The other suits turn around so slowly, encased in shock that slows them like glue. The ones close by the Gundam's landing point never have time to react as the energy weapon savagely twists around and slices once, twice, again, each death taking no longer than a heartbeat. The base erupts into turmoil, panicked orders crackling over radios that nobody listens to. The first guns begin to fire, pattering rapidly from all directions and pinging off the Gundanium armor.
/life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on/
Bullets ricochet uselessly off the diamond-hard armor; red-hot metal scraps, shards of concrete, shriek through the empty space and slice unarmored soldiers to ribbons. Waves of heat boil outwards from the center of explosions, fighting against each other to create their own circles of fire. Some figures dissolve into ashes in the shock of the explosions; others are left seared by the light and suffocated by the choking wave of smoke that follow in its wake. Panicked men scramble towards the imagined shelter of buildings or their own mobile suits; those who stop to help their fallen comrades are overwhelmed and annihilated. Those who can, fight their way towards the compound buildings, leaving the fight to the hollow artifacts. When the smoke finally thins, lit from beneath and within by the blazing remains of the mobile suits, the Gundam is still there.
/This Is Necessary/
The first of the Oz mobile suits close on the Gundams; one by one or in poorly directed clusters. Some of them know their own death looming before them, and pray that they can buy time for their comrades, their commanders, their base. Some are untested, and only know the terror of the black Gundam and its burning scythe looming up in their cameras an instant before they see nothing at all. Death does not care which. Sooner or later he will destroy all of them.
Re: Disgustipated
Date: 2006-02-21 06:27 am (UTC)/life feeds on life
feeds on life feeds on life
feeds on/
Bullets ricochet uselessly off the diamond-hard armor; red-hot metal scraps, shards of concrete, shriek through the empty space and slice unarmored soldiers to ribbons. Waves of heat boil outwards from the center of explosions, fighting against each other to create their own circles of fire. Some figures dissolve into ashes in the shock of the explosions; others are left seared by the light and suffocated by the choking wave of smoke that follow in its wake.
Panicked men scramble towards the imagined shelter of buildings or their own mobile suits; those who stop to help their fallen comrades are overwhelmed and annihilated. Those who can, fight their way towards the compound buildings, leaving the fight to the hollow artifacts.
When the smoke finally thins, lit from beneath and within by the blazing remains of the mobile suits, the Gundam is still there.
/This
Is
Necessary/
The first of the Oz mobile suits close on the Gundams; one by one or in poorly directed clusters. Some of them know their own death looming before them, and pray that they can buy time for their comrades, their commanders, their base. Some are untested, and only know the terror of the black Gundam and its burning scythe looming up in their cameras an instant before they see nothing at all.
Death does not care which. Sooner or later he will destroy all of them.