[The burst of light slams right into its target, writhing and slithering backwards. Vakama clearly sees it, backing up to try and grab something to defend himself with off the benches. But a second tendril whips up to snake around the Matoran's ankle, slamming him against the top of the forge.
Answer, Vakama.
It's a voice that echoes from nowhere, piercing but echoing. A reverberation, not a source.
we're wasting time--
--hunting down just because of--
--so sure about this--
Who is responsible?
The heat starts to rise suddenly. Drastically.
As Void Archive steps further in their dodging, the surroundings morph again - the wreck of an enormous open furnace almost unfathomably tall, s̸͕͓̄ǒ̴̱̪͈̠͌͐ṁ̸̛̠͌̑ḙ̷͍̺͂̿̕͝ť̶̫͌̊h̸̛̛͓͓͈̾̒į̵̘͙͉̀̈n̴̢̩͉̺̏̎̀g̵̨̙̎ boiling in its catastrophic flames.
With a whipping snap, Vakama is fully thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
What time was wasted in your incessant searching?
What lives brought to suffer?
For a split second, as Vakama struggles to his feet, his form flickers to normal -- stumbling towards VA, a hand outstretched that wraps with building, swirling fire. But that same shadowed tendril grips him tight by the waist, and his form changes right back, yelling and shoving for purchase as he's lifted right back into the air.
Void Archive will find their limbs drawn down on the spot in a rain of unavoidable projectiles. Hundreds of thousands of seeded capsules fall from the ceiling; cracking open where they land, growing quickly like a mass of writhing, multiplying snakes of rot and plant and darkness, grasping out to wrap them still and drag them to their death.
No matter whether they act or stay still, their power is draining without replenishment.]
cw fires, tentacle/snake imagery just to be safe
Answer, Vakama.
It's a voice that echoes from nowhere, piercing but echoing. A reverberation, not a source.
we're wasting time--
--hunting down just because of--
--so sure about this--
Who is responsible?
The heat starts to rise suddenly. Drastically.
As Void Archive steps further in their dodging, the surroundings morph again - the wreck of an enormous open furnace almost unfathomably tall, s̸͕͓̄ǒ̴̱̪͈̠͌͐ṁ̸̛̠͌̑ḙ̷͍̺͂̿̕͝ť̶̫͌̊h̸̛̛͓͓͈̾̒į̵̘͙͉̀̈n̴̢̩͉̺̏̎̀g̵̨̙̎ boiling in its catastrophic flames.
With a whipping snap, Vakama is fully thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
What time was wasted in your incessant searching?
What lives brought to suffer?
For a split second, as Vakama struggles to his feet, his form flickers to normal -- stumbling towards VA, a hand outstretched that wraps with building, swirling fire. But that same shadowed tendril grips him tight by the waist, and his form changes right back, yelling and shoving for purchase as he's lifted right back into the air.
Void Archive will find their limbs drawn down on the spot in a rain of unavoidable projectiles. Hundreds of thousands of seeded capsules fall from the ceiling; cracking open where they land, growing quickly like a mass of writhing, multiplying snakes of rot and plant and darkness, grasping out to wrap them still and drag them to their death.
No matter whether they act or stay still, their power is draining without replenishment.]