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The Wall of Bahamut (IC, Invite only)

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And just as the Frost landed his fist on the horrible abomination's face, its helmet cracked.

Red light spilled out of a giant crack in the middle, the beast finally stopping its unending chanting.
The crimson light quickly engulfed the body of the Ivara, repelling Jack away from her and forcing him to kneel in front of her.
Instead of a clear creature, the thing was now a red silhouette of itself.

The light started rising up from the top of its head, acting like flames, quickly gaining altitude. And then, at around 5 meters above the ground, the Ivara was surrounded by a giant beam of the crimson shine.
It was as if she was recalled by a spaceship - beamed up. The beam rose high in the air, disappearing in the sky, its source unknown.
And then, as quickly as it appeaerd, the light dissipated, revealing nothing. The Ivara seemed to have disappeared.

All of this occured completely silently. It was eerie - unsettling, even. It deserved sound, some sort of screech, an energetic crackle, or even a choir of angels... but there was none.


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Indeed, the whole event did deserve sound, and with Zibu's simpler than simple mind, he simply couldn't process the whole event without associating familiar sounds to it and soo....

"Krakakapow! Bweeeeeeesh! Ptum!..."

This spectacle of voices simply wouldn't stop until the event that unfolded before them stopped too, the continous sounds emitted from Zibu's mouth eco'ing in the emptyness of the area around them as he shouted them with all the force of his lungs.

Then, the man-thing would start to hold his silva prime with both hands above his head, and satisfied of his work, would proceed to dance his way through the long, empty road, all the meanwhile humming happy tunes and sometimes repeating:

"The stones leads da wae!"

This was gonna be a long, long day.


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Just as soon as it started, it ended. Tyr once again was left blinking, this time at where the Ivara once was. He would have rather it been hacked to pieces in front of his eyes but this would a good compromise for the time being. Hopefully that was the last he would see of that thing, but already judging from the murder blades and coloring book like colors of this world, he doubted it. Tyr took off his helmet to get a breath of fresh air and it hit him all at once. A loud resounding shout split the somewhat calm air (if you disregard the ramblings of Zibu who Tyr was almost positive a long lost cousin of that Zombivara thingy) as Tyr projectile vomited all over the area in front of him. It was like a shotgun blast of bile which probably was composed of last weeks skates and fish. There was a lot of it as well, as it just kept coming and coming like a waterfall.

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Gek stands in stunned silence as the Ivara ascends to a higher plane of existence. What awe-inspiring emotions the spectacle would have wrought upon him were completely and utterly destroyed by one of the Tenno 'helpfully' providing sound effects. Rolling his eyes and murmuring "Tenno..." under his breath, he is quickly cut off by the charming sound of projectile vomit. The Grineer gives a raspy snort somehow conveying contempt, distaste and amusement in one pseudo-syllable.

In fairness, that thing was horrific...not that he'd ever share that opinion. At least it didn't leave a rotting corpse, instead choosing to conveniently disappear in a beam of light. 

Holstering his Atterax, Gek begins the awkward and slow movement of manually rotating the whip holder thingy as his weapon slowly trails towards him, audibly grumbling all the while about 'darn Tenno' and how 'if they hadn't cut off my arm'...

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There were few times that Jacked "Jack" Frost could ever, truly say that he was confused. Most times, he simply wrote off events that were irrelevant to his life, or he had at least some cursory understanding of what was occurring. However, as he sat there, kneeling with a permanent grin painted onto his helmet, he was simply confused. The beast of bone and flesh had erupted into a pillar of vermillion, ascending to planes far beyond those that any mortal could hope to achieve. This... this did not bode well. 

As reality dawned on the column of alabaster muscle, it brought with it a fresh wave of horror, but also resolve. Jack had cracked it. The Ivara was him, but inverted. Small, boney, and femaleMuch like he was the emissary of the Lord Bicep himself, the Ivara served the Calciumfather, the sworn enemy of all who abide by the strength of flesh. To think that even in an alternate dimension, his minions would still pursue him. A high-pitched, rolling sound rumbled from deep within him, with discussion continuing to this day as to whether it was simple laughter, or the sound of the last vestiges of his sanity escaping. As one man projectile vomited behind him, retching his intestines out through his mouth, Jack rose.

Rippling muscles flexed as he struck a number of poses, basking in the blessings of Lord Bicep, the rush of endorphins reminding him that no matter where in the multiverse he lurked, the one above all would be looking out for him. 

He would take this world by storm. He would force it onto its knees, and show it the true power of MEAT! With a "RAH!" of enthusiasm and a pump of his fist, he followed the odd creature.


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Such was her disgust that the Ostron lass found herself walking closer with the Grineer than the Tenno in their little pukey band. Those she met during her travels among the stars were nothing like them, and no previous encounter could have prepared her for this. She kept quiet as the men led on, trudging behind them with her shotgun over her shoulder.

Their first foe reminded her of the ghosts of the Plains where she was born, but the Warframe didn't appear to be a Sentient machination, at least not to her probably untrained eye. Wishing she had paid more attention to the village folklore, she bit her tongue and suppressed the urge to snap irritably at the impossibly tall Frost's outburst.

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As they walked along the seemingly unending road, protected from the grass by the yellow dirt, nothing seemed to change.
The tree disappeared behind them, and with that, the scenery remained unchanging. The grass swaying quietly, the blue sky still lacking a source of light.

One would go crazy. With no way to check how much time has passed, no landmarks to take note of and use as reference for the distance treaded. The plane remained impossibly flat.
Some of the group would feel like they're been walking for hours, some would feel like only a few minutes have passed.

And then, suddenly, in the distance... a change.

It was small at first, yet as they got closer and closer, it became bigger.
It was a wall. Blue, slightly fluttering...

Now at around 100 meters from it, they could get a true sense of scale.

Imagine an aquarium - a transparent container of water.
Now imagine an aquarium with no glass. No physical barrier to hold the water from spilling out. Yet the water remained in place.
The borders were clearly defined by grass, yet the grass seemed to avoid the water, swaying away from it.

It was a cube of water, 10 meters tall, having the width and length of 2 Football fields side by side.

The water was transparent, the light seemingly not lost in the depths, as it usually would, and they could easily look inside. And inside it, was a village.
The ground was the same dirt making up the road, which finally got wider than a measly 3 meters.
Wooden shacks were randomly scattered about, their windows boarded up, their doors closed. Some had small chimneys, yet the group was unable to see if they were covered or not.

Paved stone roads connected the houses, and what seemed to be the village center, containing a well, a relatively large building, and a carriage, with no animal to carry it.

Not a living soul was visible outside.

If one was to attempt to stick their head inside, they'd find out that they could, in fact, breathe. And while they still felt underwater, sound traveled relatively well, and they were strangely pulled to the ground - any attempts to swim up would feel like they had weights on their legs.
They would also look extremely silly.


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Zibu's careless walk would slowly but surely die down once again to absolute boredom, the cheering, dancing madman now standing behind the rest of the group, dragging his silva through the yellow dirt as he once more kept silent with his head bowed.

Then, as seemingly everything that happened since the day started, a gigantic cube of water would appear in the distance, growing in size as it's water was almost as transparent as the air they were only probably breathing in this universe.

"Wet houses?"

Curiosity filled the thing, once more moving in front of the group as they all reached the edge of the cube.

In the end, Zibu would... cautiously attempt to touch the water with the edge of his Silva... without considering that it was water and as such, not solid,
what would follow would be Zibu's losing balance and falling through the wall toward the other side, the now extremely wobbly and silly looking idiot once again standing up before pointing once again at the houses.

"Zibu wants wet houses! Go wet houses?"

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Never in Gek Ar'sak's 20-odd years of devoted service to the Queens had the Grineer soldier ever been in such agony.

This long, god-forsaken tedious long exhausting pointless horrible terrible no good very bad path was hell, and even that word did not do it justice. There was no sun, no way to tell how long this purgatory had gone on for, as he trudges along with the most irritating, spoilt, privileged, screaming group of people he ever had the misfortune of meeting. The grass, quietly dancing in the breeze that never was looked so very close, and his partners in 'oh god why the hell are we here' oh so pushable...

He couldn't, of course. He'd probably be thrown in straight after, and much as he despised being here, he did like living.

...Well. Maybe he'd get away with killing off the smiling monstrosity.

To entertain him, Gek drew his attention to internal thoughts about how at least he didn't have to deal with the Queens (hail to them, blah blah blah), and that these younguns who were probably older than him would clearly be far too stupid to be able to operate good old-fashioned Grineer tech. That was cathartic, at least.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by the annoying Tenno's (take your pick, am I right haha) shouting of something.

"Oh, what is it no- oh." Gek interrupts himself as he realises exactly what he's standing in front of. Well, at least it wasn't a field of grass.

Tentatively, the Grineer follows after the silly looking Specter, going to plunge a hand in before remembering that everything in this fever dream of a reality could kill him, his mind cast back to the poor scientist and his gristly end. Instead, he waits a few moments for Zibu to be swallowed whole by a fish, or dissolve into nothing, finally taking the plunge when satisfied.

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Tyr recovered from his spew of bile rather quickly and donned his helmet as fast as possible to hide his burning shame. He followed behind the specter noting the relatively odd behavior of it. He didn't have a single sliver of an idea where they were headed, but at this point he figured moving somewhere beat standing around all day. He continued down the dirt road, taking special care to avoid the grass as he didn't want to end up like his first victim. He was actually so focused on avoiding the grass that he blindly walked into the watery cube in front of him. It took him a second to process everything, but given what he had seen, he wasn't too surprised by this. He looked around at his body encased in the liquid. 

"Fun." He muttered.

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It appeared that her comrades were rather unhindered and even able to breathe inside the wall of water. Considering their recent experience to killer grass, Sorn understandably had her reservations about joining them in this bizarre settlement, but with no other way around it in sight and the Tenno not having his skin melted off or something, she took a few steps through the wall.


Her lungs weren't being squeezed by pressure or rapidly filling up with water when she opened her mouth. This was fine. With a shrug, she strode past the Atlas and joined the Spectre.

"Wet houses it is then. Let's go."

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Whilst the others were somewhat taken aback by the aquatic houses, and the seemingly freestanding body of water, Jack took this in stride. The reach of the Calciumfather was far beyond what the average man would ever have to face. This was, to him, merely a snap of the fingers. Besides, waltzing into enemy territory had never daunted Jack before, and it would surely not start now. Ignoring calls of 'wet houses' and whatnot, he made his way to the front of the pack, walking purposefully into the cube, before cupping his hands in front of his mouth.


His spiel now over, he turns back to the group, tilting the head in a manner evocative of a wink, but lacking any and all facial expression on that idiotic, grinning mask.

"Trust me, my hee-ho homies. What could go wrong?"

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And as they all stepped into the cube, nothing changed.

And as they talked, walked, and preached of their muscles, it remained unchanging.

The village remained ominously quiet, seemingly lacking life. Or at least, any visible life.

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Tyr glanced around at his group and surroundings as the moronic Frost continued to prattle on about his muscles and what not. He made a mental note to backhand some sense into him if he ever got the chance. The village was desolate and empty, like something out of those ludoplex horror games he frequently watched kids play in relays. He went to the nearest door and ran his hands over the old wood. His metal hands came back full of splinters. 

Tyr sighed and tossed his weight against the flimsy looking door. Rather surprisingly the door remained put. He tried again, numerous times. Each time the door remained in place, mocking him without saying a word. His growing frustration finally culminated in a grandiose display of strength as he threw himself at the door with a running drop kick. There was a crack and a snap. He swear he heard the door collapse inwards under the weight of his body. Standing upright in the cloud of resulting smoke and dust he smiled under his helmet since the door had finally met its match.

The dust cleared and he was still standing in the same place outside the door.


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Jack, being an intellectual, watches Tyr's attempts, guffawing... intellectually. Clearly, Tyr was lacking in the sheer force of muscle one needed to unlock this clearly enchanted door. Bang, after bang, after bang, and nothing but a plume of smoke to show for it. Perhaps Jack should be helping right about now... With a deep, shaky breath, he forces down the laughter, putting on a serious face as he approaches the man, laying a massive hand on his shoulder, before gently pulling him away from the obstinate barricade. It was time for him to unleash his true power.

"Lemme have a crack at it, bro. I'll show you just how a true disciple of the Way of the Muscle handles issues like this."

Once all were sufficiently far away, and out of danger should he have to unleash even one percent of his ridiculous power, he began. A flex of the biceps. A flex of the triceps. One last flex for good measure. There. It was time. One deep, deepdeep breath, and he began lowering his stance, hand held open like a slab of solid steel. With measured practice, it lowered to the handle of the doorknob, clasping it so tight that one could hear the tightening fibres of muscle. And then, in a feat of strength none could match... he pressed it down. 

At this point, any ordinary man would be standing in shock and awe at the miracle that they had just brought into this world, but not Jacked "Jack" Frost. No, the pale-skinned giant of a man then did the unthinkable.

He pulled on the door.

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And as the frost pulled the door open, the water around him turned a thick red.

Opening the wooden door caused a cloud of blood to spread into the water around the group, coating their frames and finding its way into open mouths.

The second thing to eject from the shack was a body, quickly floating to the top of the aquarium. It was a light purple, with what seemed to be a tail, but it simply moved up to fast to be visible.

Before anyone had a chance to react, all the doors in all the other houses in the village burst open. But instead of blood and gore, dozens of humanoids swam out.

The water in the village rippled and moved as the light-blue creature swam towards the group in large groups, their bodies wriggling like a worm as they advanced.
Feminine screams and musculine shouts filled the water, all repeating the same word, seemingly accusing the group of a crime: "Murder."

And then, they stopped around the group. Like a pack of sardines, about 200 fish people were circling the group, swimming in circles, causing a whirlpool. Thankfully, the members of the group managed to keep their footing on the sand.

One could finally get a good look at the inhabitants of the village: humanoids, human sized in height, yet extremely skinny. Their skin was blue, ranging from navy to cyan.
Their heads were bald, with scaly, thin,  writhing fins sitting on the top of their heads and where one's ears would be.
Their faces lacked a nose, their eyes larger than usual with triangular irises, their lips almost nonexistant.
On their necks sat their gills, hideously opening and closing as they swam, in a random spot in each 'person'.
Their skinny elbows were decorated with fins as well, their bony arms ending with a webbed hand of 7 fingers, lacking any sign of a nail. Their feet shared the same traits.
From their lower backs, long tails were protruding, smooth and monkey like, writhing as they swam, hitting other fish-people and hooking other tails with them, forming clumps of connected humanoids.
None of them wore clothes, because there were no genitals to hide - their crotches were smooth, and their chests devoid of any sign of nipples. The only way to differentiate a male from a female was the timbre of their voice and the length of their tails - the women had much longer tails, reaching almost a meter in length, while the men's tails were only half the length.

Their calls of murder intensified, getting louder and louder, the whirlpool getting stronger and stronger. The clumps of fish-people joined together, until they were all conected to each other in a circular wall around the group.

And then, they suddenly stopped.

The whirlpool continued for a short while, eventually coming to a halt as the fish-people stared at the group, restricting any way out. Their chanting stopped as well, as if they were waiting for an answer from the strangers.

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The water didn't seem to be harmful, as Gek watched his companions enter, so he follows afterwards, stepping in after the last of them. He watches with interest as Tyr tries and fails to open a door, before the hulking Frost abomination somehow uses his brain to do the revolutionary idea of actually opening a door properly. Almost immediately, however, the Grineer decides that this miracle was a curse in disguise because of course it was, a cloud of blood escaping and oh nice it's in my mouth lovely. Like some deranged flash mob, some fish people come out of the remaining houses BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY DO, screaming bloody murder as they circle the group.

"No," Gek says, "Not us, the guy fish thing was dead before we got here...probably."

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Things went up to eleven quickly as Zibu's original idea of headbutting the door open was miserably discarded by the mountain of muscle near him, with sudden fish-thing's and clouds of blood swatting through the stillness of the water that contained them, the simple smell and taste of the blood-soaken liquid seemingly energizing and reactivating some kind of sleeping part of the specter's subconscious.

And so, as he stared at the miriad of fish-people now staring back at the group, he would recompose himself, muscles pumped out like some sort of mister olympia contestant as it's cold, uncaring eyes would pick a single, random merman before shouting to all.



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They were outnumbered by perhaps twenty or two dozen to one, but behind the sheer muscular and masculine presence exuded by the rest of the group, Sorn couldn't help but feel braver than she felt in a while. The Specter's sudden imposing demands surprised her a little, but it had the right idea. With their backs against the house, they couldn't afford to show weakness now.

"Stay your wrath and hear us fairly. We are not murderers." she said as loudly as she could. That was true, but if the Warframes on either side of her wanted to talk with swords(and fists) instead of words, it could also be history. 

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Tyr stood, his face red a burning with embarrassment at the spectacle he made of himself. The sudden rush of blood and oncoming hoard of fish mutants snapped him back to reality though. His eyes darted back and forth as he counted the mass of bodies in front of them. Instinctively his right hand snapped to the hilt of his Gram, keeping it at the ready just in case. He frequently turned to make sure no beast was behind him as the others spoke. 

"The Osteron lass is correct! We found the body that way, we did not lay a hand or weapon on your brethren!" he boomed. Tensions were thick, but he hoped they'd listen to him before that Frost did something stupid and doomed them all.

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Murder, they screamed. An accusation that, if one had not been here to witness the exact course of events, would be perfectly plausible. Mysterious strangers from some far off land, just stumbling onto the corpse of one of their people, looking unlike any member of their own society? It was simply... too convenient. Briefly, the Frost's addled brain considered these facts, drawing conclusions, forming theories, and taking in the clues. That is, until the sheer damage caused by his amateurish surgeries hit him full force, dragging the metaphorical train of thought to a grinding halt. All that remained... was an appraising look at those unusual fish bodies.

Such sleek, slender designs, not a single trace of fat anywhere on their form... Despite the sheer lack of bulk, it was still admirable, and raised some unusual questions. That said, what better time to sate your curiosity than when suspected of brutalising a member of a species you'd never encountered before?
"Hey hey, swimbros! Where ya gettin that sick protein from? You be lookin like you don't even got bones..."

He nervously chuckles to himself. To be purified from the corrupting influence of bone... Perhaps one day.

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The fish people stayed quiet as the group tried to defend themsleves. When the last one had spoken, quiet murmuring and whispering replaced silence.

Slowly, they seemed to start repeating the same three words, divided into groups - one group repeated the word 'Dwellers', another chanted 'Murder', while the third chanted 'Trial'.

At first the groups were equal. Then, the ones chanting 'Dwellers' slowly started joining the 'Murder' group, until no one was saying the former anymore. It seemed like 'Murder' was at an advantage, but then, 'Trial' seemed to overtake it, until the entire village was chanting 'Trial' in unison.
After about a minute of chanting, they went silent and parted at the middle, unfurling their tails from each other, creating a passage and revealing an empty lot of sand.

And then, the ground started rumbling.
The sand in the empty lot shook and vibrated, the water above it rippling and breaking into currents as the quake got stronger and stronger. 
Suddenly, the ground slowly parted, opening a 10x10 meter square in the ground. Sand and water seeped in.

Suddenly, lights.

Pink, yellow and blue beams of light shot into the aquarium from the hole, not too different from a light shone by a spotlight. 
Then, the humming - a choir of children, singing long, angelic notes in an unfamiliar languge. It was beautiful.
It got even prettier as an adult male Baritone joined them, harmonizing their vocals in a magnificant way, microtonal and unfamiliar to the Tenno.

The sounds choir got louder and louder as the sound of stone dragging against stone intensified, and something rose from the hole in the ground.

At first, it was a head - a normal fish person, their lips moving - it was the Baritone.

And as he rose up, the rest of his body was revealed. This one was different; he was clothed. Orange and purple robes, majestic and expensive-looking, somehow dry from the water. They looked like what a corrupted pope would wear.
Behind him was a group of about 20 children - they were the choir singing the harmony, the first fish children the group was yet to see. They were rather unermarkable - simply small adults, with the exception of about half of them lacking a tail, while the rest had a short one, at around 20 centimeters. 

And then they stopped moving as the slab of stone they were standing on came to a halt, setting them on a stage about half a meter off the ground. The spotlights behind them started moving, illuminating the water.
They stopped humming.

And the rest of the village started to snap their fingers in perfect sync, creating a simple beat.

The kids started singing again, except that instead of an angelic choir, they were harmonizing bluesy chords in a funky rhythm. The Baritone jumped off the stage, landing on the sand, causing a cloud of it to surround him as the spotlights started moving.

"It seems,'" he sang, "that you have, violated the law!" he called, starting to bop his head in rhythm with the snapping.

"Murder was commited, and the blood is on your haaaaand! Now bow before Bahamut, for you're not dwellers of this laaaaand!"

The sound of drums appeared from behind them - a group of fish had snuck out from behind them into one of the houses and came back with a set of strange percussion instruments, accompanying the Baritone's gospel singing.

"A fight to death is one, imprisionemt is two! A massive fine is three, yet I doubt you'll be set free! Four's decapitation, which you surely will not choose, and five, of course, ascension, which he will sure refuse!"

The fish snapping their fingers started cheering, starting to move with the rhythm.

"Now choose your number, may you please, and don't you hesitate! For any pause in answer, you'll end up as grass bait!"

Then, the Baritone went on a very impressive scatting solo, hitting the bluesiest notes while staring at the group.

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Sorn's reponse:


Despite the absurdity and surrealism of the situation, the sheer displeasure of being presented only with five unreasonable choices instead of an actual fair audience showed well on her face. Some trial this was. That and the music - while not objectively bad, was beginning to get a little annoying, considering current circumstances.

"This is ridiculous." she scowled. "Hardly a trial when our guilt has already been decided, what good is choosing our sentence when all are undeserved?"

As she spoke, the options weighed quickly in her head regardless. Discounting decapitation and the shady-sounding 'ascension', three choices seemed more feasible. She was upset enough to seriously consider a duel, but gods knew if they'd decide to put her up against one or two hundred. She didn't quite fancy the idea of being imprisoned for something she did not do either, and wasn't sure if she could escape should they decide to toss her in some underwater grotto for sixteen summers where she would be completely out of her element.

"How 'massive' is this fine of yours? It can't possibly be any more silly than this." 

Try's reponse:


Tyr glared at the fish people. He thought about cutting them down, but knowing the laws of this dimensions....or lack of, he figured he'd be consumed by the sky or something. His tensed hands relaxed on his sword as he spoke. "Give me this Ascension crap whatever it is" he growled.

Gek's reponse:


"What in tarnation...?" Gek murmurs to himself as the fish people chanted themselves into a fervor, apparently somehow reaching a consensus by screaming a single word until they joined in unison. Fish choirboys and a Queensdamned fish Pope appeared from the ground, and apparently whatever demented religion these fever dream fish guys followed sang their hymns in some jazzy genre. The Grineer man rubs his temples at the sight, head snapping back to look when the fish Pope began to speak.

Gek's crusty brow furrows as an array of punishments...? are laid before the falsely accused group. 'Ascension' caught his ear, seeming out of place compared to the other options. Out of the five, it didn't seem as bad...but then nothing was sane in this fever dream of a parallel world. Cautiously, he responds with a "...Five.". While he clearly would trounce whatever foe they flung at him ordinarily, ascension was too...hmm.

Jack's response:


Options, eh? So that was what they were planning to stop them with... By giving them a wide variety of possible routes in regards to their punishment, the enemy was planning to paralyse them with indecision, providing a key opportunity to end it all in one fell swoop. Luckily for the team, however, the teachings of Lord Bicep had covered this exact scenario. In the Book of Crossfit, when the prophet Naienti-Ekus (praise be) had been offered a similar choice, he had heard the words of the Lord himself, whispered in his ear.

"Beware, for the choice is false, and with imprisonment only comes desolation, suffering, and muscular atrophy. Heed my words, and place your trust within the carefully cultivated ropes that line your neck, for they shall be the thread that guides you to salvation."

In that moment, it had all become clear to Naienti-Ekus. For just a brief moment, he had glimpsed the truth that would one day lead to the creation of his self-named routine. Upon choosing decapitation, he had been put to the guillotine, and just as the Lord Bicep had told him, the dull blade had shattered upon his superior physique, allowing him to lift the structure using only the power of his shoulders. Truly an inspiration to all who had chosen to walk in His path. As such, Jack knew just what he had to do. This was a test of his faith, and just like the prophet before him, he would place his faith in his muscles.


Zibu's response:


And so... Every possibility of spilling blood drifting away as a choir of chuldren would vomit the fish-pope out of the ground with their voices, confused, Zibu would grip his mace harder, waiting for the whole ordeal to finally came to an end... Hopefully before the last vestiges of his sanity would finally snap.

But at last, the best words the Specter could hear were spoken, and apparently before anyone else, after what felt like days of pondering on and off... He would once again be the first to respond.

"Zibu ascends in a fight to the death!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, his muscles audibly flexing to their upmost limit as finally he would be able to spill the blood of the people fishes.

The fish pastor continued scatting and singing, improvising and listening to the group's responses.
That is, until Zibu, the last the respond, spilled forth his vile answer.

Everyone went silent. The choir stopped, the snaps silencing. Even the spotlights stopped.
The entire village stared at Zibu with disgust. The Tenno had dared to choose two answers. Blasphamy! He was warned against doing so!

"You have blasphemed the name of Bahamut!" he spat out, his voice filled with anger. "And for that, you shall be punished."

The pastor threw off his robes, revealing his impossible body.

There was no way his clothes could have contained such a massive physique. Under no circumstance.

His arms were huge - at least a few meters long, his biceps looked like you could hide a body inside them. His abs were firm, and he seemed to be so muscular that he had surpassed the sixpack, skipping straight to a tenpack. 
His neck was like a lump of bulging, veiny muscle, almost completely obscuring his head, which was now like a grape compared to the rest of his body.
The pastor's legs were like logs of wood, equal in width and circumference all the way down to his feet. His feet were monsters of their own, each toe looking a child's arm. 

He was an absolute beast of muscle. His muscle's muscles had muscles. And all of this was contained to a person only 1.65 meters in height - he looked condensed and stretched. As of someone took a tall, muscular person, and bonked them in the head with a frying pan, flattening them down to a small, absolutely muscle-packed hobbit.

He reached his hand between his abs, drawing out a sword that somehow hid between them. It was an absolutely massive weapon - the blade 3 meters in length, made of a milky-white crystal. The handle was made of some kind of old, brittle bone - there was no way it could've held this weapon together. But it did.

The pastor launched forwards, slamming the sword down and cutting off Zibu's right arm with a surprising lack of blood.

And with that, he straightened his back,  shoving the sword back between his abs, his muscles too firm to tear at the touch of the extremely sharp crystal.

And as if nothing happened, they went back to singing, the choir chanting again, the villagers snapping their fingers and the drummer starting a beat.

"Ascension you have chosen, my group of criminals!" he sang.

Then, the entiire village joined him, singing in unison.
"We hope that he accepts you, but you will not suffice!" they chanted, completely in sync, as a yellow beam of light wrapped around the group.

And then, they started floating up, towards the sky. 
The group watched the village slowly getting smaller and the chants of the fish people getting quieter as they were pulled towards the roof of the aquarium, unable to exit the ring of light surrounding them. 

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At first, Jack was planning to employ some of his famous witty one-liners to break the tension of the moment, but then... the priest stripped, revealing a form worthy of worship. Muscles rippled like the waves of a stormy ocean, cresting large enough to hide a sword within themselves, as impossible structure lined every inch of them. The man was clearly inhuman, an abomination, and yet... there was something perversely satisfying about how every incorrect arrangement came together to create one cohesive, bulging mass of flesh. It was beautiful. It was heretical. It was a crisis of faith. And so, the pillar of a man found himself on his knees, unsure of what to believe in.

On the one hand, everything about this beast betrayed his principles, but on the other, he was more muscle than even Jack himself could ever, ever hope to be. He simply... could not accept this... Every bit of that maelstrom of emotion was melded, crafted, forged into a single word. A single word that carried far more meaning than one could fit into even a hundred books. A single word that would go down in history as the ultimate showdown that ended an entire religion.


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