The Goddess in Green sighs, tracing an eyeline between the girl across from her and the cards in her hand. It’s a stacked deck, no matter how you cut it, yet still the girl agonizes over her decisions. Ten, maybe twenty minutes ago, this was fun, exciting even, but with the fifth reshuffling of the deck, the allure had gotten old. Yet still the girl crunched numbers in her head, a million simulations running into the same walls, chasing a fairy tale solution. Two rerolls, a move, three interactables, Witchfire… No, a reroll, two interactables, Make ‘Em Bleed, move, interactable… Maybe start with the Witchfire –
“Please, play something. Magik’s dead. You still have a revive. What are you doing?”
“Nah shut up I’m cooking.”
She wasn’t. No amount of rerolls would save this botch job of an operation, and the reality was dawning on her. She gazed out onto the field – A half-vampire, a moody Russian, and a catty goth against an endless sea of hellacious hellforged and nefarious Nazis – and laid her face in her palms. The Goddess’s army was too strong, too quick, too lucky… A floodgate of poor excuses couldn’t hold back the waves of embarrassment washing to shore. The girl held the glowing red button, ending yet another turn. The horde consumed her heroes, and everything went black.
Bolting awake in bed, the haunting charm of the abbey provided little in the way of respite. Defeat had soured the girl’s mood, and even the cheery faces of close friends, their tiresome quips ever ready, couldn’t save the day. It was all so… morose. Until he, tall, firm, decked in dark leather, came into view. Towering over her, her heart would skip a beat at the mere sight of him, her brain melt from a wayward glance of his ruby red eyes. At the subtle hint of his fangs, she would swoon, unable to catch herself…
He was Blade, the Damphyr, and he was the lone purpose for her struggle. Her moniker, “The Hunter”, was an excuse, a pointless exposition to connect an unrequited A-to-B, a boy meets girl of a supernatural variety. Sure, evil mom, old gods, Salem, witches, whatever; the vampire had dug his teeth in, and she found no reason to complain. He made it all seem worth it… The countless hours in battle, locked in mortal combat with the Goddess in Green, the endless monotony of gamma coils and reforged cards, the insipid dialogue spewing from our compatriots… it was all worth it, to spend time with Blade.
Sixty hours, seventy missions, eighty days, thousands of cards. It all stacked up so neatly, but whereas the many found their thrills in the uninspired tale of The Hunter, or another showcase of The Avengers as prime show-stealers, I lay alone in a singular rationale for finishing this journey.
I played a sixty hour game because I think Blade is neat :)
“Please, play something. Magik’s dead. You still have a revive. What are you doing?”
“Nah shut up I’m cooking.”
She wasn’t. No amount of rerolls would save this botch job of an operation, and the reality was dawning on her. She gazed out onto the field – A half-vampire, a moody Russian, and a catty goth against an endless sea of hellacious hellforged and nefarious Nazis – and laid her face in her palms. The Goddess’s army was too strong, too quick, too lucky… A floodgate of poor excuses couldn’t hold back the waves of embarrassment washing to shore. The girl held the glowing red button, ending yet another turn. The horde consumed her heroes, and everything went black.
Bolting awake in bed, the haunting charm of the abbey provided little in the way of respite. Defeat had soured the girl’s mood, and even the cheery faces of close friends, their tiresome quips ever ready, couldn’t save the day. It was all so… morose. Until he, tall, firm, decked in dark leather, came into view. Towering over her, her heart would skip a beat at the mere sight of him, her brain melt from a wayward glance of his ruby red eyes. At the subtle hint of his fangs, she would swoon, unable to catch herself…
He was Blade, the Damphyr, and he was the lone purpose for her struggle. Her moniker, “The Hunter”, was an excuse, a pointless exposition to connect an unrequited A-to-B, a boy meets girl of a supernatural variety. Sure, evil mom, old gods, Salem, witches, whatever; the vampire had dug his teeth in, and she found no reason to complain. He made it all seem worth it… The countless hours in battle, locked in mortal combat with the Goddess in Green, the endless monotony of gamma coils and reforged cards, the insipid dialogue spewing from our compatriots… it was all worth it, to spend time with Blade.
Sixty hours, seventy missions, eighty days, thousands of cards. It all stacked up so neatly, but whereas the many found their thrills in the uninspired tale of The Hunter, or another showcase of The Avengers as prime show-stealers, I lay alone in a singular rationale for finishing this journey.
I played a sixty hour game because I think Blade is neat :)
poyfuh
2 months ago