on the wings of inferno

2

I’m on a wierd run of “kill your darlings” right now. 
Don’t know if that’s even a proper term. For explanation: Rejecting designs you like but have to change them for better.
I’m trying to give Hob and Kutcher a little more character.

Antlers and hooves are pretty underrated if you ask me. MORE CHARACTERS WITH ANTLERS AND HOOVES!


I’ll be your wings even in the infernal hurricane that never rests…

Inktober 2017 - day 1 - Swift

“One day, to pass the time away, we read
of Lancelot - how love had overcome him.
We were alone, and we suspected nothing. And time and time again that reading led
our eyes to meet, and made our faces pale,
and yet one point alone defeated us.
When we had read how the desired smile
was kissed by one who was so true a lover,
this one, who never shall be parted from me,
while all his body trembled, kissed my mouth.
A Gallehault indeed, that book and he
who wrote it, too; that day we read no more.” - (Dante: Inferno, V, 127-138)

Maybe you’re not so bad after all.’ He leant across the seat, jabbing his finger in the air. ‘If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.
—  Feyre and Rhys at some point
Game On

Originally posted by yourfavoritedirector

Request: I see that your requests are open! Huzzah! Could you do a deanxreader where the reader loves spicy food and has a really high tolerance. And has the caveat that any man who wants to date her has to attempt a hot wing challenge (like the really spicy wings and you have a time limit to eat them without drink or cooking agent) the problem? Dean has very low spice tolerance, but wants to try anyway. Fluff and/or smut. I trust thy artistic vision because you’re stuff is amazeballs. :3

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,100ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: Hope you enjoy!…


Keep reading

The golden rays -
the warmth drew me in,
moth to a flame,
oh to be shined upon
when it’s been so long
felt like the winters thaw.
Hibernation finally ending,
unfurling the wings frozen and dormant.
They folded outwards from my back
surprising me with the size of their span.
I haven’t flown in the longest time;
the winds are bitter and I’m cold blooded -
but the sun flooded in and I basked.
After the glorious dawning,
I realised it wasn’t warming enough,
there was too much distance from the fire in the sky.
So I flew - recklessly, and despite knowing better;
not out of hubris, I was born to fly out impetuous desperation.
I never realised the depths of my
exasperation until the light fell upon it.
I launched myself towards my own reckoning,
the craving for heat overtaking all rationality within me.
I soared through the clouds and broke through earths atmosphere,
tearing through the edges of the stratosphere with ravenous pace.

I see her now, so clearly - she’s dazzling and sizzling
a bright brilliant fever in space - blistering while the stars are all glistening
and my body is pyrectic - the ice of the past now a distant memory.
I glide towards her energy - magnetised
and enthralled;
I’m engulfed by her hypnotic fervour,
I reach the peak of calefacation -
she’s so close I don’t notice that my wings are now inferno
blazing like a forest fire in the night sky,
what a scintillating way to succumb -
I tumble downwards, a falling meteoroid
disintegrating upon atmospheric entry.
I expire before I reach the clouds and the debris of my corporeality scatters down over the Icarian sea.

—  Just another one, who flew too close to the sun // © @rarasworldbro

Today’s Green Anarchist Character of the Day is:

Oscar the Grouch!

“By undergoing what will be called Industrial and Technological Revolutions, the Great Artifice breaches all walls, storms victoriously through every natural and human barrier, increasing its velocity at every turn. But by the time the beast really gets going like a winged rodent out of Inferno, its own soothsayers will be saying an object which approaches the speed of light loses its body and turns to smoke. Such object’s victories are, in the long run Pyrrhic. Now leave me alone and get lost! Scram!” - Oscar the Grouch

anonymous asked:

A dragon comes to try and eat Plumette (because she's clearly a princess and thats wot dragons do) except he's not the only golden, firemaking thing in the room. (And Plumette is also a badA). ~NiceAnon (still needs tumblr account.)

you always get your fics right away because you are Nice Anon, so even though this fic is so amazing it should probably get like 20 chapters and full commissioned illustrations, I will give you just a little fic just to show you my fondness. also i am a bit tired so APOLOGIES if it just devolves into not making sense. but here we go let’s get some DRAGONS


The dragon looked over the Dragon Classifieds, dipping toast into his egg. He needed a princess—a good, proper princess; not any of these new-fangled breed, who hit things with saucepans or shot them with arrows or blasted ice out of their fingertips. No, that sort would not do at all. This dragon was getting old, and bitter, and a little fat around the tum, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had stolen a good princess. A good princess, now: dressed all in white, and near-divine with grace, and with deep dark eyes and a heart-shaped face. Elegant, beautiful, infused with love and femininity. That was the type of princess an old dragon wanted.

He scanned the Classifieds. Princesses in Germany, Austria, Italy—here was one all the way over in America, but the listing specified that she came with “raccoon and hummingbird sidekicks,” and that was just too much trouble to counter. No sidekicks. No princes, hanging around with slashing swords. Just a princess, all in white.

Ah! The hidden heart of France. Just normal France would do, but the listing was worded well. (dragons appreciate that little bit of style. many dragons have been known to go into careers as professional editors, when they are not eating people’s faces off). The princess of villeneuve had no sidekicks, no princely lover, not even a fairy godmother at hand. This princess would be perfect.

The dragon flapped his cranky old wings—oh, they ached, nowadays—and took off from his cave. To Villeneuve he would go. And soon he would come back, pretty princess in hand.

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Shadows of Poetry

Ea’s back! And ready to write :)

Warning: Dark!Azriel

 Az is the character I can relate to the most in the ACOTAR world. His childhood stages…no person, immortal or mortal, young or old, deserves that. This fic was supposed to turn out touching and sappy, but it didn’t. @the-little-dragon-faery can testify. Anyways, thanks for beta’ing hon. We may work on a part 2 together. 


Az’s Revenge

All things truly wicked, start from innocence 


Pain either dulled or worsened in prison.

Azriel supposed he know both like the back of his hand—or the lack of one. Burned flesh overlapped with torn skin for poor healing set for practices he’d never learned. His back ached, his vision blurred from the smoke of yesterday’s pyre-like ritual.

It was a gift, as well, he supposed, to be able to tame fire. He’d heard stories of another court—Autumn—mastering the flame. To fly free, to visit the other tales, to ascertain the myths—the scars throbbed in the silent darkness, a tacit reminder of who he was. Broken. Young. Scarred.

Unwanted.

No better than a beaten bag, his body had slammed against stone and wall, his mind beaten like his bare back, upon which a mass of a mess laid. His wings, strewn and strung, ripped and ruptured, told a different story, a ruination of his own heritage.

Illyrian.

The word mocked him.

So it was words he learned to manipulate.

He listened to the shadows, which eagerly absorbed his attention. Perhaps it was through the insanity of loneliness that his body strove to adapt to, but the lashes of night spoke to him. They did not whisper sweet nothings, but mad melodies.

Music and words, thrumming out a vivacious and vicious void of breathings and murmurings. In his time in recollection, words became his anchor, or facet of loss. With a broken nail, he scrawled his first poem into the wall.

The pain didn’t bother him. Nothing much did, anyways.

Until words itself were stolen from him.

His step brothers found him reciting quick breaths in the early mornings.

“Repeat what you just said,” the nearest male hissed.

They did not dribble faebane across his back that day. Instead, they crammed it down his throat, where the words ingrained in his brain burned, another flame flaring. He could not speak the words of worldly things that life in the washed away dark had taught him.

Whispers of shadows

fastly fleeing through flooded fields

Listen as I weep

Agony of air

endure excruciation

for wings and belief denied

Smoke on sorrow

for the arrival of tomorrow

Aching and shaking

Empty inside

Nowhere to hide

Everywhere to die

I swallow the ash

To where I return

Soon

He asked the shadows to tell him about dreams, and they whispered back in riddled ruses. He learned the sleight of words, of tilts and quirks. How the smile meant fire and to await flame. How the snarl meant whipping and caging. How the crack of fingers meant beatings and bashings.

“Tell me what you were saying,” the nearest step-brother repeated, yanking the torn wing line deeper, watching the gashes reopen with predatory satisfaction.

“Did magic find him?” another voice slurred.

“Look at the wall,” said one, dully.

A pause, not of reprieve, but of returning retribution.

“What is that,” one flatly said.

Azriel shrunk against the wall.

The nearest step-brother watched every movement, and snarled.

Another laughed. “Pitifully weak.”

Eyes gleamed. “Good thing we beat up. Spared the lords from seeing it.”

It. That was what he was.

Would be.

If not for the shadows whirling around him with roaring claws and snapping teeth, a beast without a leash, he would have vanished. He’d asked them for dreams when he lived in a nightmare.

“Look at it snap back,” one laughed.

Azriel sagged, the sound grating his already shredded bones.

“Thinks it stands a chance.”

He didn’t. Couldn’t.

“Better beat it out of it.”

He waited.

“I call the hands.”

The click and crunch of the match brought the shadows in a wretched inferno around him.

“I’ll wreck the wings.”

His heavy mass of malformed wings drooped, sagging against the ground. Waiting. Time ticked by.

“I’ll get more faebane.”

He could see the twinkle of vigorous vices shining in the surrounding darkened orbs.

The last step-brother stalked forward, a cruel smile etched on hardened features. “I’ll erase the wall.”

Erase.

Purge his essence, his last matters.

The shadows looped around the cell, darting between the seven intruding shapes. They danced through the darkness, and jumped when the third brother set aflame the match. A running cord of tugging threatened to drag him under, and without a thought, Azriel complied.

He drowned in the sorrowed seas and went limp into to the light. For under that heavy, deep folding layers laid a tug of power he answered to.

Azriel whispered back to the shadows.

The words on the wall vanished.

One step-brother cried in outrage.

And then screamed.

Blood dotted the walls, seeping through every crevice and crack. Crimson liquid bathed the floor, soaking the bottoms of bare feet, previously cold and confident, casually strolling into this cell.

Not anymore

The shadows painted the sentence of severed ties, and one step-brother shuddered, dropping into the floor. Hands touched the salted silver mixed with faebane, and a scream pierced the air.

The six brothers tracked the blood on the wall to the limp body on the floor. Their eyes traced the barren and broken youngest brother’s carcass to up to the scrawled loops on the wall.

I am not it.

One brother dropped to the floor, the shadows crooning around him, darting within and without warm flesh.

More blood dripped onto the wall, and the five step-brothers stilled in shock.

The shadows preened.

The wall wept with blood.

I am not it, the words had said.

Fresh blood glimmered.

I am Azriel.

The five remaining brothers hissed, and heads snapped towards the once-Illyrian.

Shadows encased, soul dimmed. Forged from flying flame, battered bruises, soaring from sickled sensations.

The shadows bowed to him.

Paused.

Azriel nodded his head.

The cell door whirred shut with swift soundness.

The five brothers palmed their daggers and knifes, knees bent.

“I’ve always waited for when to kill you,” one sneered.

“Limb by limb.”

“Tear the veins.”

“Gut the remains.”

“Harness your heart.”

Azriel merely offered them a light smile. The words of wistfulness, of what-ifs, had wormed through him. But that was not his destiny, he supposed. Perhaps it was better to live in darkness if the light above allowed such twisted evils to exist.

“What are you waiting for?” the oldest step-brother snarled. “Try us.”

But Azriel had waited for uncounted years in this cell, where his tormentors were now locked in with him.

He could wait a little longer.

“Can’t speak?” another one taunted. “Faebane got your tongue?”

Azriel shook his tongue, and nearly grinned.

It was an utmost irony of what word had been thrown at him:

Pathetic.

The shadows reached out, strumming chords to a cacophony, circling around the other male’s head.

The nearest step-brother froze, eyes dilated.

The shadows withdrew, and poured release down Azriel’s tongue. The broken body willingly drank, and a looming sensation of more began to build within him.

The other four brothers watched the other step brother’s irises grow, and stilled as he began stammering and shuddering, body rocking back and forth. Blood spurted as his eyes popped.

Azriel licked his lips. “Pop goes the weasel,” he said quietly.

The four flinched, and the blood began to blossom on the already stained wall.

Wary eyes for warlike wits.

The threads of blood flung against the wall into a crescendo.

By breaking the broken, the broken will break you.

The four step-brothers howled, and launched themselves at him.

Four bodies missed, and crashed onto the blood soaked ground. Red and brown and black colored the cell, and Azriel winnowed out of the prison that held him chained for years, the shadows matching his heartbeat.

No longer was he outmatched.

The four blanched at the sight of him. Across from him. Trapped by him. Three dead by him.

The eldest pressed his face against the bars. “Do you think pretty magic tricks can keep you free?”

“You will suffer father’s wrath,” the other growled.

“Your wings will be ripped.”

“Your hands and tongue will be butchered.”

Azriel tilted his head to the same lilt they had once looked at him with. Cracked his knuckles. Smiled and then snarled.

Eight eyes widened as his wings unfurled, and the shadows patched and placated. The fury ebbed away slowly as black clouds rained fear onto the four. The droplets of dread mixed with the liquid of their fallen three brothers.

The shadows rose next to him, and whirled through him. Existed for him. Listened to him. Spoke to him.

Bowed to him.

“If you let me out—”

The blood bathing the floor soared up and up and up until the whirled around the spoken brother with limbs of limber lattice. The life liquid shot out and crammed up the step brother’s nostrils and down his throat, as he’d crammed faebane down Azriel’s throat.

Azriel did not want to hear bargains. Not when his childhood was bargained away into the darkness from his true identity.

“I am Azriel,” he said.

Azriel stared at the remaining three. 

One fell to his knees, sobbing. The second stared frozen at the fallen bodies. The third—the oldest—glared at him with equivalent hatred.

The shadows cooed at the one on the ground, and fluttered when he screamed—watching his dripping tears transformed into rivers of blood.

Two step-brothers watched the third cry out his life, head thudding to the floor. One face showed remorse, the other rage.

Azriel felt none other than the numbness the prison had left him with.

The shadows had gone tired of blocking their attempts to winnow out, so Azriel allowed the access with a tilt of his head. The eldest immediately lunged at him, faebane coating an ash arrow, a selected favorite used on him to pull apart his wings.

The other brother merely watched with widened eyes, and turned his head away.

The shadows caught the arrow, slightly recoiling, but lunged forward. The tip hit not the aggressor, but the bystander. The second brother screamed as his wings fell to the floor, the sound of smacking and screaming surrounding the darkness. His spine lurched up, then slammed against the ground. Unmoving.

“And then there was one,” Azriel sang.

The eldest’s lip peeled back. “Looks like we created a killer.”

Azriel froze, and the other male took that as an opportunity to sling out onyx blades. The shadows shrieked as one punctured his stomach, the other through his upper leg.

He shook off the returning pain, a feeling he’d mastered through months to turning years. He gripped the swerving knuckle that nearly nicked his jaw, and stumbled backwards, wings crashing against a stoned wall. Pain rippled through him, but he ignored the feelings to submit.

Azriel managed to duck the flash of blades that missed his head, and tightened his hands. The shadows leapt into action, fulfilling the unfinished haunted dance. His prisoner howled, and darkness battered against the shadows, carving a shield around his body. Azriel stared down at the wards, and tore through them without a second thought.

“No,” Azriel rasped. “You created a dreamer.” Who dreamt for more.

The shadows no longer whispered, but roared. He was not it. He could talk. He could use his hands. He would fly.

The other male must have seen that determined sentiment in his eyes, because he bolted for the stairs, up and up and away. The shadows seethed as Azriel slowly started after him, and looked up the stairs, where a door with thorns and roses wrapped around the edges.

With a blink, the door sealed shut.

The step-brother snarled and smashed his magic against it.

But the silence of the shadows surged stronger.

Azriel heaved in a deep breath, and flared out his wings. Testing and twitching. He mastered the pain, and roared.

His wings flapped up, and beated through the musty air, mixed with the tang of blood.

His back screamed and protested, but Azriel’s eyes glowed gold in the darkness, the wisps of hazel gone as he rose higher and higher from his prison under the ground.

His wings flapped until he was level with his step-brother, who stared at him with fear and awe.

Azriel smiled. His step-brother snarled.

The shadows swarmed around the other male’s body, who shivered and shuddered, as if each touch stung. Azriel sent a strand of darkness towards his last captor’s hands. He let the shadows reflect the nightmare of burning and raging.

Of life in darkness and despair.

Of what thrived underneath.

Of evils enhanced.

The male screamed, his hands trembling outward, an offering, an action of finale.

The hands that had burned Azriel turned inwards, and grasped his own neck. The shadows sent a kiss across the other male, and those hands snapped his own bone.

The head hurled off into the bottom of the cell, bouncing off the steps of the stairs. The body fell against the step and rolled slowly down and down and down.

Azriel slouched against the door, the thorns pricking him, the roses matching the fresh blood that had rained.

He looked down, where the shadows salvaged the remains. Where the shadows gave him freedom from a nightmare so that he could imagine.

Dreams with dried, detrimental deceased.

Seven dead.

Azriel fell onto his knees as the door swerved open, and leaves coated the damp ground, petals flying through the air. Another presence that sang to the same darkness of despair, hurt and harmed, flitted through the prison.

He inhaled, and slowly exhaled, eyes turning back into bleak hazel. Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up.

And breathed truly for the first time.

The male, oozing so much raw power Azriel nearly crumpled to his knees, surveyed the seven bodies; his power unfurled through the dark and dampened cell, prodding and searching the depths—testament to the truth that existed. 

Rhysand, the shadows sang to him. High Lord of the Night Court.

At last, the dark-haired male—Rhysand—offered Azriel a wry grin. “Looks like you’ll need seven siphons, shadow-singer.”

Siphons. Azriel knew without a doubt they could not be the flames burning his hand, the faebane down his throat, or the whip across his back. 

Rhysand offered a hand to Azriel, who debated with himself in that second.  But —he saw the truth in the other male’s eyes, filled with dreams unanswered. Saw the speckled, stars shining within those orbs. Saw light. 

Azriel took the offered hand and gripped it steadily, the other male not grimacing at the marred and scarred skin. And for the first time, the figure — who had lived in the darkness and befriended the shadows — finally received his gift.

Humans are weird (aka the only reason I got a Tumblr)

Okay so I am completely immersed in and totally obsessed with the idea that humans are the weird ones in space. But I got to thinking… what about humans that are weird even to other humans? Little quirks would be hilarious to try to explain to aliens.
Here’s a little tidbit of an example:

An experienced crew member aboard the LWSS Karnace widened their small auditory orifice at an unexpected sound. When the noise was detected again, the alien tentatively skittered across the main hall to investigate. They were not surprised to discover that their human crew mate was the source.

“Human-Charlie, why are you hiding the walls?” The alien scanned the light grey panels that were beginning to cover the blue bulkhead of the storage room. “Was the color of this room not satisfactory to you?”

“Oh, hey Zagar, I’m just installing a couple of Gypsum Boards.”

“What purpose do these Gypsum Boards serve?”

“They’re fire resistant.”

At the mention of the blistering inferno, Zagar’s wings folded themselves protectively against the alien’s sides. “Are you aware of an impending combustion in this sector of our ship? Do we need to prepare the emergency pods?”

“What? No, haha. No, these are just a few precautions.” Charlie rapped her tawny knuckles against the blue material of the walls, “I don’t know how flame retardant this stuff from the captain’s planet is.”

“I am relieved to hear that we are taking precautions…”

The human bared her teeth and turned up the sides of her mouth in an unnerving display of amusement, “You want to know why I am taking these precautions.”

It was not a question, yet seeing the sign of merriment on their crew mate, Zagar nodded in response.

Charlie fit the last panel in place and stated, “I am going to conduct a few, um, experiments? With fire. And other things. But mostly fire.”

Zagar’s wings quivered. They began to back out of the storage room, one spindly leg at a time, intent on leaving the chamber empty except for the human and her drawstring bag. “Why must you experiment?”

“I don’t, really. I just like the fire.”

“You what?”

“I haven’t had the chance to play for the last few months because of how busy we’ve been here onboard the Karnace.”

“I do not understand. Is fire not dangerous to your species?”

The humans were a very resilient breed. They could survive many things that other forms could not. This, Zagar was aware of from the bone rattling stories that they had heard from other officers, stories that they hadn’t even bothered to contemplate on account of how absurd and untrue the tales must have been. That is, until Zagar and their crew started working alongside humans themselves.

Fire, however, seemed to be universally perilous.

“Yeah, it is.” Charlie responded with another menacing smile. “That’s part of what makes it fun.”

To Zagar, the bipedal creatures could not get any more terrifying.
However, Zagar had never before met a pyromaniac.

@hamelin-born​ asked: I feel like worldbuilding - would you be interested in giving me a gramander prompt to expand on?

@funkzpiel​: YES. Hmmmmmm… Newt is actually a Changling that copied Child!Newt’s form when said child died from becoming an Obscurial. Percy ends up in Wonderland and Newt is part of Wonderland in some way. Royalty AU where Character A is King to Be, but taken away/kidnapped/etc etc and Character B is either charged with retrieving them (or stumbles accidentally upon them). ASSASSINS AU. Oh Oh OH Angel AU. Ghost AU. Spy AU. (THROWS AUs AT YOU)

I didn’t expect such an enthusiastic response! But - well. The thing about angel AUs?

“Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.“ - Macbeth, William Shakespeare.

(Also, to anyone reading this, please don’t kill me for what’s probably going to be an extremely fictionalized interpretation of Christian Mythology. Warnings for - I dunno, blasphemy? Maybe torture?)

Keep reading

Armory Arm
————————————————
1 Tuner + 1 or more non-Tuner monsters
Once per turn, you can either: Target 1 monster on the field; equip this card to that target, OR: Unequip this card and Special Summon it in Attack Position. While equipped by this effect, that target gains 1000 ATK. If that target destroys a monster by battle and sends it to the Graveyard: Inflict damage to your opponent equal to the ATK of the destroyed monster in the Graveyard.

————————————————
Can Be Found In: Duelist Pack: Yusei (DP08-EN016), Turbo Pack: Booster Six (TU06-EN010), Legendary Colleciton 5D’s Mega Pack (LC5D-EN034)

Monsters are overall divided in two groups. Those who will carry the Duel with their powerful stats and effects, and those that will assist our gameplay as well other cards. The latter is actually much more important than might look, as if wasn’t for their assistance we couldn’t obtain the powerful outcomes we will gain from our best monsters afterwards. This is not only limited to working as materials as many Decks focuses nowadays, but also with other abilities that range from disruptive to assisting our other monsters.

“Armory Arm” might be a Synchro Monster, but its more like an odd Equip card residing our Extra Deck. Similar to Union Monsters, “Armory Arm” will turn itself into equipment for a monster on the field, as well return back as a monster if needed to. When equipped, the target monster will gain 1000 ATK as well deal damage to the ATK of any monster that destroys in battle and goes to the Graveyard. Is overall a quite powerful effect when used on our best monsters or improve others to the point of becoming threats, and thanks to its low Level “Armory Arm” becomes quickly available to work in such purpose.

Due its low Level, “Armory Arm” is in a great position to assist players as soon we have a solid candidate for its abilities. Decks like Nimble and Ojama can easily gather small monsters along the proper Tuner. A good build to immediately obtain powerful results while summoning this monster is arround the effect of “Superancient Deepsea King Coelacanth”, as will swarm the board with plenty materials to bring “Armory Arm” and equip it to this monster afterwards. However, due “Armory Arm” will usually require another monster on the field to function properly, in most circumstances will be brought to the field in mid to late game. In such situations things will be easier thanks to one of many revival effects available, with Tuners such as “Alien Ammonite” and “Junk Synchron” bringing back a proper material to Synchro Summon into “Armory Arm” immediately.

Obviously, “Armory Arm” will shine as long we have other monster(s) ready to be equipped with it. Its ATK boost will suffice for even the weakest monsters to stand out in battles, but clearly is recommended to aim for our strongest creatures so they can finish off Duels with their strikes. With the ability to deal additional damage when defeating monsters, its best candidates are monsters able to declare multiple attacks such as “Mataza the Zapper” or “Black Luster Soldier - Envoy of the Beginning”, clearing the board as well dealing considerable damage for each successful battle. If we manage to bring a Link Monster to gain additional slots for our Extra Deck summons we can bring some powerful monsters to work Armory Arm, like “Evil HERO Inferno Wing” and “Elemental HERO Shining Flare Wingman” doubling the damage dealt, or atleast two copies of “Colossal Fighter” for “Armory Arm” equip to an opponent’s monster and create an OTK loop by attacking the powered up enemy. However, remember that “Armory Arm” can summon itself back as a monster later on, so there’s a chance we can spare the Extra Monster Zone for our strongest summons to then equip this Synchro Monster turns after.

Don’t be fooled by its position as a Synchro Monster, as “Armory Arm” can easily provide the push needed to finish Duels by targetting the perfect monster. Some targets will suffice with the ATK boost and burn damage, but others such as “Black Luster Soldier - Envoy of the Beginning” will pretty much provide an easy OTK by combining their effects together. Unfortunately “Armory Arm” is mostly known for working with other Synchro Monsters and a few other Extra Deck strategies, which the introduction of the Extra Monster Zone damaged these setups considerably to the point of strategies such as the loop arround several copies of “Colossal Fighter” becoming extremely difficult to pull out smoothly. On the bright side, Link Monsters and many powerful creatures residing the Main Deck can still highly benefit from “Armory Arm” assistance right from early game, and with its easy availability when needed the most makes it a wonderful finishing tool to work along our best monsters.

Personal Rating: A-

+ Becomes equipment to provide 1000 ATK to the target monster
+ The target monster will deal damage equal to the ATK of the defeated monster in battle
+ Easy to summon
+ Several powerful targets with high OTK potential

- Must work along other monsters
- The introduction of the Extra Monster Zone damaged many well-known setups

Geryon is a figure from Greek mythology. A giant, Geryon was said to have three heads, and was known as a fearsome warrior. He had a two-headed hound named Orthrus, the brother of Cerberus, as well as a herd of red cattle. Heracles’ tenth labour was to obtain Geryon’s cattle, which he achieved after killing the giant with an arrow dipped in the blood of the Hydra.

In Dante’s Inferno, Geryon has become a winged, serpentine demon, the Monster of Fraud. Dante and Virgil ride on the beast’s back to the eighth circle of Hell.

Image source.

Monster master list.

Suggest a spook.