theironphoenyx:
Once again, he thanked whatever diety on high that had convinced him put on armor for this one. Those energy bolts were vicious.
He caught one under the arm, not two centimeters from an artery. That would have been it had the Prince not been such a terrible shot.
He pressed himself against the side of a tree, taking a moment to catch his breath.
First thing’s first, he had to ditch the cameras…
No doubt the Caesar had rigged these things with all manner of booby traps to prevent tampering. As such, he’d have to disable, not destroy…
A handful of mud. Not the most elegant of solutions, but sometimes simple worked best. He lobbed at the lenses, gobbing them up as best he could.
That would…wait a second.
Was that music?
It was horrible…
What he would have given for some Tito Puente or something with an actual rhythm, honestly.
As it stood, he’d have to play this one a bit differently than normal. No bravado, no righteous stand. Just brutal and efficient.
He waited for the pompous fool to draw close. At which time, he leapt from the tree and brought his claws down on his rifle.
Ramson smacked the side of his visor as his surveillance was quickly muddied up. “Damn it! I told them to install wipers on those-!” With no more birds-eye view and the music causing a ruckus, Ramson had been robbed of his awareness.
By the time he’d spun around to fire at the shadow in the corner of his eye, his rifle had already ported a pair of nasty gashes down its side.
“You filthy peasent!” shouted the prince, pulling the trigger anyways. “That was a custom!” The rifle choked and spat, only minute sparks issuing form its barrel. The plasma within had bottle-necked inside its charge cell, and as soon as either fighter knew what that meant, the rifle began to bleed plasma from its wounds, emitting a deadly crackling noise as Ramson dropped it and turned to run.
The Prince only had moments to accuse his enemy of foul play.“No, no, no! This is sabotage, you can’t do that here!”
And then the rifle exploded. With the “Murderfy” setting set to run, the blast was twice what it should have been. A surge of sizzling, green energy bursted outward, knocking the prince off his feet and running him straight into a tree. Flames took over, as fire and smoke began to eat way at the trees and spread along the grass.
With clenched teeth, Ramson drew his plasma dagger and spun it in his hand. He couldn’t see past the flames that rose around him, but it didn’t hinder his ego from spouting curses and deadly insults. His words might have been soul-crushingly effective, had not the camera-bot music reached it crescendo, filling the air with a parade of off-beat drums and off-tune trumpets.
