glowing-armor

Return of the Third (Closed RP with giygas-the-overlord)

He had been trapped within the infernal abyss for countless years…but no longer, evil energy swirled in the wasteland where the old dark tower once stood, fire blazed from underneath the ground causing it to erupt as a familiar figure climbed out, clad in jet black armor with glowing red accents throughout it and wielding a blade that seemed to crave life itself. He looked around and breathed deeply, taking his first breath of fresh, albeit stale, are that he’s had in years.

“Dang this place looks like a dump, what happened here?” he asked this as he looked over the wasteland, seeing the shards of his old tower as he began to walk around and explore, what was strange was he could still sense the tower heart, albeit nowhere near him at all. “How long have I been gone..?” He asked as he walked around the wasteland, not knowing of the portal to the netherworld that was nearby.

cmdrpaige asked:

[X]

His name was Sem Ph’tar, and his presence within the System was a colossal mistake. 

The question had lingered for years; what, if the circumstances were ripe enough for it to ever arise, would happen if a non-human intelligence successfully rezzed into the Grid? It appeared that Sem, a refuge from the planet Dynon and an Allderian warrior-priest, was the first unfortunate success. 

The tall being had landed his luck - he was formed right after a fresh skirmish between several resistance programs and sentries. As a result, red cubes littered the glossy surface of this alien world, tempting him to examine their nature. He held the tiny glowing objects, curious and woefully confused. It seemed that the beings of this world were so fragile, as if made from colored glass that could shatter any moment. 

Sem was unaware of a presence watching. 

“What is this place?”

He murmured, glancing down to note how mysterious lines decorated his armor. They glowed just like the fragments of dwindling data cubes within his palm. Before he could formulate another thought, the click of boots were upon him. He turned, doubting the move was safe. When his teal eyes gazed upon a female figure decorated with similiar lines he froze. The nature of her existence puzzled him, and as an organic being he mistakenly believed she was supernatural. 

“Are you a spirit?” he asked as she stood to observe him with the same awe-struck expression as he. 

Page of Swords

The sun was high in the sky when he saw them.  Polished armor glowing in the afternoon light, ceremonial capes draped from their shoulders.  In a shining line of steel and steeds, they marched through the streets.  Enraptured, the boy followed, weaving through the cheering crowds.  The victory that they bathed in was intoxicating, it made his eyes glow with delight, his mind lust for glory and honor filled rides into battle.  

And he did not see the sad knight towards the back of the line, pulling their cart of dead.  

Years later found the boy in a training yard, swinging his practice sword at a training dummy. Every day he rose before the sun and left after it had set.  The work was hard and yet his eyes still never lost that shine.  He knew what he wanted and he knew where he was going.  

As he left every night with aching muscles and a tired smile, he never saw the sad knight watching from the sidelines.  And he most certainly never heard his whispered wish of him not losing his naiveté while he was young.

Many days and nights passed and finally one morning found the boy, now on the cusp of manhood kneeling and receiving his honors.  He bore his new armor, unblemished, with no history of battles to be seen.  His shoulders wreathed in a crimson red ceremonious cape.  He saw it as the honor he now bore for his kingdom, but the sad knight saw it to be the river of blood that followed his steps.

“I bestow upon you our honor,” he tapped the boy’s right shoulder, “Our virtue,” his left shoulder, “Wear them well.  You knelt a boy, now rise a knight.”

And there were cheers and songs, mead and wine.  But morning came and duty called.  It called in the sound of dying screams and cracking wood.  The castle was ablaze in roaring flames and the boy who believed he was a knight, rose with his comrades.  He drew his sword and launched into battle, ready for the glory that he worked so hard for.  But his sad comrade fought with him and felt his heart clench.  The boy was slain, his new title shiny and barely worn.

He had risen a boy and fell a knight.

doctorblake asked:

The day hadn’t gone the way it was regimented to. Everything happened in a proper order, and there were no surprises. He was close to being released as a full-fledged Judge. It was to have happened the following day, and he would have been dispatched to a proper control center where he would dispense justice as needed.

What the young Judge hadn’t told anyone about was the warmth in his chest during recreation time in the yard at the training complex. He didn’t know his chest was glowing under the armor when he saw the young woman walk by daily. Not until he’d opened his armor enough to her to show the mutual glow they shared. It had distracted him from doing some of the things he might have done during that time because he was talking to her.

On the final day of his training, he’d approached the fence that separated the two of them and called out to her again to tell her about it. This time, he reached through the fence to touch the woman’s fingers. He wanted to see her outside when he was released, and asked her living quarters.

Without realizing it, he’d been observed constantly speaking to this young woman. When the cameras caught him touching her, and that their chests were glowing when they did. They called the fledgling judge into the main office to dismiss him from service for being unsuitable for having been distracted by love. Having been conditioned to follow orders, he handed over his gear and accepted the termination.

Walking out of the training center, and onto the street, it hit the dark haired man that he had no where to go. He looked around, and finally made his way to the place he knew to be the woman he needed to see. It took him a relatively short amount of time running to make it to the building. Making his way to the appropriate door, he stood outside and knocked, waiting patiently for her to open the door to him, as if she would recognize him without his helmet on.

anonymous asked:

( 8 ) Just like your mace is quickly returned to you, so to is your opponent, the /REAL/ Blake, is brought to your feet "It is time to end this Belladonna" You breathe "Yield this fight to me and I promise not to strike you down into unconsciousness, and you will leave this arena with nothing broken" [1]

( 8 ) Getting up, both swords in hand, she glares at you with unfeeling calculation “You have bested my duplicates, withstood direct and nearly paralyzing assault, found out where I truly was, and you ask me to yield on the promise of not fighting my actual self?” She rebuttals “You have to be out of your goddamned mind” Sighing, your armor glows dimly before letting your mace float at your side “Then do not say that I am without mercy when this fight is truly over” you respond [2]

( 8 ) In the blink of an eye, both her blades come hurling towards you from separate directions, but you bother not pulling out your shield. The edges of the blades screech and spark against your breastplate, making an X on the armor over your right breast, but you make her next attack fruitless, as with speed to rival hers, you grasp her wrists in each of your hands with the strength of a bear trap, bringing your right foot up before crashing it down upon her knee, breaking her leg [3]

( 8 ) She howls like a wild cat in pain, but you are sure to put an immediate stop to it, yanking her forward and colliding your head with hers to fully shut her up, and knock her out for good. Releasing her wrists from your grasp, you let her crumple to the ground like a piece of paper, then kneeling to check her pulse “Still alive,” You sigh in relief “Good, I won’t be surprised If you demand a rematch Blake, but I am so fucking done with your shit” [4]

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i was about to cringe at the brutality of that but then i remembered that everyone is op as shit but BREAKING HER LEG?
CHRIS T

anonymous asked:

( 8 ) Gritting your teeth at the pain, you begin to see red at the edge of your vision when you look up at the Blake in front of you "D-didn't P-pyrrha ever tell you" You hiss every word "Do n-not tame something y-you cannot CAGE!!!" With each hand, you grip each ribbon that binds your arm and pull with all your might, your armor glowing a piercing bright purple "GET OVER HERE!!!" You roar, your voice carrying just like Pyrrha's, if not farther [1]

( 8 ) and pull them outward as if you were about to be crucified, your mace hitting the ground in front of you. A third copy of Blake reappears, sending forth her ribbon to wrap around your chest, constricting it like a king taijitu “This, is how you lose, Bane of Grimm” The Blake in front of you remarks in a cold tone, as the Blake’s to either side of you begin to move behind you, pulling your arms back as if to tear them from your shoulders [2]

( 8 ) “COME HERE” You roar again, the glow fading from your armor, but not the gauntleted hand you point at the stranger. Gravity turns on them, as the cloaked stranger comes flying towards your grasp, though with cat like grace they avoid your hand, landing just right of you about five feet. Discarding their cloak, the figure reveals herself as Blake, to which you hope in the back of your mind, that this is the real one. The Blake presented to you, however, does not draw out a ribbon [3]

( 8 ) Instead she unties, with a simple tug, her sword from her back. You don’t really take the opportunity to ask why her sword looks like an unrefined block of metal, you simply summon your mace and shield, which return to you obediently from where they lie on the field of battle, and charge at her like a raging mother Ursa, keeping your opponent on their toes, striking at her with blinding speed and power [4]

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holy fucking shit