Hallucinogen_NA

"Gah! I WASN'T!" Hal exclaimed angrily at Solid's comment. "Ugh, no one ever believes people with concealment powers. I am capable of telling the truth, you kn--sorry," he muttered, recognizing he was losing his temper and stopping himself.

* * * * * *

"W, w, WHAT?!?" Schizo exclaimed as Burning left the room smiling. "No! You don't understand! I don't want to be good! It's boring and lame! And it hurts Fury! I DON'T WANNA!"

He quieted suddenly, and brought a little doll out of nowhere that appeared, creepily enough, to have been made in Essex's likeness. It was in excellent shape, unusually enough for Schizo's possessions.

"It's okay, Schizo!" Schizo said in a high, squeaky voice, wiggling the plushie's arms to suggest it was speaking. "You're a horrible, sick person beyond all hope! I hate you!"

"Oh, Essex," Schizo cackled, the doll disappearing in a flash of purple light. "You always know the wrong thing to say."

"Ruladork bring now," the Brute said, and his form blurred and began to vanish from view entirely, energy cloaking his presence even as he lurched forward and loosed a massive Knockout Blow right at the Jump Bot. His mishapen fist would not even be visible by the time it hit.

so th en he ruld all th rikti and tjey gav h1m the powr to seee th e futur and he nows al thier is 2 no

so he had to fight the presidint ad he won but he was badl injred and had to get ninja pwers to stay aliv. . .

((:P Aren't the AP rounds bullets? That was what Ruladork was blocking. I thought the Jump Bots hadn't done anything yet. Or if they had, I haven't responded to it yet. But I thought the Sky Raiders were all attacking Experiment and Bizzmereo, and. . .

<_< Editing. XP))

((EDIT: As it happens, Energy Aura can do fire too. ))

"Ruladork hurt, due to party starting without him."

The massive Brute came down from a leap on the central platform, placing himself in the way of the oncoming gouts of fire. The energy flowing around him absorbed the flames and it had little effect other than a pleasant warmth around his chest.

"Ruladork suggest come get some!" the Brute roared, gesturing and taunting the Raiders, daring them all to come closer.

"INTRODUCING," the announcer boomed. "Servant of the manifestation of madness Schizophrenias, all the way from Castle Lunacia. . . the exiled, warlike, Ruladork the Weak!"

And with that, Ruladork himself leaped out into the arena, landing surprisingly quietly on one of the small platforms, directly in the center.

"Ruladork thank," he said calmly, and softly enough that many people likely did not hear. "Advise audience fasten seatbelts, hold onto hats, other figures of speech summarized as 'Shut up, watch'."

The red crystal on his shoulders began to glow, and energy arced from it all over his body, covering him with gleaming ruby light.

"Ruladork request bring on."

"Ruladork greet person he does not know but who clearly knows Hallucinogen and Essex," the Brute said as the armored newcomer entered. "And advise other person not know wash hand after shaking."

Schizo watched Ozell leave with an expression of mingled horror and disbelief.

"Why the HELL does he care about my birthday?" he snapped at Burning. "He's insane, isn't he? I'm the most horrible person you've ever met, aren't I? At least Blightlord is competent and successful, right? Right? RIGHT?"

He glared at Burning, waiting for confirmation that he was, in fact, a vile maniac beyond all hope.

* * * * * *

"Uh. . . Essex?" Hal's voice muttered nervously as Rosie and Essex entered the building. "You all right? . . . And no, I haven't been following you invisible, really! I hate that power sometimes."

"Ruladork greet person he does not know, suggest wash outfit, receive therapy overcome obvious social anxieties," Ruladork said without moving as the Lord of Rags entered.

His voice was calm and deep, and it was hard to tell where it came from, as he had no mouth. But it came, notwithstanding.

There was a loud thump outside the Coliseum door.

The door was heard to creak open and then close, but whatever it was was now moving further into the building in almost complete silence, despite its obvious weight.

The door to the waiting room opened, and a rolled-up newspaper flew out of nowhere onto a group of chairs. The air rippled, and then seemed to wash aside to reveal a massive, hideous creature with huge, misshapen arms, thick hide, and instead of a head, a little sack of flesh in which a large red crystal was cradled. A Brute of the Army of Rularuu.

"Ruladork greet people he does not know and will probably eventually smash, be smashed by."

His long tattered cape swished behind him as he walked, the mark of Castle Lunacia, fortress of the manifestation of madness, Schizophrenias. His skin was a great deal darker than most Brutes, and his arms smaller, but his crystal seemed a little larger as well.

"Name Ruladork the Weak. Here to prove strength, smash things, generally possess figurative ball. Get newspaper too," he added, gesturing at it.

He walked over to the nearest wall and stood leaning against it as though he'd lived here all his life.

((Don't have a screenie of the cape he's wearing now on that site, so use thy imagination until I get one up. D)

"W, what?" Schizophrenias burst out. "What the HECK are you doing giving me a gift?!"

Thorns appeared in each of his hands. "What is WRONG with you? I'm one of the most horrible and worthless piles of [censored] ever to walk the planet! Or rather float, because walking is for chumps," he added, grinning briefly before remembering he was furious.

He tentatively aimed a thorn at Ozell and a thorn at the present, and then frowned.

". . . Nah," he said, and aimed them both at Ozell's feet.

"Think fast!" he cackled, and let them fly.

((I'll join this. And NO, I'm not back yet, shut up. ))

((However, I'ma wait until the weekend is over, because otherwise this is likely to be the only post I actually make until then. Don't want to leave anyone hanging. XP))

((Oh dear. XD;; I've forgotten about this with the battles being suspended, I guess. I hope it's alright for me to post in such a case. <_&lt)

"Fine, fine, whatever," Schizo sighed, and spat on the floor.

The ground under his feet bubbled and warped at the touch of pure chaos. Ripples shot through it in the direction of the door and swam up the sides, and finally the doorway itself shrunk in all directions away from the door with a great heave, and the door disconnected, bending slightly, and dropped to the ground with a clatter.

"I suppose I could've just opened it," Schizo cackled, floating up to the doorway as it snapped back into its normal state, so that the door was now lying on the ground without a visible cause for its removal. "But that wouldn't have been NEARLY as fun."

". . . Ozell!" he exclaimed, tone abruptly changing to one of barely suppressed fury and hatred. "What the heck are YOU doing here?"

Yayz. My favorite bit is still the battle with Serafina. That rocked.

And the story was great and stuff. XD;;

Slew of stuff.

Four pieces of music I composed for various other people's characters. Said characters belong to _Essex_, Ozell_One, TerminusEst13 and Khellendrosiic, respectively.

Essex's Theme

Unit Lyden's Theme

Sir Morgant's Theme

Toy Dispenser's Theme

And finally, music I didn't write but that is plenty appropriate:

Schizophrenias's Theme Song: I Am The Walrus by the Beatles. Still.

Moonscribe sat calmly, looking around the room, eyes obscured as always by the moonlight that reflected off his glasses. Though the source was in question.

Djehuty? Are you really sure about this?

Of course I am not. Were I sure, I should be a fool. We cannot determine every outcome to every possible situation. It is well, though, if it appears that we can.

We perhaps could have won a second bout. Why did we not attempt it again? Are you sure the loser's bracket will give us a better chance? What if Morgant wins? We can surely not allow him his wish.

Percy, it may never be granted. We have been clear that this was a gamble from the start. And an excellent way to lower the odds of someone who would squander their wish receiving it.

. . .I am unsure of this.

Excellent. You should not be. To accept that you do not know everything, though you spend millenia learning, is the greatest wisdom you shall learn.

And Moonscribe sat calmly, saying nothing of this, Percy and Djehuty both awaiting what the future held in store.

* * * * * *

"BAHAHAHAHAHA!" Schizo declared, ignoring Burning's laments about the match loss. He was losing! He was proving that he was completely useless! As well as evil and depraved! Ah, no one would EVER miss him when he was gone. It was such a comfortable feeling. And besides, he hated everyone, right? He was going to take the world with him when he left?

"Yep, that's right!" Schizo cackled, grinning, not showing the tiniest hint of the internal struggle he was feeling. It was Hallucinogen who showed that. . . the two of them were the struggle personified, after all.

"And cool!" he yelled as a pounding came at the door. "The termites here must be AWESOME!"

"Well. . . I guess we're just waiting for the first round," Hal said, seating himself on his bed in the Eternal Hope room, his green smoke gone to reveal an ordinary boy with wild dark brown hair and a simple green T-shirt and dark purple pants. He looked tentatively over at Essex. She seemed quiet. . . she was probably nervous and needed to be left alone at the moment.

"Great. A martial artist lady and a guy with a big honking painpipe," the hero sighed, lying back on the bed and supporting his head with his hands. "We're going out of this thing SO fast."

* * * * * *

Moonscribe had somehow managed to bring a piano into the Ancient Darkness room, though no one ever saw it enter. He sat at the keyboard, playing a soft, peaceful nocturne, smiling calmly.

"Yes, you may be right, Lyden," he said out of the blue, continuing to play, never faltering or hitting a single wrong note. "In that case it is likely best for you to engage Morgant so that he is unable to reach me, while I have a discussion with Celia about which of us is permitted to continue fighting."

* * * * * *

((Disclaimer: I do not share or condone Schizo's opinions. He says this about everyone. XD;)

Schizophrenias floated over his own bed, hurling thorns into it and cackling as each stuck in place.

"So, Burning honey," he sneered across the room at his teammate. "It looks like we're fighting some "Kairaishi" loser and some idiot called "Akiko Blazing Angel". Meh. Since when was this that stupid World Tournament from Dragon Ball Z? I bet they're both level 1."

Yeah, billions of people have now answered your question. XD But I have a simple thought of my own.

Say perhaps the jets could propel her into the air.

But she's gotta land. It seems highly probable to me that jets designed to super-charge punches, stop trucks, and super speed all over are not really gonna be designed to cushion a fall. Or to produce jumps that are at all easy to control. Software can only do so much, y'know. XD;;

And while perhaps her body could take it, it seems rather unlikely that it would be faster, or at all a good idea, to turn oneself into a high-tech, powerful cyborg shooting star. On the plus side, though, she'd definitely live up to her name. :P

But I don't know much about this stuff, so maybe there's already a foil for this. XD

"Ah, and good day to you as well," Moonscribe said, nodding to Lyden as he approached. He was frowning all of a sudden.

"Really. That is most unfortunate," he muttered to no one in particular. . . who was visible, anyway, but there was a distinct and unnerving feeling of someone being there to hear it.

The robed man turned to look directly at Lyden, adjusting his glasses and causing light to flash off them for a brief second. "I have never met you before and have no idea who you are," he remarked, smiling politely at the GSR Unit. "Would you care to join forces?"

"Gah, he's doing it AGAIN," Hal groaned in the background, facepalming.

"Ah, good day to you," Moonscribe said from behind Tomanton. It was difficult to figure out exactly when he had gotten there, actually. . .

Meanwhile, Hal had taken Essex's hand and was helping her into the boat. Not that she appeared to need any help. Perhaps he was simply operating on the principle of the thing.

And Schizo cackled, rose into the air, and shot straight onto the deck in a streak of purple miasma, connecting with a loud THUNK. "AND SO IT BEGINS!" he declared. "THE BLOODY, AGONIZING, GRISLY CONTEST OF DEATH SHALL NOW COMME--"

"I doubt they are going to let us die permanently," Moonscribe said, still regarding Tomanton with hands folded at his waist.

"Awwwwww!" Schizo said, looking very disappointed.

Hal: <_< Yeah. Great explanation, I'm a thing. Thanks a lot. -_-

Uh, but yeah. I agree with the stuff said above and all. I'm basically just chiming in for no good reason. I would guess that whatever laws there are governing heroes in Paragon are fairly flexible, given the. . . variety.

((Just a quick story about my hero Hallucinogen. It is entirely possible many people have not done the arc this story is drawn from, but I am pretty sure I have kept it spoiler-free. Regardless, I felt I should mention it. Feel free to post comments and criticisms. Just be gentle, please. XD;)

“We have an MHI! O.R. Support unit 23 disabled! Three teams down, four crippled!”

“Who the hell IS it? Isn’t anyone gonna say anythin’ useful?” Omnivore Red 0-7-0 spat into his comm. “It’s Hallucinogen, isn’t it? I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

“No need, boss, I got this one,” a confident voice came over the channel. “I can’t lose to some green smokey meta punk.”

“Damn! 7-1-7, what the hell y’doin’? Do you know who this guy IS?” the Gunslinger snarled back, but it was clear the hero had already engaged 7-1-7's team, his voice audible in the background: “We’ll still win, Hallucinogen. You’ll see.”

“You think you can stop me if a Kronos Class couldn’t?” yelled a young, determined voice, and the communications abruptly became riddled with static and obscured by the noise of battle.

“Technically, Hal, you ran,” another voice remarked casually, the voice of his Phantasm, the manifestation of spirit and hope that aided the young hero in battle. The Malta were hardly saying anything at all. It did not sound like much of a contest.

“Dangit! Shut UP, Phantasm!” Hal grumbled, and the line went dead.

“Damn,” 0-7-0 cursed, spitting on the ground with a flourish and drawing a pistol from either side of his belt, loading them in the same motion. “It’s not gonna happen. The Malta Group WILL complete Project Wildflower. I won’t let this plan fail.”

* * * * * *

Careful, Hal, the Phantasm said in his head as he crept into the last room, cloaked by the radiation he always emitted, a hallucinogenic variety that would convince anyone nearby that he simply wasn’t there. . . and was suddenly staring down the barrel of a Gunslinger’s pistol.

“We’re not stupid, you know,” 0-7-0 said, clearly able to see exactly where Hal was, green smoke pouring out of his bizarre form, only four feet high, wild yellow hair topping a face obscured by a gas mask and a body obscured by a bewildering haze. The Phantasm floated behind him, ready to attack as soon as someone made a move.

“How the heck. . .” Hal muttered angrily.

“The more you fight us, the more we know about how you fight,” the Gunslinger said, pacing from side to side, pistol trained on Hal. “Director 17 whipped us up a nice little remedy to your radiation.”

“I can fight without it then,” Hal said, glaring at 0-7-0. “I can’t lose now. I won’t let you idiots mess up the world.”

“You gonna tell yer little robo-crush her friends are a bunch of idiots?” 0-7-0 said casually, tossing his other gun in the air and catching it easily, still aiming at Hal.

Hal clearly had nothing to say to that, and just glared, his hands beginning to glow, a low hum coming from them and gradually rising in pitch. “We’re done talking.”

“Yes, I do b’lieve we are,” said 0-7-0, and the Phantasm grabbed Hal just in time to pull him out of the way of two sap beams and a Tac-Ops’ grenade. And the Gunslinger was gone, his voice hanging in the air behind him.

“The world’s ready for a new kind of freedom, Hallucinogen. A new freedom under our control.”

“L, listen to what you’re SAYING!” yelled Hal’s voice. Flashes of light shot all around the room as Hallucinogen rode the streams all over, beams of it bursting from his hands. The Phantasm floated in the middle of the room, three figures flanking it. . . a little pink-armored girl, a tall grey-armored security droid, and a replica of himself, all four of his figments blasting away with searing rays of light. The Tac-Ops swore as his gun melted in his hands.

“Can’t you aim right, god dammit?” 0-7-0 yelled as the Sappers tried to fire on Hal, but it was no use. He was simply going too fast. The Gunslinger teleported again, three rays crossing where he had stood a moment before.

“You don’t understand anything!” his voice echoed, and gunfire tore through the Phantasm. The being of light vanished instantly, managing only a “Sorry, Hal. . .” before it dissipated.

“What the. . .” Hal exclaimed, stopping just long enough for a Sapper to line up his shot. The blue sap beam hit Hal full in the side, and he tried to yell, but barely had enough breath left to moan, sinking to the floor.

“He’s still conscious?” a Sapper said incredulously. The hero already was struggling to his feet again as 0-7-0 teleported in front of him, aimed both pistols at his head in an instant, and fired, saying “Not for long.”

But as he fired there was another flash of light and Hal was gone again, the shot tearing only through thin air.

“You wanna know what was in that shot?” 0-7-0 called into thin air, squinting through the flashes and firing on Hal’s decoys one by one, each vanishing in turn. “It’s a poison. Causes the victim to be overcome by fear n’despair. They lose HOPE, Hallucinogen.”

“You can’t destroy my hope with some poison,” Hal’s voice returned. The light had died down, and the hero had vanished into the next room, dimly lit and populated by numerous computer terminals, tables and chairs. There were a lot of places to hide.

“Call for backup,” 0-7-0 said, striding into the room after him. “He’s gonna try to stop Wildflower right under our noses. Gonna TRY.”

* * * * * *

“Somethin’ wrong?” the Gunslinger called to an apparently empty room. Shadows moved everywhere, but he paid them no heed. Hallucinogen was trying to mislead him with light tricks. He’d seen it all before.

There was no reply. “Had trouble with those passcodes, did you?” 0-7-0 continued, scanning the room carefully. “Didn’t let you in? Too bad. Systems are locked. I got the key.”

“And not on some piece of paper neither,” he went on. Hal was crouching in a corner at the end of the room, tensed and ready to move again. “In my head. You ain’t never gettin’ it outta me. Even if you win you can’t stop the Malta Group. The world’s gonna be ours, Hallucinogen.”

“At the end of the day, you’re just another bunch of morons trying to rule everything,” came Hal’s voice at last, and the Phantasm appeared again, a huge wave of light spreading from its hands with a cry of “Damn straight, Hal.” 0-7-0 yelled in surprise as he was knocked to the ground from the force of the attack, his eyes burning. The Phantasm fired again with another ray, and the Gunslinger’s eyes narrowed as he teleported again.

“Besides,” Hal continued, appearing in a flash beside him, “one of our “mutual friends” gave me a little workaround.”

0-7-0 fired without even thinking, leaping backwards. He had clearly caught the young hero by surprise, and a shot tore through his shoulder.

"Hal! What are you doing? Pull yourself together!” the Phantasm yelled, firing on the Gunslinger as he leapt away, and forced another teleport. Hal’s chest was beginning to smolder, and black smoke was slowly drifting up from it. He coughed, more smoke floating from his mouth.

“Dammit,” 0-7-0 yelled, clearly a little shaken by Hal’s last comment. “Who are you working for?! Tell me! Or just die!”

Gunfire shot at Hal from across the room. Unable to see where his adversary was, and in too much pain and despair from the poison to move fast, Hal jumped from side to side, dodging bullets left and right.

“That’s right, meta, DANCE!” 0-7-0 yelled, a mad gleam in his eyes. Hal winced as he leaped, dark smoke building around his head with every breath. His glowing hands were blinking faster and faster.

And then a flash of light behind 0-7-0, and a formless image crept around to meet his eyes, and they were suddenly wide with horror.

“No! We’ve failed, it’s all over. . . Malta finished. . . metas roaming free unchecked. . . it’s a LIE, a damn illusion! It’s all over, Hallu–”

But even as 0-7-0 recovered from the spectral terror and his pistol came to bear at the hero, aiming perfectly at his head and his heart, the smoke vanished in a blinding flash, and Hal shot at the Gunslinger in a stream of light, glowing hands connecting with his chest, and 0-7-0 fell, his pistols flying to either side and then suddenly devoured in twin streams of light before they ever touched the ground.

A glowing hand was aiming at his face, and the Malta struggled to see through the glare.

“Yeah,” Hal said, shackles of light forming around 0-7-0's hands and feet, pinning him to the ground. “It’s all over.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Gunslinger spat. “Director 17 already has another plan in motion. You can’t stop us. We’ll fight till the end of time.”

“Fair enough,” Hal said. “I plan to be around then.”

And with that, he walked off to the terminals, a little hacking device appearing in his hand with a flash, as the Phantasm commented, “Now, you DO know how to work that thing, right Hal?” elicting an irritated “Gah! Come on, Phantasm! I’m not actually COMPLETELY incompetent.”

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you win because you're stuck continuing to trudge aimlessly along the long, winding path to oblivion we call life stepping on all the pieces of glass that litterbugs have left on the ground because there are no trash cans," Schizo said over his shoulder to Droxiin, and turned his head back to Burning. "Sure thing, loser. Just a moment."

Schizo spat on the ground with a flourish, and the air began to ripple and warp in the presence of his essence. Within a few seconds, a large television set had appeared on the spot.

"I'd like to introduce you to my friend Television," Schizo said, grinning. "We've been through a lot together. Commercials. . . anime. . . game shows. . . reality TV. . . ISN'T THAT WIGHT SNOOKUMS?" he added, patting the TV lovingly.

"Anyways," he muttered, fiddling with the dials. "Where was this again?"

It took him a while to find the channel he wanted, skipping through shows of the types he had mentioned and many more. He actually stopped to gleefully watch a soap opera for a short while, cackling "Excellent! They can NEVER be together due to forces beyond their control!"

Then finally the screen stopped, and showed a dark room, Bane Spiders standing all around, one of them watching the screen avidly.

"See, y'know what?" Schizo said, grinning. "Blightlord made a big splash in Grandville just recently. Just so happens that these idiots were talking about it while watching Television. And whenever anyone watches Television. . . Television watches them."

"You hear about that Blightlord guy?" one Spider said, shivering. "I heard he presented Lord Recluse his own head!"

"Nonsense," another said. "No one could beat Recluse. . ." His voice sank to a whisper. "And if they COULD, bad idea to talk about it, you know?"

"Uh, do you mean the guy gave him Recluse's head or, like, HIS head?" a third muttered.

"Quiet!" the one in front of the screen snapped. "We'll get in trouble if we don't follow that new mandatory TV break schedule! Besides, my show is on!"

The screen went dark. "Sounds like Blight is really doing well for himself," the madman continued, poking his finger at Blightlord himself, having done all this in full view of the mastermind. "But if that's not enough for you, I'd be happy to show ya something else. Just, y'know, can't give everything away before the deal is closed, now can I?"

He grinned horribly at Burning, the Television vanishing with a loud raspberry. "Honestly," Schizo sighed as the cackling fruit disappeared. "Where did he come from?"

((Team posting time. Assuming we can actually get this to work in RP.

Team Name: Burning Insanity
Fighter 1: Burning Brawler--50
Fighter 2: Schizophrenias--46))

"He's really a jerk, isn't he?" Schizo said, suddenly directly in front of Burning Brawler, grinning at the archmage, his arm bending over his shoulder to point at Blightlord. "Real [censored]. Betcha want to kill him, don't you? Like IRL and stuff!"

Hal turned to watch this exchange with a sort of appalled fascination.

"So guess what! I hang around in Grandville too and I see this joker all the time," Schizo continued, attempting to put his arm around Burning companionably. "Maybe if you join up with me I'll give you some dirt on him. Heard he's kinda annoying you and stuff. After all, we're probably gonna be knocked out in the first round and humiliated in front of everyone. Should take the edge off of it."