02-20-2005, 01:36 PM
Rational thought had been slowly slipping from âVokâs grasp since first setting foot in Chillingham Castle. The place reeked of horror and it made the shape shifter squirm. He knew that he was loosing touch with his composure, but he couldnât control it. âVok noticed that the dread that dripped from the place didnât seem to be affecting his companions as badly as it was he, and that only served to make him feel more self conscious and defensive. In truth, what âVok was experiencing was only a small sampling of the trace amounts of fear toxin that hung in the air, but for some reason even the little bit that he had been exposed to seemed to send him into an ever descending free fall. Maybe it was his alien physiology that made him so susceptible. He certainly was in no condition to think about it with any kind of clarity. But as bad as he felt upon arriving in this dreary place, it was just the beginning.
By the time Jonathon Crane had made his presence known, it was already far too late. The paranoid fear that âVok had been experiencing slipped into full-blown terror as the psychotic villain appeared behind them, looming over them like a fifteen-foot tall nightmare. But the image of the Scarecrow did not last long, as âVokâs perceptions began to shift. The villain was soon replaced by an impossibly large Shi'ar soldier standing over the suddenly beaten down and severely weakened Xlorvok. Of coarse âVok was still on Earth in the relative safe company of his teammates, but in the fear soaked landscape of his mind, he was back in the slave pits of the Shiâar Empire.
Commotion and upheaval were all around him. There had been a breach of the facilityâs perimeter and the prisoners were using the distraction to mount an escape attempt. All they knew was chaos. âVok took the opportunity handed to him and ran for all he was worth. As he fled, he realized by looking at his fellow felons that the inhibitor collars had been somehow deactivated. The Horusians once again had use of their psionic abilities, the Darbianâs force blasts had returned, the Froma began to levitate to freedom and most importantly to âVok, the Skrulls found themselves able to shift shape again. Or at least the rest of the Skrulls could.
Dodging blaster fire all around him, âVok dove for a nearby mine shaft, intending to disguise himself as a boulder in order to elude his pursuers. But instead he simply found himself huddled behind some rocks, with his green hide remaining visible plain as day. Something was wrong. Why couldnât he shift? In a frenzy he scrambled for freedom, trying to assume the shape of a Corusian Swift-cat. But again, nothing happened as he found himself plodding for safety at a pace far less than he hoped for. Panic was setting in. He concentrated all his efforts now on forming wings to escape upon, but again, nothing. Instead he tripped over the body of some unfortunate fellow and fell face first into the dirt of the pit. No matter what he tried he could not get his body to react to his commands. His metamorphic abilities had failed him and he was going to pay the price. For from behind him, the Shiâar guard was approaching with sights trained mercilessly on their target.
In the cold dank confines of Chillingham Castle, Dr. Crane watched as Xlorvok shifted from one form to another, trying desperately to escape the execution that his mind was bringing down upon him. From a simple boulder to a giant cat to a Nu'bian ravenhawk to a Badoon inmate and countless other disguises, âVok changed shape rapidly doing whatever he could to escape the horror. In reality he was wearing himself out with all the shape shifting, but in his mind his form was as static as a human. He had lost his ability to change shape, and that simple fact terrified him more than the death that would seemingly result from it.
By the time Jonathon Crane had made his presence known, it was already far too late. The paranoid fear that âVok had been experiencing slipped into full-blown terror as the psychotic villain appeared behind them, looming over them like a fifteen-foot tall nightmare. But the image of the Scarecrow did not last long, as âVokâs perceptions began to shift. The villain was soon replaced by an impossibly large Shi'ar soldier standing over the suddenly beaten down and severely weakened Xlorvok. Of coarse âVok was still on Earth in the relative safe company of his teammates, but in the fear soaked landscape of his mind, he was back in the slave pits of the Shiâar Empire.
Commotion and upheaval were all around him. There had been a breach of the facilityâs perimeter and the prisoners were using the distraction to mount an escape attempt. All they knew was chaos. âVok took the opportunity handed to him and ran for all he was worth. As he fled, he realized by looking at his fellow felons that the inhibitor collars had been somehow deactivated. The Horusians once again had use of their psionic abilities, the Darbianâs force blasts had returned, the Froma began to levitate to freedom and most importantly to âVok, the Skrulls found themselves able to shift shape again. Or at least the rest of the Skrulls could.
Dodging blaster fire all around him, âVok dove for a nearby mine shaft, intending to disguise himself as a boulder in order to elude his pursuers. But instead he simply found himself huddled behind some rocks, with his green hide remaining visible plain as day. Something was wrong. Why couldnât he shift? In a frenzy he scrambled for freedom, trying to assume the shape of a Corusian Swift-cat. But again, nothing happened as he found himself plodding for safety at a pace far less than he hoped for. Panic was setting in. He concentrated all his efforts now on forming wings to escape upon, but again, nothing. Instead he tripped over the body of some unfortunate fellow and fell face first into the dirt of the pit. No matter what he tried he could not get his body to react to his commands. His metamorphic abilities had failed him and he was going to pay the price. For from behind him, the Shiâar guard was approaching with sights trained mercilessly on their target.
In the cold dank confines of Chillingham Castle, Dr. Crane watched as Xlorvok shifted from one form to another, trying desperately to escape the execution that his mind was bringing down upon him. From a simple boulder to a giant cat to a Nu'bian ravenhawk to a Badoon inmate and countless other disguises, âVok changed shape rapidly doing whatever he could to escape the horror. In reality he was wearing himself out with all the shape shifting, but in his mind his form was as static as a human. He had lost his ability to change shape, and that simple fact terrified him more than the death that would seemingly result from it.