It's 1 AM in the morning (sic) and PFunk is on. I have a freshly reloaded computer and have played solid games all evening. Time to rock and rumble.
"Let's play Nysa, we haven't played that much lately," he croaks, gesticulating frenetically toward the dilapidated mine shaft.
In Nysa, it's never the first homer. Or the second or third. The fourth if you sneeze. The fifth if you really trip up. The sixth if you are stupid. The seventh if you are impatient. The eighth if they stagger-fired. The ninth if your eyes are blind with rage. The tenth if you miscount one of the other nine.
No, no. It's the eleventh, twelfth, and what the Odyssean epic, a thirteenth?!
It's the siren call of the lock alarm as the smart blobs roil down the ramp. My vision isn't cloudy, no; it is crystal-clear. There's an end to the madness in those looming green circles. It has been 50 minutes of this oppressive level suffocating me, beating on my will and screaming like a bloody-eyed harpy in my face, demanding that I submit.
I pull a deft maneuver and sanity returns as the g-forces move my blood again. I barely scrape past the old tortoise and he flashes me a smile as he hobbles down the tunnel I just exited. I hear his voice trailing back, 'Man, I love this old place! We've got to rematch in here."
There's something wrong, so casually...evil? No. Void. That smile, and the accompanying laughter vacant as the black behind the stars at night. Nysa had consumed him.
And I was next.
I had seen the old man drop down the shaft I just exited. I rush around to the other side, but the level opposes me. Edges stick out and claw at my ship, where one could only see smooth wall. Tunnels that should be straight are curved. Doors open and shut without reason, always too fast, always too slow. But finally, I catch up to him.
Before I can fire, he whips his Pyro around fast enough to snap his neck. Eternity explodes in the vacuum between us, and I stare hard through the windshield into his cockpit.
That grin, that inhuman grin. And his eyes, his eyes! Black as the darkest mine, consuming his face. I could see the stars beyond them.
Oh, God! The walls are screaming again!
"Let's play Nysa, we haven't played that much lately," he croaks, gesticulating frenetically toward the dilapidated mine shaft.
In Nysa, it's never the first homer. Or the second or third. The fourth if you sneeze. The fifth if you really trip up. The sixth if you are stupid. The seventh if you are impatient. The eighth if they stagger-fired. The ninth if your eyes are blind with rage. The tenth if you miscount one of the other nine.
No, no. It's the eleventh, twelfth, and what the Odyssean epic, a thirteenth?!
It's the siren call of the lock alarm as the smart blobs roil down the ramp. My vision isn't cloudy, no; it is crystal-clear. There's an end to the madness in those looming green circles. It has been 50 minutes of this oppressive level suffocating me, beating on my will and screaming like a bloody-eyed harpy in my face, demanding that I submit.
I pull a deft maneuver and sanity returns as the g-forces move my blood again. I barely scrape past the old tortoise and he flashes me a smile as he hobbles down the tunnel I just exited. I hear his voice trailing back, 'Man, I love this old place! We've got to rematch in here."
There's something wrong, so casually...evil? No. Void. That smile, and the accompanying laughter vacant as the black behind the stars at night. Nysa had consumed him.
And I was next.
I had seen the old man drop down the shaft I just exited. I rush around to the other side, but the level opposes me. Edges stick out and claw at my ship, where one could only see smooth wall. Tunnels that should be straight are curved. Doors open and shut without reason, always too fast, always too slow. But finally, I catch up to him.
Before I can fire, he whips his Pyro around fast enough to snap his neck. Eternity explodes in the vacuum between us, and I stare hard through the windshield into his cockpit.
That grin, that inhuman grin. And his eyes, his eyes! Black as the darkest mine, consuming his face. I could see the stars beyond them.
Oh, God! The walls are screaming again!
- Morfod
*claps* well put! But... Saying "AM in the morning" reveals your true state of mind... ;) - Mark392
"Why you should not play ladder matches during the AM in the morning". A graphic novel by Morfod. - Wats
I see nothing wrong with the statement. 1 AM in the morning is a very different state of mind than 1 AM at night. I figured I'd get more grief for "seeing the stars in his deep eyes." - Morfod
All I'm reading is the excuses for the lack of focused hate displayed during this match. Merl would be disappointed. - Djcjr
WOULD YOU PEOPLE JUST APPRECIATE A FSCKING PEICE OF ART WHEN YOU GODDAMN READ IT?! - Morfod
I didn't even correct any of the grammar... - Mark392
The Sloth strikes again! - PFunk