Roughdragon1

Humanity's Last Army

@HillanIt's alright, do what you can

Humanity's Last Army

New IC up

Humanity's Last Army

Plutonian Outpost, 588th Army of Humanity

All hope seemed to be lost. The Griks surrounded them, and grunts were falling left and right from falling axes and blades. The Brumak seemed unstoppable, the soldiers’ bullets bouncing off its hide like rubber. Barry’s mind raced at light speed trying to discern what was going on around him, and the choices he had. He didn’t know whether to focus on the orders given by the officers, shoot at the Griks, help injured soldiers, or just curl up and die. As more soldiers were mercilessly purged by the savage aliens, the latter choice seemed more and more appealing with every passing second.

Barry felt something crash into his helmet, and he fell flat on his back, dazed. The broken helmet rolled away, trailing bits of brittle metal as it went along. A particularly nasty Grik towered over him, club in hand. The thing snarled and gnashed its rotted teeth, and Barry could smell the pastry bread scent emanating from the otherwise ferocious beast. He raised his rifle to fire, but it clicked. No ammo. Dropping his empty rifle, he couldn’t help but let out a dark chuckle.

Heh, I guess I made the mistake of thinking I’d live through all this. Who wouldn’t?

With that final thought, Barry closed his eyes as the Grik swung the club, and smashed in his skull.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Captain Faraday

“Come on, you fucking pastries! Just try to kill me!”

Captain Faraday smashed her rifle’s stock against a Grik’s face, stunning it for a few seconds before shooting it, spraying black blood and bits of bone across the masses behind it. However, even with her boasting, even she knew that they couldn’t hold out forever. They were down to about a thousand soldiers from their original 100,000, including other sectors and outposts that had retreated to the same position.

Faraday reloaded her gun, cocked it, and was about to jump into the fray when a maelstrom of bullets nearly decimated the entire Grik advance. Utterly shocked, she looked around to see the source of the supporting fire, and found her answer when she looked up. She saw dozens upon dozens of troop transport ships arrive from orbit, and the one that had just saved them opened its hatch, and four figures flew--no-- leaped out, and landed on the plutonian surface with seemingly little issue.

All four of them were fully encased in gleaming metallic armor. Despite their strange look, there was no doubt to the grunts that these four were superior to them in every way, shape, and form. In an instant, they fanned out in four directions, slaughtering every single Grik in the way. Their speed, their precision, their strength… There was no way that it could’ve been possible. Every trigger pull from their impeccably maintained and diverse weapons resulted in one or two Grik deaths. Even when the Grik came into melee distance, they were still no match for the armor-clad warriors, as the banana-scented aliens were beaten into bloody dough when they got too close.

The transport ships landed and opened, letting in the tides of soldiers who wanted so desperately to leave. Faraday refused to leave until all of the soldiers in her company were “safe” aboard the transport ships. Instead, she tried to resume shooting the Griks, but all of the ones previously in range were now dead. All that was left was the Brumak, which swung its chain in a wild arc towards the newcomers. She made her way to one of the transport ships, knowing she’d be of no use to the remainder of the fight.

One of the four, a large brute in his own right, wielded a massive gun which had sparks of electrical power dancing off it like a lightning storm. He set it up on the ground, angling the open barrel to face the Brumak, which only came closer. The gun seemed to charge up, and with a second’s delay, let loose a literal lightning storm. The thunderous bolts of pure voltage drained all surrounding light and struck the Brumak in the head, and detonated its skull, chunks of molten rock raining down upon the dwindling Grik.

Cheers from the grunts and soldiers pierced the silent fighting, whoops and yells emerging from inside the transport ships. Faraday, as well as the other commanding officers, were just as amazed and dumbfounded by this show of absolute military turnover. Before, the Griks were about to massacre all of the soldiers, no matter how hard they fought. However, with the arrival of this small squad of four, the Griks and Brumak were rendered null and void almost instantaneously. It was a miracle. Almost.

As Faraday continued to stand there amazed, she noticed something on the horizon. It wasn’t an army, but a lone, dark figure; barely recognizable as a humanoid. It held something, and pointed it at the four. It was too late to say anything. A blue bolt of light shot from the silhouette, and travelled at an impossible speed. Faraday barely had time to think of shouting “Look out!” before the bolt slammed into the leader of the newcomers, who flew back into the transport ship Faraday was in.

Shit, this isn’t good.

The blue bolt had burned a hole into the newcomer’s armor, exposing charred skin and flesh. The three others ran back into the transport ship to check on the injured leader. One of them took off their helmet, revealing an angular, feminine face topped by auburn hair and dull green eyes. She had a small bottle in her hand, and applied some kind of foam onto the affected area. She looked up at one of her companions, the previously unmentioned one who carried a sniper rifle in his hands, with a bland business-like demeanor.

“Go tell the pilot that the Argon are here.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and made for the cockpit, the mass of soldiers parting way for him as he did. He opened the door, exchanged a few words, and immediately they were off, the hatch closing.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Time for some stub-punching

The Crucible - Winner Take All

So uh... If I win, is there any way to heal Saria's detatched arm?

Humanity's Last Army

Ok, that's fine. I'll upload the next IC within a few days

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Ouch, I did not know you can take off limbs

Humanity's Last Army

@POOHEAD189@Hillan Oh yeah, and you two should get your CS's ready

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Post is up

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Hider

The Fungal Knight vs The Blood Devil

Round IV

No!

Saria forced herself to stand, trying to ignore the agony that had burrowed itself deep into her body. Step by step, she staggered towards the crumpled figure that was sprawled out in the sand. Every step painfully pulled at her muscles, and she felt that at any moment, some ligament or tendon would shred itself from her bone. Her own primal, violent instinct to win was the only thing keeping her moving towards her target, and the raging flames that surrounded her reflected that bestial will.

Bonesword wasn’t in any better shape. His armor was useless now, demolished by Saria’s devastating strike earlier. The metal had been rent and ruined down the middle, exposing almost all of the bone beneath. He had something in his hand, and Saria had to squint to see it clearly. When she did, she wasn’t worried at the least.

A stick? What’s he gonna do with a--

Caught off guard, Saria heard a sharp whistle, and felt something smash into her abdomen, and she went down hard, the wind vaporized from her lungs. Gasping for air, she looked back to see what he’d done, and saw that the stick had vanished from his hands, and somehow ended up next to her.

You throw sticks at your opponent? What a swordsman you are.

Saria forced herself up again, prepared this time. Bonesword had two sticks in his hands this time, and within the blink of an eye, flung the projectiles towards her, aiming to kill. She, however, was used to this. She recalled her training which had consisted of dodging projectiles, and put it to use.

Even though she was most likely irreparably injured, she made her body dodge to the side, the two sticks missing her by a hair’s width and burying themselves in the sand behind her. Saria used the downtime to compel herself to push forward, as the Fungal Knight seemed to be too injured to move away from her. What energy he had left was to be used for fighting, not running.

Good, then you will die standing.

Bonesword dropped the sticks to his side, and raised his arms like he was praying to the sun. Saria felt the sand and soil beneath her rumble and shake, and tried to defend herself. Faster than before, vines, thick vines, shot up from the ground and seized her limbs, holding her in the air like she was being crucified. She tried to break free, but for the moment, it was useless. She would have to wait for her fire to burn them, and judging by the size of the new vines, she would be there for at least a couple of minutes before she could snap them.

“Hey Blood Devil, you ever heard of darts?”

Saria was confused. Was this a trick question? Was he trying to make peace? Was he trying to scare her? All she could do was shake her head. She never knew if Bonesword could grin, but if he could, she was sure she saw the smile of the Devil make its way across his face.

“No? Oh, you’ll love this.”

He grabbed the two sticks from earlier, and hurled them both at her.

Shit, I can’t move!

Saria braced herself as much as she could as one stick slammed into her side, and she felt something break, grinding against itself as the stick made full impact. Saria coughed up blood, but she was given no respite. The second one smashed into her face, tearing a gash across her cheek. She spit the rest of the blood at Bonesword, and snarled. It was the least she could do, anyway.

Bonesword looked to his right, then to his left.

“Well gee golly, looks like I’m out of sticks. It’s alright though, those vines’ll hold you up for another minute or so. In the meantime however…”

A dozen vines rose from the ground, and turned towards her.

“Now, I wouldn’t be killing you like this if you hadn’t made fun of my love, so I’ll let you dwell on that while you’re getting your bones shredded by my vines.”

Without another word, he let them loose. A storm of heavy blows struck her from all sides and all angles. In combat terms, it felt like a whole squad of soldiers were trying to stab her with maces. Saria fought to stay conscious, each punch feeling like it could burrow straight through her armor.

Come on, come on, endure! Endure!

She felt as if she repeated that word about a hundred times within that impossibly agonizing minute of torture, but it worked. Her fire had set the vines ablaze, and they were being turned to ash. She dropped to the ground, the impact jarring her insides, which felt like they’d been turned to jelly. At the moment, she could hardly move due to pain shock, but at least she could only barely feel the echoes of the attack.

Within her daze Saria saw Bonesword shamble closer to her, his cracked leg barely supporting him. His armor was gone, discarded behind him. All that was left was simply a skeleton. And a mushroom crown. As he approached, he made sure to steer clear of her fire aura, which was shrinking by the minute. Saria once again felt the bond between her and the Red Blade loosen.

“Still alive, eh? Tough girl, I’ll give you that. I’m pretty beat up myself too, you know.”

He reached for something in his back pocket, and pulled out a battered, metal flask. He unscrewed the cap, tilted his head back, and took a big swig.

“Greatest thing about being a skeleton: I can’t get drunk. Here, you want some?”

He dumped the flask onto Saria’s face, and she screamed as the alcohol burned her gash like a red-hot poker. And just like that, all of the pain returned. Every broken bone, every fractured joint, every torn ligament or muscle, she felt it all. But with it, something else returned as well. A spark, once again.

“Well, won’t keep you waiting. I need someone’s skeleton to replace this one.”

He raised his black sword, and swung it at her head.

For a moment, time seemed to move in slow motion for Saria. She saw the blade homing in towards her neck, yes, but this was different. She had a choice. She could either give up and fulfill her wish to die to a worthy opponent, or she could survive. She had already made her choice.

As the sword arced down, Saria pushed herself back, and Bonesword had stuck his weapon into the sand. She scrambled to her feet and charged towards him, one last time. Every single part of her body burned in agony, but she willed it down. For what was more important than pain? As Saria came within punching distance, she knew the answer.

Victory.

With all of her might she let loose a final, terrifying punch, and it smashed into his face with the force of her entire existence.

Bonesword wasn’t launched into the air by the punch, nor set flying from the force. Saria was too weak for that now. Instead, he crashed into the dirt beneath them, and shook the depths of Hell.