[It's Brick who goes down first, thrown back with a sickening crunch of bone into the stone Eridian ruin. Mordecai dives after him with a shout, flanked as ever by Bloodwing; Lilith's eyes dart from Mordecai jamming a healing injection into Brick's thigh to Roland, hastily reloading his rifle with ammo looted from a dead Lanceman. He looks her in the eye and barks something in her direction, but he's completely unintelligible. Above the hail of her teammates' gunfire, and not above the deafening roar of the otherworldly beast that looms above them, she can't make out a damned word.
The Destroyer is enormous. It writhes. It hisses, spits acid and a crackling purple energy that makes the skin on her tattooed arm crawl. But she isn't afraid. She faces the creature with both feet on the ground and with her gun in her hands.
Don't give up! pleads the Guardian Angel, directly into her communicator. She can't make the rest of it out--]
Roland! [--nor does she particularly want to. It quickly becomes apparent what he'd been yelling at her about: she narrowly tumbles out of the way of one of the creature's thick, whip-like appendages. Her de facto commander, however, isn't so lucky. It lashes at him, and with a harsh crack the thick material of the Crimson Lance armor on his shoulder breaks into four jagged pieces. The force sends him to the ground. Lilith wastes no time in shooting the tentacle down at its glowing, knuckle-like joint.
--in this reality, it cannot survive without a host! That makes it vulnerable. When it becomes flesh and blood, it can be hurt, even killed, continues Angel.] Shut up, shut up, shut up, [mutters Lilith, through gritted teeth. She moves on instinct. Dodge everything that flies your way and pray your team has your back enough to keep most of it off you. She's by Roland's side almost as fast as if she'd phased there, pulling him to his feet and kicking the shards of armor away into the dust.
There's no reward here. There are no riches, no cache of alien weaponry, no boundless Eridian treasure. Only a mysterious voice that fed them lies and got the three people on this godforsaken planet that she cared about the most to throw their lives at some stupid fucking space octopus.
This is not what they were hunting. This is all wrong.]
You all right?
[Roland nods and rubs gingerly at his shoulder. Together, they draw their guns and point them at the mass of wet blue matter that is the Destroyer's eye.
RAGE; she bruises, coughs, she splutters pistol shots
The Destroyer is enormous. It writhes. It hisses, spits acid and a crackling purple energy that makes the skin on her tattooed arm crawl. But she isn't afraid. She faces the creature with both feet on the ground and with her gun in her hands.
Don't give up! pleads the Guardian Angel, directly into her communicator. She can't make the rest of it out--]
Roland! [--nor does she particularly want to. It quickly becomes apparent what he'd been yelling at her about: she narrowly tumbles out of the way of one of the creature's thick, whip-like appendages. Her de facto commander, however, isn't so lucky. It lashes at him, and with a harsh crack the thick material of the Crimson Lance armor on his shoulder breaks into four jagged pieces. The force sends him to the ground. Lilith wastes no time in shooting the tentacle down at its glowing, knuckle-like joint.
--in this reality, it cannot survive without a host! That makes it vulnerable. When it becomes flesh and blood, it can be hurt, even killed, continues Angel.] Shut up, shut up, shut up, [mutters Lilith, through gritted teeth. She moves on instinct. Dodge everything that flies your way and pray your team has your back enough to keep most of it off you. She's by Roland's side almost as fast as if she'd phased there, pulling him to his feet and kicking the shards of armor away into the dust.
There's no reward here. There are no riches, no cache of alien weaponry, no boundless Eridian treasure. Only a mysterious voice that fed them lies and got the three people on this godforsaken planet that she cared about the most to throw their lives at some stupid fucking space octopus.
This is not what they were hunting. This is all wrong.]
You all right?
[Roland nods and rubs gingerly at his shoulder. Together, they draw their guns and point them at the mass of wet blue matter that is the Destroyer's eye.
You just need to know where to aim...]