Citadel16

priorities. he probably is stressed out about the end of the school year. at least, I hope thats all it is. when did he get on last?

thanks quiver! that was incredibly useful. Here is my revised version. most of it is the same but I think the rest works great. tell me if i'm wrong. Marxed for death. Marx sat alone in the dark of the room, listening to the sound of the rain washing over his house. Thunder rumbled outside as he took a sip of scotch. A soft music played in the background on a four hundred thousand dollar record player. It was jazz. He always liked improvisational jazz, order out of chaos as his pops used to call it. It reminded him of simpler times, when you could sell what you wanted and not draw the attention of cops. He needed that sort of thing these days. Everything had been a mess. There were things that you had to do when you owned the kind of company Marx did. People had to be shut up, rivals put away, and scores had to be settled. Threats had to be made. New people come and go. He thought. Why should this bother him? When he was younger, things like this he had done personally. Not usually alone, but still he was normally in the front with the gun. Those were good days. He could sit and think about them all day. These days he was always in a hurry around here since he took over his father's company. Downing the rest of his scotch, Marx stood and walked to his own personal mini bar to pour himself another glass. There was a loud Crack of thunder outside and the lights dimmed for a few moments. He threw down another glass of scotch. He liked Jazz, like his father had. It made a random grouping of notes harmoniously linked. He liked that. He could do that to his life too. Take shattered pieces of it and put it together in a glorious mosaic. A stain glass window of his empire as it was. The only problems where when the pieces didn’t fit the way he needed them to. Then they had to be broken. Shaped. Refined into something he could use and that meant breaking pieces. Losing pieces. Moving pieces. Sometimes people didn't like that. The past is in the past. He thought. Why do I even worry about this? It was necessary. Crucial even. What he had done, had been done in the name of his company and his dependents. He downed another shot. Then slammed the glass onto the counter. He looked at it. A spider web of cracks had spread across it. I can take the broken pieces… he needed to make this into order. Into jazz. He would do it And that meant losing pieces. The record player skipped. Startled by the sound, Marx spun around and saw someone he wished to have never met. “Hello Marx,” Johnny said. Water streamed off his wet fedora, and onto Marx’s couch. The man’s clothing was soaked as if he’d been out in the rain for a very long time. Marx gulped. He could do this. It was nothing that he hadn’t done before. He could lie through his teeth again, couldn’t he? He could lie to his best friend, right? “Johnny,” he said. “What brings you here?” Johnny was quiet. “What’s the matter, buddy? We haven’t seen each other in what must be six months. Then you sneak into my house. What do you want?” Johnny reached into his coat pocket. Marx stiffened, but all Johnny pulled out was a card. “I was coming to invite you to my wedding.” Those words stung more than they should have, but Marx kept them from showing on his face. He was order. He wouldn't flinch. “That’s thoughtful of you,” he said. “I had no idea you were getting married.” “I’m not. The weddings off.” More stinging words. He could talk his way out of this couldn’t he? “That’s a shame, why don’t you tell me what happened? Would you like a drink?” he grabbed the bottle of scotch off the bar and poured another glass. “Marisa’s dead.” Marx stopped dead in his tracks. “You killed her didn’t you?” Johnny asked. How could a voice be so void of emotion? Marx knew. He was that void of emotion. He had been for years. He looked into Johnny’s eyes. No. There was no stopping this. Johnny knew everything. “I’m afraid so, Johnny.” Marx sighed. “You know I had to. She was the daughter of that new dealer. She had to go.” “Yeah.” “It wasn’t personal, just business,” Marx said. “Things like this happen.” “Yes,” Johnny said “things like this happen.” “Best not dwell on it.” Marx tried for a smile. “Marx?” Johnny said. “I’m going to have to kill you now.” his hand slipped to his waist and pulled out a handgun. “Don’t take it personally.” BANG! I Marx threw himself to the ground, his hand flying to his pocket, grabbing the silver revolver he always kept there, he didn’t bother to pull it out he just shot through the fabric of his pocket. Johnny’s head rocked back and he slumped on the couch. Marx growled. That could have been handled better, but for now, he was alive and that was the best victory. If he was alive he could fix things. Rearrange things. He tried to get up. His legs didn’t move. No… He felt at his gut. His hands came back covered in blood. No! Marx crawled towards the counter. He needed to call someone. James. James he could call. To bring his doctor here. He reached for the Phone on the counter. His legs didn’t move, they didn’t work! He couldn’t stand. He felt pain blossom in his gut. Suddenly, as if in reaction to his movements. He couldn’t die. He had to live. Marx pulled himself up to the counter his phone would be-- His phone wasn’t there. Marx started swearing, his fingers slipped from the blood on his hands and he fell back to the floor. NO! Johnny. Johnny would have a phone. He crawled over to the corpse on the couch. He reached for Johnny’s pocket. But then stopped. Johnny was smiling. Not a happy grin. A satisfied grin. One from a man who had completed a job to the best of his ability. Marx felt his gut again. Blood. He lost a lot of blood. Was he dreaming? No. pain wasn’t a dream. Marx pulled himself to a chair facing Johnny’s three eyed grin. One eye above the left corner of his mouth, one eye above the right. His third eye was the gaping hole that was in the dead center of his nose. As his vision faded, he swore he heard music. It wasn’t jazz.

is a man defined by the loss of an arm? well let me tell you, he can probably use his remaining arm with three times the dexterity that you can. did he do that by ignoring his lost arm? nope. he accepted the fact and then moved on. he is not defined by his lost arm he is defined by how he reacts to losing his arm. you aren't defined by your flaws, You are defined by how you react to your flaws. does that make sense?

then there is, you know, the heat and everything down there... but hey! if you cant stand the heat...

OK so this an assignment Im working on and I need it to be done very quickly. I need to know how to make it more... internally conflicting but im at a loss for words now that it is done. so any advice would be strongly appreciated. Marx sat alone in the dark of the room, listening to the sound of the rain washing over his house. Thunder rumbled outside as he took a sip of scotch. A soft music played in the background on a four hundred thousand dollar record player. It was jazz. He always liked improvisational jazz, the ordered chaos as his pops used to call it. It reminded him of simpler times, when you could sell what you wanted and not draw the attention of cops. Those were good days. He could sit and think about them all day. These days he was always in a hurry around here since he took over his father's company. Downing the rest of his scotch, Marx stood and walked to his own personal mini bar to pour himself another glass. There was a loud Crack of thunder outside and the lights dimmed for a few moments. The record player skipped. Startled by the sound, Marx spun around and saw someone he wished to have never met. “Hello Marx,” Johnny said. Water streamed off his wet fedora, and onto Marx’s couch. The man’s clothing was soaked as if he’d been out in the rain for a very long time. Marx gulped. He could do this. It was nothing that he hadn’t done before. He could lie through his teeth again, couldn’t he? He could lie to his best friend, right? “Johnny,” he said. “What brings you here?” Johnny was quiet. “What’s the matter, buddy? We haven’t seen each other in what must be six months. Then you sneak into my house. What do you want?” Johnny reached into his coat pocket Marx stiffened, but all Johnny pulled out was a card. “I was coming to invite you to my wedding.” Those words stung more than they should have, but Marx kept them from showing on his face. “That’s thoughtful of you,” he said. “I had no idea you were getting married.” “I’m not. The weddings off.” More stinging words. He could talk his way out of this couldn’t he? “That’s a shame, why don’t you tell me what happened? Would you like a drink?” he grabbed the bottle of scotch off the bar and poured another glass. “Marisa’s dead.” Marx stopped dead in his tracks. “You killed her didn’t you?” Johnny asked. How could a voice be so void of emotion? Marx knew. He was that void of emotion. He had been for years. He looked into Johnny’s eyes. No. There was no stopping this. Johnny knew everything. “I’m afraid so, Johnny.” Marx sighed. “You know I had to. She was the daughter of that new dealer. She had to go.” “Yeah.” “It wasn’t personal, just business,” Marx said. “Things like this happen.” “Yes,” Johnny said “things like this happen.” “Best not dwell on it.” Marx tried for a smile. “Marx?” Johnny said. “I’m going to have to kill you now.” his hand whipped to his waist and pulled out a handgun. “Don’t take it personally.” BANG! I Marx threw himself to the ground, his hand flying to his pocket, grabbing the silver revolver he always kept there, he didn’t bother to pull it out he just shot through the fabric of his pocket. Johnny’s head rocked back and he slumped on the couch. Marx growled. That could have been handled better, but for now, he was alive and that was the best victory. He tried to get up. His legs didn’t move. No… He felt at his gut. His hands came back covered in blood. No! Marx crawled towards the counter. He needed to call someone. James. James he could call. To bring his doctor here. He reached for the Phone on the counter. His legs didn’t move, they didn’t work! He couldn’t stand. He felt pain blossom in his gut. Suddenly, as if in reaction to his movements. He couldn’t die. He had to live. Marx pulled himself up to the counter his phone would be-- His phone wasn’t there. Marx started swearing, his fingers slipped from the blood on his hands and he fell back to the floor. NO! Johnny. Johnny would have a phone. He crawled over to the corpse on the couch. He reached for Johnny’s pocket. But then stopped. Johnny was smiling. Not a happy grin. A satisfied grin. One from a man who had completed a job to the best of his ability. Marx felt his gut again. Blood. He lost a lot of blood. Was he dreaming? No. pain wasn’t a dream. Marx pulled himself to a chair facing Johnny’s three eyed grin. One eye above the left corner of his mouth, one eye above the right. His third eye was the gaping hole that was in the dead center of his nose. As his vision faded, he swore he heard someone laugh.

I must admit, its a bit strange to think that you know the exact dimensions of the faces of both these men...

somebody hold me... nope, ah... nevermind. I am a manly man and do not need to be held. ahem. Well... if we ever get to that part where she goes nuts coocoo for cocoa puffs, I would like to see a battle between her "conscripts" and the forces of stormeggedon (if I dont kill her off first because im like that ).

I havent been in this thread for a while but: This terrifies me. edit: didnt the reckoners kill nights sorrow?

slightly awkward? sir. are you aware that we have an entire guild devoted to awkward?

Donnez-moi votre âme et je vais jouer avec elle French for: Im an author

good idea. ... ... I think I made it work better. and welcome back Winter.

well, I just made a long post about the entire fight between Ragnarok and Antimatter. tell me... how does that make you feel?

Antimatter glanced at Deathgale. He was just going to let him do the dirty work? Antimatter growled. There was a thousand ways he could do this and he was half tempted to leave and let Deathgale deal with these problems. But no. If he wanted his revenge he would have to go along with it. “Fine.” Antimatter said “Harkness!” Behind Deathgale, sitting on the portion of wall that had crushed their table, was Harkness staring contemplatively at the brick that had killed him moments ago, which he held in his hands. He looked up. “Yeah, bro?” “Get over here,” the reincarnation epic hopped down next to Deathgale. ”let’s try flash and drop.” Antimatter said. Harkness smiled and pulled a smoke grenade from his jacket, pulled the pin and dropped it to the floor. Then it exploded into smoke. Ragnarok growled, shrugging off the rubble with a burst of TK. His chest burned with pain. His shirt was in tatters, and his chest felt as if it had been exposed to the sun for an entire day in Florida. He had to admit, he probably hadn’t handled that as well as he should have. Sloppy. He wondered for a moment why he did it. Was he just frustrated? Was it because he was an epic? Was it because some dork pulling his strings thought it would be cool? Probably because he’d made it into the habit of killing people Stormeggedon wanted to recruit. Regardless, he was in a mess and he wouldn’t leave until he either recruited Antimatter or killed him. The place, the bar it had seemed like, exploded into smoke. * * * Antimatter burst from the smoke. No destruction, no side casualties. Antimatter couldn’t throw his weight around on this one. He would need to be precise, small and hit hard. He could change the size of his explosions. Make them smaller. Making his hand into a finger gun, Antimatter casually raised it and shot a blast with about the strength of a sixty caliber bullet towards Ragnarok’s face. It exploded exactly three feet away from the epic. That was interesting, Antimatter thought. He had a quick telekinetic perk, and the ability to construct telekinetic barriers it seemed. What he needed to know was whether it was the telekinetic energy that was blocking him or if it where the air molecules thickening. Something grabbed Antimatter and tossed him into the air sending him up twenty feet before he began sailing towards the ground. His mind was going a million miles an hour. He could process a thought one hundred times the speed of an average person when his Intellect was active. The world didn’t seem slower per se, but he did pick up thousands of different details that he would have missed otherwise. He twisted in midair, and hit the ground rolling. The roll quickly became a tumble that tore and scuffed up his pea coat. The asphalt grinded his skin. He slowed as he hit part of a building that was made of crystal. A mix of a growl and a groan escaped his lips. He stood, the marks on his body didn’t bleed, they weren’t even red. Across his body were black spots of torn skin that dropped grey ash instead of blood. He felt at his face, realizing that a large portion of it had been torn away, exposing his sections of his teeth. He took his hand back and saw it covered in ash. He also had a putrid taste in his mouth. Scariness level: twoface, he thought. *** Ragnarok threw the epic twenty feet in the air. Did the fool actually think he could-? There was a loud crack and something slapped him across the face. He turned to see the epic Harkness loading a double barreled shotgun. What were his powers again? Ragnarok smirked. Harkness frowned as he finished loading. “What? Not all of us can have flashy powers.” He leveled the gun and pulled the trigger. Before the firing pin even hit, the shotgun was jerked upwards towards the sky. “Not everyone deserves flashy powers,” Ragnarok said. Then he pulled Harkness’ head from his body. Turning to face Antimatter, who was struggling to his feet. Ragnarok took a step forward. Immediately a ceramic pot smashed against his head. Ragnarok blinked and turned around. Harkness was sitting on a ledge behind him, innocently sipping from a flask. Reincarnation. Right. Ragnarok jerked Harkness into the air and threw him lightly at a stop sign. As he hit, Ragnarok twisted the metal around him, tightly enough that he wouldn’t be able to free himself. Harkness struggled a few times before sighing. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “Stop. You want me to stop. So you tied me up with a stop sign. That’s actually kinda funny.” Ragnarok grinned. At least someone understood his-. Why was he so focused on Harkness? Ragnarok spun just in time to throw up a telekinetic barrier. The explosion, thrown by Antimatter, was blocked by Ragnarok’s barrier. *** Antimatter immediately threw another blast. It rushed through the hole in the defense he had made and it crashed against Ragnarok’s legs. He tripped, but instead of falling towards the ground he stopped midway and sailed into the air. Pain was a funny thing. It wasn’t real. Not even close. But it was one of the most feared things on the planet. But Antimatter didn’t really fear pain. He could process it easier and deal with it better than most people on the planet. No. What he really feared were percentages. He could only handle so much pain before he couldn’t process it. Before he would collapse and die, and wouldn’t return for another five hours. He didn’t really fear death either. He feared what he did when he returned. Antimatter flipped over and smacked to the asphalt. The ground beneath him raced beneath him as he was dragged down the road. Throwing out a hand, calculating the angle, and releasing the blast took him longer than he felt it should have. But he was accurate enough to knock Ragnarok from the sky. *** Ragnarok barely stopped himself from hitting the ground, he halted himself and flipped right side up. Facing Antimatter. His leg felt burned, so he kept himself in the air. Antimatter stood and for the first time, Ragnarok realized how much his face was disfigured. How is he still standing? Antimatter raised his hand. Growling, Ragnarok jerked his hands to the side and pulled him forward. Antimatters feet dragged across asphalt. He growled as he got close. “I’m going to give you one last chance.” Ragnarok said, “Serve or die.” “That’s the problem with reincarnation, bro.” a voice said behind him. Ragnarok turned to see Harkness standing directly behind him. Hands in his pockets of a new looking coat. “Some of us just don’t give a crap. Oh and by the way, the sun is shining, the sky is really strange, and you’re standing on a turtle,” Ragnarok blinked. “What?” he glanced down to see what he meant. *** As Ragnarok looked down, distracted by Harkness’ weak but effective emotion manipulation, Antimatter Immediately jerked his head, shot gunning a blast at Ragnarok. Before his vision had time to adjust to the light, Antimatters hands snapped free of their restraints and he moved to shotgun another blast into Ragnarok’s face. Ragnarok grabbed his hand and Antimatter cursed inwardly. He was using too much processing power to calculate moves correctly. He would have to- He felt something. Like the uncoiling of a snake in the desert, a strangeness seemed to enter his mind. Everything went to hell from there. Ragnarok grabbed Antimatters arm. Then the world vanished. Ragnarok blinked a few times. The Notworld came suddenly this time. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He turned around to see her. YOU ARE ABOUT TO FAIL, SERVANT. Ragnarok’s raised an eyebrow. I TOLD YOU TO BREAK HIM. TO BREAK INTO HIS MIND. HIS SOUL. AND NOW YOU PREPARE TO RIP HIM APART. Ragnarok said nothing. I WILL DO IT MY SELF! Ragnarok felt her slam into his mind. he fought for a few moments. Then he lost. Everything went to hell from there. *** Antimatter struggled against the telepathic assault. He had not seen this coming. Who knew the kid was a telepath? But even in his condition he was able to tell that there was something different. This power didn’t have the same vibe as Ragnarok’s. But in his current state, he couldn’t decipher why. Reality melted. NO! Opening his memory he loosed everything he knew at once, letting the sheer information of years’ worth of eavesdropping on dozens of conversations at a time run through his mind. Every book he’d read, every equation he knew, even Pi down to eighth million digits. He took that information. And he shoved it back into the strange thing invading his mind. *** Ragnarok screamed as reality melted. Nothing was the same. Everything had sides, no sides allsidedsides bringing painmiseryunderstanding no hope hope nope. It was complex and painful for his mind to endure. He had experienced this three times before, but- Something hit him. He screamed again. Information. He was pinned between the two sources. Kelek rounded a rocky ridge twisting massing misery3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751058209749445923078164062862089986280348253421170679821480865132823066470938446095505822317253594081284811174502841027019385211055596446229489549303819644288109756659334461284756482337867831652712019091456485669234603486104543266482133936072602491412737245870066063155881748815209209628292540917153643678925903600113305305488204665213841469519415116094330572703657595919530921861173819326117931051185480744623799627495673518857527248 hey honey how you how was the party I prefer whisky actually mass times the accelerated volume of an object steel iron copper bronze zinc brass tin pewter aluminum duralumin electrum gold nicrosil bendalloy cadmium skybreaker windrunner oaths… It went on. *** Antimatter jerked his hand back, or rather, his wrist. Ragnarok had completely crushed his it in his grip. He would have to revive himself to get it back, but for now the ash covered stump would have to do. As he walked backwards, stunned by the mental battle he had just fought. He stumbled back. How long had that been? Harkness knelt beside him. ”hey twoface, seen better days? Antimatter coughed, ash coming through the hole in his mouth. “How long were we standing there?” he looked around, noticing that they had moved maybe a hundred feet from where they had begun fighting. “Seven centuries,” Harkness said immediately. “Or maybe a second, it was hard to tell as soon as he grabbed you everything went silent then you fell over.” There was a growl. Antimatter forced himself to his feet as Ragnarok did the same. He looked disoriented, as well he should. That much informational backlash should have killed him. “What… what did you do?” “I’ve fought telepaths before, kid.” Antimatter said. His voice was slurred and his breath escaped from his cheek. It felt cold for some reason. Ragnarok blinked. Then shot into the air at… at. Antimatter decided that he didn’t care how fast it was “Well, that’s all folks.” Harkness said.

biochroma

no seriously, have all the winners been notified already?

*static* ... ... *static continues* ... salsa!

destiny

then stop eating it and use it to your advantage.

really old cheese.

I have dozens. hundreds. maybe a thousand.

I am playing Homework: completely evil. the graphics are really good but the gameplay sucks.

"we shouldnt fight." Ragnarok said to deathgale and antimatter. "lets all just sign this peace accord that ensures domestic liberties to each other and to the proud people of astoria, what say you?" "NO!" antimatter shouted and proceeded to blow him up.