Topic: No Time to Lose (AoS-inspired romanticization)

[Intersection]

Foreword:

In a deep, dark corner of an antique hard drive lies a small, timid, and hardly noticeable folder, yet cursed with a criminally poor name: indeed, it had been called "Projects". Now -- wedged inside its most minuscule and insignificant nook, yet another folder can be found, this time so microscopically small that it is entirely invisible to the naked eye. That folder, as legend goes, was named "C", and experts believe that exactly six components are lodged within it. But, of course, only I can possibly be aware of the fact that one of these components is precisely known as "C2", and that it happens to be composed of a small .docx file, sometimes opened through the bias of a word editor, and evidently containing exactly 19,166 characters inside it. But you, my dear friends, shall soon come to know that a considerable number of these characters are included within this post, and constitute the considerable work of fiction that you are about to read. It is entitled "No time to lose", and is authored by a singularly elusive and enigmatic figure, known only as the "Intersection" to those who have been granted the rare privilege to meet him. I, for my part, have dedicated my time, work, and my whole life in general to the study of his puzzling whereabouts and intriguing actions.

But that's quite enough about me. It is time for you to discover what you came here to find in the first place -- a stirring and heart-rending work of art, one which I unequivocally consider amongst the greatest masterpieces of modern literature. Inspired by Aria of Sorrow's legendary boss rush mode, it is a moving tale of power, perseverance, and self-sacrifice, weaving into its inextricable folds the complex motifs of passion, faith, and tragedy.

But hush! That's quite enough. I must leave, I tell you. For I know that he is on to me once more. My enemies, it seems, are closer to us than I thought. So, for now, it is goodbye. Good luck. Good night. Cheerio. Till we meet again. Farewell. Adieu. Atra esterní ono thelduin. May the odds ever be in your favor.

With the greatest sincerity and utmost respect,

Msgn. H. Q. Crowe, esq., Lord and All-Potent Sovereign of the Abstract.

[Intersection]

You're released into a small, underground room. Here reigns a supreme calm, a providential tranquillity. In this princely silence, time itself seems frozen. Yet you're all too aware of the terrible challenge that lies ahead. You attempt to calm your nerves -- in vain. But there is no time to lose; breathing heavily, you gather your strength -- and you enter the open doorway before you.

It has started; around you stand the ruins of a once-great castle. The massive door behind you closes, and before you stands your first enemy: a creaking skull, remnant of a mythical creature now reduced to bones and dust. Without as much as a word, you dash into your foe. Despite your heavy armor, you cringe as you crash through your enemy. You are mildly hurt, but you have no time to stop; a backwards hit of your axe disposes of your skeletal foe, and you cross into the next room just as its door opens.

Instantly, a change of scenery: you are now inside the castle, in a great hall with large, paneled windows. In front of you, the poisonous, fiery manticore. Nonplussed, you charge as you did before. Yet you must avoid the... Damn! You've been stung -- but there's no time to lose. A well-placed swing of the axe sends the demonic creature back to hell, and you cross through the next door.

The door swings down behind you, and a formidable, reanimated armor turns to face you. Bracing yourself, you think: "now, it begins." Hands shaking, you gulp down the rotten meat you had been given before the trial. The world spins before you as you lose all semblance of vitality; you falter, balancing on the brink of death. Yet instantly you feel invigorated; yes, the demon's soul was potent. You are weak, decaying, and yet granted with immeasurable strength. With extraordinary ease, you cleanly slice through the metal titan before you; helpless, it soon crumbles to the ground. But you do not pause to savor your victory; you quickly dash to catch the next door as it opens. For you have no time to lose.

You find yourself in a marble hallway. Greeting you is an empty skull... or is it empty? For now eyeballs ooze out of its hollow sockets and gaping jaw. From within that cold carcass, the Maneater leers at you, its eyes brimming with malice -- and hunger. Its harrowing gaze leaves you anxious, confused -- you realize that you hadn't expected this encounter. And yet you remind yourself that you don't have time to lose. Gathering your senses, you ready yourself for battle. The creature's lidless eyes seem to drill into yours with troubling intensity, but quick hit of your axe blinds your foe; it bursts into flames as you make your way to the next room.

It is intolerably warm now: you realize you are in the castle kitchens. A monumental golem approaches. He swipes at you: you dodge, but he is close, too close; you can feel his putrid breath upon you. Angered -- you don't have time for this -- you strike back, and he is no match for your skill; your weapon flashes -- and soon, he falls, defeated. You cross through the doorway in front of you.

You're in an lavishly decorated living room; a fire burns in its hearth. Yet on the shelves, impeccably ordered, lie... severed heads? You watch, horrified, as a woman's head rises into the air to attach itself onto a headless bust. Now armed with a dagger, the reanimated body thrusts -- but the knife falls before reaching its target, for your sharp axe has once more separated head from body. Victorious, you search for the exit; and yet... it isn't over? For yet another head rises, now landing on the fallen corpse; you feel dark energy at work -- a flash of light -- and now the creature has changed form! T'is the Headhunter, you realize: for a robed magician now stands before you. Dodging a fireball, you strike again: the head falls. Axe in hand, you fancy yourself a grim executioner... But now it is a lizard drawing out its poisonous tongue. You retaliate, but, fast as lightning, your foe avoids you blade; cursing in frustration -- for you have no time to lose -- again you heave your ax. This time it makes contact; your foe lets out a howl, and drops to the floor, consumed by flames. He has finally been vanquished. You dash into the next room.

As you make your way through an underground cemetery, you cannot help but watch those legions of faceless corpses relentlessly moving towards their mysterious goal... Tearing your eyes away from this chilling vision -- for you musn't waste time -- you follow them, running forth. And behold! In front of you floats a massive, repulsive amalgamation of bodies, a disturbing globe of souls, one you recognize as the many-faced demon, Legion! The last corpses hover briefly before joining its unholy carcass -- you cannot let this go on any longer. Again and again you slash through it; you watch as body after body unlatch to rise again against you; and yet you persevere. The last of the shell falls off; now appears its dreadful core. Dodging a deadly beam of light, you drive your sword to the hilt into its center; with a terrible, unearthly cry, the demon expires. You make haste as you exit this cursed arena.

It is cold. Unnaturally cold. Chilled to the bone, you are vaguely aware of being at the top of a towering spire -- yet your senses seem to be failing you. Is that laughter you hear? Is that a robe you see rippling amongst the shadows? You know not. And yet a putrid smell now reaches your nostrils; from behind the thick mist you can discern a silvered glimmer... And lo! The terrible vision! The grim apparition! For in front of you he now hovers, wielding his cursed scythe, the master of the underwold, the reaper of souls, Death himself! "It is not my time!", you cry, but the sordid prince of the dead is deaf to your pleas. As if drawn by some invisible hand, his scythe rises; you can feel its unholy aura as you inch closer to your untimely demise, trapped as you are in Death's inexorable march; and now slowly, painfully, that dreadful weapon begins to spin towards you ---------- No! Eyes tightly shut, in a desperate effort to remain amongst the living, you thrust your gleaming sword against it, with all your might. You hear a metallic crash -- and the scythe is broken! Yet Death's distorted figure remains inscrutable. On that skeletal visage, no expression can you discern; no feeling, no emotion... if not for that eternal grin. Yes, you can see its decaying bone curving into that distorted shape. Now you hear its laughter -- a cold, twisted laughter -- a laughter which would drive even the strongest of spirits down to the brink of insanity. But now, you are no longer afraid. No, you are not afraid, as you begin to kneel down, praying. For a miracle has now been consummated; a radiant, golden angel has appeared, whispering words of courage and hope. You are not afraid -- and perhaps Death has sensed it, for now he returns, cackling, that harbringer of terror and despair; yes, dark as the night he swoops: but now you will fight back. You will fight back, and your foe's greatest efforts will be wasted upon you, for the angel has told you that you were destined to live. His thousand sickles do not reach you; his dark energy is powerless against you; he himself lunges -- but carves only through thin air. It is now your turn, and you do not waste time: raising your holy sword, once, twice, thrice you slash -- and with your final blow, you banish Death back into the abyss! You are victorious, and you watch he spirals into the void before running forward... And you've narrowly avoided his scythe as it plunges after him.

You find yourself deep into an underground arena. In front of you lies what may be your most difficult challenge -- the monumental titan Balore. From within its maimed prison, only its powerful hands -- and now its repulsive face -- protrude; yet either can strike fear into the most resilient of hearts. You cover your eyes to avoid its terrifying gaze; all the while, you know you must remain on your guard. For already a titanic fist pounds upon the ground beside you; the force of the blast nearly knocks you down to the floor. Once more, the giant swipes; but, nimble as the wind, you dodge away from his unsteady hand. You retaliate, swinging your mighty axe towards your agressor; you hear a roar of pain; and a clenched fist misses you by a hair! You steady yourself, dizzy from shock, but you persevere -- as you have no time to lose -- and even in this cavernous prison the blade of indefatigable light shines as it bears down upon its foe. His fiery eye sets the ground ablaze, but a final heave of your axe sends the Balore crumbling to the bottom of his dark cell. Not wasting a second, you dash into the next room.

Here lies your final challenge. Graham, the white missionary, gazes fixedly at you -- yet something darker lies within the depths of his tortured soul. Crookedly, he opens his mouth, and out of it his insane laughter comes deformed, warped; you can sense something far more sinister lurking beneath it. From atop his bloody throne he stares, his crazed eyes burning into yours. Now he murmurs the words of some cryptic incantation; softly, swiftly, the room is set ablaze, infused with the might of some unkown power. Yet that power... it is not his. Now a searing inferno is upon you; flames burning with inexplicable energy seem to melt the very air you breathe. You realize you've seen this before... somewhere... somehow! Suffocating, you fight your way amongst the thick cloud of ashes, and from within this dark inferno you can see your terrible foe. You no longer recognize his features, once pale and calm, now distorted by lust and sheer power; but deep in his eyes you can discern something else -- it is fear. For his entire being is aglow with an unseen might; and yet even he knows what he so loathes to believe: that this might is not his. You strike -- once, twice -- he recoils from your blows. As you raise your weapon to strike once more, a beam of light envelops him; now he disappears... but no! The dark palace glowers, newly infused with some unkown power; there's a dazzling flash of light -- and now he reappears, laughing, behind it all. Yet you cannot be discouraged; with a herculean effort, you leap to bring your sword down upon your enemy. He screams -- an inhuman scream -- you hear his voice, distorted: "No! Not you! I am he! I am the lord --" And now you remember! That terror, that power, that malice! It isn't his -- it is Dracula's! A bloodcurling cry erupts from his mouth -- but he is there no longer. The horror that stands before you is no longer human: in its place grows a terrible, hideous demon, a dreadful abomination, a cursed monstrosity consumed by hatred, fueled by hellish fires. Its breath reeks of ash and decay; its unsteady gaze holds within it the sins and madness of humanity. Around it, the night grows deeper, and those trapped within its shadowy folds see nought but death and despair. You must gather your courage, and now you make your way towards that ungodly creature, but... over there, over there it is dark, it is cold. Over there you are lost, your senses grow dim; over there there is nothing but emptiness; it seizes you, and in vain you try to free yourself from its numbing grasp. And now something far more unsettling disturbs you. It is no more than a faint whisper that you hear; it comes from the darkness beyond you. It is calling to you, coaxing -- ever so gently, no louder than a soft breeze as it rustles through the leaves of a tree. Yet it fills you with such unspeakable terror! What is it saying? You know not. It has gone silent, so harrowingly silent... But here it is again -- "Come...", you hear it begging. "Come... It is you..." You fall to the ground, gripped by a sudden malaise; your thoughts crumble into dissaray, your mind falls into utter chaos. You cry out with the last of your strength: "No! No..." But no one is there to hear you, no one! Your desperate calls are engulfed within the thick brume, and now nothing remains but silence... Yet... that voice! "Come..." it whispers -- it always whispers. "Come to me... come..." And already you feel a greater power growing within you. Already you feel the touch of another soul; it is dark, inscrutable, chilling. Its corrupt energy insinuates itself within you, seizing you, asphyxiating you within its cold grasp. You feel yourself shrinking, alone, abandoned -- and now even hope itself begins to ebb away. Soon you will fade, you realize; soon your very soul will be engulfed into the void. And yet a wave of relief washes down upon you: at last, it is the end; at long last, this tormented world shall trouble you no more. Are these thoughts yours? Are they his? You no longer know. You no longer care. For soon, you too will have disappeared; you too will have vanished like the countless victims of his dark presence. And yet, in a supreme effort of your will, or in that last hiccup of your conscience, you begin to pray. You pray for hope; you pray for love; you pray for humanity -- you pray that God has not abandoned you. Already, your conscience begins to fade away... But there it is, the miracle of miracles! For the radiant angel has appeared once more, shining a bright beacon of hope into the oppressive night. His golden lips begin to move, and though you cannot discern his words from afar, you are filled anew with faith and hope, blessed with vigor you had never thought would be yours again. There's a flash of light; the darkness lifts... and you are free! Yet now you must fight, as the terrible demon shows its unsightly visage. With horror, you watch as massive, bloodstained claws grow out of the monster's many faces, uncouth blades tearing through the air with vicious, unconstrained brutality. Around you, once-smitten fires burst anew with dark, primeval energy, casting menacing shadows across the looming walls. As this scarlet veil rises, a spinning vortex begins to form from above the shattered ceiling, sending streaks of lightning down with dizzying intensity. Lost beneath the acrid smoke, blinded by the persistent obscurity, you are wounded, confused, exhausted; and yet you know you cannot lose courage. Nor can you lose time, for bolts of blue energy crash down onto the ground before you. As you fight you way towards the unholy creature, your divine weapon gleams in its unwavering brilliance; now, at last, you stand before your terrible enemy. Raising your sword to the heathens, again and again you strike, losing all sense of self in your relentless assault. Rivers of corrupted blood flow onto the fractured floor, yet still the demon's power grows! But you cannot be discouraged; at all costs, you know you must destroy your foe. Wielding your mighty axe with deadly skill, you lash out, never relenting, freeing the fiend's black energies with every singeing blow. The dark souls within its heart begin to grow unruly; emerging from out of their very flesh, they begin to hover around their master, enshrouding him in a thick veil of shadows. Seta ablaze with sheer fury, your enemy thunders towards you in blind rage, sending sparks of static surging through the marble floor. Yet you now feel the creature falter; it has become unstable, cursed by its ever-growing power and weakened by the steady onslaught of spirits. Seizing the opportunity, you do not hesitate -- you drive your holy blade deep into the demon's somber heart. And behold! Masses of emprisoned souls begin to flow out of the gaping wound, plunging the room into obscurity. Your weapon is infused with searing heat as it is driven back twards you; but you do not falter, steadying your trembling hands. At last, you know that victory is near. A piercing, unearthly howl deafens you as powerful beams of incandescent light pierce out of your foe's body. As it begins to disintegrate, a viscous, warping fluid pours out of its crumbling features. And now the concentrated core of its chaotic essence begins to expand, placating you against the fractured walls, pressing against you with insupportable force --- the room fills with an unbearable brilliance...
And then darkness and silence fall once more. You open your eyes anew, scouring the crumbled ruins of the imposing tower for the undeniable proof of your victory... but all has vanished. Nothing remains of the terrible titan you have defeated but Graham's empty and crumpled corpse.

And yet it does not matter -- for you are victorious. Against all odds, with naught but the force of your own courage, you have vanquished all adversity, and emerged, triumphant, out of the terrible trials through which none but you have ever survived. Now, you are ready to reap the reward of your unmatched bravery, and receive upon your bowing head the laurels of your valor. At last, the final door slowly begins to open; you step into the the next room -- and you know it is there, upon a pedestal, the great recompense you'd always coveted, gleaming with all the brilliance of your blind avidity -- your gaze balances fervidly from corner to corner, anxiously searching for your ultimate prize -- and now you see it! It is -----

A potion?!

1:37:66.

Game Over.

[Dracula9]

I cannot like this enough(except that I have to)

Fucking brilliant.

[Shiroi Koumori]

That is awesome! Especially the ending. ahahahaha!

[Chernabogue]

Perfect!

[Intersection]

Thanks! It's almost hard for me to believe how glad I am that people are actually enjoying this.

It's the final result of weeks of near-obsessive editing, and I only stopped revising it because the idea of coming back to it was nearly unbearable to me. And although it's some indication of how much energy I put into this small project, it's also the result of a ridiculous mental twitch I have in nearly everything I write. I can spend hours searching for the right expression, but I'll usually end up choosing the one I started with in the first place.

In any case, I'd even been contemplating a DoS part II, but I'll leave that for when I have the time and leisure to come up with that kind of a fantasy. But for now, I'll be staying true to my first and still-unfinished LoS review (it's the file called "C1" in my CV folder). And no, that huge review cycle I'd so grandly announced when I first came isn't dead. It's just... moving slowly.

I've even written down the beginnings of an original CV-inspired musical piece. It's still a basic pianistic outline, since that's the instrument I'm most comfortable with, and it has yet to be orchestrated. It's sure to be interesting, though.