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[Ragitsu]

created by the hero's father Audric.

[Certified]

[tkdguy]

[Ragitsu]

"Cane – Universal. The walking stick is an accessory of gentlemen
worldwide. Treat as a LIGHT CLUB (p. B271)."

[Ragitsu]

[Ragitsu]

[Certified]

[Certified]

[Ragitsu]

[Ragitsu]

[Certified]

[Certified]

[Ragitsu]

Poo's Mu Training. You're controlling an unfamiliar character who is told to go attend a training session. The training initiates a battle, where an outline of a stylized Chinese-ancestor head appears. It then proceeds to (all in text, mind you) break your legs, tear off your arms, cut off your ears, and take away your eyes. Worst of all, before each step, it asks for confirmation. After each step, your health drops. When you lose your ears, the music cuts off. And when your eyes are gone, the whole screen goes blank. The final step reminds the player that all they have remaining to them is their mind—which they are then asked to give up as well.

[Certified]

[Ragitsu]

http://www.dailydot.com/opinion/darkness-anti-heroes-ruining-tv/

 

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The Way of Kings.

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Way_of_Kings

[Certified]

[Ragitsu]

Summer seemed to linger in the air, the faint humidity and chirp of the crickets all around him. August felt far away, further than the city limits and the complicated troubles of urban life. Here in the rural countryside, life was supposed to be simpler. If only things were really as they appeared, he thought grimly.

Spinning the cylinder wildly, he snapped it into place without so much as a glance. His gloved hand lingered for a moment on the barrel of the gun, cloudy eyes staring intently into the reflective surface. The rubber gripped handle felt oddly uncomfortable in his hand for the first time in a long time.

The first time he had held the monstrous pistol, it had felt like he had been missing something in his life. When he fired it for the first time, heard its deafening roar and felt the mule-like kick of it in his hands, he knew that this was what he had been missing. The gaping, pie-sized wound it had left in the writhing monster only made him wish he had found it sooner. While some would recoil from such a grisly sight, he would not. No, not him. He had seen far worse in his days, in the days when the monsters came.

 

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His long, breathless hesitation continued at the door. He could hear the blare of the television set, see its flickering light against the thin curtains. Leaning around the edge, his deadly focused eyes peered into the window. Lack of sleep had drained him, hooding his eyes with fatigue, but he remained alert. This was number four on the list.

The list. For the past two weeks, he had lived and breathed the list. Traitors, every last one of them, he thought angrily and his grip tightened on the gun's handle. It was the anger that kept him going, he realized. The last time he had felt so angry, had been three years ago, back when they had first come…

Movement inside. He ducked back quickly, seeing a large shadow pass by the curtain. The television continued to pour out mindless noise, and he sensed that it was playing a late night infomercial. Very little was on TV at this time anyways, he thought. Not that he was one to watch it, night or day.

Footsteps. Clumsy, loud footsteps came to the window, and more faint light appeared on the faux grass lawn. Someone had pushed the curtain aside to look out. Had he been too confident and gotten sloppy? It made no difference; he knew there was no turning back now.

The lock gave way silently, the corrosive acid tube Pierce had made for him doing its job perfectly. His dark eyes took in every inch of the long hallway, scanning for sensors or alarms. The mark had been known for his dislike of high-end technology, but that wasn't to say he was above protecting his home with such devices. Then again, he had been cocky enough to slip up and make the list, so perhaps he had thrown caution into the wind long ago, without looking back.

The one story house was elegant in its simplicity, and far deeper than it had appeared from the quiet street. Little surprised him, however, as he had memorized the blueprints during the afternoon. He had expected the home to be sparsely decorated, and he had been right. The one thing that fool had done properly was live within his means. He had probably stashed the cash in an offshore account, and planned to take an early retirement.

Greed. It had taken over so many men, destroyed their lives without them even realizing it. It disgusted him, how quickly men were to betray their friends and colleagues, even endangering their own lives, for the simple promise of money. Even the monsters were above material greed; in their mindless destruction of the world around them, they at least sought only what they needed.

His socks slid quietly on the marble floor. Thankful that the floors hadn't been creaky hardwood, he had no choice but to remove his wingtips at the door to ensure a silent approach. The TV continued to boom, its echo heavy with bass as the sound reverberated throughout the house. He stalked towards the noise, his hand cannon pointed downwards but ready to fire at an instant's notice.

The glare of the TV was harsh on his eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, but he could still make out the shape of a man resting fitfully on the recliner, his head tilted slightly to the side. Rupert raised his gun and took aim.

Approaching the sleeping man, Rupert kept his handgun raised and trained on the target. Shadows danced on the wall behind him, the droning sound of the spokesman ringing in his ears. Completely focused, he stepped swiftly around the chair, his gun raised decisively.

"Don't move, Brecklin," he hissed through clenched teeth. It took everything in him to not pull the trigger then and there, faced with the knowledge that Brecklin had endangered all of MIST with his actions.

But as Rupert spoke, he sensed it was a lost cause. Brecklin's eyes were vacant, his mouth agape. Reaching out with a cautious hand, Rupert checked for the pulse and found none. The man was dead, and done recently. Just like the others.

The lights came on, suddenly blinding, and Rupert threw his arms over his head in an attempt to block the flood. He staggered, feeling something hard hit him in the chest, something with a hard edge that forced the air from his lungs. Collapsing to the floor, he felt the edge of the hardbound book that had been thrown at him, and he looked up to see a familiar, smiling face.

"Long time no see, Rupert," said the woman slyly, crouched by an open window.

"Damn it, Risa," he spat. "So it was you…"

"Beating you to the punch, you mean? Sorry, but you know how important cleanup detail is. Not to mention how…satisfying it is."

Rupert tried to level his gun at her, his lungs still struggling to breath.

"Aw, you're not mad at me, are you," she asked, her voice child-like and mocking. "I was just doing what you were going to, after all…"

"I needed them alive," he said, even though it went against everything he believed. He had killed the first traitor, barely giving him a chance to surrender, and the other two had been executed by Risa before he could reach them. Still, he knew that he needed information, not a relief to his anger, and had to have at least one of the traitors captured alive.

"You shouldn't dawdle so long, then," she replied, looking calmly at her nails. Despite her casual demeanor, she kept him constantly in her sights. She had improved much over such a short time, he thought. She was barely a young woman before, and now she was a dangerous assassin.

The change was reflected little in her face. She still appeared to be young, her short blonde hair cropped up above her head and sculpted into wavy spikes. Her once brilliant blue eyes were now cold and merciless, the azure hues icy. Had Rupert not known any better, he wouldn't have thought that most of her body had been replaced with cybernetic parts, lightweight steels stronger than any flesh or bone.

"I don't need advice from a half-human freak," he hissed, steadying the gun.

"I see you still prefer the Maeda special," she chuckled. "Always the lone cowboy, eh, Rupert…?"

"You're one to talk," he said, and something must have tensed in his voice, for she leapt from the window, upwards to the roof, her lightning quick footsteps pattering across the ceiling before he could fire.

"Damn it," he whispered, rubbing the ache in his ribs. She had probably bruised a couple with that cheap shot of hers. Still, she had a chance to finish him then and there, but didn't. Why…?

He heard her sudden shrill laughter from the roof, and he felt the hackles on the back of his neck stand up. Something was wrong here. He looked over at Brecklin's inert body, which suddenly began to convulse. The corpse fell to the floor, thrashing violently. The skin around his fingers began to bloat and expand, cracking and finally peeling off to reveal dark talons beneath the carapace. Outwards jutted his lower jaw, as the burgeoning ridge in his back tore the tattered nightshirt completely from his bulging body. A soundless roar came from its gaping mouth, the murky eyes of the creature taking in the well-dressed black man standing before it.

"Aw, hell," murmured Rupert, the gun wavering ever so slightly in his hand.

The first shot found its mark, just as the second and as surely as the third. Three rounds of Mongoose rounds, all center mass, and still the creature continued to withstand the barrage. In shocked disbelief, Rupert hesitated for a moment as the monster charged towards him, bowling over furniture in its wake. Its head rammed squarely into Rupert's hip as he tried to dive away, the force sending him spinning in a mess into the corner. Flying into a bookshelf, heavy volumes began to pour down on him, burying him in their endlessly vast knowledge. Books were really getting to him today, he thought, sweeping aside the mounting pile before him.

The creature turned its head, seeming to have lost him somehow, when Rupert saw the glitter of something metallic on the creature's ear. Just like the one Aya had found on that woman in the shop, he thought, taking careful aim with his Maeda again.

The gun kicked in his hand like a wild stallion, but the round flew true, striking and obliterating the right side of the creature's head. Chunks of mushy brain matter filled the air, the bloody lumps seeming to hang in the air for a moment before falling wetly to the ground. The monster finally crumpled, its long legs taking a few steps forward before collapsing altogether.

At his feet, the creature's shape began to change once again, returning to the human form of one Agent Brecklin. He allowed himself a sigh of relief, knowing in the back of his mind that this was just the beginning.

[Ragitsu]

[Ragitsu]

[Ragitsu]

[Certified]

[Ragitsu]

Rhialto relaxed, smiling at his own odd fancies, and poured out a final cup of tea...He let it cool untasted. On impulse he rose to his feet and went into the parlour, where he donned a cloak, a hunter's cap, and took up that baton known as 'Malfezar's Woe.' He then summoned Ladanque, his chamberlain and general factotum.

 

"Ladanque, I will be strolling around in the forest for a period. Take care that Vat Five retains its roil. If you wish, you may distill the contents of the large blue alembic into a stoppered flask. Use a low heat and avoid breathing the vapor; it will bring a purulent rash to your face."

 

"Very well, sir. What of the clevenger?"

 

"Pay it no heed. Do not approach the cage. Remember, its talk of both virgins and wealth is illusory; I doubt if it knows the meaning of either term."

 

"Just so, sir."

 

Rhialto departed the manse.
 

--- --- ---

"The Murthe", Rhialto the Marvellous, by Jack Vance

[Pattern Ghost]

Rhialto relaxed, smiling at his own odd fancies, and poured out a final cup of tea...He let it cool untasted. On impulse he rose to his feet and went into the parlour, where he donned a cloak, a hunter's cap, and took up that baton known as 'Malfezar's Woe.' He then summoned Ladanque, his chamberlain and general factotum.

 

"Ladanque, I will be strolling around in the forest for a period. Take care that Vat Five retains its roil. If you wish, you may distill the contents of the large blue alembic into a stoppered flask. Use a low heat and avoid breathing the vapor; it will bring a purulent rash to your face."

 

"Very well, sir. What of the clevenger?"

 

"Pay it no heed. Do not approach the cage. Remember, its talk of both virgins and wealth is illusory; I doubt if it knows the meaning of either term."

 

"Just so, sir."

 

Rhialto departed the manse.

 

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"The Murthe", Rhialto the Marvellous, by Jack Vance

 

That moment when  you read something and think it sounds D&D-ish, then see the attribution and realize D&D sounds It-ish.

[tkdguy]

http://www.sfgate.com/comics/slideshow/Bad-Reporter-58048.php

[Ragitsu]

Once you begin doubting that kind of otherworldly power, you start courting disaster.