Just when one thought that Cornelius was a man of the tome and gun. He was also a man refined in the knowledge of machines. Especially fast ones. He ravaged the sands like a bonafide belly-shover with an engaging need for speed, pushing the Raptor to its speedy limits. He hugged the mystcycle crotch-rocket style, his stomach pressed against the rider's pit and he ducked low, flooring the screaming machine as the Raptor lashed through Sosha Desert's oatmeal white. The grainy sands splashed and stormed along its path and Borros trucked dangerously behind him.
The Raptor indeed was a vehicular force blown into high propulsion, built for speed and maximum maneuverability. Steamrolled to its brink, its thrusters flared the raw light of arcane energy; a fiery lure that pulled the shrieking Borros like a runaway dinner plate.
Cornelius purposely pitted himself into what he'd call a Ricven Grade Predicament-how Ricven carelessly threw himself into troubling situations of zero survival rate. Cornelius rendered himself the perfect bait. He was also as much of a mortal as Ricven was superhuman.
In lame term, his survival rate was a great big zero.
Borros freight trained behind. Lofty. Furious. Wild. Damn unstoppable. It blew through the fatty dunes as its powerful spiny limbs plodded along like a rabid locomotive. It gained on Cornelius, his prey close to its exposed mandibles, and as it lashed its mini tendrils for Cornelius' back, Cornelius jumped gears, and the Raptor flashed far ahead-pissing the beast off.
As his companion played cat and mouse below, Ricven vaulted from Mechanova and descended like a torpedo for Borros's plated back. Those deep bulky plates seemed impenetrable, mirroring Sosha's tawny peaks, and squirming about its ridges were smaller serpentine feelers, a harrowing flounder of eyes waiting for Ricven.
"I'm not liking this!" Fae shuddered. She definitely hated tentacles.
"Oh, come on! Just think of it like a school girl's wet fantasy," Ricven quipped.
Fae grunted. "UGH! That's even WORSE!"
It embraced Ricven's invasion with its ocular tendrils, reaching out for his ballsy descent. Ricven flashed Edge Breaker into his hands seconds before one tendril claimed a hit on him. He rolled his way onto Borros's back, disemboweling the striking limbs with heavy swings of his buzzing blade, and ended Edge Breaker in one big, powerful jab through Borros' rigid back.
The silver blade of aethric crystal punctured Borros's heavy plates. It failed to meet the skin, though, until Ricven flared blue, and channeled a wild surge of sizzling aethra to cook Borros' dense frame. Its armor shattered like glass, exposing a vulnerable gash, and the wretched beast yowled.
It was an expected retort when a spaghetti volley of tendrils hurled at Ricven. He twirled himself and his blade, shredding tendrils in his tornado path until the last torrent turned to mush.
"That's the best you got?!" He roared and beamed his teeth.
He shouldn't have done that.
A smaller tendril reached his leg and whipped him into the air. He grunted out a "WHOOPS!" and Fae squealed a long "IDIOT!"
Then, two more limbs lashed forward and savagely flogged him, becoming their personal ragdoll as the tendrils slammed Ricven onto Borros' back. Twice.
Ricven yelped like a flamboyant bitch. Twice!
The tendrils released him, and, as they reeled in a threatening arch, their fanged trap-mouths snarled free, ready to strip Ricven a new ass.
They pounced upon Ricven again. He sprung up from the floor without the use of his hands and endlessly swiveled his upper frame, boosting his momentum with his strong arms and head as a storm of aethra obliterated the tendrils.
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FantastikWARNING! This novel is an unconventional work of fiction. Anything you may read in the following episodes is solely created out of sheer satirical coincidence and is NOT to be taken out of ANY context OTHER than it being RIDICULOUSLY entertaining as...
