Astral - part 2
JP with Jaxx, Redsword, Trustno1 and Cindy
The Astral Scion loomed, its radiant, otherworldly form dominating the cavernous space. Its cyclopean eye swirled with a menacing kaleidoscope of colors, shifting to a deep, blood-red hue as it prepared to strike. The faint hum emanating from its body had deepened, becoming a bone-rattling vibration that made the walls seem to tremble and breathe.
Peter Sartre’s voice cracked through the suffocating tension. “Light it up!”
The team opened fire, their automatic weapons roaring to life in the oppressive stillness. Muzzle flashes lit the chamber in staccato bursts, fleetingly illuminating the Scion’s semi-translucent form. Bullets ripped through the air, their paths streaking like comet tails. They struck the creature’s shimmering, starlit body, the impacts marked by faint splashes of silver light and bursts of glowing ichor.
But the Scion barely flinched.
The bullets grazed its glowing flesh, leaving faint, shallow trails of light that vanished almost as quickly as they appeared. The creature advanced, slow and deliberate, as if mocking their assault. Its elongated arms shifted, claws slicing through the air with a soft hiss that left the very fabric of reality wavering in its wake.
"Fall back!" Sartre barked, his voice a mixture of urgency and frustration, as the Scion’s eye burned brighter, a pulsing beacon of cosmic wrath.
But before anyone could retreat, Sung moved.
The martial artist and master swordsman surged forward, his blade gleaming like liquid moonlight in the fractured glow of the chamber. His steps were impossibly swift and precise, his form a blur of focused motion as he closed the distance between himself and the towering monstrosity. The hum of the Scion deepened, as though sensing the threat, and its claws lashed out in a blinding arc.
Sung ducked beneath the swipe with inhuman agility, his sword arcing upward in a graceful, fluid motion. The blade sang as it struck the Scion’s side, biting into its shimmering flesh with a burst of silver light. A constellation of glowing veins ruptured beneath the strike, spilling a thin stream of luminous ichor that hissed and evaporated upon contact with the floor.
The Scion reeled slightly, its body rippling as if destabilized, but it quickly recovered, its eye narrowing into a focused, burning slit. Sung pressed the attack, his strikes precise and relentless, each movement an intricate dance of calculated fury. He dodged the creature’s sweeping claws with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, his blade flashing again and again in the dim light.
Each cut left its mark—a shallow, glimmering wound that bled starlight—but it was clear the Scion was far from undone. Its hum rose to a crescendo, a deafening resonance that made the air itself feel solid, pressing down on the team like an invisible hand.
The Scion lashed out with one of its elongated arms, its claws grazing Sung’s shoulder and sending him sprawling across the chamber floor. His blade clattered beside him, its gleaming edge marred with the Scion’s luminous ichor. Sung rolled to his feet, clutching his shoulder, his breaths ragged but his resolve unbroken.
The Scion roared silently, its form flickering and distorting like a star collapsing into itself. The room grew colder, the light dimming further as shadows stretched and twisted unnaturally. The black diamond in Robert Elias’s hand pulsed in time with the creature’s hum, its malevolent glow casting long, jagged reflections across the walls.
Behind cover, Alyssa clutched the Blade of Prudence and Remembrance tightly, her knuckles white, her heart pounding.
Sartre reloaded his weapon, his jaw set as he prepared for another volley. The room was alive with tension.
Sung stumbled back, clutching his wounded shoulder as the Astral Scion's cyclopean eye burned like a malevolent sun. Its hum had reached an ear-splitting crescendo, a resonance that threatened to shatter the fragile human bodies opposing it. The kaleidoscopic patterns within its single, all-seeing eye swirled faster, radiating a sickly, hypnotic light that painted the room in fractured spectrums. Shadows warped and danced unnaturally across the blood-streaked walls, their shapes whispering promises of oblivion.
Alyssa gritted her teeth, the Blade of Prudence and Remembrance trembling in her grip. The Scion reared back, its six elongated arms spreading wide, each one glowing with a searing, otherworldly light that made the air vibrate with the threat of annihilation.
And then Max stepped forward. “Cover me!” he barked, his voice cutting through the oppressive hum as he reached into the heavy pouch at his hip. He produced a pair of grenades, their metallic surfaces glinting faintly in the dim, unholy light of the chamber. His lips pulled back in a grimace that was equal parts fear and determination.
With a practiced flick of his thumb, the first grenade’s pin clattered to the floor, an ominous sound swallowed by the cavernous room. Max hurled it with precision, the grenade spinning through the air like a metallic comet before striking the Scion’s torso and bouncing to its feet.
The explosion was a blinding flash of light and sound, a shockwave that tore through the room. The Scion staggered, its shimmering body flickering like a dying star. Pieces of its starlit form fractured away, disintegrating into trails of glittering dust that evaporated before touching the ground. Max didn’t stop. He lobbed the second grenade, aiming higher this time, his hand trembling slightly as he released it.
Another explosion rocked the chamber. This one was closer, louder, its force so powerful it sent Alyssa stumbling forward into Sartre’s arms. The Scion howled—a soundless scream that reverberated through the bones of everyone present. Its once-majestic form was now riddled with glowing fissures, its movements jerky, erratic.
Sartre saw his chance. “Get clear!” he shouted, dropping to one knee as he unstrapped the rocket attachment from his MP5. His movements were swift, efficient, born from years of training and countless battles against the impossible. The RPG clicked into place with a metallic finality.
The Scion’s eye focused on him, narrowing into a slit of pure, blazing rage. It surged forward, claws raised, its distorted form leaving starlit afterimages in its wake. Sartre aimed, his finger hovering over the trigger, his breath steady despite the chaos around him.
He fired.
The rocket-propelled grenade shot forward in a fiery streak, its roar deafening as it arced straight into the creature’s chest. The detonation was cataclysmic. The Scion’s body erupted in a violent cascade of light and energy, fragments of its celestial form scattering like meteors. The kaleidoscopic glow of its eye dimmed, then extinguished entirely, leaving only the faintest trace of starlight drifting in the air.
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the ragged breathing of the team. Alyssa dropped the blade to her side, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Max leaned heavily against the wall, his face pale but triumphant, while Sung retrieved his sword with a grim nod, his injured arm hanging limp.
Then, a shadow moved at the edge of the room.
Robert Elias.
He clutched the black diamond in his hands, its surface a void that seemed to swallow the light around it. His eyes burned with a maddened intensity as he glanced back at the team, his expression one of pure hatred. Without a word, he turned and sprinted toward the descending stairway marked Boiler Room.
Alyssa would pick up the Talisman of the Starchild: a radiant star-shaped crystal that pulses in sync with her heartbeat upon touch. The crystal emanated a soothing warmth, and faint cosmic music played in her mind, hinting at celestial truths.
Alyssa said nothing as the music fell into her mind. She had three now - that meant one more to go - or she thought it did. Without actually much hesitation, she called out. "Follow him," clearly meaning Elias. She moved towards the door Robert Elias had just gone through.
Sung was about to grab his sword with his other hand when he spotted the grenade flying. "Dam!" He rolled forward, grabbing hold of his sword from the ground as he rolled. He came up on one knee as the blast from the grenade threw him forward. He knew the explosion was coming and used it to roll away again. He could feel the bits of concrete and other objects hit his vest as he hit the ground in time for another blast as the second grenade went off. His ears were ringing, and his head hurt from the blast. The pain ripped through his shoulder and body. as he heard the RPG shot, and another explosion sent things flying.
Sung fell back and lay there looking up. He had enough of the explosions and being blasted. His breathing was ragged. He could feel the blood on his skin as he looked at his arm. He laid his sword on his chest, getting his breathing under control. His sword glowed gold as the misty light covered his shoulder. Sung spoke the wards to cure wounds as the magic mist moved over his shoulder. The deep cuts started to glow and heal Instantly. Sung let out a groan as he lay there. He could hear now and felt better.
Alyssa turned to make sure the team was following, she stood back a moment not spotting Sung.
The man was injured and Alyssa grew concerned. Then his body glowed, or more like his wounds. In the course of everything the hacker had forgotten he could heal himself, even though the older Dragon had healed her not that long ago. She continued on toward the stairs.