Member
datadogie
Silent Showers
Noctis
LightningLynx89
ClocktowerEchos
Metadude
ButtsnBallsThe German soldiers did something that should have been impossible. As the ball of needles was hurled out and Miss Murder's bullets began to rattle through the air, the soldiers ducked for cover. Rising to their feet as one, the lull in shooting would let the pianist's words be heard. "My oh my! I knew we had at least one stand user, but to see so many all clustered onto these fair lands? Why, it almost makes me WISH I HADN'T ASKED FOR BACKUP." The last words were spoken not by the man himself, but instead by a figure looming behind him. Hunched over, emaciated, and slightly bestial, its hands a bloody crimson, the stand would let out a scraping cackle.
"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE THEN? MORE FOR ME TO RIP INTO?" The stand would continue to talk, and as it did so it stalked forwards, providing cover for its user as the pianist reloaded his submachine gun. It would reach the table that Tupolev had flipped before bringing its hand down, the appendage cleaving through the wood and splintering it like a boy done with a stick he'd found. "COME THEN LITTLE STANDS. WHO IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO「THE REAPER」?"
The soldiers, having picked themselves up, would slowly, in perfect unison, stand shoulder to shoulder. A heavy, jackbooted thud would come from the front of the restaurant, and then, as if to declare that this had been a stand-exterminating mission from the start, their forms seemed to part, and from each and every soldier rose out an identically, construct-like visage.
With blocky, wooden looking joints and a blank face, it was a horrifying thing. They moved jerkily, nothing like the predatory precision of 「The Reaper」, and from beneath the sleeves and cuffs of their uniforms dangled strings, sliced off and left to trail on the ground or in the air.
"What my rather... unchained colleague here is trying to say, meine Freunde, is that you are all deeply, truly, and utterly fucked. The might of the Reich will crash down upon you. Wheras the icy winds of the North created the almighty Aryan race, our chilly gusts shall eradicate you insects."
"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE THEN? MORE FOR ME TO RIP INTO?" The stand would continue to talk, and as it did so it stalked forwards, providing cover for its user as the pianist reloaded his submachine gun. It would reach the table that Tupolev had flipped before bringing its hand down, the appendage cleaving through the wood and splintering it like a boy done with a stick he'd found. "COME THEN LITTLE STANDS. WHO IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO「THE REAPER」?"
The soldiers, having picked themselves up, would slowly, in perfect unison, stand shoulder to shoulder. A heavy, jackbooted thud would come from the front of the restaurant, and then, as if to declare that this had been a stand-exterminating mission from the start, their forms seemed to part, and from each and every soldier rose out an identically, construct-like visage.
With blocky, wooden looking joints and a blank face, it was a horrifying thing. They moved jerkily, nothing like the predatory precision of 「The Reaper」, and from beneath the sleeves and cuffs of their uniforms dangled strings, sliced off and left to trail on the ground or in the air.
"What my rather... unchained colleague here is trying to say, meine Freunde, is that you are all deeply, truly, and utterly fucked. The might of the Reich will crash down upon you. Wheras the icy winds of the North created the almighty Aryan race, our chilly gusts shall eradicate you insects."
