【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to a high volume of check-ins, temporary accommodations have been made in our parking garage for all new arrivals. We aim to have all guests moved into their reserved rooms as soon as possible. We deeply apologize for any inconvenience!
All are invited to There Is No Tomorrow, a Phoenix Casino soiree to celebrate our beloved guests. The festivities will begin at 1800 hours on January 20th and end at 1800 hours on January 27th. Please look forward to 168 hours of delight.
In an effort to raise happiness and encourage better guest relationships, attendance is required. The house will assist guests that are too shy to appear of their own accord. Please note that black tie attire is mandatory. As always, we hope you enjoy your stay! 】
PARKING GARAGE
ANY CAR IN A STORM
PHOENIX CASINO HALL
WELCOME TO THE NEXT 168 HOURS
Phoenix Casino is a-flutter with activity and packed to the beak with guests. As a famously ever-changing space, the staff would be remiss if they didn't deck the crown jewel of the Golden Peacock out. The casino glitters from top to bottom, shining brighter than diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals! Party-goers are shiny and glamorous with picture perfect makeup, fluttering gowns, and sharp suits. Card tables are packed and the slot machines are a-ringing as guests play, play, play! Prizes, luxury, booze, attractive people, it's the place that everyone wants to be at.
Those people being dragged inside by some invisible force...? Silly, they were so excited to come that their bodies moved before they realized what was happening. Those are struggles of joy and definitely not the casino's infamous ghost hands dragging unwilling guests to the party at the behest of the house. Look, they're literally hurling their bodies at the card tables with unrestrained glee!
All clocks indicating day hours and night hours have been removed from the casino. Once a guest has entered, their Watch will jam, making it impossible to keep track of the time. You don't need to worry about that tonight.
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's January event.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header. This month we also have an ongoing ATP / EMP where players can connect. Please feel free to utilize this for all of your peafowl needs!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
( it's not fully the reaction he's expecting--but it also isn't completely out of left field, with the way this stranger has been the whole time. in truth, he thinks that he's doing the rest of the patrons a rather extreme service: if he left the table, went off wandering through the casino, leaving this helmeted guy behind, what would happen? a few good rounds, maybe, and then a round that might wipe him of all his chips--and what then? anger? rage? an outburst like this, directed at mere humans who can't handle it?
he can't snap up limitless, not when he's touching him--but that doesn't mean he's without protection, when that elbow comes right towards his stomach, creating space between them. maybe it's more accurate to say that he creates the space between them, palms lifting, a little concentration of cursed energy mixed with his technique, pushing the other away just as much as he pushes himself away. a lucky little shift, given what he can tell about the power behind that pointy elbow--even with his training, it would have hurt. would have caused some damage.
with a little click of his tongue, he shakes his head. )
Is that how you treat your friends~? ( dramatically, with both hands sweeping down the front of his suit, he pretends to dust himself off. ) I'd hate to be your enemy.
( with a warm, lilting smile, he tilts his head, taking another few steps back: more inviting than anything, because if he can at least keep this guy's temper focused on him, it means that they can keep the other players at the table out of the middle of it.
with another smile, encouraging: )
Come on, let me tell you a secret about this place. I don't think you're gonna like it.
[yes. as if his worry is a premonition, such a scene would have played out with no doubt. whether fueled by his loss or his victory, their dark emotions directed towards him would easily have triggered a retort none of them would have survived. even now, it's tempting to do that for no reason other than seeing their faces in anguish and their enjoyment ruined. morons, carelessly laughing as they while away their lavish lives. none of them deserve what they have. hmph... guess he can let them hang onto it a little longer. the more they have to lose, the harsher ruination rakes their hearts.
in the meantime, he has this character to deal with. a solid impact fails, rather instead digging into cushioning force almost repelling as much as sinking. instantly, he realizes no connection occurred. odd, given the guy's hand remains on him. must be able to direct his power in concentrated areas. from what he can tell, it reminds him most of a reverse gravity magic, creating a field counteracting blunt force. reaching him through such a protection is going to take more than a quick action. leathery creaks meld with his lowered arm, elbow straightening again as his helm turns to inspect the other man silently.
hmph. he's strong.]
You got lucky. Don't push it. [friends? what the hell are those? nothing but baggage. irritation spikes at being thwarted, tempered only by curiosity. getting into a fight here wouldn't benefit him more than assuage his mood. but no one said he had to take it sitting down... given this guy's perception and speed, he isn't going to be surprised if those sharp eyes manage to catch what appears to be a faint mist of darkness rising from his side before plunging into the ground. a shadow rushing behind him as a blistering fast ink blob atop the carpet. here in a moment, gone in a flash, nestled beneath the table they're leaving behind.
a farewell present on a delayed timer, hidden deep within the shade.]
Then why would I wanna hear it? [his head leads, his shoulders and chest follow, stalking after the other's inviting retreat. secrets? piqued at the very least. even if it's just a shit offering. but should there be any attempt from his companion to address or potentially interfere with the threat building and feasting under that table, his body demeanor will shift to aggression and a warning-] Eyes on me, cutie.
[he's your focus now. nothing else. otherwise, he's following, waiting to hear this disliked secret.]
( it doesn't taste like cursed energy. he hasn't gotten that kind of read on the other, hasn't gotten that sort of feeling, and so it's impossible to think it: but what else would that be? a little shimmer of something terrible, he's sure, something that will be left to be handled at the table they're leaving behind; if it's that small, it shouldn't be hard to get rid of, but then he has to have the opportunity to get rid of it. instead, he's left with the bigger catch, the sheen of that helmet surface directed at him, and though he can't fully see what's beneath it, he has some idea thanks to his technique. even if he darts to the side, even if his gaze slides--he's not going to be allowed to get rid of it.
well, he's not the only sorcerer here. shouko and nanamin will feel it, if it's really a curse: he still doesn't think it is, but it's familiar enough that it makes him handle this situation with a little more care. he's not just up against some casual bully who wants to make his discomfort the whole resort's problem; it's something entirely different.
so he smiles, tilting his head instead. if he has to, he'll come back for it. for now: )
So you do think I'm cute. ( with another tilt of his head, like he's just been rewarded. ) Take off the helmet.
( it's not a request this time--made obvious by the way his grin stretches, a little feral, like he's ready for a fight if it comes to it. honestly, this might be the most fun he's had in this place in awhile; no one's even come close to being a challenge, but his new companion here is providing quite the conundrum.
another few steps back puts them on a trajectory towards the bar, though he does stop near an empty card table, devoid of guests, so that he can peel off his sunglasses, gently folding them up against his chest and reaching in to slide them into an inside pocket of his jacket. )
I wanna whisper right in your ear. Otherwise it's no fun.
[it tastes like darkness. bitter and sour. biting and burnt. copper and salt. cold and dirty. it tastes like something's gone wrong. dipping a tongue into pitch which clings to the taste buds and promises to linger long after departure. saturated within itself, as poison churned in the same vessel over and over. he left behind a little present for a few reasons. someone who would stick their neck out for another person promises to be annoying further on. not only did this stranger step in to help him, he deliberately attempted to assuage feelings around the table by amiable distractions. someone who'd likely have heroic aspirations. as if those people behind them are worth protection or defense. even now, as he leads him away, he does it to get him out of their range, sensing their negative feelings amassing and likely worrying over what would happen if it erupted.
well... what would happen? lying in wait beneath the table, sucking in their wretched feelings with each beat of their hearts, the potential answer lurks and swells within the darkness. irritation, jealousy, arrogance, disgust. not only absorbing their emotions, but subtly pumping more to curry further festering. growing, feasting, lingering.
oh he wouldn't mind becoming the whole resort's problem. he's been the problem for entire worlds. what's one more? this creature should be more careful with what it eats.
not for now. it'll be more fun to wait. he can't tell entirely if this white-haired guy's biding his time or doesn't care. he sensed enough to notice the problem, but another affable smile dismisses it presently. someone knows how to bluff...]
I've seen ugly. [and he's not so twisted he can't recognize attractive features. how many times has he continued to knock on this request. it's beginning to teeter on the edge of amusing and annoying.] So bossy. The last person who told me what to do ended up dying.
[a feral grin, tinging on the verge of pouncing. is he doing this on purpose? or has his patience run its course? and yet he moves forward, following with a confident, threatening swagger. daring his companion to try something he'll regret. make it more entertaining for him. he's a fool if he thinks doing so will remain confined.]
Aw. You didn't tell me you were looking for fun. [polished wood reflects his image as he stills adjacent to the same table. interesting eyes. he's never seen a color like that. as blue as pure water and crystal clear like ice. dwarven diamonds might be comparable. bet this guy gets a lot of compliments from those who seen them. must be nice... makes him wanna rip them out of his sockets. he spreads his arms at his sides, hands turned in a provoking manner.] You're not gonna regret it if I enjoy myself, right?
( there's an abrupt laugh, but his eyes are gleaming--he doesn't think that he's lying, far from it. he's learned enough by now to recognize danger when he sees it; it's just that he also has so much faith in his ego, or rather, in his abilities, that he knows nothing is going to touch him unless he lets it. he might be dancing with the devil, here, but the devil hasn't left, either, which puts them at something of an impasse; is he going to give up, let the stranger keep his helmet, and swerve along to the bar for the drinks he's been eyeing? well, it wouldn't really do either of them any good, especially if all his companion is going to do is stare at the whole resort past the reflected gleam of that visor; he's not going to learn anything that way, either.
so the empty table becomes more than just a pit stop: he takes a step back against it, palms curving around the edges, so that he can heave his weight up and take a seat on the edge. )
Did they? How terrifying. ( his smile's worse when his eyes are on display, studying his companion like he's some kind of insect, trying to decide whether he wants to trap him in a bottle or pin him to a collection book. ) How about we meet in the middle, then? I'll take it off you, instead.
( he's not going to make that mistake again, of touching him--at least not yet, not until he's decided what the reaction will be. as if in offer, his knees spread apart, encouraging the stranger in closer; with the way that he's posturing, he thinks he might be coming in for a fight, instead, which means that he's already measuring the weight of infinity around him, prepared to stave off an attack. it's messy, fighting somewhere like this: with people around, 'innocent' people, anyway, but he's going to have to work harder to get them somewhere private.
which does have him tilting his head, as though in consideration-- )
If you're afraid to show your face, we could always get a room together. You know what that means, right~?
[egotistical moron. his laughter grates on his ears. thinking he's superior to him without knowing a damn thing. he could bring this entire resort around him to its knees if he wanted. poison and corrupt it even further than it already was until its very heart was left open to rip into. someone like this who glances behind because an ugly threat took residence beneath a set o innocents wouldn't allow something like that so easily. protection. defender. justice. concern. some stupid emotion spurs him on despite that flippant attitude. not because he thinks he should, but because his ego says he can. would he do so, all to ensure this one person he knows nothing about stopped laughing? ... the real questions is, why wouldn't he?
fingers curl in the air and a *fwshink!* of flashing darkness and light twisted around a metallic sound reveals a gear-themed blade appearing within his grip. despite his irritation over it, he already found out his keyblade lacks its biting edge. literally. he can't cut anyone, can't stab anyone, even hitting someone with it does little more damage than smacking them with a stupid toy. but that's all right. he can accept this place's abject fear of "weapon!" when it so foolishly seems not to care about the rest of his abilities. a few seem to be limited and contained within the scope of this place, needling him under a net of curbed power. guess this isn't a bad idea to test how far he can push what he has.]
I like it better when you're frustrated. [and smashes his blade down on the edge of the table, right between the other man's spread legs. if he catches his pants on the tip of his keyblade, so much the better. he hadn't been aiming for him in the first place. solid impact and strength crush the table's front legs beneath it and hike its backside upward with groan of wood. plastic chips and playing cards shower past his "partner's" head and shoulders as the entire table sweeps towards his back in attempt to flip atop him. simultaneously blurring out in front of those glassy blue eyes, he vanishes, only to reappear behind the rotating table mid-flip, body crouched, knees bent, both arms hauling back with his keyblade jacked up over his shoulder. WHAM!! his swing connects with the table's underside with every intent of sending table and man hurtling through the air towards the bar of fancy drinks they'd initially been aiming towards. what'll become if the bartender? who the hell cares. die, hopefully.
accompanied by a going-away present: a roaring trio of flaming orbs fired from the tip of his keyblade to drive his point home. of course it gets attention, people twisting in their seats, standing up in alarm, staff members perking from their stations. darkness builds up around his body and seeps outward in shadowy mist, movement bubbling and boiling inside the blackening air as no less than three monsters begin to form and crawl from his shadows.] Come on. I know that wasn't enough to dent you.
[lucky for this bastard, he has no intention of siccing the unversed on him. he wants every drop of his attention, wants to know how he feels while locked in combat as everything else around him begins to erupts in chaos. what kind of ego does he have? is he really concerned with other people, or is that a farce for show? easily ignoring the suffering of others? lost in the thrill of challenging a strong opponent? arrogance, distraction, frustration, anguish, he'll feast on those negative emotions brimming in his heart. show him what kind of "hero" you are, idiot. keep him entertained until he's had his fill!]
( it's been awhile since he's had to be keen in combat--over a year, really, give or take, since he's only engaged in silly, paltry things here, mostly keeping his training physical rather than bothering wasting cursed energy on technique. there's never really been a reason, as though whatever domain it is they're trapped in, here, has stripped most people of their worst abilities: he's still not sure if it would work, if he hollowed out the resort with a blast of deep purple energy; would it stay standing? would they all perish? or would it even matter? would they just wake up again in the same place, a little worse for wear? it's hard to say what happens to people here, except that it's clearly cyclical, given the appearance and re-appearance of certain familiar faces.
his body knows what to do before his mind catches up with it. the table sinks, his weight sliding, but landing on his heels means he has the time to skid out of the way as the table flips over, like his new friend fully intends to smother him under it; cards and chips go flying, and he can hear the sound of surprise and fear from those around them, the scuffling of resort staff who are fully unequipped to deal with a person like this as chunks of the table go flying, clearing out the bar behind him in a panic. for him, it isn't easy, either--limitless means that nothing touches him, but it also means he can't really mitigate the damage; a plume of dust rises from the impact, and he offers a playful sort of cough, shaking his head a little in protest. )
Are you going to keep throwing your temper tantrum~?
( in a soft, sing-song voice, but he's distracted: his gaze is narrowing in on their guests, three scrambling little monsters that look like baby curses, something that has him puffing out a breath through his nose in annoyance. if they're not curses, fine. if they are, this place just got ten times more annoying.
pointedly, he lifts a hand--and offers a loud, exaggerated yawn behind it. )
Let's even the stakes. If I land a punch, you're gonna do what I say for the next forty-eight hours. If you land a punch, then you can kill me.
( both hands lift, as though in a casual shrug--and then he's nodding, getting the attention of some of the nearby hovering staff. )
Oi, what are you waiting for? Evacuate, come on, chop chop~. ( this sends them into action, guests scattering, tables emptying near them in haste. he might not be able to protect the whole resort, but he can at least secure their altercation down to this area, for now; he doesn't have quite the reach yet, at this age, to do much more. )
[while it's been no time since his "death" in combat and this stupid place, there'd been an eleven year gap between his previous "death" and resurrection. Took a while to shake that rust off, but he had enough time to bring himself back to full strength and even further. originally his unversed were fueled by his own emotions and power; now, he can spawn them from the negative emotions of others. considering the fear and terror war brings, the fright and disgust the sight of his unversed create, people's selfish ugly desires to stay alive. while he's aware he's unable to saturate this entire world in his unversed-- something limits his reach, much to his irritation --an area of this size, with this many bodies in it...
a sick grin spreads beneath his helmet, all the more enthralling because gojo can't see shit through the glass. what a sad guy he is. denied at every turn except the one he really wanted to avoid.
this guy's fast. dodges the table almost effortlessly despite the speed and proximity the attack comes out at. it would've been entertaining to see it crush him under the weight, but he'd be so lucky if that's all the guy could put up. after his talk and manner, there's more to him than flippant words. splintered wood and shards of glass belch from the bar as the table crashes into it, broken bottles and glasses spilling fancy drinks and expensive liquor all over the place. a shout pierces the air as the bartender hits the ground, a piece of table pinning his leg between the back cabinets and heavy debris. collateral damages. ]
Don't get so sore. I'm just having a little fun. [temper tantrum. he isn't even angry. three little monsters scramble and twitch eerily as their sharp red eyes glare hateful and malicious, before skitter off into shadows with their end goal being the exits of the casino area. along the way, each one siphons off panic, fear, indignation from guests and staff alike. head turning slightly on his suit-clad neck, gojo's reflection once more bulges and swells within the concave surface of his mask. watching that casual shrug deform before the guy brings worried staff members into the mess. really? he's gonna try and spoil this for him?]
Hey now, I didn't say anyone could leave. [a massive roar erupts from beneath their previous table of players. his planted seed bursts upward, shoulders and fists heaving heavy wood and glittering chips backwards over the dealer's head (lucky idiot) without giving a care where it lands on the level below. screams and shock fill the air from their original tablemates, causing the unversed's body to swell with even more power. simultaneously, the arching doorways and open spaces leading to other areas of the resort are besotted with swarms of small colorful blobs who like to ram their pointed caps at people and emit poisonous spores, determined to keep everyone within the casino. against the backdrop of the casino area starting to descend into chaos, he faces off against this clear-eyed child with a confident swagger, focus completely on gojo's person.]
Still trying to wriggle outta it. I got a better idea. You stop me before everyone in this room's dead, and I'll take off my mask. If you don't, I guess you'll be dead too.
[before hauling his arm back, the tip of his keyblade igniting with a burst of fire. who the hell ever said this was gonna be a fair fight? all he wants to do is grind this guy into the dirt and whatever way he can accomplish that is fair fucking game! warned him already what happened to the last person who ordered him around. between the bruiser hammering away at the furniture and decor, the doorways blocked by jellyshade swarms, the shadows housing sharp-armed flood, he has every intention of demanding gojo's full attention. ignore the destruction, ignore the carnage and suffering, ignore the calls for help. what kind of person is this guy?]
Lets see how damn weak your heart is! [and contemptuously slings his keyblade down, firing a blast of three blazing orbs, not at gojo, but at the man trapped behind his alcohol-soaked bar.]
( it's an odd feeling, to have to think of so many different places at once. most of his fighting has been centered around two points--curses, and himself. the attacker, and himself. keeping secrets from humans is easy when they're not involved; it's easy to get rid of something when he only has to focus on getting rid of it. usually spaces are evacuated by the government before they step in, so there's no reason to risk any lives. even in trainings, in classroom exercises, he hasn't done nearly as well at saving others than people like suguru or shouko, more acclimated to the idea of saving those weaker than them; he's never really thought he should bother trying. it's a frustrating idea, trying to protect the weak, because they're the ones meant to survive: he can even feel it pulling at him now, as the six eyes clock all possible issues. the doors. the people. the broken furniture and general destruction. he doesn't care about the resort.
but the people in it--well, maybe it's wrong to say he cares, but he knows that it's his duty to care, one way or another. whatever the resort's done to him, whatever punishment it's reaped onto him from the beginning: he shouldn't let that affect the way that he's been trained, the teachings that yaga has tried to beat into his head for years.
maybe his heart is weak--he wouldn't even argue that. but he does see where those blasts are going, from a weapon materialized out of nothing; a split second, an infinite stretch of time for him, caught between two places--he's there with his hands on the man behind the bar just quick enough for those blasts to never quite connect, dispersing around the limitless bound of space caked around the both of them. with a soft breath, he quickly makes short work of wood and plaster, helping the man up so that he can scramble away; that's the easy part.
his gaze tracks, moves across the resort, and then settles again on the faceplate of that helmet: he can joke around all he wants about it, but if he doesn't start taking things seriously, then there's going to be trouble. )
Stop you? ( loftily, as he clears the rubble of the bar, again, closing the distance between them. ) Or kill you? Which one do you want~? This place won't just let you go.
( it's tricky. he can't necessarily track the little monsters that have spawned out across the room, since they don't have cursed energy--but he can tailor his sight to them, his energy, as both hands lift, a crackle of bright blue that bubbles up between them; it's still tricky. he has to keep in mind the weight and mass of the people, versus the furniture, versus the creatures that his new friend has deployed: which means that some of the broken tables, chairs, drink glasses and chips, come spiraling in to the center of the infinite black hole he's creating, along with all of vanitas' deployments, ripped away from floors and doors and tables with the impending pull of a void. this center, he pushes out away from him with his hands, lets instead vanitas become the bright blue center: meaning that all of his monsters, all of the stray furniture and debris, caught up in a spiraling mess of depth, come crashing in around vanitas--to either crush him, or stop him.
he can't really tell, past the whipping of the air around their little vacuum--a convergence that means he can't quite see through everything smashed together. a part of him wants to laugh: maybe this will crack that helmet for him after all. maybe he'll kill him. is that good, or evil? is that a weak heart, or a strong one? he's not caring too much about that. )
[poor fool. did he never get training to deal with hordes of enemies all at once? too many issues to take care of. too many risks and dangers. wasn't forced to fight waves of flesh-clawing beasts until his muscles screamed and his blood stained the ground from one bodily gouge after another. only to look up and find his eyes filling with the visage of something far stronger, far worse, approaching before his exhaustion had a single chance for addressing. a crash of blades, metal grits to metal, sparks fly below his leering face. that damn gravelly voice mocking him for not being strong enough. how the hell could he be strong enough after he fought through a goddamn army!? without a break, without respite?! lying on the floor, gagging on his own blood as pain began fading into sweet numbness, barely able to feel his own flesh ripping. nah, he doesn't care one iota of whether or not this brat's able to handle everything. it's far more entertaining to watch him fail.
oddly, frustratingly, he feels no surge of panic exuding from this clear-eyed person. not the fright of a hero despairing over a multitude of suffering victims. not the anger of some misplaced sense of justice over how "wrong" such an assault is. not even annoyance at the unfairness. irritation needles under his skin and prickles at his nape. a weak heart or a closed one?
how did he... suddenly gone.] Hm? [where- oh, there he is, at the bar. picking the single victim first before his body and bar went up in flames. flames veer to the side and up, all three suddenly changing course and detonating well away from their target. a force field? likely. even taking the time to help the man up an on his way.] That's one. [fingers curl, a hand bobs, gesturing in general callousness towards the chaos behind them. more of those unversed ramming into other guests, picking on the weaker ones when stronger begin fighting back. someone's attacking the rampaging brute it seems... guess this guy's not the only strong one entombed in this place. one of jellyfish-like unversed spurts into darkness, which only rushes in a sinewy blur back into his body. absorbing, pulsing, laying another spike of strength inside his muscles and core. meeting those aqua-glass eyes, he deliberately summon two more unversed, replacing-- doubling --the one so recently vanquished.]
You got a mouth on you. Sure this is the time for telling jokes? [both jellyshades squirm and bloom before soaring towards the man fleeing, intent on rendering this would-be-hero's efforts meaningless.] Better hurry up and kill me. I'm getting impatient.
[hurry up gojou does. his cocky stance shifts, blade dropping slightly and hand falling a bit as blue light blooms into existence. there's a lot of power collecting in the man's hands. something scrapes, he feels the tapestry of his waistcloth drag forward against the back of his thighs. gravity? or magnetism? plastic meets metal in a harsh clank, a chip bounces off the back of his helm, and sails towards gojou's azure ball. compressing, pushing, deepening. his head pivots on his neck, momentarily startled to find the air a swirling mess of debris and his unversed. only his unversed. this bastard's somehow managed to prevent the people from being caught up in his own vortex! flood, jellyshades, even the bruiser. he instantly seeks out other guests, grunting in vexation as their bodies scramble through the doorways. they're escaping.] You bastard...
[swelling power roars and he whips forward once more, dropping into a prepared stance as this pest shoves the entire burgeoning black hole towards him. legs brace and he shoves backwards from the floor, one hand behind him, his keyblade in front to fend off the approaching swirl. flames burst into being on his keyblade's tip and fire out, far more testing than defensive. it's fast. too fast. swallowing his unversed and debris, flames vanishing inside. he's seriously trying to crush him in the gravity!] You wish!
[convergence and burst! blue light buries in on itself, pulverizing it all into nothing. whatever pieces hadn't yet made it to the center clatter to the ground as soon as the energy dies away. unless he plans to absorb the entire room into his attack.
only for a faint breath preceding a circle of darkness and a lance of fiery light from behind gojou. not speed, not strength. he wasn't going to outrun a blackhole from that close proximity. so he teleported. blinked out from that space and warped elsewhere. handy for getting out of combo attacks, much to other keyblade wielders' ire. boots clomp down atop a table and he stands up again, resting his keyblade on his shoulder after flicking a chip off it.] Not bad. You're better than you look.
[~bloom, bloom, bloom~ one after another, more unversed appear from the air, demonic hourglasses fluttering dark wings and bobbing back and forth in perfectly-timed seconds. darkness builds up behind him, swelling into an orb of wisps and curls before melting down into a new unversed, a weird scholar with book and robe.] If you're so big on making friends, you don't mind if I invite a few more.
[this time, he's going on the offensive. those chrono twisters have limited power over time, able to cast a time-freezing spell on a area and anything/one within it that lasts anywhere from a few seconds to a full minute, depending on how fast the other person's able to escape. he's curious to find out if that shield of gojou's handles anything or only direct assaults.
as for the book... well that's preparing something extra nasty.]
( he has to stop thinking of them like curses. they're not curses, but they look just like them: strange shapes, odd shapes, things that shouldn't be able to move, shouldn't be able to bounce around or slide across the floor, here and there, as though they still have agency. is his opponent creating them to puppet them around, or do they simply work under his command? do they have any kind of free thought? well, if they are like curses, then likely not: they respond to chaos, more than anything else. a single-minded desire for destruction, maybe, fueled by his companion's anger. or is it hatred? it's hard to tell what the mix of emotions is: is he enjoying himself, or is he miserable? or is it both?
they seem to splatter out into nothingness when they're destroyed; they don't really leave behind actual bodies. even in the mess that he's created, the mass of destruction that's now a lump of tables and chairs and glass and splintered wood, he doesn't see any of these creatures squirming around, trying to escape. it's like all of the ones that he's pulled away from guests and doors have just ceased to exist; but again, he can't feel any cursed energy from them. it's peculiar: and he loves peculiar, loves to reason and puzzle things out himself, but his friend here isn't really giving him the time to.
he teleports out of the mess, before it all collides, before it crushes him--and he had expected just as much, but the easy win, denied from him, earns a click of his tongue in dismay. )
I suck at making friends. ( he says, matter-of-fact, as he brushes off his sleeves, taking a few steps back to put more space between them; unlike vanitas, he doesn't have a weapon at his disposal other than himself and his techniques, and he wants to stay out of range of that odd, key-shaped blade as much as he can. it won't do anything, not with his infinity around him, but even so: there's something about it he doesn't like.
the six eyes easily size up the new additions; similar to the others, really. other techniques can't get through limitless, so whatever it is these creatures can do...he's not particularly concerned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still on edge.
he's really going to have to either knock this guy unconscious, or kill him. that should stop the onslaught of new creatures, and give the remaining humans in the room time to escape out the doors; even now, there are still some people working their way out of the area, and the noise is so loud that he has to tune it out. people yelling, screeching, shifting furniture, crunching on glass as they run; the golden peacock speakers are still playing music, despite the destruction, and it's all a little overwhelming.
one hand lifts--fingers poised, his eyes awash in that bright blue, but it's a trembling, flickering ball of red that launches out from his fingertips; rather than at the new arrivals, he sends it spiraling towards vanitas himself, hoping that at least he'll block it with that key-like blade: otherwise, the force of the cursed technique will likely shred away at his clothes, whipping through skin and bone, if he has any of it underneath. the power of that repelling energy pushes, urged on by his own irritation--dragging vanitas back, off the table, through the remains of a few behind him, back further, splintering through pillars and beams and anything that might stand between him and the wall at the back of the room. it's only once he's collided into it that he drops his own hand; a quick teleport has him in front of vanitas and whatever rubble he's caused with the collision, jaw locked.
he doesn't reach for him: he can't, not if he wants to keep infinity up. he's solely focused on vanitas, now--the six eyes tell him a little about those monsters he left behind, but he's discarded them as useless. not worth his focus. he may or may not be right about that. )
Are we done yet? ( his head tilts; one of his hands lifts, but it's only to wipe at his own nose, like the amount of cursed energy he's hitting again and again might be inspiring some kind of nosebleed--it doesn't, which means his healing is working as intended. ) You're not winning this, no matter how many friends you want to bring to the party. Accept defeat gracefully, or you'll accept your own death with less grace than the last person I killed.
( of course, it's said with the smear of a smile--but it doesn't meet the tremoring superiority in his gaze. )
[curses? could be. a blight upon the face of all worlds, spawning hatred and fear in everyone who looked at them. he's heard oaths and foul words spat at them, disdainful looks levied over shining spear heads, pleading rage in tearful faces thrown behind running shoulders. each one of those wretched emotions siphoned off into his unversed and growing their strength. a tragic hilarious irony so few of his victims ever understood. good question on gojou's part. he creates them. he puppeteers them when necessary. he orders them to serve his every word. when he isn't flippant enough to give a command and let them follow it however they please. they are what he feels, hordes of fledgling emotions under his control. running rampant with destruction, darkness, and negativity. the best part of all, whenever they're slaughtered by those do-gooder types, their power, experience, pain, feelings, all of it flows right back into him, increasing his own strength as he loads them into his proverbial gun once more.
yet unlike so many others he's faced, this bastard here refuses to give into despair and anguish. frustration and panic left void, or at least well-covered by his confidence and determination. his unversed aren't able to draw much power from gojou. good thing such a source of terror saturates the rest of the room. a few fighters pop up here and there, surprising, but he can handle them once he rips out this idiot's heart. doesn't matter if gojou realizes the truth. one man can't face down an infinite army growing stronger with each death. he'll crush him beneath sheer numbers if that's what it takes! a fitting end. consider it paybacks for trying to pulverize him in a black hole.]
Lucky you. [behind his mask, he narrows his eyes, paying close attention to slivers of space around gojou's form. splintered table matter, green felt, dust and debris, none of it actually touches him. as he thought. a field of some kind. until he finds a way through it, he won't be able to make physical contact with him. irritating. no way to drive his keyblade through his chest or fire a lock into his heart to shut off his power. gonna be a battle of attrition.
amid cacophonies of battle, he lowers his arm and swings his keyblade from his shoulder. a flock of chrono twisters beat their little wings, flip their hourglass bodies, and churn the sands within as time-based magic builds up inside. maybe he can't touch gojou, but he should still be affected by the space around him. red light blooms from the man's hand straight towards him, a ball of crimson light. even from this far away, he feels its power pulsating in the air. muscles tense, his body shifts to a defensive position and he instantly drags one of his unversed between himself and that ball. an orb of molasses slow force bursts from its body, time slogging to a crawl in its small space-- and gets plowed right through!] What the-?!
[unaffected? no, it simply pushed past the energy like oil and water! pain rips into his left side, caught halfway from his own attempted dodge. snarling in rage, he slams his keyblade's butt into crimson force, unable to pry himself free of its speed. clawing at his suit, ripping into his muscles and sinew, saturated with gojou's irritation (ah, he finally shows some), his body's dragged along for the ride. stone and wood slam into his back, shatter over his bones, debris clatters on his helmet and arms with every layer he's driven through. a shower of glittering coins burst from the slot machine exploding along his spine, painting a lurid gilded shower as his entire figure crushes into the wall. cracks radiate from his outline, head arms legs torso, something wet spits into the surface of his helmet's interior. can't tell if it's blood, bile, or saliva. probably all three. something's busted inside. ribs snapped. skin feels fried down his left half... well that fucking hurt.
and look who it is. blinking into existence before him once again. this dumbass can teleport too. he doesn't even have to lift his head: the crater of plaster and concrete entombing his masked skull's already seen to that. smoke rises from his left side, his suit melted onto his own flesh and muscle, what of it hasn't been ripped and peeled off his bone. damn, not a lot of people can hit him that hard. this guy's strong. and the stronger he is...]
Hn HAHA Ha ha!! [hurts to laugh, hurts to breath, hurts all over, and it's amazing. feeling this agony again. like that damn old man all over again. chest heaving with his laughter, gravel crumbles about his head, dropping grit onto his collar and lower. not gonna come closer, huh? understandable.] You're still holding back. Afraid of committing?
[ignoring those unversed was a bad idea. pages rustle, a murmured chant, darkness and magic flow as the mimic master flings its arms upward amid an ascending column of light. its heavy-bound book spews reams of pages in spiraling bands, surrounding its body in a fluttering shield. and either side of gojou's body is made privy to two of those hovering pages, now bearing his own likeness, suddenly shrinking into cocoons of light and birthing copies of himself. same eyes, same face, same smile. same blue glow and red light on their hands as both of them abruptly fire gojou's own technique at him from close range. admittedly these "fakes" are fragile, running on little hp when attacked, but the unversed's copies are just as powerful as the original. and with gojou showing his techniques already, it's well versed in using them. to say nothing of everyone else remaining in the room who now have to contend with two gojou's with zero qualms about firing their power into the crowds, heedless of innocents they hit while attacking the original.]
Never was good with grace. [rip! chunks of wall tear as he hauls one arm from its imprint. what more fitting battle than to sic this smug self-righteous superior somebody with his own power. fighting style, thought process, arrogance, all mirrored the mimic master hides within its shield of pages. fully able and ready to create another pair of fakes.] Flaunt yourself more. It'll only make them stronger. [rip! another arm as he begins breaking out of his outline. and straightens up as he leers at the other man caught in a battle with his own ego made manifest. the irony's hilarious with this stupid hero.] Go kill yourself.
[metal gleams as he lifts his keyblade in his good arm.] Curaga. [green light, a whirl of leaves and drooping flowers, and burnt skin fleshes out again as his bones seal and his torn muscles knit. healing himself good as new once more. ever the pragmatist, he was never gonna give gojou a fair fight.]
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
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he can't snap up limitless, not when he's touching him--but that doesn't mean he's without protection, when that elbow comes right towards his stomach, creating space between them. maybe it's more accurate to say that he creates the space between them, palms lifting, a little concentration of cursed energy mixed with his technique, pushing the other away just as much as he pushes himself away. a lucky little shift, given what he can tell about the power behind that pointy elbow--even with his training, it would have hurt. would have caused some damage.
with a little click of his tongue, he shakes his head. )
Is that how you treat your friends~? ( dramatically, with both hands sweeping down the front of his suit, he pretends to dust himself off. ) I'd hate to be your enemy.
( with a warm, lilting smile, he tilts his head, taking another few steps back: more inviting than anything, because if he can at least keep this guy's temper focused on him, it means that they can keep the other players at the table out of the middle of it.
with another smile, encouraging: )
Come on, let me tell you a secret about this place. I don't think you're gonna like it.
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in the meantime, he has this character to deal with. a solid impact fails, rather instead digging into cushioning force almost repelling as much as sinking. instantly, he realizes no connection occurred. odd, given the guy's hand remains on him. must be able to direct his power in concentrated areas. from what he can tell, it reminds him most of a reverse gravity magic, creating a field counteracting blunt force. reaching him through such a protection is going to take more than a quick action. leathery creaks meld with his lowered arm, elbow straightening again as his helm turns to inspect the other man silently.
hmph. he's strong.]
You got lucky. Don't push it. [friends? what the hell are those? nothing but baggage. irritation spikes at being thwarted, tempered only by curiosity. getting into a fight here wouldn't benefit him more than assuage his mood. but no one said he had to take it sitting down... given this guy's perception and speed, he isn't going to be surprised if those sharp eyes manage to catch what appears to be a faint mist of darkness rising from his side before plunging into the ground. a shadow rushing behind him as a blistering fast ink blob atop the carpet. here in a moment, gone in a flash, nestled beneath the table they're leaving behind.
a farewell present on a delayed timer, hidden deep within the shade.]
Then why would I wanna hear it? [his head leads, his shoulders and chest follow, stalking after the other's inviting retreat. secrets? piqued at the very least. even if it's just a shit offering. but should there be any attempt from his companion to address or potentially interfere with the threat building and feasting under that table, his body demeanor will shift to aggression and a warning-] Eyes on me, cutie.
[he's your focus now. nothing else. otherwise, he's following, waiting to hear this disliked secret.]
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well, he's not the only sorcerer here. shouko and nanamin will feel it, if it's really a curse: he still doesn't think it is, but it's familiar enough that it makes him handle this situation with a little more care. he's not just up against some casual bully who wants to make his discomfort the whole resort's problem; it's something entirely different.
so he smiles, tilting his head instead. if he has to, he'll come back for it. for now: )
So you do think I'm cute. ( with another tilt of his head, like he's just been rewarded. ) Take off the helmet.
( it's not a request this time--made obvious by the way his grin stretches, a little feral, like he's ready for a fight if it comes to it. honestly, this might be the most fun he's had in this place in awhile; no one's even come close to being a challenge, but his new companion here is providing quite the conundrum.
another few steps back puts them on a trajectory towards the bar, though he does stop near an empty card table, devoid of guests, so that he can peel off his sunglasses, gently folding them up against his chest and reaching in to slide them into an inside pocket of his jacket. )
I wanna whisper right in your ear. Otherwise it's no fun.
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well... what would happen? lying in wait beneath the table, sucking in their wretched feelings with each beat of their hearts, the potential answer lurks and swells within the darkness. irritation, jealousy, arrogance, disgust. not only absorbing their emotions, but subtly pumping more to curry further festering. growing, feasting, lingering.
oh he wouldn't mind becoming the whole resort's problem. he's been the problem for entire worlds. what's one more? this creature should be more careful with what it eats.
not for now. it'll be more fun to wait. he can't tell entirely if this white-haired guy's biding his time or doesn't care. he sensed enough to notice the problem, but another affable smile dismisses it presently. someone knows how to bluff...]
I've seen ugly. [and he's not so twisted he can't recognize attractive features. how many times has he continued to knock on this request. it's beginning to teeter on the edge of amusing and annoying.] So bossy. The last person who told me what to do ended up dying.
[a feral grin, tinging on the verge of pouncing. is he doing this on purpose? or has his patience run its course? and yet he moves forward, following with a confident, threatening swagger. daring his companion to try something he'll regret. make it more entertaining for him. he's a fool if he thinks doing so will remain confined.]
Aw. You didn't tell me you were looking for fun. [polished wood reflects his image as he stills adjacent to the same table. interesting eyes. he's never seen a color like that. as blue as pure water and crystal clear like ice. dwarven diamonds might be comparable. bet this guy gets a lot of compliments from those who seen them. must be nice... makes him wanna rip them out of his sockets. he spreads his arms at his sides, hands turned in a provoking manner.] You're not gonna regret it if I enjoy myself, right?
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so the empty table becomes more than just a pit stop: he takes a step back against it, palms curving around the edges, so that he can heave his weight up and take a seat on the edge. )
Did they? How terrifying. ( his smile's worse when his eyes are on display, studying his companion like he's some kind of insect, trying to decide whether he wants to trap him in a bottle or pin him to a collection book. ) How about we meet in the middle, then? I'll take it off you, instead.
( he's not going to make that mistake again, of touching him--at least not yet, not until he's decided what the reaction will be. as if in offer, his knees spread apart, encouraging the stranger in closer; with the way that he's posturing, he thinks he might be coming in for a fight, instead, which means that he's already measuring the weight of infinity around him, prepared to stave off an attack. it's messy, fighting somewhere like this: with people around, 'innocent' people, anyway, but he's going to have to work harder to get them somewhere private.
which does have him tilting his head, as though in consideration-- )
If you're afraid to show your face, we could always get a room together. You know what that means, right~?
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fingers curl in the air and a *fwshink!* of flashing darkness and light twisted around a metallic sound reveals a gear-themed blade appearing within his grip. despite his irritation over it, he already found out his keyblade lacks its biting edge. literally. he can't cut anyone, can't stab anyone, even hitting someone with it does little more damage than smacking them with a stupid toy. but that's all right. he can accept this place's abject fear of "weapon!" when it so foolishly seems not to care about the rest of his abilities. a few seem to be limited and contained within the scope of this place, needling him under a net of curbed power. guess this isn't a bad idea to test how far he can push what he has.]
I like it better when you're frustrated. [and smashes his blade down on the edge of the table, right between the other man's spread legs. if he catches his pants on the tip of his keyblade, so much the better. he hadn't been aiming for him in the first place. solid impact and strength crush the table's front legs beneath it and hike its backside upward with groan of wood. plastic chips and playing cards shower past his "partner's" head and shoulders as the entire table sweeps towards his back in attempt to flip atop him. simultaneously blurring out in front of those glassy blue eyes, he vanishes, only to reappear behind the rotating table mid-flip, body crouched, knees bent, both arms hauling back with his keyblade jacked up over his shoulder. WHAM!! his swing connects with the table's underside with every intent of sending table and man hurtling through the air towards the bar of fancy drinks they'd initially been aiming towards. what'll become if the bartender? who the hell cares. die, hopefully.
accompanied by a going-away present: a roaring trio of flaming orbs fired from the tip of his keyblade to drive his point home. of course it gets attention, people twisting in their seats, standing up in alarm, staff members perking from their stations. darkness builds up around his body and seeps outward in shadowy mist, movement bubbling and boiling inside the blackening air as no less than three monsters begin to form and crawl from his shadows.] Come on. I know that wasn't enough to dent you.
[lucky for this bastard, he has no intention of siccing the unversed on him. he wants every drop of his attention, wants to know how he feels while locked in combat as everything else around him begins to erupts in chaos. what kind of ego does he have? is he really concerned with other people, or is that a farce for show? easily ignoring the suffering of others? lost in the thrill of challenging a strong opponent? arrogance, distraction, frustration, anguish, he'll feast on those negative emotions brimming in his heart. show him what kind of "hero" you are, idiot. keep him entertained until he's had his fill!]
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his body knows what to do before his mind catches up with it. the table sinks, his weight sliding, but landing on his heels means he has the time to skid out of the way as the table flips over, like his new friend fully intends to smother him under it; cards and chips go flying, and he can hear the sound of surprise and fear from those around them, the scuffling of resort staff who are fully unequipped to deal with a person like this as chunks of the table go flying, clearing out the bar behind him in a panic. for him, it isn't easy, either--limitless means that nothing touches him, but it also means he can't really mitigate the damage; a plume of dust rises from the impact, and he offers a playful sort of cough, shaking his head a little in protest. )
Are you going to keep throwing your temper tantrum~?
( in a soft, sing-song voice, but he's distracted: his gaze is narrowing in on their guests, three scrambling little monsters that look like baby curses, something that has him puffing out a breath through his nose in annoyance. if they're not curses, fine. if they are, this place just got ten times more annoying.
pointedly, he lifts a hand--and offers a loud, exaggerated yawn behind it. )
Let's even the stakes. If I land a punch, you're gonna do what I say for the next forty-eight hours. If you land a punch, then you can kill me.
( both hands lift, as though in a casual shrug--and then he's nodding, getting the attention of some of the nearby hovering staff. )
Oi, what are you waiting for? Evacuate, come on, chop chop~. ( this sends them into action, guests scattering, tables emptying near them in haste. he might not be able to protect the whole resort, but he can at least secure their altercation down to this area, for now; he doesn't have quite the reach yet, at this age, to do much more. )
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a sick grin spreads beneath his helmet, all the more enthralling because gojo can't see shit through the glass. what a sad guy he is. denied at every turn except the one he really wanted to avoid.
this guy's fast. dodges the table almost effortlessly despite the speed and proximity the attack comes out at. it would've been entertaining to see it crush him under the weight, but he'd be so lucky if that's all the guy could put up. after his talk and manner, there's more to him than flippant words. splintered wood and shards of glass belch from the bar as the table crashes into it, broken bottles and glasses spilling fancy drinks and expensive liquor all over the place. a shout pierces the air as the bartender hits the ground, a piece of table pinning his leg between the back cabinets and heavy debris. collateral damages. ]
Don't get so sore. I'm just having a little fun. [temper tantrum. he isn't even angry. three little monsters scramble and twitch eerily as their sharp red eyes glare hateful and malicious, before skitter off into shadows with their end goal being the exits of the casino area. along the way, each one siphons off panic, fear, indignation from guests and staff alike. head turning slightly on his suit-clad neck, gojo's reflection once more bulges and swells within the concave surface of his mask. watching that casual shrug deform before the guy brings worried staff members into the mess. really? he's gonna try and spoil this for him?]
Hey now, I didn't say anyone could leave. [a massive roar erupts from beneath their previous table of players. his planted seed bursts upward, shoulders and fists heaving heavy wood and glittering chips backwards over the dealer's head (lucky idiot) without giving a care where it lands on the level below. screams and shock fill the air from their original tablemates, causing the unversed's body to swell with even more power. simultaneously, the arching doorways and open spaces leading to other areas of the resort are besotted with swarms of small colorful blobs who like to ram their pointed caps at people and emit poisonous spores, determined to keep everyone within the casino. against the backdrop of the casino area starting to descend into chaos, he faces off against this clear-eyed child with a confident swagger, focus completely on gojo's person.]
Still trying to wriggle outta it. I got a better idea. You stop me before everyone in this room's dead, and I'll take off my mask. If you don't, I guess you'll be dead too.
[before hauling his arm back, the tip of his keyblade igniting with a burst of fire. who the hell ever said this was gonna be a fair fight? all he wants to do is grind this guy into the dirt and whatever way he can accomplish that is fair fucking game! warned him already what happened to the last person who ordered him around. between the bruiser hammering away at the furniture and decor, the doorways blocked by jellyshade swarms, the shadows housing sharp-armed flood, he has every intention of demanding gojo's full attention. ignore the destruction, ignore the carnage and suffering, ignore the calls for help. what kind of person is this guy?]
Lets see how damn weak your heart is! [and contemptuously slings his keyblade down, firing a blast of three blazing orbs, not at gojo, but at the man trapped behind his alcohol-soaked bar.]
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but the people in it--well, maybe it's wrong to say he cares, but he knows that it's his duty to care, one way or another. whatever the resort's done to him, whatever punishment it's reaped onto him from the beginning: he shouldn't let that affect the way that he's been trained, the teachings that yaga has tried to beat into his head for years.
maybe his heart is weak--he wouldn't even argue that. but he does see where those blasts are going, from a weapon materialized out of nothing; a split second, an infinite stretch of time for him, caught between two places--he's there with his hands on the man behind the bar just quick enough for those blasts to never quite connect, dispersing around the limitless bound of space caked around the both of them. with a soft breath, he quickly makes short work of wood and plaster, helping the man up so that he can scramble away; that's the easy part.
his gaze tracks, moves across the resort, and then settles again on the faceplate of that helmet: he can joke around all he wants about it, but if he doesn't start taking things seriously, then there's going to be trouble. )
Stop you? ( loftily, as he clears the rubble of the bar, again, closing the distance between them. ) Or kill you? Which one do you want~? This place won't just let you go.
( it's tricky. he can't necessarily track the little monsters that have spawned out across the room, since they don't have cursed energy--but he can tailor his sight to them, his energy, as both hands lift, a crackle of bright blue that bubbles up between them; it's still tricky. he has to keep in mind the weight and mass of the people, versus the furniture, versus the creatures that his new friend has deployed: which means that some of the broken tables, chairs, drink glasses and chips, come spiraling in to the center of the infinite black hole he's creating, along with all of vanitas' deployments, ripped away from floors and doors and tables with the impending pull of a void. this center, he pushes out away from him with his hands, lets instead vanitas become the bright blue center: meaning that all of his monsters, all of the stray furniture and debris, caught up in a spiraling mess of depth, come crashing in around vanitas--to either crush him, or stop him.
he can't really tell, past the whipping of the air around their little vacuum--a convergence that means he can't quite see through everything smashed together. a part of him wants to laugh: maybe this will crack that helmet for him after all. maybe he'll kill him. is that good, or evil? is that a weak heart, or a strong one? he's not caring too much about that. )
no subject
oddly, frustratingly, he feels no surge of panic exuding from this clear-eyed person. not the fright of a hero despairing over a multitude of suffering victims. not the anger of some misplaced sense of justice over how "wrong" such an assault is. not even annoyance at the unfairness. irritation needles under his skin and prickles at his nape. a weak heart or a closed one?
how did he... suddenly gone.] Hm? [where- oh, there he is, at the bar. picking the single victim first before his body and bar went up in flames. flames veer to the side and up, all three suddenly changing course and detonating well away from their target. a force field? likely. even taking the time to help the man up an on his way.] That's one. [fingers curl, a hand bobs, gesturing in general callousness towards the chaos behind them. more of those unversed ramming into other guests, picking on the weaker ones when stronger begin fighting back. someone's attacking the rampaging brute it seems... guess this guy's not the only strong one entombed in this place. one of jellyfish-like unversed spurts into darkness, which only rushes in a sinewy blur back into his body. absorbing, pulsing, laying another spike of strength inside his muscles and core. meeting those aqua-glass eyes, he deliberately summon two more unversed, replacing-- doubling --the one so recently vanquished.]
You got a mouth on you. Sure this is the time for telling jokes? [both jellyshades squirm and bloom before soaring towards the man fleeing, intent on rendering this would-be-hero's efforts meaningless.] Better hurry up and kill me. I'm getting impatient.
[hurry up gojou does. his cocky stance shifts, blade dropping slightly and hand falling a bit as blue light blooms into existence. there's a lot of power collecting in the man's hands. something scrapes, he feels the tapestry of his waistcloth drag forward against the back of his thighs. gravity? or magnetism? plastic meets metal in a harsh clank, a chip bounces off the back of his helm, and sails towards gojou's azure ball. compressing, pushing, deepening. his head pivots on his neck, momentarily startled to find the air a swirling mess of debris and his unversed. only his unversed. this bastard's somehow managed to prevent the people from being caught up in his own vortex! flood, jellyshades, even the bruiser. he instantly seeks out other guests, grunting in vexation as their bodies scramble through the doorways. they're escaping.] You bastard...
[swelling power roars and he whips forward once more, dropping into a prepared stance as this pest shoves the entire burgeoning black hole towards him. legs brace and he shoves backwards from the floor, one hand behind him, his keyblade in front to fend off the approaching swirl. flames burst into being on his keyblade's tip and fire out, far more testing than defensive. it's fast. too fast. swallowing his unversed and debris, flames vanishing inside. he's seriously trying to crush him in the gravity!] You wish!
[convergence and burst! blue light buries in on itself, pulverizing it all into nothing. whatever pieces hadn't yet made it to the center clatter to the ground as soon as the energy dies away. unless he plans to absorb the entire room into his attack.
only for a faint breath preceding a circle of darkness and a lance of fiery light from behind gojou. not speed, not strength. he wasn't going to outrun a blackhole from that close proximity. so he teleported. blinked out from that space and warped elsewhere. handy for getting out of combo attacks, much to other keyblade wielders' ire. boots clomp down atop a table and he stands up again, resting his keyblade on his shoulder after flicking a chip off it.] Not bad. You're better than you look.
[~bloom, bloom, bloom~ one after another, more unversed appear from the air, demonic hourglasses fluttering dark wings and bobbing back and forth in perfectly-timed seconds. darkness builds up behind him, swelling into an orb of wisps and curls before melting down into a new unversed, a weird scholar with book and robe.] If you're so big on making friends, you don't mind if I invite a few more.
[this time, he's going on the offensive. those chrono twisters have limited power over time, able to cast a time-freezing spell on a area and anything/one within it that lasts anywhere from a few seconds to a full minute, depending on how fast the other person's able to escape. he's curious to find out if that shield of gojou's handles anything or only direct assaults.
as for the book... well that's preparing something extra nasty.]
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they seem to splatter out into nothingness when they're destroyed; they don't really leave behind actual bodies. even in the mess that he's created, the mass of destruction that's now a lump of tables and chairs and glass and splintered wood, he doesn't see any of these creatures squirming around, trying to escape. it's like all of the ones that he's pulled away from guests and doors have just ceased to exist; but again, he can't feel any cursed energy from them. it's peculiar: and he loves peculiar, loves to reason and puzzle things out himself, but his friend here isn't really giving him the time to.
he teleports out of the mess, before it all collides, before it crushes him--and he had expected just as much, but the easy win, denied from him, earns a click of his tongue in dismay. )
I suck at making friends. ( he says, matter-of-fact, as he brushes off his sleeves, taking a few steps back to put more space between them; unlike vanitas, he doesn't have a weapon at his disposal other than himself and his techniques, and he wants to stay out of range of that odd, key-shaped blade as much as he can. it won't do anything, not with his infinity around him, but even so: there's something about it he doesn't like.
the six eyes easily size up the new additions; similar to the others, really. other techniques can't get through limitless, so whatever it is these creatures can do...he's not particularly concerned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still on edge.
he's really going to have to either knock this guy unconscious, or kill him. that should stop the onslaught of new creatures, and give the remaining humans in the room time to escape out the doors; even now, there are still some people working their way out of the area, and the noise is so loud that he has to tune it out. people yelling, screeching, shifting furniture, crunching on glass as they run; the golden peacock speakers are still playing music, despite the destruction, and it's all a little overwhelming.
one hand lifts--fingers poised, his eyes awash in that bright blue, but it's a trembling, flickering ball of red that launches out from his fingertips; rather than at the new arrivals, he sends it spiraling towards vanitas himself, hoping that at least he'll block it with that key-like blade: otherwise, the force of the cursed technique will likely shred away at his clothes, whipping through skin and bone, if he has any of it underneath. the power of that repelling energy pushes, urged on by his own irritation--dragging vanitas back, off the table, through the remains of a few behind him, back further, splintering through pillars and beams and anything that might stand between him and the wall at the back of the room. it's only once he's collided into it that he drops his own hand; a quick teleport has him in front of vanitas and whatever rubble he's caused with the collision, jaw locked.
he doesn't reach for him: he can't, not if he wants to keep infinity up. he's solely focused on vanitas, now--the six eyes tell him a little about those monsters he left behind, but he's discarded them as useless. not worth his focus. he may or may not be right about that. )
Are we done yet? ( his head tilts; one of his hands lifts, but it's only to wipe at his own nose, like the amount of cursed energy he's hitting again and again might be inspiring some kind of nosebleed--it doesn't, which means his healing is working as intended. ) You're not winning this, no matter how many friends you want to bring to the party. Accept defeat gracefully, or you'll accept your own death with less grace than the last person I killed.
( of course, it's said with the smear of a smile--but it doesn't meet the tremoring superiority in his gaze. )
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yet unlike so many others he's faced, this bastard here refuses to give into despair and anguish. frustration and panic left void, or at least well-covered by his confidence and determination. his unversed aren't able to draw much power from gojou. good thing such a source of terror saturates the rest of the room. a few fighters pop up here and there, surprising, but he can handle them once he rips out this idiot's heart. doesn't matter if gojou realizes the truth. one man can't face down an infinite army growing stronger with each death. he'll crush him beneath sheer numbers if that's what it takes! a fitting end. consider it paybacks for trying to pulverize him in a black hole.]
Lucky you. [behind his mask, he narrows his eyes, paying close attention to slivers of space around gojou's form. splintered table matter, green felt, dust and debris, none of it actually touches him. as he thought. a field of some kind. until he finds a way through it, he won't be able to make physical contact with him. irritating. no way to drive his keyblade through his chest or fire a lock into his heart to shut off his power. gonna be a battle of attrition.
amid cacophonies of battle, he lowers his arm and swings his keyblade from his shoulder. a flock of chrono twisters beat their little wings, flip their hourglass bodies, and churn the sands within as time-based magic builds up inside. maybe he can't touch gojou, but he should still be affected by the space around him. red light blooms from the man's hand straight towards him, a ball of crimson light. even from this far away, he feels its power pulsating in the air. muscles tense, his body shifts to a defensive position and he instantly drags one of his unversed between himself and that ball. an orb of molasses slow force bursts from its body, time slogging to a crawl in its small space-- and gets plowed right through!] What the-?!
[unaffected? no, it simply pushed past the energy like oil and water! pain rips into his left side, caught halfway from his own attempted dodge. snarling in rage, he slams his keyblade's butt into crimson force, unable to pry himself free of its speed. clawing at his suit, ripping into his muscles and sinew, saturated with gojou's irritation (ah, he finally shows some), his body's dragged along for the ride. stone and wood slam into his back, shatter over his bones, debris clatters on his helmet and arms with every layer he's driven through. a shower of glittering coins burst from the slot machine exploding along his spine, painting a lurid gilded shower as his entire figure crushes into the wall. cracks radiate from his outline, head arms legs torso, something wet spits into the surface of his helmet's interior. can't tell if it's blood, bile, or saliva. probably all three. something's busted inside. ribs snapped. skin feels fried down his left half... well that fucking hurt.
and look who it is. blinking into existence before him once again. this dumbass can teleport too. he doesn't even have to lift his head: the crater of plaster and concrete entombing his masked skull's already seen to that. smoke rises from his left side, his suit melted onto his own flesh and muscle, what of it hasn't been ripped and peeled off his bone. damn, not a lot of people can hit him that hard. this guy's strong. and the stronger he is...]
Hn HAHA Ha ha!! [hurts to laugh, hurts to breath, hurts all over, and it's amazing. feeling this agony again. like that damn old man all over again. chest heaving with his laughter, gravel crumbles about his head, dropping grit onto his collar and lower. not gonna come closer, huh? understandable.] You're still holding back. Afraid of committing?
[ignoring those unversed was a bad idea. pages rustle, a murmured chant, darkness and magic flow as the mimic master flings its arms upward amid an ascending column of light. its heavy-bound book spews reams of pages in spiraling bands, surrounding its body in a fluttering shield. and either side of gojou's body is made privy to two of those hovering pages, now bearing his own likeness, suddenly shrinking into cocoons of light and birthing copies of himself. same eyes, same face, same smile. same blue glow and red light on their hands as both of them abruptly fire gojou's own technique at him from close range. admittedly these "fakes" are fragile, running on little hp when attacked, but the unversed's copies are just as powerful as the original. and with gojou showing his techniques already, it's well versed in using them. to say nothing of everyone else remaining in the room who now have to contend with two gojou's with zero qualms about firing their power into the crowds, heedless of innocents they hit while attacking the original.]
Never was good with grace. [rip! chunks of wall tear as he hauls one arm from its imprint. what more fitting battle than to sic this smug self-righteous superior somebody with his own power. fighting style, thought process, arrogance, all mirrored the mimic master hides within its shield of pages. fully able and ready to create another pair of fakes.] Flaunt yourself more. It'll only make them stronger. [rip! another arm as he begins breaking out of his outline. and straightens up as he leers at the other man caught in a battle with his own ego made manifest. the irony's hilarious with this stupid hero.] Go kill yourself.
[metal gleams as he lifts his keyblade in his good arm.] Curaga. [green light, a whirl of leaves and drooping flowers, and burnt skin fleshes out again as his bones seal and his torn muscles knit. healing himself good as new once more. ever the pragmatist, he was never gonna give gojou a fair fight.]