Operation: Phoenix: Scouting Ahead by Fleet Commander Samhain, midnite@iastate.edu ****The actions in this segment occur during the last section of the Turning Point Battle, Part 7. --Samhain "*sigh* Nostalgia was so much better in the olden days..." - root@iac.net The group of weary climbers paused briefly at a landing and wandered out into the hallway for a brief break before resuming their climb. They were all in excellent physical condition, but the effort of resisting the influence of the purple cloud was taking its toll. "What floor are we on?" asked the anthropomorphic JFox, as he hovered in midair resting his tired paws. "Eleven," replied Owsen, who was enjoying his own brief respite from the climb. "Great, let me know when we get to thirty. I'm gonna barf," Fox quipped dryly. "I'm going to scout ahead a few floors. Meet me on floor 15," suggested Samhain as he headed back out the door to the stairwell to resume his climb. Noting the looks that Owsen and the Fox gave him, he simply grinned and winked before heading out the door before they could say a single word. "Does that guy *ever* stop to rest or sleep?" asked a befuddled JFox. "He did," retorted Owsen, "but he's alive again now..." ************************************************************************* Samhain nimbly climbed the staircase, his swords held at his side inside their protective covers. His practiced, fluid motion took him upwards, his feet hitting the stairs as lightly as those of a cat, and making far less noise. He paused on each floor, poked his head carefully in through the door, and hustled down the hall and back. No need to have anyone--any*thing* surprise them from behind once they were up a few more floors. He found them largely undisturbed from what they would normally be, except perhaps for a few chairs and papers left, quite clearly, hurriedly and unconcernedly. There was nothing of any concern... for now... ************************************************************************* Reaching the fifteenth floor, Samhain repeated his earlier search pattern. He peered through the doorway, and held the door so that it would close slowly and silently behind him. You just couldn't be too careful in this place, and any excess noise could spell disaster. Knowing his friends would be joining him here shortly, he took extra care searching the floor, making sure it was secure. He paused outside the door of what was labeled a conference room to listen more carefully, thinking he heard something inside. Sure enough, voices came to him from inside the room. Spongin. Had to be. "Oh thou holy and glorious Purple Lord..." [Oh Grimace,] he thought, [a worship ritual...] "We are so clad that thou has found us and made us all thy Special Friends." [*gaccckk*] "Not since your Golden Ages have you had such a Glorious, wonderful and truly Purple Time." [*pshaw... right...*] "Not since Gerry and Barndoc have your triumphs and successes against the evil Jihaddi been so Grand!" [Hmmm. Golden Age Spongin... this sucks.] "And now, we are honored that we shall get to see Thy ultimate Triumph!" [*Grrrrrr*] "Now, when you have already vanquished the likes of Tasha..." [*Snarl*] "Now, when you have vanquished the likes of Samhain..." [*SNARL*] "Now, you shall take over the WORLD!" Samhain could no longer take any more. These Golden Age Spongies and their nostalgizing had reached their end. He kicked open the door and strode in, tossing his blades into the corner as he did so, his eyes glowing red with rage. "You think your Lard is so great that he has killed his enemies? You think he is so DAMNED *GREAT* that he has killed me? You ACTUALLY THINK he can conquer the world? DO YOU THINK HE WILL DEFEND YOU FROM ME? COME GET SOME!" The spongies stared in horror, staring at the lone figure who had walked into their darkened worship chamber, the backlight turning him into a dark silhouette, only his glowing eyes visible from within it. They instantly recognized him as a golden ager himself, though they had no idea who it was. One of their number called to B'harni for help, "Oh, Great Barney! You have brought one to us that we may prove ourselves to you! Give us the streng--llllk**..." His voice choked off suddenly as a single great hand wrapped around his puny neck, cutting off all sound coming from his mouth as he found himself staring wide-eyed into the eyes of his assailant. "You want strength? Strength from the past, from what is BEHIND YOU? WELL LET ME SHOW YOU STRENGTH!" The fingers of Samhain's other hand dug themselves into the flesh in his back, rapidly working their way inwards. They soon wrapped around his spinal column at its base, and the arm quickly yanked backwards, snapping the spine first at the bottom and then at the base of his neck. Blood and gore flew outwards with the spinal column that was now fleeing from its previous owner's body, painting a stripe of red across the altar behind him. His body wrenched violently at the shock of being separated from a large section of his central nervous system, but remained locked in the powerful grasp of the hand around his neck, now squeezing so hard as to nearly pop the head off like the top of a dandelion. "GRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" roared Samhain in fury, now unable to restrain himself in any way, and everything seeming to move in slow motion. His right hand, still holding the spinal column, whipped towards the next nearest spongin. the spine quickly coiled partially around the leg of the spongie, and was quickly yanked away again, tearing muscle and flesh from bones, sending blood flying in all directions. It slid down the leg bones until it locked around his ankle, which it promptly ripped off of the now shredded leg. He soon found himself being gutted alive with a broken bone from... somewhere. The spongies were coming faster now, and Samhain's movements increased in speed and ruthlessness. He grabbed a spongie's sternum and ripped it outwards, promptly lodging it in the eyesocket of yet another victim. A rib that came with it went into another one's neck. An arm quickly became a club and nearly knocked a head off of the neck supporting it with a *thud-CRACK* as it hit. A foot (with no leg attached) was stuffed into a mouth. Some toes found their way into some nostrils. A leg (with no foot attached) was shoved *through* an upper torso, which sacrificed ribs to make long, sharp, claws of bone that raked across a skull. A jaw bone was ripped out of its sockets and used to gut yet another spongie, whose intestines quickly wrapped around the neck of 2 or 3 others. Bodies ended up with bones in them not their own, yet still distinctly lacking enough to comprise a complete skeleton. Some, for that matter, lacked bones at all. The alter became a piling ground for now-unrecognizable body parts, a true shrine to what their Lard represented... ************************************************************************* Coming up the steps towards their planned rendezvous on the 15th floor, the other Jihaddi heard a tremendous racket from above and picked up their pace accordingly. As they reached the door at the landing, the sounds were clear enough that they could easily be recognized as screams, war cries, and the snapping sound of breaking bones. By the time they reached the conference room door, they were almost frantic at the horriffic sounds coming from within--sounds which were rapidly subsiding as they reached for the doorknob. Were they too late? Had they lost their friend yet again? What was going on in there? CyberPyro threw open the door, and charged into the room, ready for anything... except for the sight that beset his eyes on entering. He barely ducked in time to avoid being hit in the face with a forearm/hand that came flying at him through the air (astonishingly still connected correctly) and hit the wall behind him, only to land at his feet and quivver a little bit of its own volition. His eyes rose from the hand at his feet and settled on his (friend)...? But he was too late... it was over. "Well... so much for the 'no killing unless they're in our way' rule..." "These was different," snapped Samhain, slowly recomposing himself. "they were not mere 'people affected by the cloud... They were worshipping... PRAISING him... for murder of ranking Jihaddi... of *TASHA*... of *ME!* They were nostalgizing about the 'olden days,' and how he would win this time..." He started wandering towards the others, and flicked something that remotely resembled a thumb to his side as he made his way across the lake of gore covering much of the floor. He paused briefly to collect his swords from the corner, still in their respective sheaths. "But you... your swords..." stammered J-Rock, noticing the stop-off and the gore-covered room. "This Jihad has not been based on mere petty tools!" snapped back Samhain. "It's been our blood, our sweat, that have made us what we are!" He paused briefly before continuing on his path towards the door. "And what we are is a forward-looking group. We live in the present, for the future. And now..." Samhain pushed his way past the gawkers, "let's get on with this thing..." JFox, still taken somewhat aback at all that had just transpired, turned to Owsen. "Well, isn't someone just little mister philosophical about it all..." Owsen could make only one reply; "J, you've been here a while, and you've seen and learned much. I've taught you a great deal. But you still have no idea just how much has happened..." And with that, he followed Samhain down the corridor. *************************************************************************