Gothic's Hour - RPG

Shanty Town, Gothic Slums

It was forged from scrap metal, the building, as seemed all infrastructure in Gothic's slums. The criminal element was resourceful, claiming those parts spare and seizing all things possible in a city where natural resources and raw materials had grown scarce. Every attack the once great figure of metropolitan America had suffered, had led to this point. 'Gothic's Hour', Satar, the Baabda Beast often said. And by the hand of this nation's former president, Gothic had been rendered a city ripe for the taking. By law, it was a no-man's land. Declared a cancer, it no longer comprised the United States.

Its economy had plummeted and died. Its law enforcement? Disbanded and the stuff of myth. And its military support? Absent from a nation that forsook it. Instead, the city's streets, repugnant with its walls smeared with blood and excrement, were ruled by gangs, criminal factions, what have you. It was weak, this city. Marred by a despair that hung thick in the air, and patrolled by a band of vigilantes the Baabda Beast did not respect. And so, he stood on the building's rooftop, Satar. Over a frame muscled to the proportions of an ox, he wore a leather jacket, its style militaristic, and its shade onyx. His hands were tucked beneath its collar, their hold firm, and over his face? His most omnipresent feature; a mask whose design was peculiar.. bizarre even.

A cool roll of the neck, and he turned round, eyes no longer peering at the night's blackened sky. Instead, his pale eyes, icy and heartless in their gaze, rested on the key members of his ranks. His apprentice, Heinrich Keller/Valken, his accomplice, Ana/The Retriever, and those he'd freed from the New Rock; Andreia Bozzano, Maximilian Klemens, and Lucifer LeBeau. He strode forward, a step or two, his posture.. domineering almost, and his eyes oozing a cold and psychopathic focus. "Heinrich. Ana. Lucifer", he began, his words echoing the thick gravitas of a Lebanese inflection. "The three of you are with me", Satar made clear, his voice's timbre, deep and intolerant of nonsense. "Andreia. Maximilian. The two of you are to lead what remains of the Brahma Brotherhood in an attack on the city".

"Following the Noir Rose's attack. Our ranks have been thinned, and half our weapons stolen. Do what you can with these fanatics. Use them as fodder even", he paused, "Men who are willing to die for their cause are too weak to live for it".

Gothic Square

Armed with half the weapons they'd raided from Maverick Incorporated, the Brahma Brotherhood stormed the streets of Gothic, laying waste to those in their path with a hailstorm of plasma rounds and the like. Their formation was aimless, and their tactics were designed to instill terror, to destroy, and to attract attention-to them, and away from the Baabda Beast. Led by Andreia and Maximilian, the Brotherhood, equipped with gas masks, braced themselves, steadied their breathing, and swallowed their fears as Andreia put to use her unorthodox power over thioacetone, the most repugnant chemical in the world, to be used in the world's most repugnant city.

At her fingertips, she felt, Andreia, her power vibrate, and across Gothic's streets, she conjured puddles of it, of thioacetone, a chemical whose smell is so severe and overpowering that those exposed to it found themselves disabled. An organic compound in which a carbon atom is bonded to a sulfur-hydrogen pair, one drop of the chemical could be smelled, almost instantly, from half a kilometer away. Puddles conjured over the city's streets however? They seized the city's unprotected noses with violence. Soon came the spontaneous outbreaks of vomiting. Thioacetone's ungodly stench was made a weapon, one that Andreia threatened the entire city with. Her intention was clear. Heroes, vigilantes, they would soon arrived. And they? They were to be greeted with the most overpowering smell imaginable.

It was unbearable, beyond disagreeable, it was meant to force all opposition to clutch their stomachs, vomit their predigested meals and fall victim to nausea and sickness. This, it seemed the stuff of the supernatural. Though whereas Andrea sought to disarm and send the opposition into disarray, Maximilian hoped to destroy, to burn. Quickly, he conjured his flames and commanded them to rage, to set the city ablaze as columns of smoke stretched into the night sky. He seemed an ordinary pyrokinetic, Maximilian. But his flames? They were far from ordinary. His powers harnessed the heart of chlorine trifluoride, the world's most vigorous fluorinating agent (agents that rip other molecules apart to replace their hydrogen atoms with fluorine).

The result was an extremely violent exothermic reaction, or fluorine fire, deadlier than even fluorine gas. And an even better oxidizer than oxygen. Oxidizers being compounds that seize electrons from other chemicals in a reaction, they were what made combustion possible. And in this task, chlorine trifluoride knew no rival. It burned things typically thought of as nonflammable, like bricks, concrete, asbestos... and things that have already been burned. Elsewhere, striding through Gothic Square, Satar, in the company of Ana, Heinrich, and Lucifer, had his sights set on one thing, and one thing only; the mayor's office. Why? Because he knew.

He knew who hid under the cowl of Vex, and it was from him, the mayor, that he would wrestle the city from.

The Old Town Rumblers were the farthest thing from the good guys. They were thugs, crooks and violent bullies of this town, a virus. What happens when a virus's host is attacked by incoming forces? It retaliates. It didn't take long before the underground radios were buzzing about something going down in the town square, a rumble of titanic proportions.

The Rumblers all had one thing in common, they were improvisers. Get into the action first and then establish the plan right after. After the word was out, Rumblers from all over the city were hustling and bustling around, the anticipation of a street war in the air. The Rumblers enjoyed chaos, but not on a scale whoever these mooks were persuing, there needs to be something left to stomp on after all.

On the Libaray just beside the City Hall, crouched Ace sucking on a cigarette, the nicotine keeping his cool. A 1911 in his hand and his cold green eyes peering over the brick ledge at the attackers. With a hand slicking through his hair, the greaser gunslinger grabbed his radion and buzzed in. "Rumblers, keep your cool now. Wait for the ok-go..."

@satar: As the party proceeded to the Gothic City Hall, Red Ana suddenly drew up short, as though hearing a voice known only to her. After a few moments of silence, she abruptly turned and disappeared into one of the dark alleys that permeated the Gothic landscape. The Baabda Beast's entourage would not be short handed, however. As they passed yet another alley, a massive and monstrous figure strode forth and fell into step, it's ponderous footsteps sounding like the blows of a sledgehammer on the pavement.

Standing nearly nine feet tall and weighing close to half a ton, the gun-for-hire known as Dark Thunder looked like nothing so much as some unholy hybrid of man and rhinoceros. Clad in simple military fatigues, he casually held a belt-fed minigun, of the sort one would usually expect to see mounted on a gunship, over one meaty shoulder. Holstered at each hip like sidearms were a pair of sawed-off, double-barrled, ten-gauge shotguns. Ammo pouches and bandoleers clinked and clanked as the behemoth sauntered along with a grin, looking for all the world like he was on his way to a picnic.

"So he's trying to burn gothic." Contemplated a large man outfitted in suit, the words accompanied by puffs of smoke that streamed from his mouth. But there was no cigar at the corner of his lips, and this smoke was pitch black. "Yeah, me and Kaine will put a stop to it though." Jaired, the Californian speedster stood shoulder to shoulder with his sibling, the two watching as the streets were set ablaze below them. The chrono-Mcstorm's lips curled in a grin, his hands tucked in his pockets. While his sibling had his own reasons for helping their demonic uncle, Kaine was doing so simply because he had been instructed to remain by his brothers side.

When all was said and done, he would personally take his dad's brother's head. Why? Part of the job. His father often took note of his loathe for his brother, whom had often visited the two in Muspelheim. But for now he would play the part of a concerned nephew, just as he played the part of a returned brother to Jaired.

And now he knelt, throwing his obsidian hoodie over his handsome features. In a release of crimson energy he was gone, kneeling on the streets below, and then he arose to full height, eyes gleaming with interest. Around him, flames surged around violently, but his skin did not burn or blacken at their heat, instead he welcomed their warmth with open arms. For his body was one used to harsher fires, ones spawned in the depths of hell, fires that reached unimaginable temperature. So he did not yield, and neither did his brother, who, while not possesing the same level of heat tolerance, could absorb energy in all its forms.

And they sauntered, with wicked swagger through the flames, to where they would locate whomever caused them. The destuctive smell that wafted through the city also failed to stop their stride, though such was easier on Jaired than the suave prince of power, his brothers technological suit blocking the putred odor.

Jaired walked tauntingly towards the two member's of the brotherhood. Blade hilt clenched but not unsheathed, his handsome face wearing a smirk.They would likely attack him, and, following that they did, they would meet harsh retaliation. Kaine concealed himself within a pocket dimension above, waiting for his enemies to bite the bait. Once action occurred, he would leap out from hiding, and bring down reversed spatial rifts that would generate devastating shockwaves, all aimed towards what would hopefully be enemies focused on his brother, who would walk in circles, babbling nonsense as if he were drunk.

Downtown Gothic

Smoke hung in the air, stinging the eyes and seizing the lungs. It drifted through his room, the smell trapped within the carpet, the gray mist massing around the windows, only to be dispelled by the slowly rotating fan. Lights flickered, the electric field in a constant state of disruption, unnatural vibrations subtly affecting the wiring. The suffocating smoke emanated from the tip of a lit cigarette, idly rolled between bandaged, healing fingers. The carpet had been torn up, the former tenant having been an assault victim. He'd left Gothic quickly, his blood still staining the rug on his apartment. And while it may have tied the room together, the new tenant had elected to remove it. It wasn't like he needed a nice place to live anyway. His stay in Gothic wouldn't be a long one.

He leaned backwards in his chair, cigarette held loosely in the corner of his mouth. On the table, a briefcase, compact, black, and sleek. He ran his bandaged hand over the lid, clicking it open once more. It was as though a light filled the room, illuminating even the squalor of Gothic for a moment. For a moment, he didn't smell the smoke, or hear the gunfire. All he saw was a very comfortable future. Perhaps a new sedan? Or an apartment in Malibu? There was crime everywhere, and thus, he could find work anywhere. But this reward, no, this treasure...it would be more than enough for the time being. He could retire right now, if he so desired. Leave the hunt behind. He had enough cash to last him a lifetime, now.

Suddenly, the smoke wasn't just inside his temporary apartment anymore. It was outside, too. It filled the streets, a new source of light flickering in from outside. Fires, conjured seemingly from nowhere, leapt up throughout the streets, the sparks licking at the dirty pane of his one view into the outside world. Idly, he glared at the window, leaning backwards in the chair. His pink vest was unnaturally bright in the dingy apartment, his colorful motorcycle helmet sitting idly on the table next to his reward. He rolled the burning cigarette between his index and middle fingers, absentmindedly occupying himself while he listened to the sudden anarchy outside. He was not possessed to get up and look from his window, for he knew all he would see was carnage. But something was different tonight. The panic was contagious, gunfire echoing endlessly throughout the alleys and carrying across the broken bridges to the United States. He had his cash; tonight was the night to leave.

His chair faced away from the door, a pathetic excuse for an entryway that he hadn't even bothered to lock. The man in the hall was going to break in (probably because his door was the only one in the building that remained shut), but Chandler paid him little mind. The echoes from his erratic, mutant heartbeat carried throughout the complex, the sonar-like subconscious sense coming back to him, informing him of every last man's location and intent. There were three, and they were gathering in the hall. They had guns, and they were wearing something on their faces. Masks, but they seemed to serve a function. Some sort of countermeasure against tear gas? Two were large, covering their entirety of their undoubtedly brutish visages, but the third (seemingly a figure of authority) wore a smaller, more discrete one. He felt one of them place their hand on the doorknob, his friends waiting behind with submachine guns.

He took another long drag on the cigarette, his fingers absentmindedly tightening on the grip of his briefcase.

The door handle creaked, knob turning to the side.

Chandler tensed, adrenaline flowing through his veins. He felt their heartbeats, too; he felt their uncertainty, their sudden discomfort; he felt that they were going to be sick. His field crept through their bodies, inducing nausea, dizziness, and indescribable, sudden fear. But it was too late for them; the doorknob had been turned too far.

The man burst through the doorway, only to be met with a flying briefcase to the face. Perfectly timed to coincide with his entry; perfectly thrown, a makeshift projectile that soared wildly across the tiny, cramped hallway. This man was wearing the smaller gas mask, which offered no protection from the sudden missile let loose from nonchalant fingers. It hit him square in the face, his nose broken instantly. Blood gushed from the wound, the man reeling, his gun leaving his fingers, flying up into the air-

And Chandler was there. He'd spun from the chair, charging up the hall, actually jumping upwards. His foot left the ground, heel touching the right wall. He ricocheted off of the plaster, right hand extended. Gloved hands wrapped around a sweaty handle, index finger finding the trigger. With a simple squeeze, he sent a barrage of rounds through the doorway, mowing down the remaining terrorists before they could even react, each bullet finding its mark in their unprotected heads. The tiny, empty apartment was now filled with the stench of fresh blood, the twitching bodies of the terror operatives lining the floors. Chandler remained in the hall, balanced on a single foot, his landing unnaturally graceful. Slowly, he put his other foot down, dropping the gun and picking up the briefcase. He bent down over the first man, blood pouring from his nose, his body quaking in shock. Chandler's aura was already playing havoc with his insides...he was far too weak to resist. Slowly, Chandler plucked the compact rebreather from his face, turning it over in his hands.

He walked back to the sink, picking up a little spray bottle. Disinfecting the mask while the man lay squirming, he casually rubbed at the tiny gadget with a cloth, cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth. It only took about ten seconds for him to finish, casually walking over to the table where he kept his helmet. Cigarette carefully held in his finger, he placed the rebreather over his mouth and nose, the suction clamping it ingeniously into place. It was impressive tech, likely raided from someplace most normal civilians didn't have access to. With his empty hand, he snatched his helmet from the table, placing it overtop of his head. He felt the familiar cushioning snap into place, comfortably resting on his scalp. He turned to the man on the ground, now whimpering as his insides took themselves apart. He grabbed a small bag from his room, the last thing he owned in Gothic, stuffing his treasured briefcase inside.

Striding over, he crouched next to the terrified terrorist, gently taking the cigarette and placing it in his mouth. He rapped the side of his face with his now-gloved knuckles, his chest rising in silent laughter. With conviction, he ran his hands along the man's body until he found the seam that held his combat vest in place. Ripping it from his body, he casually put it on, replacing his pink vest over it as sirens screamed through the night. He took the guns, the knives, and the grenades, each casually stuffed into a convenient pouch. He took ammunition, as well as a small walkie-talkie. And finally, he made note of the markings on each fanatic's uniform.

Brahma Brotherhood, he recognized, head slightly angling to the side.

Yep. Time to get out of Gothic.

Stepping idly over the bodies, he jogged slowly down the stairs, finally stepping into the street outside, bag strapped over his shoulder. The goon's machine gun was in his hand, balanced in the crook of his arm. Driving or biking out of the city would be futile, with everyone trying to leave at once, and it was likely his bike had already been stolen, if not outright destroyed in the chaos. He didn't care...he could buy a dozen brand new motorbikes with his haul. But first, he'd need to complete his trek across the city, a city now gripped by fear. His route would take him down the road, eventually passing by the mayor's office. Once he made it by, he'd be in the clear. But first, he'd have to survive Gothic's Hour.

E-e-everybody have fun tonight, he sang absentmindedly in his head, strolling through the chaotic, blazing streets of Gothic City.

Wes stood sickened in the middle of a street from the gas. He had been walking through downtown on a patrol when the attack began. Just wearing his street clothes the teenager had found himself attacked by a foul smelling gas of some sort. The next thing he knew a bunch of crazies with guns were swarming the streets. Pushing the scent from his mind for the time being the Warrior Teen jumped into action. He leaped through the air and landed a devastating kick to the center chest of one of the terrorists. The terrorist stumbled backwards and fell as the teen landed on his feet. Another pair of terrorists saw fit to shoot him but they never got their attacks off. Even sickened Wes was unusually fast and grabbed both rifles, ripping them from the hands of their wielders. He used one as an improvised club, slamming it into the side of its owner's head and sending him sprawling to the pavement unconcious. The remaining terrorist tried to drive his fist into Wes's face but the martial arts improvisionalist used the other weapon to deflect the blow and delivered a knee to the stomach in its place.

Wes dropped both guns and grabbed hold of the terrorists's shoulders, pulling his head down and bringing his knee up at the same time for a crushing blow that immediately sent his target sprawling. As the terrorist fell Wes reached out and grabbed hold of his gas mask, yanking it free. He moved quickly to put the mask on, relieved from the sickness as the gas worked its way out of his body. He turned around to find more terrorists entering the area and acted without thought. The teenage hero charged forward before the next pair could respond and flipped over their heads where he landed in the midst of a group of four of them. He lashed out with a windpipe crushing jab and drove his elbow back into the spine of a man directly behind him. He used his free arm to deflect a swung rifle butt and spun kicked the man in the face. The last terrorist nearly got a shot off before Wes round house kicked him as hard as he could in the side of the head. "Kyahhh!!!" Taking a moment to breath, Wes realized the area was now catching on fire...and an army of terrorists was rushing in his general direction. "Uh oh..."

Wes pulled back his right sleeve and brought his morpher up to the left side of his head with a finger on the button. "Time for, Time Force!"

The process of morphing occurred in the blink of an eye and he was covered in his elite battle armor. Though the Red Ranger armor looked like glorified spandex, it was actually a highly advanced defensive material capable of allowing an ordinary human teenager to withstand huge amounts of damage. This defensive measure was further reinforced by an invisible shield that enveloped his entire body right above the surface of the armor. The armor also reinforced his strength to peak human levels and increased his endurance as well. Finally, the armor granted him access to the rest of his equipment. The Red Time Force Ranger engaged in a running gun battle with the terrorists. He took off running for the center of the city where he expected to be able to find a better defensive position and possibly other heroes. His path led him ever closer to the Mayor's Mansion. He fired his Chrono Blaster as he run, ducking and weaving between cars and other immediate forms of cover. Each of his shots was deadly accurate, but there was only so much he could do while he was so outnumbered. He needed to find others and fast.

The thick permeation of the Last Arashikage's Asian accent, weighted down by a raspy strain caused by his enormous frame, filtered through his mobile device with obvious concern. "You understand, my allegiance first and foremost will be to balance. Currently the Brotherhood threaten to upset that balance." Quintus listened with intense focus. Arms folded displaying his impressive physical definition. "Understood." Cold and to the point before reaching down and swiping the cell off.

In enlisting the Gothic Khan's aid the Noir Rose had secured a temporary resource of tactical importance. The Arashikage sumo could simply go places that Quintus could not. At least not without engineering a methodical parade of espionage. This was way was quicker, more efficient. Employing one of Gothic's small time criminals and exploiting his network could only benefit the Martial Arts Mamba as well as the average citizen of Gothic. The Last Arashikage's small but loyal gang would meet the scavenging BB's soldiers on the street. And with any luck, occupy them. Distractions for a roaming pack of true believers hell bent of burning the city to the ground. It would give them something to attack besides the droves of innocent people fleeing the doomed urban nightmare.

However time was not on the Living Weapon's side, nor on Gothic's for that matter. History had shown that the longer the escalation, the more brutally explosive the conflict, the greater the confederation of metas, mutants, supers, and more. 'The unusual suspects' Quintus thought. All with accredited validation, all with a purpose, an ideal. But epic escalations always led to epic catastrophes. Epic loss of life. Epic carnage. Gothic City was a survivor tested true and through, any proud citizen would energetically proclaim the same. Yet even the greatest survivors fall victim to time. Time, the almighty weapon. Even the World's most deadliest city couldn't defend itself forever against the ravages of time. Would the unknown impostor to the Brahma legacy be the one to finally conquer the concrete throne of Gothic?

Caressing his chin in deep thought, Quintus arched an eager brow as his phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Greetings again Mr. Knightfall." The Arashikage's thick accent intercepting Quintus' wavered focus.

"My men have spotted your friend. Heart of Gothic Square. Be careful, he brought friends"

Silently Quintus maneuvered towards the antic book-shelve before removing an envelope sleeve and letting its contents freely slip out across the surface of his executive desk.

@_vex_

Solar Hawk was patrolling the city's skies when the attack began and immediately her communication system chirped in her ear. She nodded a little to herself and listened intently as Luna Hawk informed herself and Sentinel Hawk of what was going on. Solar Hawk swept down from the sky like an avenging angel and snatched one of the terrorists up into the sky. She flew high and fast and removed his gas mask, using it to place over her own mouth and nose. More than a thousand feet in the air she released the terrorist, who fell flailing to the ground below and splattered all over the pavement with a sickening crunch and splat sound. His body actually bounced twice before it came to rest in a car windshield, now a bleeding mass that no longer really resembled a human body.

Luna Hawk and Sentinel Hawk performed similar actions and all three Hawk Lords landed on the roof of the Mayor's mansion, intent on coming to the defense of Dark Vengeance and meeting him to see what his plan was. The three ancient warriors stood looking out over the burning city, all three wore gleaming Nth Metal armor that would more or less protect them from the fire, though Sentinel Hawk's own armor was not as advanced.

Solar Hawk, Luna Hawk and Sentinel Hawk stood side by side ready to enter combat for the first time ever. Luna Hawk and Solar Hawk had fought side by side in the past, but never with the healing properties of Sentinel Hawk at their side. Solar Hawk gripped her mace, electrifying it instantly. She smiled slowly, not alarmed by the fighting and the assault on Gothic, but thrilled by it. At last, a battle worthy of the Hawk Lords! Her White Lantern Ring glowed against her finger as it too sensed the fighting to come. The angriest of the Hawk Lords grinned in anticipation. "Dark Vengeance is going to miss the party girls. Let's make sure we save him something so he can punch someone when he gets here.

Luna Hawk removed a rifle from her back and drove not one but three magazines into place. Three different slides loaded rounds into three different chambers. The Nth Metal rounds electrified themselves with fifty thousand volts of electricity.

Luna Hawk removed a drum magazine loaded with high explosive grenades and drove it home beneath the three primary barrels. The fourth barrel slotted a grenade into place. "I don't know, there's an awful lot of them Solar Hawk. I think this is going to take longer than you think. We need to be careful, wait for backup and engage when we know exactly what's going on. You and I have both seen enough battles to know this is only the beginning, whoever is leading this assault has other plans in mind than unleashing a bunch of powered lunatics on Gothic. I suspect there's more organization than it appears."

Sentinel Hawk watched the two older women and readied her mace, though she felt a bit inadequate compared to the weaponry of her two mentors. She shrugged off the thought after a moment and smiled. "I don't think we'll lose here. It might not be easy, but others will rally to the cause and drive these terrorists out of the city for good." It was an optimistic statement that drew a smile from Solar Hawk and just a look from Luna Hawk. She wanted to smile, but had found that increasingly hard to do and actually mean it. Instead she networked their helmets, allowing each to view a tiny window of what the others were seeing as well as a full view of their own surroundings. So networked the helmets were able to provide one another with critical real time data that provided each Hawk Lord with a full three dimensional view of their surroundings.

Solar Hawk twirled her mace. "Let's kill some shit."

Xae crouched low as she came out of one of the hotels in Gothic. She felt the ground and the rising heat and scented the air and its toxic smell. She was on the outskirts of the city where the scent was weakest but she almost vomited anyway due to her powerful sense of smell. She wrinkled her nose and cocked her head. The sounds of battle were filtering to the outskirts of the city and she realized what was going on. War... The old soldier thought and nodded to herself in affirmation. Xae stood and began to move swiftly through the city. Even in her humanoid form she could hit sixty miles an hour in open ground...but she didn't travel in humanoid form. With everyone distracted by the fighting Xae shifted to her true form where she would be able to move with more agility and flit between cover on her way to the battle.

The deadly Xae ducked, weaved, ran and pounced through the city. At last she came across a lone terrorist forming something of a rear guard. She leaped from behind a dumpster and knocked him to the ground. At the same moment one of her lethal sickle claws slid into his chest and tore downward, opening his ribcage like a soda can. She continued her run the moment she landed with him on the ground and ignored the dying man and his gurgles of despair. Once she began to see and hear the sounds of battle and the scent of the horrible smell became too strong to bare she returned to her humanoid form and activated her armor to filter out the smoke.

The city was growing hot, fires burned everywhere and her armor warned her the temperatures of the fires were unbelievably fatal. She could deal with heat as a cold blooded animal used to high temperatures but she had no desire to burn in a fire. Uncertain as to the situation she drew her pistol and began to advance through the city more slowly now. She hid carefully from terrorists and made her way closer to the fighting. She didn't know what was going on, had no way of knowing...but she did have instinct. This feels more like a war than a random attack by a bunch of loons. I have no idea what's going on though and engaging these idiots every time I see one will just reveal my position. I need to scout and learn the situation before I engage in combat directly. This armor is more than capable of dealing with basic side arms but some of their more advanced weapons might cause issues. I should really look at installing shields of some kind.

@lunahawk

Gothic Square

Process of elimination. The grunts all wear a variety of the same outfit, and take orders. So I'm looking for person giving orders who doesn't look like the rest. And Kelly's eyes found Satar. Consulting a mental map of the city, and once again eliminating the illogical results, he determined the destination of the Baabada Beast. Sprinting across rooftops as fast as he could go, Kelly drew a signal flare from the folds of his simple outfit. Aiming at City Hall, he thrice fired, sending a signal that someone was on their way. Suddenly, gunshots. A sniper was crouched on the roof in front of him. The kali seemed to fly in slow motion, as did the blood squirting from his mouth as he went unconscious. "Godammit, Gothic. If it isn't exploding mob towers, it;s laser-sniper-terrorist-ninjas." Scaling the walls of the building, he ran towards City Hall, dodging shrapnel and other assorted explodey-things. The guards had long since fled, so Kelly was unobstructed in his mad dash to the roof. Along the way, he ransacked an empty desk, finding a pistol, which he stuffed in his waistband for use if it became unavoidable. Opening the fire access, the alarm began to wail. Kelly clambered up the ladder, to a pleasant surprise. "Luna?" The blue-armored Hawk had shown up at Kelly's door one, asking for a jackhammer. He had helped her put her room together, and tried to stay friendly with her ever since. Hesitating not a moment, he peeled his mask back. "Remember me?"

@gale_xanders: @satar:

A black metallic sheath blurred through the Gothic City clouds at unbelievable speeds. Equipped with engineering marvels, it silently honed in on its previously selected destination. A symphony of hydraulic pressure signifying the release of the vehicle's cockpit canopy. Before discarding the bulletproof shell and ejecting its pilot out into the skyline with a dazzling exploration of acrobatic brilliance. Intense momentum and gravity were quickly manipulated in aiding the Noir Rose's physical contortion, melding himself into a human projectile, an arrow of retribution. His onyx colored cape clung to his sculpted form as he raced towards the ground. Undaunted in his cerebral concentration the midst of his radical skydive. Firing his all black grapnel, Quintus re-directed his fall and managed it into a swing. Sticking a perfect landing atop the dilapidated handrails of a nearby fire-escape, located in an ally. No sooner had the Keijijo trained Knightfall landed then an unexpected mauling took place below. Instincts and intuition were funneled through a sharpened gaze.

"If you really want to do some good, follow me." His words were monotone and graveled. It wasnt an order or command, it was the analytic assessment of a potential resource. Gothic, as it always had, would weed out the lower ranking foot soldiers on her own. All the city needed was for its defenders, its internal self-defense, to take charge of the main threats. The sources of the cancer. "This thing begins and ends in the Square. We need to cut off the head of the Brotherhood. We cant do that from here."

Looking off towards the horizon, auto-remote stewardship of the Knightfall's K-Wing jet allowed him to concentrate on a myriad of mental scenarios. Simultaneously tasking an aerial assault on the Brotherhood's furious fire-starter, Maximilian. Who, as a combustion of living chaos, had lit the gas soaked city ablaze. Bricks and badass' alike were burned, and then burned again. The stench of cooked flesh complimented the further contamination of the atmosphere. The corruption of air was courtesy of yet another of Satar's horsemen, Andrea. Together they formed a terrifying trilogy, skilled and tactically thorough. Authors behind the rampaging lunacy sweeping through the gutted Gothic.

"Whatever you decide to do, keep your head on a swivel. Its going to get worse before it gets better." Quintus phrased while launching himself skywards with his grapnel. Headed towards the Square and the false prophet, Satar.

Inside the cowl once worn by the former Raysh Al'Shaytan, technological innovations were systematically mapping out an internal holograph of the city. A complete and comprehensive layout, tapping into various networks, hacking the city's video feeds all in order to build a perfect simulation of virtual Gothic. 911 operators had abandoned the lines long ago for fear of their own safety. They couldnt be expected to stand their ground and willingly forfeit their lives, the lives of their families. The brave few who opted to stay and stand by Gothic's more heroic officers would not live long enough to regret their misplaced sense of honor. The Brotherhood took no prisons, felt no remorse. They were fanatics beyond the scoop of religious brainwashing. Influenced by a single purpose, a solitary belief. And it was not that all life was sacred. They would be met with equal prejudice. For the Living Weapon, the Noir Rose of Reality-M, had devoted his life to the restoration of Gothic. His Gothic, their Gothic, in his mind there was no difference.

Auto-remote stewardship of the Knightfall's K-Wing jet allowed the Noir Rose to delegate a separate mission. Simultaneously tasking an aerial assault on the Brotherhood's furious fire-starter, Maximilian. Who, as a combustion of living chaos, had lit the gas soaked city ablaze. Bricks and badass' alike were burned, and then burned again. The stench of cooked flesh complimented the further contamination of the atmosphere. The corruption of air was courtesy of yet another of Satar's horsemen, Andrea. Together they formed a terrifying trilogy, skilled and tactically thorough. Authors behind the rampaging lunacy sweeping through the gutted Gothic.

Swooping through the thick putrefied layer of toxic O2, barely able to see even with the cowls technological optics, barely able to breath despite a re-breather, Quintus hit a nearby roof and somersaulted to a knee, seeking to accelerate his recovery. Gathering his composure and sprinted on.

From out of the haze, without warning of surrendered stealth, the Noir Rose blitzed the mountainous terrorist, Satar. Vaulting into an aerial flip, the displaced Knightfall sought to ride its momentum around until presented with the opportunity to uncurl and stab the back of Satar's knee with a surgical kick. Further maneuvers were cataloged and photographically anticipating not only the result, but reaction.

@satar:

The Vindicated one sat quietly, listening closely to every detail of his teacher's words. It was an interesting relationship which had been forged between the two; not one of necessity, but a relationship for self-improvement. It was likely that Valken, the Vindicated one was much older than his brutish mentor, but their individual experiences had greatly varied throughout history. The mysterious Djinn has spent most of his life as a vengeful spirit, or trickster. His potential had faltered, his skills never reaching their truest potential; until now as an apprentice beneath the powerful Satar.

As his reflecting of recent, past events ended, he brushed back his obsidian hair. His ritualistic-style paint had all but disappeared from combination of moisture from perspiration and the rain of days past. Removing a small tin from inside his flowing, knee-length trench coat, he opened it revealing a white paste. Coating both palms with the ivory paint, he spread it across his face equally before producing another, similar tin which contained a paint dark as ink. He dabbed several fingers in the onyx tin and streaked it across smaller areas of his face; his eyes and mouth primarily surrounded by the blackness. Any man could adorn the paint and it would simply be just that - paint. But on the face of Valken it was something more. Yes, still paint, but his aura changed. No different than the changed psychology of man when a mask is adorned. It invoked a certain eeriness and cold within those whom surrounded him.

He let his hair drop back down like the hood of the mythical grim reaper. An approached flapping of wings could be heard, growing closer and closer. Out of the darkness of night appeared an equally dark creature...a crow of oddly large proportions. It was more the size of an eagle, but still a crow nonetheless. Spreading its wings wide, it slowed for a landing and dropped down the the forearm of Valken. The crow tucked its colossal obsidian wings in as it perched and looked towards Valken. "We have a busy night ahead of us old friend." The crow responded with an empathic croak of understanding. With a slight bump of his arm, the crow hopped up and took flight once more, soaring back into the enveloping darkness.

As the four of them; Valken, Satar, Ana and Lucier began their approach to the town hall, Valken carried a low-hanging smoke at their ankles. From a distance, some would think they were hovering across the ground like phantoms. However, phantoms could not fathom the fear which was about to be created.

Nabhan had forgotten how many times he'd seen Gothic City attacked.

His superiors often traded predictions for its' downfall, but there was something to be said about the city's resiliency in times of duress. Nevertheless, his thinking of thoughts had no bearing on the task at hand. In fact, it was what @satar believed which brought him this far west. And the chance of acquiring the sole company of the Brahma Brotherhood's leader was something the British Pakistani loner couldn't quite pass up.

For a millisecond he contemplated Gothic Square.

It didn't take any lengths of concentration to ascertain his target's trek into the darkness. At least that's what the raven haired beau thought to himself before reflecting on the only source of light in this godforsaken cesspool being within Gothic Cit Hall. Truthfully, the contents of that building harbored the one man with whom hope never seemed to falter in spite of this city's inherent corruption.

If Nabhan were to even make an attempt at popping up on Satar's radar than he'd have to propel himself into the eye of the storm. Yet, even as he fostered the courage to act and mobilize his plan of action the unexpected occurred. Whilst comfortably perched above an apartment complex some feet away from his destination point, the faint scent of repugnance sent the lone wolf into a nauseating state of panic.

His eyes watered, his nostrils inflamed, and his brain waves scattered resulting in the lean muscled infiltration expert losing his footing on the makeshift scaffolding attached to the tattered apartment complex. As a result, he fell without much resistance, mentally emoting obscenities before vanishing--

--and reappearing inside what he believed to be the headquarters' of Gothic City's mayor. However, rather than charge into the heart of panic that probably emanated from a workplace expecting assault; Nabhan cautiously evaded conflict by entering an unoccupied restroom. He breathed in and out as his opened up a stall, his artificial healing factor working against whatever toxic agent that had caused his impending heaving.

"UGH!!!!!" He vomits a green substance before positioning himself on his knees while his arms rested on the unused toilet seat.

Satar's new followers are concerning.

"I don't get paid enough," he muttered, knowing full well this was the least of his worries in the fight to come.

It was almost perfect. The leather design was flawless, the paint job done to a pristine point with deep, denim blues and crimson reds... But, as Joey stood looking at his new costume, he felt it lacked something. Was it the black stripes on the side that differed from his hero's? Perhaps, but still, anyone on the ground would look up and see... An emblem. The boy almost delicately ran his hand over the center of the suit, where a symbol bulged out ever so slightly. A smile came to his lips, as excitement grew, and he turned around to tell someone, anyone-

But then he remembered. He lived alone. Sighing, he went to put the suit away, when he heard the sounds of gunfire outside. Panic in the streets. Just another Saturday night in Gothic, the Prodigy presumed... Still. It was a great way to test out the new uniform, in the field. Raising a hand, he summoned the magical bolt of lightning from the skies above- a blue streak passing through the window to his home and striking his fingertips, transforming Joey into the much older, wiser man, arms burly and eyes sparkling with electricity. It felt like ecstasy, but at the same time Joey felt that there was no way ecstasy could feel so... Pure.

Laughter passed from his lips, the voice thick with the echo of both Joey and an older, wiser man. Grabbing the costume eagerly, he put it on- superhuman speed allowing him to do it in less than a second. Huh... it was a little tight, but the boy-god could hardly blame the kindly old leather worker he had met a few weeks before for that. But the suit was enough to put even the best cosplayers to utter shame. Joey started walking towards the door to the outside when he witnessed, firsthand, the door get kicked open wildly. What happened next seemed almost slow-motion to the Prodigy, as thugs outside barged in with different advanced weaponry. Beckham recognized one of the masks as something that would've been a great match to his uniform, and he zoomed over to whoever was wearing it in the blink of an eye, ripping off the helmet and putting it on his own head before flying down the hallways to leave- ignoring the goons that had decided to barge into his room.

It was then, and only then, that he recognized the smell. Oh, god... "Holy f%#~! What is that?!" He shouted aloud, tightening the mask he'd taken from the goon before until the disgusting scent ceased to annoy him. Shuddering, he flew out of the door to the apartment, and Joey looked around eagerly. There were villains all over the place. Gangsters, thugs, soldiers... Correction, evil soldiers... They all were spread throughout the streets, causing mass panic to the already panicked city... Sure, the place had been a dump before, but at least it was a civilly run dump. Criminals throughout the streets of Gothic, mob bosses, had run everything smoothly enough, or at least he thought. Either way, that wasn't something he could think about right now. His home was being attacked, and he would protect it with everything that the young boy was worth. Joey could only hope that that was good enough...

"Never fear, Gothic! The Champion is HERE!" Joey crowed out and took to the air, a blur as he went to go find a good group of gangsters to pummel. It was an imitation of a much greater man, but it was a sign of hope to some. And, at the very least, fun for the boy-god.

Soon, shots of plasma struck him from all around. Not everyone was a fan of the Champion, but he didn't mind... The boy's invulnerability prevented any real damage from being done. Joey smiled inwardly, the sealed mask protecting him from any hostile fumes... The world needed a champion, and he gave it one. Flying down to the street below, Joey cracked his knuckles- hearing the pop from his fingers as he got ready to combat any mercenary that came his way.

Ace

The smell, that unmistakable stench of flesh bubbling off bone. Not even Ace was cool enough to not dry heave and almost vomit. "Fat Christ, they're meltin' our city.." He grumbled while climbing up even further on the library's rooftop, keeping above the cloud of death that clung to the streets below.

"Alright Rumblers, ya got the go ahead, ice any mooks you see trying to knock these walls we call home down. Ya got that?" Ace didn't have to make his point any more clear, when it came to this city, everyone had their A-game on. With his 1911 ready to go, the slick gunman vaulted the brick ledge, boots landing on the fire escape ladder which caused it to start sliding down.

Mooks sprinted through the streets like wild animals, gunning down anyone who so much made a terrified scream or cowered in any way. Seven of those bastards dropped dead in the gutters when Ace stopped just before the cloud, already emptying his clip. An out of control loading truck barreled down the street, granting Ace the chance to hop on top of it from the ladder.

Fresh mag, five bullets already used up for a small group trying to rip away some woman's skirt. He knew damn well to avoid the supers and the capes, that wasn't his fight. Ace was well content taking out the smaller trash and containing this nightmare.

The Rumblers

"Ay where do ya think you're goin' boys!?" The Rumblers called out and taunted the armed men down below, chucking Molotov cocktails and raining down led from their pistols and SMG's. The whole gang's objective to make a perimeter around town square via the rooftops, taking out and harassing anyone who looked like bad news to them.

It was not the absence of fear that made Kit strong in he eyes but her willingness to confront it regardless. Her biggest fear however was one that couldn't be looked in the eye or confronted directly. It was more abstract, more of a creeping inevitability that one day would just show it's self. That fear was that one day after the countless crimes and growing poverty, after numerous assaults even the youthful would be birthed into crime. That eventually her home town wouldn't just be equivalent of hell it would become it.

Mind running laps on this matter Kit had been trying to clear her mind simply practicing gymnastics as she leaped and flipped about the gymnasium. Born in another town she likely would of been earning a way into the Olympics for such performance, in Gothic though talent just meant you were first on the chopping block, apart of the vigilante fodder or apart of the rising tied of crime. Amidst her exercise though sirens wailed and a voice boomed. Gothic City Academy was going into lockdown. Try and safeguard as many children and teens as it could. She knew this day would come the brotherhood had attacked the school not long ago. The lead went nowhere progressive for Kit, she couldn't stop actions in advance. Now the brotherhood had surfaced and Kit would be damned if she let them get away with whatever they were planning.

Dashing down the halls nearing her room though that's when her fear just might have been realized. Janice Egrett was just a math nerd in love with her boyfriend. She was found against a wall ripped in half, of course Kit was no stranger to violence the terror was always on TV in Gothic you could practically find snuff films in Redbox. Never had she seen this kind of visceral carnage in person however. Spilled insides left the floor painted carmine and ghastly in sight. It was enough to make Kit wretch. Closer inspection showed though that an AK47 was in hand mark of the beast she'd carved in her own wrist to say who's side she was on. It was only after that, that Kit noticed James his eyes were wide his arms caked with gore. Tears ran freely and left the vermillion drops of Janice streaking along chiseled features. James was an athlete with mutant enhanced strength he however was a kind soul, with girlfriend racking up a body count however he had to act. Innocence scorched like cars outside, he could barely speak but he managed three words. "You've one to."

Entering her room Kit flinched slightly jumping as the door slammed closed. "You know PyroKitten I'm kind of disheartened you never told me this secret." Her cowl was held in the eighteen year old Kyle's hands. "Obsessed over you all of your first junior year you never gave me the time of day." He'd never spoken a word to her she considered it his own fault. "Then you went and got arrested playing hero. Why'd you have to do that? What about us? And now your back and you've never even said hi."

The room fell silent, other then the small sounds from the old fan in the corner. "We've none of the same classes. And as you can see from the costume I've been busy. Now can I please have it back. Can even watch me change but I got to help the city." She remarked trying to smooth things over as gently as possible.

"Tommy. Tommy how's the peeping."

James remarked outside with a laugh at his movie quote. Kyle didn't take to the comment as well however and was swift to corner Kit arms blocking either side of Kit. "It's a tempting offer but how could I live with myself if I let us end by letting the kitten be thrown to the wolves in waiting." He was to close a preach in space, his words haunting and unwelcome. "No your staying with me, just lay down Gothic's savior doesn't need us. The Bull will come." He started to move back some there was an opening. The kitten took it.

Her foot rose and came down colliding with the knee, skin crawling from the advances she found the stomping gesture continuing. A sound of cracking bone her opponent wasn't a fighter he was on the ground in pain. He smiled though like a lover and reached for her and it was around then Kit reenacted what got her in jail before. This time though it wasn't where friends students and staff could pull her away. So her fist fell and continued to fall. Her skin opened knuckles bleeding still fists fell. Bones crunched under her hands she could feel their resistance fading beneath her swings. Still fists fall. A smile remains recognizable even when the face itself is not as Kit finally feels her body isn't rocking up and down any more. Breath is gone and the kitten has killed for the first time.

She's appalled with herself by what she's done, the sight of her hands is repulsive to her more so then the corpse beneath her or the man he'd been. Yet she doesn't tremble she doesn't panic Gothic desensitizes such a reaction for her. All she wanted to do was seek out Drake or one of her close student friends such wasn't to be though. Gothic needed her, so she geared up from the brotherhoods moves against GCA Kit had purchased a rebreather to cover up the bottom half of he cowl. Attire dawned and leaving the corpse behind Kit opens her window and takes to the rooftops athleticism making her swift and agile.

@dark_thunder: @kaine_mcstorm: @gale_xanders: @valken: @quintus_knightfall:

He was silent, Lucifer. Adorned in black, his tall and modestly proportioned frame strode forward, unbothered by the smell of it, thioacetone, a chemical whose stench was so strong it left its victims disabled and wondering if the evils of the supernatural themselves were at work. He seemed fine, The Shadow. His flair remained cool, and his mystique ever-present. Even as the air was scorched, even as the scent of burnt oxygen hung thick and fluorine fires raged on and on, burning bricks, concrete, and that which had already been burned, he seemed fine, unbothered again. His skin didn't tighten from the heat, and the columns of smoke stretching into the night sky garnered no labored breathing from his lungs or violent coughs from his throat.

His mask, perhaps it was a gas mask of sorts. It was his most omnipresent feature after all, perhaps The Shadow simply enjoyed the perks of being prepared. In this day and age of the modern man however, masks had lost their luster, they bordered on social cliche for the metas and vigilantes who wore them. Though as he strode by Satar's side, joined by Heinrich/Valken, and a horned beast of a warrior, Lucifer's mask was clear in its purpose. It was alabaster, its color. And featured an exaggerated smile, red cheeks, a wide mustache upturned at both ends, and a thin vertical pointed beard. And its eyes seemed to be squinting. He heard the wailing of the burned, the screaming of the gunned down, the cries of those praying to know where this most putrid stench had come from. It couldn't have been clearer than. Fear. He wore a mask to conjure fear.

Some masks held an appeal, enigmatic and drawing, they made spectators imagine more than there was. Lucifer's mask? Its purpose was different. Its expression was bizarre, unnerving. For him, it exploited the fact that the power of the human gaze was one of existential affirmation. 'To stare into a face and not only recognize it as a person, but be recognized in return, is a necessary interchange in the development of one's sense of individuality and self', his thoughts echoed. One dons a mask and they strip said power from their victims. There is no recognition of humanity because anything could lie behind a mask. A man, a monster? 'You never know until you do'. This was his mask's purpose. For The Shadow, be it against a victim, a captive, an opponent, he meant to conjure an unsettling terror in the mind. The ambiguity of it all. How could it not? The mask smiled. Communicated friendliness.

But what about the wearer's face? Lucifer's mask, its expression told of good intentions, but what of the expression of the face that lie beneath? Is it more sinister? This was his psychological edge. Against anyone and everyone. Their inability to read his facial expression while being shown a superficial one. If his face could not be read, neither could his intentions. It seemed then, that there was an equal probability that he meant well... and not. It left the brain uncertain on how to respond. Some parts would respond with fear, while the other parts don't, and the brain simply doesn't know why. Instead of fear, he instilled uneasiness... terror. 'Between the mountains of safety and danger, there is a valley of creepiness, where the limits of trust and knowledge and security are not quite clear', Lucifer asserted. Alongside Satar, Dark Thunder, and Heinrich, he strode, intent on raiding City Hall for its mayor.

But then, then came the Noir Rose. Immediately, Satar was targeted. The Baabda Beast, he was durable, inhumanly so, but he was not immune to the will of physics. The Noir Rose's momentum was exponential, infusing into his kick, the pop needed to make a statement. He was clever, the Noir Rose. With his back turned, and his focus set elsewhere, even the all-durable Satar was vulnerable. His plane (footing) was weak, he was in no position to absorb the power of a strike. It is when a plane is weak that fighters are knocked down. And the target, the Noir Rose's target, the back of the knee, both an area not spongy enough to absorb much force, and the structural support for the Baabda Beast's massive frame, the Original Cowl couldn't have been more perfect, both in vision and execution. He felt his leg bend, and his balance abandon him, the kick landing with a sharp sting that swarmed the back of his knee with a stabbing pain. He grunted, Satar, in frustration, and in pain.

He turned round, and his gelid gaze found him, the Noir Rose. The man responsible for the destruction of his armory, and the decimation of half the Brahma Brotherhood. Slowly, he rose, standing to his full height. A forward roll of the shoulders, and he instructed, "LeBeau. Kill him", he growled, turning away and gesturing for both Heinrich and Dark Thunder to accompany him as he sought to continue his march to City Hall. Lucifer? He could not be more pleased. The Noir Rose was a smudge. One who through his virtuous feats and moral deeds cast the illusion that man was not the inborn animal he was. To him, the Noir Rose represented an exaggerated illusory superiority, a cognitive bias that made him far too eager to point to man's positive qualities but refuse his negative ones. He must be cured. Lucifer would be his solution. And so he strode forward, harnessing the power of oxykinesis (acid manipulation) to conjure fluoroantimonic acid, the world's strongest superacid. In other words, the world's deadliest corrosive agent. Coolly, he altered the density of the acid's molecules, turned it solid and shaped it into acid daggers. He twirled and taunted, unharmed by his own powers, and ready to do battle.

Elsewhere

Andreia Bozzano and Maximilian Klemens, they were systematic in their attacks, leading the Brahma Brotherhood in an aggressive assault. One disarmed with the smell of the world's most repulsive chemical, and the other burned with the most vigorous fluorinating agent in the world. Together, they formed the most lethal of duos. Though as they rampaged, burned and attacked, the New Rock escapees were confronted, confronted by foes they simply could not measure up to; the McStorm brothers. The first sibling was resistant, unaffected even by the wrath of fluorine fire. And the second? His ability to absorb energy in its every incarnation, swatted away the danger of heart, of fire.

How he miraculously seemed unaffected by the fire's entropy however, neither Maximilian nor Andreia could know. And where the fluorine fire failed, so did the stench of thioacetone. A chemical that with but a single drop, could be smelled half a kilometer away and threatened the evacuation of an entire city, accomplished little against the McStorm duo. They strode forward, swashbuckling cool oozing from their pores as they commenced their attack. Distracted by Jaired, neither Andreia nor Maximilian could have anticipated what followed. Shock-waves, legions of them, stormed forward and battered them without mercy. They felt their flesh shred like paper, their tissues superheat, and their limbs break free from their joints. Their eyes vibrated and melted in their sockets, their internal organs cried out in pain, and before they could utter a breath, both were dead.

Their corpses were mangled shells, missing limbs and eyes, and their blood pouring from every wound. The fires raged on throughout the city, and the puddles of thioacetone remained scattered about. But their conjurers? Gone. Dead before even Gale could make good on Quintus' instruction for an aerial assault.

@satar:

Another day another shit storm way Jessica saw it. Day in and day out the city was brutalized crippled and assailed. There was something always going down as if not a soul in the world could stop kicking the dead horse. Recently though a sliver of hope had come in the election of her brother. He might just be the ticket to seeing this city turnout better. Today however in the always cloudy and bleak city someone was out to see that hope extinguished.

A putrid smell floods the streets repulsive and making many citizens ill. A crafty move, though one scene before recently reported used against Maverick. Details were few but the opposition had to be the same the weapons fire said so. It was Mav tech the fire was a new trick though so there was at least some originality. The ridiculing dragon admired the flames, apart of her wanted to walk into them. To let her existence end, they were unrelenting and welcoming. Suicide wasn't an option though she'd stand beside her brother beside Gothic until her last breath. She wasn't willing to give her life this was her life. Jessica was the mask not Dragonfang.

She was unaffected and well equipped, The vigilante known before as Vex now more so as Dark Vengeance inherited that of the previous DV and Jess could outfit herself accordingly. So she simply raced to the city hall prepped to engage those who might harm her brother. She ignored the flames but not the attackers. Bat shaped shurikan ripped through the air and sank into skulls. Passive throws from the rooftops she wouldn't slow down but that didn't mean she'd let up on the criminals either. For the Gothic Dragon the punishment for crime was death and that was about all there was to it.

Reaching the hall she leapt off a gargoyle of a nearby building cape allowing her to glide to the steps with grace as she retracted her bow staff. Immediately the fangs of the dragon were shown as she began to pour VX toxins from her hands encompassing the weapon along the way. Vapor trails lingered in the air and built up with every motion. Do to it's slow breakdown VX could generate repeated exposure more of it worse effects could be. The amount of the poison determined it's effect but Jessica wasn't going to let the delivery amount be anything more then high in quantity. It functioned by targeting enzymes that were basically an "off switch". Because of this glands and muscles were under constant stimulation. It was an odorless compound one might not even know it'd goten to them it's side effects though would make one wish they had. It could result in a shortness of breath or even an inability to breathe, it might make blood pressure drop drastically or sky rocket. Muscle convulsions nausea and drowsiness were common and it was said from even a small dose twitching was certain. All the while as a nerve agent the toxin could be delivered by simple skin contact.

Rapid twirling motions with arching sweeps and various leaps look to pound various joints and the skull of the tactical beast. Her blows were of grand physique a swing that could dent cars with ease and the like but she didn't expect peek strength to do it. She didn't need to crush bone friendly love taps would be just as good. The build up of a toxic fog of war all about the confined space was the intention alone.

"It is not necessarily the strongest species that survives, nor the most intelligent. It is the one that the most responsive to change."

Long has Gothic been his home. To many, Gothic was a chaotic, bleak hellhole ruled by no one. Governed by laws akin more to that of a jungle rather than a city. Police were just another gang, military support was absent. It was not something the government had shown themselves to attempt to save, more so, contain. It's affairs were all internal now, contained within that one island that was the city.

Very quickly, word had somehow spread of the Brahma Brotherhood acquiring weapons from an all too familiar name, Maverick Incorporated. An entity from which Pax was spawned, from which he was created. And from which he escaped by them confirming his apparent demise at the mythical test your might tournament. Which brought Pax here, and it is hardly difficult to see why. This one was one of the few places that Maverick Seldom operated, only in times of grave danger, and indeed, this confusion lead to the inability for Maverick to receive word of what was happening here, their own weapons being used to terrorize the populace and assert power over the far-gone city of Gothic.

Long has Pax watched, the feeling of fear now endowing him with a new world view as he learns to calm himself. It gave a feeling of self preservation. Of indeed, more control than he ever had. The fear didn't hinder him. It helped him develop. It was not something that was to be exploited within him, it was something that Pax had learned to master. His growing mind observing this city and it's workings. It's people who cried out for help. Through watching this city, Pax had not only come to understand it, but himself. What he was designed for. Why he killed, why they killed. The city had enabled him to rinse the blood from his eyes and see it anew. The time for planning was over. Now was the time to act.

Infiltrating the Brahma Brotherhood was simple enough. The group needed able bodied men and Pax had somewhat of a reputation in the city, albeit nothing big. He had at first, stolen from many drug cartels, who soon found themselves unable to stop him from stealing from them. However, they found that they could deal with him, hiring him as often a well paid enforcer, one who was incredibly effective at tearing through no name vigilantes attempting to thwart their operations. It paid incredibly well, and Pax had little desire for materialistic and unnecessary things. He wanted to fund more. So he simply continued with this, evolving. Growing only stronger and stronger with each passing day. Presenting himself to them as one who simply wished to aid them in their cause of making the city a living hell. He did not seek fame or recognition among them. Simply put, he was to appear to the Badaba Beast (@satar) as but another large thug. Hardly any different from some of those among his ranks.

Blood and fire was in the air, the scent of a putrid chemical weapon festering through the earth's air. However, Pax's immune system was unlike that of most, dynamic, adjustable, always evolving. The solution to this? Neutralize the sense of smell entirely, and leave the body to work with and filter the air. He moved with the Bulls, but soon, it was revealed that he betrayed them. He slaughtered the entire squad he was sent with, and picked up their armament, adding it to his collective. Knowing all of the locations of the firearms, Pax had soon gone to work in taking some for himself. His hypermind well at work.

The bulls had stuck to using Maverick's directed energy weapon, which were versatile and useful. But mostly weaker and less forceful than the kinetic firearms they used. Alternate ammunition that could be adapted to any gun, small explosives made to make explosives suffer. Maverick's weaponry was sometimes complicated and difficult to use. Some of the weapons too difficult to be wielded by a single man. The MAR weighed 80 pounds. An assault rifle weighes approximately 9-12 lbs. Other weapons required large amounts of power and an infrastructure capable of supplying complicated and difficult to obtain materials to function. Lasers might be useful, but their capacitor banks would only last so long before needing to have their It was ironic. With the men ironically seemingly not bulletproof or even incredibly difficult to kill, the forces of "The Rumblers gang" (@the_puzzler) and the vigilantes of Gothic may not have as much difficulty with them as Satar might believe.

However, Pax? He was trained in their use during his time with Maverick. He knew how they worked and could even sustain some of them. Devising ideal strategies for dealing with them. He chose to hijack a power plant simply for the purpose of powering the SABR rifles and charging superconducting rounds with oodles of energy to create plasma munitions. From the inside out, Pax slowly dissembled the Bulls from a small portion of the city, taking a weapons cache as he betrayed them, killing off some with the help of an army of mercenaries and hired guns who had come to aid him.

And now would come, a show of power.

Pax aimed out a launcher, one of Maverick's acclaimed "God-Killer" weapons in hand as he shot a rocket down range, a hypersonic missile that within moments accelerated to speeds superior to that achieved by most railguns in moments. The round propelled by a small nuclear charge, but being fissionless (No Radioactive fallout) and used for propulsion. The effects were purely kinetic. But effect.

The city itself seemed to tremble from the impact, one that tore through entire structures of reinforced steel and concrete as if it were made of cardboard. The first skyscraper, owned by luxurious cartel and mafia alike, was rippd completely in two by the shot. It served as a message. A message to other powers and vigilantes of Gothic. One that was left up to interpretation. It was not too soon before Pax had begun to rally more people behind him. Ones who now feared him as well as Satar and the Bulls.

Now was the time to see, how others may respond. Some may not even notice it. With Pax's experience, he found the result of the fear was a mixture of resistance and retreat. The weaker ones, those who seemingly have little impact on things as a whole, often left in favor of those who may as well have been gods to them. They would let them hold the sky for them, and already one has appeared (@joey_destroyer_of_worlds). It wasn't long before others were to appear.

After all, who was Dark Vengeance? (@_vex_) In Pax's eyes, he was simply someone who preyed on the weak. One who spent much of his time beating poverty stricken, no name petty thugs. Mutilating children. Who spreaded fear. Tactics of the use of ones such as himself, who had no moral inhibitions and was more or less driven by both the drive of an Apex Predator and logic. But Dark Vengeance, to him, was weak. Ineffective. A symbol of fear without any hope. Someone who served to drive the city further into despair, who never had anything to show for his actions.

Only a man.

And Pax, saw himself as a predator. One who was seemingly physical inferior to Satar, and yet, seemingly boasting an advantage of having knowledge Satar did not. The monster that was Pax had only scratched the surface of Maverick's weaponry. Pax saw Satar, he was weakened. Maverick had struck a criticial wound against him, one of their own weapons being wholly capable of ripping through his flesh and having weakened his innards, Pax had planned to potentially kill him as well. Hardly was he one to lay down. And he someone to instead. Be put down. However, this was only if he wasn't killed by the vigilantes sent after him. Pax able to see for miles through rippling vibrations as the noir rose (@quintus_knightfall).

Everything had come together so well, Pax would be content to sit and wait beneath notice if had to, slowly but assuredly seeking to take over portions of the city. He had much to think about. Many of the weapons were still stolen, and would have to be tracked down, before their enemies realized what exactly it was they had.

There is much to do.

"It was only a matter of time,"Perseus characteristically deepened voice resounded in an unmistakable murmur. Shadowy silhouette visible in the light of the vibrant moon, hiss masterfully conditioned frame stood positioned high above the streets. Steely gaze veiled in an curiously ivory adorned mask of an indifferent expression, arms patiently along the back of his imposing frame. His form appeared clothed in a coat of darkest grey, mahogany curls hidden beneath a menacing hood complimenting the color scheme of his coat.

Unperturbed posture maintain in the midst of the unfolding chaos from the Brahma Brotherhood's assault, his left (uncovered) hand appeared to twist in an unorthodox, circular motion. The sickening, unrelenting odor that rapidly seeped through Gothic's endless array of streets hadn't yet downed in its wake. The unnatural change his supernatural interventions induced into the air currents drifting around fortunately prevented the thioacetone scourge from rendering him thoroughly nauseous. And yet, because of it, the innate fluidity laced within his every motion seemed marginally forced, as though even the small amount that he had received a whift of slightly took its toll.

Again, the most dangerous city in the world would be forced to survive the onslaught of another. The metaphorical knife thrust into the city's infrastructure was only dug deeper and deeper through every assault. Law enforcement rendered utterly useless to the brink of nonexistence, the skies blotted with pollution, streets slick with grime and gore, and overrun with convicts only interested in making the place and even greater hell. There was no saving it, and the Shinigami was convinced of that fact. It had fallen to the point of being forsaken by the nation, avoided by some like a plague.

Its only vestige of hope was complete and utter destruction, and the Crimson Salvation was here to deliver.

In an instant, the ground had begun to violently shake. A deafening detonation, and the resonating sounds of collapsing debris finally caused the Ravager's head to revolve to the side, interest piqued. A missile strike, already? Funny how only now did one decide to begin raining that sort of demolition on the city. Alas, he mused, instinctively backing into the opposite direction, till hardly skirted the rooftop's edge. If he hoped to aid in the city's siege, to finish it off as should have been done long ago, the time act was now. Sauntering forward, his arms dramatically raised upward, muscles tensed, fingers slightly bent. As his callous stare honed in upon multitudes of horrified civilians below, his arms began rigid, hands clenching abruptly. In an instant, a few dozen crowds of them had begun to double over, eyes wide with shock as inexplicable pains shot through their bodies. Bones aching as though on fire, numerous CRACKS resounded as the force of Perseus' bloodbending had begun to take a hold, contorting the necks of a number of victim's till breaking point.

@_pax_: @satar: Quintus_Knightfall: Lucifer_LeBeau

Xae smirked in her armor. He must think this is bad. I'll let you know when it's bad human. He was right though, the foot soldiers would scatter without leadership, cutting the head from the snake was a tried and true tactic. Xae cocked her head, reading over the plethora of data scrolling over her vision and then shifted her wings out of hiding and into plain view. She spread her black leathery wings and took flight high up into the sky. She didn't have the speed of a Hawk Lord but she had precision and skill developed through a combination of millions of years of instinct and over a thousand years of military service. The true apex predator, a member of the first sentient species to live on Terra, Xae flew through the sky with a grace and skill unrivaled by anyone else in the city that day. Her eyes scanned the field of battle below and data points spawned before her eyes, feeding her advanced intelligence with the raw data necessary to break the chaos down into meaningful chunks. The snake never fights alone.

She watched a hypersonic missile tear through a sky scraper and cocked her head slightly. She paused in her flight, shifting smoothly to an even hover as she watched the building's top plummet to the city below. That's different. Everything seems to be designed to debilitate and distract while the bulk of forces are pushing towards the city center and the seat of government. Why fire a missile at something unrelated? Keep it in mind Xae. She returned to her flight and spotted the human who had spoken to her moments ago fighting a new individual. She also spotted individuals she could only assume were of some higher importance to the attack taking place. That they were marching on the seat of government spoke volumes. There are defenders between them and the building. That means they'll be delayed at the very least. What we need is the ability to flank them...which means getting my possible ally out of his fight as quickly as possible.

Xae came out of no where in a dive that was performed with such precision and skill as to make any of the other flight capable fighters in the area green with envy. The unknown hero, her identity masked by her armor, fell from the sky and landed in a perfect crouch to the right hand of Quintus. She folded her wings and they vanished from view.

When Xae spoke she did so carefully to mask her vocal patterns from being identified as Gale Xanders. Her armor altered her vocal tones oh so very slightly...just enough to make it virtually impossible to notice with simple hearing while any detailed analysis run later would only pick up that there was in fact a distortion but not be able to completely remove it. Finally, she spoke with the accent she carefully masked when she was acting as Gale Xanders. Rather than speaking in perfect English, she spoke in one of the languages known to her species many millions of years ago. The language of choice was not her native language, instead it was something they had discovered...something that sounded a surprisingly amount like English but strangely alien at the same time. The accent was hard to place, one of those accents where the spoken language seemed oh so familiar and yet the words sounded...off. "This isn't my first war." She told Quintus and rose to her feet, flexing the armored claws that extended from her gauntlet-ed fingers.

Xae's armor was unique and was made of a material as yet unseen on modern Terra. The armor was comprised of layered and flexible alloy plating capable of absorbing absolutely brutal punishments. If compared to any modern material it's closest competitor would be Vibranium but this armor was lighter, arguably stronger and capable of absorbing various kinds of damage and either shunting it to the rest of the plating or simply tanking it. Each armor plate was paper thin and the mesh beneath was just as strong. Finally, the armor was comprised of shape shifting molecules and thus able to alter form with her if she needed to assume her true form and wished to remain armored. The armor wasn't alien technology...it was native Terran...just very, very old.

@joey_destroyer_of_worlds: _Pax_

The Red Time Force Ranger came to a sudden stop when he saw half of a sky scraper crashing down toward the city. "Oh no!" He looked around for any terrorists and seeing that he spoke into his morpher. "Q-Rex, Arise!" I have to try and keep that building from falling on innocent people. The Q-Rex can tank the damage and absorb most of the impact...but I don't know if I can stop everything. Still...better than nothing. The mighty Quantasaurus Rex was one of the most powerful Zords ever created. Upon command the dinosaur shaped machine was teleported from its storage facility and stood strong beneath the falling sky scraper.

The building half collapsed on-top of it and the Zord dug its massive feet into the ground and used its back to shield many of the inhabitants below. The building plowed into its back and crumbled, shattering on impact and scattering concrete, steel and glass in every direction. Just as Wes had wanted the Zord's heavy armor absorbed the majority of the damage rather than allowing half of a building to fall onto the street and houses below. Unfortunately it could not take everything and a great deal of damage was still caused by falling debris...still...it could have been much worse. Tens of people died rather than hundreds. The dinosaur Zord forced its way from the rubble as the dust settled and stood tall, completely unscathed. Satisfied and certain he wouldn't need it for anything else he set the Zord to using its might claws to lift debris and help people escape the wreckage as best as it could.

"Now...I need to find allies!" He said and set off again. Fortunately he did not have far to go before he ran into Joey who's heroic uniform, fancy cape and pose suggested an ally rather than an enemy. The Red Ranger walked up to him and holstered his Chrono Blaster. "I really hope you aren't a terrorist in a clever disguise, this city could use some more help before things really start to get out of control. I think I saw a lot of their forces moving towards the center of the city, we should move there and see what we can do to help. We can clean up all these mooks later, if we try to do it now we'll be here forever and won't do much good in the process." The Red Ranger said with an enthusiastic gesture to the heart of Gothic. "Are you with me?" He rested a hand on his blaster. "Or just a colorful bad guy?"

Like I can complain about someone being colorful. He mused.

All the time I've spent away and not a single thing's changed. Don't they ever get enough of this city?

Once again Gothic City found itself at the epicentre of another attack by the immoral and amoral alike wishing to either take it over or burn the city to the ground. And once again Abigail saw fit to throw herself into the fray. Her circumstances, though wholly different, were exactly the same. Even as Raysh Al-Shaytan she remained in a perpetual janitorial position. Stuck cleaning up after the unscrupulous.

Scenes of violence blurred around her as she zipped through the streets on her red sportsbike, and as she thought on these things, for the first time since the height of the Venezuelan conflict, she felt fatigued. Fatigued from trying, fatigued from helping, fatigued from caring. So much effort, for so little results. Not even a brief respite...

But human concern isn't something someone can just turn off, so there she was. By her command, those following her ranks were dispersed throughout the city doing aid work and crowd control. Little doubt snuffing those deemed foes whenever they got the chance. That, she mused, was her fault, for not yet mustering the courage to issue the decree she knew held the power to turn a grand number of her subjects to enemies nigh instantly.

Can't focus on that now. Eyes forward. Shaking her head, she cleared the ruminations from her mind, reminding herself of her intended goal.

While the League scattered throughout the city, Aensland herself took on something of a more self-interested undertaking; spreading them so that she wouldn't have to worry as much for every one. Her focus lay almost singularly on the southside slums, for a particular pair of inhabitants at a particular location.

St. George's Church. There the priest Cornelo was left with Alyssa's comatose body, waiting for some solution none of them knew just yet. She'd been asleep for months, stolen from a hospital in Venezuela. But to reach the solution first they'd have to be alive to see it.

The motorcycle's roaring engine heralded her arrival easily long before she came within view. She swerved and spun into a halt just outside. Sure enough, a congregation had formed of those who delighted particularly in the idea of tearing down a church, trying their damnedest to break through the barred entryway. At a glance it wasn't clear whether they were group affiliated or just a mob taking advantage of an opportunity.

Hands as quick as night lightning nocked, drew and fired, the nanite bow virtually silent in striking down its first target. She fired, one fell. And another. And another. The crowd took notice and charged. She remained stationary and fired again. And again and again and again. At least fifteen men, all down before they could get within ten feet of the veteran archer. Zero casualties.

Abigail parked and dismounted the bike, calling out to the priest. "Father! Cornelo, are you in there!?"

After a few moments of silence, a series of clicks and bumps signified she'd been heard, and not much later the doors opened. There stood the priest, key ring in one hand, 12-gauge shotgun lowered in the other.

"How is she?" She had to ask.

"About the same as you left her." He shrugged. "She can't tell a bit o' difference between what's goin' on out there and...whatever else," he said, tapping on his temple. "So, 're you back for her or is this just a friendly visit?"

Abby ignored the good-natured sarcasm. "Just making sure you're both alright, thank God."

"Thank you," the Father spoke up. "If you hadn't arrived when you did me an' God woulda had to have some words about the way he let me go out." He chuckled. "So what now? You got one o' your superpowered friends on standby to keep us company while you do your thing?"

There was a pause before she answered. "I'll try and call in some favours. Need to figure out what this is all about. For now this'll have to do." She gave a signal lifting her hand to the sky and, as if from the air itself, they were immediately flanked on all sides by seven black-clad assassins. Al-Shaytan's orders were curt and purposefully indistinct.

"Defend these two with your lives...Please don't let anything happen to them," she added. "Take care, Father." And then she was off, leaving the priest, the assassins, and the comatose terrorist-affiliate to fend for themselves. Once again Cornelo barred the doors and locked the church up tight.

....

"You guys like cappuccino?"

@lucifer_lebeau: @gale_xanders:

"This isn't my first war."

Though eye contact had remained detached, a charming and unexpected grin had made its way upon the visual visage of the Dark Arashikage. His impromptu partner showing herself to have a bit of an edge. "Good" he silently mused. Having witnessed a few of the unknown cavalier's abilities. "make sure its not your last"he grinned with a dry sense of humor.

Quintus then took a few confident steps to the side while never breaking a redirected gaze from the Brahma forgery, as he began to subside deeper into city hall. Propelling the physical lowering of the Knightfall's guard. Paused as the masked affiliate of the Satar sought to heed his general's order and dispatch the martial arts mamba. So without further delay Quintus sprang into action, hurling several razor sharp K-rangs constructed from a cocktail of promethium metal and black v, towards the silent heretic. Stylishly diving in behind the deadly projectiles and darting towards his opponent with a subtle sway. Arms and upper-body completely concealed beneath a flame retardant cape. With the idea of masquerading the Raptor of Renaissance's ability to visually track his strike based avenues. Camouflaged anticipation loaded like a spring as Quintus shifted into a striking position. Igniting into a flurry of feinting shoulder movement and open-palm strikes. Carefully flowing in and out of vulnerable striking lanes. He hoped.

Simultaneously a cerebral spider-web of subconscious outlines spontaneously spawned within the Knightfall's manufactured mental palace. Effortless compartmentalization aided in the development of a versatile set of possible maneuvers. Not only for himself, but the K-Wing and the warrior who had followed head long into the heart of the battle. She had indeed seen many wars, Quintus could tell by her movements and posture. So he knew that directing her after the Satar in what would surely come across as an order, would have been self-defeating. Her own natural instincts and tactical intelligence would fuel her actions.

Meanwhile the citizens of Gothic continued to live in the inescapable nightmare. Buildings began to topple, the air continued to propagate a toxic fume. Concrete played host to a cinematic opera of fire. Once again, Gothic burned. Luckily several of the World's heroes, some recognizable, some not, but all vital to the cause. Mechanized robots and costumed paragons had descended upon Gothic. Stalling the inevitable destruction but wavering to stop it. Satar had to be taken out and soon.

@joey_destroyer_of_worlds: @red_time_force: @arquitenens:

"You know what the f I hate!? These Rumbler blokes, who the hell are they to tell me no?! Racist sexist bastards I tell you!" Calamity screeched over the radio the sisters were using. The sounds of her fist colliding against metal making up back ground noise.

"Their was a girl with them when you went and they told you why they said no. It's preference only chill out." Rose remarked while traveling the streets immune to the effects of the nauseating fume as she had no organs. It was an irritating aroma but not one that would slow her down. Venturing about she ignored pedestrians, retaliatory gunfire came her way but went nowhere. Like striking the thickest of trees the bullets failed to venture far in her body. The emerald skinned teen was looking only for those valiant enough to fight the maelstrom. Wasn't long before she found some individuals of note either.

One was in bright red spandex, she concluded him as the weakest link having not seen the mech to have assumed otherwise. He spoke to a Champion knock off, the knock off was likely more dangerous yet almost more insulting. Pore fashion was understandable tacky impersonation was distasteful. However in truth she was under estimating and might just find herself regretting her attempted conquest. Even still she strolled through the streets and while her steps were like those along a models catwalk the earth trembled as if nature was furious.

Erupting from asphalt and concrete was a series of vines and wooden tendrils that shot forward as nature began it's rampage. These thick sentient like branches raced to ensnare the spandex and knock off. A predominant target of the plants was in effort to rip away their masks. Where exposure to the unforgiving aroma would once more strike. More so she wanted faces revealed though so that she to could toy with the various chemicals and toxins of nature.

Meanwhile on the edge of town outside the range of nauseous smell Calamity was on one side of a bridge leading out. Looking through a pair of binoculars she saw a near by church receiving heroic intentions, finally someone had come to her little corner of town. The rabble rousers of atheist losers was quickly dispatched. Calamity however wouldn't let such an endearing challenge leave so soon however. Starting up the engine of the diesel truck the bulky vehicle began driving forward and gaining speed. Admittedly it couldn't get to fast it was no luxury high speed vehicle. It was however a mammoth and as Calamity drove it into the center of the rode it began to unforgivingly hit cars on either side. When in motion Calamity became a virtual juggernaut her movements rarely halted. Traffic was slow, retreat impossible meaning almost every car would be hit if she wasn't stopped. A massive pile up began to build cars pushed off the bridge or crumbling into a horrendous mass.

The room was otherwise dark, save for the concentrated glow of the multitude of monitors reflecting off of a bespectacled face. Three AC units blared in unison, working overtime to keep the server room and its occupant cool. Eyes over the city, the techno-mercenary rolled her eyes.

"At this point anything revolving around this city feels like beating a dead horse. But maybe Argus can use some of it, so it couldn't hurt. And let's see one of his person-lackeys get the kinda shots I can."

Indeed, the monitors showed vantage points from locations that would be physically impossible for a human and even most metahumans to cover. All thanks to her workabee drones dispersed throughout the city. Discreet little messengers, visually indistinct from common insects, monitoring events and feeding data streams through a series of pathways. A person with a camera was too much to worry about. Hold the lens up, point it toward the action while running for your life. The view isn't good enough, get closer. Move around that obstruction.

No problem.

With her unmanned miniature minions she had angles, steadiness and clarity, and best of all the stealth to facilitate all of that. If he had any sense Dox's heir would take what she had and, even barring the use of anything here, contact her for help in his future humanitarian efforts.

-- --

Satisfied with her positioning she turned slightly in her chair to face another monitor, this one feeding from a far less indistinct source – what appeared to be an MQ-1B Predator combat drone hovering over the city.

The actions of that drone, too, she filmed with her bees, and that too would be shown to Argus. Her equipment came primarily from what she could cobble together or otherwise generous donations - and "donations" - from various sources. Secrecy in that wouldn't be a problem unless she were dumb enough to scratch her name into the side. It would've been virtually impossible to trace back to her; so then, best to give the full picture, for good measure.

This one represented fulfilling a contract. Drop a few laser-guided missiles, stir a little chaos, help the cause a bit, whatever. Nothing personal, Gothics. But further, from the man Satar himself, told to watch for anything resembling the true Noir Rose, and if he should appear, to take him out. And appear he did, as expected, looking to sever the serpent's head early before interception by another crony.

His skills were legendary. And in spite of them - or perhaps particularly because of them - Ananke was perfectly suited to take him out. Why? Because the Noir Rose is, among other things, a (presumed) human vigilante and martial arts master. But while others seek to engage in physical combat, to play the patty-cake game of hit and move and to play to the strengths of other fighters, Ananke simply bombed. Ananke struck from afar, attacking combatants where they were least prepared, and removing any chance of direct immediate retaliation. Even should the drone be incapacitated or completely destroyed, it would ultimately hold no bearing on the mercenary herself. Anonymity is the greatest security.

The roles of the two-man crew she fulfilled all her own. Piloting, sensors and weapons, and coordination. Target is in sight...Surrounded by allies and enemies alike. They were of no concern. Ananke was given no orders to attack nor to refrain from attacking, so in the matrix of possible interactions, she factored them only as tactics and collateral. If they were caught in the crossfire, so be it. If they survived, so be it. So long as her aid against the Rose was marked.

Nothing personal.

She attacked with lethal intent, hoping to catch him in the midst of his combat maneuvering where his mental resources would be further divided. With the press of a button 204 kilos and the entirety of the drone's payload dispatched, two laser-guided AGM-114 Hellfire missiles, on a precision-based course straight for the reality-displaced Knightfall – and anyone who happened to be near enough to catch the effects.

@the_puzzler

Pax sat on a rooftop, watching the city below burn. It's people plunged into fear, despair and hopelessness, power-less to ultimately stop or even impede anything that was happening. Sheep before wolves. The wolves all about the city, preying on the innocent, the city ripe for the taking. He watched one fly through the air (@gale_xanders) and a large machine catch half the faling structure (@red_time_force) but he had an expression of more or less, indifference. They were to be watched, like everything else.

When one asks, who is the predator in the world of Wolves and sheep, many would say it was the wolves, who could run about the sheep as they pleased. Pax however, saw the true Apex predator as man, the shepard. Long had Pax been something of a wolf, beaten time and time again by Shepards. And so he saw fit as to become a shepard himself. What was a Shepard or Wolf without Sheep? A shepard would be poor, and a wolf, dead.

Pax sought to take over some of Gothic, not through fear alone, but through reason as well. He sought to bring others to his side while the "Heroes" and "Villains" fought among themselves. It was easy enough. Pax had seen all about the city, and he knew the city well, as he watched as the Rumbler's gang engaged the Bull. Knowing of their leader (as well as general leaders of gangs all throughout Gothic), he went forth to him, through however was in his way.

Pax cut through the streets of areas without fire, sprinting about. The Bulls aware of his betrayal, retaliated against him. However, ceramic inserts hidden within Pax's armor caused plasma to mostly wash over him, lasers cut through, but cut into what? Cauterizing flesh that healed nigh-instantly. A well placed shot through Pax's eye? It had done little to him, his brain could continue to process with the smallest of bits left in his skull, due the molecularly engineered cells capable of computing vast amounts of information due the immense functional density of Pax's mind. He could function with only a few milligrams of brain matter present, let alone his entire head still intact. And when he got close range, he was too much. He literally tore men apart, arms and heads coming off from his grips. His punches caved in skulls. His fingers could rend into bullet resistant armor.

Surviving a casual hit from Pax, was like trying to survive a car crash. Many died but a few particularly irony individuals could survive a blow, but rarely without having a multitude of roken bones. His blurring speed was too much to react to, his skill a result of years of training with Super Soldier Special Warfare Operators and men who fought and killed gods for a living. His fists and hands drew nothing but Crimson as he made his way to his objective.

He appeared, jumping from a rooftop before he landed before Ace, the ground beneath his fist cracking very sublty as he landed on all 3s, Pax standing up to show himself to be 7 ft 9 inches tall. 710 pounds of almost entirely raw muscle and small amounts of protective fat as a sort of ablative armor, standing before him, looking down towards him.

He said simply, speaking very softly and politely, while the Blood of many Bull's dripped ever so subtly from his fists. They eye hole they had managed to shoot through, healing now on the spot completely, slowly, but assuredly.

"I have been watching you, for a little bit. So, I'll get to the point. You are against this, are you not? All so senseless. All so disruptive. Destroying everything. Gothic needs a new order, a different kind of order. The vigilantes are of little use in preventing actual crime, they do not see that the lack of any infrastructure causes many to resort to "crime" irregardless. This city, it is rotting to it's core, is it not? So, why not put it under the kind of order it used to? The law of the strongest. I am here to ask you, to help me take this city for myself. I won't make it anything that it's not, I won't make the city "good." I will simply make it a place where there is an order. You and many others will be able to function as you did before, running small parts of the city and doing what it is you do."

Pax leaned forwards slightly, looking at Ace, not even acknowledging firearms he seemed to be carrrying, as although firearms could generally be effective against him, it takes more the weapon you used to harm an armored vehicle rather than a person, to harm Pax. Something like a .50 caliber rifle, or something of the sort. His eyes glowed slightly, a luminescent red.

"If I fail, I'll harbor no ill will should you run. Turn against me, and you will be an enemy of course, as one savvy as yourself might guess. So, "Ace", what is your answer?"

Pax stared at him, listening and watching intently. Primarily because having come from a company riddled with skilled gun-men, despite Pax being nearly "bulletproof" he had decided to not exactly under estimate the man. Or his resources, as it wasn't out of the question for to have something capable of harming him.

@_pax_:

Ace

Only three bullets left, ten clips later, dozens of perfect shots later. Ace sat upon a rooftop like any other, at this point they all looked the same now. He'd have to get The Rat to drop off some more ammo, and probably some more firepower if he wanted to stay in the fight. First he pulled out his Export A cigarettes and slipped one in his mouth, another behind his ear for later. After stuffing the pack of cancer back in his leather jacket, the enforcer pulled out his radio tuned to the Rumblers signal.

"It's Ace. Somebody get The Rat out of whatever car he's working on and get him to my area, this cat's just about outta led. And someone figure out where the hell Prot is, I'll be needin' him if I want to push through to the town sq-" Ace's broadcast was interrupted when something came crashing down beside him. He didn't even flinch, merely taking a cool drag of his fresh smoke, a dark brow raised at what towered before him.

In the shadows, it looked like the world's tallest bear carcass. The thing was dripping with gallons of blood, and smelt like a slaughterhouse midsummer. "The fck do they feed ya where your from?" Ace's tone was sharp, knowing he was about to deal with something that was a twisted and bloody reflection of what man should be.

The mountain of muscle started talking, clearly not here for a fight. Isn't like Ace could face off anyhow, with only three bullets- Two bullets now, as a Bull gave himself away in the shadows behind Ace by stepping on some ratted newspaper. He put that bullet right between his eyes without even looking. This 'man' was saying things Ace has heard time and time again from rival gangs. Order, peace, shaky alliances. Only difference here, was that this person was a Meta, or something. And Rumblers don't do Metas.

Now wasn't the time for principle though. Ace saw something useful standing in front of him, something that could be used to get this nightmare over that much sooner.

"Some speech ya had prepped their man. I'm touched, really." Sarcasm oozed from his mouth the same time as nicotine puffed out. "Us Rumblers? We don't talk shop when the fight is on. So how's about I make ya a counter offer..." Ace walked passed the blood covered massacre that stood on two legs and took a drag of his smoke, pointing at the town square about a click away. "You help me kill as many of these chumps as ya can, and at least get these streets back in Rumbler favor? Then we'll have ourselves a sit down and talk shop, ya dig?" Ace stared into those beady eyes without an ounce of fear, his heartbeat as cool as his attitude.

"The Rat"

"Fackin nice ride, slick ride, smooooth ride!" Rat was waist deep in a 1957 coupe, torn down and twisted to behold one mean Rat-Rod. His garage looked exactly how he himself appeared. An oil ridden shamble of parts and half torn cars from wall to wall. The manic mechanic popped his dirty head up from the hood when Ace's broadcast buzzed through the shop's radio, his eye twitched while running his oily hand through his slicked hair, heart racing at the prospect of what he now needed to do.

"YEAH YEAH YEAH! Fack yeah! Let's rip, let's run around town!" Rat shouted at his, well, pet rats that scurried inside the custom car. He grabbed two cases of ammo, some guns and chucked them into the trunk willy nilly, slipping his leather jacket over his soot covered jumpsuit. "I'm a comin' Ace, goin' on a nice Sunday drive!" He cackled while leaping through the diver side window, grabbing the keys and slamming them into the ignition.

When the Rat-Rod sprung to life, it was like the devil itself woke up from a long nap. Fire exploded out of the exaggerated engine valves, the lifted back vibrated and shook with the raw power of a custom engine that roared like a goddamn dinosaur. The tank grade finish shook on the reinforced frame, the thing might as well be alive.

Rat chucked an 8MM wrench at the garage door controls, a loud buzz went off while the automated chain flung the bay door open. Those oversized white wall tires spun, creating a smoke among the fire spiraling out of the side exhausts. The car blasted out of the garage like a bat out of hell, drifting proper on the road and pulled 100Mph flat in no time. "Morty! Launcher!" Rat barked at one of his fuzzy little minions, actually dragging a single barrel grenade launcher by the strap with it's nasty teeth.

Rockabilly blasted among the engines roar as it rocketed towards it's location.

The Rumblers

"Incoming!" One of the greasers shouted as a Bull squad fired off an RPG right at the window they were shooting from, blasting apart bricks like they lego, and by extension blew apart those Rumblers all the same. A posse of Rumblers witnessing this from an alley just across the street saw red from that point, running from their cover to the jeep and platoon sitting right in the middle. "Oh you fckers are DEAD!" One of them shouted while pulling up his Uzi, riddling one of the Bulls still staring at the explosion. That got the rest of their attention, turning to the group of five and opening fire and taking cover behind the vehicle.

That was the advantage the Rumblers had though, they were everywhere at this point. It only took a minute of hiding from cover fire before two more Rumblers who survived the blast up by the window to start firing down on them, taking out another two. The last man standing in the squad panicked, crouching and shuffling back to the other side of the jeep, but it was too late.

One of the Rumblers flicked his switchblade open and shoved the point right into his exposed neck. Again, and again, and again. One of the other Rumblers eventually had to pull him off, kicking the body one last time before catching his cool, and slicked his hair.

"How many did they get Chance!?" One of them shouted up to the window, Chance only shaking his head while checking the shrapnel in his friend's shoulder. "Just us man...Just us.." Micky, the Rumbler who lost it with the knife, picked up the fallen Bull's RPG and slipped on of the spares into the chamber. "Well let's fcking show them how many of them get whacked when they take out our own! COME ON!"

"Sir, You need to see this. Now."

Alexander was shaken from his thoughtless day dreaming and turned immediately towards the office secretary's grim face, void of all color where only pale fear had remained. His glance quickly shot out the large glass window hovering above his office and was paralyzed in disbelief. A massive and hellish fire began sweeping it's way through the farthest corner of the city outskirts, slowly, but destructively making its way down visible living areas.

"My god. No."

The words dropped from his lips in only a whisper as the office workers stood motionless, gripped by fear. All except the newly appointed mayor who's mind was swarming with theories and suspects as to what was causing this. The inferno was too broad to be a simple gas leak in the city and had been burning longer than any sort of bombing or explosive device would normally allowed.

While deducing the cause, the political employees began to vomit in synchronization, falling to their knees while doing so. The endless flow of bile from their recently digested meals filled the room in a putrid stench as they writhed and gagged in disgusting agony. Not immune from the sickness, Alexander himself hunched over clutching his abdomen in anguish. It took every single one of his abdominal muscles to force his digestive system to stay in check, but despite the effort, vomit began to spew from his own mouth. Slightly limping towards the rectangular mahogany desk, he slapped the keyboard in a complex combination, struggling to remember the pattern he had created. Within seconds, steel plates dropped from every single vent and opening in the room sealing off anyway for outside gases and liquids from entering or exiting.

Bringing themselves away from their forced illness and back to their feet, the occupants of the newly formed shelter were distraught and disgusted by the recent events.

"Mr. Rook….What's going on?!"

In much better physical shape than the rest of the group Alexander straightened himself up and continued to run through his mental analysis.

"It doesn't matter, Everyone to the bookcase. When Malcolm Press was mayor, he had an impenetrable bunker built into the lower floors for the protection of his employees and himself."

As he spoke, he strutted confidently towards said bookcase and pulled on another complex order.

"Inside. Now!"

With the last group inside, he sealed the doorway, reassuring them that he needed to be certain that everyone had at least evacuated the building. The true origin of the fire and sickness was too obvious. It was a intricate attack that had been perfectly orchestrated. At this point there was only two reasons behind the motives. This war monger either wanted to burn Gothic to ashes, or to stand atop the ashes with a crown. Either way, neither outcome was to occur. Not as long as breaths escaped the lungs of Dark Vengeance and the spark of retribution lit his heart. Not now. Not ever.

Still protected by the artificial seals of the room, he sprinted towards his desk and revealed a small staircase leading from under the desk and into the dark depths below. A room that was kept soundproof and secret from the one he had hid his fellow captives.

Only five people have ever heard of the room's existence and one was already dead. Nox, Dragonfang, and the two elder hawks. He was in no mood for games or to be sidetracked, instead, he made his way directly to the caged outfit that embodied all his fears hopes and dreams. While adorning himself into the costumed armor, he radioed into a few fellow vigilantes that he trusted.

" @dragonfang_ , @lunahawk and @solarhawk. Im in the lair. It's clear that whomever is initiating this siege will be making their way here. Near the center of the city. Be ready for anything. Dragon, meet up with a certain individual (@violet_kitten) and bring her into our fold. Unless new intel arrives, keep radio chatter to a minimum. Vengeance out."

There was so much more to do, but he had been preparing for something on this scale for a while. Granted, most things were still in the planning stages, but he had enough to make his move when he desired. He was holding his cards close, but when the time came, he would be ready. He refused to contact @_nox_. Not out of spite or distrust, but because knowing the mamba, he was already aware and on his way.

(From Nox)

When Felix finished voicing his concerns the woman in the next booth turned around and whispered in Mark's ear "They released the gas.". Mark looked at his half eaten steak, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to finish it. He wiped his lips with the napkin and grabbed the pen and paper.

"I didn't make you do anything, I didn't make them attack us either. They made their choice. Had she accidentally died it would have been their faults. Not ours. This only proves that they're just a bunch of brutes who will hit anyone that disagrees with them".

Mark put it down, then he stood up and asked the waitress if he could change the channel by pointing at the TV and making with his hands as if he was pressing a button with his thumb. She was kind of confused at first. After the second try of doing the same movements she handed him the controller.

He quickly surfed the channels until he found the news. The headline read "Terrorist attack on City Hall!". People were throwing up from the gas, screaming, a car lit on fire. Capes were already there making the situation worse. Anarchy in Gothic.

"I need your help. That might look bad but we both know this could turn a hell of a lot worse. My people tell me they're trying to make an example of our friend with the pointy ears. If he gets killed publicly we might as well hand them the keys to the city. I need you to evacuate the people and take care of the wildfire. Meanwhile I'll feed them their teeth in if you don't want to get your hands dirty. Contact you soon." He left a small ear piece on the table.

Clap. Clap.

Everyone inside the restaurant stood up and left through the front door like marching soldiers going to fight against judgement day. The waitress was shocked, she didn't know how to express what had just happened. Mark didn't follow them, he casually walked into to the bathroom and changed inside the stall into something more appropriate for the situation.

http://imagehost4.online-image-editor.com/oie_upload/images/7182058X5mtU/LOy1PJqOsWGw.jpg

------

Images of Gothic's previous attack flashed through the Tongueless Mamba's esoteric mind. The guilt over hiding behind the sheets attacked his gut, he was so afraid over his own well being back then. He could have helped, instead he just picked a dark hole to crawl under. In the end it didn't matter. The call knew where he lived. This time around he was going to beat the call to the punchline before it could tell the joke.

It took him five minutes to run there from roof to roof towards City Hall. Every step he took, the screams became louder and louder. Streets were crowded with looters and fights. The mask protected him from the odious smell that caused the people on the streets to empty their bellies. His assassins were also ready for the situation, reports from the Maverick attack indicated that they would most likely attempt a gas attack.

The Devil's Head watched from the roof Quintus fought, for moment he forgot that it wasn't this Earth's Quintus and was inclined to attack before being snapped back by his memory. He decided to focus on the problem at hand. His palms were open, the assassins stared at it as he waited for the precise moment to release them.

Switching to a fist three of his soldiers begun loading their sniper rifles. They held their breath as they aimed carefully. The Tongueless Mamba made his hand like a gun and then they fired at Satar's nearby cronies. Wanting to get his attention. With that shot, assassins from across the roofs revealed themselves. They stood, they watched, and when they preyed in unison they seemed like a united shadow falling over the the wannabe anarchists and revolutionaries.

Their leader was the problem, he was a lion leading an army of sheep. Mark once again didn't not join his brothers in the battlefield. He looked at Satar advance, at that instant he knew he had to find Rook before the Bull's would be heir did. Alexander had spent months training yet the LeBeau Legacy believed that they stood a better chance working together than separate. He wasn't too sure if he would be willing considering their last meeting.

No sign of him.

Malcolm Press had installed a secret compartment while he was Mayor in the janitor's closet where he kept his armor in case he ever needed a quick change. I'm betting what I have left on my wallet that's where he is right now.

---------------

Upon seeing his brooding friend in uniform he took off his mask and begun communicating with his hands.

I choose the wrong day to go grocery shopping.

For the upteenth time, Gothic had been attacked. An attack that was swift, deadly and without mercy. Walking chemical weapons spreading putrid fumes and fires all about the city. Argus, did what he did best for quite some time, he and he stayed hidden, but soon, became backed up traffic as the Bulls had begun their rampage, being forced to abandon his vehicle and proceed on foot towards one of his many acquired safehouses.

Or, well, that's how it went for a while.

You see, Argus had this thing called "A conscience." Something always nagging him. An urge to do something when he saw people getting mercilessly gunned down and terrorized, wantom murder being the rule of the day in the soon to be likelty desolate city. And so, he saw fit to act, to distract.

Naturally, his enemies retaliated, taking out a handgun as he fought back against what he saw a essentially grown bullies. They had weapons the likes of which are used to harm metahumans and some of which to kill gods, but they seemed to possess little in the sense of actual armor. Making them more, or less, a legion of glass cannons. He took advantage of the chaos as one bull threatened to gun down some poor kid among a crowd, the bullets from his handguns finding homes in the skulls of Brahma's bullies.

Granted, it wasn't without retaliation. Argus was a very good shot, but he wasn't quick enough to take them all out before one retaliated, the two trading shots. The bull got a bullet to the cranium and Argus, got a 671,000,000 mile per hour blast of energy to his side, just above the hip, that could could have cut through a diamond. It went through Argus, it went through the car behind him and it went through the concrete behind the car, and so and, so forth.

However, seemingly miraculously, Argus did not explode. Thankfully, the Bull had no idea to turn the frequency down to something a bit more effective against humans, rather than hardened materials and armor. The blast went through Argus as effortlessly as a needle went through paper. But that's all it did. It created a hole, and nothing else. The needle could be made of steel, tungsten, diamond but it all created the same hole. The blast did not transfer much heat to Argus and in essence it just pierced whatever it was shot at. The Heroic hacker hunched over, clenching his steaming, bloodied side. More bulls on the way, seeing the pools of crimson and the gun in Argus' hand.

Have to move.....

The burning pain in his side was put on a backburner as Adrenaline took hold. Argus went to higher ground, seeking to make chasing him more difficult as he had to simultaneously keep out of the range of the noxious gases. He moved roof to roof, lasers and bullets whizzing past him as he ran past cover that served to only conceal him rather than protect. He picked up a brick and threw it at a window. Then dived to hide behind some AC unit.

"I heard something break." "This way. The f*cker jumped through the window." The bulls ran past, Argus looking around the corner. Controlling his heavy breathing as the Bulls ran by, taking the bait and going through the building.

Argus pulled out hi phone. Requesting assistance. He wasn't sure he was gonna make it back before the gas go to him. Even Argus knew, some of his greatest tools and weapons? Allies, an (@ananke) Anonymity. No shame in calling for help Armory way. Ananke controlling drones in the sky, combatting Satar in her own way. He honestly, left the choice of how she was to act, up to her. If Satar was killed, the collateral might not even matter. Another friend (@the_girl) potentially able to lend assistance. Every little bit helped.

All the while gods were duking it out in the background. Argus watched street cameras, the footage of this dead horse being numerous, plentiful. A mortal man just trying to survive.

@dark_thunder: @valken: @dragonfang_: @gale_xanders: @quintus_knightfall: @ananke: @_vex_

The march to Gothic City Hall, the seat of local government, was a well prepared one. The Baabda Beast, his focus was kept razor-sharp, never wavering, never swaying from his goal of metropolitan domination. Around him, the city burned, its buildings singed and scorched by the horrors of fluorine fire, crueler than fluorine gas, and destroyer of all things that dare claim non-flammability. 'This fire will burn for years if not put out', Satar's mind echoed, 'It will forever remind Gothic of my arrival'. And in the air, the fire's smoke, highly toxic and murderous, hung and thickened alongside the most cringe-worthy smell known to man, worse than sulfur and spreading over a kilometer. Thioacetone, its puddles, still yet to dry.

Even in the face of failure, his mark had been. But the mind and heart of a psychopath knew no satisfaction. Striding forward, hands clutching his collar with militant swagger, Satar glanced to his right then his left, Heinrich and Dark Thunder flanking him on both sides. Unaware of Andreia and Maximilian's deaths, the Baabda Beast held confidence in their ability to distract the bulk of the city's vigilantes and would-be heroes. Though for every stride, he could've sworn he felt a pop in his left knee, an after-effect it seemed, from the Noir Rose's surprise attack. With a scoff, he shrugged it off. His plane/footing, was extraordinarily weak at the time after all. Now? Now he held himself with security, ever-aware, always strong, stuck to the ground like a mountain. Then from the sky, a great crusader glided, a bat in the night sky that landed and exploded, her quickness unnatural, preternatural even.

She moved with grace, a fluidity and looseness following each feint and flip. He felt the end of a staff slap against the knee the Noir Rose had wounded. Again he heard it pop, but the damage was superficial, or so it seemed. Extraordinarily durable, he felt little sensation from the strikes, until he felt one against his head, a naked patch. Quickly, his reflexes sprung, his neural synapses, electrically spurred to heights nearly supernatural, inspired his left hand into a catch, gloved hand intent on seizing the staff and hurling it and its wielder, the Dragonfang, meters across and into a building scorched by fires that conjured acid on the flesh and burned until it devoured even gravel. His respiratory system, shielded by his mask, remained unaffected. But quickly, he felt sweat run from the struck patch on his head. VX, the most toxic nerve agent in the world had begun its effects.

Soon his muscle fibers twitched, beyond his control, nonstop, expending his energies and upsetting his nervous system. He felt his chest tighten, and suddenly.. his muscles rendered it difficult to breathe. He was choking, clutching his heaving chest, while his pupils constricted. The patch on his head began to blister and burn, and his muscles jerked, violently, tiring him, his entire body now hiccuping as he lost more and more control over his organ systems. His nervous system was dying, his muscles contracting nonstop, his skin burning as if doused in acid, he gritted his teeth then, the Baabda Beast. His eyes widened and he bit down on his own lip not to scream. He was going to die. And he very nearly did. He could feel his body failing until, until his primary nervous system was shut down. For a moment, he collapsed, body lying on the ground. He seemed dead. Dead before a vision could be realized.

But he was alive, Satar, very much so. His primary nervous system had been shut down, to prevent further damage from the nerve agent. And as a back-up of sorts, his secondary nervous system, slowly but surely, sprang to life. A system reliant on a unique and lurid neuroconductive fluid, this secondary nervous system was a thing of peculiarity. Alien almost. With a grunt, he awakened, and slowly, he rose to his feet. His eyes, icy and cold, searched for his attacker, the Dragonfang, and once found, he issued an order, "Dark Thunder. Kill her". Now alongside him strode only Heinrich/Valken, his apprentice. In his company, Satar marched forward, Gothic City Hall in sight. There, he would find Vex, and on pikes decorating the entrance to city hall, he would mount the severed heads of all suicidal enough to challenge him.

Elsewhere

First came the distraction, and the Noir Rose's projectiles were a fine one indeed. Mute, Lucifer weaved in and out, avoiding some, being lacerated by others. They cut deep into his flesh, drawing blood and burning his pain receptors alive with sting after sting. Patches of flesh were left mangled, and behind his alabaster mask, The Shadow winced. He winced, recognized the pain, the wounds, but moved forward. A born pressure fighter, he never retreated from adversity, he pressured and pressured until his foe wilted. If he was to retreat, it was to serve a tactical purpose, perhaps open a pocket of space for a strike or takedown, but it was never done to circle away. And so he moved forward, lacerated and cut deeper than most could endure.

The sight was graphic, blood dripping, flesh dandling, but did it matter? But then the Noir Rose feinted, and of it, he was a master. He committed his weight, conjuring realism, rendering his feint a believable one, before with the speed of a viper, moving into proper striking position. He'd been deceived, Lucifer. He'd fallen for the feint and paid with the first palm strike, blasting against his chest, exposing a gap in his defense, and briefly stunning his advance. He was stunned but capable. And waited for the second palm strike, assuming one was to come. And once it did, The Shadow threw his counter. Palm strikes, they were not unlike stiff power jabs. They required the forward extension of the arm and in-step for any proper power. And like a jab, they could be countered one. And so, The Shadow did.

Throwing his right hand up, he blocked the second palm strike, and extended his other arm from the shoulder, as if intent on a counter-jab. Keeping his shoulder high and chin tucked, Lucifer shielded himself from a potential counter, all while his hand shot forward, but instead of a jab, it was a stab, the tip of his acid dagger thrust towards his foe's face. A stab was dangerous, a stab to the face even more so, but this? This was a dagger born from fluoroantimonic acid. It was the cruelest corrosive agent in the world. 10,000,000,000,000,000 times stronger than sulfuric acid, the dagger sought to burn and melt away the flesh and organic tissues on the Noir Rose's face, ripping the electrons off his molecules and eating his face away, leaving behind a hot organic goo before the acid's fluorine sought to bond with the calcium in his skull and burn through it.

Then, he saw it. Ananke's drone had taken aim and shot. Missiles guided by the accuracy of lasers hunted for the Noir Rose's soul. Here, Lucifer's choice was clear. Find cover and avoid damage, or do his damnest to try and hold the vigilante down... for them to both be struck. Why? The Noir Rose would perish. He? He would survive, his healing factor promised it. And so, following his executed counter-stab, The Shadow changed levels, dropping down to waist level, intent on wrapping his arms around the Original Cowl's waist and dragging him to the ground, keeping him there with a combination of slick top control and superhuman strength.

@satar: 'You know, this wasn't what I really had hoped for in my first trip away from home.'

Gothic City, from what Lucia had been told, was cesspool of sin. Large in scale, with crime running rampant all throughout, it appeared that those who had described it were not far off the mark. Whether it be in under the burning sun, or the dark cover of night, this city of sin and woe was an abomination, a scar in the public eye. Crime was rampant, poverty seemed to plague the citizens of the city, and police presence seemed to mean nothing.

'Yet,' Lucia thought to herself, 'it endured.' For all of its faults, for the cancer this city had become, it refused to truly die. It was as though there was still some fight left in it. It also helped that the city appeared to be a beacon for heroes, with what seemed like hundreds of heroes watching over it. And it seemed that it was what this city needed. It was because of this that Lucia had decided to come to Gothic. A chance for renewal, and a way to find her own path in this world.

'Didn't expect such a big welcome party though.'

With the attack on Gothic, the Aurelius knew she had to help, in anyway she could. Under the darkening sky, the hooded warrior could hear the people who inhabited the city. Their cries of anguish reverberated around as they all seemed to become afflicted with the acid that ran through the air. As Lucia ran by over the rooftops, she herself could only do her best to adapt to this new environment. As she dashed forward, her speed increasing, she began to realize that this wasn't just an attack.

It was a siege.

A loud vibration rang as one of the many skyscrapers that inhabited the area fell, creating a pillar of smoke and debris. "No...I have to find the source of this, find a way to stop it." Peering down to the clouded streets bellow, Lucia saw the heart of the assault taking place. Bracing herself, she leaped from the building she stood on, and began a mad dash towards it, her blade glowing green against the dark lit sky above. Bringing it down, her blade pierced through the chest of one of the terrorist's, killing him from the sheer impact the blow had more than the actual impaling itself. Ripping the blade from the man, she looked up to see she had drawn the attention of a large group, watching as they began to aim their weapons at her.

A smirk played on Lucia's face, as she enveloped herself within the Heart of the Warrior, giving her a new insight on what was happening. Whatever weapons they possessed, they all appeared to be high grade, capable of easily slaughtering any normal person. It was unfortunate for them however, that Lucia was no ordinary human. In a green blur of motion, Lucia's cleaved through them in an arc, Bloodbane making short work of what they had to offer.

'Well that was a nice warm up." Peering up, hazel eyes looked forward to see what looked to be the man that appeared to be heading this attack, making his way towards the City Hall. It was the one called Satar, The Baabda Beast, accompanied by several others.She leaped forwards once more, her point of impact to land before him. She was not sure whether or not she could do anything to stop him, or his massive assault on the city. But if she were to die here, it would at least be of her own choice, and it would be by the path she forged herself.

Lifting her blade up over her shoulder, she stared at Satar, determination in her eyes.

@_vex_@_nox_

"Getting close to the drop zone, we are now in Gothic city Air space. ETA until drop zone is 3 minutes."

They sat in wait. Guns cocked. Equipment readied. Armor ungrazed and anew. Trained, highly skilled though small in number, the small team was prepared. Each man, having the combination of skills and equipment to take on an army. The objective of the small team to be both cost effective and highly efficient. They weren't in it for the money, as they wouldn't receive any extra-pay for this mission. They were all volunteers, many of whom were recruited from this city, who had once sought to escape it.

Now they sought to save it.

The pod bay doors opened and the squad rose, they looked down towards the stormy skies and Halo jumped to the city below. Seeking to save what was so far left of it. From what they had seen, there wasn't much. The city was a shell of it's former self. Burned once, the city was burning again. Fire had consumed portions of it, fires that couldn't be effectively extinguished through conventional means. A horrible chemical was through the air. Men had been able to successfully scar and tear at the city once more. And they tore through the city with many weapons that were theres. They plummeted through the clouds, flairs on their bodies indicating their arrival from jump to the upper stratosphere.

For too long had Maverick turned a blind eye towards the no man's land of Gothic, when, it did indeed, present a high threat towards the stability and security of the world. A blight on the earth and a testament to the failure of it's protectors, a city that had allowed itself to become so rotten from it's core for too long, that allowed corruption to run rampant and crumble the cities foundations. Right next to the United States. And what had happened? Just as the hacker Argus had warned, it bit them in the ass. The Baadba Beast (@satar) has stormed into Maverick using unorthodox and clever tactics to bring catch the company unawares, using rare and unusual chemicals that were potent and efficient enough to wipe half of the forces present. Soon, though they had managed to repel and capture many of the attackers, the battle had not been won, for they found weapon caches around the city and those weapons of fallen soldiers, taken for use by the Brahma Brotherhod.

Finally, after being alerted by Gothic's own mayor the ensuing conflict, they went about to preparing, able to assemble a small team equipped with the greatest gear possible for tackling this new threat. This new team dubbed "Vengeance Squad Six" could with mixed feelings, dawn the likeness that many such Gothic based heroes had so infamously used. They'd landed, parashooting on the rooftops near the city's top. Now was the time for work. The time for Payback

The time for Payback.

For Vengeance.

As per request of Gothic's Mayor, and the team began already. Their armor immune to both lasers and plasma alike, rendering the weapons the Bulls had used useless, clad in highly durable armor that would take multiple onslaughts of 7.62 mm armor piercing gunfire in order to be breached, the team had already begun to work.

Their bullets curved midair, striking with unerring accuracy, and their omni-visor technology, clad within their cowels enabled them to be seemingly all seeing. Able to shoot targets well behind cover they thought was safe. Hypervelocity rounds and gyrojet rounds from their recoil dampened handguns shredding through cover. Their Shadow Company grappling devices enabling them to move with superior maneuvrability to any of of the Bulls.Their onboard COEUS Heads Up Displays marking targets for them, each of the small squad of 15 or so men could very well take on an army. The storm of their gunfire enabling them to kill 50 of the bulls in mere moments around the mayor's office. Enabling them to thin the numbers of Satar's men and keep them away for a period of time. However, Satar himself, was another story.

"Sir."

One of them says, seeking to radio with Vex now.

"Alpha target (Satar) is approaching your A-O. Your orders?"

The city was his to protect, and he knew it well. Thus,they had been placed under the command of Dark Vengeance II and no one else, unless Dark Vengeance himself. They waited, weapons cocked. Guns readied. Capes flowing in the wind, as the sat idly among the shadows of Gothic's high ground, only watching the city burn now. The mortal men were tools.

Vengeance was the hand that was to guide them.

@satar: @dragonfang_:

Just when Thunder was starting to feel left out of all the violence that was engulfing the city, a new challenger appeared, and what an entrance she made, at that. Uh oh, the rhinocerean merc thought, as Dragonfang's attack seemingly killed the person he had been sent here to assist, Big Boss isn't gonna like that. Satar's revival moments later, however, cheered him considerably. He became downright gleeful when his erstwhile boss indicated that this powerful newcomer was now his primary target.

With a casual shrug, Thunder swung his minigun off his shoulder and leveled it at Dragonfang. Handling the massive weapon like a water pistol, he expertly switched it into full auto mode. The massive merc was not a renowned marksman; those who knew him could never decide if this was because the rhino traditionally was accepted to have poor eyesight, or because Thunder in particular had no patience (or capacity, for that matter) for anything resembling subtlety or precision. Whatever the reasons behind his preferred method of attack, it had proven effective in the past, so the bestial warrior saw no need to deviate. With a belch-like roar, he squeezed the trigger, sending a veritable tsunami of .50 caliber lead at the bat-themed vigilante.

@the_puzzler:

Admirable.

As Pax's bloodthirsty, but calm eyes rested on the man, this man's eyes were rested on his. A cool expression, and a heart that matched. Pax's hearing and detection of vibrations was so keen as for him to hear the beating organ in the man's chest, to be able to map out the entirety of his body's internals.

I see humans can have some inner strength, after all.

The man's answer had satisfied Pax. He was the first man, who had neither god-killing means nor anything out of the ordinary that would trouble some mutants and metahumans. He was a man of indifference to god and metahumans, one who could stand adversity despite a lack of power. He had an inner strength, and knowledge.

"I accept." Was his simple answer.

It was rather soon that his mercenaries would appear, who were all simply normal people, some experience, some not, who just followed something bigger, stronger and in some ways, smarter many of them. For now. They went about to engaging a group of the Bulls, some of them beginning to run out of ammo and ordinary guns working just fine against them. A group of 4 brought Pax two weapons. One weapons was conventional, a large M2 Browning .50 Caliber Machine gun. Pax's weapon of choice. The other, was one's Maverick's weapons, a MAR-20 MM loaded with deadly Hafnium munitions. Pax walked forth, picking the 125 pound Browning in his arm and slinging the roughly 80 lb MAR 20mm over over shoulder. He strode forth, his M2 Browning in hand as he brought the gun up to his shoulder. Firing upon the opposition. The bulls tried to take cover. But to no avail.

This weapon that was normally mounted, tore through cars with ease. Pax's sight enabled him to shoot them through walls through his perception of vibrations. Heads exploded into crimson mist, men were blown clearly horizontally in half, arms and legs flew off from their bodies. 100 rounds later and he'd laid waste to some small army of 50 over the course of roughly 8 seconds. His strength complimented by years of training as he very accurately placed his shots. His stance squared. This weapon clearly laughing at the concept of "Bulletproof" armor.

Pax held the guns barrel into the air, a pool of spent copper cartridges at his feet, the genetically engineered giant strode forth towards Ace. "In the mean time, accept this as a gesture of good faith. Two bullets is not fitting for a man of your caliber, is it? Not with this many targets." From the back of a truck, men opened the back, revealing a small van of military grade hardware doled out by other small gangs who had access to Pax's recently brought arsenal in preparation for this operation.

The militant monster's eyes fell elsewhere, as he walked elsewhere. Going to claim more territory. Acquire more "God-Killing" weapons for his own use should the more powerful heroes decide to show themselves. Already he had used a weapon that could one shot a skyscraper, something not even most modern tanks with regular ammunition could not do. He needed more power, and he'd known the value ordinary, unguided people could have. As the Bulls fell and were wiped out, regular people just trying to survive, to trying to make a live for themselves, had already been drafted by mercenaries to scavenge these weapons strewn about the battlefield and serve in non-combat roles.

"We'll keep in touch." He said as he left. Informing Mercenaries seeking to inform the rumblers of this loosely formed alliance. His keen ears picking up on anger. Struggle. Loss among the gang. Pax and his mercenaries sought to reinforce this anger. To arm them the same way and give them chance to retaliate.

@darkknightwing: @dark_thunder: @valken: @dragonfang_: @quintus_knightfall: @ananke: @_vex_

Luna Hawk smiled a little and nodded. "Yes I remember you, it's good to see you again. You're just in time to join the party. We're going to play a game, it's called keep them from entering this building. You know anything about the people walking our direction?" She asked motioning towards Satar. Even as she asked she lowered her weapon and unleashed a torrent of Nth Metal bullets. Each bullet was electrified with fifty thousand volts of electricity. The four barreled rifle in her hands roared to life as she fired, spitting out the firepower of three rapid fire machine guns in one. She did not fire at Satar, who she knew to be the leader just based on his orders and how he carried himself, no, she fired at the people marching at his side. The goal was to drive them off, kill them or otherwise keep them from doing their jobs while allowing others to go after Satar without disruption. Each one of the bullets she fired was capable of piercing any metal of lesser quality than Vibranium and its deadly electrical charge made for a nasty secondary bite if it were to pierce flesh or even flatten itself against armor.

Sentinel Hawk's ring flashed and a white energy barrier formed in front of the entrance, it would protect the entrance from the people seeking to storm it while she could lower it if Dark Vengeance or other reinforcements were to try to leave through the front door. She dropped from the roof and readied her mace, twirling it in her hand. Her ring glowed again and a white energy force field and her White Lantern uniform slipped into place, hugging her skin. "Who wants a piece?" She asked simply and waited for the first person bold enough to charge her position in front of the door. The white shield glowing around her body added additional protection on top of her Nth Metal body armor and Hawk Lord durability. Couple that with her White Lantern powers and the mace in her hand and Solar Hawk was one of the most dangerous fighters on the field at that moment.

@antidoll: @joey_destroyer_of_worlds

"What? Vines?!" The Red Ranger saw an immediate need for self the defense, the sort of self defense that would have a cutting edge to it. "Chrono Sabres!"

The blades appeared in his hands from no where and he immediately assumed a defensive position. Each sword had the durability of Vibranium with the cutting edge of sharpened diamond. He hacked and slashed at every vine that came his way, immediately cutting them away from his face and then from his legs. He moved to intercept the vines heading for Joey but was too late, they had already reached him. Aware of their attacker's face mask strategy based on the actions of the vines he launched a flurry of attacks on those groping for Joey's mask, cutting apart anything that strayed too close but even so the young hero would still have to free his arms and legs. The Red Ranger kept an eye on Rose. "So you want a piece of me do you? Come a little closer and I'll show you why you should have gone the other way!" He said with an enthusiastic clenched fist gesture that brought to mind someone expecting to win.

In reality Wes was uncertain what to make of the woman. She obviously controls plants, maybe other parts of nature too. It's hard to say then what sort of damage she can take too. I'd be willing to bet she's harder to hurt than she looks...I wonder though if she can take being frozen. If I could weaken her I can put her in stasis and move on. We don't have much time to waste with some sort of crazy vine lady. There's worse attacks going on even as we deal with her. He spared a glance at the Q-Rex and where it was digging rubble away from survivors. These people are crazy! Shooting buildings and setting the city on fire? Completely insane. Now there's a vine lady. I wonder why she's not worried about the fire...or the gas. Better be careful then.

"Hey buddy, you think you can break free of those vines? If I try and get you out of there we'll both be stick." He told Joey. "You look like you have super strength or something, maybe you can use that to break free." This is what happens when you decide to just pass through Gothic one day. Oh what a day...it's only just starting too. I wonder what this guy is capable of? I hope I didn't just come across some buff gym enthusiast with a fancy costume and assume he could fight crime. That would suck...like...really suck. The main fight seems to be going on in the center of the city, I need to get past this woman and get closer...

@the_puzzler: @satar: @_pax_:

It still ate at her no theatric parkour lightened the terror of it all. So often the thrill of the chace or the race of ones hear while free running could ease any mood she was in. Tonight though she couldn't shake the emotions off. She'd seen it with her eyes and even contributed to the most concernin of issues of Gothic in her young mind. That being that as crime rate grew as the community of heroics and hounest law plummeted that everyone became victimized to violent ambition. Try as hard as one could corruption was winning turning students into murders old ladies into homicidal women and so much more. Like a cancer wicked deeds were eating at the inside and slowly killing off anything good. And tonight she'd given into her own hints of madness and taken a life. Beneath her costume and gloves were fists still caked in the blood of someone else. Lingering question haunting her mind, was how many more lives would she have to end to give her home town just a chance of recovery. She wasn't terrified of the psychopaths but more so what they were turning good people into.

For all this nightmarish scenery however Kit knew she couldn't let it knock her knees. No time to cry, regret or let emotion fester. Much as she'd like to console in a friend there was many figures to halt and only so much time to do so. That's when subtlety was brutally torn away giving the kitten a clear heading. A projectile hard to rival brought down a sky scraper in a thunderous roar and explosion that left dust rising in a bleak display. She tried not to think of how many just died but to trace the vapor trail of the high speed round. Feeling the fires about her Kit was able to tell putting them out was a challenging ordeal that she herself wouldn't have time for. Begrudgingly she switched to an alternative plan, her acrobatic stride pulled as much of the unyielding fires to her.

Their chemical reactions made halting the inferno a challenge perhaps impossible to perform in decent time. They were however manifested as a fire. Elemental nature that was at Kit's mercy to control, she'd continue the cycle of using someone else's weapons against another. An underlying theme that admittedly Kit herself didn't know of. The Brotherhood used Maverick weapons however, and then Pax began taking the improvised Brotherhood's weapons to use against them. Now Kit would claim the chemical fire of the Brotherhood to use against Pax and his intriguing band of road warrior allies.

How much of the chlorine trifluoride she'd been able to take from the city Kit didn't know. However using all she had aquired she projected the flames to the building a menacing gunmen was on. He'd been apart of a few criminal deeds of late he was hard to miss and tha made finding the target easy. A inferno of flames so hungry you'd think the flames the gluttonous spit of hell, sought to swallow the building. To break almost the entire structure to charred debris unlike any flame even the pyromaniac kitten was aware of.

Theatrically Kit dropped onto the roof the raging fire cackling in it's blazing hunger danced before her harmlessly. While everything else was kindling she was ignored. One would almost think her to blame if not for the fact she was in no way Brotherhood material. Embers and smoke floated arround her as she gazed upon the two prepared to watch them mealt if she had to. Her catsuit glistened in the light, eyes obstructed by vermillion goggles and a rebreather masked her mouth markings almost looking like whiskers. "I'd like to say the enemy of my enemy is my friend but something tells me your not here to friend me on Facebook." She predicted the criminals before her wer just out to capitalize.

"Alexandra Ashworth what the hell you doing?" One of the vengeful Mav forces asked. Alex was and wasn't the sixteenth volunteer. Oh she had volunteered Alex had shown eager to take part in opperation. It was just that she was also given some liberties to act on her own accord. Do to standard military methodology for a sniper class. Was better if Alex ventured her own way so as to use her talents of almost supernatural accuracy. Right now though she was just sitting arround note pad in hand.

"We've been through this, it's just Alex. And I'm doing math to put things in a simplistic manner. When going to snipe one has to be able to estimate numerous factors. Range of target, wind direction and velocity, air density, elevation and even the Coriolis effect due to rotation of the earth." Alex remarked continuing to scribble and showcasing her expertise in a less then theatric way.

"Right, Do it right pop a skull do it wrong and you might miss by several yards."

"Correct this is why shooting from say way up here usually wouldn't be an option. The variables are to far spread and adjustments have to be on point at a rapid pace. Additionally one would have to consider ETA to impact. In other words to do what I'm about to. You have to 1. Do the math 2. Do it continuously on the way down 3. Know the city 4. Know how the enemy is likely to move 5. Have the eyes and gear to see proper." The apex marksmen continued nearing completion of her initial work.

"Your quite proud of yourself aren't you?" The soldier jested as the two rose and checked each other's gear. Everything in proper place they got in line for the drop. Most stood steadfast hardened and determined. Alex had a foot tapping in excitement. That wasn't to say she wasn't taking the mission serious. This was her home town somewhere below was her family. Previous engagements showed the enemies to be capable in the field. However the archer couldn't get passed the rush. She'd been wanting to do this for quite some time.

Waiting Alex let the others go first, then as the doors were beginning to close she ran and dove out of the aircraft. In a leap of faith reminiscent of a game Alex never played do the her abilities, she took a plunge of potentially unforgiving short stop. Air rushed by bestowing previously unknown amounts of adrenaline in her veins. It was a rush like no other and almost hard to accurately visualize. Like flight yet not, akin to falling but not. Terrifying to look down, all the while exilerating. Alex was to cool to boot and yell, a child in her though was doing just that.

Eventually her sharp sight began to be able to identify dots, fire patterns telling her who was who. Drawing her pistols she began to open fire. Her mind racing and hands adjusting she exercised a finesse hard to rival. While she was called Apex she'd never say her actions were unrivaled. However she made an imposible rain of death look like an easy reality. Not a soul below knew how to react, hitting an airborn target like her hard to percieve as possible. Meanwhile hesitation was foreign to her and numerous people took a bullet atop their head. Not every shot was a hit more were successful then those that failed however. Parachute opened at the lowest point possible timed perfectly. In a comfortable glide down she continued to unleash lead splitting craniums like eggs.

A rocket is set loose and the hold is relinquished swift in reaction. Dropping into free fall the rocket hits the parachute and slams into a sky scraper not long after. Glass erupts in a shower tatters of flaming white begin to float downward. Triumphant is the thug he's biting back celebration. A fraction of a second later he was biting a bullet. Mag drops, new one slips in holster the pistol and reach for the bow. Weapon transition of the archer so fluid that it all looked like a solitary motion.

Perched atop a telephone pole sat a diminutive child-like figure. She did not fear electrocution from the live wires; in part because she had no knowledge of them, and in other parts, due to the fact that power only ran intermittedly in Gothic, and she hadn’t been fried yet.

A quick cursory glance in all directions showed her all that she needed to see.

An unnatural fog spreading throughout the streets, men armed with rifles and gas masks, bloody skirmishes and explosions breaking out everywhere. Somewhere in the near distance, a sky scraper toppled over and disappeared under a cloud of debris.

Trouble, she thought, appalled at the sight of mass-carnage and destruction.

There was little in the way of civilians now. Only the stupid or untimely were still out in the streets. Either trapped by the gas which were breaking down their bodily functions, or caught traversing the streets and gunned down by the militants. Either way, they were dead, dying or still desperately fighting for survival. Most had taken shelter in their own homes, or had desperately broken into nearby buildings to hide in. In any case, the situation had dissolved into an all-out brawl of chaos. Gun fights breaking out here and there, as evidenced by rapid fire shots and piercing screams, and created by the confrontation between the war mongerers and armed Gothic natives.

Murder. Blood. Killers everywhere.

Her face darkened in anger.

This will stop.

-------------

A group of three. She peered down from her position and saw them approach her side of the street. Their bodies read eager, ready, purpose. What purpose they had, she did not know. Nor did she care. What she did know, as she narrowed her eyes, were the lethal weapons they held. They were not of a make that she was familiar of, but she had handled plasma rifles before, and knew firsthand of the pain they could inflict.

She did her mental calculations, and waited for them to come close enough.

On the sidewalk now. Nearing her end of the street. Closer..closer….

Now.

She jumped.

Her five story drop was timed just so, and when she appeared in the space between the heads of the first two, she lashed out with a mid-air split kick that hit their craniums with precise power. Not enough for permanent brain damage. Just enough to concuss. The two fell to the wayside as she did a split-second coiled landing on the pavement, before leaping forward with an upraised knee, flipping her upper body backwards during mid-leap to deliver a snap kick in the jaw of the third militant.

Knockout.

She landed with a grin, allowing herself a second of self-satisfaction. Not bad. Not even two seconds, she thought. Wait. What’s this? Her skin registered the sting of the strange acidic chemicals before she noticed the visible signs of the chemical fog washing over her body. Snap decisions. She looked down at the men at her feet. Guns. She went to work and dismantled the weapons within record time*, chucking the mags through a broken window. Not much, but still a deterrence, should these men come to in the morning.

She didn’t bother with the flak jackets. She didn’t need those. Instead, she went for an oxygen mask that the group were all using. She pulled one off the nearest man’s face and held it up to her own. Too large for her face. Taking in several sharp, necessary breaths of recycled air, she then held her breath and disconnected from the mask, reattaching it to its owner with haste.

Losing no time, she sprinted off in the direction of the alley, and swung herself up the fire escapes until she reached the rooftop, shaking off the tendrils of fog that clung to her. Coughing and gagging as she tried to dislodge the taste of poison from her throat and mouth, she crouched down and spat. Still, the nasty taste lingered. She took a moment to catch her breath, and regain herself in the safe, mildly polluted Gothic air. Her skin still felt a slight tingling, burning sensation from the strange chemicals. Unpleasant, she thought. Definitely not safe.

One unit down….many more to go. She didn’t mind. She was determined to put down everyone she sees.

@lunahawk: @satar: @dark_thunder: @_vex_:

"Apologies but I'm a bit busy at your doorstep" Jess remarked amongst her combative movements against Satar. In responding to the mayor, her brother she was able to also showcase more emotion then she would at any other time. Sarcasm aside the point still stood however that she wouldn't be able to play posse recruitment. As expected her strikes were minimalized against her opponent and he was well covered. Once struck in a open area however the game was over. Or at least it was for a brief moment. Then abrubtly the staff was seized powerful muscles caving in the weapon in a vice like grip. With sublime ease the dragon was thrown flung aside like a child would toss a toy.

Extending a spike from it's edge, the staff dug into the street halting motion as Jess landed with grace. Her weapon brutalized though she was forced to fling it aside. She'd been fine with it though as she watched Satar's body spasm and inevitably collapse. For a moment the conflict was over by a toxic blow. Then curiously the giant rose and continued his walk forward. It would of seemed imposible, but then impossibilities Jess didn't believe in anymore. She didn't believe much in anything besides Vex. Her opponent still lived and that was that. Before she could go for the kill however it looked like she'd have to deal with a humanoid rhino. A curious development she had to admit.

Dropping to a knee Fang drew the onyx colored cape over her lithe figure. She'd scavenged Vibranium from past Orochi assaults to weave the material into the cape. As such bullets collided with the fabric and predominantly fell short. One round managed to breach through however and strike the dragonscale armor beneath her costume made much akin to one of the latest and most impressive vests in conventional accessibility. It left a ugly wealt beneath, likely a disgusting violet and black bruise that'd leave most hospitalized. Fang was used to pain though, this was nothing. It was her turn now, opening a pouch under fire she retrieved smoke pellets.

A rhino had pore sight but incredible smell, smoke was an irritant to that. Tossing the small bombs she planketed the region planning to infuriate his predominant sense, his sight under the smoke likely bordering on blind. Under this cover any fire pattern would be more frantic and therefor easier to evade. Rounds Jess couldn't escape bat shaped shurikan obstructed. Closing the distance three of the bat arange were flung toward each foot of the rhino creature.

Rhinos had sensitive feet, rhinos in captivity often would have infact swollen feet. They weren't designed for the concrete jungle, her variety of blades sought to only make matters worse. Of course her movements didn't slow down as Jessica zeroed in she'd launch into a swift combo of punches, her fingers tapping a device on a finger three seperate times. From this each strike was backed by 50,000 volts of electricity. She launched two blows toward the heart before launching into an uppercut looking to electrocute her animalistic opposition.

@darkknightwing: @dark_thunder: @valken: @dragonfang_: @quintus_knightfall: @ananke: @_vex_

Kaine's booted feet landed lightly on the concrete, the suave prince of power grinning in satisfaction as his attacks killed both his targets, whom went out the way he imagined they would have wanted to; serving whatever putrid monster heading this chaos. Of course, Jaired would complain some goody two-shoes nonsense about not needing to kill, but the dribble flowed through his ears and his brain chose not to interpret it. This was war, and besides, he hadn't smelled the sweet aroma of death since coming here. And the odor was all around now, filling his nostrils and threatening to send him into a frenzy the same way a shark reacted in the presence of blood. "Just be more careful next time." The fiery speedster finished his sentence, curtness in his tone. Kaine nodded along, acting entirely shocked he'd taken their lives. "Well, Uncle said we should take to City hall next, lets keep moving."

Jaired's heart ached for the city, no, for the people that lived in it. Ravaged by criminals, dominated by crime-lords like his uncle and the one leading this destruction. And the few innocents left had to deal with it all. It was hard for him to not stop mid-stride and help fight off the hoards of brother hood members, to save those who needed it most, but not even a nano-second could be wasted here, so he continued on, a resolved narrowing of the eyes turning his attention only forward.

They were undetectable, the McStorm brothers. One moved too fast for the numerous no-name vigilantes and civilians eyes to even register a orange blur, and the other? Moved beyond time and space itself. And it was not long after Kaine's assassination of Max and Andreia that he found his emerald gaze focused on their leader, Jaired stopping just as he'd arrived. As expected, there were others here, opposing and allied with the The Baabda Beast alike. As it seemed, he was already under attack. But there was no mercy that swelled within Kaines heart that would cause him to abstain from his own mission, and he guessed the Baabda Beast wouldn't welcome it in the first place. "So you must be the one I've been sent here to eradicate. You know, people such as you really should be wary about attracting the attention of beings such as me.... Well, lets hope you put up a better fight than your two lackeys, shall we?" His voice dripped with confidence, and a swagger permeated his following stroll.

And so he commenced his attack, alerting his good hearted brother to combat anyone who attempted to stop him. For a few seconds, he would walk, confidently towards the Beast, an arrogant smirk on his handsome face. There was no arrogance within his mind however, for to underestimate your opponent is the downfall of many, and Kaine? He would not fall under any circumstances. Failure was no option. But that wouldn't stop him from letting his foe think he was such a cocky bastard. The Devils Heir vanished mid-stride to him, appearing again directly in-front of him, and vanishing again only to materialize in the air above, hands folded in his chest.

Ever the vicious demon, he wanted to attempt to torture this man before killing him. To hear agony filled shrieks pierce his eardrums. But his uncle called exactly for him not to do so, so instead, he'd do so with a limit. He started by attempting to remove the space from parts of his arms and legs and torso, to mutilate him. He sought to accomplish this by simply deleting the time and space the organic matter occupied. And if such space was also occupied the blows of those attacking him? Then so be it.

But he wouldn't stop, and he sought to do this multiple times before he would follow up with an attack of the reverse. Generate more space, or spatial pressure, to crush the life out of his target.

@kaine_mcstorm: @lunahawk:@dark_thunder: @valken: @dragonfang_: @quintus_knightfall: @ananke: @_vex_

"Stop them from coming in? I can work with that... As for the bad guys, well, that;s pretty self explanatory. They're there to get punched." Locked doors would;t hold the thugs at bay for long, but something else might. It starts with kicking, and ends with @ss. Waiting for a second for an opportunity to jump, Kelly leaps off of the roof, his fall broken by the broken bones of the invaders. But as he tried to stand--Now that was totally uncalled for! No one but no one kicks someone while they;re down. Kelly lied there for a second, listening to the whirring of a large gun as it charged. He felt a boot on his back. Rolling to a side, the thrice-cracked ribs burning, he heard, and almost felt, the singe of plasma on the ground. Swinging the first kali up to break a nose or smash a groin (it was hard to tell), he climbed to his feet and hit another goon in the gut. Only to have the butt of a gun hit him in the chest, not helping any of the wounds already inflicted. Delivering a hard uppercut followed with a taser zap, the KnightWing brought his attacker down. Only a few hundred more to go. Shoving his way through the crowd, he looked for the mook in charge. Finding none, he finished pummeling the man to his left, and ran. Five minutes later, he was back. On a badass motorbike. Tossing a bunch of grenades, he drove right into the crowd of people still battering at the doors and waved up at the hawks on the roof. Like a cowboy, but cooler. Yeah, that sounded about right.

Micky, Chance and Rob

@arquitenens "FCK this hurts like a mother." Rob Grasped on tight to the rebar sticking out of his shoulder, pouring whiskey on it and wincing. He sat in the back of the 1943 pickup truck, while Chance drove and Micky sat in the passenger seat with the RPG he swiped.

While Chance had his eyes glued to the road, he couldn't help but glance to Mick. Who was still shaken up after losing his cool and butchering that soldier with his switchblade. "Look Mick.." Chance turned down "Real Gone Daddy" on the radio, giving him a sympathetic stare. "I know that's the first time you whacked someone, it's only easy for not a whole lotta people.." Micky just stared forward, running his comb through his sandy blond hair.
He was only seventeen, killing someone tonight was what he expected, but sure as hell wasn't ready for as it turned out. "Let's just get Rob to the church, alright man? I'm cool..." Micky assured, a little more stable.Rob was smart enough to pass Micky the whiskey bottle, which he gladly accepted and glugged a good quarter of it.

The church seemed quiet, only mildly basking in the glow of Gothic's fire from blocks away. Chance, being the strongest, helped Rob out of the back and slung him over with the shoulder that wasn't bleeding like a stuck pig. "The padre should have some shit to fix ya up with bud, you'll be kickin' ass in no time." Micky was already at the wooden entrance, RPG on his shoulder and his eyes peeled to the shadows in case any mooks showed up.

Chance slammed his first against the massive double doors, after trying them and realizing they were barred out something. "Father" He hissed in a hush tone, not wanting to draw attention to the trio. "Look we got someone messed up pretty bad out here, we could use a thread and needle, know what I mean?"

He would be surprised if they didn't get an answer. Rumblers never harassed churches of Catholic faith, a good percent of the gang being raised that way.

"Shoulda brought more fcking whiskey..." Mumbled Rob, dazed from the blood loss and slight intoxication.

Ace

@_pax_@pyrokitten

The man shaped behemoth accepted Ace's side offer, which made this whole situation just that much simpler. Just before he thought he could just mozey along and get back to the real fight, the Rumblers' fight, another distraction just flared right up again...Literally. An inferno danced around like the devil himself was twirling it in his red fingers. Ace simply lit up another cigarette, that kinda smoke when you know shit's about to piss you off real soon.

What was once just dancing fire, was now a leather glad woman standing right in the middle of it. "Fck's sake..." Ace muttered and puffed a smoke cloud. She made her quip to go with the flashy entrance, all while the greaser raised his pistol for right between her eyes, his own showing he was standing his ground.

"Honey, look..." Pause for a drag. "I seriously ain't got time for this super duper shit...I got my gang fightin' for their lives, defending themselves from whoever the hell is attacking our turf this time. If you ain't in my way? Then stay outta it. If you're here to rumble? I'll put one between those flashy goggles of yours...Honestly I'd rather not waste my time and get back to business...Your call."

The Rat

"ANNNNNNNNNNND HERE!" The monstrosity of a Rat-Rod could be heard long before it could even be seen. It's over sized tires screeched to a halt outside of the address Ace gave when he asked for the supply drop. The Rockabilly on the radio blared through the night, should be more than enough notice to Ace that he was down on the street, revving that engine away and showing off one of his mechanical pieces of art. "Well boys, now we wait...Take in them fuuuumes..." Rat cackled and petted a few of the rodents that gathered on his lap,sharply inhaled in the exhaust pluming from the engines exposed, jutting pipes.

The Rumblers (The streets of Gothic)

This battle was one for the ages. Sunrise would be on in only hours, and the blood of many fallen Rumblers would glint on the pavement. The losses weren't all too many, but enough where a few members had to remind themselves of how many of these bastards invading they took down just as well.

The waves of masked gunmen became further and further apart. Whether they were focusing their efforts to the capes' situation or not, the Rumblers could care less. Home turf was starting to simmer down a bit. It was only a matter of sitting tight, barring down and whacking any chumps that decided to cross into their territory.

One thing they could all agree on. "The fcking supers aren't makin' this any better..."

@lunahawk: @maverick_6: @satar:

Now it was just the two of them, Satar and Valken, striding with confidence towards City Hall to meet their target. The others had been dispatched to handle those who had dared ambush them on their way to confront Vex. The toxic air failed to affect the Djinn in any way; his natural physiology granting complete immunity. The poisonous fog which lingered in the air was a tool to be exploited by Valken. Its smoke-like composition would allow complete manipulation for the mysterious Djinn.

From the deathly air a familiar sound could be heard - the flapping of the giant crow as it approached the Djinn. Its powerful wings seemed to push the thick smoke from its path. The toxins, and lack of oxygen within the fogged atmosphere that the obsidian crow flew produced no negative affects on the animal. Slowing its approach, it came to a stop as it perched upon the shoulder of Valken, following up with a short series of squawks. Valken looked towards the behemoth, Satar, "Maverick is here. They have eyes on us from above."

With an understood look from the Vindicated one, the crow responded by taking flight once more and disappearing in the distance. It would be easy for me to dispatch those Maverick men...mere mortals. With dominating one of their minds, an enemy amongst them would produce much chaos and allow us to yield no more on our approach towards the City Hall. Without waiting for his mentors next command, Valken took the initiative upon himself to use the toxic air to further aid them. With slight movements of his most forward fingers on each hand, the toxic fog began pulling itself towards Satar and Valken. Within seconds, he had formed a protective sphere around the two men. Its thickness made their actions inside invisible to those outside, but yet allowed perfect visibility to see out of the sphere. Any who dared to foolishly enter would be quickly poisoned as the toxins had been heavily concentrated within the smoke shield. The Djinn ensured the toxins would not affect his mentor as it would cause harm to Satar, unlike Valken who was unphased by such danger.

Just as the mystical shield has been erected, bullets zipped through without warning. Instinctively and subconsciously, Valken's body rapidly transformed into his natural smoke-like state, the bullets harmlessly passing through his gaseous form. His body seemed to snap back to its solid, human shape again, "Satar, looks like we have more company. Perhaps its time for me to show what a Djinn can do?"

@red_time_force:

"Jesus H. Christ, what is that!?" A voice rang out through the narrow streets of Gothic as Joey found himself struck by a plasma bolt, the blast striking his shoulder when he wasn't paying attention. Bullets felt like nothing to him, but these rounds... They were like bee-stings. Not excruciating, but not pleasant at all. Now, the Prodigy faced a dozen of these troopers, as they got into formation before his very eyes. Cracking his knuckles arrogantly, Joseph spoke to them. "Ok, so this should maybe kinda almost be a fair fight. I'm going to give you guys to the count to ten... Shoot me as much as you want, but by the time I hit ten, I get to hit back."

Unfortunately for the boy-god's game, the troops were already firing. Whatever, he thought to himself, and counted aloud. "Oneeeee mississipi." He shouted, the soldiers immediately taking the opportunity to send dozens of rounds at him, all hitting him directly. They have decent aim, for a still target. Joey thought to himself fondly, watching the men go about their business. The life of a soldier had never occurred to him- never interested him much at all. He'd always thought of himself as going into business. Maybe politics. I can be the next Alexander Rook, he thought to himself, smiling a bit... Speaking of, where the hell was Alexander Rook? The newly appointed mayor, probably cowering under his bedsheets while the real heroes took the blows.

"Psh, gay." Joey muttered- much in the way that a fourteen year old would. Forgetting his counting (chances are, it would've been more than ten seconds) he slowly walked to the nearest trooper. Poor boy, was most likely just following orders... Commendable, at least, for his bravery. But in the end even bravery was futile, against true strength. Lazily raising a hand, Joey smacked the boy. The helmet he wore flew off, shattering into pieces as the slap took it's effect, bones crunching under the palm of the boy-god's hand. "I just broke your jaw." The line was most likely the last thing the man would hear before regaining consciousness, as he collapsed to the ground.

The fake Champion turned his head to all the others, who continued to fire upon his back. Eleven men... "Rekt." The slang was drowned out by the laser-fire, but Joey heard it fine- and zoomed towards the first mercenary he saw, even plasma moving in slow-motion through his eyes. A hundred different methods popped into the Destroyer of Worlds' head, each one more creative than the last... But, now was not the time for grandeur. After all, somewhere there was a head to the snake... and Joseph planned on finding it, before anyone else could. Shifting power to his haunches, he sprang towards the men, small craters emerging where his feet were, and in under a second it was over. All of them collapsed, whereas to the human eye Joey would not have moved at all.

Before he moved on to another crime-filled street, the boy heard a voice behind him and turned around. Geez... I thought my outfit was campy. The one before him was clad completely in bright, nigh-neon red, with different stripes or bands of white here and there. This figure spoke to Joey, asking him whether he was friend or foe... But before the boy could respond, vines leaped up and out of the ground (@antidoll). "Damn it!" He shouted out, quickly trying to take to the air. However, before he could clear the distance, a lone branch wrapped around his ankle, dragging him down to the street below.

"C'mon, get off o' me!" Joey yelled, terror rising. He snapped the first vine easy enough, but by the time it was destroyed, two more ensnared him, and then a third, and before long he was swarming with the stuff. The mask he wore, that was what the vines were going for more than anything... And luckily, the 'Red Ranger' managed to deflect them all. Slightly relieved, he summoned a bolt of lightning to the skies- a bolt that hit him, square in the face. What might've seemed suicidal to some would only be strengthening to the boy-god... To Joey, lightning bolts felt like splashes of water on his face.

"I can get out easy enough," He smirked, tearing through the vines now and hovering safely overhead. "The real fight isn't happening over here, we need to take care of this broad and then... Cut the head off the snake." Growling the last sentence, Joey formed one of the more familiar pankration formations, getting ready for a fight with the vine-lady.

@dragonfang_: @lunahawk:

"Ow. Oww. Owwww!!" Thunder grunted, as Luna's armor-piercing bullets embedded themselves in his thick hide. While his ultra-dense flesh didn't stop them entirely, it did keep them from hitting anything vital. The nasty shock that followed, however, caught him off-guard. "Yowwwwie!" The massive mutate danced like a hyperactive child who just realized that someone had put an icecube down the back of his shirt, his weapon spraying bullets haphazardly in all directions. Glaring up at his avian assaulter, he shook one meaty fist in her direction menacingly. "Ya just wait, birdie! Yer next!"

As it turned out, however, the distraction turned out to be more dangerous than the damage. Turning his attention back to Jess, he expected to see a glistening pile of shredded beef, and instead was greeted by a whole and hearty foe flinging smoke bombs in his face. Coughing and snorting, the mountainous mercenary staggered back a step, stumbling as razor-sharp throwing weapons embedded themselves in the flesh of his lower extremities. "Stop wit' da tricks and fight me clean, wimp" he half-snarled, half-choked, as Jess sprang from the haze and expertly delivered several electrified punches to his person. The punches themselves would normally have had all the impact on his frame of wet cotton balls hitting a tractor tire, but the voltage would have been enough to drop five strong men. Thunder staggered backwards, dropping to one knee to regain his balance.

Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, his bloodshot eyes narrowed, and he launched himself forward with a bellow, his nose horn aimed for the center of Jess' torso. He wasn't sure if his horn would penetrate the armor that had allowed her to survive his bullet storm, but he figured that the sheer impact of his charge out to at least break something important, if nothing else.

@dark_thunder:

Dropping to a knee wounds cumulating some ground was being gained on the large animalistic foe. It's speech pattern was unique and might have softened the resolve of someone else. Not Jesica however she was soft around only one person and even then she was cast in iron. No comedic owe or for tha matter tough talk would get through to the dragon. After all whenever has a rhino tamed a dragon? In the animal kingdom their was a higharchy and Jess had the reign. However her armor choice had it's faults, Dragonscale armor hadn't been soldier aproved for it's reasons.

Jesica had accounted for this trying to adjust the plates and modify the adhesive to be more stable. For the most part it worked, the city however was quite hot tonight and been able to effect the armor to an extent. To close to evade even for her she braced and was rammed into. Plates moved aside and with that skin was pierced, a carmine fear running down Thunder's snout. He'd landed a hit and against someone else perhaps have impaled them. Not the dragon however, she used the large weapon as a platform to kick off of, launching herself off the horn and into the air.

Reaching to her belt she retracted a sword taken from a fallen Orochi a small Vibranium cartridge that unraveled into a kitana.twirling in the air she came down looking to seperate the skull from the spine in a downward thrust. With her free hand Jessica pulled her crossbow, and while likely riding the giant's back she'd take aim. Her intention to launch a semtax equipped bolt into an open wound from the hawk's armor piercing rounds. Resulting in an explosive internal wound if successful. Her wounds didn't look to slow the dragon down in the least. Not from a healing factor but simple will power, she wasn't the icon of Gothic. However like Gothic she came off almost incapable of yielding.