The Iberian Problem

Session #45

Harbingers

Iberian Empire

It is no safely guarded secret that since her usefulness to him had been rapidly consumed, cunning Impero had swiftly begun plotting and scheming for the inevitable downfall of his former lover, Clarice Zeraz. A devious woman driven by selfish ambition and delusions of grandeur. Her only existing worth being her motherly nurturing of their son, Lionel, a boy who the masked icon himself aims to later claim from the redheaded mistress' egotistical claws. Without his enigmatic influence to ensure that she remains irrelevant to the world, Clarice was left a dangerous individual with the exponentially growing objective of world domination, a goal that vaunted Impero had always viewed as one-dimensional and lacking in dynamism. And should the world ever fall victim to the rule of a sole dictator, it could certainly not be allowed to fall into the grasp of Clarice of all people. Her willingness to eliminate supposed allies without the slightest expression of hesitation for a seemingly egocentric goal was a powerful testament to her untrustworthy nature.

Having previously intended on putting their son to use against the redheaded goddess, such an action had consistently proved itself impossible, forcing the mysterious manipulator to take a previously unplanned course of action. Amassing enough allies to aid him in a possible war against Clarice and her forces, The Genius secretly trained his personal army of master Reapers in the elite blood-bending art of Hongse Yuansu, and as required, Shui Yuansu as well. However, his meticulous preparations saw no conclusion as he further informed his elite cronies of Clarice's psychological condition and what he believed to be crucial information regarding his ex-wife's psyche. With Kratesis, Charmix, Fowler and a collection of other allies ready to leap to his defense, it would seem that mysterious Impero had prepared himself for an assault not only by his former queen, but an assault to ready himself against any possible opponent. However, as excessive as his taste for planning had grown, it seemed that he had momentarily sated his thirst upon the fortunate collecting of Angelique LeBeau's desired DNA. And while even he could not truly anticipate when a potential attack from the devious Zeraz would take place, his unshakable confidence and relentless preparation rendered him the characteristically composed, arrogant figure that he flawlessly portrays himself as.

Calmly seated on an artistically sculpted jewel-encrusted throne in an extravagant secluded room, intricately decorated by countless lavish portraits and hung pieces of treasured weaponry, the elegant Emperor silently stared into the open space before him, his elite guards strategically positioned across the area as he did so. Sunlight crept into the undeniably marvelous yet delicately darkened room. Clad in his trademark stylish militaristic armored attire, its identifiable hood casting an eerie shadow over his iconic alabaster mask, only his piercing golden eyes distinguishing themselves from the darkness. "Sir! Ms. Zeraz... she is here", an alarmed guard informed, bursting into the throne room, instinctively bowing before his celebrated monarch. Silently gesturing for the armed guard to leave his presence, he noted the effectiveness of the various surveillance spread across his supposedly treasured empire. While contacting Fowler would be a relatively easy alternative, the Nefarious Neutral opted instead to telepathically reach the deadliest of his daughters, Kratesis. "My lovely child. Clarice has returned. Kill her", he ordered, instantly shifting to a different mind, a more trusted one, that of his current lover, Lara Kelly, more popularly known as Lady Liberty. "Lara, ready yourself. Clarice is here, I am sending someone your way. While her intentions are not fully known to me, she will target one of us, or both".

Still comfortably seated in his lavish throne, the arrogant aristocrat broke the plaguing silence of his throne room, his recognizably charming deep voice piercing through the atmosphere not unlike a knife. "Espada. Your mission is clear". From the shadows, emerged a robust behemoth of a man, ceremoniously covered in glowing Japanese Kanji tattoos. With a calm nod, the lethal Legacy, Espada departed in a deceptive display of unparalleled speed, off to meet with Lady Liberty. And while an attack on both had been anticipated, with the knowledge he had of Clarice, the elegant Emperor felt that he was beyond requiring significant aid, but one cannot be too certain. "Tis time to teach that classless whore that she cannot compete with the world's apex predator", the enigmatic icon announced, calmly rising from his throne as a squad of elite blood-bending Reapers emerged from the shadows, ready to confront the redheaded mistress should she find herself standing before the Enigmatic Messiah.

Evie sat at a desk a oray of holographic displays before her eyes. A computer mind was overseeing everything that fell under her hands constrol. Business matters were handled with a click of a button, targets for assassins marked with a single key stroke. Soldiers given orders, letters guiding people to eat out of her palm sent. Syapt was a pupeteer that nobody noticed or recognized and that was rather how she liked it to be. The tree her and allies planted had roots branching out ever so far and nobody ever saw it for the actuality. "Miss shiney hair uh I believe its that time." The high pitched voice of a green and violet haired lunatic spoke. A pink haired girl laughed and like that the science made goddess ventured into the teleportation room.

Not long ago the artificial being known as Syapt had gone to the domain of Clara Mass. It was a match made in heaven, a pair forged in hell. One was a manipulative force of seduction and confidence. Mesmerized by the charm of Clara mass and the drive to see her with less atire on people flocked to her cause, knees shook before her desperately week and craving her approval. And Eve she was the corporate entity and snake the force and bargainer who fought and bought suppremacy. And the beauty of this science born titan only helped her get her way even more. Together they would create a world more befiting of these people. To do that though one had to first defeat the mighty Impero and his empire. Tonight a city would burn a flash of lights circled around the blond as the teleporter booted up. Then in a flash she was gone from her remote base of opperations.

Iberia was where the man made goddess appeared, neon green eyes observing the place. To be hounest Syapt was not impressed with these walls, Impero seamed like he was a god amongst ants disguised cleverly as nothing more then a common level being in the powered comunity. Yet what she saw was a empire belonging to ants. Syapt expected a horizon line of the future what she found was another land of the meek. Hair seaming more like gold then blond flowed behind her as she started walking through the city. A thought activating her armors systems to come to life. Ragnarok the handcanon of her armor was first it glowed a bright green of its nuclear force. The rest came covering her flawless body and ensuring that it was safe from extensive harm. And last came the helmet masking her face. The armor helped keep herself in check from overloading, for as much of a genius as she was. Eve was more a weapon a radiant adapting being that had grown faster then science would permit.

It was simple for her really, nobody of the standard mortal sort could oppose her. Ever adapting to send a generic force to confront her was to send one to death. A pawn would not remove a queen when those playing the game were profesionals. No someone else would be needed like Liberty the key to whatever it was the enchantress wanted. Gravitational abilities allowed the armored being to hover above. Weponized ability cannon on her arm radiated with nuclear force ready to level buildings if needed. Energy abilities were used to up her strength and durability as everyone knew Liberty could pack a punch. "Rayne mission going acordingly corect?" Confirmation quickly came Razor was clear. Good as it needed to be kept low profile the two were working together. Eve swaping to a nonsecure chanel and open comm system. "If possible I would like to avoid casualties, but I am not above leveling buildings to get your undivded attention my lady."

Natalie was a terrorist, an anarchist and individual who desserved likely to be put down by those who she dared to opress. As a woman dedicated to vengeance however she had twisted her words oh so well. And in the month sense the conflict with Impero Natalie had been hard at work turning people, making them her soldiers against oppresion her revolutionaries. Alianette was a vampiric humonculus and as suchh her bight carried a bit more weight. Her minions were generaly the same as any other canite, the diffrence was they had no weakness to sunlight and some imunity to fire. Thity seven people had been made into soldiers of deconstitution. Three dozen beings that were to be constructed to rip this city apart from the bottom up.

Located in the sewers was of Iberia a meeting of the darkest sort was being held. The smell of blood lingered in the air some of the young bloods not able to hold their appetite. "A month ago Impero nearly took my arm in a fight, some hero to have tried to disfigure me before he fled the sight. Victory was mine and rather then embrace defeat he ran. The man you look to as savior and dignified idealist is little more then a dictator of subtle oppresion." What really happend when Impero and Alianette fought a second time was untold. Some of what she told may of been a lie. Her voice though was soothing and melodic impossible for them to opose they were hypnotized into believing her words.

"A small family took me in gave me food gave me shelter and nursed me back to health after the first fight. While Impero and I fought for the second time Impero sent his dogs to kill them. I returned to a dead family and burned down vilage. Their crime, association not helping or aiding me not for fighting by me no simply for giving a damn." The family was killed by Witchhunters, wether it was by Impero or the hunters choice however was unknown. The fate of the vilage was by Alianette, a fire blazed the small vilage on outskirts of Iberia down to use as propaganda. "He says he cares about you and yet never does he look you face to face. Says he is your leader, looks to you with uncaring steely eyes. Nothing he does is true entirely nothing is done without a scheme for himself."

"You want liberty dont believe its brought by the wife. Its found by the people. We must break the hold of goverments we dont need law to have order."

And so the group of vampires began to surface in the streets claws and fangs at the ready. It was time time that they rip apart all that opposed them, life or death ment nothing. Ali knew that all of her minions would be dead by dawn, they were but instruments of change they all embraced that. "You can't do this" it was the last one to head for the exit. The other thirty six had gone out to slaughter everything that stood for Natalie's 'master' this remaining woman objected a cold hand on Ali's shoulder. Slap and the arm was away an elbow shattered the nose blood gushing down the minions face. And finaly Alieanette ran her fist through the minions chest combusting the heart. "Able to or not we must regardless" a cold hearted reply before Ali went to the streets to look for something to kill. Or more precisely some one.

They called him Messiah. A figure of leadership, of bravery, of ingenuity. Messiah, the bringer of light among darkness, relief from oppression, and delverer of salvation. And they followed him willingly, happily, as he moved away the threat of magical incantations fogging up the mirror. He indeed, Impero, Messiah was revered and looked to for guidance. And was it not deserved. Almost singlehandidly he was able to exspunge an oppressive force, and beguile the masses, conform their vulnerable minds to his own will... Thusly building his empire with the passing of a day his mask became fabled legend. The man... The mystery... The revolution? Or something more sinister. After all, since the conception of its birth, the one flawed feather on the peacocks fan, the black spot on the white satin... Her name Clara Michelle Zeraz...

Impero was a problem, Atticus admitted this to himself. Because with every day, the world changed a little bit more. Only a very few things could claim mainstay, as was the sunrise and life and death. On such matters Atticus saw the Iberian empire as temporary. The rise and fall of great things wondrous and terrible was inevitable. Fate had written it so. He would be dealt with in due time, but Clara... Oh Clara was a perpetual thorn, the blemish the marred a more perfect union.

Atticus beloved this, and it set as his self imposed mission to dissociate her with America. The company, Zeraz Inc. was a valuable asset to the entirety of the nation. Atticus realized this, and yet he could not bare knowing that at its head stood a malison. Her take over was swift, and her grip on the power the company wielded was ironclad. But there were ways of making iron obsolete. One was to impose completion. Where there is iron, he would bring steel. Without being completely obvious, flailing his distrust for one Zeraz matriarch, the democratic nominee for President of the United States presented an address entitled... "A stronger America"

""No longer will we be obligated to feed the mouths of private contractors. The men and women of our nation know all to well the consequences of middle men. It drives up cost and often produces no measurable valuable outcomes for our armed forces. Allowing our uniformed soldiers to provide their own protection, medical assistance, and transportation will cut costs by billions and allow for s'more transparent account of day to day procedure. We trust those in uniform with our lives, it is not up to a company to provide us with weaponry and such. There is no need for it when we have capable hand and minds in our armed forces right now. And it is why I have decided that, if elected all government contracts with Zeraz incorporated will be immediately and permanently terminated."

His taste for couf was limited when it came to her. And it was hard to believe that they had never truly known each other. But the few times they had encountered one another, Atticus felt an unnerving, diabolical energy that twisted him. She was no good, and her downfall was only the beginning of a more prosperous future. People forget that he warned the nation and the world about Iberia, and even though she no longer held power within the territory; it brought him joy to know that she had been dethroned, she was always going to be a threat. Impero was a problem, and he would be dealt with in due time, but Clara was game for now.

Indeed, the inevitable targeting of his prestigious empire had commenced. Having relentlessly gone through meticulous preparations to brace not only himself, but the whole of Iberia for an attack by his egocentric ex-wife, Clarice Zeraz. While her intentions with the European superpower are perhaps as one-dimensional, a simple portion of her endgame involving total world domination, any possible success she may find will potentially impair the enigmatic being's reputation... or will it? Had he not done what he claimed he would do? Act as the nation's undisputed savior? His shadowy machinations having been so cleverly concealed to external observers. In the secluded, undisclosed areas of illustrious Iberia's landscape, a secretive society had been founded by the masked icon. One that fully embraced his messianic vision for humanity. A society comprised of some of the extravagant empire's most prominent politicians and public figures, The Genius through the verbal manipulative talents of his silver tongue, had successfully coerced them into joining the elusive Witch-Hunter organization which the elegant Emperor is in the process of combining with the legendary Yuansu Clan.

Still silently seated on his lavish jewel-encrusted throne, he is conquering a sea of his own thoughts. He had not forgotten of his past encounters with potential enemies of Iberia, aside from Clarice and Jean Luc LeBeau, the most prominent being, Alianette, a possibly delusional anarchist with a mistaken memory regarding a masked individual she strongly but falsely believes to be Impero. Their battle, while not as energetic and eventful as it could have been, had served its underlying purpose. The Grandmaster had not engaged the Arabian anarchist in combat for false pride, defeating her would have been a fruitless endeavor. His at times questionable decision to restrain himself and put forth a limited display of his capabilities had however, proven successful. The Iberian Messiah had observed and studied the Arabian beauty's most devastating techniques and her nigh-peerless elemental prowess. A manipulative mastermind of an undeniably meticulous nature, cunning Impero had utilized this information to his advantage, developing several technological components for his deadly Reapers in preparation for a future confrontation. Clad in futuristic temperature-regulating armored bodysuits made of a Trion-based fabric, they were fully prepared for the full blunt of an elemental assault from the vampiric anarchist.

"The palace compound, I want it on lockdown", mysterious Impero ordered, a demanding tone carrying his powerful, deep voice as it echoed in the spacious throne room. Calmly rising to his feet, his personalized squad of elite blood-bending armored Reapers simultaneously surrounded him in a protective circle as he made his departure from the architectural marvel that is the Imperial Palace Compound. Leaving its extensively trained royal guards behind with a colossal squad of Apex Cobras, Impero watched with mesmerizing golden eyes from the outskirts of the palace gates as a massive nigh-impenetrable dome of pure Trion metal enveloped the entire compound. Turning away from the gigantic metallic dome, the masked icon made an attempt at calling in more allies for any potential war. "Mr. Fowler, Iberia requires your aid. Come with armed forces. My ex-wife, Clarice, she is here. Tis time to break that b*tch's neck". With the recent unexplained absence surrounding trusted ally, Sayomi Nakamura, Impero instead opted to contact his most recent political ally, Lyn, Russia's highly respected ruler. "Ms. Lyn, I do hope you have not forgotten our recent chat regarding maintaining these times of peace", quickly, his well-guarded telepathic message had departed for Lyn's mind. While somewhat cryptic, his words would be fully understood by the demonic politician.

While the urge to call on two more allies was indeed existent, at the moment, Impero chose to act against this impulse. While they would both drastically tip the scales of the approaching confrontation to his favor, the calculating enigma had other matters to attend to at the moment. Patience governing his wait on the anticipated telepathic responses to his requests, the death-dealing monarch and his loyal cronies mysteriously vanished, reappearing in an undisclosed underground Witch-Hunter facility. Ignoring the celebratory chants and cheers, Impero made his way into a secluded meeting room, accompanied by his personal Reaper squad. There, he met with this supposed secret society he had created regarding his goal with Iberia. "Gentlemen, it is time".

Lady Liberty

High above the iberian peninsula, drifting peacefully and isolated in the days moderate cloud cover. Eyes closed as I listen, honing my concentration and ability to pick out one voice among millions by daily practice.

My contemplation interrupted by the telepathic communication of my handsome companion. Absorbing the information I turn and flash a tight beam radio transmission to Iberia's military defense networks.

AUTHORIZATION:*****************

THIS IS MARSHAL KELLY.

ALLFORCE WARNING ORDER NOW IN EFFECT.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

The order would mobilize all reserves, and set all active service to prepare for mobilization or engagement. Marshal law would be temporarily in place, emergency services would be alerted. Highways would be cleared for priority traffic. All civilian overflights grounded, and international flights redirected.

I head to Rota, Cadiz with all reasonable speed.

Fleet Command was in Rota, and the Projection group stationed here. Composed of thePrincipe de Asturias the flagship and only proper aircraft carrier, theJuan Carlos a STOVL light aircraft carrier, two Galicia class amphibious warfare ships, and two replenishment ships. This represented the premier force projection of iberia.

Additionally six Santa Maria class frigates were docked here. They would act as our force screen.

Arriving in mere seconds I salute the captain of the Asturias and request permission to come aboard. After it is granted I order all planes fueled, and pilots prepped.

Whatever Clarice sent, we would own the skies.

Kratesis

Kill Clara Mass.

This she understood. This she could do. In fact, this she had prepared for by falsifying an alliance with Clarice. No social soul, Kratesis had little ability in such realms. But perhaps she would be trusted..

Contacting Clarice via closed radio communication. 'Where are ye? We should.. talk..'

Rumble underground

Fowler leaned back on his recliner he plays a game of darts with his own hair towards the face of some of earth's heroes, villains and politicians. Straightening individual strands of hair which are by default capable of garrote decapitation the bioborg indulged in giving people moustaches, the Lebeau gets an old fashioned Hitler stache and pickle slices over his eyeswhile Atticus gets a Porn stache and a banana on the mouth.

"Mr. Fowler, Iberia requires your aid. Come with armed forces. My ex-wife, Clarice, she is here. Tis time to break that b*tch's neck"

It was a message from @Impero that was received on the two-way, Fowler was enthusiastically waiting for a moment like this to be honest, because these drugs need to be tested anyways and he was about to play guinea pig. Fowler then replied to the hooded man through a texting function in the Two way

|I suggest that you give the new batch to your reapers, these ones have been tested and they are pan-enhancers that will boost every attribute without any notable side effects besides athlete's foot. This simple batch triple-folds their already amazing attributes.

Oh and, Clarice smells like old casserole :) |

After texting his messages Fowler activated the lock on the package located within easy access points through the palace, access points that are only known to the destination. With the data given from his previous inspection and the subjects they are meant to have, the locks are keyed to certain bio codes or in certain cases technology. Impero and his forces can pick one with impunity, yet anyone else foolish enough to nab one will find themselves deprived of their senses for one hour and suffer from diarrhea.

The bioborg texted the locations and also information so the hooded man can improvise on those set foundations, who knows that he will use it only for some dumb enemy to steal it and die at the last moment? but it is better to be prepared then not. Besides that little fact, he's heard plenty of things about this goddess. Only a few of them are good, and that is stretching the definition to its widest sense. While ladies love their diamonds this hen prefers the world on her ring. and everyone in it under her fingers.

Acting under alliance and his own national interests such things cannot be, because anyone who steps foot without permission will be dealt with. Two, friends look out for each other, and the bioborg genuinely find the key members as such. Impero as an ally from the Shadows who has made discussions about plans and future building, Liberty whom he'd also had fun with at the himalayas especially when fighting erratic spacefarers with no purpose and Kratesis. Good fight.

As he readies to rise above the ground surface Fowler noticed an odd commotion above ground and thus ordered the apes to mobilize. He was awestruck when he saw living, breathing vampires that are 'different' from the norm displayed on the media. If any of them were to sparkle he will personally powder them and snort them like heroin, luckily for them none of that happened.

"I hope you boys like monkey business" With that said five monkeys set their positions behind Fowler and used the drugs, transforming into a controllable beast roughly the size of elephants. They knuckle walk upon seeing undead movement, eyeing them down to the facial twitches, monkeys will have a go at Vampires while this bioborg supervises. First goal in line, don't let them pass.

THIS IS MARSHAL KELLY.
ALLFORCE WARNING ORDER NOW IN EFFECT.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL

An air siren warned them every corner as shadows began to flitter above the rooftops, "Holy ****, this keeps getting better and better already."

The Raven, Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

The Raven, the primary means of transportation for the Harbingers, a prototype stealth jet and the only one in existence, seized during the taking of the mansion that now served as the team's base by Michael Caldwell. It was large enough to carry one of the teams Bearcat Assault Vehicles in the back as well as deploy it via parachute. Inertia dampeners allowed unrestricted movement throughout the craft no matter the speed it was moving at, a prototype stealth system incorporated into it masked it from every type of sensor imaginable. It had even been confirmed by Violette, the teams resident telepath that the Raven was even shielded against telepathic intrusion. Although the exact mean's as to how this was accomplished were currently unknown.

In the center of the surprisingly agile jet was the information center, numerous monitors displaying everything from news to incoming data supplied by the supercomputer beneath the Mansion.

He stood behind the pilots chair, the team's pilot/mechanic, Trip working the controls like a pro as the bird soared over the surprisingly calm Atlantic. They were close. The two teammates he'd brought with him had been briefed during the first hour of what was, by modern standards, a relatively short flight.

"How long Trip."Without looking down at the pilot, his sight focused on the horizon.

"Oh about fifteen minutes, might wanna tell the creepy guy and that hot ninja chick to get ready... don't tell Violette I called her that..."The smart mouthed mechanic responded, the end spoken somewhat sheepishly.

Violette and The Mercenary sat in the back, going over their weapons and equipment, occasionally chatting with one another.

"We've got ten minutes, you two all set?"He asked, stepping into the drop bay, the retractable door that they'd be leaping through in a few moments.

They nodded, no need for words, they were professionals. Of course they were ready.

"You both know what to do, We'll be dropping into the capital. I'll make my way to the palace and take out Impero. You two let your imaginations fly free and cause a little chaos. Spare no expense."

Pulling a tarp off a crate labeled 'High Explosive' with a sly grin on his still stubble covered face.

"Nothing stupid though, it gets to hot you call Trip for extraction. That part isn't up for debate."

And without another word he went to attach his gear, helping the others into the wingsuits they would use for their infiltration.

Ten Minutes Later, Approaching the Iberian Capital City

The three stood over the now open drop bay door, red battle lights switched on to obscure the just from view from below. He raises a gloved hand, three fingers held up to signify the countdown. Slowly lowering one. A few seconds later the lost finger dropped and he threw himself out of the opening, an indicator on his heads up display showing the others were right behind him. They had enough explosives to level a small town a few times over, that combined with their own special talents would distract the Iberian Military long enough for him to handle his end of the operation. His target, as far as Clara knew, was Impero, but he had ulterior motives. Recalling a meeting a few nights prior with a man he despised, a man that had taken someone from him he'd do anything to get back. He needed to find Kratesis.

Precursor

Clara Mass

Blood-dust

"Hey bloodsucks, I like your pale skins and I intend to make a bed out of it. Any complaints?"

The apes hold big ass guns, like something straight out of liefeld's wet dreams each with four limbs to shoot and a tail to give it a one up. Accuracy be damned when each shot can punch holes through an entire dozen row of tank armor, their range sucks but it is compensated by the abundance of ammunition. Ergonomically they are not meant to be held by human hands, the weigh alone makes them exceptional melee weapons capable of crushing a charging bull. In essence they are perfect for melee combat and urban warfare.

The six beasts enter the fight by charging forwards toward the hordes of bloodsucks, some brandishing their guns while Fowler puts his dukes up...

With his enigmatic father otherwise occupied with his shadowy dealings regarding the fate of his targeted empire, the prodigious Feng Yuansu elite was promptly ordered to seek out the iconic puppeteer's selected lover, Lara Kelly, popularly known as Lady Liberty. Incapable of directly contacting her through the mysterious abilities of his exotic genetic Yuzhi power, Espada was rendered limited in his choices. While initially intending on contacting his recently met sibling and equally deadly, Kratesis, Espada instead opted for a different approach to his supposed objective. With a theatrically smug smirk characteristic of his undeniable arrogance and high self-opinion, Espada found his massive frame standing outside the outskirts of the Imperial Palace Compound. Briefly examining the colossal Trion-constructed dome that protectively encased the entire infrastructural complex, he calmly turns away from the imposing structure, instantly detecting the various disturbances occurring in the prestigious empire so illustriously erected in the European continent. Quickly, the ordered actions by the powerful nation's prime minister and field marshal were noticed by the exponentially heightened perception of the prodigious Yuansu Bull.

Civilian masses were forced back into their homes, traffic was redirected away from locations of significance, however, perhaps the most prominent alteration had been the aerial domination that had recently taken place by the Iberian Air-Force. Prior to his commenced movement, the soulless genetic freak mentally contacts his respected sister, Kratesis. "Josei wa, sugu ni wareware wa issho ni dōsa shimasu (Soon woman, we will work together)", indeed his intentions to fight alongside one as entertaining as his sister remained no harbored secret. However, his current objective as it seems was to find and protect Lara Kelly. However, as powerful air currents prepare to carry off the deceptively speedy elite martial artist, he detects, an approaching group of highly trained mercenaries it seemed, targeting the well-being of the extravagant empire's famed capital city. Approaching the supposed superhuman mercenaries with an absence of hesitance, the arrogant Legacy chuckles smugly in their presence, his massive seven foot frame towering over their chiseled physiques as a looming shadow is ominously cast over them. "Node, karera wa bakudan de hotondo no dansei o okutta? Watashi no ā, watashi wa yoriyoi idō shinai (So they sent little men with bombs? Oh my, I better not move)", he taunted, theatrically raising his arms in a mock surrender. With a genuinely amused grin, he menacingly cracks his massive fists' knuckles, involuntarily generating powerful shock-waves that lightly crack the ground beneath their fight.

"Tsugini kuru. Watashi no ken wa anatanokokoroni menimienai kyōfu o motarasudeshou. (Come then. My fists will bring an unseen terror to your hearts)", he stated, arrogantly gesturing for them to commence their anticipated assault. His business with Lara Kelly would sadly, have to wait, for a brief moment perhaps. Elsewhere, a far more serious soul conducts his enigmatic dealings. Concealed and elusively hidden by an elaborate underground facility, mysterious Impero commences the meeting between the shadowy politicians secretly immersed in the Illuminati-like society. "Gentlemen, my ex-wife, Clarice has returned. The woman is unstable and with delusions of grandeur. Her goal of world domination, we cannot allow such a thing to take place. Would it not be insulting for the world to fall into the control of that classless clown's clutches?", he asked, relying on his intoxicating charisma and charming voice. "My vision for the world is one that we all share is it not? Which is why, the time for planning has ended, tis time for actions to commence. I am your Messiah. I am the Messiah. The one that the world desperately needs. Impero is the chosen one. Clarice has her grand dreams of global dominance. But this is no dream. It is time to wake that b*tch up", he concluded, before ordering, "Turn it on". Whatever this was, certainly it was what the masked icon had been preparing for since his inevitable rise to political dominance.

With the early stages of his mysterious plan having begun, the vaunted Grandmaster emerges from his temporary headquarters, eerily manifesting in the heart of Iberia's capital city, Lisbon. With intentions of confronting Clarice and her allies, Impero fearlessly opts instead to attract their attention with an attractive display of his esoteric powers. Relying on his Shandian Yuansu abilities, he puts forth a rare display of his more imposing capabilities, conjuring up a secluded chi-enhanced lightning storm of colossal significance, one that would surely be spotted by even the most distant of individuals. Confident that this would surely summon his invading enemies, the golden-eyed anomaly waits with instinctive patience, his personal squad of elite blood-bending Hongse Yuansu Death Reapers, obediently standing behind him in inhuman silence.

Iberian Empire

Cain wasn't sure if he was going to live for another twenty four hours. Clara just recently had attempted to seduce him into her aid. The Mistress of Manipulation was going to do what she did best, Pit other forces to her bidding. She had all of the power in the palm of her hands, but for some reason she always chose the more cunning route. She foretold Cain of his mission before hand, Convince The Harbingers, A Team of ultimate anti-heroes, the deadliest men and women in the world gathered under a single banner for one goal...Of Which the Dark Militant was unsure of. He was fully decked in combat gear under that warm Iberian night, He had large amounts of weaponry on hand, along with his rather infamous Skull Balaclava. He was decked out for war just as he removed his mask for a second, allowing her lips to meet his whilst she gave out orders. Pulling the mask over, Cain raised his hands in salute "Aye Miss Zeraz...Impero's head will be on yer mantle by the morning, God so help me." Cain wasn't sincere in the slightest, He had some strings pulled behind the scenes, but at this point, Cain had no idea what his plan was. On one hand, he could achieve a wonderful place Clara Mass's world filled with Riches, All the beer he could ever want, and every single Olympian woman in sight. On the other hand, Impero's Iberia almost guaranteed safety and equality, Something Cain had spent his entire life hacking and slashing away at the English for. He would have to just keep fighting, think fast, and be ready to die with that mask on if it was needed.

3 Hours later

"HOLY F*CKING SH*T!" Cain exclaimed. Watching as three soldiers from Santo Rey run through the streets. They had a goal in mind prepared, simple men like Cain. Cain was but a rebel without a cause left in the world, just like these hired guns. Cain had a devil and angel on his shoulders while he stormed through the streets, On one hand, He could secure his Children, Or at least the ones who would come for him , Cassandra and Joshua, that they would have a safe future and not have to become a cliched resistance soldiers against some kind of future led by the woman of a thousand dreams, On the other hand, Cain could indulge in all the pleasures he ever sought in life. His hedonistic lifestyle would be fulfilled to the maximum level of enjoyment, treated to by a woman whom he remembered sharing an intense day of passion with, which may or may not have been another mind game.

Decisions, Decisions.

Cain panicked as his gloved fingers raced down to grab grappling gun from his military jacket, Shooting up onto a rooftop and slicing through the sky, his boots making the long and hard impact on the pavement as he began running and jumping from building to building. He heard that his target, The Redemption seeking Mike Caldwell had began his journey to find Kratesis, someone who could aid him in the madness the world's greatest Manipulators unleashed upon this poor empire. His movement was rather stunning, The Ultimate Soldier was hell bent on making sure the mother of his son was not going to be in any danger, whereas Cain's thought process was less linear, more like "Oh F*cking sh*t, If that goddamn Impero dude finds out I may not carry through with the plan, He'll probably use some of that Chop Suey crap on me so I Can't move, Then shove his d!ck so far up my ass I'll cough up little masked and brooding jizz for a week...Then he'll probably pull out my organs and feed them to someone...But then again, Clara is going to do far worse...WHY THE F*CK AM I DOING THIS ANYWAY!?"

The Irish Comedian finally found his mark, The Blond haired Horseman of Strife was coming closer and closer. Cain finally realized there was one way to surefire catch his attention. He removed a random Makarov pistol from his jacket, one of the many weapons he brought for this occasion and finally enacting his meta human ability. With a smirk he leaped from the air, His mind slowing each and every aspect of the world around him, As he took aim, Noticing the bloodbent man with a cause, and squeezing just carefully the trigger, a bullet meeting it's mark as it sailed right past his clothes intentionally, no doubt slicing something useless, a holster of some sort in half as Cain fell to the ground, Dropping his gun in front of Mike and kicking it towards him.

"I COME IN PEACE, Y'STUPID MOTHERF*CKER!" He raised his hands up. He knew that if he was going to come off as though he wasn't completely lying, He'd have to make an entrance. No doubt the labor of years of the government trying to turn him into the ultimate killing machine, Which they succeeded in. It was up to him to go against his destiny.

There was a difference between Cain and Mike, the difference was simple. Mike still believed in orders, he still had something to lose, he had order. Cain lost those rights long ago, he no longer believed the battlefield was populated by brave hearts willing to fight, only by these imaginary orders.

"LISTEN! Don't f*cking shoot, I'm on yer side!...Impero has sent a terrible message...He has Clara. He says that if you do not get to the palace by Midnight, they will kill her...I'm here to help you. I know you can't trust me very well...But Either Impero's or Clara's head is gunna be on a platter, it's up ta' me and you, and our good friends Smith and Weston to make sure the person we want isn't dead... Y'with me?" With that Cain cautiously extended his gloved hand for a shake, Leaning in

"Ta' be honest... I dun' trust er' either."

THWABOOOOOOOM!

An entire block and all of the structures resting upon its foundations burst apart in a variety of colours and sounds, emitting a small mushroom cloud that straightened itself up into the air and cast a shadow over some of Lisbon. A wind blew outward from the site, throwing civilians through the air, the sheer force from the explosion tipping vehicles. A raging fire sat upon the massacred block of buildings, rapidly sucking in oxygen and increasing in size, threatening to spread to other sections of the esteemed city.

"Whoops."

The Mercenary lowered his binoculars and chuckled at his own joke, patting the satchel of remaining explosives he had been given by his leader, Caldwell. That was his third city block since he'd landed, and he couldn't help but move with a certain amiability, a behemoth grin stretched out lazily across his revolting features, yellow teeth obscured by the blue and orange mask he wore over his head.

He got to his feet, pressing a button on the side of his binoculars which minimized it instantaneously into a ball of stainless steel, a scientific wonder. He had had it constructed by one of his contacts, and was glad that he had done so. It came in handy. He slipped it into a pouch across his utility belt and hopped up onto the ledge of the hotel, spreading his arms out into the sky, tipping his head back exuberantly.

"Come at me, Iberia!"

"Wars come and go but my soldiers are eternal" quoted a vampiric thug. His hoody masking much of his face as he ripped a heart from a poor man not fortunate enough to find way into the home. Alianette slapped the muscle aside popping it beneath her foot as she lifted the man off the ground.

"Let us get some things straight here" the way she spoke it seemed to carry for a mile all around despite not yelled her abilities over her voice showing in the moment. "Wars are made by governments, we are in pursuit of liberation from such. This is not war, it is revolution. Solders are ordered about by diplomats, these commands come from fools who don't see the front lines. We are not soldiers, you are martyrs of change. And finally this army isn't yours…its mine." Her eyes were cold as flames danced from her finger tips encompassing the man. Flesh melted, blood boiled, muscle turned black the body dropping a charred cadaver. Her message ringing clear to the vampire pawns she commanded.

Natalie hated the idea of pawns it was something from her 'masters' play book. They had a purpose though, as each vampire was a local of Iberia or someone from a village near by. These ape like soldiers Impero's friend brought would kill them just as the cold vengeance seeker wanted. Ali told sheep they were wolves. And so the wolves went to their deaths they thought themselves dying as men. Truth men were dying like dogs, a circle that read as a tragedy. Men and women forsaked their humanity to save society from a masked mans clutches. And from there the opposing opinions seemed to be punished in a capital manner. The masked messiah of the people was the executioner of those who dared to voice opposing opinion. At the start it might instill fear, that however became hate. And one day even if not this one the walls would come crumbling down.

As for the leader of these gunslinging animals he was nothing to Alianette. She had no quarrel with him, she was not in his way nor she his. He could go about as he wished Natalie did not care she wanted her 'master' her hate drove her like a wildfire consumes a forrest. Using water vapor the arabian homunculus covered herself in a cloud of mist masking her advance on the palace. This fighting going on was not something she cared about. Elements vengeance seeker leapt from the fog dropping on a witchhunter. His armor clearly trion she recognized it as soon as the tackled man showed no sign at all of being effected.

Trion was annoyingly hard to effect with heat the vampire had learned, it seemed to absorb energy which reduced a lot of fires potency. Make the metal cold enough though and it could break. Granted cold was roughly two hundred or so below zero. It was hard to make happen naturally and even for Alianette it took some additional training. Both the arab and iberian rolled to their feet and for a brief moment exploded into a ballad of martial arts performance. Natalie would throw a punch just for it to be ducked under, a sweeping kick making the vampire jump. She would spin aiming a kick at his skull and he would roll. The man raising to his feet and slamming a palm into her back. The acrobatic homunculi using the momentum to flip over the man and send a punch for the back of his head. He would go for a roll and turn to lunge at her. She acted ready to block, then arched backwards the man flying over her. Natalie striking the mans chest in three times in rapid succession knocking him down. The witchhunter went to get up, and the violent beauty kicked as hard as she could. Ice shattered the man split in half in a sea of ruby ice.

From there the beautiful arabian surrounded herself in large thick walls of ice. Shielding her of people attacking her. It gave her the time to start whaling on the dome of trion shielding her masters home. One fist froze the other shattered. If revenge was best served cold then the best time of serving might as well be now because no frost was more bitter then this woman robbed of everything and having a faceless man to blame for all her suffering.

Keeping Enemies Looking Lower and Yielding

Elsewhere a goddess forged in a lab hovered in the air waiting on a modern goddess to take notice. Evie believed that Kelly deserved better that Liberty simply fell for a charismatic visionary. Evie however believed that the soldiers hid behind masks to shield from attacks. Masked men did not lead the road of change. Was the face of a leader faceless? Eve certainly didn't think that to be so.

And so the armored figure hovered over the ships glowing brightly hoping to call out Liberty without resorting to violence. Iberia with the number of ships below likely could rule the skies if they wished but Syapt didn't care about that. Her helmet had collapsed her long almost glowing hair flowing in the gentle breeze as she waited. The hope was that this goddess born of human actions would be the rational mind. Seeing that even if Clara was not the one to be the best for the people it was also not a man who hid his identity. The calculated machine like mind however suggested that this would most certainly erupt into another conflict along these seemingly peaceful lands.

@Alianette:

"Shut up corpse face!" Fowler screamed at the top of his lungs which broke all the glass in the immediate vicinity of 0.6 kilometers RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH, any human within earshot ended down with hemorrhaging ear drums. The monkeys appropriately stuffed specialized super gengineered bananas to their ears to absorb the sounds.

Any being with a higher senses that covered a higher audible spectrum without adequate filter would probably. The apes opened fire as they danced with their firearms, covering a variety of angles with their simian limbs. Entering between enemy flanks as they transform into a hurricane of flame, giving birth to fragmenting steel. Their center as formless as smoke while their movement are covered with sporadic bursts of cone fire. They are in the attacking reach of the vampires, yet the vampires are immersed in the blast range of their fireweapons. Walls turn into dust, streets scooped up into speeding rubble, telephone poles collapse under straying shots. It was pandemonium.

It was a simple insert flashbang and shoot tactic with a few personal touches. The ape men are not without damage as their savage wave of hurt met resistant in the form of rending claws, which was returned in kind with spontaneous combustion inducing shots. The kind that would be an equivalent to bifurcated 'chain lightning' armaments of magical lore. The apes have graduated from their jungles and have risen up to the ranks of honorable warriors, they no longer fight for food or territory. Now they learn to enjoy, now they aim for the kill.

@The_Mercenary

Fowler left his apes to have their recreation as he was just made aware of the urban fireworks after his sonics took rest, a city block was transformed to ach under the veil of a mushroom cloud. He felt the hot winds caress his skin, he can smell the fear of Iberians sent flying into the air, vehicles being overturned and a hungry inferno that feasted upon the destruction of architecture. Getting bigger as its fangs of ember gorged throughout the urban planning.

"Goddamn it man, that block had my favorite restaurant in there."

There is a glint across the open flame, a glare of light from a minuscule source enveloped in the playing field of chaos. Fowler' can 'see' the man, and thus he closes the distance by utilizing the smoke and dust while moving in between the flames to hide his heat signature. So far he is picking up reports with his communicator that two other blocks have been entirely leveled.

"Whoever did this better have a pliable neck, or things will end quickly"

As the man expanded his hands like the statue of Jesus fowler made a single leap to meet the man who seems to be too busy to reenact a scene in Titanic. with arms stretched wide to a T, it would be cute if Leonardo Dicaprio were holding him up by the armpit and there is a track by Celine Dion playing in the background. Yet all the bioborg has is a masked figure with military gear, there better be a Kate Winslet under that mask.

"Hey king of the world, your're coming with me"

With a length of electric wires from collapsed power-line the bioborg made a neat lasso earlier, now the lasso is loosely looped around masked Dicaprio's belt line. Seven inches everywhere apart from making contact to the body, If he jumps the bioborg can catch one of his legs yet if he dicks then nis neck will have a near Iberian necktie.

"Now, you see. I could jump, or I could duck. But instead, I'll just-"

The lasso tightened suddenly, the cables screaming with the friction as the fearsome Fowler pulled back on one end with thousands of tons of strength coursing through his arms.

"-Disappear."

The Mercenary stepped out of the air a few feet above his artificial assailant, the spot where he had just stood now a cloud of noxious smoke and a loose lasso, holding tightly onto nothing but air. The King Of Killers spun forwards through the air, a behemoth cleaver grasped within his gloved palms. The blade appeared to be moving, and upon closer inspection would one be able to realize that it was a chainsaw-like weapon, a terrible thing that rotated at impossible speeds, as big as a grown man himself. The Mercenary brought the weapon down to slice Fowler in half from above, and as he did so he prepared to poof out of the air once more and appear on the other side of the building he had stood upon not five minutes past.

@The_Mercenary:

Teleporters are a fun yet predictable bunch, they disappear from one end and appear from the other, depending on the type of mechanism used this can either be quick or a fun time indeed. Usually then tend to appear behind him to look for blindspots but this one seemed to have flair of theatrics as he rematerialized at a relatively short distance above Fowler.

As masked Dicaprio delivers an overhead slash aimed towards to the head of fowler. Fowler follows through as he carefully slides to the side and redirects the strike by catching the non moving sides of the sawblade with his long fingers on the right hand while digging his left elbow to the Masked Dicaprio's ribs with a force of 50 tons.

Fowler yanks the weapon with his right in order to lead the attacker outside, capturing the momentum generated by the Masked Dicaprio’s strike by sweeping his arm while turning. This circular lead, and the centrifugal force it generates, to create off balance for the assailant.

"Okie doki-urgh"

The tip of Fowler's elbow brushed the airborne assassin's sternum, the strike evaded deftly by the masterful mentor of the Zeraz Legacy, his entire torso swerved so as to dodge the merciless attack. The artificial assailant jerked the Mercenary's weapon from him, the ancient killer providing no resistance, allowing the metallic being to take his makeshift blade from him. He could already make out the next part of Iberia's defenders counter-strike, and with little momentum to call his own, he could do nothing but bring both arms up in a cross, covering his face and chest.

Fowler's arm hit the Mercenary from the side, and with a manic giggle, the Lord of Life took a plummet towards the ground, civilians watching awestruck as the two powerhouses slugged it out.

CRAKKK

The Shinigami's frame kissed the earth, tarmac exploding outwards in all directions, knocking innocents to their backs, sending some flying through the air.

"Heh. Heh. Who-"

The Mercenary sat up sluggishly, craning his neck around slowly, working out all the kinks. He reached up with a gloved hand and brushed some dirt off of his torso, chuckling all the while.

"-Whose side are you on big guy?"

He barked a psychotic laugh and sprung to his feet with exponential speed, whipping out two sets of Mercers in each of his hands, egg sized bullets nestled within the lethal weapons.

"Save them. Protect your little country."

A smirk broke out across his face, and for a frozen moment in time, the two beings' eyes were locked on each other.

Then the Killer Supreme pulled back on both triggers and spun around in a 360 degree circle, firing deadly bullets that would hunt the heat signatures of the pedestrians littered around the crater.

@Syapt:

Flying above the Iberian navy I notice the armored woman approach me.

Here we go. Meta-humans were in many ways old fashion. When they went to battle they rarely did so as a group, but rather as individuals. Heroically challenging each other to single combat. Lots of slogans and talking.

In many ways it reminded me of primitive tribal warfare. Two tribes would meet, their best warriors would fight, and the losers side would accept the conditions agreed upon for the battle.

That was for older times, and for older gods. I was the god of now. And now I was the leader of a military whose country was under attack. This was a war, and in modern war you killed as many of your enemies as you could as quickly as possible.

6,706,165 miles per hour. That's roughly one percent of my top speed, and that's the speed I fly at her. About Mach 8,812 at sea level.3.2613476E+14 joules just from my speed and weight alone.

And at that speed I throw 811,301,000,000,000,000 ton punches at her skull.609,651 times.

The sonic boom rattles windows for dozens of miles and even rocks the massive ships under us. The air around me is turned into highly charged blue-hot ionic plasma by the heat generated by my friction.

Regardless of the results of my punches I fly on.

This invasion needs to end.

@The_Mercenary:

He had initial thoughts about extending the shoulder spike at the very moment oc contact to pierce the heart, yet that would not be fun. Also his reckless attitude seems interested in seeing the full capacity of Masked Dicaprio before he shows the good stuff, now he has man-sized dagger in his right hand. Something nice to use for later on, now he is trying to figure out how to slit the man's throat with this big knife.

As his opponent took to the ground in a faceplant the Bioborg decides to close the gap and follow through with the dagger, after all the nice man attempted to shank him. It would be very rude not to return the favor, as the man regained composure the saw-teeth of the dagger approaches his stomach. Fowler intends to aim somewhere big, rather than going for the neck.

"Just helping out a friend here, the guy wears a mask and this knife says hello"

As the man regain standing position he fired several bullets, bullets which are redirected with the odd angles of the sides of the incoming dagger that is now supposed to be lodged firmly inside his large intestines, but masked dicaprio changed positions and he has to settle with redirecting shots.

Fowler closed the gap through the obstacle of bullets, following the nice principle of oxygen masks in airplanes. Help yourself, then the others and plus he will have a bunch of dying civillians to restore later so this one works for the best. The dagger was scraped against the ground as Fowler lowers his level to approach the assailant.

Their distance can be measured by a fallen mailbox, with this time he swung the blade to cleave the legs. Aiming at the knee joint.

The Mercenary's stomach was pierced by the cruel weapon, sending chunks of his flesh in all directions. The blade spun dangerously, and just when it seemed as if it would tear his entire torso apart, it disappeared entirely. In the heat of the moment, with his abdomen under the strain of his own deadly weapon, he had willed the blade to teleport from his frame, allowed to do so by the contact of his skin and the steel of the sword.

"Impero. Yeah, I met the bastard once. He refused to play."

The fearless assassin's massacred stomach had already began regenerating, strands of flesh stretching across each other, healing his being with exponential speed.

"What's wrong? Oh, were you going to use that? Oops."

The Mercenary smirked arrogantly beneath his mask, barring all of the signals of pain that now shot towards his mind, screaming at him to collapse to the ground and lie still until his body had restored itself to it's previous glory. But, being the Shinigami, he bore a will more powerful than any metal, neglecting each of the receptors that relayed the agonizing message.

The bullets had turned out to be duds. Each was an illusion of sorts, reduced to powder upon making contact with any civilians. They had been a bluff to lure the Rumble Man down into his crater. He twirled the Mercers around in his hands once then dropped them to the ground, flexing his fingers as he did so, never taking his eyes off of the fearsome Fowler.

"I wasn't sent to kill any innocents. Not today."

The Mercenary sprung backwards suddenly, spinning through the air in a back-flip performed with masterful ease, landing in a crouch just outside of the circular crater, a small device held firmly within his palm. He chuckled quietly to himself, tapping a small red button on the silver machination, instantaneously detonating a series of infinitesimal bombs placed stealthily around Fowler's feet. Upon striking the earth, he'd secretly removed the minute spheres from his utility belt and held them in his glove, sprinkling them around his position as he made a show of brushing off the dirt on his figure. There were around eight of the sneaky weapons, each held an electrical charge that would render his artificial assailant to a writhing mess.

The Mercenary chuckled manically again then dropped to one knee, doing his best to focus his energy on sealing the gaping wound in his stomach.

“Well no one told me about her, and the way she lied; well no one told me about her; how many people cried. Don’t bother trying to find her….she’s not there”

“We’ve reached out destination Mistress” The massive Cardinal Frigate hovered high in the Iberian skies. The warhead rested peacefully a few floors below ready to be used in Z’s ultimate scheme of things. The Mistress of the White Lotus rose from her throne, picking up a calculating strut down the hall; her body moved as if it were being seduced by a slow rhythm.

As the train of her robe passed the barracks of her command group, they began to follow exactly on pace behind her train. Dressed in all white as if she were innocent among the devils, the Queen and her subjects continued the death march to the edge of the Frigate.

Her subjects were dressed in a black variation of her Green Tunic; all with a replica of her legendary mask on their face. From the edge of the frigate they peered over the landmass that was the Iberian Empire.

“I told them I’d burn the world…I did” She said, slipping her mask on her face. “I told them, I’d come back as a virus, I did” she continued, moving her long raven hair to the left side. “I told them I’d be a religion. I am” she said extending her hands outward.

“I told them, I was coming here” she paused again, turning to her Cardinals. “Hail Malaguena Salerosa! Malaguena Salerosa!”

“Here I am…” pushing her hands outward, the mask burned red; the clouds grew black filled with condensation. Upon the empire of Iberia; blood rained.

Here Comes Malaguena Salerosa!.

@The_Mercenary:

'So you can regenerate, this will be fun"

Fowler was impressed at the rate of regeneration and so decides to rip out a chunk of intestine, but as his enthusiasm was about to peak the sneaky bastard pulled a quick one on the bioborg. The chainsaw was nowhere to be found, just his hand showing an odd gesture as if shaking hands with the air. this does not rest well with him yet it is amusing so he will let it slide. So fowler continues on by diving his hand to rip out a neat piece of small intestines to show the people back at home.

It regenerates, so the bioborg guides his hands at the places which are still 'open' creating a knife hand which is funny because his hands can function as blades at given moments. Like right now.

As the tip of his middle-finger is as close on the gaping wound as a testicle is close to the shaft of the penis the man did something odd, the bullets did not damage the civillians in any way or form. So if Fowler wants to experiment of the people then he would need better 'excuses' to do so, yet the man seems awkwardly composed as his hand is about to sink inside the glory hole of flesh and has every intent to turn the man inside out while the body is in dire repair.

The man said something that he couldn't hear, yet he miraculously did a moonsault with a gymnast's form. Landing in a position that will probably leave him exposed, even if the flesh improves his armor is probably unlike his flesh. The hand touches the earth, yet it goes deep for a surprise attack. As the flowers of explosions began to bloom the Bioborg calmly takes the blast which seared a layer on his exoshell, it was frizzled yet it was relatively okay. During his fight in PaF leo used dark electricity which boosted his capabilities, during LoS Kratesis did the same, and now Fowler thanks the man.

However the hand that was meant to hit the stomach has full control and guides itself along with the visual stimuli from Fowler's eyes to pop up between the man's legs. He intends to shove his hand up the man's rectum to rip out his heart, and his hands are now popping up at about knee height. If that failed it was meant to be a faint as he will get the height he needs to enter the open cavity, yet another way into the man's heart. Through his stomach.

The Mercenary looked on, silently cursing his luck.

"So you're artificial then."

He sighed, chuckling lightly as he did so.

"This is going to be a bit more difficult than Caldwell let on, it appears."

The Lord of Life saw the flicker in his opponent's metallic muscles, and instantaneously launched his entire frame backwards once more, touching his palms to the floor, building up a ball of pressure in his elbows and wrists, before releasing it and converting the rear handstand into an airborne movement, landing with his legs spread apart, the momentum from the extravagant movement causing him to skid backwards a few feet. He had narrowly evaded Fowler's initial attack, a combination of inhumane cruelty and crude, dark humour.

"You're fast. I'm curious. How did you and Impero get to be pals? Met each other at a bar? Sister's wedding?"

The Shinigami reached a single hand over his shoulder as he spoke, simultaneously straightening up, letting his fingers wrap around the hilt of his notorious broadsword. He began to walk towards his opponent, slowly unsheathing the weapon, his eyes boring into those of the inorganic annihilator.

"It seems we've reached a stale mate. That won't do."

And already he was moving, appearing directly in front of Fowler through a series of short-teleportation-bursts, slinging his broadsword around horizontally, aiming to cleave the robot from the shoulder clean through to the hip, contorting his body so as to tilt it in a direction that would allow him to use the momentum from his swing to deliver a super-human roundhouse heel to his metallic jaw. It would appear as if his attack were complete, and just when he struck the ground and rolled away with five centuries experience moulding each muscle flickering into fluid mastery, he spun, eyes shooting upwards, a single thought leading to the re-appearance of the chainsaw dagger, popping out of the air just above Fowler's head and coming down with interminable speed, laced with killing intent.

@The_Mercenary:

He was pissed that attack did not connect, but then the chase is what makes things fun. The bioborg can 'smell' the intestines held back by the closing hole

"I wouldn't say artificial, I was lab grown and man-made"

he readied his hands as they are anxious to scoop out the man's heart

"I don't know how you can do that but It seems that I might have to take out your eyes, but you can heal later."

He saw the opponent perform the same trick as before, and yet saw the opening eternally open. Yet the blood in the stomach spilling out as that kind of movement would not be advised for somebody with a would in their abdomen, The movement of the offal inside him made the bioborg twitch, If his hands are denied then he will personally enter that cavity and burst from the man's mouth. He can and has entered things as small as drainage pipes, given that leeway he can do the same with the open wound.

"I was a tourist, he was a guide. Go figure"

Fowler noticed the man sheathing a weapon, yet it would be better if he were to do it from a hip mounted weapon. The arc and the movement would choreograph everything in this situation, the slow walk itself would do him more damage than good, yet anything that brings him closer is a good thing.

"Yeah, whats up with the backflips man? I can actually smell what you had for breakfast from here"

Teleportation was nothing new, he was popping up in a sequence of swift bursts. Closing in for the striking distance, now measuring up to the length of the sword. Yet he will pick a distance that will enable him the greatest cutting angle, opting for a diagonal slash not unlike that of before. The bioborg sidesteps as the blade makes it through where he was supposed to be, he saw an image of him getting chopped at the elbow. Yet he welcomed the kick from his left square on the jaw, which he 'follows' through by tilting his heat towards the direction of the blow to mitigate the impact as he has done before in earlier fights. He add a 'recoil' effect to give the opponent a feeling of satisfaction, and an impression of actual damage. The bioborg instinctively moved forward at this distance, two steps to get him off balance. The bioborg wasted no time to deliver a swift knee of about 75tonnes to the man's testicles, and he was about to move in to pull out his heart as he did a backroll. Again.

Something noisy fell behind him as he was closing in, now cutting the distance at a range where he can and will scoop out a heart.

"Trash talk? Quaint."

The bioborg moved with such sudden speed that the Lord of Life almost didn't see it coming, side-stepping the frighteningly powerful knee to his gonads with nothing but nano-metres to spare. For the first time since the two beings had initiated this battle, the Mercenary did not chuckle, momentary surprise painted across his masked features. Then it was gone, and he was about to begin howling with laughter, excitement at the prospect of a worthy opponent coursing through his frame, when Fowler's hand whipped through the air with impossible speed and dug in through his chest, crushing three of his ribs to powder instantaneously as it moved towards the area where his heart should be, the fearsome being's fingers carving straight through his flesh, precisely towards the heart.

The Mercenary hung on his arm for a moment, letting his broadsword slip through his fingers as his grip loosened, his knees quivering and his form falling forwards limply, almost on the ground were it not held up by Fowler's powerfully elongated arm.

His eyes shifted from the arm to the bioborg's face, a panic within them. His voice was both gravelly and weak, disbelieving.

"You... You've got my heart... In your hand..."

He paused, taking a ragged breath before slowly beginning to shake. It looked as if he were convulsing, but after a few more moments it became clear that he was giggling profusely.

"Or at least, you would, if I possessed any internal organs."

His head snapped upwards, his eyes devious, and more full of life than ever. He brought his arm up from the robot's blind side, the loosened grip allowing him longer reach, the blade cutting a scythe through the air, mobilizing with jet-like speeds, followed up with enough force to cut straight across Fowler's face, but not necessarily into his skull. Then the Shinigami leaped back before the living weapon could recover and grab him again, chunks of his grey flesh dangling in the metallic beast's large fist, a small hole cut into his lower left pectoral muscle. The wound affected him much more than the gaping crevice in his stomach had, and he had to keep from falling over as he skidded backwards through the gravel from the momentum of his retreat, ending the movement on one of his knees, a glove placed over the hole to stop any other meat from dropping out. The sooner it healed the better his chances of survival.

"I'm not going to lie to you Mr. Robot Man, this hurts like Hell."

He cackled deliriously, his insane frame bobbing up and down lightly.

"Looks like size doesn't matter, when it comes to a big guy like you, so let me get rid of this ol' pal of mine for today."

He straightened up steadily, sheathing his large broadsword over his shoulder once more, then transferring both hands to either side of his waist, blue fingers wrapping around the hilt's of two other weapons.

"I've been meaning to use these since I joined the Harbingers. I present to you-"

He whipped the dual blades out simultaneously, each bore the resemblance of a traditional Jian, with one blade clothed in luminous divine fire, the other sparkling with an almost liquid ice.

"-The Swords of Scion."

Without wasting any other time talking, the Mercenary burst into another cloud of thick dark smoke, reappearing behind Fowler instantaneously. He swung both swords down by way of cleaving the bioborg's deltoids with the intention of severing his arms from his torso. He didn't let his feet touch the floor, instead poofing through the atmosphere and jumping out in front of the fearsome creation of science, moving through the air with forward momentum, hoping to impale Fowler directly through the sternum and then tear outwards, aiming to rip his entire torso apart. Wary of the bioborg's combat capabilities the Killer Supreme disappeared one final time, stepping out of the air a few feet away from the Brawler Bot, both swords pointed at his face. Not even nano-seconds later, both divine weapons burst with their own individual essence, firing with both precision and haste. The masterful gun-for-hire assured that he launched the ice first, so that it would freeze over the Rumble Man's upper torso, and as soon as the flames struck, the melting affect would be amplified tenfold, the sheer force from the Heavenly beams so powerful that they belittled the sun's heat, and the very coldest depths of outer space.

The entire combo took less than one eighth of a second.

@The_Mercenary:

He can feel soft testicles popping like bubble wraps against his knee, the great sensation when castrating a being is timeless. Fowler can smell seminal fluid, the grisly bioborg felt the texture of blood and cum splashing inside the man's armor. The masochist then laughed on as Fowler can feel his hand revel in the sensations of human offal, slipping through the layers of intestinal mush. Bypassing what was meant to be ribs to gain his grip on the man's heart, now if it had been done the way it should the bioborg would have his hand upwards the man's rectum and stretch his hand all the way to the man's larynx. He would then make a puppet show with the masked individual as his mit.

Fowler tightened his grip after he had received affirmation and clutches hard to the point of bursting, brief ephemeral joy until his sadistic satisfaction was cut short by the dull reality of it all.

The man had redundant organs, so that means the bioborg can take home souvenirs, so far he is thinking of a the man's hands as stitched together they would make a pretty hat. Dr. Josef Mengele and Ed gein are not the only ones with good taste in arts and crafts, Fowler's creator told him how to flay children and make offering with them back in its crazy days.

"Thanks for telling me that, for this kindness I shall make a souvenir from your hands"

It appears that the man made a move, stretching one's arms would be nice when both combatants are of equal distance. Fowler being in this case 8'5 which separates them by height discrepancy, albeit their distance is only 48 inches apart which is enough for the man to reach his chest. To counter this blade which is about to cleave his face he did the same exact maneuver he did with Olivier at Redemption Park , he clamps the blade edge with his adamantium teeth to seize the blade as he did with the chainsaw weapon before.

The hole just got bigger and Fowler allows his opponent a sporting chance by releasing his bite so that the man can pull back his unique weapon. For anyone else that attack would be an insta-kill, yet with advanced sensors such as audio sensors, scent sensors and proximity alarms the masked man's brilliantly thought out moves are met with adequate counters. Counters which can be put to action with his inhuman body.

This time the blades met his body, the right shoulder is burnt as the left one is encased in crystals of ice. This is the first time he has been exposed to anyone using divine power, so he will experiment in these fleeting moments. Slight movements prevent his muscles from being completely torn off, besides that the layers are not healing yet they are patching over the cut. The second strikes went inside but his prehensile layer created a makeshift scabbard for the sword to pass through, the same thing he did with Kratesis back then when she was using her deadly Slake armaments. A hole on his right is frigid while the other one is heated, as he pulled out the gaps widen so that there is no resistance and that nothing besides flames or ice crystals get ejected.

As for the last trick the bioborg took to the ground and moved at roughly the same speed with he did, now for a second strike towards the open cavity of the man. There was lava and crystals above him which violated every law of physics, yet bits of lava trickled on his head on his descent and wounded him as he looks 'different' now, however with the enemy in a distant position the Bioborg tunneled and homed into the wound.

The bioborg's head popped along the man and his eyes key into the open hole, his right hand makes its way as it will transmit vibrations as a series of pressure waves. These waves will be transmitted from the Fowler to the open spaces within the body (ears, sinuses, lungs). The pressure wave will increased pressure within these open spaces, the bioborg intends to blow him inside-out.

One Mile Above the Iberian Capital... And Closing...

He was alone. Violette and Merc off to their own devices, spiraling towards the ground off in the distance. His body was covered in lightweight body armor, his weapons and equipment securely fastened to hard points on the armor. The helmet covering his face negated the detrimental effect that the descent would have on his vision. While he knew for a fact he'd survive he had no desire to briefly live life as a pancake. With the aid of high tech optics built in he examined the city below. The majority of the lights were out, the government had probably ordered the electricity cut to avoid attack by aircraft. Although none were present aside from the occasional Iberian craft patrolling in the distance.

"Easy day right..."

He said to no one imparticular as the ground started getting closer and closer, waiting for the right moment he reached across his chest and gave the ripcord a firm tug, the deploying parachute abruptly yanking his upwards before continue his descent. Thirty seconds later he was on the ground... well roof was more like it. He'd landed on the roof a large cathedral near the city, he'd been hoping for the graveyard behind it, but close enough.

Dropping his parachute and removing his recurve bow from his back, the assassin pulled a pair of binoculars, examining the surrounding area before turning his attention to the Imperial Palace. A large metal dome had enveloped the opulent structure, derailing any plans he might of had to infiltrate the structure.

"Well there goes plan A."Rubbing his chin as his mind worked to come up with another route inside."I doubt all of our explosives combined could punch a hole big enough in that dome, I'm gonna go out of a limb and guess it's made out of that Trion stuff ol' Impy is so fond of... and I highly doubt he's out here leading his men in their valiant fight to stave off these invaders!"

His voice becoming more and more sarcastic as he spoke. Finally reaching up and removing the helmet that covered his head, running his fingers through his short cut blonde hair as he tossed it off the roof. The soft thud of it hitting the floor barely audible from his lofty perch. His blue eyes widening and a grin forming on his stubble covered face. Without another word he jumped off the roof, hitting the grass below with a roll before quickly coming to his feet.

Thirty Minutes Later

He'd been scouring in the city streets, sticking to the shadows to avoid detection, trying to find some sort of command post the Iberian military might have set up inside the city, so far no luck however. His plan was to find and destroy one such site, more if need be in hopes of drawing out the Iberian Emperor. He was just beginning to consider a different approach when a bullet flew by, heightened senses immediately locating the shooter and in the blink of an eye one of his quad-barreled spectral handguns was leveled at the masked man.

The skull baklava was all he needed to see to realize who it was before the man's all to distinctive Irish accent made itself heard. Shouting some nonsense about him being a stupid mother f*cker and them being on the same side.

"Is 'at so boyo?"Mocking the Irishman who had, for some inconceivable reason fallen to the ground. "And whose side do ya suppose I'm on?"

The intimidating firearm, ironically named Mercy leveled at O'Panell's head.

"I don't like Clara and I'm sure as hell no fan of Impy. Maybe I'm on my own side. Or I came hoping to put the moves on the Impero's little girlfriend after he and my ex-wife kill each other. Even if we were on the same side, what should I keep you around. You're nothing more than a goon with a gun, nothing special."

Crouching down beside him, placing the tip of the barrel firmly against the dark militant's cheek.

"Now gimme one good reason I shouldn't put your miserable life to an end right now."

The Mercenary's entire body burst into chunks of flesh, bits and pieces of his being launched into the air in an array of alternate directions, shards of bone and cartilage littering the sky with it's gruesome essence. Flaps of his costume blown away by an unrelenting breeze, the Swords of Scion flipping up and over through the air, landing precisely beside each other in the centre of the crater, the flames and liquid ice slowly fading away.

The remaining civilians, who had been cowering behind overturned cars and within shops, uncertainly raised their faces to see what had stopped all the noise and petty banter. They saw nothing but the Rumble Man's lone figure situated a few feet away from the crater, chunks of flesh clinging onto his being. An eerie silence lay like a thick blanket over the city square, even the birds in the sky quiet. It seemed unreal. One moment, there had been bright lights and explosions and a cold voice versus an equally cold voice and now there was just, nothing.

"Is it over?"

The civilians flinched and ducked quickly, before realizing that the owner of the voice was a pedestrian lying beside the crater in the foetal position, his cheeks stained with tears and grime. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows, shot looks in all directions then scrambled to his feet and made a break through an alleyway a few metres away from Fowler. He was footsteps away from entering the narrow space and leaving this terrible street when something latched onto his ankle and sent him crashing to the ground. It was a hand, with scarred fingers wrapped firmly around the man's trouser leg, bits and pieces of flesh from the edge of the hand bubbling furiously as if being brutally heated, strings of flesh and skin wrapping around each other in an almost symbiotic display of unnatural regeneration. Barely a second later there was an entire arm, complete with excellently refined muscles and thousands upon thousands of disfigurations and scars. Then a torso. And before five seconds had passed and the man had even possessed an infinitesimal chance of escape, an entire human body had spawned from a little blob of flesh on the side of the street, the hand still grasping the man's foot, and a neck slowly growing from his finished trapezium muscles.

A moment later the Mercenary lifted his face off of the floor and grinned broadly, letting go of the pedestrians foot with an unnerving relish and groggily getting to his feet, his entire body naked and exposed, his man bits dangling disgustingly from between his legs, a set of scars to call their own plastered grotesquely across their exterior.

"Heh. Heh heh heh."

The lord of life barely looked down at his self, seemingly unmoved by his miraculous, impossible feat. He took a slow step towards the stock still, contemplating figure of Fowler, chuckling dementedly whilst he moved. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, stretching his neck, loosening up his vocal chords.

"This.. Is only the third time... I've done something like this." He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and barked a delirious laugh, pumping his arms and legs, getting his muscles loosened. "I'd say something cliché like, 'consider it an honour you've managed this much', but I'm not completely insane. You're good." He paused, eyes widening excitedly, his grin spreading wider across his face, yellow teeth glinting unattractively in the bright sun. "You're really good!"

All around Fowler, other bits and pieces of flesh had regenerated with equal speed, duplicate Mercenary's slowly getting to their feet in a similar fashion to the original, flexing their fingers before their eyes disbelievingly, before beginning to pick up pieces of gear off of the floor. One twirled a pair of katana in his hands, another dragged a tantó through the gravel menacingly. One juggled a few grenades, another gripped a sai in his palm and let his cruel eyes bore into the Rumble Man's. Everywhere, Mercenary's clenched a weapon in their hands and toyed with it feverishly in their hands, watching Fowler with predatory nature.

Each of the Swords of Scion were wielded masterfully by a duplicate, their essence's burning fiercely.

"Last time was in WWII. I took a Spitfire on by myself, got myself shredded into tiny pieces." He paused, now a few feet away from his opponent. "A few days later I woke up with me, myself, and I." The clones began to surround the bioborg, numbering at least thirty. "Of course, there can be only one. They were just copies, not actual Merc's. So they lost all functional capabilities after a few days and I fed them to some piranhas in the Amazon."

The Mercenary knelt over and lifted his broadsword from the floor, holding the hilt loosely in his palm as he spoke. "I don't have as much time today, though. So I'll have to make this quick."

And they then attacked, each one moving in perfect sync with the other, teleporting in and out of each other's paths, wielding their weapons and striking at common areas, hitting Fowler from every fathomable direction in every spot, armed with newfound strength, fresh, lightning fast speed and about 15000 years of combat prowess at their combined command. Blades, rifles, grenades. Plasma guns, poisonous toxins, electromagnetic disruptors, anything and everything. They would run out of ammunitions soon, but that was unimportant.

The original hung back, watching all of himself in action, smirking nonchalantly beneath his mask.

@Clara Mass: The air parts. Kratesis appears.

She speaks.

'If any man have an ear, let him hear.'

Upon her left arm was a shield, disk mirror bright with reflected light. In her hand a nano-bow, deadly dart drawn. Tip dripped with terrible toxins.

'If any man have eyes, let him see.'

SLAKE lay in her right hand. A dark so deep even light is devoured.

'And it was given unto her to make war with the saints, and overcome them.'

Armor thick upon her body. Once simple serpent segments, now overlaid with smooth plates. Slightly slower, significantly stronger.

Holographic shield raised about her. Giving her the form of a beast with no eyes and nine horns. The mouth of a lion emits the voice of the dragon.

And the voice speaks blasphemous venom upon the air. Bloodbent saliva an invisible airborne toxin tailored to Clara's divine DNA.

'And she had power to give life unto the image of the beast.'

And as the beast speaks with the mouth of a lion and the voice of a dragon she steps apart. Seven steps for seven beasts. Seven soulless holographic constructs walk around Clarice until standing in a circle. Seven bows draw and loose.

The arrows appear to divide as they fly, until forty and two arrows split the sky toward her. Trion tips glitter with poison, mach cones burning in their wakes.

None are real.

Kratesis had activated her invisibility matrix the moment the constructs were created. Entirely invisible she waited for Clarce's inevitable arrow defense. When she saw what Clarice would do she waited until the instant after, and teleport to her, attempting to drive SLAKE through her heart.

The seven false constructs speak with seven tongues of seven dragons.

'And they worshiped the beast, saying; Who is like unto the beast and who is able to make war with her?'

In spite of the undeniable prominence of the radiantly brilliant lightning storm so masterfully controlled and manipulated by the enigmatic anomaly, nobody it seemed was courageous enough or perhaps even idiotic enough to confront the iconic puppeteer, nobody of course, with the exception of his most egocentric of enemies, his ex-wife, Clarice Zeraz. While she wisely opted to appear before him in the form of a ghostly apparition as opposed to her physical form, she addressed him with the anticipated condescension that she so famously trademarked. Her request not only radiated her undeserved self-importance, but seemed to make implications towards a potential attempt at manipulation. Quite the unfruitful tactic against the mysterious masked master of meticulous manipulations.

With a raging chi-enhanced lightning storm tearing the sky above asunder, thunder roaring like an insatiable lion, the perpetually composed Grandmaster remained silent in response to Clarice's words. His silence however, was one of arrogance. He felt far too above her to address her directly, his apparent apathy and disinterest in her narcissistic claims were true to his dismissive ways towards her. A goddess, a queen, an entrepreneur, those titles were meaningless to the Yuansu Grandmaster. Unique mesmerizing golden eyes peered out his alabaster mask as she spoke, his focus was on the distant horizon, waiting for an opponent of relevance to appear. His obedient squad of elite blood-bending Death Reapers systematically positioned around their feared leader, ready to internally decimate any who dare challenge their unrivaled prowess in close combat. Her words they continued, Clarice always did seem to possess an instinctive love for talking down on those before her, a trait that Impero has always found amusing in one he believes harbors unmerited arrogance.

A calm, somewhat amused chuckle escaped him, a testament to his opinion of his ex-wife. True, he did harbor some degree of respect for her, she was after all the mother of his son, Lionel, however, aside from that, he had no reason to think positively of her. She asked that he die with dignity, such a concept is alien to one who has never experienced such a sensation before. Death never did seem capable of physically restraining enigmatic Impero. "Hmph.. please", he gestured dismissively as he departed from his location, uninterested in the talkative mirage. Moving deeper into the Iberian Capital, he made a brief call to his Keresh allies via the technological power of his innovative mask. "Commander Ravek, I require your assistance. Should it not be too much that I am asking, some ground troops and areal combatants are needed by Iberia. Oh and, send me your best fighter, or one of the best. I have something for him or her", he concluded, before making a shift towards a more mystical method of communication.

Resorting to his nigh-peerless telepathy, he contacted the youthful yet bloodthirsty member of the League of Shadows, Shogunate. "My boy, I believe I have some targets you may enjoy maiming". Channeling his focus elsewhere, he instantly felt the near-completion of the unknown process by the cryptic machine he had constructed with his supposed secret society, something to ensure that his influence will forever remain above the sands of time. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the incredible capabilities of his Yuzhi detect the nearby presence of both Michael, otherwise known as the Assassin, and Cain O'Panell. Quite the interesting turn of events. Mysteriously manifesting before the armed duo with his inhuman squad of death-dealing blood-benders standing obediently behind him, Impero glances at both men. Arms regally folded behind him, his personalized Trion Jians words stylishly strapped to his back.

His interest of course was with Michael. "Michael. Our encounter, it was inevitable. Tis interesting though", he began, his powerful, unnaturally yet charming deep voice piercing the very air like a knife, "You agree to follow a woman who has cheated, even killed you, into a war against an opponent you know nothing about. Many men like you presume to know me, to know what I want, why I do this... but nobody ever does". Indeed his unapparent Byronic heroism was his driving motivation. "Your ex-wife, she is consumed by delusions of grandeur. Her desire for world domination is insatiable. My desire however, has never been power. Nobody truly knows what I want. There are choices to be made here today, my boy. Join Clarice, help her make her first step towards world domination and watch her betray you as she succeeds. Or you can stop the world from falling into the hands of an unstable whore". Sincerely, Impero was anticipating a stereotypical refusal, for combat, he was certainly ready.

"My boy, I have some targets you may enjoy maiming."

A moment of quiet bewilderment, left to the confines of his dark mind, barred from affecting the stone-set features of his snow white face. A question, a dismissal, a sense of growing anticipation, a tide of black. A plethora of invisible emotions, sweeping like a gush of forceful wind beneath the thin mask of his face. Voices, speaking with simultaneous excitement and aggression. The Brotherhood, preparing the boy. His consciousness, abuzz.

He levitates off of the floor, uncrossing his legs calmly, slowly slipping out of his meditation and state of utter serenity and focus, the likes of which he had practised for 30 days straight, without a single twitching of the muscles, or a blinking of the eye.

He touched the grey wraps that hung precariously from a knob on his paper-thin wall, and did not even flinch as they sprung at his being as if they possessed a soul of their own, encircling every inch of his skin in less than a second, with the exception of his large eyes and forehead. Next he shrugged on a weightless kimono, shaded by the dark crimson of each of his opponent's life force. He slipped his feet onto wooden sandals, then gently pushed open his door and left the Monastery, poetic in his calm and composed state of emotionlessness and a natural sense of royalty. He took a single step out onto the weathered cobblestone path encompassing the Himalayan mountain, then dissipated instantaneously, leaving nothing but malevolent tendrils of darkness in his wake.

--

"-able whore."

Kurai's feet kissed the cold cement rooftop soundlessly and his form slowly materialized from the very bottom of his wooden sandals, leaving him placed directly in between the two parties, the cunning Impero and his menacing Death Reapers to the left, with the capable Assassin and a rather perturbed Cain O'Panell to the right. The Shogunate did not look at either, keeping his eyes shut quietly, hands tucked away within the folds of his wide kimono sleeves. The only aspect of his being that moved at all was his unnaturally lengthy hair, the tips trailing around the back of his knees, few stray jet strands blowing gently across his visage, figure strangely unaffected by Impero's aggressive storm that had by now obscured the Sun's rays atop the city.

He could see that the enigmatic Dorian Gray was engaged within a rather precarious conversation with the Harbingers spearhead, Michael Caldwell. He remained poetically silent for the time being. He would let Impero point him to his unfortunate targets, in due time.

Wanted. A criminal with an hefty bounty on head, her crimes are unsolved and her goals remain silent. An international spy awaiting trial and justice if ever apprehended but this tale of deceit and lies only began after deceiving the once Justice League International. Parting ways with the now inactive group, Excella brought forth her next plot, to secure more odd samples for her organization. Of course her methods were rather questioning and so was her position in this world. Force to play in a game of danger by the mysterious organization who used her as a pawn in their glorious scheme. The truth of so is hidden underneath their core but with all things in life the truth is bound to be set free. As of now she is unaware of the dangerous game being at work here, her job for now is to be a scavenger, picking up whatever the secret organization asks of her.

"Ahhh, Excella how good of it to see you, long time no see." the same voice spoke, his silhouette was ever so cloudy and dark, his true face unknown, "Nice to see you once again, I've received the exchange, thanks. she replied, "Don't thank me yet, this little job of ours is not over, I have another assignment for you my dear. Care to know?", "What do I have to lose? Time is money, darling. Life is but one thing I'm grateful for.". "Good to know you'll comply, there's something in the country of of the Iberian empire that we need of. Take advantage of the distraction being brought upon them and secure the item and bring it back to us, we assure you the reward is quite the worth." just then the video feed provided from her portable device ended, "Hmmm the Iberian empire, well well well looks like I'll have to keep my promise after all Impero." a wicked grin stretched across her face as she sits and contemplates on how she would advise a tactic to obtain her objective and play with the hearts of men, or those of Impero himself.

Arriving undetected as usual the Poison Princess hides within the shadows and allow the main players to go about, a parasite leeching on others and only benefiting herself in any situation. Secretly tapping into the empire's interface, merging within their communication gear, she heard the tight situation that was in place. It seemed this was all do to the very presence of Clara Mass, "Things just keep on getting interesting...". The empire was in seclusion at this point and any more tampering into their data sphere would sound the alarm of red flags on her, plus the added factor of doing so for the communication line was already difficult. Aiming her sniper rifle she used the scope to magnify her vision to gain at least some coverage of what was happening from a far, moving her line of sight towards the palace. An invasion was in place no doubt, most likely from Clara, who orchestrated this little intrusion and set it in motion since her arrival. The slight telepathic echoes lingers from the vindictive mind demanding the death of Impero. Though this would benefit Excella, personal feelings said other-wise. Multiple minds shared the same ambition as Clara and so went their own way in handling it, all with one target in mind, Impero. "My dear Impero, can you ever escape the spot light like I have for once?". Pondering on many decisions, on whether to go straight for her objective or to at least stall her mission for self satisfaction and use this rouse as a favor gain for both opposing party members, thought the answer was all but clear. It was evident that she had to go with the latter and see where it'll lead her.

"I can't let either one die.... Not right now. I think I'll play hero once again." shooting her grapple gun from her current location she flies through the air making way towards Impero, possibly to assist in saving his life or maybe help end, with it all ending with a smile on her face.

@Kratesis: Clarice Michelle isn't at all alone. Her shadow watching patiently as events unfold. Even so the mighty Kratesis had arrived, effortlessly ignoring her telepathic mirage. Instead the god killer preyed upon a singular redhead, and soon several false executioners locked onto such a defenseless lass. Her olive tone is seemingly drained as frightfulness consumes the soul. Her sayings are foreboding as the futuristic offspring silently strikes. A plethora of arrows are blocked without a doubt. However, the venomous Kratesis isn't so simplistic. Instead her monstrous blade plunges into thee heart of Olympus' sole Queen. Death given with the slightest of ease.

Instantaneously, the redheaded mystery returns in the midst of chaos. Violet eyes bulging as the weapon tears flesh away. Her invulnerability prevented devastation, but excruciating pain is still felt. "How does it feel?" asked the dying sociopath. Meanwhile, another self darts forward withholding her signature ebony katana. Her soul shared between the seven. Nevertheless this conflict would continue even if the vindictive ex-lover wasn't entirely one-hundred percent. Although invisible this former mercenary would utilize take a risk. Aiming for the position from which Kratesis should be standing, Clarice Michelle intendeds on capturing her objective, a strand of DNA from her most note-worthy enemy. "Knowing you'll never kill me?" she nauseatingly snickered, feeling the after effects of flesh separation.

They'll call me many names. Muddle my ascension to discredit my accomplishments. Sometimes I blame myself. I have acted entirely immature on certain occasions, but I've grown since than. I'm not entirely wicked. In fact I am quite misunderstood. A wicked witch too most, but I'll always consider myself grand. Not for selfish reasons. No, grand because everything I do is for the greater good. Think smarter, work harder, live longer. It's the Zeraz way. Leaving behind a strong legacy for my son--

Elsewhere, another form of her subconscious reaches out to another being with mesmerizing abilities. Elegantly sitting on an intricately decorated chair, Miss Zeraz whispers into the ear of a meditating goddess. "Fiery it is time for the world to know your wrath" she said, lightly kissing her smooth cheek. Overjoyed that in her presence the strongest of warriors have stood by her side, Miss Zeraz smugly chuckles. Her dreams were on the cusp of happening. Yet, upon returning to normalcy, the reality-warping menace grimaced at the thought of possible failure. In turn she creates a rain of diamond needles, hoping at least one tastes a slither of blood. All the while her heart beats heavily, this problem had become increasingly dire. Something the conniving seductress hadn't expected. Underestimation. Her greatest fault realized.

Vampires were but cannon fodder the avenging arab cared not for the losses suffered. They had served their purpose dying as they were instructed, sheding light on the coldness of Impero in actuality. The vampires made an empact took a few soldiers down, then eventually fell again just apart of what they deserved. Let them die, they just served as the cover. Alianette seizing that moment to pummel the dome. In only another minute the vampire would break into the compound. Soon to again pursue the man she considered everything that butchered her life.

Radioactive

Syapt preffered to avoid as much loss of life as possible, dropping a nuclear strike wasn't beneath her however. A possible use of levrage in the coming fight of course as rapid as her thoughts were so was the fight heading her way. Her mind reached out eyes looking in the womans direction as the woman of evolution began to syfer the abilities of an aproaching target. She was able to go just short of light speed an ability she instantly picked up. Energy flowed into the womans veins allowing the strength to bare what was coming at her. Hopefully natural adaptation would allow the artificial being to abandon one of the weaknesses most likely to hold the blond down. Eve could only use a syfered ability and three others at any given time. Given the magnitude of powers the woman had it wasn't so demenishing but still it was aggrevating to the egomaniac.

Speeds traveled were so blindingly fast it was hard even for the woman to adapt to. Throwing punches so numerous a super combuter equivaelnt mind even struggled to deffend. Using the speeds to her advantage Evie fended off eighty five percent of the attacks with no serious effects. The remaining ninety one thousand four hundred forty strikes made it through. By the time it was thirty thousand the majority of the armor had shattered. Come down to a remaining ten thousand strikes she would take there was no armor left at all, five thousand left and the gun on her arm was battered. At the end of the assault the armored suit was gone revealing just the underlayer body suit of a mate grey. The Ragnarok, the gun on the right arm was battered and beaten but still functional. Air had become plasma thanks to the massive amount of built up friction, part of a coming move.

For every blow sent her way she used it as an alarm. Every time her mind registered an impact it told Evie's hands to begin building up energy. By the time the strikes managed to subside her arms were a glowing object of uncalculable amounts of radiation. For a normal being near such they would either be dead or hospitalized with advanced cancer. Then when the attack subsided Syapt sucked the plasma from the air. Long ago she became involved with the hero Overkill and as such had a offshot variation of his abilities. As the energy came into the air she naturaly took it in and converted it into a nuclear graviton. A graviton itself was essentialy heated gravity in scientific terms. In theory it was as if gravity had made mass out of becoming energy through heat. What it boiled down to though was basicaly really hot explosive energy that was hard for any material to absorb besides the metal designed around it. This explosive energy was further boosted by nuclear power when it came into Eve's possession. All this energy build up from their movements and from self amping was then channeled into the gun.

Then throwing a punch as fast as Liberty's speed allowed an almost light speed fast punch went towards Kelly's heart. As this impossibly fast attack came the barrel of the gun would rupture. Even if by some miracle LL managed to dodge it the amount of force exerted would be to much causing Ragnarok to break. At which point a beam of nuclear gravitons would be fired towards the target and if needed could be controlled to track Liberty. When it exploded it would be a blast stronger then most beings would ever dream. Thermonuclear blasts so strong they would of reawoken nightmares a hundred fold to anyone who'd wittnessed a nuclear attack. Evie would contain the blast enough to only harm ships below and Kelly, anything in that radius though was likely doomed. And then finishing it off as the blast reduced itself to a strange floating mushroom cloud the blond would simply smile.

"Ultimantly im here to see the end of Impero your but an opstical how about you pursue the real threat. I sense the Ninjan responsible for alot of harm has come are way. If Impero fell it would just be a sign that he was unfit to play a king. That woman however you and I both know holds more threat to the world." Of course Evie didn't care if Lady Liberty targeted Sha or not, it was just a gambled chance. If LL left that was one opstical out of the way without to much effort. Syapt was a woman focused on calculated strategy over simple violence. It was painful to have taken so many blows, truth be told though Evie knew if this fight went on it would take so much more to halt her advance.

Late Arrivals

Kayleira Aurorez was at this time The Best Swordsman of the Keresh and arguably the universe. Truely that was a large claim but it was hard to dispute, without much greater speed and strength one simply doesn't land a good blow on the Queen of Blades. Her abilities were almost supernatural and when the message came to Ravek Kayle was quick to reply. Boarding her TM she readied herself for a orbital drop from the Nexus. Even the mech was capable of performing the graceful features of sword combat Kayle had masstered. And it was that TM, a mech of warfare, that fell to the earth.

The shape was almost like a an air craft as it fell and speared head first into the ground. Then it broke apart unfolding into a towering suit of armor the ground ripped apart as the TM steped forward. It was only a few feet behind the one who had only minutes ago made the call. Taping into the comms the commander of the Keresh Guardsmen spoke. "This is Kayle Aurorez leader of the Guardsmen of the Keresh responding. I assume you hold to your end of the deal as well as pay well? Got a child and war machine to take care of after all." The child statment ment to tell she was trustable and here with more then herself in mind unlike so many others. The war machine a jest at her arival and jab at humor during a war.

Several new ones are there in his place, the question remains the same "How much can I kill before new ones pops out?" Fowler devised several methods in his mind, two of them involves the usage of a ukulele and five of them would involve inserting foreign objects inside their pee holes. He can see about thirty five plus heads, and plenty of arms yet this is an advantage because only less than five can attack in cramped positions without damaging each other in cramped areas. If he is encircled then he has them as hostages, he is very optimistic about his current situation but he was not pleased that the 'main' opponent is nowhere to be sensed.

Fowler was leading by points in this one doing decent damage that the opponent calls for personal backup, new born soldiers that picked whatever weapon that he was carrying on his person weapons that were readily available for usage. Assuming again the same patterns, efficient and deadly with each offensive maneuver that are meant to end lives. Fowler has a member in his group that can multiply, but the level of skill shown in this one was something else. As various images of men replace one another in a motion that leaves no gap for respite, one shot is fired from every direction as the shooter disappears only to be covered by yet another with alternating offensive means.

Slashes and thrusts made from blades that move about in human arcs made possible by the anatomy of their limbs; precision shots made possibles by rifles both automatic and specialized for sniping, multitudes of grenades falling across to make room for other attacks, superheated plasma cooking the air, venomous substances which endanger the civillians. Even those dastardly em disruptors used in anti-robot pogroms, however he has a simple counter measure for all of them.

In his own way to praise the opponent for showing his techniques Fowler will show the man one of his favorites, the bioborg takes a breath and activates his rotation to position himself in the eye of his own cyclone. Not one of wind but a stance that gives its tribute to the Antigod Asura, which are described as having three heads with three faces and four to six arms. His movements give the impression that he has multiple heads watching their every movement, and enough hands to send them away. Symbolically this represents his character as the state of an Asura reflects the mental state of a being obsessed with force and violence, always looking for an excuse to get into a fight, angry with everyone and unable to maintain calm or solve problems peacefully.

The Fowler self-cyclone propagates, and fires a large frequency of heavy punches from twelve rapid-fire arms (movements in 'asura') while rotating, hitting everything within striking range. It was vision similar to group of butterflies flying above a garden sprinkler, expecting not to get wet. Blades several of his 'specialized' blades made several cuts as the previous ones did, laden with divine qualities. Giving him more scar patches in the process, as he exchanged them with body exploding blows as he did to their prime body as before. Rifles prove to be useless along with conventional military equipment such as Grenades.

Plasma guns complimented the sword cuts as they too add another contribution to the layer of hurt previously established, he is resistant but the blades help wane down his fortitude. Poisonous toxins and electromagnetic disruptors are useless, the former because of various insulating layers and internal defenses provided by his fire and the latter because his systems are EMC. However he played along to be significantly 'damaged' from the EM disruptor, just to lull the opponent into recklessness.

@The_Mercenary:

Duplicates fell left and right, unable to withstand the sudden flurry of artificial strikes and deflections, their genetic structure disorientated and haphazard, shabby replica's of the true thing. Nonetheless, they continued, each one chuckling in between his effort induced grunts and ferocious bloodlusted snarls. Not moments after they'd set out on their perfectly synchronized onslaught were each of the clones lifeless, lying in fleshy puddles upon the floor, creating a circular pool of mutilated bodies around the towering form of Fowler, the bioborg.

"You're really something else, you know that? I could definitely learn a thing or two from you big fellah. And that's comin' from a swashbuckling mutant with over 500 years of experience under his belt."

The original stood by the alleyway entrance, both hands rested calmly upon the hilt of his broadsword, the tip of which was embedded shallowly within the cement side walk. His head was tilted to the left slightly, his mouth distorting his face with a toothy grin, narrowed eyes summing up the lengthy figure of his opponent. He had watched patiently, expecting the eventual demise of his shoddy duplicates. He'd realized as soon as they'd rose from the earth that they were incomplete. Each lacked a vital part of his essence.

They lacked cunning.

He chuckled once, briefly, closing his eyes and lolling his head forwards slowly, scratching the side of his jaw with his index finger.

"Honestly? I think I'm done here. I know when I'm beat."

He raised both arms into the air, shrugging nonchalantly as if announcing his defeat were of no importance.

"You win some, you lose some, right? Even the "Lord of Life" has his bad days."

He accentuated the title with the index finger and middle finger on each hand, swaying his torso side to side casually.

"And I mean, this was really fun. Like, I haven't been hit that hard in decades! You know what, Mr Roboto?"

He paused, placing his hands back on the hilt of his large blade, setting his grey irises upon Fowler's emotionless eyes. He smirked suddenly, winking mischievously.

"It's been a blast."

He imploded in a cloud of instantaneous black smoke, appearing behind the bioborg, knelt over the corpses of his weak duplicates. The broadsword popped out of the air at an alternate place, aimed directly within the pocket of space where Fowler's sternum was. It did not require any path of flight, or to pierce the bioborg's steely skin. It would just replace that chunk of his form with mystical blade, enough to leave a massive gap in his torso. The Mercenary set out immediately, popping across the battlefield, around Fowler, stepping out of the air beside each of the 40 replica's, collecting their weapons and sending them on a journey through a thin dimension of travel which only he was allowed access to, letting them reappear within sections of the bioborg's being. His throat. His arms. His legs. His forehead. His cranium. Everywhere. Knives, razors, shurikens, guns, grenades, blades, anything that the Mercenary carried on his form at all times that had been littered around the being. They were all teleported straight at the robot's body.

Should Fowler evade them somehow, they would follow, nano-second mental reflexes allowing the Assassin of Ages to alternate the course of the pocket weapons, precisely back to the originally targeted sector of the bioborg's frame.

On and on, stepping in and out of the dimension with a timeless effortlessness, moving so fast that should the Brawler wish to leap across and grab him, he would be unable to. The veteran soldier-of-fortune continued, finishing the combo off by opening a two portals on opposite sides of Fowler and simultaneously snatching up the Swords of Scion, their divine steel glowing with infinite power and might. He willed as much energy into them as he could, then appeared back before the alley, both weapons outstretched in his palms. The burned with such ferocity that the very fabric of reality around the blades began to distort and tear. He howled with crazed laughter, letting them pop from his fingers moments after tearing his eyeball out with nothing but his index finger and his thumb, using the very last of his strength to teleport it back to D.E.A.T.H headquarters, the Bunker. The Swords of Scion disappeared in dual clouds of black and dropped straight into the crater, their structures would burst apart from a sheer overload of power. The output would eviscerate this entire sector of the Iberian Empire and any particle of existence two hundred metres deep and three kilometres high, leaving at least a quarter of the magnificent land in charred remains with no entity able to revert the blast.

The Mercenary would be wiped out as well, doubled over on the floor, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks. He raised his eyes to the bioborg a moment before the city quadrant was enveloped in eternal energy and winked at him again, before his entire being was disintegrated by the blast.

Thalia silently walked on the sands of the island looking quite worrisome for the safety of her friend. Cassandra Thanos, Thalia's only friend, left Athens to search for the Gauntlets of Hercules, but was kidnapped by Polyphemus. In desperation, Cassandra created a empathy link with Thalia so she can call for help. Polyphemus island was shrouded by mists, forgotten even by time itself. The sand of the island was blood red, rumored to have absorbed much blood from past conquests. The lifeless trees rustled with dry breezes, making the Isle seem to whisper your name, but the strangest thing was that the water was pitch black like a group of sailors had just dumped oil into the waters. The evil of this Isle is ancient. Too ancient. Even for time to conquer...Thalia was beginning to believe that this was another trick from the gods to get rid of her.

Climbing up a mountain, Thalia looked around cautiously but suddenly, a cyclops burst out of a nearby wall and began swinging his club wildly at the warrior goddess. A battle ensued, with the goddess slashing at the creature’s legs while evading the swings of his club. Thalia then gutted the cyclops minion from the front and than quickly slashed his neck from the back.

Once the cyclops was dead, Thalia flew down to another island and came face to face with the massive one-eyed Polyphemus struggling to free himself from chains. "Where is she?!" She shouted and moved to engage the giant. Polyphemus, exhausted from battle, couldn't keep up with the insanity and vengeance that hastened the Goddess of Warfare heart.

Eager for a new challenge Thalia quickly climbed Polyphemus' face and forced open his struggling blood-stained lips. Thalia then used her blades to smash his incisors and molars. The skull vibrating sensation of his teeth shattering like cinder blocks into his gullet forced the giant to scream.

As Polyphemus’ mouth gaped with ragged broken teeth, Thalia followed the swallowed fragments of enamel and thick cyclopean blood into the creature’s throat. She leaped past the ragged uvula and jammed her blades hard into the soft palate of Polyphemus’ skull and climbed up into the cyclops’ sinuses. Tears and blood well out the monster’s eyes as it violently sneezed and vomited yet more gore onto the bones of the thousands of warriors that were once meals.

Thalia then punched through the thick plates of bone behind Polyphemus’ eye, like a thick ceramic vase. Polyphemus clawed at his own face to rid himself of the whirling warrior literally inside his head. The last thing the monstrous man-eater known as Polyphemus, son of Poseidon, saw, before Thalia finally cleaved his optic nerve. After killing Polyphemus, Thalia freed Cassandra from her imprisonment and as the two were about to escape, Clarice telepathically messaged the warrior goddess. "Fiery it is time for the world to know your wrath" Thalia titled her head with confusion as the message echoed through her head. She had no memories of her previous life. No knowledge of her torment, not even the peaceful memories of her half-sister. She closed her eyes as she fell into a trance of deep thought. Suddenly, Thalia opened her eyes as a flash of her torment entered her mind. She grunted and sighed profoundly at these images as she paced back and forth. She pounded on the walls with her fists and shook her head frantically. Thalia shouted to the blue morning sky as loud as she could as the visions haltered. She fell to her hands and knees as she gasped for air. After a moment's pause, she regained herself and felt only one thing: Vengeance. "Thalia? Are you okay?" Cassandra asked curiously. Cassandra was the only person who did not fear the war goddess, and on more than one occasion questioned her best friend reasons for the reckless slaughter of many people. "Leave at once! I must bring back my sister and the only way to do that is to assist the cowardly queen." Thalia did not care about this war nor did she care about the queen, but she did care for her sister and this woman promised to bring her back from the depths of the Underworld. "Imagine a monarch who fights their own battles without calling out aid. Wouldn't that be a sight?" The goddess laughed out loud. "Are you sure about this? I could help you." Cassandra placed her hand on the goddess' shoulder and looked deeply into her green eyes. "I prefer to fight alone. You may call it arrogance, I call it the pride of a mighty warrior." Thalia turned away from her friend and took off into the blue sky.

An hour later.......

Thalia sailed ahead and behind her stood an army of thousands. Whilst sailing, Thalia experienced a rather disturbing vision of Clarice betraying her. Determined to discover the meaning of this vision, Thalia began to pace back and forth on the ship. As the warrior goddess was about to complain about the ship's slowness suddenly, twelve tentacle-like legs emerged from the water and began attacking the ship. The tentacle creature swooped down unseen and snatched up six of the crew. Their legs and torsos were dangling from it's mouths as it lifted them to her cave to eat them. "I have been dying to slay Scylla." Thalia flashed a grin to the soldier next to her. Thalia then tried to protect her ship by fighting off the creatures tentacles, but eventually the beast succeeded in crushing it, forcing the battle to continue on the Iberian shore. There, Scylla finally appeared in full, attacking Thalia, who was able to temporarily subdue her by destroying one of her six eyes and severely injuring her lower jaw.

After her encounter with Scylla, Thalia ran towards the city, severing arms, heads, and killing every worthless enemies in her way. "I shall drench this battlefield in blood."

@The_Mercenary:

His fists went straight through them at a ferocity that made it look like it was a horny couple in their honeymoon, the interplay of violence and excitement resembled an aspect of lovemaking. His arms being phallic symbols and the clones being worn out condoms littered around the street. He feels a certain euphoria when it comes to beating things up, a very ecstatic and turgid movement from his nether regions. In a way he was getting it 'up' when his fists became lubricated in hominid juices, he can literally taste the blood mixing in with his skin.

"Half a millenium is an age where I want to be, for us passing our first century begets Godhood. After that we can transcend to another level where we can sweep cosmic undesirables, and please don't die."

There was a rain of body-parts which accompanied his orgy of ultra-violence, lacerations exchanged with hominid giblets which are sent flying all over the scenery. At some occasions his arms became shish kabobs, piercing multiple targets in one go. To say the least he has not had this much fun in ages, last time it was with some space dragon that came all the way from several hundred lightyears to the underground metahuman brawl. A braggart fellow that had the honors of being deboned by the Bioborg himself, and then devoured by the spectators raw.

It felt 'good'

In between pulling back and punching the bioborg kept samples in plastic bags and containers for later use, perhaps even return them to Harbingers.

"That was fun, and to whom should I return these to?"

His opponent gave the signal, yet the bioborg did not notice as he was preoccupied with having fun.

He did not move, yet he simply vibrated the bioborg was going hypersonic as he stood perfectly still in his location thus giving him the opportunity to 'phase' through solid matter, yet he did not use this to escape. The bioborg used a variation where he turned himself into a vibroweapon, in this state of form he renders the situation inert. Fowler disintegrated the weapons as they materialize within him, an internal defense mechanism which disables the binding forces and destroys enemies on an atomic level. Which causes the matter to crumble, or break down around as he stood perfectly still. His enemy is indeed a master of many weapons. Fowler is the same, with the exception that his opponent is complete armed while the bioborg is simply bound to his own natural weapon. Properties inherent to his body that gives him more advantages in physically attacking more effectively, and the very fact he is the self proclaimed best damn multipurpose vibroweapon in the cosmos. As a boombox or as a vibrator.

With his abilities he fought back the blast, using his own voice the roar of the strongest combatant alive. A voice that can send back mountains, not using magic/divine/psychic but sheer physical force to demolish his opposition and concussive power to crash against the unstable energies, creating a wide spread cone that is synchronized with his battle frenzy. As he is now fighting against a sphere of destruction as his punches can yield at least somewhere in the high megaton range, his voice carries his strength and it is a delegation of his might. He has combatted demons in person, and to have the strongest fist in the cosmos that surpasses God itself nothing as this would be allowed to hinder his progress, what lies ahead of him is a possibility. An outcome, something he wanted his fists to do at a casual basis, sound so strong that it is transduced into waves of light creating a saser as he plays his melody to counter the noise. A lion of light crashes against an indiscriminate dome of light; clawing, tearing and biting. This was a diversion as his original intention is to spread dimensional apertures to spread, as in the previous fight his senses mapped out more than his opponent as even his eyes alone can cover more than two kilometres.

The reason for his 'Average' performance is also the fact that his is paying attention to his immediate surrounding, even when the bullets are fired he took the minute detail as they are flying to hit non vital spots. He has made sure at the time to keep the pace to deviate the aim by elevating stress levels, the large explosions claims a large amount of Iberian infract-structure. Yet under his own might some remain untouched, had he not have his battle lust none of this would have probably happened but when it comes to the people. They are safe.

That much he can do for the masked man, they are after all diplomatic buddies.

"At least @Impero can focus more on his current situation now"

@Fiery

After the explosion had subsided fowler was shaken , yet at the same time covered in patched lacerations and several burn patterns. Upon his journey to the center of Iberia he noticed a 'unique' figure on the shores, he can literally feel and taste her bloodlust in the air. He is impressed, and because of this he changed direction, sure aid is a priority but the bioborg cannot fight his programming. To fight is to be, not for good nor for evil. Just to fight for fighting's sake; against whoever, at whenever, using whatever, without a need for a why, by however the hell he wishes to do .

Upon seeing her the bioborg shouted "If it is blood that you seek then I shall oblige!"

@Impero:

The message was received, however, Ravek was out of the system handling other matters, the only forces in system at the time were a pair of Var'toran - Class Super Destroyers and the Light Carrier they were escorting, and the troops stationed aboard Nexus Station, Commander Ronan Far'ko commanding them.After a brief conversation with Ravek, the order was clear. Assist the Iberian's in beating back the invasion, and within a few moments the ships had been re-routed, making their way to Earth, the Commander rendezvousing with them on the other side of Earth's lone moon. He was pleased to see the Marine detachments aboard already prepared to deploy into the peninsula and the fighters and bombers prepared to assume control of the skies, as was expected.

He made his way up to the bridge, saluting the captain, as per custom, before shaking the older man's hand. After a few brief words, finalizing their plan of action. Turning on his heel, the commando strode out of the bridge, making his back to the waiting drop ships. A Command Sergeant approaching him.

"Sir." He said, greeting Ronan. "We can drop as soon as we're on station."

"Perfect. You ladies ready to show the humies how to really fight a war?"

Needling the marines, all of whom he knew were battle hardened veterans, the sergeant, by the look of him was a good century older than him.

"Always Sir, Be nice to get off this ship for a change too."

"That's what I like to hear. Load up, We'll be leaving shortly."

Gesturing out the hanger bay doors to the planet below that was getting closer and closer by the minute. No soon had the words left his mouth than the five minute warning blared over the speakers within the hanger.

Ten minutes later, the dropships and fighters were swarming out of the trio of ships, the carrier maintaining it's position as the destroyers lead the charge, paving the way for the unshielded craft behind them.

----

The ferocious storm the Iberian Emperor had conjured covered their approach, the rolling thunder of the massive storm being abruptly interrupted by the sound of the two warships breaching Earth's atmosphere, the deafening boom permeating the battlefield below, drawing eyes skyward as the two massive prows cut through the thunderheads overhead. A barrage of heat seeking missiles and auto-cannon fire emanating from their hulls, targeting all hostile craft in sight, along with any concentrations of enemy forces visible on the ground.

The assault and landing craft following behind, then over lapping the two ships. Reaching the per-designated landing sites and discharging their lethal payloads, armored Keresh Marines exiting by the dozen all across the battlefield, engaging any troops loyal to the former Empress on sight, with extreme prejudice.

Behind a pile of rubble, Far'ko fire a series of quick bursts, taking down a group of charging Santo Rey soldiers in quick succession before contacting Impero via his helmet's built in comm unit.

"Ravek sends his regards..."

At that same moment, a Keresh fighter scored a direct hit on an enemy fighter, sending it careening into a building not to far from the commander, adding emphasis to the message.

"We are at your disposal."

This election season brought swift change. Not only was the first blind president elected to office, a feat all in itself, but for the very first time in almost a quarter of a century, the House and Senate are in a state of essential balance. This presents a vary rare and distinct opportunity for progress. In the air alighted currents of change, and it would be up to the collective of the country to decide which road was to be taken. President Elect Ziev was eager to start his journey. Atticus was eager to continue his. A politician was only as good as his mind, and if he did say so, Atticus likened himself to a modern Roseveltian or Kennedy. Both were figures that galvanized the country, and both were brilliant politicians. Mr. Blaire saw in his leader strength, brilliance, but what he lacked was conviction. A noticeable track record that told of character. The country would eventually suffer buyers remorse and that is we're the crowned Messiah Omega would step in and step up.

In a address to the nation, Orpheous Ziev had lavished plaudits to the Zeraz family and business, a direct conflict ion to how Atticus felt about the latter. He had closer personal relations with Closure, surname basis was all he felt was needed while he was in Trinity Foundation. Back then, he was a squeamish thing, always strutting behind, almost acting as a clean up crew for when the ral action was over. That had changed and he was not affraid to flex his power, or lash his most powerful weapon of all... His tongue. Beyond shadow control, beyond his following, beyond even the still heart kept secret Book of Loyalty, oration was a source of strength. His ability to sway the mind and opinions of others was self fascinating, and more so prevalent in society. He would keep some semblance of power, that was for sure, and he would make sure that those who stood in his way payed a price.

Rachel Maddow: You seem to be targeting Zeraz incorporated. As you know I agree with your position Mr. Blaire, but why that particular company?

Atticus Blaire: Well Rachel, for a time as you know I was affiliated with Trinity Foundation which forged strong bonds with that particular company. I had interactions with Clara Zeraz. I can say with confidence that her departure from connection would be in the best interests of this country. I would hate too, but I would venture to say that her morality is void. Her policy is one of a means to an end to gain power. Nothing will stand in her way to get what she wants. If she has to sleep with 1000 men just to get to some grander plane then she will. This is not saying that this is the case, but merely to exemplify the her standards.

Rachel Maddow: That is news. You are saying that you don't believe Clara Is a good person, you are saying that her intentions are nefarious in some way.

Atticus Blaire: Listen Rachel, in a country built on opinion, mine is just as important as the next person. I will say however, that she is not a wise choice for head of the company. There is a difference between ambition and tyranny and I fear she holds true to the latter.

With the Senate 50/50 democrat and republican, this issue will arise no doubt, and I am almost certain that each side will stay in party line so, the decision will go up to the VP, and whoever that may be will decide whether Zeraz stays or goes.

The interview lasted for a time and they discussed other topics, but Atticus had made news, and he was playing one instrument in his complex orchestra.

@Rumble Man: Thalia watched amusingly as a monstrous man charged directly toward her. "Come at me, dog! The parched earth needs to drink your blood." She replied with a large grin on her face. While charging toward him, Thalia pulled out the Blades of Judgment which instantly blazed up with orange fire. The Blades of Judgment were forged at the darkest depths of the Underworld by Hades himself. The Blades' chains would stretch out for a set distance with each attack therefore allowing fluid like movement no matter who wielded them. With fire imbued within the Blades, the Blades and the chains ignite with every attack.

@Fiery:

He did not fully hear her as he was still picking dirt and debris from his ears, technically he does have other machinations to pick up audio signals but he wishes to keep his act. The crimson warrior decides to close the gap between them as the manifested two blade edge weapons with odd properties that made them ignite. Fowler was observing this as with every step she takes, creating ideas and interesting scenarios for this battle in his head. Processing various data gathered from his senses to direct a fun 'scenario' that will fill his battle appetite. The blades have an odd 'feel' to them, it was something divine like what he had previously encountered yet it possessed dark qualities as well. At this point he has yet to acquire information about the range or other properties.

Now he waits