The Desert

The desert stretched for miles around. More than miles. Infinity.

Sand, infinite lengths of brown sand. Dunes, ridges, cliffs, valleys, swamps, of sand.

It had been hot. And then it had been cold. Now it was hot again. The enourmous sun shimmered, laughing, in the empty blue sky, like a giant pool of water that he just couldn't reach, teasing him, mocking him.

Frost trudged on. Frost doesn't last in a desert, and neither would he.
He was sure that deserts were supposed to have cactus plants growing around, full of water, but there were none.
Deserts were supposed to have an oasis, like in the movies, but there were none.
He was being ignored, again.

He still wore his coat. He was sweating, but clung desperately to his image, like it was important, like it could save him somehow. His boots scraped on the sand, and at first he had been stumbling, but now he went too slowly.

Beside him, Alternate-Jess dragged herself wearily on. Her clothes were torn, her feet and legs cut from the coarse sand. Her skin was starting to burn, and she rocked back and forth as she followed Frost through the infinte waste.

Neither of them was prepared for this. Neither knew how it had happened, or where they were going.

Alternate-Jess stumbled, and collapsed. She clutched at Frost desperately as she fell. He picked up her thin body, drenched in sweat, and limp from weariness. She was breathing lightly, the dry air riddled with sand which cut into both their throats.

Frost stumbled onward, his eyes almost shut, his hair full of sand, carrying the exhausted body of Alternate-Jess in his arms as best he could manage.

For the first time, Frost had no plan and left himself open to fate.

Frost dragged himself over the dunes. He couldn't remember how long it had been since his previous post, had it been 10 minutes?

His eyes were full of sand, he winced through clouds of the stuff, the wind had started to pick up a little. Alternate-Jess was limp in his arms.

The horizon still stretched into infinity. He might have been standing in the same place he'd started, he would never be able to tell.

He trudged on, aware that the sun was beginning to drop towards the earth, soon it would disappear and the land would be cold again. Frost wasn't sure if he'd last another night.

The sun was halfway beneath the horizon.
The pair of travellers stopped.
Castor pulled off the bandana concealing his mouth and spoke.
"We can go no further tonight, brother."
"Agreed" Pollox replied.

Reaching into his heavy robes Castor retrieved a small, round, red device. He pressed a button and tossed it into the sand.
Immediatley it began to glow, and emanate heat.
The sand around it began to gloss over, turning to glass.
Eventually a smooth floor had formed, large enough for the duo to set camp on. They were prepared for anything.

"Tomorrow we deal with Frost", spoke Pollox.
"Tomorrow", agreed his brother.

Clarke had been driving down the same road for an eternity now. Time no longer mattered. Sanity did. Clarke just drove, and tried to think about something that mattered, like his job, or his car. That he was driving. In the desert. Clarke just kept driving, trying to keep his sanity.

Then it ran out. The road just stopped. However, a 1500 kg Nissan Skyline traveling at well in excess of 250 km h -1 just doesn't stop just like that. The noise was deafening, as the car began to roll. Sand was dug up and flung into the broken windows, showering Clarke with a paste of petrol-dampened sand and shards of glass.

The Skyline finaly came to a halt, on its roof, in the middle of the infinate desert. Clarke was hanging upside down in this seat, blood seaping from a gash across the face. The last thing Clarke saw before he blacked out was two strange white figures, shaping the desert around them, settling down for a night's
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---***---

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ August 24, 2003 05:06 AM: Message edited by: Clarke Anderson ]</font>

The night was cold.
In the country, things turned a deep blue after the sun left.
In the city, the surroundings were lit with an eerie sodium-orange glow.
But in the desert everything turned black. As black as space itself. There was no light. There should have been stars. There weren't.

Frost cradled Alternate-Jess in his arms, wrapped in his trenchcoat. They both shivered with cold, caked in sand. If he'd been religious, Tiberius would have prayed. But as it turned out, he wasn't.

Anybody would have thought that the desert would retain some of the heat of the day during the night. They would have been wrong.

The skyline hurtled across the landscape with incredible velocity, and came crashing down onto the mirrored floor. Shards of glass flew everywhere, showering the twins with a hailstorm of razor-edged death.
When the clouds cleared, Pollox leapt up to investigate.

Inside the vehicle he discovered an unconscious driver, and no passengers. If ever there had been anything of value in the vehicle it was worth nothing now. Everything that had been straight was bent. Everything that had been bent was benter. The damage was irreversible. The vehicle was dead.

One edge of the glass floor was shattered. Castor set about resetting the enigmasphere to repair it, but to little avail. "Brother!", he called.
Pollox turned.
"We should leave this place. The man is none of our concern."
"Always the sentimental one, aren't you?" replied Pollox. "Agreed."
Castor retrieved his device.

The pair made off into the blackness, somehow knowing which way to go.
Behind them they left a twisted car on a shattered floor of glass.

Chris rode his skateboard over the sand. Pushing it along, inch by inch, he began to think he was doing something wrong. Perhaps he should have chosen concrete instead, he seemed to move faster in the local parking lot. But he was too far from that to turn back now. He kept going. Inch By Inch.

A Space Station fell out of the sky and landed in front of him. Dammit. Now he had to go around.

James was chasing Clarkes skyline and was catching up because of a shot of NOS. He had been close behind him on the corners but the skylines top end speed had started to open the small gap into a large lead.
Then Clarke rolled. His car just flipped and rolled over the desert sand.
James reefed on the hand brake, pressed in the clutch, hit the brake and got the car sideways to try and bring his car to a halt. A car at 290km/h with a weight of 1200kg does not stop easily. It just slid.
"As long as this keeps sliding then I will be ok, if the tyres grip, I'm dead." James thought.

The night was still. The twins bounded across the landscape, white cloaks flapping, scarfs fluttering.
In the early hours of the morning, right on sunrise, they came upon the camp of Tiberius Frost.
The man in black, clutching a woman, not at all the mighty warrior they sought. It was not important. There was a mission, and it must be completed.

The pair threw off their cumbersome robes, revealing their crisp trademark white trenchcoats.
"Awake, foe! The Diskouroi are upon you!" shouted Pollox, weilding his claymore.
Castor ripped out a shortsword, and spun it behind his back. Uttering a battle-cry, they advanced upon their prey.

Frost was jarred to life just in time to dodge a heavy claymore aimed at his head.
From somewhere inside him, a little spark of instinct ovverode his fatigue. He drew his sword, trying to defend Alternate-Jess. But it seemed they didn't want her. To be on the safe side, he tried to lead them away.

"Come and get me then," he tried to yell at the duo. were there two of them, or was he seeing double?
His voice was cracking and coarse, his throat full of sand. In a desperate attempt to gain some advantage, Frost tried to climb to a ridge of sand. The sky was just lightening with the dawn.

Pollox sprinted up the rise of sand after Frost. He could not escape. It was plainly obvious that the man had been lost in the desert and was exhausted. Pollox admired him for being able to put up this much of a fight.
He neared the top of the ridge, right behind Frost, and leapt into the air, heavy blade ready for another powerful blow.

-~@8@~-

Castor watched his brother dash off after Frost. He dodged around to the west, so as to cut off the man in black.
He reached the ridge, and bounded as best he could in the dry sand towards the duelling pair.
He drew another sword, and advanced.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ September 03, 2003 04:39 AM: Message edited by: Castor and Pollox ]</font>

Frost saw another figure in white running up to cut him off... not good, not good!
He was being surrounded, and was already outnumbered two to one...
He dodged back, swung his weapon and sent a hail of blows towards the assassin with the claymore.

Frost hoped desperately that somebody might show up to even the odds a little.He thought about Alternate-Jess, and hoped she wasn't what this was about...

Clarke woke up, wrapped in cotton wool. Or was it tar? Sticky like tar, tasted like .... golden syrup. Clarke was hungry, and reached out to put his hand on a hard block .. a brick? It would be nice to build a house some day. A place to have a family with a nice dog and a garage and ... a car.

Clarke suddenly sat bolt upright. Or downright. His mind was suddenly cleared when he realised his car was upside down in the desert. With him trapped inside it. Clarke looked to his right where he could see the window, half broken. Clarke attemted to elbow out the window, until the pain from his arm, snapped in two places, kicked in.

With his left arm, Clarke reached under the seat and pulled out his Glock 18 auto. A quick burst from the pistol dispached what was left of the safety glass. Now the hard bit - getting out.

Pollox swung his claymore in a two-handed swing at Frost, who dodged and returned blow after blow with his weapon. It was obvious that he was tired, almost thouroughly exhausted, soon he would be empty, and then he would be dead.
Pollox parried and dodged the slow attacks with ease, watching as his brother climbed the slopes. They were unstoppable. He turned his attention to his quarry, and struck back, aiming for the head.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ September 08, 2003 02:21 AM: Message edited by: Castor and Pollox ]</font>

Frost gatehred what was left of his strength, ducking the blow for his head and swinging his own blade towards the assassin's exposed side.

The edge gleamed in the hot desert sun. Frost screamed with rage.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ September 15, 2003 02:30 AM: Message edited by: Tiberius Frost. ]</font>

Clarke crawled out of the twisted wreck that was once his car, his right arm throbbing in pain. Clarke gritted his teeth, then proceeded to remove the 15cm long shard of steel from his right forearm. Clarke gathered up his few remaining supplies, the Glock 18 pistol from the sand, and also the katana from the boot. Not wanting to leave too much evidence of his passing, Clarke placed a small hand grenade on top of the fuel tank, pulled the pin, then charged off into the desert.

Clarke felt intense heat on his back as he sprinted away as best as he could in the sand. He turned around to see a giant fireball engulf his car, scattering the once magnificent car all around its sandy grave. The furious flames did their best, all that was left was a burning shell, and no evidence.

Clarke turned away and made deeper into the desert. Further ahead he could see three figures moving around. Perhaps they could help...

Something glinted in the distance. Then...
A fireball gushed up from nowhere. Castor stopped in his tracks. His brother continued the battle, ignorant of the destruction carrying on, and too close for comfort.

The last thing they nedded now was a comlication.

-~=@8@=~-

Pollox leaped over the swing aimed at his midsection, and brought a crushing swing down towards Frost's head.

Under the scorching desert sun, he didn't even feel the heat wave from the exploding vehicle in the distance.

Frost brought his blade up and dodged wildly to his right. Somehow, he deflected the blade.
Pain surged through his muscles, tired, fatigued, worn from his endless trek through the wasteland.

He dodged to his left, forgetting that the dune dropped away there.

Frost Keeled over, fell, rolling, tumbling, flailing. He was standing, no... falling again.

Dragging himself to his feet, sand caking his body and clothes, his vision blacking on one side, both, no, just one side...

He thought he saw a figure in the distance. Was he hallucinating?

A sword!

The silver flashed across his vision, he dodged, fell, rolled again. He was still not at the bottom but his adversary had the high ground, he stuck wildly, catching his own blade on the ground.

He was almost doomed and he knew it. He needed help fast, now...

...the figure in the distance! Help?!

As he watched, the small figure wavered and dropped forwards drunkenly. He keeled into the desert.*

Dead?

Attack!

Parry, a poor thrust, he jumped back, tripped again, rolling further, dropping his sword...

His power died. He reached out for his weapon, gripped it by the blade. It cut his palm, sand mixing with his blood, cutting into the wound.

Too bad, had to stay alive. Frost rolled back and up, leaping to his feet to parry another blow. He summoned strength from somewhere, glancing back and leaping down to the base of the dune.

His assailaint would fight him on level ground.

===================
*Note: Referring to my control of Clarke Anderson's character. Since Clarke hasn't posted in a while I thought it best to take his character out. Since I'm the thread starter I'm allowed to do this (I believe). And if Clarke wants to join again he can claim to regain consciousness.

Pollox lashed out with his heavy weapon, his prey too slow to dodge, so attempting to parry instead.

Pollox let a smile come across his face, his blonde dreadlocks bouncing in the desert breeze.

He threw another attack but Frost leapt away, somehow drawing strength that pollox had not counted on.

'Damn', he thought, but not to worry. He would triumph eventually.

-~@8@~-

Castor watched the man in the distance stagger and drop. He grinned. All too easy. The desert took everyone. His heavy white coat was collecting sand. Oh well.

He flicked his swords and looked around for his brother. He couldn't see them, but he could hear the sound of metal against metal.

He climbed up the ridge, and flicked his swords again.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ October 28, 2003 11:47 PM: Message edited by: Castor and Pollox ]</font>

Frost leaped back, dodging the last swing.


His assailant kept coming on and on...too fast to reach a fair playing ground, he'd be dead before he could choose himself a site.


Frost summoned what he could of his last strength, and brought his sword in a desperate upward blow towards the assassin's head.

He hoped this would throw him and advantage.

Castor reached the top of the ridge. He looked down on the two contrasting warriors battling each other.

It was clear that Pollox had the upper hand.

Castor sheathed his swords. He decided he'd be a spectator for now and let his brother finish the duel.

-~@8@~-

Pollox saw Frost lash out with his weapon, too slowly.
He set his footing, and brought his own blade down across's his opponent's sword in a heavy smashing blow.

The barrel of the rifle slowly lifted and droped mimicing the movement of his lungs.
Seathia looked down the scope at the two figures battling with much more honerable weapons then he carried. He couldn't get a clear shot at his target he would have to wait for a the bistander to move.

He was too tired. His assailant's blade crashed down, knocking Frost's sword into the sand.

Tiberius Frost was running out of options. He was losing his concentration; no, he had lost it already, wandering for days, weeks, he didn't know, in this godforsaken desert.

Frost cared little for honour in a time such as this.

Hr raised his boot and lashed out at the assassin's groin, yelling loudly as he did so.


This oughta wipe the grin off the bastard's face.

Pollox's face slowly crumpled as he buckled at the waist, then at the knees.

He hadn't been expecting that.

He coughed, holding his stomach with his left hand, struggling to keep grip on his sword with the other.
His mind clouded, his thoughts were drowned in an ocean of darkness....
-~@8@~-

Castor reached nervously for his blade as he watched his twin stagger.
'He must recover', he thought, 'he must...'

-~@8@~-

Pollox blinked heavily, trying to remember where he was....something about...a battle...a desert...a mission...sword...

He looked up, trying desperately to recover.

Frost saw the opening.

He gripped his sword as tightly as he could, and spun the blade in his trademark style.

Pointing the blade at his attacker's midsection, he drove forward with all his power, screaming with rage as he channelled all his availiable strength in the single blow.


It was all or nothing.

Pollox gasped. His eyes bulged, and he blinked.

It hurt.

He looked down, saw the blade in his body; saw his own fall from limp hands.

The bright red stain slowly began to spread across his heavy coat, staining the white fabric.

He fell to his knees as the blade was drawn out, collapsed on his hands, gasping for air, and failing.

-~@8@~-

"NO!!!!"

Castor screamed at the top of his lungs, exhaustiong himself with his anguish. He felt his brother's pain as he collapsed into the sand, felt his own desperation rise as he realised that Pollox was doomed.

"No........"

-~@8@~-

Pollox choked. He choked again, and blood came out.
It splattered into the desert sand, making a thick puddle.
The last of his strength drained away, and Pollox collapsed in a crumpled heap in the desert.

Castor rushed to his side, kneeling beside his fallen twin.

"Brother, Brother", he spoke,"are you hurt?"
Pollox turned his weary, bloodied eyes toward Castor, and laughed all he could, which was very little.
It was still enough for Castor to recognise, and he smiled.
"You shall be healed, Brother, you will heal...", he said, obviously in vain.

"Lie to me not my Brother. For I know all the truth that do you. Let me die in comfort and the knowledge that my twin whom I have trusted always was honest and true to the end. Abandon the mission, for we have failed, and it is nothing. Seek not to join me in endless oblivion, but find another to love, one that loves you for all that you are and for all you are worth. Remember me always, Brother, for you and I are one, and as I pass I know that I steal away part of your soul."

With his final words, a smile, barely visible, appeared on Pollox's lips, and his eyes fell shut for eternity.

Pollox died in the sand of the desert, and his brother wept for him.

-~@8@~-

Castor wiped his eyes with his wrist.

"Rest, my brother, for you have earned your peace."

Then he rose and turned towards the man that he had hunted, the man dressed in black.

"You have slain my brother, the only one that I cared for. And for it I hate you. I hate you for all that you are, all that you ever were, and all that you ever could be. I hate all aspects of you. And it is a hatred that can never, ever, be satisfied, for even if and when your death occurs I shall hunt you in the afterlife and make you pay for eternity.

I hate you."

Castor drew the device from inside his cloak, and placed it beside his fallen brother. He pressed the controls, and it glowed a warm red.

The sky began to grow dark, and clouds of purple and grey started to form as the air around them grew thicker.

There was a flash, and the sand underneath them glowed white, and a floor of glass spread out from the sphere until it consumed the entire desert.

He turned one last time to Frost.

"I will see you soon."

With that, the twins vanished from the desert, leaving a darkened mirror in its place.

Frost was left standing in the remains of the once harsh and bitter desert. He looked around, and saw nothing.

Then he remembered Alternate-Jess's body, lying in the sand. Looking around, he spotted her, not too far away.

She was still breathing, and as he knelt beside her she opened her eyes.

"Am I still alive?" she whispered.

Frost nodded.
"I think so.", he replied.

He picked up her limp body and began to walk across the glass.


It started to rain.