Post by Sadie on Nov 18, 2009 17:54:05 GMT -5
Okay, so I seem to have given everyone the impression that Etoile is a weakling/pansy. I was trying to explain to someone that he wasn't bad at fighting, he just didn't like to fight, and then this popped into my head.
And it gives a good description of how Etoile fights, so I wrote it. If any of you have a weak stomach, don't read it.
Nahh, just kidding. XD But enjoy watching a scene in which Etoile actually is strong like I say he is (even if he doesn't always seem it).
--
Grunts of pain. Shrieks of torment.
Around him, the battle raged, with bodies and weapons flashing by and disappearing a second later. It wasn’t safe to trust his vision because it was always moving, always changing, catching faces for only a second before they vanished again and were replaced with the glint of a horrific weapon.
Etoile didn’t know how many people were advancing on him, all of them wielding blasters and weaponry that was too loud, too loud, crashing in on his senses and blurring them. He was never at rest, never a moment to breathe, only constant defending, with telekinetic shields and hurling rocks to endure the laser shots that he was too small to survive.
Around him, his friends were not having it any easier. Nebulos, elusive Nebulos, was being cornered, with enemies bearing down on him viciously while they waited for an opening with which to defeat him. Vibe was violent, barbarous, with her moves that cut enemies down. But they just kept coming, kept coming, with endless swarms of limbs and fire and hateful words. Even Nalo, with countless limbs whipping out to cause head and cement meet as she hurled her enemies over her shoulder, was looking strained as they marched forward, kept marching forward.
His attempts to survive relied on evasion, and Etoile continued to fall back, with feet that avoided danger and shields set up around him. He hated his habit of fighting defensively, wanted to be offensive, but when the enemies came charging, his first instinct was to cocoon himself in glowing shield to reflect their blows, hiding away from the pain and the rage.
The battle raged on around him. Somewhere beneath him, Nebulos let out a strangled cry that seemed to echo through the field and through Etoile’s ears. Ynda, fighting with all of her heart, was grunting with each newly-added blow, beaten back further, further, her tiny form unable to take much more.
Malicious grin, taunting words. “Little operative, you’re done.” Leering face with eyes that had no soul, only hatred. The flash of the gun bounced off of Etoile’s shield, refracting into the thin air, but that wasn’t all that the enemy had to work with. He came forward with flying fists, smug eyes, triumphant power packed into his muscles.
Etoile tried to match them, but he was forced backwards, tripping over his own feet, out of the sight of the others. This terrified him, being out of the gaze of those who could help him, but he kept fighting, kept deflecting, until he was gasping for air until the constant battery of attacks. Endless, fierce, unstoppable.
Another scream came from on the other side of the hill, and Etoile panicked, wondering who had fallen now. His enemy became faceless, blank, as he shoved the body out of the way in his attempt to run back to where his friends battled.
On the top, he stopped.
Bodies, everywhere.
Nebulos, crumpled, with blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
Vibe, staggering backward, only to collapse and deflate beneath the pain.
Ynda, slumped across the ground with her eyes clenched shut.
Niji, faltering, dropping to her knees in defeat with tears wetting her lenses.
Unagi and Dengeki, falling simultaneously against each other with sighs of exhaustion.
And Nalo, lids sliding shut, cuts marring her body that dripped black blood.
Roars of triumph tore over the battlefield as they counted their victory. They prepared to march, to conquer, to defeat, believing that they had won as they crowed over the fallen bodies. The smell of blood, the jeering shouts of triumph, clamoring, building, destroying, infuriating.
The visions of his friends, broken, beaten, bleeding, all of them filling Etoile with horror. “Look, we missed one!” one of the foes shouted, and the sound was so vague, so indistinguishable in Etoile’s ears as the world slowly pulled into a silence. There was nothing anymore, just him and his friends, fallen. Horror, twisting pain, something stabbing at his gut that tasted a lot like cold fear.
And then the chill was gone, replaced by fire.
They came, charging, shrieking, brandishing their weapons until the barrel of their beam-guns were staring at Etoile with all the emotionless destruction of an enemy. They failed to notice the red glow that crashed over his skin, thick and shining and so intense that the blue of his eyes disappeared, replaced by the same scarlet flame.
One arm extended, sending a wave of force through the crowed and knocking down a line of foes onto their backs. The other arm was busy lifting a section into the air, only to send them crashing back to the ground with a force that could break bones.
Yells of triumph turned to cries of pain as he became lost inside of himself, numb as he began to fight. Defense became fury, and his hands were in constant motion as he threw the bodies together, pushed them back with walls of invisible power, and hurled them into the distance, away from his friends so that no more damage could be done.
And slowly the army thinned, shrinking until they were only a few people left, all of them pointing guns at them. He jerked the guns away, pointed them back at the enemies, twitched the triggers, scared them into thinking he would shoot. The scarlet reflections of his gaze were merciless. There was no forgiveness for the crushed bodies of his friends.
One by one, he sent them away, torn and bruised and shaken. They retreated to their ship, leaving the fallen ones behind, blasting into space where they would recuperate, heal, and be back again in time to try again with a new scheme underfoot. And Etoile would be ready, wielding his blood-colored fingers so that this kind of destruction did not happen again.
Silence spread across the battle field, and the red that had taken over his eyes slowly faded into that serene blue.
Etoile crawled over to each of his friends, one at a time, and checked them for signs of life. All of them were still alive, he noted with weak happiness, and with a trembling hand, he reached for his radio and whispered hoarsely, “Come and get us, please.”
And then he collapsed, a small distance away from Nalo, and let the unconsciousness engulf him. The battle had been won, and now the tiny yellow alien welcomed sleep.
--
Extremely dramatic. But I like it.
And it gives a good description of how Etoile fights, so I wrote it. If any of you have a weak stomach, don't read it.
Nahh, just kidding. XD But enjoy watching a scene in which Etoile actually is strong like I say he is (even if he doesn't always seem it).
--
Grunts of pain. Shrieks of torment.
Around him, the battle raged, with bodies and weapons flashing by and disappearing a second later. It wasn’t safe to trust his vision because it was always moving, always changing, catching faces for only a second before they vanished again and were replaced with the glint of a horrific weapon.
Etoile didn’t know how many people were advancing on him, all of them wielding blasters and weaponry that was too loud, too loud, crashing in on his senses and blurring them. He was never at rest, never a moment to breathe, only constant defending, with telekinetic shields and hurling rocks to endure the laser shots that he was too small to survive.
Around him, his friends were not having it any easier. Nebulos, elusive Nebulos, was being cornered, with enemies bearing down on him viciously while they waited for an opening with which to defeat him. Vibe was violent, barbarous, with her moves that cut enemies down. But they just kept coming, kept coming, with endless swarms of limbs and fire and hateful words. Even Nalo, with countless limbs whipping out to cause head and cement meet as she hurled her enemies over her shoulder, was looking strained as they marched forward, kept marching forward.
His attempts to survive relied on evasion, and Etoile continued to fall back, with feet that avoided danger and shields set up around him. He hated his habit of fighting defensively, wanted to be offensive, but when the enemies came charging, his first instinct was to cocoon himself in glowing shield to reflect their blows, hiding away from the pain and the rage.
The battle raged on around him. Somewhere beneath him, Nebulos let out a strangled cry that seemed to echo through the field and through Etoile’s ears. Ynda, fighting with all of her heart, was grunting with each newly-added blow, beaten back further, further, her tiny form unable to take much more.
Malicious grin, taunting words. “Little operative, you’re done.” Leering face with eyes that had no soul, only hatred. The flash of the gun bounced off of Etoile’s shield, refracting into the thin air, but that wasn’t all that the enemy had to work with. He came forward with flying fists, smug eyes, triumphant power packed into his muscles.
Etoile tried to match them, but he was forced backwards, tripping over his own feet, out of the sight of the others. This terrified him, being out of the gaze of those who could help him, but he kept fighting, kept deflecting, until he was gasping for air until the constant battery of attacks. Endless, fierce, unstoppable.
Another scream came from on the other side of the hill, and Etoile panicked, wondering who had fallen now. His enemy became faceless, blank, as he shoved the body out of the way in his attempt to run back to where his friends battled.
On the top, he stopped.
Bodies, everywhere.
Nebulos, crumpled, with blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
Vibe, staggering backward, only to collapse and deflate beneath the pain.
Ynda, slumped across the ground with her eyes clenched shut.
Niji, faltering, dropping to her knees in defeat with tears wetting her lenses.
Unagi and Dengeki, falling simultaneously against each other with sighs of exhaustion.
And Nalo, lids sliding shut, cuts marring her body that dripped black blood.
Roars of triumph tore over the battlefield as they counted their victory. They prepared to march, to conquer, to defeat, believing that they had won as they crowed over the fallen bodies. The smell of blood, the jeering shouts of triumph, clamoring, building, destroying, infuriating.
The visions of his friends, broken, beaten, bleeding, all of them filling Etoile with horror. “Look, we missed one!” one of the foes shouted, and the sound was so vague, so indistinguishable in Etoile’s ears as the world slowly pulled into a silence. There was nothing anymore, just him and his friends, fallen. Horror, twisting pain, something stabbing at his gut that tasted a lot like cold fear.
And then the chill was gone, replaced by fire.
They came, charging, shrieking, brandishing their weapons until the barrel of their beam-guns were staring at Etoile with all the emotionless destruction of an enemy. They failed to notice the red glow that crashed over his skin, thick and shining and so intense that the blue of his eyes disappeared, replaced by the same scarlet flame.
One arm extended, sending a wave of force through the crowed and knocking down a line of foes onto their backs. The other arm was busy lifting a section into the air, only to send them crashing back to the ground with a force that could break bones.
Yells of triumph turned to cries of pain as he became lost inside of himself, numb as he began to fight. Defense became fury, and his hands were in constant motion as he threw the bodies together, pushed them back with walls of invisible power, and hurled them into the distance, away from his friends so that no more damage could be done.
And slowly the army thinned, shrinking until they were only a few people left, all of them pointing guns at them. He jerked the guns away, pointed them back at the enemies, twitched the triggers, scared them into thinking he would shoot. The scarlet reflections of his gaze were merciless. There was no forgiveness for the crushed bodies of his friends.
One by one, he sent them away, torn and bruised and shaken. They retreated to their ship, leaving the fallen ones behind, blasting into space where they would recuperate, heal, and be back again in time to try again with a new scheme underfoot. And Etoile would be ready, wielding his blood-colored fingers so that this kind of destruction did not happen again.
Silence spread across the battle field, and the red that had taken over his eyes slowly faded into that serene blue.
Etoile crawled over to each of his friends, one at a time, and checked them for signs of life. All of them were still alive, he noted with weak happiness, and with a trembling hand, he reached for his radio and whispered hoarsely, “Come and get us, please.”
And then he collapsed, a small distance away from Nalo, and let the unconsciousness engulf him. The battle had been won, and now the tiny yellow alien welcomed sleep.
--
Extremely dramatic. But I like it.
