Freyd

Invigorated by Shiina's unique brand of wumbo juice, Freyd felt like his veins were vibrating internally, pulsing with extra power. The rest of the gang was readily pounding the poor troll into paste, Ugzeke reeling under the relentless assault. "Nice one, Eruda. Good to see you in action. Oh, and you're hair's on fire." It wasn't, but Freyd was too busy jonesing over getting the gang back together to care, and Eruda was fun to tease. Besides, fire was really her thing, as their enemy was in the process of learning. Maybe. Ugzeke really wasn't that bright. Actually, he was about

Even from their earliest days spent together in the death game defining their existence, Freyd had never seen Katoka look so shaken or vulnerable. Sadness pouring from her smiling eyes initially made him flinch, unaccustomed and unprepared for the intensity of witnessing his friend's raw and unbridled agony. Even the Whisper's chronic intensity, perceived as harsh by many, softened in the face of so much unspoken anguish. As Katoka's heart opened its floodgates, he felt lost to do anything other than stand and become a sea wall against her surging emotional tides. This was her moment of cat

"Yeah. In here,..." Smiling without mirth, Freyd merely nodded his appreciation to Oscar for not pushing the issue more than he might have. Trivializing the events they'd just witnessed fared no better. It wasn't as simple as just dismissing the whole thing as a game, regardless of its veneer. These were lived experiences, whatever their 'real world' merits. "First we dismiss the mobs as inhuman conjurations. Then we tar the NPCs with the same brush. Inevitably, we start to turn on each other, forgetting what it even means to be human." More hung on his lips, remaining unspoken even as

"A sound plan." Freyd's eyes were focused on the dark elves and darker shadows of Kalanaes. This place held many secrets and malicious memories, many of both still lingering or festering to this day. "It would be best if we keep moving," he urged them along from beneath his cowl. Any of them who turned would note that the Whisper's appearance had changed, skin darkening as his hair did the opposite. Unruly black became shock of tempestuous white. A rueful grin was the only admission on the man's face as his features morphed to better suit their surroundings. Even his clothing had taken o

An auspicious start, to be sure, but the Whisper's luck ran out swiftly this time around. His fellow players scrambled down the cliff face into the fray, each taking aim with an expected degree of difficulty. Firm Anima was no slouch. "Nice hit, uh..." he needed a moment to check the party stats, having glossed over introductions a bit for the sake of expediency. After so many, runs on this mob were starting to blur together into one gigantic shark-tooth infested melee montage. "Typhoonflame... sound like TIFF, if I think it fast enough. Apologies in advance if you don't like nickname

"Hey now. Don't food with your play. You have no idea where that's been, and neither one of us ever wants to ever consider it again, capiche? Now finish up so we can get out of here." Sliding his boots back on in an way that felt like laterally re-attaching Velcro, the Whisper just sighed and focused on making his way towards the exit and the slowly rising haze on the left. Given that the sun had already set behind them, by this point, he was fairly certain that would be Glyndebourne. "Come on, Persi. Finish up so we can go home." The tiny pair of blue eyes with slotted i

"Persi? Did you want to take this bunch? I wouldn't mind a break." Finding something he could legitimately sit on without impaling himself, risking some form of infection, or that wouldn't otherwise squelch in some disgusting way proved to be a greater challenge than anticipated. Finally finding a wooden barrel that could bear his weight, Freyd sat and took off his boots, draining the accumulated sludge like some sort of concrete slurry. His pants and socks weren't in much better shape, but there was little point in attempting a proper cleaning as long as he was still here. "Forget a

The last of the basted meat muppets had been dispatched, leaving on the earlier group that had mindlessly entwined itself in the spiked chains. This one was firmly in Walking Dead territory, the golems having shredded themselves to a consistency comparable to pulled pork by the time he returned. It might have been possible to just leave them to destroy themselves, but he really couldn't take that chance. "Minced meat golems? Yeah. Cardinal would do that." There wasn't really much the program wouldn't dare. Even its censorship protocols seemed to have exceptions so numerous that pl

With a little inginuity, Freyd rigged one of the overhead pulleys to a platform that could bear his weight, releasing the large metal bucket that had previously been attached, which promptly fell onto a solitary stone outcrop with a resounding *DONG*. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Freyd swung over top of the mired meat puppets, using his momentum to provide the needed extra force to make them really feel the full force of his thrusted fists and kicks. Too dazed to effectively resist, the mobs were left to flail aimlessly as he passed, taking a slow but steady beating until all s

If Ojib'we - or Owij'be, or whatever the thing's name was supposed to have been - was indeed the labyrinth guardian, and the Midnight Ripper was its field boss, what did that make Magistrate Aldenbrook?He'd never found any indication of a quest in his UI for any of them, though his current bout might require final clearing of his remaining foes to declare itself. Cardinal could be a weird-ass cranky pants about these things sometimes. The last of the caged meat fell apart, its bits and bobs having stuck themselves into inappropriate openings and paid the price. Glory to the fallen, etc

With half the mooks dead, and the balance being little more than mindless automatons, Freyd managed to maneuver them around the battlefield isolating groups for separate focus. All that remained was culling them one by one. The latest batch were hemmed in by a series of mangled cages where their progenitors were likely kept before being reduced to their present state. Reddish metal, part rust, but mostly blood, marred the pocked and pitted surface, as if acid had been sprayed upon them from the outside... probably to melt the skin. Eww. Tricking the golems into reaching for him throug

Savaging the forward ranks, Freyd finally broke though the enemy's lines. Free to roam freely, what first began as an awkward trap become a massacre. The poor meats were having to face death a second time, though it wasn't like they'd really left him much choice. Nor could he allow them to venture from this place and possibly endanger the populace of Glyndebourne. That place had enough issues already. It also reminded him to check these mobs for any red thread influence. Seeing none, and having found no trace of it on or in the Ripper, he resigned himself to the fact that this was a gut-

The herd... HORDE... The horde was thinning. Preferring to envision the shambling zombies from his old place in Angel's Point on Floor thirteen also helped. Not that they were much better, but the idea of fighting animated humanoid corpses was somehow still preferable. Maybe it was because his brain could never equate them with food? Odd as it might seem, that distinction made all the difference and kept his wrenching stomach from churning any further. Snaring one sack of sausages by its twistings, Freyd spun and smashed it into the nearest pressing foes, desperately trying not to th

They're just mobs like any others, Freyd. Beat them off and... *headdesk* "Great. My own twisted imagination is going to get me killed, and do the bloody Ripper's job where he actually failed." Freyd figured the weirder and less specific his names for them were, the safer his sensibilities. Another wave of zombie golem meat thingies fell by the wayside, spilling their digital guts all over the mucky ground. Does this turn them into fertilizer? Are the sausage-based ones simultaneously full of ass? *groan* He couldn't destroy the things fast enough, and was alre

Pressing his advantage, the Whisper whipped forward to tenderize the next row, snapping the blood soaked bits of string and occasional sausage casing holding different parts of his enemies together. At least one smelled like rancid bacon, only motivating him further to dispel such a thing. He even considered switching to TECH-G and having himself a good old style barbeque, but that sword art lacked multitargeting options. Plus, no marinade or sauce could possibly overcome this degree of stench. A few stray links of chain still remained, strewn all over the ground, providing an added to

The rotten seafood soon surged again, seeking to place an assortment of claws, suction cups and tentacles onto unmentionable places, only to be denied by the Whisper's desperate contortions. Two dozen assorted meats were closing on his position. It was as if he'd pissed off the deli and butcher counters at the same time, the two seeking to trap him in a pincer move, with the seafood folk having a natural advantage. So they had to go first. Smashing his way through the first line of enemies, Freyd resolved to treat this like any other grind, no matter how disgusting. He's swallowed La

"Are we really going to do this? You know I have no beef with y..." Facepalm moment confirmed. "Okay. That one's on me." Animal rights activists claim that inhumane slaughtering practices can affect the flavour of meat. Tasting the advancing meat-sicles was out of the questions, but a little shock and awe seemed highly appropriate. Unleashing a succession of quick strikes against the advancing tide, focusing particularly on a group that seemed suspiciously seafood-based, Freyd pounded them enough to stagger their advance and buy himself enough space to maneuver. "I am not get

Having rested enough to recover his strength, Freyd bade them move towards the nearest exit. Glyndebourne was still some distance from their present location and night was setting in. Best to be clear of added dangers. He still hadn't made it off this floor since his original encounter with the red threads, Morningstar at his side. Hopefully, Star and the others had made it back to the gate without interference. Snapping a teleport crystal remained an option, but something inside him kept hesitating against the idea. "It isn't far. We can make the rest of the trek on foot." Ba

Mere moments passed before the rest of the Midnight Ripper joined its already ruined head, crumbling into little more than glittering diamond dust. Even that soon vanished into oblivion. A strange silence reigned over the stillness of the slaughterhouse that this part of Aincrad hadn't known in ages. This was the first time the Ripper had ever died. Even its meat puppets stood in frozen vigil, as if waiting for instructions on how to proceed. Their vengeful spirits having been sated or quelled, or maybe just confused by the fulfillment of a possibility they had no precedent upon which to

Freyd was already sitting by the shores of the Lake of Reflections when he received Mina's invitation. Recent events with Elora and Oscar in Snowfrost had brought darker memories of this place to the forefront. Given the nearby woods, such things were not easily dislodged once they took root. Yori's bloody shirt hanging off the tree at Tanabata had been haunting his dreams ever since, verging them towards nightmares. He'd have to fill Elora in on what happened, when he got the chance. Right now, they had a contest to win, which probably meant Freyd was about to get swallowed and spat

Panic gripped the Rip, but as his struggling increased so did his chains bind him tighter. Bloodshot eyes bulged, desperation growing as sensations of impending doom bloomed, combined with awareness of his role in his own undoing. Powerful as he might be, the Ripper's chains had been forged to keep even the strongest in line. How ironic. Screeching now, his voice having upped its game by three octaves, Freyd watched on as time ticked to the clock of a conveyor heading for the crunch. It was going to be messy when this clock struck noon. Something in him called to let it happen; to pu

By now, Freyd had pieced together a strategy for the fight, divining what tactics would be needed to keep his enemy off balance until he could put him down for good. Best laid plans came to fruition as the chains he'd previously tossed into that conveyor grew taught. Already struggling against his own embedded weaponry, the butcher jerked and slipped into the much once more, now being dragged ever closer to the meat grinder to whom he'd previously fed so many meals. Their descendants, or a kind, stood drearily watching, mostly though rib eyes. "Oof. Bud. I almost feel bad for you, cu

"Sorry, bud, but that's a definite 'nope.'" Skating by in the sludge, Freyd scooped from below and sent the fearsome Ripper flailing, then falling on his ass once more. As his arms went up in his failed efforts to catch himself against the air, so did his meathooks. The Whisper was more than willing to abscond and add a little insult and injury. Flipping acrobatically over his fallen foe, Freyd caught and supercharged the enemy's weapons with his sword art, punching downward to drive them into their master with painfully powerful intent. The Ripper howled, thrashing about as his ow

"Laugh it up, puppet. I'll have you back on my hook n a minute, and then it'll be time to fillet you." Freyd snorted. "I'm more of a striploin kinda guy, actually. Just ask Aldenbrook. She'll be sure to tell you all about it once she gets her panties un-knotted. Come to think of it, that could take awhile." The hearty bellow that followed shone an unexpected sense of humour, and opportunity. Freyd lunged mid-guffaw, his legs spinning like a helicopter as he slid through the mucky slime soil, tripping his enemy and flensing a good chunk of his groin away with a devouring pa

Persi tore through the ranks of shambling meat - more like scampered, actually. Freyd couldn't help wondering whether she thought it was some kind of buffet. The distraction was enough for him to have lost focus, even if only for an instant, which was all the Midnight Ripper needed to recover. The man-thing roared, drawing a pair of jagged, deeply stained hooks with chunks of prior victims still attached. Freyd zigged when he should have zagged, missing his own attempted strike. The Ripper didn't. Snaring the Whisper by the back of his cowl, it flung him sideways into a pile of rusty, bl