would react with the Nether's volatility... The Aberration? Hah. I'll save that for later use. What about The Limbless? A soulless monstrosity of quartz... Also interesting. Wait. Here. This could definitely work. But how to appease them?"
The section the Scribe is looking at is titled Cowboys From Hell. There's some writing to go along with it. A merciless band of outlaws that roam the Nether, looking for its treasures. They have a fearsome army of the Nether's dangerous inhabitants, riding on horses of bone, horses of rotting flesh, and cancerous ghasts of lost souls. When adventuring in the Nether, always have some sort of artifact on hand to either hand to them so they leave you alone, or to use against them and leave without a trace. But be warned - they never forget a target, and the next time you venture into the Nether, they'll be looking for you. The actual outlaws are mostly Wither Skeletons, with their leader being some sort of being of power back when he was truly alive and not undead - I haven't quite figured out what.
The Scribe shuts his Journal and pulls out a large amount of obsidian. "Yes, their help would do nicely. But I'll need more than something to bribe them with. I'll need something that can augment them. If I can give them any sort of edge, anything to extend their usefulness, then that will be worth it." He starts laying down obsidian, presumably to set up some kind of Nether Portal. But the base he's building soon extends far past the normal boundaries of one. His complete product is an absolutely gargantuan Nether Portal, one that could fit many mobs at once.
"They're quite the crowd, and this thing will need to accommodate all of them. The upside and downside to this will be that an exact duplicate of this Portal will be constructed in the Nether the moment I pass through. That's an upside because all of the Cowboys From Hell will fit. The downside is that a Portal of this magnitude will instantly tip anyone in the Nether paying attention to my location, so I'll have to be quick. Now, the artifact."
The Scribe pulls out a copper-colored chest from his coat and sets it down on the ground, rummaging through it. "What I have planned will be incredibly risky, like several of my previous endeavors. But I must succeed. If this Nether Star is misused in any capacity, it could mean the end of the Nether. And, given my research on what lies beneath that inferno, that's a bad thing. (And that's an understatement.)" The Scribe pulls out some flint and steel, lighting it on the base of the Nether Portal. A flame is lit, which races across the Nether Portal's frame of its own accord, surging across its rectangular structure. It turns the color of amethyst, and, in a blinding flash, surges across the empty space of the portal and creating the flaming liquid that acts as the gateway to the underworld.
Adjusting his goggles and putting the Nether Star in a black pouch, the Scribe walks through the Nether Portal. A few seconds after he does so, it shuts off, the flame dispersing.
On the other side, the Scribe has taken a step into hell. The Nether is as devilish as ever, its eternal flame and cave-like structure raging on with no immediately discernible source of power. The Scribe turns around, his gauntlets surging with unknown energy. He raises a fist at an obsidian block and destroys it, shutting off the Nether Portal on both ends. He then walks across the Nether, seemingly searching for the Cowboys From Hell.
Yet, despite the Nether's smaller size from the Overworld, it's still a very large place, and the Scribe searches for what seems like forever, time blurring across the nonexistent heavens of hell. And then, the Scribe catches glimpses of movement in the distance. He sees figures riding on horses, and ghasts appearing behind cliffs and walls. There's only one group of mobs that would travel like that - the Cowboys. But there's a catch - they're running to him.
After several seconds, the Cowboys close in on the Scribe, encircling him. An armada of skeletons and wither skeletons on top of skeleton and zombie horses have gathered around the Scribe, with some wither skeleton horses among the mix. There are several ghasts floating above the Scribe, their eyes half-closed and their mouths lit, ready to fire. Riding the tallest wither skeleton horse is a wither skeleton with a tattered brown hat and a brown coat. When he speaks, it sounds like a dull rumble, like if an earthquake could talk.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Little Mr. Anonymous. What identity are you under now, huh? You still call yourself the Scribe?" The Scribe grimaces, this sentence answering the skeleton's question for him. But since he doesn't see what I type, the Scribe talks as well. "...Yes. Do you still call yourself the Reaper? Or should I call you by your actual name, Damian?" Damian gets an ill response from this. "That is the name of a dead man! One who was like a broken compass! Directionless, wayward! The Reaper... Now that's a cool name!"
The Scribe crosses his arms. "One: do you have any idea at all how cliche the Reaper sounds? I wouldn't be suprised if there were twenty alive people with that title. I'd even bet that your fellow outlaws make fun of you behind your back for it." Damian looks around wildly. The other Cowboys have guilty expressions. Two: if you're saying that you were directionless, then I think you need to get educated on past and present tense. If you ask me, nothing's changed except the fact that now you're a black monstrosity from the--" "This place is not Hell! This is a better home than I ever had aboveground, and you know it! Now don't talk smack about my name! It's MINE, not yours!" The Scribe's expression darkens. "Likewise," he mutters.
The circle of cowboys closes in. "Now what are you doing here, anyway? That was a pretty big portal you came in through. What are you planning on leaving with? Or did you just decide to waste a cavernful of obsidian for fun? That's a valuable resource, you know." "I was planning on leaving with your team. As allies." Damian cackles, a horrible scraping sound. "Allies? Allies? You've broken the law too many times to be allies, Scribe! Every time we've come across you, you've had to pay for it. Sometimes you've escaped right away. Sometimes you haven't. This time, we're playing for keeps!"
The Cowboys From Hell rush at the Scribe, but he yells, "WAIT!" Everything stops as the Scribe holds up the Nether Star, its light bouncing across the surfaces of the Nether. Damian regards it with utter awe. "You... You actually found one? You found me one?" The Scribe's expression is grim. "Yes. Take it and use it as you will. I only ask that you aid me on the surface." Damian scowls. "I swore never to return there... unless I found this. Heheheh... Come, Scribe. Follow us. You're going to see the results of what you've just done in person."
The Scribe and the Cowboys From Hell begin to trek to a new location, speeding along the Nether's terrain, scaling cliffs, heading through caves, bounding over lava lakes. The Scribe breaks the silence - or rather, the distorted Wild West music playing from nothingness. "So you're willing to put all of our past conflicts aside because I gave you that Nether Star? Doesn't that seem... unlike you? You're one to hold a grudge."
Damian looks back at the Scribe. "How much do you know about us?" "All that I've discovered from our prior encounters. You're a merry band of misfits who are somehow outlaws by nature, cowboys by name, and sheriffs by pretense,--" "Don't go down that road." "--and are looking to plunder the Nether's secrets. You have insiders in locations throughout the Nether, you're constantly finding more loot, you're very feared, those who you capture are sent to your secret base known as The Bar, those who resist capture are sent to your torture chamber known as The Ale, your loot is stored in a vault known as The Stash, and there's one thing that you want above all else. If I had to guess, I'd say it's..."
Damian sighs. "The Nether Star, yep. What you don't know about us is plenty, by the way. Normally I wouldn't be telling you this, but we're in it for the long haul now. So listen up, and feel free to write this down in that nerdy book of yours." The Scribe instantly pulls out his Journal and flips to an empty page, writing in it.
"This team was founded when I died all those years ago and I ended up being a permanent resident of this place. I wanted all the power and treasure this place had to offer now that I was unliving here. Yet there was one thing I wanted above all else - the heart of the Nether's broken god, the Wither. To possess its Nether Star would be to gain ultimate power. From its light, you could craft beacons that amplified your physical power. From its crystal, you could craft magical weapons unrivaled in scope.
"But if you were to gain the whole Nether Star and seek out the corpse of the true and ancient Wither, the one buried beneath the Nether in frozen chains... If you were to fuse with that ancient power, and use the Nether Star to become one with one of the Nether's hidden powers... You would become a god. A god of hell. I could even have enough power to usurp that maniac that's ruling over this place." "A maniac?" "Yeah, that's his name. Maniac. A fitting name for the ruler of this place, I guess. Now, anyway. That's why I made this team. To get that Star, reawaken the Wither, and fuse with it.
"There was a catch, though. It turned out only the true and mighty Player could awaken the Wither and summon it in order to destroy it and gain its Star. So I just went around getting whatever other secondary loot I could find, until the unthinkable happens. You're not gonna believe this. Just, just guess what happened. The Player enters the Nether! What was his name... Oh, right! Yeah. It was Steve. He looked just like the Lord, it was disturbing.
"Using him, I got that Star. I awakened the Wither, and I fused with it. Oh yeah. I've done this all before. But I guess he thought I wasn't to be trusted with all that power, so he destroyed me and resealed the Wither and its Star in the process. I wonder why he felt the need to do that? I told him about his heritage, and that was that. My bones were scattered across the Nether's lava until it reformed me. Bada-bing, bada-boom. Like clockwork." The Scribe finishes writing everything down and looks up.
"You... You've been in contact with the Player?" "That's what I said, genius. Back when he was on his mighty and heroic Quest. God, that word makes me want to spit now. "Quest". I hate it so much. You know how he grew up and became the end result of the Player Cycle, right? He even ended up fighting in that Godmodding War... It's a wonder that he hasn't been reincarnated yet, actually." The Scribe stops completely. "...How do you know so much about the nature of Players?" Damian chuckles. "Hey, you learn a lot when you're in this place. 'It's where dreams come to die, it's where the spawn of dragons lie, it's where broken anachronism thrives - the Nether! You'll have a hell of a time!' Hahaha... That was back when we were doing an ad campaign for this place. We were trying to monetize hell... Heh. Still laugh from it. You can imagine how it all went over, of course. It was only rivaled by that time when a government tried to drill into here..."
The Cowboys stop their travels at the entrance of a dark and ancient cave. The lava around them has gradually turned from red to yellow to white, and now to a radiant blue. "This is it. Wither's Mouth."
The cave is dark and made from a dull grey stone unlike anything the Scribe has ever seen. He takes a sample from it and stores it away. "Don't think I didn't see that," Damian growls. "Don't mess with anything here. This place is sacred to everyone in the Nether." The Scribe rolls his eyes from behind his goggles. "Right. 'Don't mess with anything.' Says the guy who's about to fuse with a three-headed skeletal monstrosity." "Let me be more specific. You shouldn't mess with anything here."
Soon, the path is blocked by a large stone door with a swirling insignia carved into it. Damian's left hand turns into a shield constructed from black bone, and it fits perfectly with the carving. Blue torches light up everywhere, and the door swings open. "Here we are. This is the Wither's resting place." The Scribe takes in the array of power with awe, furiously writing things down. "The Wither was sealed here long ago after it was deemed to dangerous to coexist with the chaotic order of the Nether. Now we worship it and pray that, when it stirs, it is merciful. Tch. Heheheh. Heheheheh..." The Scribe looks up. "What?" "Oh, it's funny. It's funny that these people see this thing as a god. And now that I'm becoming the Wither..."
Damian's eyes light with blue fire. "That means I'm becoming a god, too. I know I've said that, and I know I've done it. But the magnitude of all this has really hit me now. This is... intense. Now, Scribe. Give me the Star." The Scribe hesitantly looks at the Nether Star in his fist. Grinning, he hands it to Damian, who speaks for the last time. "You're welcome."
Damian steps forward, looking at the Wither. It is trapped in the walls of the chamber they're in, the place holding it back as a frozen prison. Indeed, this looks like - somehow - a respite of cold amidst the unbearable heat of the Nether. The Wither's form is undisturbed and unmoving. Its skeletal form is intact, and an "x" cut into the center of it is glowing with a faint fire. As Damian steps closer, that fire glows more and more, until it burns brightly as Damian steps right next to the Wither.
Its three heads quiver and shake, their eyes opening for the first time in years. Lightning and fire emanate from them, and the chamber takes a menacing red hue, the torches around everyone turning from purple to a deep crimson not normally made by any fire. Damian cackles and shoves the Nether Star into the Wither's chest, creating a massive light show and echoing with the sounds of three tormented shrieks.
Minutes have passed since the Scribe's pass through the Nether Portal. Without warning, it lights once again, purple flames flickering around it. And without warning, a lumbering beast passes through that instantly makes an ominous wind whistle across the entire battlefield and turns the sky the color of dried blood. The sun's color turns a pale white, the grass and trees around wither away, and the clouds turn jet-black.
The beast itself is even worse. It looks like a massive wither skeleton-esque monstrosity with an actual body (not just a skeleton), but one made from the withering black bone of actual wither skeletons. Its chest is inscribed with horrifying patterns, and there is an "x" in the middle of it - one that contains a glowing Nether Star. Its arms are bulging with muscles, its legs have spikes with blue energy coming from them, and its head is still that of a skeleton - one with flaming blue eyes and a flaming blue mouth. The beast's back is riddled by jagged spikes that are made from bone but slowly gradient up to a radiant blue color with electricity twirling around them, and two massive spikes jut out from the thing's collarbone that ebb with dark energy. The worst thing about the beast is the fact that it doesn't have one head. Three additional heads protrude from its back on heavily fortified necks, and all of them are flaming with blue energy.
The Scribe grins like a madman. "Well then! I'd say that went quite well! The rest of the Cowboys From Hell had to be cannibalized for this to work, but I was spared. Now let's unleash this monstrosity on the rest of the world. I'll call you... Hm, no. You're sentient, you should get the freedom of choice. So what's your name?"
The beast pauses for several seconds, as if it's having a massive internal conflict. But then, it tenses and roars, uttering one word - a name.
Cerberus: [AZ] HP: This will be a bit complicated, more on that in a bit.
This thing is a freak of nature, a horrific fusion of a seemingly normal Wither Skeleton with the Wither itself. It's very powerful, and since it has four heads, it can only be killed when all four of them are defeated. Each head has its own HP bar, just like other multi-segment entities. Cerberus has several powerful attacks at its disposal, some of which are more effective the more heads there are. Unlike Octothorpe, Cerberus will remain loyal to the Scribe no matter what, since the Wither (and by extension, Cerberus) will relish the chance to fight UserZero, a being of power.
ATTACKS:
Ejection: The heads of Cerberus fire Wither Skulls at an enemy which explode at them, dealing moderate damage. Each live head fires a Skull, which means that if all heads are alive, the attack deals x4 damage than if only one head is.
Eruption: The heads of Cerberus create massive columns of flame that deal moderate damage and deal more damage depending on how many Heads there are. In addition, if an enemy attacks Cerberus that turn, there is a 75% chance they will be Burned for 2 turns.
Disruption: The Nether Star in Cerberus' chest creates a powerful shockwave of energy that deals high damage to an enemy and gives a 33% chance to Confuse said enemy for 2 turns. Can attack multiple enemies at once, but will deal less damage and will have the same chance for Confusion.
Conjunction: The spikes on Cerberus' collarbone will create twin jets of blue electricity that will hit an entity each for moderate damage. Has a 25% chance to hit twice, and gives a 66% chance to Paralyze the enemies for 1 turn.
Ignition: The heads of Cerberus fire at the ground and create columns of flame that lift Cerberus upwards, dealing damage to an enemy below and letting Cerberus attack another enemy from above for high damage. Since Cerberus is airbone and protected by flame, if an enemy attacks him that turn, there is a 66% chance they will miss.
Condition: The Nether Star in Cerberus' chest uses its power to help 2 random allies, giving them one of several helpful status effects for three turns. Strength, which will give minicrits: Speed, which will give a chance to dodge attacks, Regen, which will give a regen to HP, or Resistance, which will give increased defense. This attack can be used in addition to any other attack.
SPECIAL ATTACKS:
Eviction: The heads of Cerberus detach from its back and shift into a massive flaming sword that carves through an enemy, dealing high damage. The more heads that are active, the more damage the attack will deal. Takes three turns to charge.
Distinction: The heads of Cerberus close their eyes and the ground around Cerberus rumbles, lifting from the earth. From beneath, a massive plume of fire spews forth that washes over everything, cleansing an enemy in its power. The attack is unique in that the fire gets more powerful and deals more damage if less heads are alive. Takes four turns to charge.
PASSIVES:
Revive Kills Zombie: Allies should hurt Cerberus if they want to heal it.
Withering Away: Every attack Cerberus makes has a 20% chance to, no matter what, inflict the Wither status effect on an enemy, which (in case you don't remember) deals damage over time and prevents them from healing. This chance goes up as Cerberus' heads are destroyed, going up 20% with each destroyed head.
Desperation: When only one head is alive, Cerberus will gain a 33% chance to minicrit no matter what, and Condition will be able to effect three allies at once.
I start a new charge. To start, Cerberus uses Eruption on an enemy and Condition on two allies.
The Relative: 1/50 ============================== [DATA ENCRYPTED]