Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-25389303-20180831104140/@comment-25389303-20190101135632

Tragoedia's claws miss Farran by inches, but it gives the machine enough reason to pause and recalibrate. As the huntsman dives past Trago whips his tail, shrugging off the young man's attempts at destabilising the metal giant. His follow-up slash cuts through thin air as Farran flips away, but rather than await his return Tragoedia presses forward, snatching the huntsman out of the air as he propels himself forward and bringing him back down to the ground. Fire pours between Trago's fingers as each of his giant hands clamp around one of Farran's gauntlets, the flames slowly melting the synthetic fibres covering the machine's artificial muscles, but doing little to weaken him.

"Eliminating," Tragoedia rumbles, using all of his titanic strength to slowly overpower his much smaller opponent.



Vorcha felt relatively safe as he waited for his mercenaries to finally put an end to Nobel. But in his gut, doubt gnaws away at him. He hadn't expected the doctor's reaction to be so violent, but in hindsight his volatility made sense, and he cursed himself for it.

He turns to the sound of approaching footsteps, frowning, before suddenly being pulled away.

"Hey! What the hell are you---!!!"

Despite his protests his attacker doesn't stop, and soon the director finds himself suspended in mid-air by the fabric of his shirt, high above the battleground, with Titania's words ringing in his ears.

Slowly, the director begins to piece together the situation, despite his likely death looming over him so suddenly. He feels the unmistakable touch of a sharpened blade at his throat, but with a slightly shaky breath, he manages to speak.

"So this is how it ends, huh?" he says, loud enough for all nearby to hear. "Stabbed in the back by the people I hired. I guess despite all the promises of professionalism, I shouldn't be surprised it came to this. First I lose my dream, then my vengeance. And now, my life?" Vorcha turns his head away, suddenly looking very tired, "...what a joke..."

"But at least I won't be going down alone!" he eventually continues, turning back to face Titania with a look of disgust. "You don't get to just walk away - you know that, right? Unless you plan on killing everyone here, word will spread. Nobody in their right mind will ever hire someone that throws their employer to the wolves. You'll never be able to work in Mistral again."

An uneasy laugh escapes Vorcha's lips, either out of fear or some inner madness. "But to think...one little girl getting hurt was enough to give a cold soul like you such a crisis of conscience!" He laughs again, more confident this time. "And the best part is, you probably think I'm the bad guy here, right?"

Despite all his claims, it's clear that Vorcha's confidence has been shaken. There's little left of the director besides the frail remains of an old man, burdened by years of pain and regret. But even so, he musters up the strength for one last push.

"Tell me..." Vorcha begins, slowly raising a hand to remove his protective shades, before letting them fall down to ground below. Behind them, no pair of eyes reveal themselves - instead, two dark pits stare back at Titania with all the cold emptiness of the void. His next words are spoken to everyone. "...You didn't really think that I'd try and capture the elusive Doctor Nobel with just a couple of two-rate mercenaries and a pair of hired guns, did you?" Vorcha grins, a manevolent expression born from a dreadful certainty spreading across his face. "The fixer will find you eventually. Best hope you're low on his list, because now nobody escapes from here..."

Vorcha lets his arms fall to his sides. "So go on! Kill me! It doesn't matter anymore."