Maul, underneath the haze of rage, is likewise a little curious about the Emperor and what he's able to do. He's never encountered magic quite like this, not even among the rather abundant population of magic users in the city. He takes in the measure of this....is he human? Or only resembling the species superficially the way so many humanoid aliens are like in his own universe.
He flips the saberstaff around in his left hand and makes a few flashy movements with it. They wouldn't be very effective during a real fight but they look awesome when showing off in front of a crowd. "I can do this all day," Maul says in a cocky but not unwarranted fashion.
It looks, in God's holy estimation, pretty badass honestly. He gives a low little whistle, and picks himself back upright with all the grace of a nobody: like he's just a man, like he's somebody's dad. For fleeting moments he seems comically out of place in an arena of death, which is at least funny to him.
"Here's take two, then."
The skeletons screw their heads back on, reattach their arms, put on their feet like wacky shoes. Then, as one lurching and clattering horde, they charge.
They're still just canon fodder. Even given the opportunity, none do anything more than claw and grapple harmlessly for their target: they're all bark. It'll be more of the same if he doesn't spice things up a bit, so he spreads his hands like the maestro of an orchestra.
All the half-dried blood here in the sand, the abandoned waste of past fights, stops being dry. It stops being waste. Warmblood's easiest, resists him the least, so he grabs it as his chosen clay and starts to craft something useful.
From the sand, beads of dark red blood rise as though magnetized; they form a trickle, then a lattice; and suddenly it's not unlike something Maul might have seen in an old dream, faced with a Pthumerian Queen. A net of tacky blood weaves itself into existence and tries to ensnare Maul, tries to take him to his knees. Among the riot of skeletons, everything is maroon and white, lit by the flash and sizzle of the saber.
Oily black smoke simmers at God's heels, but he can keep her down for a little while yet. So long as he doesn't spill any more pain and blood and life, anything to excite her into frenzy; so long as he can start to wrap this up...
Somewhere out of sight, there is a groan of metal as blood and bone shear the lock off a monster's cage.
Oh Sith. Maul really needs to learn when to keep his big mouth shut. But he's got pride and his blood is riled up right now with the thrill of a good fight, so that is most certainly not today. He turns to deal with the skeletons that start to reform, alternately slashing with his saberstaff or tearing them apart with the Force.
He thinks that the tactic is merely to drown him in the many numbers of the skeletons until the net is woven and closing in on him. Maul looks across to the stranger he still knows next to nothing about. Well played, strange man. But Maul's not done yet.
Having torn apart one of the skeletons with his bare hands, Maul holds the skull of one of the horned skeletons like an actor on the stage playing Hamlet. Then he lets go of the skull and it hovers in midair before he aims it right at John's head. It comes zooming at his face as fast as Maul can telekinetically throw it.
He spots the move an instant before the skull comes flying. It's a flair of true Nine Houses style; it's a classic. Maul speeds that sharp orb of bone at him, fast enough to destroy anything in its way—
It freezes in the air an inch in front of God's forehead. The skull hangs suspended. Then it flakes away to so much pale dust, and shows God's smile, behind it.
This is when the Beast bursts into the ring.
It's a big one: approximately moose-shaped, if a moose were dripping bits of gore and strings of black ichor. If a moose probably ate wayward children and the souls of the innocent. Its rack of antlers is a heinous jumble of bone, an ugly crown, and it bugles a sound like metal dragging on metal.
The skeletons turn to this new target. The net of blood drops away, suddenly inert and liquid again. It's an opening; it's a crossroads. Maul is left free to choose his next move.
John, without a speck of surprise, says: "We could play a bit of co-op. If you'd like to join me?"
Maul's beginning to figure out what his next move will be and wondering how his opponent will counter it. As far as he can tell, he's at a bit of a disadvantage against this....is he a reality warper? Or simply able to manipulate the bodies of others? Maul isn't sure. But he can bleed and therefore in Maul's estimation he can die.
Before he can put anything into effect, there's a new player in the arena, and Maul turns to face this new threat. Well, that is one grody looking monster, and Maul knows taking it on will be a challenge by himself. A fun one, to be certain, but the idea of taking it on with this stranger does sound like a good time to Maul. He nods to John. "Alright. Shall we begin then?"
Across the bloody sand, he breaks into another smile.
"I'll set it up, you drop it."
At once, the skeletons burst into movement. They all clatter and clamor towards the Beast, intent on drawing its aggression and hemming it in. When Maul steps forward, it will be with a dozen spindly white shadows at his side.
The net of blood begins to weave itself up again, shimmering at the back of the Beast. He has always loved this part: putting together all the moves for the final takedown. It looks good in movies. It's not something he has gotten to do much of; God is so rarely in his own fights.
Maul finds this guy is much more fun when he's on the Sith Lord's side than fighting against him. He flips his lightsaber around once, twice, and then charges ahead with the little army of skeletons at his side.
The moose monsters bellows and charges Maul, lowering its head in an attempt to gore him. Maul keeps moving forward and at the very last second, he drops down and skids along the arena floor like a baseball player sliding to home. He slices at the creature's tendons with his lightsaber, cutting its tendons to hamstring it.
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He flips the saberstaff around in his left hand and makes a few flashy movements with it. They wouldn't be very effective during a real fight but they look awesome when showing off in front of a crowd. "I can do this all day," Maul says in a cocky but not unwarranted fashion.
no subject
"Here's take two, then."
The skeletons screw their heads back on, reattach their arms, put on their feet like wacky shoes. Then, as one lurching and clattering horde, they charge.
They're still just canon fodder. Even given the opportunity, none do anything more than claw and grapple harmlessly for their target: they're all bark. It'll be more of the same if he doesn't spice things up a bit, so he spreads his hands like the maestro of an orchestra.
All the half-dried blood here in the sand, the abandoned waste of past fights, stops being dry. It stops being waste. Warmblood's easiest, resists him the least, so he grabs it as his chosen clay and starts to craft something useful.
From the sand, beads of dark red blood rise as though magnetized; they form a trickle, then a lattice; and suddenly it's not unlike something Maul might have seen in an old dream, faced with a Pthumerian Queen. A net of tacky blood weaves itself into existence and tries to ensnare Maul, tries to take him to his knees. Among the riot of skeletons, everything is maroon and white, lit by the flash and sizzle of the saber.
Oily black smoke simmers at God's heels, but he can keep her down for a little while yet. So long as he doesn't spill any more pain and blood and life, anything to excite her into frenzy; so long as he can start to wrap this up...
Somewhere out of sight, there is a groan of metal as blood and bone shear the lock off a monster's cage.
no subject
He thinks that the tactic is merely to drown him in the many numbers of the skeletons until the net is woven and closing in on him. Maul looks across to the stranger he still knows next to nothing about. Well played, strange man. But Maul's not done yet.
Having torn apart one of the skeletons with his bare hands, Maul holds the skull of one of the horned skeletons like an actor on the stage playing Hamlet. Then he lets go of the skull and it hovers in midair before he aims it right at John's head. It comes zooming at his face as fast as Maul can telekinetically throw it.
no subject
It freezes in the air an inch in front of God's forehead. The skull hangs suspended. Then it flakes away to so much pale dust, and shows God's smile, behind it.
This is when the Beast bursts into the ring.
It's a big one: approximately moose-shaped, if a moose were dripping bits of gore and strings of black ichor. If a moose probably ate wayward children and the souls of the innocent. Its rack of antlers is a heinous jumble of bone, an ugly crown, and it bugles a sound like metal dragging on metal.
The skeletons turn to this new target. The net of blood drops away, suddenly inert and liquid again. It's an opening; it's a crossroads. Maul is left free to choose his next move.
John, without a speck of surprise, says: "We could play a bit of co-op. If you'd like to join me?"
no subject
Before he can put anything into effect, there's a new player in the arena, and Maul turns to face this new threat. Well, that is one grody looking monster, and Maul knows taking it on will be a challenge by himself. A fun one, to be certain, but the idea of taking it on with this stranger does sound like a good time to Maul. He nods to John. "Alright. Shall we begin then?"
no subject
"I'll set it up, you drop it."
At once, the skeletons burst into movement. They all clatter and clamor towards the Beast, intent on drawing its aggression and hemming it in. When Maul steps forward, it will be with a dozen spindly white shadows at his side.
The net of blood begins to weave itself up again, shimmering at the back of the Beast. He has always loved this part: putting together all the moves for the final takedown. It looks good in movies. It's not something he has gotten to do much of; God is so rarely in his own fights.
no subject
The moose monsters bellows and charges Maul, lowering its head in an attempt to gore him. Maul keeps moving forward and at the very last second, he drops down and skids along the arena floor like a baseball player sliding to home. He slices at the creature's tendons with his lightsaber, cutting its tendons to hamstring it.