ORIGIN - Insult Comedy

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Becoming a living lightning rod posed many a problem for Ace. Chief among them was the fact no power in the caves could unlock his limbs from their temporary paralysis. Jaws had seized together so tightly that no snarling remark could interject Mirac’s lording over his grounded form, and therefore zero resistance, verbal or physical, could be put up against the oily restraints which lashed him down after bubbling out of blackened sand. The most he could do was channel all his rage into a red glare, the heat behind it never enough to incinerate the Chaos blade tauntingly levitating before him. Until sensation besides searing pain returned to nerves, the Drone was stuck a silent captive, forced to swallow the bitter medicine of ridicule he often eagerly distributed.

Suspended for the time in such a powerless state, the second wash of wish magic over thoughts proved more effective at grabbing full attention than the last, its visitation no longer having to compete with the initial embarrassment of crash landing again. A miraculous and distracting gift, it arrived at the same instant his enemy prepared to resume villainous monologue, saving him from listening to the inane prattle of a corruption-addled mind. This strange force, mystical and unlike the reassuring cold calculations of his Mother’s will, bent close and whispered amazing promises soon to be fulfilled: weak points would be reinforced while pre-existing strengths were amplified to even greater potency than before. Had his face not been fixed in an agonized rictus, surely he would have guffawed at the suggestion his design possessed flaws requiring improvement.

Nevertheless, a traitorous inner voice pointed out his lowly situation at present. Could he be so blind not to recognize a failure in need of rectification? Furthermore, the very idea of achieving unheard of heights in terms of sheer capability was a tantalizing prospect. The chance to doubly pay back the humiliation he’d received dangled in front of him, its trigger the simple act of surrendering to sleep’s all-encompassing embrace.

He didn’t activate it yet, instead folding the knowledge into a discreet corner of his mind for future review. At last the yawning quiet where frenzied rambling of rivalries and war should’ve been caught his notice. Bafflement gave way to vicious satisfaction behind eyes during observation of the uncharacteristic muteness momentarily afflicting Mirac, somewhat clueless to his opponent’s own encounter with the unknown but suspecting he’d had some role in this abnormality.

Speech remained out of reach for now, but each second floated it ever closer to his grasp. Gradually numbness was receding from his body. He’d free himself from these disgusting bonds, slicing his foe down with a sharp tongue and scythe-like arms. Only then would he risk partaking of the well-deserved reward bestowed impromptu upon him.

If it was revealed to be lies—unsightly deformity rather than a soldier's attributes honed to perfection—he would gladly allow his design to be culled. His Mother, as always and forever, knew best.

@Mirac
((Finally rolling this further along! Got a little bit busy with Pocket Lessers and working on Ace's mutation design.))

For but mere moments Mirac was allowed to stew in the magic. It was such an odd thing. It did not carry the glorious burn of chaos, the pain he was used to magic carrying. Mirac blinked rapidly, refocusing first on the present, and then switching to glare at Ace, held captive. "DID YOU F--", he began, before he was blinded by its glorious violence. . Ace had been lucky, it was twice now that Mirac had been interrupted, and twice that Ace had been saved from a overlong, euphoric monologue from Mirac.

He, of course, enjoyed the vision at first. He reveled in battle, and this battlefield was no different. He had never felt himself slice through an enemy. It felt right. Good! He did not know what this vision was, but it reminded him of the comforting gore and hyperviolence that the band provided. Then the vision shifted. The beauty of battle was replaced with a new horror. Order bloomed. Order overcame the violence of Chaos. The world crystalized. Mirac was spat out of the vision. A rare emotion flickered across Mirac's eyes. Fear. "This...this is a-a lie of ORDER. A world without CHAOS and BLOODMURDER is not possible!"
His eyes crossed Ace again, and a flash of panic crossed him.

"Was that YOU? YOUR wish? Mirac does not LIKE your wish, rival. AWAY from Mirac!" Mirac attempted to summon winds, but fear and uncertainty, such foreign, strange feeling emotions, choked his normally free flowing magic.

"speak" think

@Ace

A disturbance had disrupted the sword's battle-based brain fog. That much was certain as Mirac started shouting desperate denials to visions. Ace remained unable to see them himself, but hearing the panic proved enough for a fuzzy feeling to settle in his chest: smugness at the proof his desire to inflict unbearable truth upon his opponent had actually succeeded. Tingling jaw remaining mostly leaden while paralysis slowly receded from it, the laughter threatening to tremor throughout his entire body could not be fully spilled, but he managed his best anyhow. Grating barks of mockery forced their way past gritted fangs, and eventually words followed, equally taunting in nature.

"Better... believe it... Oilstick," snarled the grounded and bound Skyreaver. Nerve endings beginning to experience sensations other than muscle-seizing pain, tentacles previously unchallenged by their captive now had to properly restrain the body writhing beneath their grip. As strength seeped back into his spine, Ace bucked forward, the force of his launch tugging on the eldritch limbs. "Your Chaos... is just an insignificant spot... for our Order to wipe clean."

Hind legs found purchase on the sand he was pressed into, and he surged up, wings stretching and straining against their bonds. A twisting neck tried to bring snapping jaws in contact with oil-slicked flesh, yet their rubbery surface resisted penetration by piercing canines. Meanwhile hooked limbs struck around him but failed to sever the same. Nevertheless Mirac's expressed vulnerability had awakened a predatory need to firmly entrench the fear of Mother within the Valkhound fool enough to dare assume worthiness as his rival.

"Awww, poor little Mir-wrong can't handle the truth?" Ace teased. "No, I'll not away! Seems we need to spend some quality time together. With me beating the lesson in a little harder for your dense metal to better absorb!"

@Mirac

Mirac backed away unconsciously, what would've been a step if he had. Y'know. Legs. Mirac growled, shaking his head--uhhh. Shaking himself out. He followed it up with a glare at Ace, teeth bared in a mixture of fear and anger. Ace's words did not hit as hard as they could've, deepened the true fear that was mounting within Mirac. The drone was clearly struggling, still ensnared within Mirac's multitude of misshapen limbs. Even still, Mirac could not help but admire Ace's tenacity. Would have, were Mirac still not thinking of the many futures. Though Ace was

"Mirac needs more time to THINK. You are NOT helping." Mirac needed time to ask questions, at the very least. Questions for whoever would know. Mirac found himself doubting. All those visions, they had felt real. Were those visions of things that had occurred? Visions of futures where these things could occur? The myriad of potential fates that awaited chaos, were true, outright war to begin? Mirac found himself drawn from his inner thoughts (a rarity in and of itself), and back with the insistence that Chaos was some speck.

"RIVAL! You speak NO truths! Chaos is not some speck. Chaos is ALL-CONSUMING! VIOLENCE! BLOOD! No world could exist without them. Without CHAOS! These visions, they are not REAL! An impossibility. You--you wish for an AWFUL world. Only YOU. No Chaos to fight? BORING! Is an ETERNITY of war not a glorious fate? No matter what, we will return to VIOLENCE. Again and again. UNENDING BATTLE. UNENDING WAR! A cycle with NO END!"

Mirac grinned madly. There was no cackle, an oddity for him: his unease still evident. He hummed, then, finally, said: "Mirac is DONE thinking. Mirac will save that for later. Mirac does not LIKE these bad thoughts you have given him. If you will not leave, MIRAC shall PROVE the strength of CHAOS to you! PROVE Chaos is not so EASILY defeated. A test of our elements, hmm? Mirac LIKES that. Mirac will begin BEATING Chaos into YOU, FLOORWEEPER. Show me ORDER's strength. Not within a VISION. HERE!" One way or the other, whether Mirac chrysalized or not, it'd leave the sword room to think.

Oil built up in Mirac's throat. The heavy scent of petroleum filled the air. Mirac coughed up globs of oil, before opening his jaws to let loose a deluge of flame, blackened oil splattering beneath his jaws. His gums burned and seared, bubbling as the flames tore through them. His blade began to smoke with heat. A truly sublime mixture of pain and violence. The flames would shoot for where Ace was trapped within the oily tendrils. Not exactly a fair start, though Mirac had faith his rival was strong enough to endure.

"speak" think

ROUND 1/?

#80%

ATTEMPT: Burn ace
DEFENSE: defenses mean you cannot feel pain
INJURIES: Ace smacked him earlier :(

@Ace ((It seems like chrysalis is the only way either of these guys leaves RIP. due to this battle start maybe??))

Always the type to lord even the tiniest of successes over his enemies, not much could flatten Ace's ego. Listening to the denial booming out of his bladed opponent kept his fighting spirit in far better shape than it ought've been after repeated humiliations, the irritation of remaining trapped beneath tentacles soothed by the sweet sounds of a fool floundering to maintain a narrative so beyond the reality he'd been confronted with. Soon enough, whatever vestiges of weakness remained from the lightning strike which had grounded him so thoroughly would fade into the past. Restoration to full strength was a cheerful thought, and the emotion surged readily to a tongue at last free enough to unleash all manner of insult and challenge.

Where Mirac didn't cackle, the opportunity was seized by the Drone, intense mockery shivering throughout his wiry frame. "Floorweeper, eh? Bit of a hard title for me to claim while you're blubbering enough to drown the both of us," he jeered. "Bring it, you snot-coated twig! Maybe when we're done, you'll serve the honor of being my personal nose-picker!"

Oh, he saw the danger approaching. Hard not to when the sword put on such a disgusting display, and the stench of Oil nearly activated a gag reflex he'd never realized had been built into him. Trapped the way he was, though, Ace had been robbed of his usual methods for dealing with a head-on assault. Neither airborne or flexible in this moment, evasive maneuvers were an impossibility. Therefore, ever the momma's boy, a prayer was tossed to his creator, faith absolute that her perfect design would endure long enough to carry him through to the other side of pain. He faced the flame bearing down on him with a defiant grin, cocksure to the bitter end.

Violet washed over what had previously been an unblemished, pale hide. Unlike the scorch of conventional fire, searing cold followed in the wake of this corruption-based imitation. Obedient to Chaos alone, this didn't lick harmlessly at flesh as his loyal weapon Darkpiercer did. A ravenous monster, it ate away the threads of Order his Mother had meticulously woven together, outermost layers swiftly burning to dark ash. Ace, a shining image of the Hive's might, grew riddled with agonizing, charred holes. Despite this, teeth ground against his suffering, the soldier pressed on. Every ounce of willpower that could be mustered he thrust into a determined forward lunge.

Tentacles, strapped to a living rocket, met their very limit. They stretched into useless strings, and a chorus of snaps rang out upon the beach. Obnoxious hindrances removed from his being, speed and tenacity could no longer be denied. What careened toward Mirac was a warrior unchained, his throat parched and eager for blood to pour down its length.

"Get bent, Mir-wretch!"

ROUND 1/?

55%

ATTEMPT: Charge!
DEFENSE: Defense? Bruh, you're looking at the wrong Drone sibling for that.
INJURIES: Battered by tentacles, zapped, and on fire

@Mirac

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