Collide Regroups

The popot crops, being what they were, could not be efficiently policed by motion detectors. But police them the Peak had to.

The Plate had the largest land mass and so had to grow the most basic crop capable of growing without real sunlight. Moreover, the popot, in so growing, actually purified the soil of the Violet that seeped onto it from below. It was a win-win to grow these crops and distribute them to paying customers and also keep the Plate sustainable for life... though the residents of the Plate, those poorest wretches of the poor who lived sunless beneath the lowest disk, seldom appreciated this fact.

“Ungrateful lot,” grumbled Hu’uuk, the six-armed quadruped with a head and snout that squatted somewhere between a gorilla and an alligator. Like most residents of the Plate, he didn’t know his parents: being a Dorbin, he was too malformed to be accepted above and, as was commonly done, was dumped onto the Plate to be cared for by those dredges who were paid meager wages to care for the unwanted. But unlike most of his bitter betters, he was also indoctrinated well enough to happily guard the government’s prized crop. He took his job very seriously: his guard post at the top of the western Harvester's Wall was a tiny bump on the uniform walkway of gray, but he had made something of a second home of the guardhouse, including a bedroll of blue webber silk (very rare!) and his small, humble collection of story scrolls.

Draped in a ragged, brown cloak, he shuffled to the edge of the wall with a deep grumbling in his throat that continued as he peered, with keen-enough vision, at the specks of white, gray, and brown mucking about at the center of the fields a quarter of a mile away. His flesh quivered in disdain like loosely-worn cloth beneath his robe. They were mere dots to him for now, but that was enough to know that an unauthorized entry had been had; he pulled out a brass, extending tube and magnified his vision through its mildly enchanted lens.

The image blurred and then cleared... and then revealed some dozens of humanoids. “What’s this lot doing... down... down...” His grumblings drifted into shocked repeating as he took a keener stock of them: humanoid bodies, two arms, two legs, no tails, growths or oddities, single heads with hair on top or on the face... breasts and butts and penises shaped just like the statues of the Humans, bodies like the Humans, heads just like... just like... the Humans...

The enchantment dimmed as Hu’uuk withdrew from the scope and rubbed his eye. It wasn’t possible... no, the lens was enchanted against any kind of magical disguise, so... “Nah, I’m...” Hu’uuk laughed to himself. It was absurd, of course: whoever was down there must have had strong enough illusions or polymorphing magic to defeat even the enchanted lens from the government... which meant, of course, that they were committing high crimes punishable by Descent... which, by no small coincidence, was already the price they would pay for trying to steal the government's crop. Urgently, Hu’uuk retreated into his station at the top of Harvester’s Wall and readied his communicator to call in the Lawmen. The crystals shuddered and danced--the model was cheaply made and barely functioned--but slowly, they transmitted Hu'uuk's **** call to duty.

John grabbed hold of Tricia almost too violently; he squeezed her until she squeaked, half expecting that their bodies would again sink and vanish into one another... but instead he felt, through the mud and dirt between them, her warmth, her racing heart, and her gasps.

Then he felt her back pop. Terrified and alarmed, he suddenly clutched her away from himself; he had indeed cracked her back but apparently not in any unwelcome way as she was left blinking, dumbfounded, at her guilt-ridden husband. Somehow, in the madness of the filth in this other place... she found his expression worth a laugh.

So she did... first as a bubbling in her throat and then an outright giggle.

John blinked in stunned silence at the uncharacteristic mirth of his Gorbachev wife... and cautiously joined her.

Yui, Rave, and the Knights all stared as the two enemies of the Order laughed gaily in the middle of this otherworldly place... and slowly the two came back to the present and felt the gawking. “We... we have much to discuss,” Tricia concluded, “but our present situation remains unexplained.”

“Right... who else-” John stopped his query as he remembered everyone’s status. “Well, have any of you heard of a place called Vantage?”

A shaking of heads... and a tunnel opened quietly behind Yui as she slowly backed away and into the portal's threshold. She inhaled sharply as it shut on her--and toppled to the ground by John and Tricia's feet as she was shunted "safely" out of the other side. Frantically she patted her body down, half-expecting some part of her to have been severed.

"You're sticking with us until we get everything sorted," John tersely commanded, "and figure out where this 'Vantage' even is and how we get out."

The huge-eyed girl looked up at John... and then down to his growing cock as it perched against Tricia. John had barely noticed it, but her fearful eyes were already cast down to the floor, and hands covering her body, she muttered something too low to even make sense of.

"Wait, don't get me wrong-"

A high-pitched scream, brief and cracking, rolled over the green waves. John was the first to act, opening a tunnel over the direction he thought to be the origin. A flash of red hair—Moira?!—and John blinked to stand next to her-

Deanna’s huge, black eyes blinked up at John as her face remained twisted in horror... and the sight of John immediately stunned her anew. John’s eyes briefly swept over her naked body... and the notable absence of golden patterns on her flesh. Her face twisted in some mixture of panic and hate... but suddenly became fixated on John's still-erect prick.

Deanna Home
<The Order of the Golden Rose>
Level 5 Artist
HP: 45/45
MP: 71/71
Stats: Str 8 Agi 16 End 9 Int 15 Wis 9 Cha 14 Lib 169
Status Effects: Resurrection Sickness (6 days)
Qualities: Seer's Brush
R/S: -98
The eighteen--soon to be nineteen, she'll eagerly correct--year old orphaned daughter of a rogue mage who, as part of a dark conspiracy, mated with a captured Teluvarian Merfolk male. Deanna watched her mother be murdered by an Order Knight but, by the decree of Lord William Brighton, was herself spared, studied, and kept safe. The memory of this origin was wiped from her mind so long ago as to be irreversible, and so she only remembers her idyllic, isolated days inside the Order's holding cell. She was raised on the teachings of the Order and has grown into a devout worshipper of the Lady. The enchanted gold melted into her flesh to keep her from completing the goal of that forbidden conspiracy—to spread inhuman DNA—was lost upon being absorbed by the First Truth. Her body, engineered for mass breeding, is now completely unfettered. Besides the censored books and videos she's allowed to consume, she has never known life or people outside of the depths of the Order's special holding cell... until you showed up, attacked her father, and caused her to reform on Vantage.

"Deanna?"

"You..." Her words were almost breathless... and became whimpering as she looked past him. John followed her gaze... and found Galley Gallows, naked and clean save for her bare feet planted in the mud. She was standing right behind him, looking at him... or so he fathomed, except her huge eyes had vanished, leaving gaping, red holes of meat. Her skin peeled away in chunks that disintegrated while floating as if lighter than air. Her muscles and bones collapsed as she fell apart, her blood exploded in every direction only to disintegrate until nothing remained but a nightmare of watching her rapidly disintegrate and die.

[NULL] tried to reform, but [NULL] does not exist.

John’s body began to shake, his throat tightened, and the crops almost seemed to spin about in their dance. Another Galley appeared among the crops, this time closer to Deanna. Her mouth opened, but her teeth cracked and turned to powder to **** and bathe her tongue and throat. Her hair fell away in chunks of ash; her organs spilled into the mud until they became mud as well.

[NULL] tried to reform, but [NULL] does not exist.

John shook his head as he tried, and failed, to reign in his thoughts. R-Right, soulless, so she's- but she's trying, so- so how do I... how can I-? He scrolled rapidly through his character sheet as he tried to find something--anything--to somehow save Galley next time she-

Galley fell onto John, gripping his hair and body desperately, a whimper in her throat. He didn't even turn to look at her; she vanished before he could even meet her eyes, presuming she had them this time.

[NULL] tried to reform, but [NULL] does not exist.

She does exist, you stupid fucking-!

The Dream ebbed and pulsed. What was that? The vibrancy of life and energy flowed and changed... and for a moment, it seemed to splinter away in the shape of a human body. Something was coming... and yet that something wasn't anything at all-

There! Desperately, John reached out... and his hand brushed the shoulder of Galley as she appeared in his grip, as the movements of the Dream told him. The Dream... Why was he... so familiar with it, now? She disintegrated in his grasp... and the Dream became an invisible, background noise of reality once again.

[NULL] tried to reform, but [NULL] does not exist.

A blue spark began to gather on his left fingertips. He tried to focus on it... to follow its movements again. He had brief experiences like this in his prison cell... the "Dream." It came up, time and again... and now, more even than when he so desperately clung to any edge he could... he sensed a connection to it. A union between himself and whatever it was that everyone called the Dream, the Abyss, Gaia, or whatever the Hell was... truly...

There.

He reached for the nearest part of her... and gripped it between his fingers as he dumped all the mana he could muster.

You cast Restore on [NULL], but [NULL] is an invali-hnrur76we4ruwut8g9fgFGFG45hfg#$fjsd. [NULL] does not ex-gfgDfm&34D(F#Overwritten. Overwritten. Overwritten.

The air hiccuped-

Your Restore healed [NULL] for 14,367 damage, but [PRONOUN] was already at full health.

Galley's eyes... her real, full eyes, fluttered open... and stared down at John's ****, outstretched, almost painful grip... on her left nipple.

Slowly, she raised her glare to John... and stopped on the way to his erect cock. His eyes watered with relief... though from Galley's perspective, it seemed plenty more like guilt.

"G-Galley-!"

-58HP

Daisy Dandelion Nippel
<Galley Gallows>
Level 21 Brawler
HP: 1,525/1,525
Stats: Str 38 Agi 28 End 32 Int 11 Wis 24 Cha 11 Lib 15
Status Effects: None
Qualities: Soulless, Spell Scent
R/S: +52
Formerly the Hound of Titusville, she still goes by the name Galley Gallows even though her Order contract has been terminated. Abandoning her birth name the moment she learned of her power, she became one of the most powerful contract mage-killers the Order uses in the United States and Canada and remained so right until she attempted to **** Lord William Brighton. She has recently lost her Breaker Arms, the enchantments that ran throughout her body, such that she is no longer capable of any supernatural feats except as provided by her natural qualities. She is 27 years old, single, and has no friends left save perhaps you. Her soulless nature makes most feel uneasy around her; she terrifies animals. Unfortunately, she loves dogs.

Deanna flinched as Galley punched John square in the nose.

Though he barely felt it, John still withdrew his fingers from her tit before clearing his throat. "You were... I mean, you kept appearing and disappearing, so I-"

"I'm pretty sure you had a good reason," Galley sighed, "just handle it with a bit more care next time ..."

“... Next time?”

Galley took a few seconds to realize what she had implied and quickly went to clearing her throat. She sniffed the air once... if only for anything else to talk about. "S-So... where the Hell are we?"

John looked back, expecting Deanna to be joining him in relief as he was about to explain.

"Where... where is my father?" John and Galley both looked to her now. With the shock finally subsided, she glared at the Gamer... or so he thought. Her deep, pitch-black eyes well-hid how she couldn't stop glancing at his mud-slick stick even as real fear and grief wrestled with this new, overwriting desire. "What did you do to him?"

John thought to deny doing anything, though he now realized she had probably seen him trick Laksha into severing the old Lord's hands. He opened his mouth but hesitated to let the words escape him. What did I do? I mean shit, Rave talked like I was killed out there-

"Baldie! Over here!" came Rave's voice from beyond the grass.

John suddenly thought to how most barriers had monsters... and then to his experience in the Complex. The wavering crops suddenly seemed a trap. We're being loud... and we don't even know where we are. "We'll talk on the way. We need to be quiet and we need to get moving."

"What did you do to my father?!"

"Nothing," John tersely replied before opening a tunnel behind Galley.

The Order goons stared at a naked Travolta; Rave did as well, though she put a hand between her line of sight and the man's junk. "You couldn't find any clothes in there either, huh?"

"Rave, where the fuck are we?!" Travolta wasn't taking it nearly as well as some; he mistook the crying, emotionally broken Order Knights as being troubled by the same predicament they were in.

Rave looked away and to the nude Knights as she replied, "We don't know, and we don't know how we got here, but we're apparently safe... and- well Hell, looks like Dolphin Girl made it, too!"

Deanna was nearly stunned into staying on her end of the portal... but John's fleeing back (and cock) beckoned. The teen quickly leaped through, inhaling for her next barrage. "You hurt him-!"

"He hurt me," John shot back without looking, stopping the hybrid girl in her tracks. Softer, he added, "He hurt you too, but you don't know it yet- where's the reporter?"

Travolta rubbed his temples as he looked at the ceiling, the far-off walls, and the alien crops with a growing anxiety.

Tricia pointed towards the northern wall. "She communicated a need to use the restroom and went into that field to do so."

John slowly looked between the field and his wife. "You... you believed her?"

Tricia stared right back. "Why..." Tricia looked to the waving fields once more... and the utter lack of sign of the reporter. "... Ah."

John blinked at his oddly gullible wife... and at her bare forehead, a detail he had overlooked when he had first encountered her. That's right, she didn't have it when we were... "falling" or whatever that was, but... but this is real life. If it's gone... He checked her statuses again... but grew distracted when he noticed, through the translucent interface floating over her head, a sudden swarm of golden dots rising from the far wall of the massive, enclosed field.

The mass of mutterings and exchanges ended as the gentle buzzing became a cacophony of beating, metal wings... and from the wall, in teams of three or five and at uniform junctions, launched a total of nearly thirty small, golden dots that glittered in the light. "What are they?" voiced one of the older Hospitalers.

"Not friendly," Galley muttered. "Geez... is this an illusion barrier, then?"

John didn't have time to debate the topic; he began rapidly telescoping his eye through layered tunnels until he saw the approaching forces near enough to make them out: bulbous, heavy bodies, too deformed and round to be human, were shooting through the air on almost invisibly-fast metal wings. The gentle pattern of their beating wings, their oval bodies, their diverse and mismatched types of legs and arms, and even their weapons--massive, spiked, and cubic maces on long, knotted shafts--were all encased in a blue metal that shimmered with a golden luster and in between the segmented plates or in the lines of their weapons could be seen a bright green glow as if from a luminescent steel. Though their shapes were varied by their limbs, their helmets were uniform: a silver, jagged skull with a V-shaped blade in the front, a visor of black glass, and plates joining this icon-face down to the armor. Each had some notches on the left "ear" of the helm-blade, denoting rank, John decided. He eyed the information sheet of the nearest one--three notches, unlike his one-notched brothers or sisters--as they flew close enough to do so.

Lawman Brave
<The Lawmen of Vantage>
Level 16 Fighter
HP: 920/920
MP: 101/101
Stats: Str 26 (46) Agi 12 (32) End 30 Int 16 Wis 14 Cha 10 Lib 49
Status Effects: Fatigued, Lawman Network (Access Level: Brave)
Qualities: None
R/S: +0
A Dorsin named Ukork the Diligent who is 34 years old. Born and raised on the Plate, he hides his lower arms to more uniformly fit in with the usual Lawmen instead of appearing to be what he is: a local "quadrup" in Lawman armor. He's spent a full ten years as a Hammer, but his recent dedications and heroics earned him the rank of Brawler, and now Brave, in quick succession.

The tunnel of tunnels winked out of existence. Wherever they were, "the law" was coming. Were the Flamescale Failures the "law" of their Complex? John still had no reason to believe this was a complex... but wherever this was, it was organized and militant enough to afford the oncoming platoon of decent threats. John looked to his crew... and aside from Galley, and soon Rave, no one was going to be ready for a fight if it came to that. He thought to the double-damage variable... and the possibility of their lives being at risk. He looked to Tricia... and noted she had the same counter, not due to wear off for another two days. I've got to get everyone out of here... but where?!