OA Sprinklefiction ...
... w00t!
In their fleeing wake, showdown builds. On one side, 400-foot silvered teardrop, twelve now one, chooses a name. On the other, umbral nightmaresphere awaits genuine challenge. Godlike minds dance in the scorpion-light, seismic thoughts shifting like sand. They circle adder-slow, a quarter-lightsecond apart. No hide-and-heatsink jitterbug this.
Surprising then that the Angel strikes first.
Even more so is that the superhot-plasma ball never reaches the target. Instead, particles unknown lase into it mid-flight. Surrounding BA drones squirt in their own mysterious ingredients till the mote-cauldron reaches simmer point, quarks and gluons scrabbling to _become_; instead they are smashed together in unholy Planck-marriage.
The result – mad eye of a radioactive hurricane – approaches. _Twelve Happy Eschatons_, calmly spilling birth-heat, holds er ground. Dead comrades flash-sculpt into a shielding globe and it becomes clear e anticipated this very attack.
*******
Hethuj should be dead. As a matter of fact, he would be - had _Ambitious_ shown less respect for his beliefs. Instead, she stutter-tempers her acceleration with blessedly reactionless moments, his survival a jittery matter of microsecond timing. Of course, with the blood pounding in his head and black spots before his eyes, he could arguably less than grateful if he chose.
"Ughlk"
Hethuj is considerably brighter than that.
If at all interested, you can find the whole thing here.
In their fleeing wake, showdown builds. On one side, 400-foot silvered teardrop, twelve now one, chooses a name. On the other, umbral nightmaresphere awaits genuine challenge. Godlike minds dance in the scorpion-light, seismic thoughts shifting like sand. They circle adder-slow, a quarter-lightsecond apart. No hide-and-heatsink jitterbug this.
Surprising then that the Angel strikes first.
Even more so is that the superhot-plasma ball never reaches the target. Instead, particles unknown lase into it mid-flight. Surrounding BA drones squirt in their own mysterious ingredients till the mote-cauldron reaches simmer point, quarks and gluons scrabbling to _become_; instead they are smashed together in unholy Planck-marriage.
The result – mad eye of a radioactive hurricane – approaches. _Twelve Happy Eschatons_, calmly spilling birth-heat, holds er ground. Dead comrades flash-sculpt into a shielding globe and it becomes clear e anticipated this very attack.
*******
Hethuj should be dead. As a matter of fact, he would be - had _Ambitious_ shown less respect for his beliefs. Instead, she stutter-tempers her acceleration with blessedly reactionless moments, his survival a jittery matter of microsecond timing. Of course, with the blood pounding in his head and black spots before his eyes, he could arguably less than grateful if he chose.
"Ughlk"
Hethuj is considerably brighter than that.
If at all interested, you can find the whole thing here.
posted by razorsmile at 6/29/2005 05:05:00 PM
0 comments
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If she and the rest of the colonists do manage to find somewhere to live in peace, she'd most likely be unable to function. To quote Hannibal Tabu, she's "... an agent of chaos, an engine of hatred and destruction. Not the sort... you really want around in an utopia." The term "bleak male energy" comes to mind.
