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memestertrucks2026-01-08 01:50 pm
monstertruckers) wrote in memestertrucks2026-01-08 01:50 pm
Entry tags:
JANUARY TDM/EVENT
The storm drives the Convoy to the very summit of the mountains, before hitting a blinding pitch. The wind howls and drives snow in a way that promises to freeze everything… And there’s also a twist of smoke in the air, to further blind everything.
There’s one thing visible through the storm: a massive fortress clinging to the side of the mountain. The Convoy pulls up into the shelter. It seems this will be the best place to wait out the weather, even if the storm lasts for weeks.
It’s a cold welcome for new arrivals. The garage offers scant protection from the elements, and a winter storm rages outside. Snow, lighting, and thunder all blend together and do their best to break the windows and doors of the structure.
The storm itself shows no signs of abating, at least until several days have passed. So it’s up to the new arrivals to figure out how to survive the storm, find better shelter… And weather the strange changes foisted onto them.
01: SUMMONING CIRCLE
New Drifters arrive to a cold and half frozen garage, almost swallowed up by snow drifts. The Convoy is just visible through sheets of snow falling from the skies, and it is parked in the shelter of a nearby fortress. Getting out of the garage and reaching the fortress will take some work, though.
Starting with digging out through the snow. At least there’s a shovel or two inside the garage and the gas station. But digging through the snow is still cold work, and it’s imperative to duck back in the garage and find ways to warm up.
There’s still a small fire burning in the corner of the garage, near the summoning circle. It curiously doesn’t seem to need fuel to keep burning… Though throwing more on it will certainly increase the heat of the flames. Be advised that the fire will also burn clothing and flesh if a Drifter gets too close to it.
Starting with digging out through the snow. At least there’s a shovel or two inside the garage and the gas station. But digging through the snow is still cold work, and it’s imperative to duck back in the garage and find ways to warm up.
There’s still a small fire burning in the corner of the garage, near the summoning circle. It curiously doesn’t seem to need fuel to keep burning… Though throwing more on it will certainly increase the heat of the flames. Be advised that the fire will also burn clothing and flesh if a Drifter gets too close to it.
02: FORTRESS
The abandoned fortress offers some reprieve from the elements… But the prior battles have found a way to seep into the stones. Ice and Fire both have an effect on the surroundings.
+FIRE Condition: Arcane lava is flowing through the foundations and seeping up through the stones of the building. This is especially clear in the kitchen and dining hall. It may be toasty to the touch, but it also threatens to set things aflame; objects and people alike. Drifters weak to fire will suffer from the increased temperatures.
+ICE Condition: The extremes of the fortress are freezing over in enchanted ice, leaving only the main hall and kitchen with any heat. Drifters who lack ice affinity risk frost bite and hypothermia while exploring the other areas of Bastion. Direct contact with the ice also carries a risk of encasing the limb or the entire Drifter in ice. Might need some help getting chipped out.
In the midst of all this, there are still rooms and beds available for those who want a change of pace from the convoy, or bedrolls for those who want to camp out in the main hall.
+FIRE Condition: Arcane lava is flowing through the foundations and seeping up through the stones of the building. This is especially clear in the kitchen and dining hall. It may be toasty to the touch, but it also threatens to set things aflame; objects and people alike. Drifters weak to fire will suffer from the increased temperatures.
+ICE Condition: The extremes of the fortress are freezing over in enchanted ice, leaving only the main hall and kitchen with any heat. Drifters who lack ice affinity risk frost bite and hypothermia while exploring the other areas of Bastion. Direct contact with the ice also carries a risk of encasing the limb or the entire Drifter in ice. Might need some help getting chipped out.
In the midst of all this, there are still rooms and beds available for those who want a change of pace from the convoy, or bedrolls for those who want to camp out in the main hall.
03: START UP
After digging out, one can see that there are various cars surrounding the garage. Some of them parked directly outside and sheltered from the worst of the storm. But a few are further out, and will also need to be dug out of the snow.
There’s also a certain connection between different newcomers and cars. Something that suggests a particular vehicle is theirs, backed up by possessing the key to that vehicle. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.
…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
There’s also a certain connection between different newcomers and cars. Something that suggests a particular vehicle is theirs, backed up by possessing the key to that vehicle. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.
…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.
04: WILD ELEMENTS
Even when taking shelter in the fortress, the storms from outside have a way of seeping through the bricks. And trying to take root inside any Drifters. Cold mists and winds seep into the castle, along with fire traveling across the floors and lightning crashing against the roof.
Drifters exposed to extreme elements will find those same elements seeping into their blood.
Teeth also grow along portions of the walls in long fangs, ready to snag at any newcomers. Drawing blood on those teeth can result in changes in the new arrivals… As well as pulling a monster out of the hallway to try and draw more blood.
These monsters frequently manifest as:
+Gyuki, a spider and bull demon fusion.
+YinYang, a Frankenstein abomination
+And Malzeno, a strange eldritch dragon.
Drifters exposed to extreme elements will find those same elements seeping into their blood.
Teeth also grow along portions of the walls in long fangs, ready to snag at any newcomers. Drawing blood on those teeth can result in changes in the new arrivals… As well as pulling a monster out of the hallway to try and draw more blood.
These monsters frequently manifest as:
+Gyuki, a spider and bull demon fusion.
+YinYang, a Frankenstein abomination
+And Malzeno, a strange eldritch dragon.
05: FUEL PUMPS
The fortress also holds a network of pipes leading through the halls and connecting to the gas station. Text from the Convoy asks for at least a few Drifters to follow the pipes to their source, and activate them. Following those pipes leads to a chamber in the base of the fortress, with basins full of liquid.
Glowing and quicksilver liquid, at that. Liquid that looks like it could have been poured straight out of the moon. An inscription on the tanks reads “Moonshard fuel refinement” while a stack of papers details the various attempts to distill moonshards into an energy usable by humans without mutating them. It seems they’ve mostly succeeded with this attempt: once the valves are turned on, the fuel can be pumped into the Convoy and top off almost depleted fuel tanks.
But there is still a risk. Coming into contact with the fuel can instill a sudden, ravenous hunger and push new changes to the front. Prolonged exposure activates all traits at once, and will only revert the person when another monster has been hunted down, and their energy absorbed.
Glowing and quicksilver liquid, at that. Liquid that looks like it could have been poured straight out of the moon. An inscription on the tanks reads “Moonshard fuel refinement” while a stack of papers details the various attempts to distill moonshards into an energy usable by humans without mutating them. It seems they’ve mostly succeeded with this attempt: once the valves are turned on, the fuel can be pumped into the Convoy and top off almost depleted fuel tanks.
But there is still a risk. Coming into contact with the fuel can instill a sudden, ravenous hunger and push new changes to the front. Prolonged exposure activates all traits at once, and will only revert the person when another monster has been hunted down, and their energy absorbed.
06: IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK
The walls of Bastion reach an impressive 20 feet up and stretch for long distances… And have Husks merged into them, often in the hallways and occasionally in the rooms. The Husks clearly belong to either the Silver Tear or the Steel Wardens, given the insignias on them. Many of them are locked together, frozen in a fight. And their last words and thoughts are written on the walls in gold and silver script.
Most of the words are frantic, about defending the moon shards from heretics or freeing the moon shards from confinement. But if any of the words are read aloud, the Husks react by merging together and spawning a berserk heavy tank/tankceratops. Or a large Burner type monster. OR a dragon dinosaur with exploding, punching fists. Drifters may also get caught up in the monster changes, and fuse their own monster forms together!
Most of the words are frantic, about defending the moon shards from heretics or freeing the moon shards from confinement. But if any of the words are read aloud, the Husks react by merging together and spawning a berserk heavy tank/tankceratops. Or a large Burner type monster. OR a dragon dinosaur with exploding, punching fists. Drifters may also get caught up in the monster changes, and fuse their own monster forms together!
07: MONSTER FUSE
An element saturation isn’t the only strange thing in the fortress. Anyone who makes contact with the fortress stones will find themselves building a resonance with a fellow Drifter. This grows stronger the more time they spend in the fortress.
Until finally the bond solidifies on the next change the Drifters go through and hits a fever pitch. The next threat they encounter WILL force a transformation. When that happens, their next change fuses their two monster forms together into something new.
Their fusion form is a combination of two Drifter’s traits. It is also twice the size it would normally be, and is well suited to taking on any giant sized monsters. It can even give Drifters a brief insight into the memories of their partner, as the fusion takes place.
When this happens, both Drifters can switch control over their merged form. Those with greater synchronism will have more control, while those who squabble and fight will find that their monster form becomes more feral and savage. This fusion lasts until the threat abates: when that happens, the fusion breaks apart, and Drifters return to their prior state.
Until finally the bond solidifies on the next change the Drifters go through and hits a fever pitch. The next threat they encounter WILL force a transformation. When that happens, their next change fuses their two monster forms together into something new.
Their fusion form is a combination of two Drifter’s traits. It is also twice the size it would normally be, and is well suited to taking on any giant sized monsters. It can even give Drifters a brief insight into the memories of their partner, as the fusion takes place.
When this happens, both Drifters can switch control over their merged form. Those with greater synchronism will have more control, while those who squabble and fight will find that their monster form becomes more feral and savage. This fusion lasts until the threat abates: when that happens, the fusion breaks apart, and Drifters return to their prior state.
08: STORM CALL
There’s something outside that isn’t just the storm; it calls out in a howl that can make the blood run cold, and also pulls at one’s feet. Until it hits a point where the Bastion doesn’t feel like a restful place. Drifters who hear the storm call need to step outside and find the source; the storm itself isn’t particular on if they search on their own feet, or behind some wheels.
Drifters who travel on their own feet will swiftly be overwhelmed by the storm, and a moon warp hiding in the snow, and forced to transform. It doesn’t help that there’s wild saber-tooth Barioth wyverns prowling the wilds and ready to pounce.
Being inside a vehicle helps to shield them from the worst of the storm and the changes, and also gives Drifters more traversal options:
Tough cars are capable of wading through even the deepest snow without getting bogged down, as well as towing any stricken or stuck vehicles out of the drifts.
Fast vehicles can follow rivers of fire and lava that move through the wilds, without burning up due to prolonged exposure.
Eventually Drifters will find their way towards the summit of the mountain, and the discovery waiting beyond.
Drifters who travel on their own feet will swiftly be overwhelmed by the storm, and a moon warp hiding in the snow, and forced to transform. It doesn’t help that there’s wild saber-tooth Barioth wyverns prowling the wilds and ready to pounce.
Being inside a vehicle helps to shield them from the worst of the storm and the changes, and also gives Drifters more traversal options:
Tough cars are capable of wading through even the deepest snow without getting bogged down, as well as towing any stricken or stuck vehicles out of the drifts.
Fast vehicles can follow rivers of fire and lava that move through the wilds, without burning up due to prolonged exposure.
Eventually Drifters will find their way towards the summit of the mountain, and the discovery waiting beyond.
09: MONSTER CHANGES
Between the weird fuel, the teeth in the fortress, and hostile elements trying to force changes, new arrivals can quickly find their humanity getting worn away and new monster transformations taking place.
With the cold weather and regal structures, the environment calls out to Undead. As long as the elements rage, all Undead traits are available and also:
+Warm Blood: Undead can easily track living bodies through the wilds and the fortress, sensing the warmth of their blood in contrast to the storm.
+Rivalry: Tends to form rivalry with other Undead monsters, becoming territorial and protective of potential food sources.
+Ice Affinity: Undead find themselves better preserved by the cold and thriving in it, energized and strengthened by the snow, and even taking on glowing blue veins and eyes.
+Fire Fear: The presence of fire inspires aversion, and even terror and need to flee from it. Smaller flames like candles provoke unease, larger flames like a bonfire result in more panic.
+Holy Symbols: Presence of Steel Warden symbols (a sword piercing moon) can cause unease in Undead, and even repel them a location.
+Snow Shift: Exposure to snow forces the Undead into a more bestial form. This could resemble a bat, wolf, or deer/horse/bull.
With the cold weather and regal structures, the environment calls out to Undead. As long as the elements rage, all Undead traits are available and also:
+Warm Blood: Undead can easily track living bodies through the wilds and the fortress, sensing the warmth of their blood in contrast to the storm.
+Rivalry: Tends to form rivalry with other Undead monsters, becoming territorial and protective of potential food sources.
+Ice Affinity: Undead find themselves better preserved by the cold and thriving in it, energized and strengthened by the snow, and even taking on glowing blue veins and eyes.
+Fire Fear: The presence of fire inspires aversion, and even terror and need to flee from it. Smaller flames like candles provoke unease, larger flames like a bonfire result in more panic.
+Holy Symbols: Presence of Steel Warden symbols (a sword piercing moon) can cause unease in Undead, and even repel them a location.
+Snow Shift: Exposure to snow forces the Undead into a more bestial form. This could resemble a bat, wolf, or deer/horse/bull.
10: FROZEN HEART
At the summit of the mountains is a collection of freakishly tall and twisted trees. In their branches is a collection of frozen hearts growing like strange fruit. And further up is a massive object that looks like a deer skull with branching antlers. The ice storm flows from its eyes and mouth… And it shows no signs of ceasing without destroying the skull.
The frozen hearts are giving off a cold aura that freezes anything that doesn’t resist ice. Drifters will need to neutralize the hearts to dispel the cold aura. The hearts can be melted by fire, shot down with ranged weapons, magic, etc. When burned, the hearts give off a smoke that causes a terrible hunger and need to hunt in anyone who inhales it. Shattered heart shards also rain down and embed themselves in Drifters, and cause a berserk fury in those they cut.
But with each felled heart the barrier of the skull weakens, as does the storm. When the last of the frozen hearts falls, the storm skull fractures and breaks apart like brittle ice. Drifters can deliver the finishing blows, ending the storm in the process. After that, the way down the mountain becomes clear, and the Convoy may continue down without worry.
The frozen hearts are giving off a cold aura that freezes anything that doesn’t resist ice. Drifters will need to neutralize the hearts to dispel the cold aura. The hearts can be melted by fire, shot down with ranged weapons, magic, etc. When burned, the hearts give off a smoke that causes a terrible hunger and need to hunt in anyone who inhales it. Shattered heart shards also rain down and embed themselves in Drifters, and cause a berserk fury in those they cut.
But with each felled heart the barrier of the skull weakens, as does the storm. When the last of the frozen hearts falls, the storm skull fractures and breaks apart like brittle ice. Drifters can deliver the finishing blows, ending the storm in the process. After that, the way down the mountain becomes clear, and the Convoy may continue down without worry.
MICRO ENCOUNTERS:
PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.
Fortress Library: Books and screens seem to have fused together. Assorted data about monsters is on display here; everything from hunting strategy to contradicting praise of their strength. (Read: all lore information from the monster pages is available IC.)
Dining Hall: This time around the gas station and garage are empty of supplies… But there’s plenty of preserved foods in the castle kitchen and dining hall. Though the hot dishes are almost painfully spicy, and the cold served foods can almost freeze a mouth shut.
Snow Fields: Surrounding the fortress are fields of snow, ready to bog down anyone who wanders too far into them. It would be next to impossible for anyone to make it far on two feet without the aid of a vehicle… Or the aid of a monstrous transformation.
Fire Snow: The storm can wildly swing between temperatures, from freezing to burning with how the snowflakes fluctuate. They can suck warmth out of a Drifter’s body on contact, or risk burning any exposed skin.
Armory: The Steel Wardens kept an armory and arena close by for sparring. Various weapons and armor are stored here; some antiquated, some modern and augmented with technology. And everything but the older models are badly damaged by the elements; frozen over and metal crackled, or half melted from fire. They won’t have much use as weapons, but could be used as metal materials.
View from the Peaks: When the storm clears, one can look out from the peaks and see what’s next. A strange, twisted landscape stretches out below the peaks. And beyond that is something on the horizon; a massive city reaching upwards, and the buildings intact and gleaming. Going back to the Convoy reveals a new update in the database: Nirvana is near. And will be reached in an estimated 60 days from now.
no subject
Don't lunge there--
Angry idiot, you needn't get hit there--
You could have avoided that--
The whole time Alastor felt his teeth itch. He wanted to... do SOMETHING. Vox was doing it wrong, wasting himself, wasting his powers and what intelligence he could claim as his. Each slash, each bash, Alastor's claws itched as well, remembering the feeling of digging into the demon's flesh himself. Thrilling, invigorating--
"As long as I wipe that smile off of Alastor's FUCKING face... I don't care WHAT happens."
In a flash, the dragon caught Vox at the height of his manic fury - the damn picturebox's worst weakness in a battle - and began draining him. Alastor's fur all stood on end, the illusion falling away as he STARED down the sight before him - Vox fighting back at first, but losing the strength. Blood spilling on the snow for once was not filling Alastor with anything but rage.
That was his.
That was the only thought that was needed to spur the other kitsune into action - he rushed the Malzeno and lunged, snarling and screaming as the dragon balked and reared back in surprise, trying to throw the attacker off of its head. In a rapid scramble, Alastor's claws raked at Malzeno's jaws over and over to force them open, to release that clamped hold on Vox. In his fury, Alastor's tails had been slapping at the beast harmlessly... until the ends sharpened, darkened like shadow manifest, and stabbed through the creature's head and neck. Some bladed tails glanced off of scales like a sword off of armor, but with nine of them thrashing and stabbing, some slid between the plates and struck true - and it was only once a tail sank into one of Malzeno's eyes that the creature released its hold and threw Vox to the side, thrashing to get this interloper off of its face and roaring in fury.
no subject
This was way different from his first death. It was wretched, excruciating, his body locked up as he couldn't stop screaming. But here, it was almost like drifting off to sleep. Peaceful. ...Tired...
His display was nothing but snow, and he couldn't feel himself being jostled, the creature struggling with a new attacker clawing at its face.
The pain of teeth piercing his skin stopped, leaving nothing but the throb of weeping wounds. His body was discarded, bouncing twice against the snow before the momentum was stopped by the trunk of a tree, where he lay motionless on his side.
Vox vaguely saw black. Green. Red. So much red. His receivers picked up furious static, and what fury of his own he wanted to feel was reduced to proverbial bared teeth.
...Get back in your chair...
...Get... back in your chair...
The Malzeno had a full meal. The greatest meal it'd had in ages. Its power would only grow, speed and fury fueling its sentient malice. Truly, a worthy opponent.
no subject
Another stab to the face made the Malzeno reel back, which was all Alastor needed - he leapt off of the dragon and dropped onto the snow and in a few bounding gaits found his way to Vox's body. In a fluid movement, he shifted painfully back and hissed at the cold buffering his skin, wrapping his arms around the fallen demon and using his illusory trick to make his veil of tails swallow him and Vox in shadows so far as the dragon could tell, a blurry shadow zipping through the snow to the east.
All while Alastor had hurriedly lifted and carried Vox into the denser brush, against fallen logs and massive boulders that shielded from the wind somewhat - there, he laid Vox down in the snow on his back, growling.
"N̳̠̿͟͞͞OT ̠̲̲̄̅͞l̲iḵ̅͟e̅͟͟͟ TH̳̠̿̿͟͞IS.̳̲̱̳̠"
Wake up. Wake up. Alastor gathered power from within - he felt it gathering in his throat, painfully pulling from his veins and his marrow, making his bones hurt and heart race from the shock of it all. He didn't feel like retching - practically sitting on Vox's chest, Alastor hunched over the other, claws angrily tapping at glass. Wake up. Wake the fuck up--
"L̲̲̳͟OO̠̱̿͟K a̳̠̿̿̅t ̠M̲̳͟E.̿̅͟͞"
He needs your mouth. You need to open your big, stupid mouth.
no subject
Fitting.
There was pressure on his chest.
A voice, distorted, sounded so far away, but it made him... angry.
Something was tapping on him. No, someone. That someone. That infuriating, frustrating, tacky someone. Stop it. Stop it, and let him sleep.
You won. You won. You got everything you wanted. What more do you want? What more do you need?
"L-ve--le-leave-eave me-e-e--"
Everyone else did.
The snow softened across his screen, just enough, for the vague outlines of simulated perspiration. The faint outlines of his eyes were unfocused, trying to make something out. Maybe he was hallucinating, acting like someone actually stopped and found him. Since it seemed to sound like Alastor, maybe he was truly desperate.
The faint mouth grimaced, teeth grit as it took everything to want to lift a hand and push him off. ...If he was real, anyway. But all he could do was make the clawed hand twitch.
no subject
Alastor forced his thumb between those grit teeth, digging deep and cutting into the cheek - wake up, he needs your fucking mouth to do this. The painful drawing, draining from his marrow and his blood... Alastor finally felt it culminate on his tongue, glowing hot and bright.
With Vox's mouth practically pried open, he lowered his face to the screen. Kissed it - panting as the exhaustion caught up to him and the drain from coalescing energy into the warm jewel bringing him fatigue.
Take it.
Get up.
no subject
Something touched his tongue, briefly burned, then almost seemed to melt. Immediately, he felt like he'd taken each of his cords and plugged them in, a habit he liked to lean on if he needed an all-nighter. But rather than a slow trickle of energy flowing into him, it coursed like a river. The bite wounds closed, staunching the blood flow. His vision cleared. The leaden weight of his body felt practically buoyant.
When his heart started beating wildly, however, it was only slightly out of this revitalization. The rest drove him to shove the other man, and haphazardly crawl backward on his heels and elbows as quickly as he could in the snow, eyes wide as saucers.
His once-snowy screen was crystal clear, save for the bright stretch of cyan that threatened to burn into his display. His breaths were short. His prior rage was...
...
He was a little too gobsmacked for rage.
no subject
"You. Are. MINE."
no subject
But he felt like his heart could easily leap up into his throat and spill out onto his jacket. What a thing to say.
What a thing that he'd wanted to hear for seventy god-damned YEARS.Was- was he really delirious from the blood loss and the knock to the head by a dragon's tail, or..."Did... did you just-?"
Was he being tricked again?
no subject
"Revive you? Of course I did - how else are you going to wipe the smile off my face if you're dead?" the Radio Demon snarled. That tear, that fatalism, the way Vox gave up... the man pushed to desperation in a way that Alastor could have never predicted. It didn't suit the picture box.
The roar of the Malzeno wasn't far - the creature was only so fooled by an illusion and it so craved to continue its fight with a worthy foe.
1/2 cw: ...more ideation... goddamn it, Vox
But that anger, that... something else he was feeling... he could taste it in the air. It buzzed through him. His nihilism said that Alastor stole his choice from him, wouldn't let him die as some kind of joke. Just call him weak again, Al... just do what you did before, and he can try driving his car off the side of the mountain, be done with everything.
"...I..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say for once. But something rattled in his senses, briefly, and felt like a manacle at his wrist.
The wrist that bore the hand that shook his on New Year's Eve, sealing a Deal that ensured they would have that one-on-one. He wanted to roll over and tell Alastor to kill him. Vox would get what he wanted, then.
But Alastor... wanted that fight...? He couldn't deny that covetous air that he could reach out and touch right now. It was one that, even in his smoldering frustration, had him not even thinking about whether or not he wanted it, too.
He wanted it. He craved it.
He hungered for it more than he wished to die.
2/2
But then a sound rattled through the trees. Looks like Alastor's little trick had worn off. Vox's blood all over the snow probably helped direct the creature back, too.
The media demon huffed. Something in his body gave an internal, sickening crunch, but he'd felt the pain enough that he had begun to learn to ignore it. ...Mostly. No, he would use the pain to fuel him.
You. Are. MINE.
You. Are. MINE.
You. Are. MINE.
You. Are. MINE.
It will loop in his mind somewhere in a private corner, fed to a creature that howled and rattled cage bars anew.
"Fine... We'll fight later, asshole. But right now, I need a round two against that bastard." With more considerable vigor, he shoved Alastor back and off of him. When his screen split, it wasn't into those four quadrants. Instead, cracks scattered across both screen and frame. Electricity rushed down his body, and the thunder overhead growled. In the distance, some creatures yipped and screeched in malefic glee.
He was wreathed in lightning and the air was sweet and alive when he disappeared in a flash. Rather than push himself upright, he made a short jump, and reappeared with a roar of thunder on his feet.
Donned in an elaborate yukata to cover his more distinctly human frame, he didn't seem bothered by the cold. He carried himself on vulpine footpaws ending in curved claws that gleamed a soft blue. From billowing sleeves were navy-colored hands ending in those recognizable claws, LEDs pulsing with a glow along that skin, channeling a few sparks from the metal of the ends.
But it was the face that was fully changed. He was a man sporting anachronistic spectacles over a right green eye and a left blue. The hair was mostly pepper, but streaks of that salt ran in fine lines throughout. Black and white-furred ears swiveled for the source of the sound, but he was already on the move. Like phantoms, thin wires emerged from beneath the yukata by the hundreds, and grew in visibility as they began to braid together and form each tail, one by one...
"I want its still-beating heart," he declared with a low chuckle, and his tongue traced a pronounced canine.
no subject
Vox's transformation left a heavy ozone in the air, made one's fur stand on end and skin burn and blister ever so slightly from just being too close. But what caught the Radio Demon's eye wasn't any of that - it was the distinct change, the face.
A human face! Too perfect, too handsome, exactly the sort of thing Vincent would be arrogantly boastful about - no wonder hell stole that face from him.
"Hah! Of course that's what you looked like," Alastor snickered just before taking a large leap back, dodging the bloodblight flames erupting from above the trees towards them both.
no subject
Nobody saw that, thank god. Right? He was allowed to have fun. Fuck you.
"The fuck's that supposed to mean? You jealous?" Here come the flames- looks like they were found. Unlike his reckless scrambling from before, he moved like fluid, springing out of the path of the breaths before leaping into the boughs of the nearest tree.
One tail unwound to seize a fallen, half-frozen log. They were strong enough to use it like a crude bat.
But the creature that came rushing in was all but oozing a dark power. Its eyes had a considerable glow. The snow hardly acknowledged its weight, it seemed so light on its feet.
"I had mountains of fan letters! Marriage proposals...!" Vox swung the tree to knock it reeling, chunks of one of its horns sent flying and a bellowing, furious roar. Why was it different now? What changed...?
The coagulated, half-frozen blood clinging to its teeth and jaws had his eyes widen. Blood. It feeds on the blood of prey, and uses it to empower itself, rather than just as a food source-
"It's going to be faster and more aggressive now that it's fed on my blood! Fucking hell- I was joking in my notes when I said it looked like a god-damned vampire...!"
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He still couldn't quite hit as hard and fast as he could in Hell, but the shift to his tails certainly made him much more of a menace - dodging under a tail swipe and jumping out of the way of a clubbing, Alastor fanned his tails until they were sharpened shadows again and stylishly rolled from the Malzeno's tail to the shoulders, each bladed limb slicing and stabbing along the way.
Halting his forward momentum lest he roll himself right off of the dragon, Alastor grabbed at the frills on the creature's head and grasped tightly - and with a funny little wash of shadow over his form, he disguised himself with his own human face. Innocuous, simple, innocent even!
"A face made for radio, they always said!" he barked a laugh, holding on tight to keep from being thrown off.
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Curls.
He had curls.
Vox made a misstep, needing to scramble for another tree branch in his repositioning after a brief and undignified pinwheel. Alastor's 'face made for radio'- and likely the touchy topics of the era he was from- was very likely why none of Vox's old searches of news articles and photos from the 30s never turned up ANYTHING for him to quell his... his curiosity. Curiosity, and nothing else.
Too perfect. Too handsome. Why didn't he boast about it more? Fucking pretty weirdo-
"So who fucked up your hair after you died, anyway?" He cackled. Recovered, he watched the dragon curl its body quickly inward, including that tail. His adrenaline spiking, Vox moved full tilt, leaping from branch to branch. It could fly and decide to try and drop Alastor. It could also use the treeline to do whatever it wanted to its makeshift rider.
It had too much control right now. He could fix that.
The creature was distracted in trying to shake off the first rider. It didn't expect the second to hurtle down, land squarely on the shoulders. It also didn't expect several cables to emerge from the rider's back, latching onto the joints of its wings, one around the neck, and one grappled under the belly. Vox grasped fistfuls of the cable, and wrenched hard.
"I've - got - it-!!" Another wrench, and the dragon reared like a horse. He pulled the right cables, and forced the creature right toward the treeline.
One cable snapped. That was fine. He had more, but nothing about this was permanent.
"I can't cut! If it loses its tail it loses one thing it can- rgghh, come ON, you fucker, you go where I want you to- stab with...!!" The belly wire charged with a snap of electricity, like a sharp jab with a heel to drive it to a reptilian gallop. Move forward, you sack of shit--
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Tail-- right. Alastor shifted out of the illusion and into his fox form, leaping over Vox to land on Malzeno's haunches. And turned around, hooking his claws into the flesh of Malzeno's back so that he could start swiping his tails at the base of the dragon's tail, each blade hacking over and over at the same spot like a clumsy chainsaw trying to puncture through and cutting flesh away.
Blood, spray, chaos...! This was... fun. A real fight, even if he had a temporary truce with the most infuriating demon he's ever known.
"Get the thing to slam this end into something, it'll rip the damn tail off!"
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But these ears were weird to navigate. He could wiggle his ears a bit when he was alive, but it was another matter entirely when they had more range of motion. With the ice and snow blustering into the soft insides, he took some effort to sweep his ears back and guard them from the sting, the howling winds as he twisted more of the cables around his hands like proper reins.
The thrashing intensified as the dragon could feel the flesh being bitten into, and Vox poured on more of the circuit. He just needed to hurt this thing a little more than Alastor was hurting it, and soon it was a frenzy barreling out of the treeline and into the nearest pass in the mountains.
Slamming, huh...? He grinned, and wrenched left and sent it careening into the leftmost rock face in its run. Ice and stone raked across the wing with a shriek of stone across scales, incensing the beast.
Perfect, enough space. But more cables snapped. There were only a few left. But he could manage just one more-!
He wrenched hard right as the laughter rolled from him, eyes wild, and with the remaining cables plunged their plugs beneath scale plates. With more channeling, he was stun-gunning the big scaly wretch what took a free lunch from him--
With a shriek of mingled fury and agony, the dragon lowered its body and sprinted to not only try and its side and haunch into the neighboring rock wall, but try and crush its riders alongside.
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With both of their energies running so high, on a rare note of cooperation, Alastor realized that he wasn't wrapping his arms around someone else. Rather, there was a presence, a weight being carried and carrying him simultaneously... he... they... were bigger, forming into a creature with massively sharp teeth and more lethal tail-blades that were humming with electricity.
The thought comes to him unbidden - a quick and tunnel-visioned image of Vox in that bar that night, hand outstretched, and a flash of rage and hurt erupted before Alastor could withhold it from the other demon.
'You wanted my power so badly - well, NOW you have it!'
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Then nothing. Weightlessness. Yet he thrashed, confused. Was he dead? No. Nononono. He wanted to die, but thought he had more to do before something would take him out. He needed to to--
Vox's head turned in that strange void. He could feel the rage and the hurt, and his lips twisted into a smile. The human was gone, but the tv-headed demon remained.
'Did I finally GET to you? Did I finally get the fucking Radio Demon to crack, and make him feel even an OUNCE of what he did to me!?'
What was met was more waves of rage, of hurt. So, so much hurt. Confusion. Wanted... his power...? What did that mean? No, no, it--
...They sat in a quiet bar, surrounded by the dead and the dying, but they were laughing together over some foolish thing they'd read in the papers just the other day, their complete disbelief. Alastor tuts as he finds himself struggling a bit with a lighter. Vincent- Vox- offers a cocky grin as he raised a finger, and a spark jumped to ignite the paper and tobacco.
"Well, well... aren't you full of surprises?" The deer takes a long drag, savoring the taste as Vox leans on an elbow, smile turning lopsided...
---
...The acid rain had stopped, and the sky was as clear as it could be in Hell. Vox turned, and his expression brightened. He hurried the last few steps down to meet up. Demons sharing the sidewalk saw the two of them, and quickly crossed the street to give them a wide berth. "Hey...! You're right on time, as always."
"So eager, old pal. Were you waiting long?" That mic-ended staff was twirled slowly.
"Nah, just tied up a few loose ends not long ago. Nobody you know, though." Vox coyly smoothed down his tie, wearing a ghost of a grin.
It broke out into the real thing when Alastor guffawed, and they proceeded down the sidewalk as he joined in the mirth...
---
"And then you went and ruined it. I thought you found me- oh, what was it?- I n s p i r i n g...?"
---
Vox braced his hands upon the edges of the sink. He lifted his head, still so heavy, but he was determined to maintain eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. He took a breath, a cleansing bit that was only marred by the cigarette smoke in his lungs from his third of the evening. Yet no amount of tobacco seemed to calm his nerves.
"...Let's hit the Nest. You said it was your favorite spot, right? I wanna talk to you about something. Privately." No. No, no... that was too serious.
He stood taller, and smiled. "Hey, buddy! I'm feeling kind of thirsty, and wondered if... maaaybe... you wanted to go grab a bite and a drink at the-- GOD."
His smile fell as he ran his hands down his screen. "You're good at this, Vince. You're so good with talking to people. You're the God of fucking Entertainment! How hard is it to invite a guy to... drinks?"
He took another breath, and closed his eyes. "We've been close for years. This is just... natural. Normal. He'll say yes. Then... everything will be perfect. Hell won't see us coming."
He opened them, and stared himself down. "Get your shit together. Stop being nervous. He deserves your 110%. This'll be nothing. He'll agree to my offer, because... because he likes me."...
---
..."I did really have to put you in your place, didn't I? Ah..."...
---
...Vox crossed the room, glass of water in hand to place on the night stand. He was intoxicated, but it was nothing compared to how much Alastor took in. The latter lay on his side on the very small motel room's bed, and was fast asleep. His jacket lay draped across the chair Vox moved to occupy, after bringing the little trash bin to the edge of the bed in case of... emergency.
His eyes blinked slowly, one at a time. God, he was tired... as he lowered his head onto the bed's edge, curled his arms beneath it, he settled for what just might be three, four hours of sleep at best.
It was fine. He would function on little sleep. Mind was always too busy.
He stiffened briefly when he felt something atop his head. When he turned his eyes, he saw a hand.
A singular, red-clawed hand rest upon the frame of his monitor. But rather than shuffle it away or scoot out from underneath it, he instead curled his arms tighter beneath his head and focus on the sheets. He seemed to be rewarded, as the tips of those red claws made small scratching motions against the plastic, sending small tingles down his spine.
He closed his eyes. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit...
---
What was this...? What's going on? Stop it. STOP IT. The strange, blended creature they now were writhed, opened jaws to scream in rage, hunger, grief. The storm high above darkened the sky, thin whips of lightning ripping through the cloud layer. The air was sweet with static.
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Seeing himself, through Vincent's eyes. And... feeling a deep, painful grief. Hurt, hurt that was so like--
--
We were close. Close for so long. He remembered so many dances - swinging around in euphoric delight with the demon that'd sparked such a curiosity in him. That was his funny little picturebox - the one that would run to greet him with a bright and natural smile, no matter if he was covered in gore or donning a silly costume to surprise him.
...
"Alastor-- who did this to you?"
That stormy, dangerous look... nobody had wondered that about him before, had never been furious FOR him. The way Alastor's heart fluttered came up as a surprised giggle. "Not to worry, pal - none of the blood's mine, I assure you!"
...
"I know your soft spot, Radio Demon," some nobody had threatened.
Alastor laughed in his face.
"You're hilarious! You aren't even close to comparing to Vox, don't even JOKE with me--"
And even if you were, I am strong enough that you will regret taking ANYTHING from me.
...
That's right. That's how he'd always felt. He was the strongest, the most menacing - no one could endanger him over companionship or some perceived soft spot, not without becoming the very next broadcast on his radio show. None of them could ever hurt the most powerful demon in Hell.
...
"So... I've been thinking, Alastor... with your incredible power and my massive influence--"
The outstretched hand - the one distraction where the other held a collar and chain behind his back. Vox wanted his power, wanted to use and control him like everyone else did and--
Used... his companionship to get close enough...?
...
But Alastor couldn't deny what he felt through the fusion. Affection - so... so different but so familiar to his own fondness. That funny picture-box, his pal, arrogant controlling betrayer-- but was that wrong?
He wanted to make his mind stop. Stop, stop, stop it-- a mangled fused claw pulled at hair and fur on their shared head, tearing it in clumps, the way Alastor always did in moments of distress. Moments he never showed publicly - that mortal wound, that near-death encounter at the end of the cannon that Vox built, the moments between that threat to Vox and his utter inability to find his pal--
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Soft spot? Don't make him laugh. Alastor... Alastor hated him. They weren't friends. He uses 'old pal' to mock him, just the same as he used 'sweetheart' and 'baby'. Each time, it stung like a scab being picked at-
---
Vox was bloodied. Battered. All of it was his own. But he didn't care about the pain compared to that in his chest as he dragged himself into his apartment. ...An apartment he knew Alastor knew of. He needed to move, find some place to go, to hide, to heal and plan his next move.
Never in his life did he think that he'd encounter the day where he and the man he thought he... ...
...They wouldn't see each other any more. He raged, they fought, and he laughed the whole time. Yet as Vox leaned back against the wall, hand clutching his chest, the anger was gone. There was only the pain that burned in his chest and stomach as he slid down to the floor in a pool of his own blood. All of his angered shouting, his screaming had rendered him momentarily voiceless until his healing factor kicked in.
He would scheme later. He would plot later.
But for right now, without making a sound other than the increasing, hissing snow over his monitor, he would weep. How could he have been so stupid?
'I...'
'I loved...'
---
He insisted that they try this new spot that opened up. If it was really good, they could see about bringing the owner into the fold, whether by Alastor's inclinations or by Vox's own.
Alastor lowered a hand to Vox's back and ushered him along at his side. The latter's heart raced, and he didn't know what to do with his hands. Nobody in his life as a human had made him feel this way.
All he could do was look up, try not to stare again, and proceed to shatter the quiet by opening his mouth and talking about the next big plan he had cooking up.
But he loved when the black-tipped ears always turned to hear him first, before his head did. He loved how, in his focus in describing the plan and not on the road around them, the hand at his back would loosen or tense to keep any passerby demons from getting in the way or too close.
He wondered, with a wordless hope, if... maybe he'd be interested in other guys, but... n-not just other guys...
---
He hated this. Oh, God, he hated this so much. The imagery and voices couldn't stop. What was doing this? Why was he being reminded of everything? The fused beast screamed and the Malzeno began to recover from its hard bash against the wall. It had definitely seen better days.
Cables erupted from the creature's back, veves and thick black smoke rising from them. They opted away from wrapping around the beast, but instead thrust into flesh between armor plates.
Make it hurt. Make it scream. Give it some pain, so he- they- we? Us? Could feel a little less.
His heart hurts. He's so tired. He's so sick of the anger. He lost. He lost. Why is his humiliation not over?
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You loved me?
He doesn't want to believe it, but it's undeniable - he can feel it, he can feel the heartbreak, the way he'd wanted to inflict pain and cruelty on Vox.
All because he'd thought the man was betraying him.
"I'm afraid it's all button-ups and wide-necked sweaters for you, my friend," Alastor remembered saying as he fastened the buttons on a wide-eyed, confused newly fallen Sinner. Out of the old bloody rags and into something more respectable, even if it was just a white button-up. He'd meandered closer when he'd heard a radio signal, noisy distress and pain, it'd sparked such curiosity...
Someone like him.
Vox was so very like him. There was such comfort in their little meaningless arguments over radio shows versus picture-shows. Sharing a smoke after slaughtering a particular disrespectful individual that Alastor couldn't even remember the face of. Those first drinks, those first dances.
A blue suit.
"Dress for the job you want, right?" Vox had answered, looking very pleased with himself and the assembled outfit resembling one of the other overlords - one that Alastor hadn't been targeting, but perhaps now he ought to. "Once I get him out of the way, I figure his contracts are going to be scrambling for something familiar--"
"That's ridiculous," he chided, remembering the incredulous feeling as he watched what looked like embarrassment and disappointment on Vox's face. "You don't need to change and adapt like that here - you are the one climbing with your power. Why don the appearance of a loser that YOU defeated? You don't need to change yourself."
Love doesn't make sense.
"So... what was your M.O.?" Vox asked, giving him a slight elbowing. They were perched on the rubble of a recent spat, Alastor peeling at the dismembered arm of one of the Sinners he'd torn to shreds and eating - the fight left him famished.
"My usual targets, you mean," Alastor clarified, glancing at Vox who looked brightly at him, curiously. Not the least bit frightened... not of him, not of his past, not of the way he was presently eating another man. "Hmm... I followed my whims, mostly. There's such a satisfaction in laying low the disrespectful and powerful - how they think they are so untouchable makes their screams oh so sweet."
"HAH! Holy shit, I actually get that," Vox laughed. It'd seemed earnest. "I had a lot of eyes on me, so I had to pick carefully... but I wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of me shining brighter."
Love doesn't make sense - donning a suit and tearing me down - that HAS to be reality...!
"Whiskey? Gin? Could call up and getcha a sazerac!"
After wiping blood off of the countertop, Alastor set out the glasses and ingredients. Rye, bitters, simple syrup, a lemon twist... "This was the jazz at the speakeasies in my day! Flavorful, with a kick... and wholly New Orleans."
You always remembered my favorites. Is that love...?
He remembers every injury he personally stitched shut for Vox. It was always perfectly reasonable to just wait for regeneration, cover something in a bandage or give it a sloppy stitching - but sloppy is never what he gave his picture-box. Whether it was a little cut to the arm or a fiercer wound, Alastor let the man hiss and boast about his victory as each magic stitch was carefully tied.
This is humiliating. This is so humiliating - to be so exposed, so painful and raw the wounds he never showed anyone. It scared him. It scared him. And all he knew how to do was externalize that fear with violence - sinking his teeth into the neck of the dragon, chomping away at the parasites that either perished or flew away to safety, chomping at scales and flesh like he could devour enough blood and viscera to stop feeling these things anymore.
cw: cannibalism
Of course he remembered the sazerac. Of course. He remembered having two of them that night. Or was it three...?
Outside the beast screamed again, teeth marred by impaled little creatures that enjoyed their crawl over the cowled dragon, and when it fell, legs giving out from its injuries, the beast struck.
Base of that elegant neck, torn by sharp hooked claws. They dug and dug, throwing scales every which way. Flesh. Bone. His head split into vertical jaws as well as horizontal, hooking teeth against the ribs to yank as the Malzeno gurgled and hissed. It silenced, heavily panted when bone broke.
A paw thrust in. Beating... that heart was still beating, but only just so. A prize, but one of two... yet they still dug in, claws holding the chest apart as the face dug in, feasting.
---
Vox stood upright again, a gurgling and twitching Sinner at his feet. His screen was a solid black, save for those burning red eyes. The color matched the gore that darkened up to his elbows, his rolled-up sleeves, a hopeless stain against the cotton regardless of his preparation to preserve them from the mess.
In his claws was a heart that just gave its last shudder. In curiosity, he raised them to the darkened screen, and blue teeth flashed to life within. They opened, and after a moment's hesitation, he bit down upon the muscle.
His vest quickly became a mess, but he didn't care.
---
"Is it ready...?" His voice was soft. Casual.
"Y-yes, Mr. Vox. It's- it's right here: Ten pounds of, uh, sausage, and five pounds of blood sausage. Would you like anything else?"
"Oh, just your continued discretion as always! You really are the best in the biz. How's that commercial time slot treating you?"
"Just- just swell, sir! I can barely keep up with the phone calls! Thank you!!"
"You're welcome, pal. ...Say, uh, what's- what's that I'm smelling?"
"Oh, it's the incinerator, sir- that guy's clothes are made out of that newfangled fiber that's taking off, polysomething- stinks to high hell when it burns."
"Eugh. Maybe open some fucking windows in here, yeah? Don't lose the customers our little Deal is bringing in."
"Of course, sir. You- you have a great day! Say hi to that red fella for me. And don't worry- I haven't told him a thing!"
---
Something shuddered, felt like the air was vibrating. As the heart was torn, chewed, swallowed, something felt... wrong.
Like something was struggling to hang on.
cw: cannibalism (for prior tag too whoops)
Get me out of here.
Scared absolutely witless of being prey, being exposed, being known-- scared of the pain and the despair and how utterly stupid he felt...!
Finally, the splitting feeling became a peeling relief - Alastor dropped into the snow, shuddering and shellshocked, clutching his chest as if that would abate the emotional turmoil or soothe the aches in his bones and blood. He was smaller, lesser.
But alone. Safe. ...Safer.
He didn't dare to speak, nor look at Vox, focusing instead on unsteadily getting back to his feet.
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Vox, too, felt like he's gone from some higher, brighter, godlier power to... nothing. Practically nothing in comparison, even with all of his tricks. Save for the holler of pain, mingled despair, the media demon gave nothing else when he landed in a heap in the bloodied snow.
For nearly a full minute, he considered just remaining here like this, lying on his back. But gradually he sat upright, and there was complete silence.
No words. Not even his shallowed breathing made a sound. But most distressing- but perhaps the most merciful- of all, any signal he usually gave off had forcibly shut off. His memories had been like an uncontrolled gush of a gaping wound, and no amount of staunching could have made it stop.
What WAS that? What the fuck was THAT?? Nobody said anything about monster transformation triggering THAT.
Would he show things like that with anyone else if he transformed? Oh, God... please...
His head felt like it was spinning when he slowly stood. He hardly felt like he was in his own body, yet he carried himself forward. The dragon, it... it didn't dissipate into energy. Too often, the beasts he felled turned to energy and it was fine to absorb it, and claim it as his own. But he needed something solid. He needed to build. This was his chance, he... he had to take this chance.
He turned his body as far away from Alastor as possible, waiting for a giggle. A laugh. A taunt. Too much was out in the open now, so much weakness on top of everything else that happened that night in Hell. It was open season.
But as he waited... waited almost TOO long- he usually got riled up and fired off by now, guy was always about his comedic timing- Vox shakily produced a carving knife from his coat and numbly began to select and take pieces from the fallen dragon: Scales. Claws. A few teeth. Samples of the little weird critters that were crawling on it.
But no liver.
He just... didn't want to fight for it.
Not tonight.
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