@supreme_chancellor: I'm moving you a little, I hope you don't mind. Nothing fight-relevant.
The Fault-Line Centurion
The Black King of Iceland felt a tugging around s chest, interrupting his silent contemplation of the battlefield. Knowing he had seconds to prepare, he retrieved his mask and blade from the table, and leapt out of his chair, opening the airlock of his office so as not to further damage his ship. He was unceremoniously pulled towards the Sociopathic Scion, and towards a darkened Icelandic wood. By this time, the sun had begun to set, casting a dark glow on the battlefield, only accentuated by the snow-covered ground and trees.
The Marksman Marauder
Having noticed his leader being removed from his ship, General Alous Maxwell quickly selected a temporary commander. "You. You're in charge. Scramble my ship, and Moller." His orders were obeyed without question, and the general checked the two antique pistols at his side. He knew his choice of weapons was archaic, but he was an incredible shit, and would ofter challenge people who questioned it to a duel. His secret weapon, the earthquake-making Kristin Moller was waiting in his shuttle, and they embarked silently, with only a few terse words to explain. They alighted in seconds, Maxwell's shuttle one of the fastest in the fleet. They stood three-for-three, against each other, Maxwell casually spinning his guns on his fingers and training them on Red King, Moller taking a deep breath and charging her weapons to maximum capacity and aiming to create a fault line below the Dim Mak Shinobi's feet, and Hadrian flicking his blade out to the side, a red column of energy with two vents activating, as he prepared to do battle with the Unsung King. Not a mote of dust moved, the very battle seemed to slow, as the Blade of the Night nodded ever-so-slightly, and they all moved like lightning.
Within the rich history of the human race there were those few infamous individuals that stood at the precipice of a decision. A decision which would not only affect their but the lives of everyone else upon the planet. They knew, in their heats of hearts, that what they were about to embark upon could change the world forever -- For good, or bad. For better or worse, it was the Unsung King perched upon the precipice today.
"This was never personal."
Unwavering, unmoved, unmatched in his inner assurance and confidence in his chosen undertaking, the decision process as Hadrian Knightfall appeared was nonexistent.
The man would have to die, his empire would have to fall... So others could live and rise out of the ashes.
"This was never personal."
Stupendously the Devil's Heir rose high into the air, an innumerable amount of metallic debris rose alongside his body as it all obeyed his every imperative command. Ironically, a defender of Iceland in the form of Exodus had supplied the sea of metal which would ultimately be used and weaponized to topple this empire. The Prince of Darkness did not address nor help Fraga or Cestus, knowing the two individuals would be more than capable at using their own peerless intuition and adeptness to dispatch the two bodyguards....
"AArgh!"
Metal suspended within the air for a fraction of a friction of a second as X took aim, and strangely, admired the view -- For this would be the last time he saw Hadrian, the former ruler of Iceland alive. "ARG!!!" X roared, unleashing hellfire in the form of an unmitigated shower of metal might, hundreds upon hundreds of items impossibly speeding towards the unfortunate Knightfall with lethal intent, seeking to both brutally puncture his body, bruise and demolish his bones and finally... Bury him under a sea of metal... Hopefully, Hadrian's impromptu grave.
-The vigilante known as Ghost first entered the scene around 2008, he operated in Los Angeles for approximately a year until he disappeared. It is believed that he perished Cesar Chavez High School Massacre. No further records after that-
-Obviously he’s not dead. You can’t exactly kill a ghost. Send this info to the NSA and tell them that I want the secret identity of the Ghost in the next hour or some heads are going to roll-
Disdainfully the monochromatic military man turned away from Gothic’s Ghost, believing that whatever trouble he could cause was being solved now by government shadow men if the attack did not already put him down.
Their reason for attacking him paid no importance in Julian’s mind. They were standing for the Imperialistic Iceland by interfering, they had to be dealt with.
Julian turned his entire body towards the Winter Warrior and the Feral Feline, his fists clenched tightly for a second.
-Claire, locks off the strength and speed cap-
-Yes, sir-
In the front of the screen, a loading bar appeared and quickly filled up to one hundred percent. Each percentage representing a ton.
-Suit now at maximum capacity-
-Good. Run the one dressed like a giant cat through our databases too. See what we can find-
-Now let’s collect some scalps-
At the bottom corner, his picture was being cross-referenced with every single database the U.S had on anything…ever. It would take a while but he was sure that he would find something that would later allow him to exploit his enemy.
Julian placed his open hands against ground , the propellers beneath his boots let out a blast of fiery energy sending him in a burst towards the King of Orphans. As he was flying, he raised his fist nearly a foot away to his head. The computer in the armor and his head were calculating when he would have to release his arm to maximize damage. Twisting his torso, Julian sent his hook towards Ali’s jaw in a swift and potent turn that would not stop at impact like most untrained fighters did, but push through with the intent of ending the fight then and there.
-Claire, analyze the material and search for weak points in the suit-
-Affirmative-
Whether his punch had connected or not, he still moved forward and prepared for the next attack. Turning his body mid-air like an acrobat made him feel like he was a young man again. While he performed the pirouette a high intensity infrared laser at Ali’s eye to burn out his motor skills for what usually results in irreversible damage. Julian was never above the idea of fighting dirty, there were no real rules in war after all.
-On your feet soldier- He looked at the disoriented Knightfall.
He did it. He managed to avoid the lethal blow with the scythe. Any man should have been in two, yet he put a goddamned horse in front of the blow. Well done.
Now I won't be holding back.
As Krueger turned back, his body was riddled with streaks of telepathic energy emanating from the eyes. He began a sprint ahead, forming two massive weightless greatswords in each hand. The first thought coming to mind was pulling the Führer's Sidearm from the holster until the obvious thought of attempting to shoot at a possibly insane cosplaying cowboy came to mind. Unwilling to feed his urge to play gunslinger, Kruger lunged at the cowboy with the swords in an overhead strike down towards him.
Let's hope you're faster than you look.
What's that supposed to mea-
Then the gunshots started. And the nazi was thrown back with lead shells tearing into his chest. It felt like an automatic fire weapon and exposed the chest cavity of his body, ribs and all. Krueger's body felt a burning sense in the chest which he opted to stay unvocalized with.
Disgusting.
The Rage of the Reich was on his feet in moments, his chest cavity warping with new flesh and bone in moments following. The Gunslinger's skills could easily be determined now, from the kind of fire from the six shooters. It was clear that he was more than a pretender. His skills could be useful in several ways, not against himself of course. A simple forcefield raised and the Greenhorn would be out of options. With a quick estimation of the survival ratio against this cowboy, it was a simple move to follow him. Rushing ahead to the slope to spot the Gunslinger sprinting across the road at the bottom now.
Despite his skill in firearms, he was not a clever one. Going to the coast would certainly trap him in like a rat. For it was where the ships had concluded their entry, leaving it most likely teeming with mutant and mankind alike.
Krueger leapt from the slope, racing after the Gunslinger upon his landing. His grimace once again subsided at the thought of bringing pain to this ignorant dog who racked the nerve to fire his pistols. With a flick of his wrists the greatswords dispersed into the air around, instead forming a whip into his grip. With a movement over the shoulder and a quick wave ahead, the energy fired ahead, lashing at his back like a striking cobra.
If anything, at least his dedication to staying in the role as sheriff or rogue gunman was somewhat admirable to witness, considering the circumstance of war being all around.
A cape as black as night hung from his shoulders, stopping only at his ankles. It's dark shade matching the ebony plates that clung to his armored frame. The Mad King's gloved fingers coiled round the metal hilt of his lightsaber. He kept his grip tight, and a blade of plasma came alive with a crimson glow and a haunting hum. From a distance, three had arrived, and one dared aim his guns in his direction. Cestus the Mad King, strode forward, the air thickening, growing soupy with an ubiquitous presence, an intangible quality of authority that seemed to seize the atmosphere by the throat and choke all who stood against him. It was the Force. It was the reason the ground lumbered and cracked beneath the soles of his boots.
The Mad King
The reason pebbles, debris and all manner of metal remnants from Exodus' assaults trembled and shook as he strode by. And it was the reason why Cestus kept his posture fearless and domineering. Why with a quick wave of his arm, he pushed his cape behind his shoulder, as though that was a task of greater importance than doing battle with Iceland's Finest. Ah but soon, soon his stride slowed and his feet came to a steady halt. He stood a distance from his gun-toting foe, and from behind the dark lenses of his helmet, the Mad King's eyes met those of his foe... for ten seconds. Because it was not the Force that he called upon to bring his adversary to his knees. Not entirely. Instead, he relied on a combination. A combination of Force sorcery... and the ancient secrets of 'Разум мужчин' or 'Mind of Men', a book that came into his possession during a recent visit to the Montessi DaBrickashaw.
And it was through this unholy union that Cestus had awakened a new realm of telepathic powers. Psychic tendrils, unseen by the eye, and unknown to those without telepathic intuition, shot from the Mad King's mind and sought to seize his opponent's, sought to trap his foe's mind in an illusionary world that was entirely under the Mad King's control. And once there, Cestus would begin. He would alter his foe's perception of time, subject him to his worst ever fears over and over again till his mind yielded and broke, all while in the real world, his gloved fingers vibrated and a torrent of Force Lightning surged forward to sear his foe's flesh and slay his nervous system. Nearby, the Dim Mak Shinobi felt the ground tremble beneath him. It was his opponent. Her geokinesis was shining, and in that moment, Fraga felt his foot slip into the growing fault line.
Suddenly, time froze. For a tenth of a second. Enough time for the Dim Mak Shinobi to yank his leg up and free himself. His muscle fibers twitched, and he exploded forward into a sprint. Any second longer and his foe's fault line would've swallowed him into the Earth's gut. A stun grenade in hand, Fraga tossed it his opponent's way and saw it erupt in a flash too bright for the eyes and too high-pitched for the ears. It was a distraction. A set-up. One he'd use to catch his foe off-guard. He'd dive under her, his arms looking to seize her leg before he'd roll under her and invert himself to position her foot for a heel hook.
He'd lock her leg by hooking his ankles together. He'd hook her heel and begin torquing, hugging her leg to his body while his upper-body'd rotate back towards her to wrench her knee out of alignment, to tear her ankle joint, and as translucent claws of flash-forged silicon carbide sought to dig through her flesh and touch her bone... he'd superheat them and see that his claws melted their way through the bones in her leg.
"Despite your posturing, you have clearly never fought a true master of the arcane. Any self-respecting magus coats himself in enough shields to absorb the force of a bull elephant strapped to a hydrogen bomb... this metaphor is going nowhere. My point it, your little spray is simply exposing one of my many defenses, to harming me in any way. And they also--" Trygiff turned and spun his trident to deflect the incoming lethal blow. "--inform me if I'm in any danger. Idiot." The Demoniac Magus looked towards Lichter, and let the holder of the other end of the contract he had signed for his powers take control, staring into Klaus' eyes with a gaze that would be nigh-impossible to break from, once met. It would look inside his very soul, or the mystical equivalent thereof, and expose his greatest sins, attempting to mentally break Klaus, rather than physically.
The General felt a presence in his mind. His greatest fears. All of his sins past, come to haunt him at the behest of the Dead Knight.
Carbonadium is a quick, easy way of making meta-metals on the cheap. It is possible to destroy it, or course, and a blade like that which Cestus wielded would destroy it, but Carbonadium bullets, unlike plasma bolts, are tiny and quick, more likely to hit you before you realize it has been fired, than for you to grab it out of the air, superuman or no.
General Aldous Maxwell's mind was being invaded, and there were six Carbonadium bullets were in his gun. He saw his greatest fears and decided he was unafraid. He raised his gun and aimed at the eyes.
Kristin was not coward. She would face death and pain unflinchingly for Iceland. But she was no fearless, altered-to-obey-rdes clone soldier. So when a grenade went off in her face, she reacted instinctually, nd shoved her arms out, creating a huge vibrational blast that would send the Feral Feline flying, even as his attack left a bloody gash on her face.
Hadrian saw the hundreds of shard of steel shoot towards him, and moved decisively. His mutation allowed him to temporarily increase his speed and reflexes, and he used it to it's full effect now, leaping up and off of the shards of metal, now seeming suspended in space. Though he swung his blade to deflect pieces of oncoming metal, many still hit him, surely leaving bruises for the morning, after he had won. He leapt up, grasping his weapon's hilt firmly, and slashed downwards, the blades plasma composition (and therefore not a solid) allowing it to pierce even the Unmourned Corpse's armor.
The mage was fast, fast enough to deflect his teleportional attack; Klaus shifted onto his back foot, allowing his blade to slide off of the man's trident rather than press the offensive. He pivoted casually, blink-stepping backwards with discipline that ought belong to a man far older. He flicked the blade downwards, angling his head to the side as the Icelandic magus spoke.
An arrogance befitting his national origin, he thought with a smirk, not even bothering to grace the self-appointed "true master" of the arcane. He met the eyes of Tryggvi, seeking to survey his glances and expose some sort of pattern. The combat techniques of a man could often be discerned and predicted simply through eye movement, yet when Klaus elected to stare into the irises of his opponent, he unknowingly exposed himself to a far greater threat. The Oscillator roared to life, a visible purple-and-green pulse emanating from where it sat on his chest and curling up his torso, seeping into his skin and shooting out of his eyes as the anti-magic veil roared against the octarine torrent that came from Tryggvi's soul.
Klaus' Mindscape
All his greatest achievements were suddenly laid bare, from his appointment to the office of Deputy Director to his contribution to the utter destruction of the League of Shadows. The Lichter Legacy saw himself rescue the kidnapped President Quentin, as well as negotiate with Director Donn to spare the life of Abigail Aensland. There was an unnatural red tint to his actions, the lives he'd taken in the Arctic and Iceland highlighted, apparently. Yet beyond those, there was truly little he regretted. Undoubtedly, without the presence of the Oscillator, the effect on his psyche would've been far different.
Curious, he thought, time moving at but a fraction of a millisecond compared to the outside world. Klaus looked down, seeing he was naked. Displeased, he squinted, tugging at his skin to reveal the magenta vest and mask beneath.
That's better. I'm lucid...but why? he wondered, remembering the mage's attack. It had been an assault on his psyche, and a semi-successful one at that...but his Oscillator had protected him. Experimentally, he flexed his gloves, looking around. Pillars rose from the floor, banners of the von Lichter household adorning the suddenly-generated walls. He walked forwards, up a set of stone stairs, only to find himself in the Oval Office of the White House in Washington. He ran his hand along the desk, feeling the ornately carved furniture. A few knick-knacks of his lined the edge.
Laughing, he looked out the window, staring into the heart of DC. Curious, he touched the glass, watching it evaporate before his eyes. A moment later, he stood atop the White House, the world seeming to move at superspeed around him. But there was a white elephant in his self-created dream, a red smear on his vision. Instinctively, he knew it was the presence of an outsider...but they were in his mind. With the Oscillator at his side, he could work with it...and perhaps use it to his advantage. He peered into the pulsating abyss, distance irrelevant in his dream. Feeling his own inner strength, the Legacy vanished.
"...Tryggvi Vilhjalmsson,"
came his voice, booming throughout his mindscape, the portal between his psyche and his foe's torn wide open to expose his own enemy's thoughts,
"Welcome to the greatest mind on the face of the Earth."
Instinctively, he knew willpower was the answer. Burning passion mixed with cold calculation, forging a weapon within the heart of his consciousness that could pierce any psychic defense : his ego.
From beyond the horizon, a massive yellow-gloved hand reached over the sky, cradling the Earth. Its twin encompassed the other side of the mentally generated globe, Klaus' hood filling the sky as he stared down into Tryggi's mindspace, bringing his hands together in an effort to crush the planet...which he figured represented the entirety of his opponent's mind. He would bring down his enormous hands on the globe, seeking to utterly snap the man's mind in two by compressing it like a lump of play-doh. Otto's journals had spoken of psychic intrusion, of how it felt like dreaming...but he didn't think he'd ever experience such absolute power.
"Now tell me, Tryggvi..."
he said, yellow gloves crashing down into the surface of the planet, tremors violently ripping across the atmosphere...
Inside the mind of a mortal man was a world, their word, all that they encompass and that which encompasses them. Inside the mind of a man bound to the Demon-Lord Orcus, Lord of the Nine Hells, He Who Sits Atop the Throne of Bones, Flesh-Weaver, etc, etc, it is much different. To Klaus's eyes, it would appear not a planet, but a massive orb of flames, with a rocky center that jutted out in odd places like massive spikes, bound entirely in chains. There would be pain for the Icelandic summoner, and not all of it from the Delver's mental projection. Inside the mindscape, two massive glowing eyes would slowly open out of nothingness, staring at the intrusion onto the mind of it's servant. The hellish mind it had inflicted upon Trygiffi would be reflected in those two uncaring ovals, a minuscule particle in the massive sphere of suffering Orcus had created over the aeons.
I'm afraid Trygiffi isn't here right now... Klaus.
The voice that was not a voice, the sound that drove planes to madness, would reverberate inside the Lichter Legacy's skull for years t come, should he survive the coming seconds.
You have meddled in my affairs, Klaus. You have interfered in the machinations of Orcus.
Both minds capes would wink out in a seconds, returning both to the real world. Klaus would be unharmed, but Trygiffi... the pentagram on his chest pulsated with unnatural light, and his jaw split open, two red hands the size of continents clawing their way out of the summoner's mouth. Orcus emerged, taller than worlds, eyes burning with apathy. Around his neck were nine burning circles, each a different hell. Trapped within were screaming children, clawing at the tarnished metal, begging for respite. The ship would somehow stretch to accommodate them, physics knowing what was good for it and fleeing.
Die, and be done with you.
No Octarine Oscillator would save the Scarlet Swordsman now, no backup, no teleporting Gottschwert. They would be outside in an instant, the Octarine Rouge infinitesimal in comparison to the Lord of Undeath. Unless a very god intervened, the purple suit and millions of festering maggots would be all that was left of Klaus von Lichter. Orcus would disappear in a towering column of fire, visible from space, leaving a gigantic, smoking crater in the center of the battlefield.
A lovecraftian horror. Close your eyes, and leave them shut, he thought, his assault on Trygiffi's mind concluded. He could still feel the continents beneath his hands, but now, he was back in the real world...and something had come with him. The waves of fear and panic washed over him, the voice of Orcus ripping through his ears...yet despite his insistence that the Oscillator would be of no use, somehow he was subtly aware that it was saving him from the brink of insanity. He was looking into the sun, yes, but wearing the greatest pair of sunglasses ever conceived. He'd go blind eventually...but enough time had been bought.
Remember what you saw, he thought wildly, his mind reeling as the demonic presence assaulted his senses. Fighting the urge to look at the abomination, he turned his head away, gritting his teeth as he sought the answer to his problems. Like it or not, he was alone; the rest of the battle had fallen away, Iceland now a minor threat compared to whatever had crawled through the Icelandic mage's body. The magus was the key, somehow; Klaus had been afforded a long look inside his mindscape. Within the psyche, time passed at one one-millionth the speed of reality, perhaps less; distance, too, was irrelevant within. Trygiffi's mind had been laid bare for him to delve into, and the answer to the predicament was there. All he need to was remember...
Of course, he thought, wincing as he tried desperately to ignore the elder demon. Thank you, Trygiffi. Thank you very much...
"'I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men.' Howard Phillips Lovecraft," he said, eyes closed.
Ish...ish tok 'varrok? Ish tok vashundol?
"'I couldn't live a week without a private library - indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.' Howard...Phillips Lovecraft," he spoke through grit teeth, nose wrinkling. His eyes remained shut hard.
Ish tok a'varrok.
He let a grin creep onto his face, sweat building on his forehead. The tools were there, left behind in Tryggvi's subconscious and gifted by Orcus himself; where power had teased, Klaus would rip it away, all without the danger of risking his own mortal form when there was the deceased Icelander to be his phylactery.
Ahm'irush tak izh. Ozkavosh tak izh. Moz groth ozh, he thought, completing the spell non-verbally...Tryggvi's last thought.
"And from even the greatest of horrors, Orcus, irony is seldom absent. Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Paraphrased: Klaus von Lichter,"he said, opening his eyes. As he did, he stopped shaking, opening his palm and generating two small glowing orbs. The luminous spheres rotated at high speeds around his hand, his eyes aglow with power. His feet left the ground, rising up to soar at head-level with Orcus the Lord of Undeath. He flexed his fingers experimentally, the orbs responding.
"Tryggvi's will was weak, giving you an easy time possessing him...but it also made the process of learning possible. But with the link he, no, you afforded me?"
He angled his head forward.
"I didn't have to learn anything. The book was left open in his mind, Orcus. He never bothered reading it all."
He extended a hand, golden energies cascading forward in an attempt to banish Orcus from our plane of existence. It was one of many spells from the back of the book, a mystic nuke created specifically to battle elder demonic entities. Klaus' mental link to Tryggvi had afforded him but a glimpse of the pages, but it had been enough. The energy ray would collide with Orcus' form, a meta-destabilizer filled to the brim with octarine energies that would eat away at the thing's very existence until it was forced from reality.
Crouched against the wall, doubly covered by both her armor and the makeshift barrier, several moments of silence followed. Of peace. And while the silence never abated it was the lack of conflict that brought Cassandra the most unease. Iceland was a warzone. She and her team were engaged with a cross-continental assassin slash murderer, still potentially fighting off his allies, and she was doing nothing!
Bullshit. Hearing or not, they had a job to do, and she still counted herself among the world's premier pure combatants. Even if she was just a rookie cop in a warzone. Her vision cleared; that would have to be enough.
But aside from a minor wound in the protecting game of pride, the brief time-out had its advantages. When the new player arrived on the scene Cassandra was out of sight inside the building. She'd disengaged all fighting during that time, the unimpressive show and positioning ultimately coming as perceived benefit rather than the blunder moments prior. She may as well not even have existed to them. It made her an unknown quantity. Gave her the element of surprise.
The silver knight pulled her hand and the Rapture's influence from the building, returning her surroundings to their default state. Then following the last-known location of her allies and Cassius, she charged.
Dove, from the large hole created by successive blasts of incredible magnitude, into a swan dive to the outside, rolling forward into a predatory catlike crouch. Her landing likewise just as light, the ground barely registered her impact.
Not a second to waste. Cassius was clearly dazed and confused but still fighting like the flames of Hell would consume him if he stopped.
Depending on how the next few moves went Cassandra aimed to make that a reality regardless.
Before making any other moves, however, she turned back to face the building. Outstretched claws from her gauntlet she made a quick horizontal slash at the base of the building. The actual area with which she'd made contact was relatively small, but in spite of reason, on the actualization of the abstract concept of severance, the entire building became severed from its base and what remained would tumble and fall along with anyone still inside. She trusted each of her allies to endure or easily maneuver around it based on the little she'd seen of them; the enemy (if they still lived) would make it or wouldn't. If they did, they would be dealt with. If not...well, that was that.
But random destruction wasn't her goal. The angle and placement of her slash calculated in a hair's breadth of an instant so that those already fighting on the ground would find themselves directly in its path – to be crushed or otherwise buried under the soon-to-be rubble remains of what was left of the building. Unfortunately this meant Ali faced the same danger as Cassius and his armored interference, but if nothing else she sought to inadvertently warn him, forcing him to move and additionally removing him from the path of the bloodthirsty president.
It wasn't the end, she knew. It was never that easy. But in that moment she saw no better way to reset the combatants and stir the chaotic climate that would give her a clear shot to her target.
A bullet clipped the archer's brow as she dove away from the gunfire sent her way and let loose an exsplosive arrow. The second bullet had missed but the one aiming for her head scored a cut that left a fair amount of coloration to her features. Not critical but it hurt like hell. With a graceful armored motion the officer also redirected the exsplosive arrow. Set to detonate on impact it didn't go to far from its initial heading but it was enough to make a difference. "Admittedly I picked a bad arrow given my intro but you're a shit cop." The archer remarked more to herself however then deliberate trash talk. Guess she shouldn't be surprised that her home towns law enforcement would shoot first and question later. Crouched behind a desk the Maverick marksman saw the hellocopter in bound and the swift Spector's entrance.
Well rehearsed from training for war games Alex took cover using the foot space of the office desk to brace for what came next. From the force of her companion the floor gave way the desk falling. And then the building rocked, an explosive force flooding halls and rooms with fire. Airborn the desk was blown back toward shattered window. Wood splintered and glass shattered as the archer was forced out the building. Pick axes though sank into the walls of the structure the archer sparred burns or a bone breaking fall. Climbing to a ledge however the archer chose to bide her time some. From what she saw her enemies were not here to support Iceland, they just wanted answers and now wasn't the time. She wanted to insure appropriate shots, killing uncalled for.
Screams of the cop from before told of a loss from hearing. Meanwhile below Alex watched the bionic armed spy fight the cat themed figure. The way his armor moved, what sounds could be heard or lack there of told her she might be dealing with vibranium. Thankfully it appeared the ghost and Brit might be focused on the emerald destructive force limiting what targets Alex need focus on. With an armored form the officer hearing impaired leaped from the building. And with a slash the building split in two and began to collapse upon itself. It was here when the smoke clotted the air and the armored officer likely looked away to find her allies mid contest the archer took her shot. The arrow fast as a bullet, the sound lost to a collapsing building amongst everything else. It's position concealed against someone who was already down one of her senses.
For the officer Alex took a depleted uranium tip, able to punch through plates of AR500 steel. It was an ammunition intended to pierce most conventional body armor and even some vehicles. Even in an age of super human reflexes and metahuman awareness Alex had rarely missed a shot. This choice of arrow hissed through the air with a heading for right behind the hamstring of the closest leg of the officer. It didn't have to even sink it's way in, a graze would do. The position of choice selected to make movement excruciating if not impossible. Hopefully the mercy wouldn't bite her in the ass for trying to disable the armored cop instead of looking for the kill.
Taking a moment to reposition on the collapsing structure the archer once more used the wreckage for cover as she withdrew a second arrow. This time she'd aim for the cat engaging the winter spy. The arrow of choice, a HEAT round. The combatant looked fast and gifted but he wasn't focused on a potential sniper and appeared to be within human limits of agility. With his armor though, which she could derive from working within the Shogunate Alex knew she had limited shots. To aim true or exploit, in the swift hand to hand shots were harder to make though. So she would aim for a larger target, of just the head. For the apex of accuracy a head shot was as easy as asking a soldier to just hit the target. Surgical like marksmanship the archer just aimed for the back of the cowl. The arrow of choice released a small copper projectile that propelled by high explosives launched at speeds of Mach twenty five. It carried enough force to explosively pierce damn near anything designed to end tanks. The impact was contained enough however to have no real explosive radius outside of the target. Topping it off of course was the mitigation of impact from the armor of choice. It'd likely be a hell of a knock out punch instead of something lethal. Of course the archer didn't linger to see results, using a grappling arrow to retreat to a distant building. The marksman looking to keep targets down range.
"Thank you for helping keep her alive. And you, you'll have to forgive me but if you want me to remember your name you should give it." The Falsified Ares commented at the end of her move. She had launched an attack of astronomical output arguably more then she knew. It was an action that should of turned her opposition and ally to various states of nothing. Unrecognizable do to new look Casca didn't know that she worked alongside an ex president. What she did know was that she tried to hold someone who was on a receiving end of a near light speed punch. Neither was dead though and the new goddess was glad for at least half of that.
Then however as a counter right behind her was formed a black hole. A void leading to somewhere unknown. It's pull was to hard to escape given its sudden arival. It was successful and within an instant Casca was tens of billions of meters away. Lost in the blackness of space most would suspect, her body wasn't that of a full God, she was with flaw and the cold began to kiss her skin. However be it by divinity or a mothers intuition she knew which direction to fly. As a god she had about a minute to survive in space with her physiology. It wasn't much, but the distance would be just enough.
Passing past stars and planets at a speed beyond average comprehension she sped toward earth. Rage at what she was forced to see, and knowing she couldn't die out in space the cosmos were crossed. A minute would have gone by before she re-entered the atmosphere. The scream of her rapid motion enough to make the earth tremble on its own. Though she'd have come and gone long before the sound was heard. The entire playground of war was a almost completely frozen picture within time. The various speedsters and rapid projectiles almost all sluggish by comparison. She had three headings within her trajectory of high acelerated brutality. For within the false goddess' hands was an adamantine blade weighing a hundred tons and as eager for carnage as she.
The moves were as follows. Her sword in a vicious swipe would look for a decapitating swipe upon throat of the reality sage. In her daunting flight path she set sights on the worm like horror writhing through the city harvesting the dead. She looked to tackle into it. She was sure to blow right by with any luck though she'd plow through the horror in a visceral display. It after all was being harmed by the conventional attacks of the military. Casca's moves were beyond the plasma fire or missile strikes in use. And thirdly the false war goddess sought to cleave the Knightfall in two.
For each of these attacks she was at a speed of ninety nine point ninety nine percent the speed of light. Passing three hundred million meters a second. The plasma trailing with her hot as the sun, the initial impact striking with force to create nuclear fision several times hotter then the sun. A move that dwarfed nuclear weapons with its explosive output. Capable of reducing nearly anything to scattered atoms was the attack being thrown around. Connecting hits would likely leave kilometer wide craters within the ground. But these explosive gestures were not without a price. She was going off reserves weary from the suffocating darkness the sage had forced on her.
At the end of her high speed barrage Casca fell to the earth skidding through concrete and asphalt like a small stone upon a river bend. She'd end with rubble all around her and smoke rising from her figure and armor that glowed white hot. Cascade was done fighting, it being questionable if she could even manage consciousness any time soon.
The Prince of Darkness watched as Hadrian ambitiously swung his plasma sword through the air, managing to deflect an impressive amount of shrapnel. Without haste though, the Knightfall was quick to set his offensive....
....There was a flaw in his plan, however; attacking the master of magnetism, with a magnetic device?
Plasma was ridiculously magnetic, it's very structure contained in place by magnetic fields. With no more than an outstretched palm the Supreme Chancellors only child was quick to act, utilizing his unparalleled mastery of the world's electromagnetic force and seeking to not simply control Hadrian's blade nor turn it off, but wickedly contort and ultimately remove the magnetic fields surrounding it.
Thereafter, he would utilize his own magnetic fields and encase Hadrian within their invisible walls, causing the flow of the plasma to engulf the unfortunate Knightfall and burn him alive... Where it to succeed? The Moonlight Avenger would be inundated with the entity known as death, the plasma of his blade was most likely to cut through any material on earth, and the frequency generator protecting the armor from itself now rendered mute due to X controlling the plasma within his magnetic fields, not Hadrian's.
“Well,.that didn’t go like I hoped it would,” I mutter out loud, taking stock of my surroundings and noting the absence of both the feline warrior and the mysterious assassin.
A substantial amount of pain echoes throughout my body as I struggle to get back on my feet. Despite how I may feel at the moment, I know that soon I’ll be as good as new, the Force already working to mend my broken physique. Aided by this same Force, I can sense that both the warrior and assassin are still breathing and remain locked in intense conflict despite the chaos reigning down all around them. With a mind to cut into their deadly dance, I make a quick move towards the sunken floor, yet once my feet leave the uplifted “safe zone,” I hear a bloodcurdling scream. Thanks to the audible cue, I’m able to hastily construct a telekinetic shield to protect me from the oncoming optical blast, but it is nowhere near enough as I find myself once again thrown against the wall behind me like a rag doll..
The wall shatters like a pane of glass when my back makes contact with it, as does the wall behind that one, and the one behind that one until I’m finally tossed out of the building altogether, leaving a Ghost-shaped hole in my wake. I feel myself plummeting and again stave off unconsciousness, knowing that an unprotected landing from this considerable height would instantly liquefy every bone in my body.
With time and gravity openly conspiring against me, my fingers swiftly make their way to my utility belt. Like a green torpedo, my swoop bike speeds onto the scene, intercepting me from a fate I was much too young and much too handsome to have to endure. My mind still in survival mode, I grip the bike's handles and circle the building, hoping to avoid the powerhouse that just blasted me through several layers of solid Icelandic architecture.
Spying the two missing players (@ali_sani_bashir, @cassius_knightfall) in the midst of a martial arts clinic, I dive off my ride, performing a graceful roll to come to a stop a few feet behind the assassin. Ready to get my hands dirty, I raise up my fists but when the time comes to finally join the physical medley, I delay. Against my will, the security footage from the night of Cassius' escape replays in my mind. I can't help but remember how the operative's eyes look as his fleeting gaze fell towards the camera lens. It was as if he was not in control, as if he was an unwilling pawn in someone else's game that was begging to be freed.
I ready my mind for the intrusion I am about to perform, but the moment my eyes shut in preparation, I sense something else and I'm forced to accept that the psychic spelunking will have to wait for another time.
A shrug momentarily breaks my defensive posture as the armored knight speaks. This guy’s a major asshole but he's built like a tank. Literally. Instinctively, my eyes fall to his right side first, and it’s only through my supernatural intuition and lightspeed reflexes that I’m able to avoid the missile. Doing so, however, puts me square in the line of fire of his simultaneous energy-based attack.
I curse under my breath as I fall face first onto the concrete. “Too fucking slow, Obi.” I feel a cold at my back, a telltale sign that most of my costume's backside has been torn off. Mildly surprised that the armored superdouche failed to attempt a finishing blow, I acrobatically roll over and kip up to my feet. The enemy is already in the midst of an attack aimed at the Bashir Bishop. That no-good, two-timing bitch.
As he swings at Ali, I send out a telekinetic wave from behind him, attempting to trap his armored fist as if in a net and limit the strike’s power considerably. After all, the big cat’s got enough problems as it is. While the Black Bat follows up his initial attack, I watch as the new object of my desires (@soterichor) enters the scene.
A stream of electrical energy shoots out from my fingers towards the Ironclad warrior, hoping to, at the very least distract him. Cassandra has already enacted a brilliant plan, one that I’m able to quickly grasp because of my similar thirst for dramatic displays of destruction. As soon as the last ion leaves my fingertips, I attempt to grip the War Machine with the full measure of my telekinetic strength, locking him down until the moment is right. Once the building is in full free-fall, I attempt to push El Presidente Malvado directly into the path of the behemoth structure, hoping that the tumultuous array of steel and concrete will be enough to incapacitate him, but not enough to outright kill him.
Failure or success notwithstanding, I again look to assist my teammates in any way possible. Using my Force Speed, I run away from the falling structure, hoping to narrowly clear its destructive path. As I do this, I direct a wave of telekinetic energy to Ali, hoping to pull the fearless leader to safety.
He'd seized his foe's mind, subjected it to a psychotic wave of it's greatest fears and as his Force Lightning seemed to have no effect on his gun-toting adversary, the Mad King's eyes were torn from his sockets. Bullets, forged from carbonadium had torn through the air, leaving a scorched trail in their wake as they slammed into the reinforced lenses of Cestus' helmet. The lenses shattered, it's shards shredding the Mad King's eyes, but the impact had stripped the bullets of their momentum. They'd been slowed yet still plucked the eyes from the Mad King's skull. The bullets fell, clattering on the ground that his blood had stained red. Their radioactive qualities had left his sockets superheated and his skull poisoned.
The Darkforce
Dropped to his knees, his gloved hand trembling, his muscle fibers twitching with Force energy as his fingers dug into the concrete pavement. His blood boiled then. Oh he was angry. It was the kind of rage that forged madmen in the fires of an agony so excruciating the mind had no choice but to be forever warped. Eyeless and blind, bleeding and severely injured, poisoned and weakened, on his knees and vulnerable... the Mad King prayed to the Darkforce, and as any devoted follower would, he lashed out. He roared out in pain, an outward flailing blast of Force energy rippling from his every pore, burning the air and tearing the ground asunder as chunks of concrete were flung all about him, sent accelerating as chunks scorched in fire and plasma.
Some targeting his foe, and others missing. And in that moment, Cestus' hand vibrated. He could not see. Here, he'd survive only with the Force, with the senses it offered him. Gloved palm aimed at his gun-toting foe, a yielding gesture to some, but an instrument of death for the Mad King, he held every bit of his Force energy at his fingertips and sought to telekinetically seize his opponent's cerebrospinal fluid. Why? The brain's mass was well over a thousand grams. But when suspended in cerebrospinal fluid? It was reduced to twenty-five grams. A difference that allowed the brain to float in neutral buoyancy. The Mad King would summon every bit of his telekinetic power and see that his grip over his foe's cerebrospinal fluid was strong.
He'd ball his hand into a fist and yank his arm back, hoping to drain every last bit of the fluid through his foe's pores. Because then, then his foe's brain would be impaired by it's own mass and density. It'd cut off it's own blood supply and kill the neurons needed to transmit information through the nervous system. It'd leave his foe unconscious and choking on his own brain. And without the cerebrospinal fluid to protect brain tissue from forced contact with the skull, Cestus' pores roared once, pouring out a wave of Force energy that'd stampede forward, blast his foe across the battlefield, and smash the brain against the inner-walls of his skull. Meanwhile, the Unsung King attacked, and by his side, the Dim Mak Shinobi too did battle.
His opponent was powerful, hurling him across the battlefield with a burst of kinetic energy that left his bones aching, his flesh bruised, and some of his lacerations reopened. Slowly, he rose to his feet, the dust settling around him. Instinctively, he clutched his torso, his bruised rip sending a sharp jolt of pain swarming through his side as he breathed. It didn't matter. Quickly, his photokinesis came alive. Many are only able to see the world around them because the brain analyzes the physical information from light once it's rays hit the back of the eyes. In that moment, as he stood, Fraga seized the photons bouncing off of him, Cestus and X.. and prevented them from ever reaching all three of their opponents. To their foes, they'd be invisible, as though they'd simply disappeared.
And as the Dim Mak Shinobi closed the distance on his foe, she literally wouldn't see him coming. Against an opponent who couldn't see him, the danger of telegraphing an attack was no longer there, so as Fraga inched closer, he spun, whipping his arms around as he turned his feet and hips before jumping and exploding into a spinning back kick, his muscle fibers twitching with superhuman speed and explosiveness as the kick blitzed towards the skull with enough power to crack through it.
He's still in there - the Warden of the False Bay gleamed with cerebral intuition. Hopeful in his vocalized attempt to reach the Winter Wolf's sub-conscious and dormant memories. There was conflict and internal strife beneath the glassed over layer of Cassius' constrained eyes, he wanted to be free, he just didnt know how.
"We can hel." but before Ali's bass filled offer could finish, he was caught in a maelstrom of bullets. Orange hued flashes bounced off his face, chest, and midsection as the mental manipulation embedded in the Knightfall's mind synthetically compelled him to attack. To finish 'the mission.' Harmlessly however the munitions from the small arms fire were robed of their momentum and projection of deadly kinetic energy upon impact. Leaving the mushroomed remnants scattered on the ground in a metallic memorial. But the Knightfall's skilled knife attack had inadvertently found the secret of the Bashir's ceremonial Habit. Cutting with the weave and subsequently deep into the caramel colored flash of his assailant.
Instantly riddled by pain, instincts took hold as the King of Orphans reactionary excellence sought to instantaneously snag the assassins arm. Looking to overpower it, preventing it from once again being plunged into his open wound. His Habit now visually compromised along the rib-cage and up the tricep. Uninterrupted movement had, up until this point, goverened the gifted acrobats entire catalog of physical movement. Even now as he paused, it was but a blink before regained composure allowed the Black Republican to respond with side-arching elbow. Fired at an unorthodox angle, like many of the pankration panther's strikes, the elbow targeted Cass's exposed temple. A clear indication of the Bishop's intentions. To break the cerebral hold, to cut the leash, Ali would literally need to beat some sense into his opponent.
Suddenly the world went black, visual and cognitive deficits momentary shutting off all motor-skills. And then just as rapidly the ability to function returned just in time to register the mechanical fist of a robotic renegade being withdrawn. Blindsided by a devastating punch that had unknowingly been diminished thanks to the telekinetic tactics of the squads de-facto leader, as well as the durable properties contained within the damaged Habit.
Noticeably shaking Ali instantly shifted his head to the side with impossible cognitive recovery and awareness. Simultaneously dodging the frontal laser based assault from the front, as everybody's premeditated paths to attack had been altered or deviated by the unknown participation of the collective. Steal willed composure collaborated with the Vibranium Maharaja's reflexes, granting him the ability to intuitively wheel around in time to not only track, but catch, the screaming arrow from behind. Whether the Bishop had achieved this through an unknown level of heightened sensory perception, or just plain luck, was a mystery.
Irregardless the resulting explosion, which had erupted alongside Ali's head premiering an impressive fireball, would have savagely hurled the regal diplomat's burned body several feet away. Would have had the engineering enigma not been adorned in his ceremonial sheath of streamlined protection. Instantly relocated by the Guardian Ghost's telekenmtic mastery in avoidance of their innovative teammates drastic, yet needed, destruction. The team now seemed to have an unexpected window in which to coordinate a unified front.
"We need to wrap dis up. "We'ah not equipped to fight a wah." Deliberately dancing his fingers along the digital sheath on the suits forearm. The same unnoticeable device he had used to dispatch the Kofi (miniature UAV - size of a large frisbee /roughly) upon arrival. "None of dis mattahs if we are unable to re-acquire a means of extraction."Programming the Kofi, Ali re-proposed the weaponized side-kick which previously been immersed in aerial observation. Creating a digital portfolio of the entire mission for personal reference and research.
But now the Kofi's primary objective was to locate the means in which the team would escape, Gothic Assassin and all. "Dee mechanical meneace seems to be either complacent, inept, or simply of villainous moral fortitude." Glancing around to make sure they were not being surrounded. "I do not care which. We need to bring him down before dee archer picks us of."
Agnarsson heard a growl in the form of a sentence from behind him. It was followed by another annoyance. However, the living jet engine was immune to almost all forms of damage while he was using his powers, and he spun, arm firing, and knocked the blade away, sending it flying into a soldier's side. If the mutant was so intent on a duel, he'd have one. With superhuman speed, Agransson ran towards him, leaping up into a spin-kick, with the outstretched for exploding with force, aimed at the Dog's head, which would, if successful, be allowed by a series of quick jabs, normally mere taps against a soldier of the clawed one's caliber, but with the force of an RPG.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Dog couldn't help but grin in sadistic glee. Another quick block with his gauntleted arms kept the powerful kick from turning his brain in tapioca, but the blow caught him off-balance and knocked him head-over-heels for several meters, at least having the side benefit of pushing him beyond the range of the follow-up jabs. He rolled as he hit the ground, the cracked bones and ruptured organs that his armor wasn't entirely able to protect already knitting back into place.
"'Bout time ya showed some spine, punk," he snarled, baring his fangs in a savage glare as he went back on the offensive. One powerful arm scooped up a sizeable chunk of rubble and lobbed it underhand, aimed at his enemy's legs like a bowling ball. He followed this up by leaping high in a flying tackle. His opponent might be difficult to damage, but physics still applied, so knocking him off-balancing or getting him prone might make it difficult for him to focus his power.
Astrid’s last blast, motived by pure rage, managed to throw the @last_guardian through the remaining walls of the building. It wasn’t a wise move as she later realized. In addition to the debris still raining down from the helicopter’s intrusion, her blasts had succeeded in destabilizing the rest of the building. While @ali_sani_bashir and @cassius_knightfall had made their exit earlier, the now metal-clad woman (@soterichor) had cut her way out of the mess. She had inadvertently given Obi his own exit as he raised a telekinetic shield that mitigated the brunt of the damage she released form her ocular sockets. She seemed to be the only person within the crumbling framework. The combined destructive methods of the Force-user and the woman secured her fate, the pair bringing down the tower on top of her and everyone else in its wake.
But this realization came too late as the steel and concrete toppled and piled over her. Femme Finale’s absorption had devoured in kinetic damage upon her, but gravity buried her beneath the rubble. She struggled to move, feeling the pressure pinning her in place and in a very uncomfortable position.
Open. Your. Eyes.
Her lids flung wide, the damage that would have been done to her empowering the coming blast. Opting for a wider blast from her supine position, she blew away the destroyed building sending debris flying once more up into the sky. What goes up must come down. The gravity that had disabled her temporarily was now to be used to her advantage as she awaited the urban hailstorm of concrete to crash into everyone on the field who wasn’t paying attention.
Picking herself up, her muscles charged and free of fatigue, she brushed off the dust settled upon her verdant complexion. The Lady Apocalypse looked around for the Guardian she had intended on killing. He seemed to have scurried away in haste. But then, her vibrant peridot eyes saw him along with his ally engaging a new opponent, a man dressed all in black (@hound_of_war). She growled sending another blast toward the seemingly occupied Galactic Knight.
Internal conflict ravished the mind controlled mercenaries thoughts. Parts of his memories, his personality were starting to breach the cold hard control of the his master. Gaining enough of himself to momentary look down at himself glimpsing his metallic limb noticeably taken aback by its presence. "Where am i?" If he were capable of feeling fear he would be neck deep in it. His hands holding his weapons, his mouth tasting his own blood. What had he done , what was he doing. His momentary clarity whiplashed away from him as his unseen opponent struck out from outside his self focussed vision. A brutal and audible crunch echoed around the shattered remnants of the battleground. Staggering his eyes almost completely shut off as his nearly blacked out his feet going to jelly as he stumbled back hitting a chuck of metal on the floor before falling to the ground.
Dust flying up as his body struck the floor. Seconds passing before he popped up mechanically, looking skyward as a great shadow loomed over him. A heavy metal scream as the the building tore itself apart falling towards him. Too big to dodge too little time to do anything else but hope that he could place himself between the falling chunks of steel and brickwork. Smashing through a giant panel of falling glass he began to run jump and roll through the cascading office building turned projectile weapon. Desks flying by, office chairs potted plants. Diving through a doorway finding himself struck on the shoulder by a passing laptop. Knocking his footing off making him stumble as he struggled forward crashing through what was left of meeting room partition wall. The floors angle way off its design making the running burn his calfs and flair up his ankles as they fought against the adverse camber of the floor. Seeing daylight on the horizon as the edge of the building came into sight.
Shooting out the remnants of the broken window and leaping, a great force of emeral energy propelling him back to the safety of the ground his body riddled with serious combat fatigue and his many cuts still flowing. The force of this unseen propulsion making him queasy and making his landing all the heavier on his distraught body . His mind once again lost. Pointing one hand at the his target gesturing to him that it wasn't over. Placing his pistol back into its holster as it was clearly useless in this fight. Turning his blade to stick out of the bottom of his closed fist allowing a more rapid strike style for when combat would restart.
The head engineer raised his arm, deflecting ht ablest aimed at his skull, though the armor was at only 40% combat capacity. He pressed the emergency release, and another button, and leapt back, pressing himself against the control panel. The engineers exchanged fore with the Hawk Lords, and some equipment was damaged, but the armor stumbled forwards, and burst open, gallons of liquid nitrogen spilled out in a last-ditch strategy to end the threat permanently.
The problem with releasing a bunch of liquid nitrogen everywhere was three fold. First, it would primarily only affect people on the ground and currently all the ninety plus Hawk Lords in the area were in the air. Second, all of the technicians were on the ground and third, heat rises so even if the room became overly cold it would take time to do so...time Luna Hawk put to good use. Determining that somehow the engines were invincible she focused her efforts on something just as vital, the pipes and conduits that connected the engines to the rest of the ship, cut the conduits and the rest of the ship would lose power while the engines would cease to receive commands. She relayed her command over her com system in ancient Egyptian and took off swiftly. Flying at speeds just below Mach 1, using her thousands of years of experience flying in all sorts of environments she was able to maneuver on a dime, change direction in the space of a few feet and alter her speed within seconds. She flew around the room, her weapon firing at full blast, aiming at every conduit and control console while four other Hawk Lords did the exact same thing.
The hail of missiles and Nth Metal would cut through the conduits and control surfaces as if they were made out of paper, because no one built the interior surfaces of a ship out of the same armor as the exterior, it was economically not feasible and ships weren't generally designed with extended internal combat in mind. Eventually satisfied that they had done as much damage as possible with the equipment they had on hand, Luna Hawk signaled a change in strategy. The Hawk Lords withdrew from the room and the ship entirely. Luna Hawk relayed a command to her legion to continue providing close air support. The skies over Iceland would gradually come under greater and greater combined American and Thanagarian control.
Luna Hawk spotted the collapsing building, her long seeing and razor sharp vision narrowed in on those attacking the Black Bat. She swept her wings back and hit Mach one in a second, the sound barrier screamed once, twice, two more times as she broke successive layers of it with ever increasing speed, the sort of near instant acceleration that so few could achieve. Her internal structure could more the support the rapid changes in speed as she swept down low, flying just feet above the surface of the street, a trail of dust and debris flying up behind her as she followed her path towards her target.
Killing the clones of Iceland was one thing but Luna Hawk knew that some of the leaders on the other side of this conflict had their own reasons and were decent people in their own right. Unfortunately, they weren't on her side in this conflict. She slung her rifle over her shoulder, determining to avoid directly lethal attacks against foes she was certain didn't deserve to die. She chose her target based not upon any familiarity with him, her HUD and its Super City database had difficulty recognizing or making sense of the costume. Let's see if I can just relocate him somewhere away from his allies, isolate him and there's one less enemy for my ally to deal with. She swept in an inhuman speeds and sought to tackle the Ghost @last_guardian: as he ran from the collapsing building. As she made her approach she decelerated rapidly, not wanting to turn her opponent's body into goo upon impact. If she was successful she'd wrap her arms around him, coming in from his side and lift up off his feet and fly off with him towards the roof of a distant building.
There was a pause; Cassius' inner consciousnesses attempting to fight through.
--You are your own man--
Again it seeped through, amplified by both the physical and verbal assistance by the King of Orphans.
....
Elsewhere; the battle between Hadrian and the Devil's Heir
In the midst of battle -- X felt a disturbance.
His bullet; his catalyst; his solider was awakening.
It was unlike anything he had ever encountered before. Cassius mind... Was resisting him? X was one of the most capable telepaths upon planet earth, within the universe, perhaps.
But the lone Knightfall?
He possessed resilience - Mental strength, elasticity, bouncing back from the abyss.
....
But it would not be enough.
Not today.
--No solider--
The Prince of Darkness spoke, entering the Knightfall's mind midst his own physical bout.
You are mine.
With no more than a subtle narrowing of his eyes, the Unsung King proceeded to sing the song of war to Cassius, utilizing the words trapped within the Knightfall's infected mind to functionally reset and re-energize the mind control, throwing him even further into the proverbial abyss.
The bolt of pure arcane energy slammed into the Elder Demon, leaving a massive, glowing hole in his chest, that began to crack like glass hit with a hammer. Orcus himself did not move an inch, though he did focus much more intently on Klaus, as if scrutinizing him. He seemed to come to a decision. Willing Klaus to float over to him, the Archfiend spoke, not in the booming voice that shattered wills, but in a deep, intimidating tone yet bearable to human ears.
Klaus. You must know, if you truly understood the tomes Trygiffi had within his mind, that this is a mere shard of my true power, and destroying it would earn you naught but my eternal enmity. Instead, I have another option for you entirely.
Orcs then sealed the two of them in a harmless bubble. For the outside world, their conversation would take a fraction of a second, but inside, it could last as long as they needed.
You possess one of the most intelligent minds on your planet. You also know this. You lust for power, and I can deliver it. Leave this pitiful plane, and use the power of Orcus to realize your ambitions. Your father was a small-minded fool. You have already surpassed his legacy, but if you truly wish to be remembered, not as Count Untergang, not as "Alexander Donn's" lackey, you will take up my offer, and rule all of your existence. Imagine yourself surpassing all those more powerful than yourself, becoming a god.
Orcus waved a colossal hand, and a vision appeared to Klaus, of the purple-masked young man holding a small clump of galaxies known as the universe in one hand, and his Gottschewert in the other, crackling with energy.
Appealing, is it not?
in the Delver's hands would appear a contract, written in High Sumerian, in a font too small to read, with a line at the bottom, and a pen resting on it. Should Klaus pick it up and touch it to the paper, it would prick his hand slightly, and draw a drop of blood, sealing him and the Bone-Eater in a contract until one of the two ceased to exist.
General Maxwell's will was, without a doubt, indomitable, but his body was still that of a man. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, at the feet of the Mad King, struggling to hold his weapon aloft, as he fingered a remote control on his belt.
*kaff*
"You don't seriously think--"
*kaff*
"--that I'd come into this fight without backup--"
*kaff*
"--do you?"
The sound of a supersonic dropship could be heard briefly above, as well as several thundering impacts. Seven tall, humanoid shapes would emerge from all sides of the Black King, faces peeling back to reveal a molten-hot metal core, which released a burst of flame. As they arrived, it was as if their prey had linked out of existence, but the androids were nothing if not effective, scanning the entire visual spectrum, and opening their "eyes" to light, refracting off of something that did not seem to be there, firing on what seemed empty air, at least until it began to burn.
Agnarsson turned towards his foe, original quarry long gone, and felt a sizable chunk of rock hit is shinbone, fracturing it slightly, but painfully. The attack was followed with a brutal punch to the face, sending Stefan onto his back, bleeding from the mouth. His enemy was near him, now, and he pushed up, channeling his powers now into his very skull, attempting an explosive headbutt.
The flying kick sent towards Kristin was enough to send her sprawling, a piercing scream of pain escaping from her lips. It took all of her strength to turn around and face her foe, only to find him gone. She didn't give a sign of attack, not even lifting her weapons, when she fired them in a wide burst, not knowing fully where he was, except for being inner general vicinity, intending not to send the Shotokan Devil flying, but instead to strip the armor off of him with sheer force, though she would still be left injured, possibly paralyzed from the near-fatal kick.
There was no defense left to the untrained and not-combat-approved technicians and their head, leaving them diving for cover as another aerial barrage was launched, mutilating the vital equipment that kept the ship running. As the attackers fled, however, the now-armorless head technician slapped a button on his control panel, and a small swarm of tiny, metal drones flew from vents around the room, analyzing the mage and replacing it temporarily. Orpheus' tech was put to good use in repairing and building ships for the fleet, saving millions of dollars on production by near-instantaneously strip-mining asteroids for minerals. However, without any metal to devour, the nanites did not repair the machinery instantly, and the ship began to fall, thou it was a long way from he ground yet. On the bridge, auxiliary engines were fired, and they tried to keep it stable, but as the ship continued it's steady decline, it began to touch with the center of the battlefield, not in n explosive manner, but grounding it all the same.
Two things happened at once. Hadrian's very weapon was manipulated against him by his primary foe, and he felt the beams of plasma wrap around him. He readied himself to disengage his armor and drop out of it, leaving him unprotected by anything other than his signature white suit, when a nGod cam tumbling out of the sky, slamming her blade into the beams of plasma surrounding him, breaking their bonds around him, and incapacitating his attacker, who had inadvertently saved his life instead of ending it. Hopefully, the sudden attack from above would also startle X into breaking, or at least loosening, his bonds on the weapon, in which case Hadrian would drop to the ground, and use another of his powers, creating nine identical "shadow duplicates" of himself, which would swarm X, unable to be magnetically manipulated, though they possessed no actual armor or weapons. A well-placed piece of metal or even an exceptionally strong punch would have one dissolve, for Hadrian had not invest his will into maintaining them. But they were not there to defeat the Sociopathic Scion, merely distract him, while the true Hadrian attempted to administer a coup de grace with his blade. As they moved towards him, though, he disappeared. But one had touched him, and he made for that spot, the rest aiming to do the same, revealing his location by dint of the duplicates not bing able to walk through the space there. Harden had to look carefully to strike where he believed the enemy's face to be, but strike he still did.
Weapon X was conceivably one of the globes foremost cunning minds, instantaneously recognizing that these were no more than an illusion conjured to distract; yet still unable to dispel them due to the shadow, rather than telepathic or psonic origins.
Raising his palms in unison and gathering his strength, the enigmatic Venezuelan was quick to vanquish the shadow clones as pieces of shrapnel tore through the air and into their nonexistent bodies, all however, aside from one.
The true Hadrian.
With a swift and impressively timed attack, the Knightfall Renegade surmounted X's physical abilities in close quarter combat as his attack amazingly landed, the Devil's Heir only having a millisecond to take a nimble step backwards as Hadrian's blade tore down, through the unprotected area of his mask as his face was disgustingly sliced through.
His right eye, down to the exposed portion of his chin felt the metal's bite, drenching the Unsung King in his own blood as he gasped in true horror; having truthfully never been injured this badly in battle before.
Hadrian would be the first, but also the last, to ever injure the Prince of Darkness this way...
With metal.
"Now it's personal."
Unceremoniously scarred by a blade wielded by an inferior foe, the Magnetic Maestro of Venezuela sought to end this battle once and for all, taking complete and utter advantage of his genetic superiority as the metal blade exercised by Hadrian would rapidly come under his control. With no more notice than the minute feeling his blade had a mind of it's own for forewarning, the tip of the blade would strike with lightning speed, aimed to flick upwards and into Hadrian's larynx.
The entire attack; lasting less than a tenth of a second.
Hadrian felt a moment of triumph, a blow struck directly t the face of the enemy, and with a weapon he had thought ineffective, no less. But he soon refocused, as his own weapon was instantly turned against him. He jerked back, once again using his mutant speed to avoid instant death, at the expense of the blade slicing his helmet open. Correspondingly, Hadrian abandoned the rest of the armor, the Mutant Ambassador clearly now no longer holding back. Underneath, he wore only a simple, solid white suit, from which he produced a mask to cover his sandy-brown hair. It had no real purpose, other than Hadrian's preference to cover his face in combat, giving a sense of inhumanity in his lethal attacks.
Hadrian then flicked his arms out, a crescent-shaped dart shooting out from each sleeve and into his hands. He leapt up, tossing both, and landing with one hand to the ground, taking off and attempting to kick X in the chest, pushing off of him and drawing two white staves from his back. "No. This isn't personal. This is war. People die in the trenches every day, often never seeing the man ho shot them. You'll be luckier than most. But you'll be dead nonetheless."
His back felt like it was aflame, as energy streaked across. Like a narrow graze with a bolt of lightning if it had to be described.
The Gunslinger screamed out, sprinting ahead. How did he get so close already? I had a fifteen second headstart on him at the very minimum by running down that slope. Moses' vision settled on a backyard fence in the neighborhood they raced through. Causing his eyes to settle onto the object in the middle. Forget the beach.
With a sudden turn, the Undertaker sprinted as fast as he ever could muster. Sweat formed on his skin in growing patches as the threat of the superpowered Nazi coming onto him was ever terrifying to witness, especially after the display of his strength. The underestimation of him was very clear at that point, considering everything up to that point. Hoping to outdo the nazi in any physical task with what had been shown already was pretty much supposed impossible without gaining the upper hand through unpopular means of trickery.
With the possible gaining of the Nazi behind him, Moses reached to his waist, and from the belt he plucked a sand orb from it's place. His thumb pressed against the cork, snapping it just as he threw it behind. In a moment's notice, a flash of sand exploded from the opening in the glass, sending up a cloud of it. At the very least, it was hoped to somewhat distract the pursuit enough to distract as he then scaled up the picket fence ahead, throwing himself over it and into the rather small yard. Yet, dead in the center of this plot of grass was the upper hand that was looked for.
With an extended fist to the sand it rose up from the sandbox, in a massive spiral of earth. The sand inside of the spiral quickly fired out, slowly multiplying as it gained form into a cloud, flowing around and quickly wrapping until visibility was minimum. Moses' voice cut through the sand, shouting out in a sudden burst.
"What's your name!"
He brought his hand to his teeth, biting at the slacked glove of the index finger and pulling it away. Moses sent the finger to the blade along his back, quickly dragging his fingertip along it while grabbing a silver bullet from a pouch along his belt.
All it required now was a target, six of them with his name would be enough most likely. Especially in a small area like this where running would lead him straight to the edge of a sword. With the nazi's visibility nulled, the fight was going to be over as fast as it started, not even allowing him ground to stand on.
The acrobatic Knightfall was fast, perhaps the fastest foe the Unsung King had ever faced this close in combat before. It was one of the least masterful things about X. Despite his mutant gifts he was not a martial arts master, instead he was a martial arts inept. He had never took more than a single lesson before rendering it useless due to his powers.
"No."
X watched, unable to maneuver out of the way as the Blade of the Night used his martial arts advantage to his fullest potential, landing a devastating blow to X as the foot connected with his chest, instantly breaking multiple ribs and causing him to fall to the ground, to a single knee.
He looked up, slowly. "No," anger within his eyes, his faced bloodied from the prior slash.
He continued speaking with a venom-laced tone, spitting blood onto the ground. "You think this is how I die? Face bloodied and body beaten? You are a fool, False King of Iceland, a disgrace to the very country to which you serve." Without raising a hand, the Prince of Darkness clenched it as it pressed upon the ground, the immediate vicinity shaking as he let out a lowly laugh.
"You were never a match for me."
Like lighting he shot up, arms spread outwards as he let out a booming roar, calling all metal within the area to his person as it unnaturally sprung up from the ground and sped to their direction, a whirlwind of metal encircled both Hadrian and the Unsung King and flew around the two of them, growing closer and closer as though X had just opened a black hole within the very battlefield.
Like a rotating wall of a million deadly razor blades they would stay in position and stay there until X's mind dictated otherwise, imprisoning the Knightfall Monarch within it's metal confines and disallowing him to escape or receive aid from an outside party.
And if he or X somehow managed to touch the wall?
They would be shredded by the whirlwind of metal.
The entire battle-space, now less than three meters in circumference.
The Unsung King grimaced, the damage to his face impeding his ability to see as the pain overtook his body. Violently, he snapped together his palms and sought to cause thousands upon thousands of pieces of sand-like metal to fly into Hadrian's eyes and mouth as a lethal distraction before jolting forward, simultaneously unsheathing his vibranium blade and seeking to plunge it deep into his opponents heart...
Hadrian saw a cloud of metal sweep towards him, and raised his arms in front of his face, allowing to pass over hm, slowing him, but not lethally. But amongst that cloud, a blade glowing a faded purple raced towards him with lethal speed. Hadrian quickly retrieved a blade from his jacket, raising it to deflect the blade, which, instead of cutting open Hadrian's chest, lodged between his feet. Hadrian pocketed the weapon, and raised one of his staves, pressing a small button on the side, launching the tip towards X, still connected to the rest by a steel wire. If it connected, it would have enough force to break X's nose, though Hadrian was merely stalling for time, hoping to distract him while he thought of a plan that didn't involve grievous bodily harm.
The vibranium blade was aptly deflected as it pierced the ground with a twang, the metal vibrating frantically a little as it punctured the ground.
Quickly, Hadrian sought to make use of the enclosed area and launch forward his weapon, the tip smashing into and breaking X's nose as though it posed no more resistance than a cardboard box.
Grunting, X was pushed back somewhat, stamping his foot into the ground defiantly as he looked back at Hadrian, teeth snarling with unadulterated rage.
"Enough of this shit."
Without any more than a millisecond's warning, his vibranium blade would spring forth from the ground and speedily zip around the enclosed space -- Zooming around faster than a bullet, the vibranium blade would fly from one end of the impromptu cell to the other, with an intricate array of slashes, carving a masterful web of strikes towards Hadrian that could kill a thousand men within seconds, the Unsung King sought to carve up the Ruler of Iceland like piece of meat.
The red monstrosity took the blow as it tore through flesh, her hand had pressed against the blade pushing it back and preventing a clean cut through. Normally this was the moment when an opponent would realize their defeat and surrender yet this enemy was not standard. She had known of earthen entities who refused to surrender and hand enough power to destroy planets, it appeared this could be one of them. As the blue crystal of her blade rested inside the flesh of the red skinned woman she felt a sharp and strong tug. The blade slid from the muscle carrying blood and bits of skin with it, a strong yank began separating metal from metal as the mechanical arm was beginning to be pulled free. Her pilot instincts kicked in and her hands danced across console after console, her engines were damaged beyond repair leaving escape by flight out of the picture. Rather she began pouring energy into the Mecha core. It would glow bright blue before overloading and exploding in a blast that would rip apart the atoms of things around it.
Alexander Cross
Cross watched from his seat among the Harrier as an explosion ripped through the hull of one of their ships. The giant space craft began its decent to the ground as smoke and ash filled the air. It was no doubt the result of a self destruct from an Orbital Knight mech which meant he had just lost his two best. Iceland had proven themselves a formidable enemy but, the war would not end from just that. Andromeda had to fight back and prove their worth as an empire. The orders still stood, Iceland was to lose this war at whatever cost.
Klaus focused on the disgusting mass that was Orcus, the Octarine veil wreathing him in purplish light as he hovered next to the creature. He glanced at the dead mage's body, an eyebrow raising as he was forced to listen to the elder demon's so-called proposal. He shook his head, the glowing yellow orbs of mystic energy that had been rotating around him slowly coming to a stop.
"Nobody else reacted to your appearance. You're only here in my mind. Otherwise, why require a host?"
He landed, turning away from the Lovecraftian horror that pulsated behind. Those stories were terrifying only because the fear was unidentifiable, without purpose or meaning; in revealing himself, Orcus begged to be analyzed, to be understood. He was nothing more than an alien, now, and one using the Delver's mind as a root in this reality. The more he pressed the creature from his thought, the sooner it would disappear.
"Feel free to leave now, Orcus. Don't embarrass yourself any more than you already have," he said, stepping over Trygiffi's mutilated corpse. He strode away from the offer of "unlimited power," not once looking back. He'd decided that magic was an evil thing; he had no use for it. Snapping his fingers, the orbs vanished, gone as quick as they'd come. The more he made use of mystic energy, the more he'd become like the dead sorcerer he'd just so recently killed. Within an instant, he was without the magical energies that surrounded him before.
"Now, Kanos," he said, crossing the bridge, "your humiliation is not yet complete."
Marching over to where the Icelandic general lay before the interference of the meddlesome mage, he withdrew his sword, walking over to the general with determination. He'd vanish from where he stood, reappearing with his knee on Kanos' back. Grabbing him by the back of the head, he'd click the dagger once again, returning to Langley with Iceland's greatest tactician as his captive.
@supreme_chancellor: Hadrian felt a seconds's confusion. The Devil's Heir was, without doubt, capable of stopping his attack. Instead, he had been concentrating on--
The knife carved a foot-long, pencil-thin gash in Hadrian's back. It circled around, and Hadrian, time once again slowing down as his reflexes kicked into high gear, raised a hand, sound muted and slow, pinching the blade between two fingers, raising it behind his head, and throwing it, as sound crashed back into it's normal speed. X would, of course, stop it, but Hadrian had another purpose here. General Maxwell had called for a contingent of their metal soldiers, but the ship carrying them was still here, somewhere. And during that knife throw, he had signaled it. One of the drones dropped into the middle of the metal hailstorm, and stretched out a long metal arm to punch X, using the same polarity-switching trick they had used earlier to render it unmanipulatable.
Orcs seemed to disappear, in a burst of brimstone, leaving the smell of a rotting corpse as a memory. But mile away, in Germany(?) a towering column of flame would erupt in the fiefdom overlooked by Castle Lichter, and ten thousand demons poured out, to pillage and burn the town.
But back on the battlefield, General Kanos felt a hand on his skull, and knew that it was the Lichter Legacy. In a split second, he ignited the energy-claws on his hands, and stabbed Klaus in the gut, hoping the attack would release his grip on Kanos' head and allow him to roll over and grasp his gun, firing at the Scarlet Swordsman.
Klaus' eyes bulged and he let loose a gasp as Kanos wrapped his hand around, the fiery blades searing through his synth-fluid undersuit and penetrating his leg. Yet he did not desist, instead tightening the grip of his left hand on the back of his foe's head and attempting to drive his face into the floor. Simultaneously, he would plunge the his teleportational dagger into Kanos' right trapezius muscle in an effort to disarm him, aiming to sear through nerve endings with the vibrating blade and put an end to Kanos' resistance. Clicking the dagger, he would once again attempt to take them both to Langley, even as the blood in his leg cauterized, steam rising.
"What did I just say, Kanos?" he would hiss, then attempt to dig the dagger even further inside his foe's back.
Time practically came to an internal halt as the Devil's Heir re-took control of his vaunted knife, rapidly speeding up the electrical signals of his brain via electromagnetic machinations as the only thing moving were now his thoughts.
As the sentinel moved onward, X's blade had momentarily paused...
.....Before blitzing towards the back of Hadrian's head at supersonic speeds, a sonic boom roared through the air yet in X's eyes, barely moved an inch. The knife hurtled through the air, going far faster than even most metahuman's minds could comprehend as it sought to puncture through the man's skull, into his head, and out of the other side....
And it didn't stop there.
The knife would drastically curve it's trajectory downward, seeking to lacerate both of Hadrian's thighs, speed off once more, dismember his wrists, and finally plant itself deep within his heart -- The entire ordeal, happening before the sentinel had moved an inch.
Cassandra didn't stand around to watch her handiwork. Continually taking stock of the ever-changing situation, she made her cut and once again began to move. Away from the path of the falling debris, where she would wait for the Knightfall assassin to emerge and get straight back to offense.
But as much as she mentally checked them off the officer had never actually accounted for the potential remaining threats inside the building. If her allies could endure or make it out, what was to suggest the enemies wouldn't either? A stupid mistake but hindsight is 20/20. She would learn very soon.
As soon as she lifted her leg Cassandra felt a sudden acute but powerful force blast in the back of her thigh, the picture perfect shot sweeping her off of her feet and planting her hard on her back. Even without the enhancements her abstract power enabled the armor of the Sanguine would hold beyond that of military equipment and vehicles; though not indefinitely, and it didn't offer absolute protection from trauma and outside forces. Her armor withheld but she wasn't free from danger. Before she knew it the silver knight was on her back, looking up at the very building she'd just toppled crashing toward her at increasing speeds.
"O-oh! Oh shit!" As fast as she reacted she barely managed to scramble to her hands and feet before the remains of the establishment crashed down directly on top of her.
The next thing she knew was darkness. Crushing...Something on top...Trouble breathing...
Had she been knocked unconscious?
How much time passed?
Unconscious or not, the attack, while both painful and embarrassing, served doubly as a wakeup call. Cassandra had been small-minded, focusing only on Cassius. As if extending her mutation in some esoteric sense, the Maverick archer showed her a piece of the bigger picture. If the op went well, she'd get Cassius regardless. If they failed with the others...well, getting Cassius didn't matter because they'd be dead or prisoners or both.
Just as much, if not more, she'd made it personal. More than vengeance for the officers Cassius murdered, her present mind focused on her vengeful self.
Dammit, that bitch is dead. Mages and archers, always geek those f(exp)ers first.
On command, Rapture once again extended its growths from her back and limbs, slashing through the debris hampering her breathing and continually upward. Blending, grinding the chunks, bits and pieces into dust. Still a ways to go but it allowed the host a more manageable task in getting herself out.
When she emerged her headpiece sported several new additions. Similar silver protrusions reminiscent of snakes from the skull of the infamous Gorgon; however, each sporting a crimson jewel-encrusted eye. All but a few scanning their surroundings for the archer with the Rapture's eyes.
It didn't take long.
Target located.
"Okay." Cassandra smirked although she still couldn't hear herself. Assumed a ready stance, prepared to burst. "Classic zoner versus rushdown. Ready?"
Go.
She bolted into a dead sprint for the building housing the archer with a speed that would make the fastest land animal jealous and more than proved why she was arguably the greatest to emerge from the academy. Her form, perfect, channelling that of a man she never even remembered seeing. But her body knew. She'd done it before, it told her. Countless times. As if she'd trained her whole life for one thing, when in reality she had only ever seen it once. That was all she ever needed.
Additionally her muscles were reinforced, the vessel of her body strengthened and given a Rapture-patented upgrade the same as any other vehicle. Faster and faster, she nearly breached a hundred, seeking to close the distance between herself and the archer. Whereupon, assuming she could reach just close enough she'd launch herself up the wall in a vertical run of the same nature. Fighting the force of gravity but yet partially anchoring her every step to the building. She wouldn't be slowed. She couldn't be.
The struggle was obvious for all to see, he fought with every fibre, every molecule of himself as he did and always had. His consciousness swinging at the power telekinetic tide tormenting his thoughts. His face bloody and twisted his skin colourful tell tailing the excess of muscular strain he was exerting just to maintain himself, gasping for a foothold of himself. Every word of the Mutant mastermind like a nail into his flesh causing the renegade Knightfall to yell out in pain. The current continued to crash down on his mind drowning him as he fought. The sequence alerting him , memories of of their purpose and the pain , the conditioning, the operations.
Every muscle locking tight as his body started to loose out the mind defeating his matter his personality weighed down shepherded back out of the conscious deep into the dark abyss at the back of his mind, far from control far from access and far from use.
Rebooted
One phrase etched in the forefront of his mind his only focus his only purpose. Kill them all.
The pain the conflict all of his anguish wiped away in a overload of adrenaline and anger. Lashing out at all who would step to him creating a circle of death around him. Any who would enter it would taste what it is to be bloodied, beaten and broken. His furious flurry bombarding the battle damaged panther his mindlessness bringing a sense of total control as his master held him firmly on telepathic strings. His hand guided and steady his body supply it with power and purpose. Mind and body acting as one his knife the extension of his masters very will.
Rolling his torso as he swept low arcing a slicing strike across the side of his targets thigh to hinder mobility before switching his footing and reversing his momentum and whipping his knife back across the prize fighting panthers abdomen. His plan of action obvious destroy the opponents flexibility and disengage his combat prowess. Slow him, make his every movement ache and then finally strike hard and true.
For all respectable purpose. The gunslinger certainly was fast, being able to outrun himself, though given the fact he was trying to bargain. He kept up a chase behind however, all the way up to the fence. As the cowboy vaulted across the picket beams, Krueger's laugh couldn't be withheld. As he approached the fence, a simple kick sent wood across the grass like shrapnel pieces, towards the westerner. Yet, it's potency was suddenly hidden in a moment. As sand filled the air, Krueger's vision stung with each grain blasted into his eyes. Only the slight silhouettes moving in the sand could possibly either be the gunslinger on the spirals inside the cloud.
Either way, this was about to end very quickly. With a simple nod, a forcefield expanded from and around his body, covering him from the sandstorm entirely. For a thought that passed, two massive spheres of energy formed on his fists and a growing halo around his head. In total, three massive projectiles that could be used to decimate the cowboy in seconds. Krueger stepped forwards into the storm before halting his walk. The projectiles around his body depleted quickly, to ensure the lethal option to be the final option.
Now, with only a forcefield projected, the SS Superhuman sent out his disciple from the depth of his telepathy. The being that required no vision to find and deliver the orders. Soldat's broad figure appeared on the sanded grass just feet from Krueger, her wheat blonde hair thrown back by the wind, and her sparked blue eyes bright like spotlights. Her gaze sat precisely onto the gunslinger as his voice shouted through the storm, yelling out for perhaps a mercy.
What's your name?
Ultimately, the only thing he would hear in response in the order that would take his life or end it. With simply words.
Soldat, capture.
Her eyes flashed for a moment, beginning a fast walk ahead. In her hands formed a rope which she knotted swiftly into a four wrap noose. And with that, she lunged ahead at him. Intending if her hands met the mark, to perhaps kick out a knee if he resisted (which was certainly viable). And follow with the rope in her hands finding it's way to wrap onto his throat.
For all purposes she had, pain meant nothing to her. No matter how many rounds he fired, if she would die. It would matter not. She could simply be brought back again, vengeful for her killer. In a saying, the cowboy had effectively locked himself on the wrong side of the door. And now, he was going to be offered quite the rare gift for his compatibility. One that most likely considering the event, nobody in the rogue country of Iceland, no matter their allegiance. Nor Krueger himself would be offering today.
-It appears the Feline Assailant’s attire can be traced back to a ritual performed False bay Wardens, the Bashirs-
-Tell me about the Bashirs-
-The Bashirs have are a lineage of nobles, according to folklore their legacy can be traced back to that of the first men. Each patriarch takes the mantle of warden of False Bay once the previous dies. The only remaining member of the family is Ali Sani Bashir. Should I continue?
-Yes-
-Ali is a member of the South African parliament, he operates under diplomatic immunity.
- Has no criminal record-
-Known associates: The Strix, Stark-
-Expand on Stark’s relationship with him-
-it appears Mr. Bashir visited Mr. Stark a few weeks ago to encourage him to support the Registration Act. They have not met since then. Should I expand on Stark?-
-No, that will be all-
The Black Bat first felt the telekinetic prowess holding him back against the Black Republican; it was like when an object surprisingly weighed more than it appears when one actually lifts it. Instantly the White Rose ferociously struck him with his fulgurkinetic abilities, however, instead of frying his circuits, the attack ended up affecting him in a way that the Ghost probably did not originally intend.
It worked in his favor.
-Power at 400%-
-Hmm-
As the Dark King was about to raise his hand and simply blast little Casper away with his repulsor, his entire body was sealed due to his opponent’s telekinetic powers. He couldn’t move at all. The Black Bat noticed as the building was beginning to come down on him, panic would have set on him had he not devised a plan already.
-Lock on the Ghost and fire the micro-rocket pack now!-
-Yes, sir-
From his shoulders, two compartments lifted like a cigarette case that had its legs wide open as if it were a girl of the night. Releasing an array of miniature missiles towards the Guardian at hypersonic speeds, the Night Bringer of War estimated that what the previous missile lacked in speed, this package would make up in sheer quantity alone and ultimately overwhelm him.
-Claire, redirects all the energy to the shock absorbers-
He looked up as the titanic structure was collapsing on top of him in what seemed like a million years. Julian had a few seconds to let his mind wander, having already thought about his next step early on.
‘This is what all the victims to our fights see before they die. They see something they have built kill them. Do they feel horror as they die? Are they confused as to why this happened? Regret? I don’t feel anything. But then again, I have never known how to be a victim. I only know how to make them.’
CRASH.
For a moment, the scenery had shifted to an uncertain silence as a cloud of despair formed. How many will be dead by the end of this war? How much damage will they do? These were questions for tomorrow. Now, it was time for a more immediate threat.
The noiselessness was broken by the Black Bat as he expelled himself from the bottom of the boundless wreckage they had caused, he was in the air for a few moments before his propellers betrayed him and he landed on the ground feet first.
“Mr. Grayson, Mr. Bashir. You’re going to have to do better than dropping a building to kill me.”
28 Seconds Ago, beneath the rubble.
-Claire, damage report-
He felt intense pain in his arm and couldn’t move it, the way it was just hanging dead didn’t seem too encouraging. The Black Bat was having trouble breathing through his nose; he hoped there was no internal bleeding at least.
-Sir, it appears your foot propellers are highly damaged. Using them further will break them completely. Your left arm is fractured into three pieces and you have two cracked ribs. The left repulsor is functioning at minimal capacity. Power is at 350%-
-Inject painkillers, Claire-
-Yes, sir-
-You have received a new message-
-Play it for me-
-Hello, The request you made for the man beneath the mask appears to be Jacob Grayson. Through satellite footage we have found that he returned to Earth after a hiatus in his space ship. We believe Mr. Grayson took his persona around his high school years; his vigilantism eventually led him to be in the crosshairs of Tierra Mia. Eventually they uncovered his identity through the city cameras (same footage we used) which we presume led to the death of his entire family and the Cesar Chavez shootings. Tragic. He’s been living off his WAL pension for a while and he had a meet about joining the Equalizers a few weeks ago with Secretary Jones, that’s all we have found so far but we’ll update you when we find more info. I’ll stay in touch!-
-Claire, write the usual E-mail to the usual people about subject: Jacob Grayson-
Now.
“Listen to me.”
“This is an operation to liberate a country from a regime that will enslave them against their will. What we are trying to accomplish here is for the greater good. It’s was intelligent that we made sure this mission was one sided, otherwise all this destruction would have been for nothing. Stand down before this escalates more than it already has.” Julian demanded.
“I don’t think you realize the gravity of the situation.” The Black Bat growled.
“In the next hour, Mr. Grayson, I will have all of your accounts frozen and your hideouts overrun by federal agents. Your passport will be revoked. I will have seized your ship. Your face will be on every news station over the U.S. There won’t be anywhere in this planet that you can hide from me. Even if you somehow manage to get on your ship, you won’t get past that defenses we have over the planet. I will hunt you down to the deepest, darkest part of the universe if I have to. I will get you in the end.”
“This brings me to you, Mr. Bashir. I found out about his secret identity and yours without actually needing a document that forces people to give them up under the false pretense of holding the powered community accountable. All it took was the right team who knew where to look and we found out. We are holding you accountable without a paper. I also find it a tad hypocritical that the man, who is so concerned about lives and collateral damage, also happens to be leading a group of individuals who just dropped a building on Iceland’s capital.”
“What happens tomorrow when the U.S declares you a terrorist? No amount of rituals and diplomatic immunity will save you from that. Your country will cut you off like an infected limb than to go to war with the U.S over you. The difference between the Bay and Reykjavik is twenty six miles. Look around you. Do you think the result will be any different when Maverick, Venezuela, U.S, and now Iceland forces come knocking on your door?
“You have two options here. You can keep fighting me now and maybe win this battle today, but surely lose the war tomorrow. Or you can cooperate with us and help me bring down Iceland’s tyrannical government, the real evil here, which would in the long run avoid bloodshed. I will tell my people to stand down if you do. We don't have to do this.”
Julian lowered his repulsor; he knew that they would rather die than to work with him, but just maybe they could put their differences aside and prove that the Meta-human community was not just a bunch of powered idiots who sought to fight each other the moment they saw the opportunity.
The collapse of the SED facility brought with it a visually disrupted sheath of smoke and debris. Twinkling embers softly floating throughout the left over carnage. "I hope she made it.." Ali momentarily thought, only to have his concerns radically wiped out. Perceptibly able to loosely observe the silver laced leviathan's stylish track-star modeled strides towards the sniping archer. All instantly eclipsed however by an emerald colored kaleidoscope of re-purposed kinetic energy, blasting its way through the bankrupted slaps and concrete plates and stacks of the fractured foundation. None of which was able to contain the frenzied fury of the unbelievably durable femme fatale.
Split-second bouts of introspective deliberation troubled the Bashir Bishop. So far his limited observation and analyze of the optical holocaust had witnessed the tanking of a customized arrow, as well as the recent free-falling cataclysm. Her energy based attacks were nothing short of devastating. To this point they had been lucky. Her attacks towards the Z-Squad having been intercepted early on by the now missing Bastion of British royalty, presumable killed sometime during the conflict. And without his defensive durability the team would need to rely on more intelligent avenues in which to avoid her deadly gaze. Which had once again been attracted to the team's telekinetic tactician, the Ghost. But suddenly Ali watched as not only was his teammate set upon by the hulking femme fatale, he was also in danger of being blitzed by the conflicts latest arrival, Luna Hawk.
Ali twitched as if to explode towards his fellow renegade, but he was met with a staggering blitz of pain. For through the fog the Winter Wolf had once again drawn the King of Orphan's blood. Stealth and strategic deception had aided the Gothic assassin in his surprise strike. Expertly finding his mark, cutting the pankration panther's abdomen all the way from right to left. The Warden of the False Bay did not call out but secretly winced behind the coverage of his expressionless mask. Slowly, Ali himself slipped into the rolling seas of fog and smoke, intending on utilizing the Knightfall's own tactics against him. But he paused as one of the newest arrivals to the fray began his unsolicited proclamation.
Slowly, cautiously, and attempting to steam the flow of blood from his midsection, Ali stepped forward in sight of the apparent U.S. solider. No rank or insignias, but in the era of zero accountability, he wasn't surprised. For all he or anyone else knew, the man in the iron suit was in fact just that, a man in an iron suit. Indulging such an unknown individual was beyond irresponsible. The mission came first. Ali didnt care who or what stood in his way, the Knightfall assassin had been manipulated into starting a war. A puppet for all intensive purposes. And he would answer for his crimes, but not before exposing the larger conspiracy. A conspiracy that was more and more beginning to look like it involved the United States.
"Labeled a terrorist by dee country protecting more dhen its fair share of terrorist?" Ali sardonically responded with stoic fortitude. It wasnt as if the Gothic Assassin's identity was still a mystery. He had purposely allowed himself to be filmed, captured. And now there he was, openly protected by the mechanical patriot who sought to lecture the Bishop on the very merits of terrorism. Confident composure continued to fortify Ali's failing physical condition, several times forced to almost take a knee.
Silently the KolF advanced the Black Republican's observational agenda. Continuing to record and stream the events through a closed circuit feed. Allowing an unweighted sense of authorized freedom as the Warden of the False Bay did not fear the patriot's threats. Character assassinations had become the norm for the U.S. And it was safe to assume the rest of the World had been paying attention.Taking notice and measuring the true worth of the colonial's previous political corruption as a whole. Did the US still favor the benefit of the doubt? History would say no.
"We are not here for your wah. We are here for dee assassin. Move. Or you will be moved."
A blade ran through Kanos' arm, and he fell to the ground, beginning to dematerialize and reappear in the CIA headquarters. He fell to the ground, and attempted to push off, ignoring pain arcing through his arm, and slash the Gottschwert's handle and grasp Klaus, hoping to send bot somewhere outside of the enemy's base.
Hadrian felt his suit rip slightly, as the knife row blood from the back of his neck. He sped up his body again, knowing that he would almost certainly sleep for the next 48 hours after the battle, due to the massive draining on his energy reserves. He attempted to deflect the knife again with his stave, and turn towards X, intending to engage him in hand-to-hand combat, throwing a hard uppercut at his chin, and a snap-kick at his shinbone, intending to break it.
The captive American agent, still driven into a fighting frenzy, was seared to the bone by the blast, falling to the ground dead. It was no serious loss, as the group of captive monsters were intended as sacrificial, yet powerful, weapons.
Having withdrawn his weapon from Kanos' back, he felt them vanish, reappearing within the locked-down CIA HQ. As retrieving Kanos had been part of the plan, they'd removed any and all non-combat personnel from the lobby, with Maverick soldiers already converging on the site. Klaus maintained his grip despite the pain in his leg, only to gasp once again as the blades were torn out and directed at his weapon. He instinctively released the dagger just as the three-pointed energy beams carved through the bottom, sending his family weapon sparking away from both of them, where it skittered across the floor, disabled.
The blades removed from his leg, he gnashed his teeth, smacking away Kanos' grasping hand with his left wrist and redoubling his brutal assault. He had all of his weight pressed upon the man's back, and his continued resistance was uncanny; now, he decided, was the time to put an end to the fight.
Even as Maverick centurions charged down the hallways towards them, Klaus moved his right knee up onto Kanos' wounded arm, attempting to prevent any further use of his bladed weapons. Simultaneously, he grabbed the back of the Icelandic general's head with both hands, attempting to smash his face into the floor not once, not twice, but as many times as needed until he was fully unconscious. And if he managed to somehow resist? The Maverick soldiers were there to subdue him if absolutely necessary.
As the blade was briefly deflected, the Icelandic sentinel behind X had suddenly came alive as time returned; attempting to punch the Unsung King but was obliterated by the metal of the whirlwind still encircling the two combatants.
With finesse, the uppercut was successful as it landed, jolting the Devil's Heir's head upwards and momentarily causing him to daze before he felt the sharp sting of his shin breaking, arrogantly collapsing to his knee before letting out a grunt, instinctively, his knife re-entered the fray for a third time as it sought to slash upwards as it flew through the air, viciously lacerating Hadrian's two calf muscles and disabling him, before X punched out his palm, targeting Hadrian's heart and attempting to disrupt it via a combined assault; an unmitigated assault of electromagnetic energy would surge forth from his palm and shatter it's connection to his nervous system whilst contorting the very iron within his opponents blood, causing the Knightfall to fall into a spontaneous cardiac arrest.
Hadrian felt a knife blade dig deep into his leg, sending him to his knees, while X's second attack did it's lethal work and set him to the ground. He grasped at the vibranium blade once again, and attempted to throw it into the maelstrom of metal surrounding them, trying to take it out of the equation. He then fumbled with his jacket pocket, heart beats becoming more erratic as he grasped the vial of what was essentially liquor adrenaline and downed far too much of it, the rest dribbling into the Icelandic snow as he stood up, cracking his knuckles and removing his now-empty jacket.
The Knightfall Knight tossed three black pellets towards X, releasing an inky-back gas to disorient him and blind him, while Hadrian delivered a series of crippling blows to him from every possible angle.
The vibranium dagger flew into the air and away, clashing with the razor-blade storm and vanishing into the metallic mist.
With a broken leg, injured face, and all of the other pains clanging through his body, the King of Cunning felt his senses become distorted as a series of nigh-crippling blows plowed his body into a close oblivion, clearly besting the Unsung King in close quarters hand to hand without a doubt.
With another grunt, the Telepathic Titan fell to his knees and looked up at Hadrian, a low laugh emitting from his person as he bloodied face curled into a smirk.
You lose.
For a second, even more devastating time; the Prince of Darkness sought to grip his opponent's entire body and cause an electrical irregularity, sparking up yet another sudden cardiac arrest with no warning whatsoever -- A cardiac arrest is triggered by an electrical malfunction in the heart that causes an irregular heartbeat. With its pumping action disrupted, the heart cannot pump blood to the brain, lungs and other organs. Seconds later, a person loses consciousness and has no pulse. Death occurs within minutes if the victim does not receive treatment.
Hadrian would not feel anything other than pain; pure unbridled pain.
Hadrian stumbled backwards, falling down and sinking into the enveloping blackness. He remembered the last death, the enveloping fire he had brought upon himself, a suicide he could not explain. He remembered the calculating face of the Walking Weapon, welcoming him to the waking world once again, telling him he had a new purpose. He remembered his first step onto Icelandic soil, the knowledge that he was now this once-insignificant country's ruler. He remembered the drive to create, to build, to be remembered, escape death again through a legacy. He remembered the blast of fire as the first ship departed, the pride as he saw he had sent humanity to the stars.
Hadrian Knightfall died happily. His body failed him, white-stained-red on the soil of his legacy, his last enemy broken, bruised, but in the end, victorious.
The Devil's Heir felt his foes last heartbeat as Hadrian collapsed onto the ground, the metal whirlwind coming to a sudden halt.
Over twenty tons of metal smashed onto the ground with a gigantic thud, and in the wake of the dust settling and a relative quietness overcame the area; X sat there in silence. On his knees, face beaten, body bruised. But mind.... Victorious.
With the general of the Icelandic Military apprehended, Kanos, and the leader of the country now deceased; the Unsung King would no longer be unsung -- For his reign of Iceland would be cemented into the very essence of the world.
There was but one thing left to accomplish.
The Prince of Darkness stood, limping over to Hadrian Knightfall's discarded helmet as he magnetically raised it, causing the helmet to follow him as he walked.
And walked. And walked some more.
Abandoning Fraga and Cestus, the Unsung King had keyed into the telepathic signal of Cassius Knightfall, knowing @ali_sani_bashir to be there.
It would take over twenty minutes to walk there; but he had no energy to do anything else.
The battle ended, countless lives were lost including two of Cross's most trusted and skilled troops and what did they die to prove. The answer was nothing, rather their deaths showed his fatal miscalculation and underestimation of an enemy who he should have better prepared for. Their military would need improvement, work, they needed something to push them over the edge and establish them as an actual threat against those who sought to strike out against their lands. However he could not hang his head for he was the face and the role model for an entire race, which meant he needed to remain strong in order to keep them strong.
A few crews were dispatched to clean and gather wreckage and remains while the war ships departed off, carrying with them a sorrowful victory. Within minutes they would be back on Mars and Alexander would be forced to give the news to families and friends alike that their fathers and sons would not be returning home. For this was the true cost of securing a place for the next generation, the loss of the previous.
As the ships pulled into the barracks on Mars Cross strolled out into the streets where the mars rain fell upon the streets. He turned his head towards his personal escort that awaited him.
Are you alive, Miss Pierce? Perhaps the inexperience with physical combat drained her more than she could have imagined, but the act of fighting was a genuine thrill. As for the Miss of Mayhem's well-being? She was no doubt injured, a set of bruised ribs and blood from shoulders dripping down her forearms, but less so after the healing properties of @the_reality_sage managed to keep her among the living.
"You were an amazing fight, sweetheart. Your valiant efforts should be commended, but sadly that won't be happening." Miss Pierce laughed an honest laugh, knowing full well this distraction created by herself and @cascade_ kept the gifted reality magician from making a meaningful intervention in the main plot line involving Iceland's mutant liberator. An action she'd milk for future interactions no doubt.
"History is written by the winners and not the losers." Clarice Michelle could sense the change in the air, death and decay swirling about through burning metal. Tears ran down her face, a picture of survivalism and desperation as she embraced the world around her. It was in that moment the sweet sound of liberty rang about. Supreme's voice echoing about in her mind and for the first time in her life the sharp witted woman held pride in being a mutant.
All this time she was flat on the ground, back against the gravel as her violet eyes peered upward to the sky above. Not a single care left in the world. Unaware if Cascade returned for vengeance and whether or not the Reality Sage was still breathing. Instead Clarice existed inside her own personal bubble, albeit protected by thinly veiled telekinetic walls.
"Amazing how that works, isn't it?" Whether or not she was talking entirely about the situation at hand was unclear, but the radiance emitting from her body wasn't. Miss Pierce smiled like genuinely smiled as she extended her arm out and---
appeared before @supreme_chancellor heaven-sent. "It's over, X." She wouldn't speak another word. Rather then play into anymore of his games the ex-president stepped to him with enough animosity worth risking her life to end his own. "We finish this right now."She could try to telepathically destroy his mind, but that'd open the window to defeat. She could attempt to telekinetically tear his body in two halves, but her exhaustion from the reality sage prevented any sort of effort from coming to fruition. She could even make a move at using her own hands to wrap around his throat and watch the life slowly leave this plane, but what would that serve her other than momentary bliss?
With that in mind, Miss Pierce opened her hand and gestured Supreme to take it. If he did then she'd teleport him to @ali_sani_bashir and bring her part in this conflict to end.
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