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Post by Genesect on Dec 26, 2013 21:32:08 GMT -5
"Irritating tricks..."
Was this all that the 'young cult' had to offer: an annoying attack with such tricks as illusion? With the clones disappearing around him, the last one slashed through with Genesect's claw as it made its charge, the metal insect looked forth as Keldeo flew backward from the initial attack. However, this was not a mere wild Pokemon, who would be done in by a single explosion: before the musketeer had even hit the ground, he righted himself for a second attack.
Did he want to fight in close range?
He would have his close-range fight! Standing his ground, a familiar force began to build around Genesect's claws: once more, his body built up a powerful cloak of orange fire, a second flame charge erupting from the mechanized fossil's programming. He focused the aura forward, keeping a powerful array of fire around his arms, which he raised as the flying satyr would charge him. Each arm was raised upwards, like a boxer's guard, before being pushed forward in an attempt to slam against both of the colt's 'shoulders', his records suggesting that despite being skilled with water, fire was more potent against this warrior than one would think!
"Hm?"
That evergreen from before finally gave way! With an angry red pulse from its eyes, the fire would pick up in intensity: if he was going to be hit, so be it, but he was going to make this battlefield an inferno!
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"Ooooh yeah. That felt good."
It wasn't every day that Blade got such a workout! Amidst all the damage and everything accrued thus far, the Scizor finally earned a moment of breath, having managed to not only get the Druddigon out of close range, but subsequently throw a three-hundred and twenty pound dragon several feet away! His armor was battered, his wings singed, and his body tired, but that alone felt like an accomplishment.
But, the mere moment of rest was all the Scizor was going to get, as the Druddigon managed to right himself. Cracking his wrists, the Scizor let off a few potshots with Vacuum Wave as the Dragon approached, before raising his own claws to defend himself: he backpedaled, trying not to get grabbed nor bowled over this time!
"Tch... now that I think about it, probably a lot easier for you to throw me than the other way around, mate. Damn, you're persistent." Even now, he grinned: muscles tired from overexertion, Blade knew the same trick wasn't going to work twice. Not unless he bought time for a Swords Dance, anyway.
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Post by Keldeo "Keenan Valero" on Dec 30, 2013 4:01:24 GMT -5
“If you truly wish, Genesect, I will stop with the irritating tricks.” His voice rose high as he heard the words emerge. In all truth, even if he had been told to attack with all of his might, the goat would have ignored that order.
Murder was not the act of a truly courageous individual.
Keldeo had little intent of quickly destroying Genesect or leavhing him shattered upon the ground. He had no true motive to do such a thing. His temper, while the color of his hair, did not devour his entire heart. While he might have just destroyed the metal-insect, using his abilities, it did not feel justified or fair. The other god was barely considered a toddler. He had been misused, misinformed, and treated poorly by humanity. Aside from that, if he was some sort of confidante to Virizion, the red-headed knight would truly be a fool to harm him. The relationship between his parents and himself, built over centuries, was sometimes rockier than the ground beneath his feet. Killing Genesect, or seriously harming the creature, would be wrong. Then again, if it truly became a dire situation, Keldeo had broken moral code before.
That did not mean, as he flew toward the creature with his sword aimed to cleave the cannon in two, that anger was not apparent. He had little moral qualms about disabling the steel-skinned insect. D’artagnan, or Keenan as he was called now, did have a sense of pride; it was actually one of his most apparent weaknesses. The glowing horn, streaming white light, aimed for the slimmest part of the cannon---Genesect turned around.
Heat seared his skin; a few strands of scorched fur dropped to the ground. Keldeo did not think of his response as flames appeared; it came to him from centuries of training and well-honed instinct. The sacred-sword continued its downward arc. Metal was liable to become brittle when overheated. Closing his eyes, ignoring the searing heat, his front two-hooves spread wide. Water, a powerful stream of it, aimed to push the protective arms away. It was as if he had been equipped with four water-hoses were feet belonged---the water-type adored it.
The flames became too heated; while he was resistant, and the attack far from super-effective, blisters still hurt. Parts of his mane, and chest ruff, had turned a deep and scalded brown.. Jumping back, landing on his four hooves, the smoking god moved in again.
The tree now shadowed the field. The God of Gravity was not around to stop its fall. Keldeo remained vividly aware of its presence. In truth, due to his Achilles’ hoof, which was his egoism, the goat felt driven to get in another attack or two before the once great giant collapsed. Eyes now black, seemingly scorched by anger and the heat of battle, now flared a bright cerulean. Rain began to fall. The next attack was just a flurry of movement aimed at every facet, joint, screw, and potential weak-point he could find. The flames were ignored though they left him pained and sore. Keldeo used close combat! He aimed to drive Genesect back—beneath the tree’s growing shadow.
The dragon dusted himself out as he spit a bit of blood from his damaged jaw. “I’ve been in need of a bit of a massage recently.”, Claudius was attempting to downplay the attack. The larger Pokemon was in a decent amount of pain. Wings rattled and sent dirt spraying aside—some of it oddly dark in color. He grinned through broken spines and shattered teeth as he moved back toward the Scizor.
Musketeers never gave up a fight!
This time, cerulean screen appearing in front of him, the Druddigon rushed through the vacuum waves. He did end up, when he finally arrived at the Scizor, a few inches off the mark. While not Dirt Devil, the type of cleaning implement Claudius used, the attacks still managed to suck and pull at the nearly quarter-ton beast.
“Hahah! At least you understand that much!” He looked as if he was attempting to hug the Scizor. He had a wide smile and a twinkle in his eyes. In fact, as he drew an arm back for a punch, it was far from a friendly gesture. His palm unfurled; purple fire streamed from his claws. Claudius was attempting to backhand the insect—with a dragon’s claw!
In all truth, being focused on the Scizor, he did not even notice the tree plummeting toward the ground. [/align]
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Post by Genesect on Jan 6, 2014 21:28:48 GMT -5
The fire had done its job, in more than one way.
In their current exchange, Genesect was forced to coat himself in flames to shield himself. It proved effective, the combination of it and his claws able to repel away Keldeo's merciless horn. The Musketeer was forced to find a way to blow away his guard, high-pressure jets of water forcing the insect's arms to his side, Genesect stepping back as Keldeo swung down, a chip of metal flying from his flat head.
Steam rose from his arms, water boiling away on the heated metal. Even this 'false' god was beginning to feel the damage, his superior metal discolored from the combination of hot and cold. However, Genesect's ideal pattern was already in motion: since his attacks were performed while he was standing still, coupled with the fact that Genesect was a new god with not a lot of public fights...
Even with his history, would Keldeo know just what the insect had managed? As they stared each-other down at their moderate range, Genesect's eyes were focused solely on the colt before him. All of his rage and programming were coming together in this one strategy: this satyr seemed obsessed about going for his cannon. It seemed likely that he was going to charge again... but even in the rain, the machine once more covered himself in a thin veil of fire.
"..."
When Keldeo made his move, it would almost appear as if Genesect grew three times in size. This was not the case, of course: with three Flame Charges under his belt the entire fight, Genesect's speed had increased to extraordinary heights. Forget the elements... heck, forget his cannon! With the force of a train off the rails, Genesect aimed to barrel right towards Keldeo with a devastating tackle, both of his sharp claws aimed in front to skewer whatever flesh he could get his hands on!
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"Heh..."
Well, this was beginning to turn south. In all honesty, Blade was hoping that the battle would end with his Superpower: every blow after that tended to be a little lacking in power. In fact, his arms and legs were screaming for him to fall and end it, but this Scizor was having too much fun to have it end yet. Heck, he still didn't want to lose! Rain bouncing off his steel shell, the Scizor grinned:
"I won't back down!"
With the Druddigon approaching his range, the Scizor forced himself to step forward, to try and not let Claudius get the first strike: with the dragon's claws wide, Blade aimed several Bullet Punches straight for the dragon's chest! At the same time, he winced, the claw openly raking over his back... but still, he kept on, trying to make as many solid punches as he could.
At the end of this exchange, at least one of them was going to fall!
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Post by Keldeo "Keenan Valero" on Jan 13, 2014 6:12:01 GMT -5
Blisters had raised beneath his fur. The water beneath, without any order from the elder legendary, began to heal the injuries. The scorched skin, slowly, would regain its pink color. It might take a day or so to heal completely—if nothing else occurred. It hurt him. Then again, raised for battle and baptized in the heat of war, Keldeo knew the depths of pain. Wallowing in his pain would do little to help the situation; his strikes were helped forward by Genesect’s determination to attack the town. Some of the disgusting primates were innocent---the young ones.
Ching! The chip flew away from the flat head of the beast. The breaking metal made the goat smirk It was proof that even technology, fortified by a laboratory, stood little chance against the sword. A single chip would quickly build up. The sight of metal, changing temperature as if in a smith’s paws, began to give ideas. It would make the metal brittle, flexible, and easily cracked. It would not be the first time he had crafted steel!
The file remained in his mind. The portfolio of Genesect, ranging from old reports from his creators to recent encounters, had been carefully perused. Too much of his use, trapped beneath the feet of his mentors, the young colt had been forced into situations without proper preparation. He knew how to react under pressure. The first ten plans often found themselves fraying at the edges. While Keenan, formerly known as D’artagnan, knew how to weather these storms, he much preferred battles with few hiccups. While he had rested against the tree, analyzing his opponent, the water-type had allowed time to plan. The giant behemoth of dead wood would serve as another means to an end.
Again, far enough out of range to avoid immediate attack, he turned to observing his opponent. Flames were a danger if encountered up close—the rain would have to be renewed in a few moments. The cannon made attacks from a distance a risky choice. Four hooves planted firmly on the ground, teal eyes black, Keldeo took a steadying breath. “. . .”, the god watched for movement from the insect. It lacked the usual telltale muscle twitches signaling movement. The tree continued to fall. As Genesect rocketed forward, so did Keldeo. He began with a quick attack, building power in his legs with another aqua jet. The horn glowed once again. Keeping low, noticing the points aimed like a sword, he aimed to slam directly into the larger legendary’s midsection. Turning his blade at the last minute, as he had no intention to murder, he lifted it slightly—it was the blunter end presented to the bug-type. Ivory claws drew slices of skin, like bacon, from his shoulder. “Tch. Fighting for nothing.”
Just a few feet back! A yard! The shadow blotted out the sun.
The Druddigon felt pain in his bones. He doubted his master , investing five centuries in his training, would appreciate a loss. This blue-and-red dragon represented the power of the musketeers. In his thorny body, as unattractive as it was, rested millennia worth of experience.
“Hah.” Chest in, chest out, and a few deep breaths. Spitting blood into the formerly light dirt. Wings shifting, stretching, he tried to push past the physical. “Stupid cockroach.” He was smiling from ear to ear. In truth, while it was annoying, Claudius was forced to admire the pluckiness of the bug. It reminded him of a somewhat younger, somewhat less cultured and carnivorous, version of himself.
Laughing uproariously, giving a concerned glance to his master, the Druddigon felt his humor cut short. “I would not ask you to—it would be an offense to each of us. I am old—not elderly.” The day his scales turned grey, leaving bald spots behind, the dragon-type would give in to days of crotcheting. The rain dripped between his scales and skin. The second eyelid, like windshield wipers, dropped down to keep the liquid from his eyes.
The damaging claw dropped to the side as the dragon seemed to freeze in place.
“Ungh.” The rough scales had every intent of cracking that armor. One, two,three. The muscles in his chest tightened against the blow. An odd dark light rippled across his body as bits of armor fell away. It was not as if he had lost his ability to fight. The damage had been taken with one intention: revenge. The larger animal was buying time for his friend in the throes of battle. It did not sound as if, like their friendly battle, bonds were transcending the dangers of open battle. Death might result—the fair rules of fighting might need to be broken.
Balling sharp claws into a fist, baring his teeth, the white eyes glowed purple. Pulling back with his arm, feeling all the pain from his middle draw into his shoulder, the Druddigon aimed a left-‘handed’ strike at the face of the uppity Scizor. [/align]
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Post by Genesect on Jan 16, 2014 19:45:43 GMT -5
Well, this was a head-on collision waiting to happen! If Genesect had been cut from a nobler cloth, he might have admired Keldeo's steadfast nature to take a courageous charge straight for the giant metal monster. However, this Artificial Legendary was too engrossed in his own righteous rage to think of anything but how to annihilate this heathen standing before him. With the flaming tree approaching, it would all come down to this one collision, and how they would take the hit.
SMASH.
The sound of the metal monster and the cobalt blade would resonate around: the turned and stifled blade would prove as a boon to them both. Not only did it keep it from entering Genesect's core circuitry, but it also stopped the flat of Keldeo's skull from running into the behemoth at full force. As his claws pierced the edge of the colt and drew blood, so too did the blade at the chest, digging a wide swath across his body.
Of course, this was merely the story at the first moment of impact: with their momentum carrying, soon the rest of their bodies crashed against each-other with the force that only two 'gods' of this land could give. It would likely rattle Keldeo's skull, if not his whole body: after all, Genesect himself, despite being the heavier one, felt his armor shake at the sheer force of their attack...
And, he would not back off. Though his eyes sparked away from consciousness, he would try and clench his claws around the colt, to leave them both in the path of the flaming timber undearneath. Though the tree itself probably wouldn't have stopped the battle on its own, with how weak both parties were...
Would this settle in a draw?
"That's a stable body you got there!"
Blade had been in quite the number of scuffles in his day, and boy, was this dragon resilient. There was hardly an inch of flab felt by those steel hands, each scraped by the Druddigon's tough scales as he continued to pound repeatedly against the dragon's increasingly bruised torso. He was inside, after all, and given the chance to lay in as much damage as he could, not giving an inch as he continued to wail away at the dragon. Kept in line with one arm, he was unable to move, Druddigon's claw meeting clean with the steel type's chin.
Taking the blow, he fell backwards against the other hand, coughing his own share of blood out onto the ground. He tensed himself, prepared to rebound, before- wait, what?
"Er..." Haphazardly, he put his claws in position to call a time out, the fervor of battle leaving his eyes, as he pointed at the flaming mess several yards behind the Druddigon. "Eheh... as much as I love a scrap, I think those two might be out cold... that bein the case, mind cutting this young'n a bit of slack, gramps?"
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Post by Keldeo "Keenan Valero" on Jan 21, 2014 4:29:16 GMT -5
He did not wish to skewer Genesect. Beneath that hardened-case, and even hardier skull, rested a soul. Keldeo believed all things, even if their life was artificial, possessed something valuable; he chose to call it a soul. Humans had twisted it in this creature. They had made his outlook on the world go dark. They had likely mistreated him, stepped upon him, and left him to die like the broken wreckage of an automobile. The goat understood those feelings. He knew the temptation to mistreat, use, and toss away humans like garbage. It was not one Keenan gave into often. He was a musketeer—he was better than that.
In truth, as he had decided to charge at Genesect head first, it seemed the purple-insct was far from the only one with a hard head. His mane, if it had hit properly, would have absorbed only a bit of that momentum. Keldeo would have been left with a rather nasty crack in his skull. For what? Sand erupted around them at the force of the impact. His hooves erupted with a jet of water to add to his momentum moments before impact. He drew his body inward.
Smash! Keldeo felt the impact in the marrow of his bones. His skull shook. The three emblems of his resolute form cracked, splintered, and vanished. A pained bleat erupted as sharpened metal blades sliced long swatches of skin from his side. Blood pooled from beneath blackened, scorched, and blistered skin. Little slivers of flesh, which looked a bit like lunch meat, flopped to the sand. The horn itself held strong—it seemed it was still a functional can-opener. The rest of his body was not so hardy. He was stubborn. The dark teal eyes turned nearly back.
He quivered. The tree itself began to fall. Lifting his head slightly, muzzle glowing white, Keldeo let a hyper beam free. Splinters flew from the tree; it splintered at its weak point and fell into two pieces. The rain had left the tree smoldering. Keldeo collapsed. His head tilted into the warm dirt beneath him. “Nngh.”
Crash! The splinters, even if the main part of the tree fell on a tiny protect shield, did their fair share of damage. Keldeo looked like a pin cushion. Still, with pain, came a realization: he was alive. He considered that victory enough.
His tail was on fire.
The Druddigon might have flushed beneath his scales. He laughed. It took a lot for him to speak; this really hurt. “You should have seen me in my prime mantis—“ His foot slid back. Hit after hit and he moved back. His organs rested beneath those scales; they were cracking, falling, and twisting apart.
Drawing back for another strike, being a believer in an eye for an eye, the dragon frowned. The ‘t’ was a sacred symbol. It was the reason Keldeo had not killed him twelve times over. The dragon had not even noticed the tree fall in the heat of battle. Frowning, staring suspiciously at the Scizor, Claudius debated. It was rarely considered wise to turn away from an opponent. The heat and smoke reached his nostrils. Finally, determining it was acceptable to trust this tin-can bug, he turned. “Oh my. That looks like it hurt.” Realizing it was his master beneath that mes,s likely bleeding, the dragon shook himself free from his stupor.
“Certainly! Come along!” Charging across the sand, towards the heap of wood, he bent to lift the tree. He settled his shoulder against a large piece. It seemed to rest over his master’s back hoof. “Come on dozy-legs! Get up colt!” It didn’t look good. His side was bleeding. The front ‘nail’ of his hoof was cracked. Little shards of his amulet lay shattered upon the sand.
“Oh, Sir Keenan….” Grabbing and pulling, likely leaving scrapes, he pulled the tiny goat into his weakened arms. “Wake up, please, your skull is harder than that, you stubborn old as—“
“Call me a donkey again. Go ahead, Claudius.” Keldeo did not maintain consciousness long after that. It hurt too much. His body would take care of any injuries it could. He hoped it could repair a broken leg. What would a human foot look like with shattered nails and toes? Ugh. [/align]
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Post by Genesect on Jan 21, 2014 21:06:45 GMT -5
Fortunately for Keldeo, Genesect was just about as sturdy as the colt was. Even with his impressive steel frame, Genesect had never felt quite a powerful impact. As soon as their heads met in this tackle, his vision jolted black-and-white like an old flickering television screen, error readings popping up left-and-right on his flashing eyes. As strong as his outer shell was, his armor earned a definite crack in several places, especially those emerging from where the horn entered.
For the briefest moment, it would appear that the insect would remain standing. However, with that tree cracking cleanly across his back, the computer-bug collapsed forward as well, bloodied claws removing themselves from the colt's side as he did so. The tree had managed to push him straight over the edge, Genesect's words already beyond common sense:
"Reformatting drive. Assessing damage... assessing damage. Initiating sleep mode."
And with that, his red eyes would click off, left next to the flaming colt.
"Dear lord, man..."
To such a respective battler, Blade kept himself honest, and didn't jump the dragon the first chance he had. Rather, he stretched out his arms, before running up next to the dragon, keeping up as good of a pace as he could manage. Although these two were still conscious, the injuries were definitely there, Scizor looking off to the side to spit a sizable amount of blood into the sand. He could complain later: right now, with a strong punch, he cleaved the weakened, flaming tree into two, and pulled aside the lower half off of Genesect's leg.
"Feh. God damn, you look like shit right now." With his own armor dented, Scizor thrust his half of the tree aside into the sand, and, sitting on one knee, past his claws over the deep gouges of his armor. "Volca's gonna have fun welding these shut. And I thought you were the one who said it would be a bad idea to be caught out here in the middle of nowhere." Irate, the bug stood, managing to hoist the much-heavier bug on his back, carried over one shoulder.
"Hey, um... Druddigon." The Scizor sighed. "The name's 'Blade', leftover insect from the clone labs off the coast. Don't know how much you two can trust us, but," Blade chuckled, "I think we're kind of stuck together for a bit. Unless you can still fly after all that."
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Post by Keldeo "Keenan Valero" on Jan 25, 2014 6:23:38 GMT -5
It was like someone had set a bell off in his ears. The annoying little thing, which sounded more like a gong, resounded from inside. His entire body vibrated against the toughened-steel. The world did not lose its color; he had no circuitry, aside from his nervous system, to worry about. Instead, like some sort of spilled oil, darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision. His horn did not crack; it was made of some strong material given by Arceus. Some claimed it was forged from resolve, courage, and chivalry itself---Keenan thought that was too fanciful. All he knew was, when he stabbed something, that it had never let him down.
The words made him smirk. I hope you have a pleasant sleep—insect. His jaw did not move correctly. One of his back hooves had left cobalt splinters across the ground. Everything hurt on his body. Then again, as his parents had insisted after a day spent training, pain was the side-effect of survival. He would not enjoy the sensation, if he had not been asleep, of flames moving from his tail to his left side. The fur, while damp, was far from fire-proof.
The Druddigon moved a bit slowly. Each breath made it feel like Claudius was being stabbed. A rib was likely broken. The plates in his torso were cracked; they refused to move in the proper manner. The dragon just sighed and shook his head. Would his master ever outgrow his reckless behavior? Would he ever learn, when his goodness was questioned, to just let it go?
The other half of a snapped tooth, sharp to the touch, was spit to the side. It fell into a crack in the sand. The wound did not hurt. He tasted the smoke from his dragon-breath. The stench of scorched flesh now permanently resided in his nostrils. Staring at the Scizor, watching it drag the tree off, the Druddigon went to work. The dark eyes analyzed the damage. All that emerged, instead of a call of alarm, was a simple sound. “Hm.”
The quick exchange assured him that, while Keldeo was resting, the goat still lived.
The flames were taken care of first. The blunt claws, as if spanking the bottom of a naughty child, smothered the little strands of orange. The predatory eyes lifted to the other on occasion. That rather large bug looked to be quite a burden. Was the bug up to the task? “You got him—looks like you did a lot of damage earlier.” The Druddigon did not want to kill his opponent. The crimson bug was quite a bit of fun. Following Blade’s observation, trailing his fingers through the goat’s mane, he chortled. “ They both look like shit.” He sighed. The dragon-type pictured their homecoming. “Suicune is not going to be overjoyed with us.” Could anyone really blame him for this? Claudius hoped not. He had not done anything wrong!
While the Druddigon listened, pondering the identity of Volca, he slid powerful arms beneath the colt’s prostate form. Pulling him into his arms, being careful to avoid drawing blood, the dragon-type began to walk forward. His wings spread. They gave an experimental flap. It stretched his aching muscles, twisted his bruised bones, and left him winded. “I think, Blade, that two minds are better than one—even if one is that of a tin-can.” He bared a wolfish grin at the steel-type behind him. He sniffed at the air. The infected would not leave them alone for very long. They would smell the blood. The injuries would draw them out. That damned chemical had turned them into sharks.
“It’s Claudius.” Why would you call that thing a blade ? It was just a bug. It lacked points. The thing seemed to be free of any knives or weapons. While it could battle, quite well, it seemed to enjoy the tactics of a club. “Come with me.” The goat had come prepared for battle. Pravus had insisted upon it. It seemed the potions, weapons, and bandages might come to be of use.
Just to be certain, as walking across this desert lacked appeal, Claudius flapped his wings again. The mud beneath his claws, caused by the small clouds above, made it difficult to move. The muscles in his shoulders were exhausted.
The water seemed to help his master though. The goat healed with each drop against his scorched skin. [/align]
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Post by Genesect on Jan 28, 2014 18:58:12 GMT -5
"Yeah, yeah, I got him. Up-sa-daisy..." Blade groaned slightly, managing to carefully pull up and carry the unconscious 'legendary' insect upon his back. Thankfully, Genesect didn't have a lot of size to him, being only slightly larger than a Scizor to begin with. No, the real taxing factor here was his sheer weight. Testing his knees, he took a step forward in the mud, and nodded.
"If I can throw your body, dragon, I think I can manage him for a while. We seem about even in strength, anyway." With a cocky grin on his face, he looked towards the Druddigon, managing to keep a grin on his own face for now. And wait... Suicune? "Eh? Its weird enough boss here and the Musketeers are around, but the Johto Eevees as well? Man, this world must really be screwed up if everyone's comin' around here to this hellhole." The clone chuckled, walking next to the elder dragon.
As expected, his wings just weren't up to the task quite yet. Shaking some of the mud off of his face, and hearing his comment, Blade retorted: "Oh? Quite impressive that you managed to cram your brain into a can of tomato-paste." His grin matched the dragon's, finally getting a name. 'Claudius'. Why would someone name a Pokemon such an undeniably human name, though? It baffled Blade, even if his arms weren't sharp. They were soon on the road, though, Blade trudging in ankle-deep mud, the rain-clouds from before soon clearing up to leave them hot and muddy.
"I really wouldn't mind it raining again. Its so damn hot out here... guess it doesn't bother you as much, though. You breathe the stuff." Shrugging, he pressed on, albeit at a somewhat slow pace for lugging such an impressively heavy piece of machinery. "I take it you city-folk studied a map or something, but its just sand and more sand around here. If you're lookin for cover, you ain't gonna find it. Let's just get away from the blood stains and try to sort these guys out. Besides,"
Blade shrugged. "Out here, everything burrows. Say what you want about the infected, I just don't want to run into a Trapinch or a Dugtrio, even if it is sane. All that noise might have stirred a nest, and even boss here can't fight what he can't see. So let's not stick around and wait for a sinkhole."
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Post by Keldeo "Keenan Valero" on Jan 30, 2014 4:10:48 GMT -5
It was a bit humorous. The purple-insect did not seem like an easy package to carry. It certainly wasn’t something the postman would authorize. The areas that were easily picked up, such as the limbs, looked like toothpicks. The sharp claws, likely still steaming canon, and weight were unlikely to be comfortable. The size of that head, with its shovel shape, seemed to be a encumbrance. “He’s the ugliest and least yellow daisy I’ve ever seen. You seem to hold up pretty well--” The sharp ears listened for a creak for a moment. Would the Scizor break like a machine? Would sprogs fly all across the area?
His master, with clear divisions and sturdy limbs , was simple to scoop into scaled arms. Keldeo was tiny; he also did not weigh a lot. Watching him step across the mud, sinking just a bit in the soft soil, the dragon-type winced. This reminded him of his beginning days in training. Slippery ground, especially when it lacked any sense of firmness, was easy to trip into. “I don’t know about even.” The Scizor was strong. Claudius had the pride typically seen in his kind. It was unlikely, even missing a tooth and possessing a few cracked ribs, that he’d admit to true equality. His warm smile, which could be a bit intimidating, was as close as he would ever get. “They aren’t Eevees. Eevees are foxes—they’re dogs. Wolf and a sheep indeed. Heh.” Shifting his master, preferring not to ponder the oddity of some relationships, he paused. “Arceus sends them where they’re needed, I guess. “ Staring at Genesect for a moment, wincing as one of his master’s horns jabbed into his side, he paused his question. “What about hi---nngh.” Rearranging the water-type, so the bits stopped poking him, Claudius grew quiet for a moment.
The sand was making this difficult. It slid beneath his feet, cracked under his weight, and felt less than stable. “Haha. Hilarious. I was referring to your hide actually—it’s not tin. Steel I guess.” It was his master that sometimes chewed on metal; it certainly hasn’t him. The blunt tongue could not stop worrying at his cracked tooth. In. Out. In. Out. Push. Pull. Push. Finally, snapping at him like an angry dog, it gave a burst of pain. “Owch! Alright—I won’t do that anymore.” Shifting Keldeo again, amazed that his master still slept, Claudius pushed him closer to his body. The god was far more important than he.
The name was from Hamlet. The dragon liked its elegance. It sounded far more like a knight than the monosyllabic name he had formerly possessed. Wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, air-conditioning made him pampered, the dragon responded. “I would rather have sand and heat than mud.” His wings spread a bit to cover his master’s frail body. That pale fur would do little against sunburn. “I don’t breathe sand and heat—I can use it.” The dragon snorted, twice. It wasn’t on fire anyway. “ …..I’m not looking for cover—and besides—with all these trees—there’s got to be something.” A river, one big enough to dunk Keldeo in, could speed up the healing process.
“I am after our bag.” It was a bit different, down here, than from the air. Nothing looked the same; it was much more lively than dots. Finally, spotting an egg-shaped rock in the distance, he nodded. That would be their destination. “I’m sure we can keep any burrowers away—just look out for vibrations.” Potions were in that bag. “Chicken, huh?” Claudius was not. Suicune would kill him if the poor little guy didn’t make it home for dinner.
Keldeo meanwhile, slumping in those spiky arms, had began to dream. It was of days long past. It was from the time that had been both his most-hated and his most fondly remembered. It was a time of bandy legs, clumsy attacks, and optimism.
Instead of his parents, the other three musketeers, he found himself facing mechanized versions of themselves. Gears and steel resided were their muscles once had. Their eyes, usually full with wittiness or jovial teasing, were just blank marbles. Looking down at himself, when he heard an odd chink, the little cold had startled. His own limbs were forged from cobalt. ”W---wha--?”
Emotions were far away. The area was numbers. Staring out upon a battlefield, one in which he had met his blessed, the robotic version of himself had turned away. Helping that village, which only had a few hundred people, would have failed a test of numbers. It had been insurmountable odds. The citizens were no more special than the war his hooves moved toward. Did machines have hearts? Was Genesect able to feel? The warriors in that distant village began to shift into shades of violet and steel. The monstrous deeds seemed not to matter.
That would be a horrible way to live—like a soulless calculator. Then again, when utilitarianism came into view, it was often a better choice than nothing. [/align]
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