The sudden flaring of flames from terrain beneath her and the crackling of the air being filled with lethal voltage did nothing for Ludmilla's reverie. She was still stuck in her own mind, wandering in a hellscape that was neither physical nor mental.
...πέρα από το κατώφλι...
Her voice is almost inaudible as the far side of the MEME.naught crashes into her like a runaway freighter, spattering her like a fly against a windscreen. Though her body does its best to keep itself together, it can't handle this sort of strain, this sort of impact at this speed.
...αυτή...ριαννον? No, no, no-!
-
The mind is like a clay pot. Delicate, beautiful.
Normally, a clay pot will hold water just fine. It was made for holding water. All sorts of liquid.
But sometimes, the clay pot is not content with holding water. Nor tea. Nor oil.
Sometimes the clay pot wants to hold more exotic things.
Meat! Ice! The severed braids of a hundred slain widows! Greek Fire, flowing magma from beneath the crust of the shifting earth!
But the clay pot is not made for this.
The clay pot cannot hold that which only keeps sinking, sinking, gaining mass, growing, expanding inside it, bursting from the lid, overflowing, changing form, speaking to it.
The clay pot...
-
Through the air, pieces of Ludmilla fall randomly, blown away with the force of merely being clipped by the war-machine. Here the left arm, there a few fingers, further over there a piece of boot-clad foot. The larger portions are still twitching, trying to regenerate, to attach to some part of the scattered Faerin. Soon, though, the fiery terrain renders them scorched and sterile.
The largest fragment lands very close to the heart of the conflict, on the slope of a plateau leading up to the wall. It consists of her head, most of her upper torso, her shoulders and most of her right arm, plus a bit of hip and right leg from the knee up. She is still mumbling, wounds mercifully cauterized before Astor's chilly blessing prevents her from being grilled like a steak on the scorched earth. Somehow, she is still alive. Footfalls and voices echo around her.
--η τρομακτική παρουσία;
IT STIRS WITHIN ME...
IT STIRS WITHIN ME...
Mouth parched and girt with blood, bile, dirt and burnt skin, she speaks in two voices, both her usual tone and one distinctly not of her own. As the combined efforts of the brave Starcalled bring the assault on Hope to and end, as the man in the machine makes his last stand against his captor, as the ringing of a tiny lantern on rocks fades from the cliff-face into oblivion, as Ludmilla's health drops lower and lower...
Intersect. Bloom. Sing the song of flesh.
A̷̛̜A̴̰͂̐Ä̸͜A̶̢̛A̵̱͗Ą̶͎́͝Ạ̵̡̏Á̶̼Ȧ̴̹͍̏Ą̷͘͝A̴͔̔A̴̦͗U̷̲̩͒͆U̷̩̿͘Ṵ̴̖̄̓Ȗ̷͚Ü̴̲Ú̶̢̬̌U̷̮̕U̴̡̓̅͜Ḡ̷͎̣Ǵ̸̜G̷̣͗H̴̯̖̀Ḫ̴̀H̸̥͊H̵͙͕̅̕Ḧ̸̤̗́Ȟ̸͚H̴̼̒Ḧ̸͙̟́͒H̶̼̻͐
A̷̛̜A̴̰͂̐Ä̸͜A̶̢̛A̵̱͗Ą̶͎́͝Ạ̵̡̏Á̶̼Ȧ̴̹͍̏Ą̷͘͝A̴͔̔A̴̦͗U̷̲̩͒͆U̷̩̿͘Ṵ̴̖̄̓Ȗ̷͚Ü̴̲Ú̶̢̬̌U̷̮̕U̴̡̓̅͜Ḡ̷͎̣Ǵ̸̜G̷̣͗H̴̯̖̀Ḫ̴̀H̸̥͊H̵͙͕̅̕Ḧ̸̤̗́Ȟ̸͚H̴̼̒Ḧ̸͙̟́͒H̶̼̻͐
Eyes rolling into the back of her head from pain shock, Ludmilla can feel it; her own body regenerating remotely, at a pace never known before to her. It felt as though she were ripping herself apart piece by piece, then smashing them back together, over and over and over and over and-
The clay pot cracks.
❰ ??? ❱
The MEME.naught would suddenly list to one side, if only for a moment, before it would automatically correct its steady footing. A piece of Ludmilla that had attached itself to the machine was beginning to swell and rise like a grotesque pastry, even as the sharp edges of the chassis cut deep into its soft mass. Teeth, bones and claws sprout seemingly at random from within the rapidly expanding mass, cutting into the machine's exposed innards and forcing its plating apart.
It showed no signs of stopping, even when crossfire from other players' attacks shore pieces off or bruised and battered it.
From somewhere deep inside the fleshy mass, an infantile and toneless wailing could be heard, ever so faintly.
Rolls
Movement:
D5 -> C6
Burst Attack (replaces Heal)
11d20 exploding (17 + 11 + 15 + 3 + 11 + 13 + 20 + 12 + 6 + 17 + 18 + 20 + 4) + 10 + 30 = 207
207 (Explosions: 2) + 50 (Exposed Plating bonus) = 257 damage
Gain the Vulnerable state
Lose 25 HP from Exceed
Corrupt | Ludmilla Orphys | 1341C5 | Exceed 25
Second Wind Activated (+20 HP) | Ludmilla Orphys | 1341C5
DEAD.naught
▪ HP: -1935/20000
Rolls
