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legionmissions2017-02-23 03:16 am
letsgolegion) wrote in legionmissions2017-02-23 03:16 am
Entry tags:
THE BOOKS OF MAGIC - [modplot] [finale]
Who| Everyone who signed up
What| The finale to the plot
Where| The Rock of Eternity
When| After they've all found their respective pieces of the puzzle.
Warnings/Notes| N/A
After all the pieces are found, they're brought back to Sorcerer's World and the they reassemble themselves into a strange little golden device. It whirs and clicks and then they all find themselves in a strange cavernous place, with the device floating along like a guide.
The stone hallway has ugly imp-like beings imprisoned in stone.
Each is labeled with its name. Pride. Envy. Greed. Wrath. Sloth. Gluttony. Lust.
At the end of the long hallway, there sits a wizened old man, bearded and frail. He doesn't seem surprised that they've come.
"I know why you're here. You've come to find a way to imprison the Spectre once more." He briefly raises his eyebrows and for a moment the aura of aloof mystical wisdom is broken by something warmer. "Golly. Freeing him wasn't really the brightest idea. And after all the effort it took for us to lock him away, too."
The Wizard wags his finger.
"You especially shouldn't known better, Mr. Jordan."
The golden device suddenly glows and rotates in place. There's a sound like a key turning in a lock and the floor unlocks and opens up, sucking them down into a bright white light. Even their flight rings can't fight against the pull.
"Don't worry, the test is only a bad as you are. And you're heroes, right? You'll make it through, I'm sure of it!"
-
The light shows them the truth, first, before they land. For a moment, they're fully immersed in a vision of the past. Hundreds of mages are on a magical battlefield, a place that has been transformed by magic into a realm where said magic won't harm the outside world as they fight. This is all filtered through the perceptions of one particular person, and that person knows all the names of the gathered mages, knows the context of this situation, so the Legionnaires know them, too.
The Spectre, host-less, refusing to take on a sentient host that will give him perspective, struggles against the magical chains that have been cast over him. He wants to punish the whole world, and that means has to be stopped.
A woman in fishnets and top hat, Zatanna Zatara, casts a spell, speaking backwards. "Sniahc elbakaerbnu, sniahc elbakaerbnu, sniahc elbakaerbnu!"
A man in a brown trenchcoat lights up a cigarette.
"Constantine, do we really have time for that?" asks Zatanna through gritted teeth.
"There's always time for a potential last smoke, love," he nods towards the middle distance. "'Sides, the cavalry's here."
A plain-looking older teen, with round glasses floats towards the Spectre and there's the crackling clash of powerful raw magic. His name is Timothy Hunter and there are about fifty or so prophecies that suggest him fighting against the literal hand of God is a bad idea.
"This is bad. Isn't this a little too...epic, for Tim?" asks Zatanna. "There are so many prophecies about moments like this. I thought we all agreed that it shouldn't come down to him, in case one of them accidentally comes true."
"He's just the big, flashy distraction. He's not our ace in the hole, that is," Constantine says, pointing. "Well, that and the person that's got to wield it."
A mage floats into the air, a man in a gold helmet and cape, Dr. Fate, and he summons some kind of long case from where it was magically stored.
"That's not what I think it is, is it?" Zatanna gasps. "But who's going to use it? It has to be someone completely pure of heart --"
"Traci, please tell me you've got a lock on our boy," Constantine calls out.
"I've got a stable teleport lined up!" says a teenage girl, Traci 13. "Mecca lecca high mecca hiney ho!"
A light crackles to life over the assembled mages and a muscular silhouette can be seen in the light.
"Superman?" asks Zatanna. "But he's tried to wield it before and nearly fell into temptation."
"Nope," says Constantine. "We did one better."
The light fades and the hero known as Captain Marvel stares down at the Spectre. He takes the case from where it hovers in the air in front of Doctor Fate and lands on the ground.
"And we'll do one better still," Constantine goes on. "The Captain here's not the hero of the day."
"SHAZAM!" Captain Marvel calls out, and lightning strikes him, and what's left behind...is a boy. Just a teenage boy, blue-eyed, baby-faced, and timid-looking. He takes a spear out of the case, wincing the moment he touches it.
"Not even Captain Marvel is pure-hearted enough to wield the Spear of Destiny without being twisted by it," says Constantine. "And who could blame 'im? The spirit of Hitler's possessing the bloody thing -- not a one of us is strong enough in the face of that. But the boy? The boy's just innocent enough. Even more than the big blue boyscout. Hopefully innocent enough to use the holiness of the spear without being corrupted. After all, Hitler wasn't the first to touch it -- the blood of you-know-who's on it, son of the Big Man 'imself."
Billy Batson, the alter ego of Captain Marvel, cries out as he uses the spear, casting its holy light on the Spectre. The Spectre screams as the magical chains around him start to compress, turning into a cage that shrinks down into the sarcophagus that Hal Jordan, Gwen Stacy, Vance Astrovik, and Dipper Pines eventually found and opened 1000 years later. For a moment, Billy looks at the spear in his hand, his eyes going wide and wild as delusions of grandeur fill his mind.
"Billy?" says a young woman with lightning designs on her costume. Mary Marvel. "Billy, put it away. You don't need that terrible thing."
It's enough to break him out of the fugue he's in, and Batson manages to jam the spear back into its case and close it, then drops to his knees. Mary Marvel drops to her knees next to him and holds on tight as he looks at his hand in horror -- it's now stained black, like it's blighted. Around the battlefield, the mages and wizards and witches and magical beings all start celebrating, hugging and high-fiving. Zatanna grabs Constantine and yanks him over for a kiss so fast that the cigarette falls out of his mouth.
After she pulls away, she shoves him away and clears her throat, pretending it didn't just happen. He gives her the smuggest look humanly possible and adjusts his tie.
"Now we just have to hide that thing away where no one can ever get their hands on it again. And the spear, too. Hopefully, no one will ever be so bloody, fucking, nut-brained stupid as to try to mess with either again."
Except they were.
-
Which is why when the illusion fades, the Legionnaires find themselves in a large circular chamber. In the center floats the Spear of Destiny. Nearby is a magical case it can be stored in, once one of them gets their hands on it. Around the outside edge of the chamber are countless mirrors. While they can see their reflections, there's nothing behind them. It makes them all look like they're standing against a black background.
At least, it looks that way at first. Then their reflections start to break free, crawling out of the mirrors, causing them to shatter as they break loose. The stronger their inner darkness is, the stronger the shadow-selves are.
Fortunately, nothing says they're forced to only fight their own.
What| The finale to the plot
Where| The Rock of Eternity
When| After they've all found their respective pieces of the puzzle.
Warnings/Notes| N/A
After all the pieces are found, they're brought back to Sorcerer's World and the they reassemble themselves into a strange little golden device. It whirs and clicks and then they all find themselves in a strange cavernous place, with the device floating along like a guide.
The stone hallway has ugly imp-like beings imprisoned in stone.
Each is labeled with its name. Pride. Envy. Greed. Wrath. Sloth. Gluttony. Lust.
At the end of the long hallway, there sits a wizened old man, bearded and frail. He doesn't seem surprised that they've come.
"I know why you're here. You've come to find a way to imprison the Spectre once more." He briefly raises his eyebrows and for a moment the aura of aloof mystical wisdom is broken by something warmer. "Golly. Freeing him wasn't really the brightest idea. And after all the effort it took for us to lock him away, too."
The Wizard wags his finger.
"You especially shouldn't known better, Mr. Jordan."
The golden device suddenly glows and rotates in place. There's a sound like a key turning in a lock and the floor unlocks and opens up, sucking them down into a bright white light. Even their flight rings can't fight against the pull.
"Don't worry, the test is only a bad as you are. And you're heroes, right? You'll make it through, I'm sure of it!"
-
The light shows them the truth, first, before they land. For a moment, they're fully immersed in a vision of the past. Hundreds of mages are on a magical battlefield, a place that has been transformed by magic into a realm where said magic won't harm the outside world as they fight. This is all filtered through the perceptions of one particular person, and that person knows all the names of the gathered mages, knows the context of this situation, so the Legionnaires know them, too.
The Spectre, host-less, refusing to take on a sentient host that will give him perspective, struggles against the magical chains that have been cast over him. He wants to punish the whole world, and that means has to be stopped.
A woman in fishnets and top hat, Zatanna Zatara, casts a spell, speaking backwards. "Sniahc elbakaerbnu, sniahc elbakaerbnu, sniahc elbakaerbnu!"
A man in a brown trenchcoat lights up a cigarette.
"Constantine, do we really have time for that?" asks Zatanna through gritted teeth.
"There's always time for a potential last smoke, love," he nods towards the middle distance. "'Sides, the cavalry's here."
A plain-looking older teen, with round glasses floats towards the Spectre and there's the crackling clash of powerful raw magic. His name is Timothy Hunter and there are about fifty or so prophecies that suggest him fighting against the literal hand of God is a bad idea.
"This is bad. Isn't this a little too...epic, for Tim?" asks Zatanna. "There are so many prophecies about moments like this. I thought we all agreed that it shouldn't come down to him, in case one of them accidentally comes true."
"He's just the big, flashy distraction. He's not our ace in the hole, that is," Constantine says, pointing. "Well, that and the person that's got to wield it."
A mage floats into the air, a man in a gold helmet and cape, Dr. Fate, and he summons some kind of long case from where it was magically stored.
"That's not what I think it is, is it?" Zatanna gasps. "But who's going to use it? It has to be someone completely pure of heart --"
"Traci, please tell me you've got a lock on our boy," Constantine calls out.
"I've got a stable teleport lined up!" says a teenage girl, Traci 13. "Mecca lecca high mecca hiney ho!"
A light crackles to life over the assembled mages and a muscular silhouette can be seen in the light.
"Superman?" asks Zatanna. "But he's tried to wield it before and nearly fell into temptation."
"Nope," says Constantine. "We did one better."
The light fades and the hero known as Captain Marvel stares down at the Spectre. He takes the case from where it hovers in the air in front of Doctor Fate and lands on the ground.
"And we'll do one better still," Constantine goes on. "The Captain here's not the hero of the day."
"SHAZAM!" Captain Marvel calls out, and lightning strikes him, and what's left behind...is a boy. Just a teenage boy, blue-eyed, baby-faced, and timid-looking. He takes a spear out of the case, wincing the moment he touches it.
"Not even Captain Marvel is pure-hearted enough to wield the Spear of Destiny without being twisted by it," says Constantine. "And who could blame 'im? The spirit of Hitler's possessing the bloody thing -- not a one of us is strong enough in the face of that. But the boy? The boy's just innocent enough. Even more than the big blue boyscout. Hopefully innocent enough to use the holiness of the spear without being corrupted. After all, Hitler wasn't the first to touch it -- the blood of you-know-who's on it, son of the Big Man 'imself."
Billy Batson, the alter ego of Captain Marvel, cries out as he uses the spear, casting its holy light on the Spectre. The Spectre screams as the magical chains around him start to compress, turning into a cage that shrinks down into the sarcophagus that Hal Jordan, Gwen Stacy, Vance Astrovik, and Dipper Pines eventually found and opened 1000 years later. For a moment, Billy looks at the spear in his hand, his eyes going wide and wild as delusions of grandeur fill his mind.
"Billy?" says a young woman with lightning designs on her costume. Mary Marvel. "Billy, put it away. You don't need that terrible thing."
It's enough to break him out of the fugue he's in, and Batson manages to jam the spear back into its case and close it, then drops to his knees. Mary Marvel drops to her knees next to him and holds on tight as he looks at his hand in horror -- it's now stained black, like it's blighted. Around the battlefield, the mages and wizards and witches and magical beings all start celebrating, hugging and high-fiving. Zatanna grabs Constantine and yanks him over for a kiss so fast that the cigarette falls out of his mouth.
After she pulls away, she shoves him away and clears her throat, pretending it didn't just happen. He gives her the smuggest look humanly possible and adjusts his tie.
"Now we just have to hide that thing away where no one can ever get their hands on it again. And the spear, too. Hopefully, no one will ever be so bloody, fucking, nut-brained stupid as to try to mess with either again."
Except they were.
-
Which is why when the illusion fades, the Legionnaires find themselves in a large circular chamber. In the center floats the Spear of Destiny. Nearby is a magical case it can be stored in, once one of them gets their hands on it. Around the outside edge of the chamber are countless mirrors. While they can see their reflections, there's nothing behind them. It makes them all look like they're standing against a black background.
At least, it looks that way at first. Then their reflections start to break free, crawling out of the mirrors, causing them to shatter as they break loose. The stronger their inner darkness is, the stronger the shadow-selves are.
Fortunately, nothing says they're forced to only fight their own.
FIGHTING THE SHADOWS
no subject
As shadow-Dipper rolls around the battlefield, he whips out shadows that look like they're in imitation of Dipper's usual tendrils of telekinesis, and tries to lash out at Dipper.
"Killing you is going to be totally rad-tacular!" Dippy Fresh says cheerfully.
"'Radtacular' isn't even a real word!" Dipper insists.
"Yes, it is. It's a totally tubulacious one! It's all that and a bag of chips!"
Dipper growls and strangles the air, clearly imagining his hands are strangling his shadow self.
"You're going down, Dippy Fresh! For what you're doing to the English language alone!"
no subject
Maybe the concept of a "dark side" was more unfamiliar to Kubo than he realized. That people had nasty impulses and pasts they regretted made sense enough, but this -
"He's so ... colorful."
no subject
And here he is. A nightmare of neon, sure, but as a dark side? He's full of surprises.
"...A phase from when you were 10?"
Re: FIGHTING THE SHADOWS
"Give it up Ray. What was it Egon said? New people die every day. This time it's going to be you. You can't keep this up forever." The slime-blower wielding counterpart says, firing globs of quick-hardening goop that Ray easily phases himself through.
"You're right, I can't," Ray admits, "But as a psychokinetic manifestation of an aspect of me? Neither can you."
With that, Ray fires a proton stream, wrangling the creature, and kicks his ghost-trap right under it. A quick stomp on the pedal ensures his shadow-self is locked away tight.
no subject
It was enough that Gohan had to step back as his younger self stepped forward, clad in battle-torn clothing, multiple bruises, and plenty of blood. His younger self's attention completely on him, as the kid stood there, just... staring.
"... Why are you here?" Gohan asked, his voice tense. He knew this wasn't really him, but he didn't know what that meant for his younger self's power level, given he couldn't sense it anymore. He remembered when he turned Super Saiyan 2, and he remembered just how powerful he'd been.
He also remembered just how cold and vindictive he'd been, something that jumped to the forefront of his mind, as his younger self zipped forward at speeds he could no longer match, and gripped his throat, lifting him off the ground.
"You're a coward."
The first words his younger self said, and they were dripping with so much venom. It was enough that Gohan raised his feet, planted them firmly on his younger self's chest, and kicked him off, breaking the neck hold. For good measure, he threw an energy blast down, hoping to kick up enough rubble to maybe obscure him as he jumped back.
A prospect that quickly evaporated, the moment his younger self's golden aura flared to life, and dispelled all the rubble.
"You don't even care about being strong. This is why all our friends and family keep dying, because you won't become strong enough to protect them."
That made Gohan bristle, the older man gritting his teeth. He knew that wasn't true, that he had a lot more responsibilities now, but all the same, it still stung. "And what kind of life would that be, only worrying about being the strongest? What would be the point of protecting my family and friends, if I'm never around to be with them?"
Finally, Gohan settled into his familiar combat stance, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine with never being the strongest, even if I could be. We already have someone striving for that every day, and it's our dad."
That made the younger self growl, blasting forward to fight Gohan proper. The older man gritting his teeth, as he immediately got on the defensive, dodging and blocking blows.
"YOU'RE A WASTE OF POTENTIAL!"
"And you're too young to understand!"
no subject
"Whoa!" Original Nita speaks up first, while shadow Nita just folds her arms and looks regal. "Gohan--uh, grownup Gohan--do you need a hand?"
"Putting everyone but yourself first again. Typical," says the blue one.
"Oh, you just be quiet." It has the same half-affectionate exasperation of an adult talking to an unruly child, and Nita waggles a finger at her other, lesser self. "Seriously...Gohan?"
no subject
So, after a moment of constant dodging and blocking, Gohan finally spoke up.
"A hand would--" He started, before getting cut off by a punch aimed at his face. The older man bringing one hand up, and catching the fist, before yanking it downward and delivering a powerful kick to his younger self, driving him back. "A hand would be great, yeah. I was... not in a good place when I was younger."
His younger self was pushed back a bit, but ultimately, didn't take enough damage to fall down. Seemingly seething at the fact that Gohan was hurting him, as the older man tensed back up into a fighting stance.
"The way my normal powers work, I'm at my strongest when I'm angry." He explained, gulping down the lump in his throat. "And when I was ten, I was... very angry."
no subject
The shadow puffs up, ready to start arguing, but Nita's already stopped paying attention to her, closing to mirror Gohan and throwing an experimental punch with superhuman speed and very superhuman strength, which the child-shadow blocks, face twisted by anger.
"Ordinarily I wouldn't hit a kid," she says to adult Gohan, immensely cheerful that she gets to uncomplicatedly hit something, "but I think the physical manifestation of a person's worst urges is exempt from the 'no kicking down' rule."
no subject
But not only was he holding his own, his younger self was actually taking damage. Not a lot, sure, but the fact that it was even possible gave Gohan a glimmer of confidence.
"Oh, he can take it. He's the strongest fighter in the world, after all." He said, clenching his fists. Dashing forward while the kid was distracted, and wasting no time punching him right in the jaw, causing him to break off and fall to the floor some feet away. "He won't lose to a weak coward, right?"
no subject
"Whoa, hey, Gohan. I don't think getting mad at yourself is really the way to go, here."
no subject
The fact that his mirror self existed told him he wasn't over it.
"... You're right. Sorry." He said, his tone of voice softer. The tense edge in his voice gone, as his combat stance dropped. "I just... don't like knowing that I'm not over this yet. That somewhere in the back of my mind, I still keep feeling guilty about the fact that I'm not the strongest." He stepped closer, walking over to his younger self. The kid gritting his teeth in anger, but otherwise not moving. "My entire childhood, everyone told me that I needed to help. That if I didn't, we would die. I trained all the time, I got stronger than most of my dad's friends, I used my potential because if I didn't, we would die. And by the time I was ten, I was stronger than my own dad. The strongest man I've ever known."
He knelt down beside his younger self, on one knee. His other leg propped up, his forearm resting on that knee. "But that's not us. That's not what life's about. We spent our whole childhood fighting intergalactic threats and watching our friends die, but in exchange, we never actually got to live our life."
His younger self's expression softened, no longer gritting his teeth. There was still some intensity to his expression, but it was nowhere near as angry as it was before.
"So yeah, I'm not the strongest. In fact, I might never be the strongest." Gohan said, then added with a smile. "But I'll always be able to rely on dad to fight the big fights... and I'll still be powerful enough to save the people closest to me. Because that's what matters. Keeping our loved ones safe."
no subject
She steps out, graceful and delicate, and draws the sword on her hip without a word.
"Oh no," Monkey whispers, and barely manages to draw and raise her own sword before the Eastern Star darts forward and engages her.
"Your emotions weaken you," the Eastern Star says, so calm she's almost emotionless, from behind her mask. "They are a distraction."
"No," Monkey growls, trying to hold her own against the shadow.
It's not going well.
no subject
"Hey spooky! You in the mask!" Ray shouts, readying his proton gun.
"Yes, you. Step away from the macaque. You Jungian thought-forms are all the same. Always ready to pick on the better side of you, but too scared to face anybody else," he taunts, hoping it's enough to anger the shadow. The proton stream moves way too randomly for precise aim.