@jason_ford: @k_brimstone The Dark Defender kept driving and shooting with his machine gun on the Ghosts. They probably would've been tougher had they not already been in what was essentially an all out war beforehand. Which is exactly why he needed to attack them now. He kept going through them until they disappeared again. He expected nothing less from them, but at least he managed to show them he was there, and he meant business.
As he kept driving around he came across a Blue Blood, out in the open representing that gang. Without thinking if it was a trap, or the ramifications of starting a fight near a Government station he rams his vehicle right to them and pulls outs his machine guns to start firing.
Stone moved tactically, making his way up to the adjacent roof, carefully but quickly confirming the kill. This fight had been nearly insane, Stone had had an easier time killing vampires than this guy. With care he frisked the half headed corpse, quite surprised that the Blue Blood hadn't been booby trapped in some way. The soldier took the enemy's communications gear, weapon, and what appeared to be the explosives detonator. When he had time, and it wasn't so risky, he'd turn off the Wet Blanket anti electronics system and have the Random AI examine them to gather more intelligence on the Red Mask's modus operandi, but for now it was simply too dangerous.
Minutes later he reentered the fire station, where the Captain informed him that seven bombs had been found inside the station and its basement. Furthermore, five of the fire fighters were leaving as they spoke to try to get to their families, for which Kyle could hardly fault them. The rest of them, for all the stress and conflicted emotions evident on their faces, had elected to stay and do the duty they'd sworn to. Stone had served with some of the best people he could hope for in the military and the Austin police force, but the courage of these men and women were simply inspirational. The danger they were about to face didn't deter them, not to mention the presence of powerful explosives in their midst...the power of which they had just seen evidence of.
Stone needed to remove that threat with a swiftness, he grabbed his bomb kit from The Brick as the fire fighters got to work clearing the bomb debris from the blocked garage entrance. He needed to get the bombs deactivated before any more of Red Mask's people showed up. Upon viewing the first device, it was exactly as bad as he'd expected. The bomb not only had the remote activation detonator receiver, but two trembler motion anti tamper/activation devices. To be honest with himself, the bombs were a little over his head...if they went off not even the Miraclearmor would save him. To this end he had the Captain evacuate the building and the fire fighters rally across the street while he disarmed the devices.
Over a nerve wracking forty-three minutes of every shred of skill and luck he possessed he was able to deactive the bombs, and despite his semi famous calm he was drenched in cold sweat inside the armor.
Soon after the men and women had the debris cleared and were ready to roll out, Stone equipped each engine, the rescue truck, and the captain with a G56 assault rifle and three magazines of ammo a piece, while the Captain himself determine the least dangerous area to respond to where they might still do the most good. Stone briefed the Captain on the situation and threats as best he could, as well as the continued hazard of the Red Mask to the station and let the Captain decide how best to deal with it.
"Alright people, this is what's up." Captain Washington called in a deep voice to his team, "We're all from Gothic, and we know how bad things can get...this is worse, much worse. We still have a duty and people to protect, but this time there are terrorists, renegade metas, criminals and maybe even US troops that may have us in a cross fire, but the job is the job. If you want out, now's the time."
Stone wasn't surprised really, but no one moved even though they all had some degree of fear on their faces.
"You've all got your assignments, so stay sharp. Don't come back here, this guy says it's too dangerous...Hell, it might be a huge crater before long. He says those terrorists will probably try again. Now, let's roll out. May God, or whatever you pray to, watch over us tonight."
With that, the fire fighters mounted their vehicles and rolled out to their uncertain fates.
Once they were safely away, the soldier drove The Brick a reasonable distance from the station and killed the Wet Blanket. Nothing exploded, but he wasn't going to bet anything that the fire station would stay that way, the Red Mask was too damn thorough. Stone checked all his sensors, then kicked the vehicle into gear, blast shields down and drove toward where he'd seen the air craft shooting and taking fire an hour or so before.
Very little shocked him, but amid all the fire, smoke, chaos, worry of explosive destruction came a shower of red. Rose petals? There was a literal shower of rose petals raining from the sky laying out a carpet of red on the street before him. His optimism had faded years ago, but for some reason, whether this boded good or ill, it gave him a little bit of hope. He might only be able to take care of one little mission at a time in his corner of the city, but maybe there were others out there that were able to do more. He certainly could hope so.
So lost in this thought was he that he almost plowed into another vehicle that whipped around a corner, machine guns blazing obliterating the top of the building where the Blue Blood's corpse was, and no doubt the corpse as well. Stone slewed The Brick to a halt, and swung the auto cannon toward the vehicle and squawked over the PA system.
"HALT FIRING." He didn't fire himself, whoever it was was most definitely shooting at the right target after all. "I'M DEFENDING THE CITY. YOU JUST FIRED AT A MEMBER OF A TERRORIST GROUP KNOWN AS GHOSTS. FLASH YOUR LIGHTS TWICE OR OTHERWISE ANNOUNCE YOURSELF IF YOU MEANT TO DO SO." @dark_defender
Chris looks away for a moment. The officer aimed at Chris for a moment. I should run. My face, I can feel it heal. I was just about to leap forward rolling into an alley when the kid stopped me.
"You're a hero."
I look back at the kid and see the cop. "Get them to safety."
For a second they could see part of my face. My vision clears up and I grapple back upward toward the sky.
Lichter's craft maneuvered between skyscrapers with agility belied by the VTOL's size, twisting through the spire-like skyscrapers and plumes of suffocating smoke alike with guns blazing. White knuckles were disguised by the yellow gloves, fingers wrapped around the joysticks for dear life as the youth careened dramatically around the corner...directly over Strigidae 57's van. He barely paid mind to the Scavenger Savant as he launched his assault, too focused on the battle at hand to notice the MidKite behind his craft.
Lock-on detected.
The Delver snarled as the VTOL lurched to the side at his direction, the three deadly missiles encroaching on his position from beneath. He was correct earlier in observing that the city's streets were too hot; he shouldn't have re-engaged. Pulling up dramatically in an attempt to lose the missiles, he glanced in a rear camera only to find that they pursued him into the sky. Letting go of one stick, he reached over to snatch at another, arming the rotary turret on the top of the VTOL.
A small targeting camera lowered to give him a viewpoint from the turret's barrel, twisting around 180 degrees to intercept the missiles. Pulling the trigger with reckless abandon, he fired a hail of bullets back at the speeding projectiles, attempting to shoot them from the sky as they closed in on his jet. Biting his lip, he watched one go up in flames, bursting apart with a massive boom as his bullets tore through the casing and set off the explosive. The other two drew closer still, evading his fire. Leaning in the chair, he brought the gun around to shoot down another target, the explosion illuminating the sky behind.
He was too slow, however, for the final projectile, and as fate would have it, it was a direct hit on the Andromeda-crafted Regalius drive. Lichter lurched forward in his seat, the entire craft shaking as the rocket detonated against the back repulsor drive, shredding the internal components and causing a trail of smoke to emanate from the tail of the plane. Opening his eyes, Lichter regained control of the craft as it plummeted from the sky, narrowly pulling up before it could collide with the pavement. The right wing took out two streetlamps, ripping them whole from the sidewalk with sparks flying as he passed over the street. The maneuvering engines on the far sides of both wings carried him upwards, away from the streets, thick black gas pouring from the rear of the jet.
Quickly, he jammed a finger into the killswitch, deactivating the boost drive in order to salvage what remained later. The blow, while by no means deadly, was crippling to the jet's speedier functions; he could no longer move like a plane, but rather, more of a fast copter. His top speed would not be confined to 270 miles per hour in hover configuration only, and he'd be unable to complete any more strafing runs. The shot was one in a thousand; had it hit anywhere else, the armor would've saved the plane and ensured it kept working at optimum capacity. His only choice now was to rise, and for the meantime, stay, above the cloud cover.
"This is air support. Surface-to-air fire has crippled the main drive. I can only conduct sporadic operations from here on on out. Still available for evacuation and air-to-surface runs, but no prolonged activity underneath the cloud cover. Over."
He sat back in his chair, scowling. A moment later, he brought his fist down on the controls, and turned to monitor the map, eyes cold as ever.
The goon's shaky hands met the hands of the mad Clown, as he took the scalpel and sliced up the flesh off of the back of the strongman before him. "Good, good..." His hands flew across the patient with surprising poise and grace, like he'd been a surgeon for his entire life. Curve's eyes glanced up, at the two bags sitting on the steel table beside them, and called out to the goon once more.
"Antidote ready?" He questioned, to which the thug nodded carefully. "Good. Get it ready. This is a miracle of science, and I'm not gonna let it hang around to get too comfortable in Gothic." Nothing was funny about what Curve was doing now. This was precise. This was defense. This was almost an art. "Now... Go get the antidote, quick. I'll start the transfusion."
Shoving a tube down the patient's forearm, he picked up one of the bags, reading the label. Sadrisus. His own concoction, made of his own blood. The base to the formula, the thing that would let the antidote trigger, should push come to shove. Wiring the tube into the bag, he watched as the bright green liquid pour in, seeping into the arm, and letting the veins pump in blood. With a grin, he turned over to the other bag. Konite. Liquid Konite, in it's purest form, a gift from @sahi_ when she had so kindly busted him out of prison.
Now, he injected this into the man's bloodstream, something that immediately awoke the man. "Who- Curve!? What are you doing!?" He growled, thrashing in his restraints. Luckily, Curve was proficient in tying people down, and there was no problem with holding him steady. Curve picked up another bag, now, and opened it, the purple light immediately shining from within it. The man's eyes widened in fear, and he thrashed still, wanting to get away, wanting to flee. And yet, of course, he could not.
"They made the gods first. Me included, y'see. Made us all special... But there was no... Creativity." Raising the bag, he continued speaking, even as the man screamed for help, his body changing rapidly before him. "Science is so wonderful, but no thought gets put into it. I mean, this, specifically. Hell, I'm sure if someone plopped a Divus crystal on Maverick's doorstep, they'd go wild!" Curve cackled, as he dug through pockets of flesh, reaching into the heart area.
"But I'm limited, in resource, and in mind. So, here's hoping." With that being said, he dropped the crystal by the thumping heart, before stepping back, an envelope of purple light immediately coating him. Within, the Konite and Sadrisus and Divus all blended together, the lights forming a perfect fusion.
"They may have made nGods..."
A roar came from within the bubble.
"But I have made the nDevil."
With a sickening smile, Curve watched as a huge, rocky beast emerged, teeth glistening with saliva as it snarled. Before Curve could say anything else, however, the beast turned towards the window, gunfire and flames spreading outside. Growling, the monster leaped out of the window, sending shards of glass down below. It's roar was eternal, it's claws ever sharp, and it ran through the streets of Gothic with a fiery passion for death and destruction the likes of which the world may have never seen before.
The President of the United States had set his sights on Gothic City. He'd sent a party to negotiate the city's return to the union, and it was televised. Where the meeting would take place, Satar didn't know. But it didn't matter. He didn't have to know. No matter how many had come before him, no matter how many had donned a cape and cowl and promised justice for Gothic, the city was not theirs. It was his. By the arrow of the Aensland Golden Girl, Black House was destroyed, the Brahma Brotherhood left temporarily directionless, and Satar supposedly driven into hiding where he could lick his wounds in defeat. But in the Baabda Beast's mind, that was not his narrative. He had won. He'd broken the Aensland Golden Girl and left her directionless.
She had rid Gothic City of it's worst villain? He had claimed the city from it's greatest ever hero. That in Satar's mind was the truth. And the truth would always be the truth, even if nobody believed it. And in his truth, the city was still his. Remnants of his Konite-addicted cronies still walked the streets of Gothic. They were still loyal, and they whispered. They spoke of rumors. That Olympus was where the Strix received all their most important guests. He'd been there. As 'Amin Karrit', he'd been there and held his own meeting with Santera. Things for the future. The Baabda Beast however, rested his attention on the now. And now it was time for him to kill, bury and stand over the grave of a dead president. Behind the gray walls of a safe house, Satar stood before a table, a hammer held by his left hand, and his icy gaze resting upon a replica of Vex's mask.
The Replica
Vex. He'd known the man was the city's former mayor. A secret known between him and Vex. A secret he'd never publicized. He never had to. He'd claimed the city from him as well. From the next man to hold the legendary mantle of 'Dark Vengeance'. From the last of the great line of Gothic vigilantes. One swing, the table shook, and the mask broke. He'd claim the city from the United States President and the Strix as well. He tossed his hammer and shed the Ermenegildo Zegna suits of his 'Amin Karrit' persona for the armored, militaristic garb of 'Satar'. He shaved his head. He armed himself. And he donned his mask.
"I walked in, made this city mine and twice I burned it to the ground"
"I butchered those who defended it. And I retired it's greatest ever hero"
"I am the World Eater. And this is my decade of dominance"
"The president had better hope I die tonight. Because it is kill or be killed"
-Olympus-
Hands clutching the sides of his armored vest, Satar strode through the streets of Gothic uninterrupted. Sahi was somewhere leading the Brahma Brotherhood against the president's forces. The air carried a strong chemical smell. But elsewhere he was certain it smelled of burnt corpses and toxic fire. In other areas, there was a virus. But everywhere there was chaos. The city burned. Fires that wouldn't die burned structures to the ground and pillars of smoke climbed higher and higher into the night sky. It became difficult to breathe and the Baabda Beast imagined how the skin of the dying tightened and was pulled against the bone by the fires of chlorine trifluoride.
Satar walked. His stride was commanding. The air he exuded was global and oppressive. He held an impenetrable confidence. And a complete lack of respect for whoever he laid eyes upon. He respected no man, and he feared no god. Soon the World Eater had arrived. Across the street stood Olympus. Satar's rolled his shoulders and his gamma effect created inter-atmospheric instability, inspiring the quantum particles that boiled over and collided against one another in empty space into a frenzy. They became energetic, more-so than normal. There was a burst, small and quick, and as Satar strode forward, his blood boiled, generating a field of gamma radiation that threatened to poison and scorch the flesh and organs of those nearby.
The World Eater
He was inside now, the death field radiating from his body slaying any security staff that tried to stop him. His elevator was short. And soon, he was on the top floor. He kicked the doors open, and the pale, crystal blue eyes of an apex predator cast an unblinking gaze of psychopathic cold over the Black Bat, Nikoleta Strix, and the 23rd Strigidae. There he stood, the World Eater with shoulders that would do an ox proud, limbs as thick as the trunk of trees, a chest worthy of a plow horse, and the kind of domineering presence that seized the atmosphere by the throat and forced an intimidating and authoritative quality down it's throat. He'd heard of the 23rd Strigidae's fearsome reputation. Of the Strix ingenuity. And none of it mattered to him.
His thick, Lebanese inflection echoed behind the deep timbre and authority of his voice, his eyes on the Black Bat. "This city has betrayed you. Because it belongs to me". His field of death-dealing radiation intensified and he tossed his grenades at the three. They detonated, and some sent superheated shrapnel at them. Others exploded with heat and force. And others released a cloud of experimental cyanogen chloride; a faster-acting version of the extremely volatile and toxic asphyxiating blood agent. It threatened to interfere with the body's ability to use oxygen. It could penetrate the filters in gas masks, and it attacked organ systems most sensitive to low oxygen levels; the central nervous system, pulmonary system, and cardiovascular system.
It was cruel, and highly corrosive. It sought to convulse and paralyze, to strip a victim of consciousness and do away with them till they died. Satar was immune. The adaptive component from his powerful genes saw him survive and adapt to previous exposure to his own toxins. They could not touch him. So he sought to kill with them. To kill everyone.
Julian Knightfall? Under her black gas mask Ivana blinked in surprise. Venezuela's intelligence services were rarely wrong. The evidence hadn't been conclusive of course. There was no proof. But Donn being the Black Bat had made sense to Ivana. It clicked.
She mentally checked for signs of psychic manipulation as the Black Bat spoke. Heartbeat, somatic system, subconscious awareness of internal organs.. everything seemed normal.
Shapeshifter?
The Black Bat finished speaking. Ivana removed her own mask and shook out her jet black ponytail, the ritual tattoos of the Strigidae Order in sharp contrast with the pale skin of her half-shaved scalp.
Silently she walked around the Black Bat, leaning her head over his shoulder, head almost brushing against his. She took several deep breaths in through her nose. Shapeshifters had a certain scent. Or rather, scents. Their scent shifted but there was always a residue.. a hint of the last scent mixed together. Sometimes she could smell the biochemical residue of the shifting itself.
There were advantages to living in a nation full of mutants; you learned a lot about how your fellows powers worked.
But he didn't smell like a shapeshifter.
Julian Knightfall, hiding in plain sight after all this time..
Ultimately Ivana trusted to her own senses. And they told her this was a Knightfall. Julian Knightfall. Not Alexander Donn. Of course that hardly ruled out a grand conspiracy.. simply implied new wrinkles in the tapestry of facts.
..where has he been. What secrets does he keep for so long? Why did he not emerge during the Civi-
Thorne to Pack. Serpent bleeds, but flies.
The short, crisp words of the 57th Strigidae cut through Ivana's distraction like a blade. She touched a finger to the earpiece in her ear, waiting to see if 57 relayed further information in the Pack's personal linguistic code.
His voice sounded cold. Like the icy waters of a mountain stream, running quietly over hard stones. It snapped her out of the sudden distraction brought on by Julian's revelation.
"I not come here for Gothic, Julian. Not to save. Not to destroy." The former Shogun lifted a shoulder, shrugging and completely ignoring Nikoleta.
"I not come here for Strix. And I not come here for Knightfall either."
"Charlemagne LeBeau. Alexander Donn. Lichter." She counted them off on her fingers. One two three. The mystery of Julian Knightfall was intriguing. But the battlefield was no place to be intrigued. His mystery could wait. Ivana had already refocused, laser-like upon her goal.
Ivana tossed the syringes back into the first aid kit and flipped it closed. It went back onto her kit with the click of a buckle as she walked to the edge of the roof.
And Satar walked through the door. In Ivana's native Russia they said Satar was the son of the devil. That he couldn't die because God wouldn't take him. And that the fires of hell burned in his footsteps.
Maybe it was true.
His massive, powerful arms flexed and Gods curse on Gothic unleashed a handful of grenades along with his personal field of radiation. Satar brought every weapon ever banned by man to the battlefield. Uncontrollable flame. Horrible chemical death. And radiation; weakness and a slow but inevitable demise as the body failed on a cellular level.
If you screwed around against Satar you died. That was all their was to it.
Ivana didn't. She snatched her FN-5.7 from her hip with blistering quickness and her finger twitched on the trigger. Five shots in the blink of an eye.
Decades ago Ivana had mastered Abuskhau at the feet of one of the Strigidae cults seven secret masters. It allowed her to push her bodies kinesthetic sense out past the bonds of the body so she could put a project on a target with the same ease she could touch her finger to her nose. Otherwise impossible shots, with a bow or with a gun, became possible.
And so those five bullets caught the five grenades closest to her. Armor piercing steel cored rounds blew the fuse out of the grenades mid-flight, preventing those five from detonaiting.
It should have been an impossible shot. But it wasn't. And it prevented her from being caught in the worst of the blasts (as well as from inhaling the toxins) due to her distance from Black Bat and the Renegade Strix.
Then, staggering backwards under the spray of fragments from his other grenades and the sudden impact of his personal field of radiation Ivana looked to the Knightfall and Strix and said-
"Good luck."
Then she jumped. It was a long way down.
Wind whipped by, snatching at her limbs like a dozen grasping hands. She fell past a half a dozen stories, windows filled with stories caught in pause, flickering by her like the individual frames of a movie.
Man eating dinner.
Woman on cellphone.
Staff emptying trash can.
Child throwing tantrum.
She yanked the ripcord on her chest and her wingsuit snapped out, catching her as she spread her limbs like a squirrel. Twisting and diving through Gothic's labyrinth of alleyways until she touched down on a rusting fire escape. Ivana leaped over the edge, landing on the pavement below, hearing broken glass and needles crunch under her boots.
Ripping the tarp off one of Strigidae 57's F1 composites, crafted especially by the 57th Strigidae for fast paced urban maneuver, Ivana slipped into the drivers pod through exposed tubing and black painted metal. She inserted a key and started the ignition.
Then she stepped on the gas.
The engine roared and rubber screamed. Ivana bared her teeth in a feral grin as the acceleration punched her back into the seat. Gasoline and burning rubber assaulted her senses and she laughed wildly as the modified F1 exploded from its hiding place in the alleyway, ripping around corners and tearing through the city.
A short time later Ivana was storming up the stairs to a former Flock storehouse, leftover from the days of Amaranth. She took an 82A1 anti-material rifle from the dusty stockpile of weapons and dashed up the moldy concrete stairs of an abandoned housing project tower.
When she arrived at the roof her eyes swept the sky for the tail-tale signs of jet contrails. Nothing. Just clouds.
She frowned. And thought. Oh. Duh. Above the clouds.
Then she lifted the heavy black rifle to her shoulder and closed her eyes. She could 'push' her mutant ability to read a nervous system out, but the farther she pushed it the harder it was.
Sweat beaded on her forehead.
Nothing.
The beginning of a skull splitting migraine begin to radiate up the back of her skull.
Nothing.
Her nose begin to bleed.
Noth- there.
It was faint and moving fast but Ivana had located Lichter's nervous system speeding through the atmosphere above the clouds. Her mind did all the necessary calculations unconsciously; muzzle velocity, distance to target, target's delta-v and a dozen more.
Shooting a jet with a rifle was virtually impossible. There was less than a one percent of one percent chance of making the shot.
Her hands started to tremble as she redoubled her focus on her mutant powers. Imbuing the round in the chamber with a massive density of tachyons until a negative mass singularity formed at the point of the round. It would rip through anything short of true adamantine.
Ivana took careful aim. Not at Lichter. And not at his jet. But at a single point about five feet behind where her mutant powers told her Lichter's somatic nervous system would be over a second into the future.
Her hands stopped trembling. Her index finger squeezed. The fifty caliber round tore out of the barrel in a plume of fire two feet long and the gun bucked against her shoulder so hard Ivana staggered backwards.
A steel cored, tachyon infused round pierced the darkness of the sky at eight hundred and fifty three meters per second. Almost two and a half times faster than the crack of its own sonic boom.
And unless evaded or deflected it would punch through the cloud cover and blow a fist sized hole clean through Lichter's jet.
"This make me angry. Once, I clean house. I kill you. I kill Lichter. I kill your families. I kill your butler and your maid. Kill the dog and doorman, best friend, anyone close to you. Clean slate. Start over."
"But I older now. So. I give you both one chance. Draw blood, put syringe into kit. Call Lichter. He draw blood, put syringe into kit. We test. If you telling truth, then you live."
"If not I kill you both."
Meanwhile...
Atop of a building opposite
The Emerald Archer hadn't stepped foot into Gothic City in months. The reason? It didn't matter, not now. Not at this moment. The fate of Gothic City hung in the balance because of the decisions of a metal man too many years ago.
A man that had sacrificed the very fate of thousands, tens of thousands, for his own ruthless agenda. All that mattered was Kurt's green eyes and impeccable aim. There was rarely chances for do-overs in life. That feeling of going to a hotel and ruining the room, only to leave and return the same night and find that it had been perfectly cleaned and somebody else had fixed your mess. Today, Gothic City had that chance. Anthony Stark had messed Gothic up and Alexander Donn was cleaning it up.
But he couldn't do that alone.
One man's mistake would take a thousand men's helping hands...
And a single trion arrow, it seemed.
An arrow which would travel silently, faster than the fastest bullet but quieter than the word itself. Aimed by the world's best biological targeting machine with the hopes and dreams of a city balancing upon the very arrow tip. Ivana Strigidae had done the very best for her kind in this world, she would be thanked by millions and remembered.
The arrow was pulled back by a metallic palm and aimed toward's the former monarch's neck.
Once upon a time Ivana Strigidae had shot an arrow through Kurt Pendragon's heart. He hadn't seen it coming. He had never stood a chance.
But now?
She would never see hi-
-suddenly his earpiece chimed up.
"This is air support to Chihuahua. Unknown combat-entity on a nearby roof (@aria_al-sef). Female, armed. She has eyes on the boss."
"Adjusting target," Kurt replied, repositioning his perfect aim as the coordinates were sent to his position. Thankfully, the Emerald Archer had positioned himself upon one of the highest buildings within the city.
The Valiant Wolf may have been able to predict or unravel even the most complex situations as though one was merely blinking. But even the best problem solver in the world couldn't solve a problem which they didn't know existed.
With weary green eyes the Gothic Knight aimed at Aria and....
"What the...?"
The former Commissioner of Gothic City paused, listening intently as the unmistakable voice of Satar echoed through his earpiece as though Kurt was within Olympus himself and not listening through Alexander's own microphone. Satar's voice bought on an immediate sense of both dread and unadulterated anger that the archer hadn't felt since the Brahma Bull's tyranny. Kurt's jaws tightened as Satar continued speaking, turning his bow and almost instantly and locked onto the World Eater with fatal intent...
...Until he quickly realized saving Nikoleta and Alexander Donn was the first priority. The Breaker of Men would die alone in time, the same as the Brahma Bull had died. In time, but not this second. With perfect aim the archer fired a manifested arrow, an arrow, which upon arrival would break apart into two pieces and with inhuman accuracy between @hound_of_war and @nikoleta_strix's feet.
Immediately two green spheres would envelop the two and temporarily shield them from any harm that Satar had hoped to inflict, the bubbles only lasting for around three seconds but being long enough to protect from the immediate heat, force, radiation and cloud of cyanogen chloride, whilst allowing the duo a three second chance to conjure a plan of defense. It was not long, but from this distance and against such odds... It was all Kurt could muster, perhaps, it had been the farthest he had ever conjured constructs before in his entire life.
But that was only a temporary solution.
The best defense is a good offence.
With the swiftness of a hired killer the Worlds Mightiest Marksman altered his aim with finesse towards @satar's left arm. He knew he would never kill the Beast From Baabda with a single arrow, but hoped neutralizing a limb would severely incapacitate or at the very least, handicap the mauler. Manifesting a single trion arrow with a concentrated load strong enough to bring down a building; but only primed to detonate within a three centimeter radius.
The jet had been nearly stationary, merely hovering in the air above the desecrated city. Klaus had been sitting in the pilot's chair, casually inspecting the damage to the Regalius drive. It would be expensive to replace, but not with regards to money; if he wanted a steady supply of Andromedan tech, he'd need to make a visit to the planet itself. Again, this would not cost him capital, but time. Precious, precious time. With trembling fingers, still shaking from the flight, he reached up to unlatch his mask, draping it back over his neck. Rubbing his dark eyes with gloved fingers, he lounged back in the chair, earpiece relaying information in the background. One, two transports down...he barely even heard it. That was...two-hundred gone? Two-fifty? With a growl, he ripped the earpiece out and threw it across the cabin.
Suddenly, with a mighty crunch and the ricochet of metal, a hole was punched through the bottom of the cockpit to above his head in the roof of the ship. The noise was horrible, as was the surprise; given the circumstance, he would not be loathe to admit that a bewildered shriek escaped his lips as the plane shook, the clean hole above and below scaring him out of his skin. Scrambling about in the chair with his blood racing, he wildly smacked a joystick, the plane lurching out of position and shifting dramatically to the side, drifting about so as to avoid being a stationary target. Having perhaps come closer to a heart attack than ever before, the youth rolled out of the chair onto the ground, crawling over to the communicator.
Holding it back in his ear, he looked up at the tactical holographic map, confirming that Ivana had indeed left the Olympus hotel. And the shot, made from the surface, at a ship above the clouds?
No, he thought, furrowing his brow. Calming his breathing, he glared at the hole in the bottom of the shaken jet, then at the identical one on top. Wind rushed out as the cabin depressurized, then sealed off the gaping wounds in his vessel. Blinking, he got to his feet, dusting off his shoulder. It was a warning shot. Nothing more. He bit his lip, digging around in a pocket for an old Consortium communicator...a direct line to the Shogun herself. Pressing one of the three buttons on the small nondescript device, he shakily held it up to his ear. Then it became stable once more.
"Uh, Shogun Ivana? Heeeey there. This is Klaus. Is there something you feel like...talking about?" he said, biting his lip as he inspected the damage to the roof with a finger. Squinting, he continued.
"I don't know if I did something, or someone else did something to you...is it me? It's probably me," he said, looking down at where the hole had penetrated the floor. Subtly tracing the trajectory, he continued.
"Because I feel like we could talk it out, whatever I...did," he said, looking out the window. Holding the VVG device up to his eyes with the communicator still in one hand, he scanned the rooftops.
Ah.
"And, uh, just to show you I trust you," he said, a small bead of sweat running down his head, "I'm going to stand still now. So we can talk. I don't shoot you, you don't shoot me? All good there?" he said, putting the goggles down and using the ship's camera to zoom in on the rooftop. Through the cockpit's window, he could see her. Unconsciously, he lifted his empty hand in a small wave, then it shot back down to his side.
Stone would have been right about the firestation not staying for long. On discovery of the deactivated bombs that left the ex military man a problem, an easy one however. He checked for the soldier (brimstone) again and could see he wouldn't be close enough to stop him. He was also with another enemy, the Dark Defendor. To many of these guys were running around these days. Quickly, he preset the Target Locking Acid to concrete and set the strength long enough to consume just the station and a little around it, the station would be gone in seconds as he lifted his hand above the hole and threw the glass cannister into the firehouse. With all the concrete gone everything else would tumble over itself from the second floor, possibly crushing the bombs.
Now that Jason had seen what had happened he had a new plan. Delay them, then destroy them. Arnold Striker disguised as Red Mask, followed by two Blue Bloods. Entered the streets by cutting through into a house's closet so it appeared they'd been hiding inside. No one would have reason to believe Arnold was a fake Red Mask, he knew just about everything Jason did, he'd already been through plenty of operations as Red Mask, and he was an absolute master of imitating people.
"Well done, both of you. Now step away from my man and leave his gear, or I'll make you both feel like you went to that inferno they call Hell." Arnold said raising the nerve gun at them, while he did that the two Blue Bloods next to him raised Rocket Launchers. None of them were kidding around, and he wouldn't hesitate to fire both rockets at a nearby building just to prove a point.
Stone didn't bother to waste time talking. If one Blue Blood had been that hard to kill, two would be a nightmare from Hell...then there was Red Mask. Kyle had yet to meet an enemy leader who was less of a threat then his henchmen, so it was all the heat he had right frigging now. Hopefully, the new arrival would follow suit. If not, Stone was in bigger trouble than he'd been in in a long long time, with zero back up.
He let the HUD follow his eyes and locked onto all three targets with a series of blinks to set each target to the desired weapons systems. The soldier fingered both TOW missiles to target the two Blue Bloods, and the cannon to hone in on the Red Mask.
Sharp, hard snaps, clacks, and whines of locks, ports, and servos sounded as the two missile ports opened and deployed the two missile pylons from the back of each side of the SUV, while the 20mm autocannon swiveled and depressed. In less than a second all three weapons had acquired their targets and Stone stroked the triggers.
The rotary autocannon spun out a hellish barrage of metal toward the Red Mask while the twin TOW missiles shrieked from their launch tubes to seek out the meta human Blue Bloods.
Stone prayed that there were no civilians in those buildings, but this wasn't the same game he'd been playing with Red Mask. Too many people were dying already, he couldn't afford to worry about civilians any more than he already had...this crew had already proven to be too ruthless and dangerous. The only thing to do was take them down as hard and fast as possible.
If he survived, then he could help more people.
If he didn't, at least he could take some of these assholes with him so they could hurt fewer.
╔════╗ ║▒▒▒▒ Gothic City; USA ║▒▒▒▒ Chamberlaine Hills ╚════╝
- The Repulsor Gauntlet -
In the wake of wiping out another Brotherhood choke point, Donatello was granted one precious resource in the raging chaos: respite. His pause after putting the local Mad Dogs on their leash, however brief it may have been, served to enhance the young hero's rigid repertoire with the gang's own surprisingly advanced equipment. The young inventor managed to put together a few prototypes of various nature by dismantling their technology, for example creating an EM Gauntlet from scraps of Kamikaze King armor and superconductive components taken directly from their sniper rifles. State-of-the-art protein motors came to power rag-tag technology capable of generating intense EM fields of moderated polarity.
Donatello was nothing if not cost efficient. A few more of such improvised gadgets entered his backpack, excluding the gasmask portion added to the similarily salvaged Bat cowl. He would've tinkered more were there not wolves stalking his prairie (@sahi_). Donatello forcefed his mechanized stallion gas and set into the streets under machine gun fire, harnessing his knowledge of the neighborhood to keep the three cars from gaining a chance at a steady shot. At one point one of the Brotherhood members spewed fire just shy of his hind wheel, Konite taking effect most likely.
Through broken windows he noticed an opportunity to take out multiple frenzied fiends: a salvo of rockets launched by a ragged man. Already getting in the safety of his truck and driving off, a direct attack was ill advised but also unconsidered (@strigidae_57, @victoradams). Donny instead accelerated and sought to cut him off at the next crossroads, oblivious to the fact that another had already downed the vehicle. He cut to intercept the truck but noticed the wreck to which the vigilante strode.
This, however, didn't stop him. Anyone in the streets at this point was either a gangster or a Konite casualty. So Donatello ramped his bike off of a narrow pile of rubble, it's surface just barely enough for the tires of his own dirtbike, and increased his ramp time off an adjacent wall. This feat allowed him to seamlessly leap over the vehicle whilst leaving the three raging cars behind himself on a collision course with either the truck or the vigilante. In any scenario the 'DIY Vengeance' was scot free on a wheelie.
Enjoy.
Several blocks pass in an adrenaline haze. An internal opioid feel good that approximates the moment in vivid detail lead him to his secret target with autonomated grace. But Donatello didn't make it to the Avalon storage facility. When he merged into the main street from behind a corner the control over his dirt bike became usurped by the sight before him, the titan. (@curve) He found himself sliding with his bike underneath the monster's feet and, baffled by the monstrosity, instinctually reached for a holster on his hip, pulling out a pistol-like device. It's intended purpose? Tracking. It's improvised ammo? Contents of Brotherhood Radioactive Rifle slugs. The dispersal device covered the monster in a thick radioactive cloud to temporarily blind it as Donatello continued to slide a few feet behind The Titantic Terror.
OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT-- WHAT THE F*** WAS THAT?
Radiation tracing would, if not actually deal damage, serve to primarily irradiate the target with a specific radiation wavelength perceptible by propriate scanners (@lichter, @radiation-seeing-people). Why? Because once tagged, there is no escape. Viewed under the metaphorical blacklight, the monster will stick out of it's surroundings like a motel night. No matter the obstacles between it and the observer.
Having already seen to the safety of the people in Jurassic Tower with a lockdown and by environmentally sealing it off from the rest of the city Xae made her way into the active warzone that was Gothic. She had no stake in the fight, her movements through the city were purely for informational purposes. When she saw an innocent person she could help she did so but generally she moved silently through the city. Her tracking eventually led her to the NDevil, a fascinating creature that she followed in silence to record information on. I'll have to deal with this thing some day, I need information on it if I'm going to deal with it successfully.
In the midst of tracking it something new and unexpected crossed her path, a vigilante she'd never seen before. Her eye implants immediately recognized the cowl but nothing else matched, his scent was wrong, his body language was wrong and the way he operated, also wrong. Who the hell are you? Despite her uncertainty, she was impressed by his display of tactical acumen and use of rudimentary salvaged equipment for his own purposes.
He's not wealthy, he has to scavenge for his equipment, looks like some of it was done on the spot, so he's got a fast mind, capable of adapting to unusual or unexpected circumstances. Impressive. Xae remained for a moment in the shadows of the fire lit streets of Gothic. She'd taken her natural form to move through the city, it allowed her considerably more stealth and no one would recognize her. There were rumors in Gothic City, local myths of some sort of dinosaur that now lived in the city. It had been spotted several times in the past but only ever for brief moments.
"I wouldn't stick around to see what it does." Xae said after shifting into her humanoid form and switching to her Kat 1 armor. She walked out of the shadows as she spoke.
@k_brimstone: @jason_ford Dark Defender wasn't about to let this punk get away from, this time he wouldn't run, he had a score to settle and he intended to do that tonight. He didn't want the Blue Bloods to take down that entire building though so he needed to find some way to knock those Rocket Launchers out of their immediate vicinity. He had to think, but maybe he could stall them for long enough to come up with a plan. Hopefully they don't notice his gambit though
"You think I'm going to give up, now? Not this time big boy."
He pulls out his shotgun and aims it at both of the Blue Bloods, his finger just on the trigger barely touching it light enough to stop him from busting them with it's blasts. If he kept them in a Mexican Standoff maybe he could protect them from blowing up the building and come up with a more elaborate plan.
Dark Defender too late realized his plan was in vein, since the man standing next to him had already tried to attack! Who even was he, and why was he trying to take his targets out!?
In the world-wind of unexpected action, the 57th Strigidae had been intercepted by one of Gothic's newer, yet no less talented costumed vigilantes. "SHIIIIIT!" howled the driver. Adrenaline flooding his system as shock and awe seized and overwhelmed his body. But the startling assault had also haunted his reactionary acknowledgment of the unfolding event, the surprise of shattered glass dulling his ability to properly repel the ivory colored interloper's attack. Or even to ward off his aggravated appropriation of the wheel.
However the Ultimate Utilitarian suffered no such lapse. His respected repository of refined reflexes, which had been methodically manufactured through decades of polymathic indoctrination, allowed the partially masked martial occultist to digest and respond to the devastating assault in real time, letting his muscles relax and kinetic momentum arrest his body.
Which effectively then ejected the Strigidae from the truck through the passenger-side windshield as the wheel was violently wrenched, causing the vehicle it to lurch and flip over and over again, before finally settling in a shattered heap of twisted metal and debris. But there was no sign of the slippery utilitarian. Only the horrific sight of his driver's mangled remains battered and lifelessly trapped among the wreckage appeared to have been left behind.
57's dexterous display, partially concealed by the savage serenade of continuous action during the wreck, had been a rugged physical mixture of brute exertion and massaged maneuverability. So while the ivory enigma vigilantly stood guard over the crushed cab, watching and waiting, the 57th Strigidae had stealthily managed to work his way down a nearby ally. With a jerry rigged exploitation of amalgamated urban resources in effort in cover his tracks.
A quick external examination of his physique would reveal multiple lacerations and contusions but nothing that would require immediate removal from the field, from the fight. Even if his wounds had been fatal, a Strigidae at 10% was still 90% combat efficient. An injured wolf would always be more lethal then a healthy dear. So without wrestling with the obvious sensation of pain or even fatigue, the Strigidae refused to capitulate and halt his purposed progression to the next tactical placement of pre-stashed munitions and gear. Snatching a tan polyester outdoor tactical duffle from the stench ridden depths of yet another abandoned windowless van in the back-ally.
It wasn't pride or arrogance that allowed the urbanized junk yard dog to ignore his dramatic handicapped. No, that would eventually heal. When or if the opportunity presented itself for substantial down time, but for now it would simply have to grotesquely dangle by hiss side. A useless piece of flesh and reminder of having been tactically disrupted by an unseen anomaly.
"Dinnae see that one comin, bass......."the voice in 57's ear suddenly stated. Her Irish pronunciations more exaggerated as a result of her own elevated state of excitement."The drivah, I'm sorry but he dinnae make it sir."Taking a moment to evolve his calibrated composure, resting the bag on the ground and pressing a finger to his ear, the injured Strig responded,"Do you have eyes on what hit us? My labtop was destroyed in the crash. Tell me you still have operational control of the MK?"57 questioned. Quickly unzipping the duffle and unpacking his 'XK2 Rifle;' an experimental weapon with experimental ammunition, while he waited for Sequiter's reply.
"Aye, I have it, an more. Appears as though one of Gothic's more coloreful vigilantes assailed your convoy bass. He's still there now. 23 has engaged the secondary objective(primary). Multiple sources are reporting the arrival of the Clown Prince himself. An he brewt a friend. al-Sef still has eyes on primary objective (discontinued). but her situation is becoming increasingly hostile. Both the World Eater and the lost archer of Gothic have been spotted in the vicinity and I cannae get a visual. To much interference. You have multiple hostiles in your area as well@_dirge_: @beremud: @sonny_barbaro: @ninjaboss123: @gale_xanders: boss. South west quadrant, off main-street, supporting a large gun battle with several as of yet unidentified combatants@k_brimstone: @dark_defender_: @jason_ford: It looks intense boss."
The ±MK±
"Get a bead on al-Sef with the MK. Covertly cover her six but not at the expensive of her own capable stealth." 57 commanded before once again going radio silent. The broken chain of momentum had allowed the Strigidae's body to finally catch up to his mind, forcing him to take a temporary break.
Sliding up to and down the cement wall of the ally, reaching into one of the myriad of pouches along his tactical belts, rigs, and harnesses in order to remove a small stick like device with illuminated optics and what appeared to be a crimson colored trigger guard. Flipping it up to expose the silver molded switch, the 57th Strigidae didnt hesitate to flick it. Immediately causing the remains of the dismantled truckto rupture within feet of the stationary hero. Detonating in a flesh rending, metal stripping, combustion pocket of violence. Unable to see the actual event all the Strigidae could do was watch the rolling cloud of smoke and fire racing above the towering buildings of main street from the dark secluded safety of the ally.
Red Mask (fake) backflipped dancing and bouncing up the walls of buidlings behind him as he dodged the machine gun fire, his graphene armore would likely have been able to take it, and if not his reconstructive healing should have. But he liked to keep the high ground.
As for the missiles aimed for the two Blue Bloods. Three seconds is a long time for people who can dodge firearms. They both quickly dashed to opposite directions ciring at the missiles with their pistols to blow them up before contact. They had already latched the rocket launchers onto their backs to be used at the very second the missiles blew up from their bullets they hurled at them, and once that happened the rockets would be aimed just below the feet of the two heroes so that even a miss would set them off.
Then the fake Red Mask stopped at the top of the roof just long enough to send one of the invisible electromagnetic energy at both k_brimstone and the Dark_defendor designed enough to make normal men scream in agony, which was still but a small amount compared to the levels it could reach. "
From inside the relative safety of The Brick, where he guided the auto cannon after Red Mask. The weapon roared out six thousand rounds per minute, chewing out clouds of debris from the road and buildings as it sought out the fast moving enemy. Knowing he couldn't possibly point fire on Red Mask, Stone worked to bracket around the man, giving him no where to go, eventually boxing him in.
With the Wet Blanket turned off, the AI Random was in control of the missiles and guiding them in ways no normal human being could possibly duplicate. Pistol ammunition was insufficient to penetrate the weapons' casings, and would be unable to detonate them in any event. Throw off the guidance systems, yes, but only a command signal could set them off.
"Sometimes," The living machine told Kyle, "You're almost okay." As it steered the rocketing projectiles to cross around each other and zero in at the rocket launcher toting super men.
"Sir we are getting new intell on the situation in Gothic. An archer has been spotted along with the White Phantom that you've interacted with." William says his voice being heard through Chris's earpiece through the suit.
"Did you hear that?? It sounded like something out a horror movie. I'm charging my current objective. I need to get these people to safely. I still need to get that results on that blood." Chris says looking over to a burning building.
The building, I hear a scream.
I need to act now. Nobody will die tonight.
"The analysis of the blood is back and is here for you to pick up. Master Dreamer this is suicide. The building could collapse at any moment."
He crashed through a window and the flames engulfed him. Thankfully for the suit protecting him. Making his way forward he sees a big hot metallic locked door. There's no time to be reasonable I have to rip the damn thing off. Doing so he tossed the door to the side running into the room he had seconds before the oxygen met the fire leaving the room in a fiery explosion.
I have seconds. A Fraction of a second to sheild the voice from utter destruction.
Grabbing the kid I wrap my body around her covering her and crashing through another window.
She's okay, thank god shes okay
Rolling through the air I grab a street lamp and drop down to the pavement.
"Are you okay? God thank God that you are okay, Where are your parents?"
The little girl sobbing pointing upwards toward the burning building. With a swift loud
BOOM
The whole building came crashing down. I held the kid in my arm.
As calculated, most of the denizens of Gothic were more concerned with fighting each other or the “government oppressors;” the MRF, carefully maintaining its facade as support troops, was receiving minimal direct attention. Keeping the majority of the conventional troops in this role allowed for the clandestine deployment of special operations teams or squadrons of heavy infantry, as the situation warranted, to achieve Gunther’s true aims.
He watched events unfold through the numerous video uplinks, his gleeful smile hidden by the helmet of his advanced combat armor. In one of the more run-down neighborhoods, heavy infantry chased a pack of looters from a business owned by one of his rivals, only to turn and burn the building to the ground once the potential witnesses had been dispersed. In one of the more upscale homes, a strike team landed on a penthouse room and burst in on a local politician who had been making deals with gang leaders, executing him and his entire family. Downtown, one of the bolder gangs was learning the hard way why it was a bad idea for street toughs, no matter their individual abilities, to try to resist well-equipped professional soldiers, particularly ones trained to take down above-human adversaries.
“Sir?” his lieutenant inquired, pulling his gaze monetarily away from the beautiful carnage, “we’re taking some prisoners, mostly gang members and assorted street tough who recognize that they’re outgunned.”
“We’re not here for prisoners,” he answered, his voice sounding mechanical and hollow through his helmet’s filters. “These ‘people’ have had ample opportunity to cease contributing to this city’s decline into ruin; let them live, and they’ll just go back to their degenerate ways as soon as our backs are turned. Begin execution and disposal protocols.”
No witnesses…
“Yes sir,” the subordinate responded, his flat, dead tone reflecting the Demon of Silence’s mental conditioning for extreme obedience. “What of the rumors that both Satar and the Sho-former Shogun have been sighted in the city?”
“Get recon teams moving; if these rumors are true, I want locations. When you have a location, I want it to cease to exist. We are not taking chances with either of them, if they are really here.” The presence of either of these parties would be unexpected, but not entirely unsurprising; both had ample stake in this city. He certainly hadn’t been planning on engaging either of them, but when life gives you irradiated, mass-murdering lemons...
I hear nothing, only a few dying grunts before the area is silent. The only sound are the distant gunshots and explosions, I;m not one for waiting and nor am I one afraid to walk into a trap. I make my move, slowly stepping towards the vehicle. My hand firmly grasps the handle of the door and with a powerful yank it springs open, the only thing left inside are the mangled remains of what I can only assume was the driver. The sound of pistons pushing catch the attention of my ears. Black rubber fills my field of vision, someones trying to get involved. My whole body leans back like I'm playing a game of extreme limbo, my feet barely able to stay atop the metallic surface of the wreckage. The bike lands and rips off down the street, it's tires leaving black streaks on the streets of hell. The expansion of my hamstrings caries the rest of my torso back into an upright position. The truck is empty, no signs of life, which means one got away.
He couldn't have gotten far, the immediate area wouldn't be hard to search. I reach for my truncheon, my hand wrapping around it's metallic surface. As my hand pulls up I hear very familiar noise, just like the one I heard in LA. The slight click of a circuit being completed, the sound of a bomb. Could it have been the guy who drove by, no I would've heard him drop one which meant it was planted before hand. It was already rigged to go off.
The concussive force greats me and everything seems to slow down, the flames not far behind, amidst those flames lay lethal shards of metal. It all engulfs me, the heat of fire, the pain of hundreds of shards of metal puncturing your skin. The reactive gel in my armor could only do so much, a sharp pain in my chest signals multiple broken ribs and a potentially collapsed lung. My body hits the pavement, my vision struggles to focus. A face moves into my field of view, a face with glowing eyes and skin as black as ash. A gloved hand reaches out and slaps the side of my face as he begins to speak.
"Victor, Victor, Victor...you remember me Vic. No, you probably don't so let me refresh your memory. A few years ago when you turned 39, I remember you asking me to kill you. To put an end to your suffering but, the things you had done were enough to make me shiver, so instead I did something I only do to the worst of the worst. I dragged your sorry ass outta limbo and stuck ya right back here."
I see him move so that he's standing over me. His hands reach down and take hold of the tattered remains of my costume.
"Since then you've been a great help, you've collected alota debts for me, you've worked your way back onto my good side. In fact I consider you my personal debt collector so here's what you're gonna do."
His grip tightens as he yanks me to my feet, pain explodes through my nervous system causing my brain to begin producing massive amounts of adrenaline.
"Your gonna dust yourself off and your gonna get back out there. Ya got work to do Vic."
Then he's gone, vanished into the choking haze of this hellish city.
I give myself a once over, my costume is in shreds and still smoldering. My body is torn up from the shrapnel but,I can still move which means I can still fight. I need to find the b*stard who set off that explosion, he's gotta be around here. Slowly my legs carry me towards the closest place I can think of to hide. It's almost too comic book, the dark alley was only a block down and it would've been easy for anyone with training to slither their way in the confusion of the wreck. I place my hand against the brick corner of the nearest building using it to maneuver my way through the corridor. The nigh vision in my mask still functions on the left lens, it's enough. I can make him out, my legs keep moving. Not even from my own will but from the will of my rage, the will of the beast inside us all. It forces me to make a noise, a noise that comes from somewhere deeper then my vocal cords, it comes from my heart.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Anger, hatred, disgust, all emotions that came with it. I push my body through the pain, force it to keep fighting as I charge the 57th Strigidae. Rather then hit him head on I leap placing my left leg against the side of the cramped alley. As my left pushes I carry that momentum and seek to deliver a blow to his jaw. My feet hit the ground, pain shoots through me but I keep going, it doesn't matter if I hit him or not. I turn again this time throwing a left aimed at his rib cage followed by a right aimed at his skull. Each blow carried with it my anger, my hatred of this city, my desire to cure it of the disease men like him brought. Tonight their will be blood on my knuckles
"Oh Gothic City, why do you hate me so?" Omega idly waited at the edges of the city, his gleaming red blade sheathed at his side, and his motorcycle at the ready when the signal was given. 'Well to be fair, its not really a signal, so much as the welcoming comity.' Smiling at his own humor, Omega absentmindedly thrummed the metal horse, staring up at the clouds above. 'Sure is a beautiful day for anotherwar.' The stars gleamed high above with the moon. Despite its dreary backdrop, the skyline was, oddly enough, a nice sight to see. It contrasted the ground it eternally hovered above.
He glanced back towards the city once again. 'Why does it seem all the important events always take place at night? I mean, mixing it up a little would be a nice change. Even with the place being a little cleaner and less gritty than usual, it's still a dank, depressing looking backdrop. Oh look, fog, that's just great.' Another long sigh as the night grew colder, and the solemn silence stretched longer, almost to the point of being uncomfortable.
A loud thunderous sound of an explosive entrance broke the silence, with multiple buildings alighted into flames. The once musty air became a hazardous wasteland to the civilians as chemicals polluted the city. Omega's face lit up, as at long last there was some action. Laughing wildly he gave a thunderous applause, his excitement for the oncoming battle rising. "Good, this place was just starting to get boring," the Brazilian Samurai muttered to himself as the expected arrival of explosions dotted the skyline.Covering the city in chemical warfare and fire, it was the signal Omega had been awaiting.
"Time to put the petal to the metal."
Engines revving in unnecessary excess, the Samurai shot forward into the mist before him, his biological makeup granting him the ability to survive in the hazardous environment. Konite would do little but be eradicated by the aura that made up his skin and body, for as bad as the Konite was, his body emitted a substance more chaotic.
Rounding a corner, Omega prepared to fight the first foe he saw. His goal was the help 'liberate', this city...if only it was because he was being paid to do so. 'That, and to be fair, while not in a state of total disrepair, I imagine the states can help this place out....you know, after destroying it a bit.' Reaching into his pockets, Omega dug out his myDroid, a small device of his making that gave him a layout of the city. With the place going to hell, Omega sought for where his presence would be most useful.
However, before that could happen, Omega's train of thought was interrupted by a roar that shook the ground itself. "Perhaps I'll have a good time after all!" Roaring engines followed suit as Omega's bike diverted course, traveling towards the beast. Round the corner, Omega was given a view of what was causing the commotion. Down the road, a large, grey looking creature marched forth, bone protruding throughout his body. Watching the monsters depart, there was a pair of vigilantes. Upon closer inspection, Omega noticed the familiar sight of Xae, the cat-like suit being a rather big giveaway.
"I wouldn't stick around to see what it does."
"Indeed." Omega drove up beside them, kicking down the stand and stepping away from the bike. "Hello Xae, always nice to see you," Omega gave a smile before turning to the other hero. "And hello, um, you." Squinting Omega shook his head. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Omega." Omega gave an over dramatic bow, his smug grin only growing. Whether or not the other hero gave his name, Omega would quickly reply, "So, what say you, want to follow?" Omega nodded towards the hulking beast.
The Dark Defender had every intention beat ten senses out of this Red Mask thug. But before he could actually react to any attacks he falls to the ground again with an intense surge of pain, screaming in agony as the electricity moved through his Transhumanist body parts. He must've used the same weapon as before, the one that stopped him. God, he hated that weapon. He couldn't move, his body was clearly in shock and he has no idea if any vital organs were severely burned or hurt. He would have to wait until he stopped shacking to actually go out and check for himself.
It looked like though the man who was next to him, that blew his shot for strategy before was largely unharmed by it all secure in his own van fighting back. Hopefully he's more compassionate then the Dark Defender and can save both their skins, who knows what the Ghost Crew and the Red Mask gang would do to him if they got him to the base. He heard the rumours, about what Curve did to indirectly make them. He's had enough suffering for ten lifetimes, he didn't want to go through anymore. Especially not at the hands of these buffoons
The bullets pounded into the graphene armor that Arnold wore. Likely leaving radial cracks and bruises had he not been enhanced, but not enough damage to lstop him. Unfortunately it was clear the weapon wasn't effecting brimstone even if it was clearly effecting the defendor. He stopped the assault and locked the nerve gun away, next came something not any less bad. The particle beam rifle. It fired at near the speed of light and could destroy just about anything. He didn't use it for exactly the same reason, it could destroy just about anything and just keep a going. Imagine the damage that could cause for future operations. He fired the highly dangerous weapon at the two missiles to protect his Blue Bloods, and at near lightspeeds dodging that would be a pain even for a hypersonic weapon. He'd then turn the rifle on The Brick's engine. Maybe the soldiers miracle armor could save him, but he doubted that the engine would survive a hit like this.
If the missiles were put out of order the next thing the Blue Bloods had to do was make sure that Red Mask's attack wouldn't be the only one. They both simoultaniously fired rockets at the Dark Defendor's feet. Even if it didn't hit him, the explosion might damage either the defendor or The Brick
The particle beam first transected one missile then bit deep into the other, slicing the first in half and killing the guidance system of the second. Both spun madly until they crashed anticlimactically into buildings with no explosions.
"Bad news," Random started to say, as the particle beam adjusted and snaked over to burn into the hood of The Beast. Stone was stuck...he could either get the vehicle out of the way or rescue an obvious ally who was in distress. There was really no choice. The beam was coming in from the opposite side of The Beast, so Stone kicked the driver's door open G56 up and chattering off suppressing fire with his left hand, while he dashed toward the Dark Defender and hooked his right arm underneath the man's arm and drug him toward the cover of The Brick.
Stone was just crossing the threshold of the front of the SUV, noting that it wasn't going to be going anywhere with the engine slagged as it was, when he heard the rockets leave their launchers. The explosives impacted where the man had just been and the concussion slapped them both five feet forward ass over tea kettle. Stone's armor protected him from the blast and the shrapnel, but the wind had been knocked out of him. He couldn't let that keep him from moving...he didn't have the air to give the command he wanted to Random, so he double blinked to prioritize Red Mask as the main target for the auto cannon. It wouldn't bracket the enemy leader as Stone would have wanted, but it would follow him and keep him moving.
Kyle yanked open the driver's side rear door and swung the SABR laser rifle to his shoulder. He rapidly followed the smoke trail of one of the rockets and acquired one Blue Blood and drew a broad X around the enemy agent with the laser. The Blue Blood might move fast, but he wasn't likely to escape that bracket without losing a piece of himself at least.
Stone's diaphragm began to regulate and he was able to gasp out,
"Pull it together, hero," to the Dark Defender, "Gonna need your help for us to make it out of this alive."
@k_brimstone: @jason_ford Dark Defender barely knew what was going on at this point. His mind really started to go into shock around the time that the second blast hit him. All heard was a couple crash, grunts, and shots going off in all different directions. He then heard an actual voice, someone talking to him. It looks like this was his lucky day since the other vigilante got him into the safety of a brick and told Dark Defender to try and make it out alive!
It something at least, but he finally had the peace and assurance to finally embrace his shock and pass out. He didn't know if this "Stone" guy was actually trustworthy of not or how to get his revenge, but he couldn't think about that anymore now. All he had to do was rest
(On Mobile. Will edit with the pretties and trimmings later.)
A hero. That's what she was. And she would be absolutely ecstatic if it weren't for the atrocities that were occurring as regularly as one might expect a "hello" in a home less hostile than this hellhole. At present, however, she was so distracted, so distraught, and so despaired that she had no time to let such pride pierce her psyche.
To be sure, her work protecting the airbuses was by no means to no avail. However, the city of Gothic wasted no time in putting the evacuees in danger again. Not only were there multiple Airbus crashes, but it seemed the landing sites were comprised as well, being overtaken by a psychological presence. Stella didn't have time to think, so she ran straight to the landing zone, but she found a hero had already engaged the Doctor.
She stop and said with heavy breath *good. I'll get the other* She decided against giving said other destructive force a chance to defend themselves, and took off, speeding towards the scythe wielder.
On arriving at the crash site of Lucia's carnage, Stella found no survivors, and turned to the Scythe Wielding fiend. Fire and water alike could be seen emanating from Stella's eyes as she bolted straight toward the murderous girl, the smoke and fire from the crash grinding to a halt. As Stella neared the hostile at blinding speed, she slid feet first and grabbed the homicidal girl's legs, attempting to knock her to the ground.
If it worked, Stella would rapidly take to her feet, and kick the Aurelius mercilessly into the wall of a nearby building. If it didn't, she would use her hold on the murderer's legs to swing towards the same wall, rebound off of it, and attempt to tackle the girl.
It happened quickly. Even for a human, the acrobatic angle was impressive. Utilizing the walled proximity to aerially power forward had been a sign of both tactical improvisation, and skill. "But I've seen better" the 57th Strigidae silently thought. Rapidly intercepting the urban ghost's initial strike with the stock of his rifle, reaching across his body to defend the left side of his head, but in doing so, he had willfully exposed the right side of his body.
The stout follow up shot delivered by the ivory caped enigma was free to exploit the Strigidae's handicapped arm, which was unable to ward of the heavy pop to the ribs. Still, 57's P12 armor ate up any threat of serious injury almost immediately, allowing for a theatrical variation of the Strigidae's initial deflection.
Once again using his rifle in the interruption of Victor's third and final strike. But the martial occultist didnt pause or hesitate in his follow through. Instead the radical renegade contorted his entire body and followed his cross body deflection, changing levels with a near instantaneous explosion of genetic supremacy. Spinning around into an attempted leg sweep with enough force to chop wood.
AB rounds explode around target - 3meter kill box
Hit or miss the Ultimatum Utilitarian would continue to ride the energy of his own momentum directly into a backwards somersault. Unfolding into an almost flattened state while simultaneously opening fire on his opponent. Letting off 2 Air-Bust Explosives from his customized rifle with surgical precision despite the dramatic and awkward positioning of the shot.
I'm off, my swings are slower, my punches aren't as powerful as they should be. The pain I'm in is causing my body to hold back, at this rate I won't last much longer. Even now I hear it, the faint beat of drums, the slight blow of a horn. The sounds of death, the sounds of hell coming to take me in it's grasp and make me just another lost soul. He moves, he's faster then me, his leg drops down and slices against mine before I can even get up. With my costume in the damaged state it's in now I might as well be naked.
A wet snap echoes through the alley as my body hits the asphalt. I hear the click of a rifle followed by the ejection of a bullet from the barrel. The cling of a casing hitting the ground, and then two explosions. Even more shrapnel is forced into my skin, ripping apart muscle and spraying blood. The drums are getting louder, even now they're all I hear. As I look down the dark alley I can make it out, the welcoming glow of hells flames. The clawing hands of devils coming to claim me, the sights only a man on the verge of death can see. The thing is though, I can't die, not after everything I've been through. Not after everyone who lost their lives, not after everyone who will. I deliver vengeance to those who deserve it and.
"I still have work to do"
My voice comes out in a whisper but, loud enough for him to hear. I plant my hands on the ground pulling my body up from the dirt, a thick mixture of blood and spit leaks from my mouth. I plant my left foot down pushing against the broken bone, pushing the pain aside. My right foot hits the ground next, the weight on the broken bone that resides in my calf causes explosions of pain to shoot through my body. That last bit of pain is all it takes, my mind goes blank.
I can't feel it anymore, no pain, no regret, nothing but anger. A primal rage, like that of a beast fighting for survival and like a beast, I lash out. My fists swing wildly, there is no pattern just blows coming from all angles. Some aiming for his body, some aiming for his face. There is no thought of hit or miss in my mind, my only thought is kill. Each fist carries with it my full strength, the full strength of a man who doesn't care if a single punch breaks his hand. I'll keep fighting, I'll fight till I drop, then I'll get up and keep fighting. Why? the answer to that is simple, after all this time I've spent here, after all the blood I've given up to these streets they're apart of me. These streets are mine and I have alota work to do if I'm gonna clean them.
A door opens to Gothic and a girl exits teleporting from Venezuela to the condemned city in seconds. They were holding a party her squad, politicians and more all excited for the coming term of Shogunate and his advisor his vice president. Her the archer from Maverick who'd solidified her position as a officer of the Shogunate military so well. They trusted her to defend the great mutant haven and Rafeal to see it to better place in general. As news showed a beacon of the old ways though the archer was quick to announce she had some bullshit in Gothic to attend to. Arriving on the scene she immediately saw a man with rocket launcher in tow ready to take aim at escape craft.
A brief dash to get his attention he turns to meet her and she does the same. He's not armed to swing proper though and the soldier has an arrow in hand expertly directed. All the force is delivered to the arrowhead an obsidian tip with edge no more then three diameters thick it slips into skin with ease. Pushing deep it enters the gap of the vertebra locking neck in place even if the man survived he'd likely be paralyzed. It wasn't likely however given the carmine spurt that painted the air. So with location secure the archer looked to the highest tower the news didn't give the best viewpoint through helicopter footage. Being of lower point she also didn't have the best view by regular means, but she was no regular shot. It was somewhat a pretentious title to call herself the apex of accuracy but she was proud enough to think it the case. Never missing a moment and witnessing every frame one could imagine her life had become dedicated to marksmanship. Shed mastered math to complement her gifted sight so that she might fire from the impossible of angles like it was rudimentary action.
Gothic was rich in color that night the sky navy blue its beauty somewhat masked by the grey clouds. Neon lights still flickered from bars and clubs used to escape the chaos of the town. Orange light bathed the walls as fires raged chemical agents assailing the streets once more. Emerald fog washed the alleys as konite was put to use to drive people mad. And of course there was red, the vermilion shade never escaped this town. For all its color even in these darkest of moments though one thing was black and white without question. The beast couldn't be caged, and itd lick its wounds in times, Satar was a monster and he had to be put down.
Alex had been here before twice in fact. With any luck tonight would be the last time, though it really didn't matter if it was. Be it three rounds or a hundred the Maverick Archer would make sure Satar was laid to rest. Her first arrow she let free teleporting the fast as a bullet arrow to come down in a downward arc. This one arrow she let have emotion behind its release, only once would she fire with passion clouding her view. This arrow lanced for the sartorius muscle looking to rip it open in a lethal vein cutting action. Why she shot here though was personal. Her other shots that were first to hit had been the leg this was a reminder of that. That while there were many archers and marksman, there was one who'd pestered him before and would do so again. A shooter he'd yet to even really see.
The next two arrows were fired perfectly and calm, the sounds of the city at war hid any whistle that came from their bullet like velocity. They hid amidst night sky and smoke so keenly that even Alex had a bit of a difficulty following them. The first arrow looked to spear into the eye of Satar. Using the cloaking technology to bend light around the arrow it looked to move unseen until it punctured the retina of the Gothic devil. As for the second arrow, it would likely go unseen. If the opposition was lucky itd just be a point blank shot at the back of his head. That wasn't where the archer aimed however with the third arrow. Instead she looked to use a technique shed tried only once before in the field but now was confidant she could do with the efficiency she claimed to have. Her trial run was on the Shogun and through tachyons Ivana had moved just barely in time taking shot to back instead of heart. After a phasing mutant was executed proudly admitting to an act he didn't do thinking it would get him somewhere Alex returned to trying to master the technique.
Her arrow passed through one rift and out another this was nothing new. Its exit point was however mathematically placed to be inside Satar's skull. A rush of hot air hopefully putting stress on the mind fractions of a second before the arrow thrusted into the brain and looked to erupt through center of ones forehead. Each arrow though would also benefit likely from the very radiation and heat given off. Made of conventional metals and arrowheads of a glass with any luck the arrows would melt as they sought entry. Spilling painfully in addition to intended damage, and before she had even confirmed a hit the archer was going for another arrow. Much as shed like plan A to be the end rarely was that the case and when in the ring with the bull regardless of distance one shouldn't take chances.
Red Mask swirved and danced trying to escape the constant barrage of bullets. He had to take out that gun. Quickly he tried to fire off his particle beam at the machine guns barrel to rip through it hopefully leaving him some extra breathing room.
The Blue Blood certainly was fast, but he only barely saw the attack coming. He tried to dive out of the way but the bolt ripped through both his legs leaving him on the ground. There would have been more pain had he not been able to supress it due to the enhancements. The creepier part was that he grabbed his legs and highballed it into a room to EAT the darn things!! So that he could use its matter to reconstructs his legs again. Which may take hours.
But he was only one of the Blue Bloods. The other snuck around invisible and absolutely silent, due to his cloaking and sound absorption, to the opposite side. Quickly he leaped out sending another rocket at the broken door in the Brick, trying to permenently destroy any use that could be gotten from it, and maybe the two heroes along with it. Then he promptly pulled out a grenade, unclipped it, and rolled it towards Brimstone and Dark Defender to try and blow them up even if the rocket failed.
"This city should be ours. We should be the queen and princess of this bitch." Calamity remarked in the subway train in annoyance as she struggled to get the vehicle up and running. Despite her ditzy nature the jester really was a whiz with vehicles and engineering. That said this was her first time trying to hotwire a subway train. Or any train really "why train robberies got to be so rare now a days. We should go classy sometime Rose." The remark made to her girlfriend patiently waiting and generally ignoring what the clownish vixen had to say. Finally though lights came on and the train began to purr until once more alive and ready to blitz through the underbelly of the chaotic metropolis.
"Your not wrong love. That said it takes more then your charming stupidity to take this city as our own." Rose unlike her colorful counterpart was fully aware of the surroundings and its political landscape. Two people not even aloud to legally drink were not about to take a city ran by mafia and gangsters. At least not on a regular occasion, tonight though was one of those fateful ones where the inspired youth could claim a dominion as theirs if they just made the right steps and snuffed out the proper names. So all they had to do was look for the right location to make a theatric entrance. A small series of vines grew where a moldy fungus had been. The alluring botanist turning the gross into something beautiful the flowers though opening to reveal a toothy maw. And though no voices spoke whispers entered Rose's ear, telling of an explosive bout. Where cars crashed rockets detonated and buildings fell. Directions given and suddenly the train was racing in a way it shouldn't.
The train should of turned but wood seized iron and directed it into another way and soon the train was met with walls. However whenever Cally was in motion she was indestructible a trait that passed to things she held or was located at such as cars or in this case trains. Walls burst apart iron and granite screaming in protest. Nearing the street fortunate to be the battlefield of Stone the Red Mask and Dark Justice the tracks directed upward and pushing the train to its top speed the train burst free. The street crumbled apart a large hole made leasing the fowl odor of the sewer to be set free. While the jump was small the train at fifty five miles per hour and weighing over forty tons looked to crash into the Brick. Seeking to crush the van under the trains weight. Rose and her partner in crime leaping out before the crash. With a giggle and a twirl of the bat the chaos loving clown known as Calamity posed ready for the next move. Rose however wasn't quite done with the entrance work.
Directed to go away from the original tracks had led to the sewers to now be in sight. Nature was a cruel mistress and that was certainly so in this city of crime. Within that sludge below was drugs new and old, diseases of every kind, remains of the dead some the ashen ones of today others the gun downed from years ago. A most corrosive and repulsive of filth was what that sewer water was, and yet it was water. Instrumental for plant growth itd make for the perfect tool for the blood thirsty botanist. Vines and brush would rise intending to seal the street off in the worst and most over grown of hedges. As this plant life looked to consume the area from one building to the next the thorns came out. So small and insignificant for sure on a minor scale. With so much area and the disgusting oily equivalent of water covering them with a promise of poison it was made up for however. A bed of thorns for a hopefully blossoming Rose. In this city crime was the only way to make a name for ones self so why should the duo hold back they'd figured.
Julian raised his eyebrows as the Strigidae circled around him like a shaman about to sacrifice an animal to a god of death. His face remained devoid of emotion, only his eyes followed Ivana around as she stared him down, staring back at her. For every note that she took of him, he took one of her and created archives of her posture and mannerisms.
She was a hunter to the core, he could tell from the way she walked alone. Ivana saw him as possible prey, she was assessing the situation too and creating possible plans of attack. Maybe it was that she didn’t see him as a threat, maybe it was out of respect for the man that Quintus once was, or just maybe she identified with him, but she didn’t try to kill him.
This surely wouldn’t be the last time Ivana pursued Alexander Donn about the legitimacy of his x-gene. Julian had already planned for the different outcomes should she someone manage to find out that Julian Knightfall and Alexander Donn are one and the same. A meeting with Alexander Donn and Ivana was inevitable, under which circumstances would be decided by her actions in the future.
However, Satar’s seal had been set in stone the moment he kicked the doors down in the elevator and somehow tricked himself into believing that this would go the same way as his previous exploits. Quickly, he placed his cowl back into his head and locked it with his right thumb.
“Leave. I’ll handle him.” He told the Strix Princess.
“I knew he couldn’t help himself from being at the center of it all. It doesn’t fit his M.O. It’s why I planned ahead of time. This wasn’t a meeting; this was a trap. Before coming here, I injected myself with an unhealthy quantity of antitoxins. I have been reviewing all the footage that we have on him and took all the info I could from Rook.’
A small metallic door appeared in his cowl, covering the only shred of humanity shown from his costume and fully sealing his suit from chemical weapons and radiation. For the first time ever, Julian was going to force Satar to fight in someone else’s terms and not his own.
“You’re wrong, Satar. The city doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to the Union now. And by tomorrow, your sheep will fill federal prisons and your ashes are going to fill my granddaughter’s cat litter box.”
Just as he was preparing himself for the blast of the explosion, an arrow split into two and created two shields for a brief second. Making an opening he couldn’t waste against someone like Satar.
“You didn’t think I came unprepared did you? Why did you think I picked an open rooftop? I knew I would have uninvited guests so I brought some security of my own. Behind me, I have one of the greatest marksmen of all time, if not the greatest, who can simultaneously miss all of your major organs with his arrows so your death is as slow and painful as possible if you don’t surrender.” Julian chuckled.
He lifted his entire body off the ground by taking one step forward with his left foot and applying pressure with his right foot against the floor. While in the air, he extended his right leg forward towards the World Eater’s throat while shaking his hip from right to left to maximize the amount of striking power created by his foot, the left leg would serve as the platform to fall on once he connected. Julian aimed to crush the hyoid bone, due to its position below the mandible, destroying it is considered a complicated task, for him it was far from impossible. Breakings of the hyoid bone usually occurred during a strangulation, thanks to his training he could simulate a similar result without having to even use his hands. With a concentrated hit from his foot, he could potentially cause the Beast to have severely difficulty breathing, swallowing, and hopefully speaking too. Raising his arm, Julian covered his face and chest as he performed as a precaution for when he inevitably countered.
“I know you won’t, but you should. What happens to your Brotherhood when they find out what you did to their god? That you manipulated them into following your agenda? What happens when they find out your real name, World Eater?” He mocked, hiding a brief smirk of arrogance.
Eyes that look into the soul, that seek to bring humanity forward and drown man in their own sin. Many would fall to knees weeping for what they'd done. Her gifted eyes could even go so far as to inflict the harm sinners had done to their victims, to feel the pain brought to others. Yet as her azure spheres looked into the doctor's results were a far cry from the painful crippling intention. With artistic vision of a mind gone the doctor stood defiantly unbroken from one of heavens best tricks, it was enough to send a chill down the angel's spine. Confidence in herself didn't undermined the lovecraftian horror she was forced to witness. If not for the conviction befitting of angel she may have even opted to flee. THe city needed her though so she readied to defend herself. The skin weaver needed to be surpassed there were still so many needing to escape this war zone.
Then it came petals rained from the skies and another evil presence was felt in its wake. Already more wickedness was making itself known. This one was quick to rip and tear at those that sought to escape. A tear flowed knowing innocents were gone. Shed permit no more so long as it could be helped. As a psychic wave sought to turn the fleeing folk into savages the angel turned to set eyes on the sky. A raised hand and cobalt arcs cracked striking the various air craft. A voltage enough to spark the walls in such a way as to render the rampaging tainted unconscious. They'd be bruised and scarred, vehicles suffering turbulence along the way. Surpassing the alternative though the angel would accept and turned to see the devil once more.
A doctor cried sickened by what it done it begged for death. A weeping angel of macabre origins it craved release, and in its disgust a river of acid flowed. A cascade of corrosion fell upon the shield of the angel flowing to the ground. Puddles though ate at the soul, boiling the bottom of her boots. Her armor struggled to endure even now, despite said to be as durable as shed need to save others it still tried to kiss her feet and drag a true angel down to the same level of despair. Repugnant as it was mercy still remained though and with a heavy heart words escaped her lips. "I'm sorry the path led to this. I'll make it quick."
A snap of the finger and electricity or more importantly electrons encompassed her body. An aura of energy flowed about her body as she flipped backward and then shot forward. Fast as lightning itself she looked to thrust her fist into the chest of the doctor and obliterate the heart. Acid would attempt likely to consume her armor but shed embrace the pain and risk. Her own penance for what she would have to do. For although such speed made her touch one of daunting force the impact had nothing to do with her intended action. Rather she sought to draw all electrons within the flesh weaving devil to her. An attempt to drain all the energy that flowed through living tissue. No signals allowed to pass through the body, to hold molecules together, to perform any sort of action she intended to take it all. Whatever energy she claimed for her own and danced across her figure would then be channeled into a bolt of lightning. The heavens would look to shock the doctor with a lightning bolt that sought to go until all that remained was ash. Dust to dust the desired resolution for a brilliant mind that'd lost its way.
"Oh what fresh Hell is th..." Random was cut off as the world went upside down.
If Stone hadn't seen weirder things his mind would have been boggled at the sight of the Blue Blood grabbing his smoking legs and pulling himself into a doorway.
Then, almost at the instant a rocket blew off the driver's door to The Brick, and a decent part of the vehicle's interior...a no shit subway train erupted from the ground and plowed The Brick completely away. It narrowly missed him, and only a quick reflexive grab kept it from scooping the unconscious man @dark_defender_ away as well. Stone rolled backwards out of the way to avoid the hazardous debris being whipped up by the train's arrival.
As he was taking stock of the fact that he'd lost the majority of equipment he was carrying in The Brick, an explosion of a grenade went off somewhere nearby, probably aimed at him (or them) but thrown off by the train. Stone was left with his full load out, except the SABR rifle would be in place of his usual Acoustic Pulse Rifle. Fresh ammo, medical and other resupply would be a long way off.
To make things even more interesting, plants began to spring up everywhere almost magically. Almost...because they were growing all around him, which would be impossible if they were actually magical. Stone did his best to cover up the unconscious warrior in the half face mask with the growing vegetation. He slipped a trans dermal stimulant patch out of the trauma kit at the bottom of his back, and jerked up the man's trousers away from his combat boot and pushed it hard against his skin. It shouldn't take long for the stim patch to bring him around...he might not feel great, but it would get him back in the fight.
Stone looked up through the plant life over the barrel of the SABR seeing a woman dressed as a clown who was swinging a baseball bat to and fro on top of a train car, he also spied Red Mask moving across rooftops in the distance. He could not see the second Blue Blood but Stone knew that enemy had to be somewhere in his seven to nine area, if he had been in the three or nine ...he was dead, if he was in the four, five, or six Stone would already be dead. He really, really missed working with a partner or team, this lone wolf garbage was unsat.
He also really hoped this guy would wake up.
Until then, Kyle Brimstone was a coiled spring of death. Whoever came for him might take him out, but it would be the last thing they did.
Aria pushed a half-grumbling sigh from her lungs as the Bat spoke, conciliatory gestures apparent even from her distance. The sights of her rifle kept trained on him, just in case he meant to try anything with those gadgets; or in case Ivana wanted his blood (and his life) anyway. Twenty-Five kept perfectly relaxed, watched as Ivana approached him and...
What the?
Aria pulled her face away from the rifle, amused perplexity in her expression. Hard not to respect the accomplishments but that woman is strange as feck.
Quickly setting that aside, she mused on the Black Bat. But Twenty-Three seemed so certain. I mean, she's a bit headstrong, not the most scrupulous, but...
The fingers on both hands began tapping on the rifle, fidgeting. Her lip jumped into a snarl and her head and body twitched. Seconds were ticking away. Entire minutes had been wasted on this goose chase, for this one man; hours, wasted if the Lichter lead got away or turned out to be another falsehood. An entire country at her disposal and still can't trust anyone else to get the job done. Shoulda had a look myself. I wouldn't have been wrong.
She was still fuming by the time Satar burst through the doors but at the sight of him some of her anger subsided. It was still a waste of time. Even more so than before. And yet curiosity mitigated her impatience, somewhat. The Mutant Terrorist Queen versus the Baabda Beast - who wins? Aria din't bother to crunch the numbers. Insufficient means. Not prepared, not now, she thought of her own ability to provide support in the present state. Not worth the waste of ammo and positioning. Or time.
And as Ivana departed on word of 57's communication, so too did most of Aria's interest. She lingered for a short time, watching the young Strix through her rifle scope, and in that half-second pause she noticed.
From that distance and with the projectile's speed of travel even through the scope most wouldn't have noticed the archer's action as it occurred—green spheres of exotic energy enveloped the two, but where had they come from?
Aria didn't wonder, not for one second; because she saw, appraising the development through near-instantaneous reflexes. The universe was on her side and presented most factors openly. It showed her weight and mass on a set trajectory; angles; a quick-accelerating velocity vector. And hardly any fishtailing, nice. She read the actions of outside forces on the arrow like pages from a book. Finally, she read the variables, plugged, and solved.
"Well hello there..." She smirked, turning her reticle onto Gothic's former police commissioner. The ally of my enemies? Or just another predator tracking prey? Had there been any other circumstance the Valiant Wolf would've acted as competitive exclusion dictated, but on the Pack's divergence their immediate paths were not yet to intersect; "Chihuahua" had some utility for the moment, so he could live.
"Shifting to new primary," she radioed over the private channel, slinging the rifle over her shoulder, before swapping to a secondary comm set aside for her own use. "Bring it around Wide-Eyes."
Then, following the twenty-third's lead, Aria hurled herself into a swan dive over the rooftop's edge, herself a mutant vector hurtling toward the concrete. Flashing cityscape rushing past her eyes, she remained ever calm, and with time and accuracy quantifiable only to the twenty-fifth Strigidae launched a grappling cable, hooking the edge of another nearby edifice and hurling herself through the winding alleys of the concrete jungle into the middle of the street.
Several blocks from her position, at roughly the same time as Aria began her departure, hidden semi-inconspicuously in a full yet abandoned parking garage the F1 roared to life. Blasting through the metallic arm of the barrier gate and screeching round the corners to a hastily calculated yet precisely coordinated position where the Valiant Wolf landed with a loud thud on top without stopping.
Gripping its sides, Aria lay prone on the F1 to avoid any debris while Franklin piloted. Set on its course the bully racer vehicle toppled all obstacles in its path, including any unfortunate law enforcement and outward-bound civilians slow enough or foolish enough to try the Renegade Road Dog's patience.
A short time later the urban speed-tank pulled in not far from its twin and Aria scrambled up the side of the same safehouse through which Ivana stormed moments prior. Using her newfound elevation she crossed several rooftops and peeked upward for a glance at the new game. Possessed of two cybernetic eyes, and veritable clairvoyance through her ability with numbers, the prey became visible to her through shifting air currents around the aircraft.
But only she can pierce it. Aria paced and growled. More waiting. She didn't like it but she would manage, as always taking meticulous stock of time, waiting for the opportunity. Almost begging, in her mind, for Ivana's aggression to continue.
Cybernetic integration allowing handsfree operation of the comm she contacted the group though addressed only Ivana directly. "Sif to Mother Wolf. Point two-three-seven klicks due south. Scavenger unaccounted for." Need he any assistance, ideally 57 would respond; otherwise focus was to remain largely on facilitating the primary objective.
Eyeing him up and down, the World Eater gazed upon the Black Bat with the same quality of psychopathic cold seen by Lucia Aurelius before her murder; eyes plucked out and her neck snapped. His grenades detonating, emerald constructs shielding the Black Bat and the Strix Princess from their wrath as well as the radiation, Satar strode forward, hands clutching the armored sides of his vest. He'd heard his foe's words and with a roll of his shoulders, cast them aside. "The Union. Land of the slave, home of the thief", his voice echoed, it's presence one of authority, of certainty, his eyes staring through his foe with a heartless indifference. "Ran by the serpent. Where all must bow to the fat and lazy and only approved questions get answered".
"So stand your ass up for that Star-Spangled Banner", he mocked. "**** your Union. **** your prisons. **** your granddaughter's cat. **** your potpourri of pussies. **** your prep. And **** you", Satar growled in fearless disrespect. "Maybe out of ten times you win nine times. For you this is good. Make peace with those nine times. Because I will end your life and legacy in one", he promised. It wouldn't have to be today nor tomorrow, but it would happen, he would make it so. "Now, what happens to your Union when they find out that I, not their serpent, killed the Brahma Bull? Or.. is that another unapproved question with no answer?". The Black Bat stepped forward. His killer instinct was pure and true. But he was slow. Empty space boiled over with quantum particles coming into existence, colliding and disappearing every nanosecond.
The Baabda Beast's gamma effect came alive, conjuring inter-atmospheric instability, guiding those quantum particles into acting much more energetically, and bringing to life a violent explosion fueled by heavy energetic interactions. His body roared, and the explosion of radiation and energy threatened to consume the entire building and those in it's blast range. Any organic matter in it's wake would be no more. All but one of the arrows was incinerated. The Trion arrow lived but was deflected by the kinetic force of an explosion that sought to reduce the Black Bat to ashes. In it's wake, Satar emerged, his body supercharged and grown to seven feet in height. Stronger. Faster, more durable, he strode through the rubble, searching for the Black Bat he knew had survived. He didn't care for the archers. After all, he'd yet to know of their locations. Instead he searched for the Bat.
At the sight of him, he'd burst forward, his muscle fibers twitching with a seismic strength. Indeed he was strong, but Satar was fast, superhumanly so. He'd dive under, intent on seizing the Black Bat's leg before rolling under him, inverting himself to position his foe's foot for a heel hook. If successful, he'd pounce, hooking his ankles together and locking his foe's leg and heel before torquing. He'd hug the the Black Bat's leg to his body, his right arm hooking his foe's heel, his upper body rotating back towards the Bat's to generate even more torque. He was a vicious grappler. Ruthless and aggressive, the grappling equivalent of a knockout artist, one with a focus on crippling leg-locks.
He merged this aggression with his monstrous, freakish superhuman strength. He'd twist the Black Bat's foot and ankle joint, he'd wrench the man's knee out of alignment and he'd threaten to only tear his foe's joints, but with the strength of a heaving mountain, literally rip his foe's leg from the body and toss it into the wind.
The militarized utility harness and buckles of the 57th Strigidae rang out in a metallic chorus as he flashed back up to his feet with a no-handed kip-up. Purposely leaving his rifle on the ground, as the stylistic promotion of his previously position had strategically launched the Salvage Yard Shinobi directly into the oncoming swarm of wild punches, courtesy of the Gothic Ghost.
Whom had brazenly charged forward in what appeared to be a blood lusted rage. Erasing the distance between the two combatants in an impervious display of indomitable will and authentic bravery. But the towers of many a Strigidae were decorated with the trophies of dead heroes. Their walls were catalogs of final courageous acts and memories, of lives granted a glorious death by the hand of true artists, of true martial masters.
Seeking to attack the vigilantes psyche, his confidence, the utilitarian rejected the idea of psychically deflecting his assailant's strikes. Opting instead to fluently slip and feint without having to sacrifice his good arm for defense. Combining his mutant reflexes and unparalleled martial arts tutelage to put on a sensational demonstration of his ability to register and read the minuet muscular giveaways of his opponent. Especially when having thrown caution to the wind. Yet Victor had proven himself beyond durable, inhuman perhaps. Death would not come easy, and 57 was already free-styling the parameters of his mission.
So as the deadly Gothic hero advanced, seemingly growing ever wilder in his efforts to pulverize his foe, the Strigidae quickly dove under a punch while simultaneously retrieving a pair of titanium cuffs from his belt rigging. Angling to capitalizing on what he believed to be his superior speed and reflexes, a one handed motion then sought to snare the hero's ankles in the unorthodox restraints in a picture perfect replication of the Knightfall's most acrobatic member, Ashley. Offering a rare glimpse of his photo-graphic reflexes, before arresting the forward progress of his maneuver and riding it into a full on sprint out of the ally and into the flame riddled streets.
The gas ignited pop of the Stoic Scavenger's rusty and battle scarred grapnel preceded his aerial ascension to the nearest roof. His heavy gallops governing his cinematic array of Gothic tailored parkour across the peaks and valleys of the elevated commerce district. Running into and through a buffet of indistinguishable battle harmonics from high above the city. Traversing impossible gaps with a gymnastic mixture of raw ability and gadgetry before finally coming to rest atop the second most famous buildings still left standing in Gothic....
The car's constant jumping around and chaos caused The Defender to finally wake up from his shock. The electricity seemed to have passed through his system and strangely didn't feel like he was in any pain at all. He just gets himself up and uses his Vibranium arm to break off the truck of the Brick. When he looked outside, he swear that whole ordeal must've made him travel to an Otherworld or something. There were Run Masks running around shooting at the Brick, a crazy pink haired clown chick swinging a baseball bat frantically, a bunch of killer plants coming at him?
The Dark Defender worked for the Marine Corps, C.I.A., for a short time STRIKE but none of that prepared for the insanity he was witnessing now. It was truly like nothing he had ever seen in his thirty six years of life.
"This City has really gone to hell!" he scream loud enough for Random or Stone to hear that was now conscious
Mind over matter only works for so long, even now with each step I can start to feel the pain again. Even the beast inside can't ignore it forever, with each swing I can feel myself slowing down. My body on the verge of giving out. Were I in top condition this would've been a helluva lot easier but, I'm nowhere near that. His body moves, I try to turn, try to keep up but it's not physically possible any longer. I feel my legs ripped out from under me and with a loud thud my body hits the ground. That very impact brings my mind back on, locks the beast away. In a rush every bit of pain I powered through returns, I want to scream but no sound will come out. I want to move but my brain won't let me, the blood loss is finally catching up. I cough, the sound of those drums and trumpets is only growing louder, out of the corner of my eye I see something. I guess it's the reaper himself here to take my soul, I guess I can't keep running from it forever, I welcome that black abyss.
The next sound I hear isn't what I expected, it's alota words. Talking about "spectacular recovery" and "surprised he's even alive". My eyes start to open, rather then the flaming pits of hell I see the green billowing walls of a tent. My body rises up, allowing me to take in more of my surroundings. It looks military, most likely a medical tent. The two lab coated people in the corner confirm my suspicion, they notice I'm awake and make their way towards me.
"Good to see your awake and let me tell you it's a miracle your even alive. Some of our troops found you bleeding out in an alley, you got messed up pretty bad. Luckily we got to you in time, don't worry we left the mask on but the rest of your costume was toast. We were forced to throw it away, you suffered a broken leg, multiple broken ribs, a concussion. minor external lacerations, multiple internal lacerations, and second degree burns. Were evacuating you to a medical facility so you can get proper treatment, please wait here until we come to get you."
The two of them leave, the room is silent. I can hear the sounds of the war taking place in Gothic right now, the gunshots, the explosions ripping the city apart, the screams. Hell itself, the city really was hell itself but, the sounds were rhythmic and slightly comforting. They helped lull me back to sleep. As I closed my eyes I saw something, something familiar, those same eyes from earlier. Those same yellow eyes.
The Red Mask imitator stopped as the train crashed through. Vines began to grow all over the place, and poisenous thorns. It was fortunate the drug would prevent both him and the Blue Blood across from him. Now they had to take out these extra two...maybe. Perhaps they could just let them remove Brimstone and the Defendor from the equation. No, they had to be sure they were gone.
The Blue blood fired another rocket at Kyle Brimstone and the Dark Defendor while Arnold Striker, the fake Red Mask, pointed the particle beam weapon at the clown. Just one shot, no more. He'd fire at her, the beam moving at near lightspeed. Only a shot to take out one arm, force her to stop combat. Possibly kill her without attention. Then he'd move the gun to fire at the feet of Brimstone, who was hopefully paying attention to the rocket.
Stone sprang the trap. The Blue Blood appeared in one of the only two places he could have, also in the one stone deduced would be most likely, though he'd been covering both. The soldier had been slowly creeping nearer to the train as the other vigilante was coming too, watching his three, and nine positions for movement in the newly grown foliage. He might or might not be able to spot the Blue Blood with the Miraclearmor's HUD, but no one could move very fast or well through that much vegetation...especially sporting a rocket launcher. He spared a few glances to the top of the train, even though the enemy was unlikely to appear there. He had been attacking Stone or the other vigilante exclusively, it was unlikely he'd break off the attack now to go after the new arrival. Furthermore, Kyle moving closer to the train had, at least temporarily, broken line of site with Red Mask, but until then the terrorist had had a decent shot at Stone and the vigilante, the Mask wouldn't have wanted his henchman to be on top of the train spoiling his shot. Still, he kept an eye out on top of the train anyway.
Stone saw the movement of the flora, then the rocket launcher itself a second and a half before the Blue Blood oriented and fired. The soldier flung himself away from the train car, perpendicular to the Blue Blood, as the rocket round shrieked into the side of the train, blasting into it and sending Kyle an extra five feet away. He hit the ground in a puddle of viscous much, rolling onto a knee in one motion with the SABR firing a zig zag pattern in the air around the smoking body of the rocket launcher. Hoping to cleave up the Blue Blood who'd fired it.
Even with the filtration system of the Miraclearmor Stone reacted to an acrid smell quickly. He ducked back down, and did a quick survey of his surroundings. His armor and gear were pretty much fine, but his long coat was beginning to fray and melt a little around the edges. He quickly pressed a finger into the oozing sludge that stood in pools and rivulets in the lightly forested street.
"Mmm, yummy," Random opined in Stone's ear piece. The AI could only communicate through Stone's helmet for now, his radio link gone along with The Brick.
Kyle didn't respond, he double checked the status of the vigilante and eased back up to the cover of the train, he'd been waiting for any action from the clown woman or Red Mask, but his exchange with the Blue Blood had taken up his attention. He didn't see Red Mask fire on Cassy.
After the momentum that carried The Son of Gothic and his bike onward died, Donatello just lied in the dirt for a bout of humanity; self-inspection. One leg underneath a black dirt bike, motionless there in the dirt in the midst of this insanity came a brief moment of weakness. 'I'm gonna die here.' His mind perplexed by insidious insanity, instigating imminent internarnal insurrection involving his innate insecurities, his cold collection came crumbling due common consternation. 'What was I thinking? I'm no hero for f***s sake. Still a gambino, child with a stolen cowl.' Gloved fingers dug deep into sediment, his heart pounded a thousand times louder than thunder under the sway of anxiety. 'I can fix the sink and deal with a couple of triflin' riders but not clock Satan's super-spawn... Shit!
"I wouldn't stick around to see what it does."
“Huh?”, gulped the stressing vigilante at the sound of voices nearby. He lifted his head to see over his chest and scout out what was happening. A cradling feeling surged through his body then, for a second soothing his soul. Two people who apparently weren't out to see him hang. Or atleast yet. This brief moment of clarity was instrumental as it seemed for Donatello to recollect all 8 year old pieces of his adult self. 'Oh right...' He brought his elbows to support a portion of his upper body. '...I'm still in a war zone.', he briefly planted his hand over the cowl's glowing eyes. 'I really hope none of these guys are telepathic.'
'I forgot the why in Why am I'm doing this?..' Slowly, through a mundane and difficult process that used some of his weight struggling due to mud underneath army boots, Donatello lifted his dirt bike off the ground and sat on it. The suspension wobbled slightly as he came down and a genuine smirk could be seen underneath the transparent portion of his gas mask. “Wanna play follow the leader?”'...Because nobody wants to be alone in the night...'“Keep... it around the sewer lid. The sewage system's been flooded for a few weeks now. I got a plan.” '...not even me.'
The vigilante kicked the engine into motion and set off into the city. Cripled capabilities of the cowl registering something he had been especially waiting and preparing for.
[bOS//Analysis: GAMMA RADIATION INFLUX DETECTED!]
╔════╗ ║▒▒▒▒ Gothic City; USA ║▒▒▒▒ DuPont Retrieval ╚════╝
The DIY Vengeance drifted to the city's shoreline in a few minutes of intense driving, in the exact opposite direction of the action. He parked his mechanic stallion infront of one of forgotten Strix projects and his place of employ immediately post-boot camp. It's insides of the warehouse were long abandoned and it's piping rusted extensively, a shadow of what it once was. The stripped Strix project served to restore the port after Satar's previous act of terror using a peculiar piece of technology acquired from Avalon: an Atlas. Indeed, a human workforce couldn't clear the waters in the required time nor was it equipped to dispose of submerged city-chunks. Which is why the state-of-the-art exosuit was needed even though the effort itself was sabotaged in it's final phases, leaving the machinery to wither and corrode.
“Let's do this.”
At a first glance the facility was empty save for a few rusted chains entering a port inlet, but there in lied the deception to the uneducated. Donatello walked up the elevated platform and hit a lever by the pool's edge thus awakening a suit retrieval mechanism, the Atlas emerged out of the water. It's exterior covered in barnacles and sea weeds, one might have dismissed the machine as defuct yet the water it was in was also what kept it alive: using hydrolysis to fuel it's systems.
“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?”
The cockpit opened and Donatello disappeared inside the lumbering exosuit. For a moment there was nothing, the titan just dangling in the wind, but then it's arms lashed out and severed the suspension. With a colossal splash it dove under the water's murky veil and entered the sewer canal connecting to Chamberlaine Hills.
Out of nowhere he swayed a Presidential election. Built a network of superhuman allies. Became the director of the CIA. It was easy to forget he was only nineteen.
"Uh, Shogun Ivana? Heeeey there. This is Klaus. Is there something you feel like...talking about? I don't know if I did something, or someone else did something to you...is it me? It's probably me, Because I feel like we could talk it out, whatever I...did, And, uh, just to show you I trust you, I'm going to stand still now. So we can talk. I don't shoot you, you don't shoot me? All good there?"
He sounds like a kid. Her finger came off the trigger. Like a scared kid. The barrel of her rifle lowered a few inches. Not the son of Charlemagne.
But that's exactly what he would want you to think.
The rifle snapped back onto target.
Twenty five came through her earpiece next.
"Sif to Mother Wolf. Point two-three-seven klicks due south. Scavenger unaccounted for."
Ivana didn't respond to either of them at first. Lichter was still airborne; not the idea tactical situation. He could pack a lot of firepower and mobility onto that jet.
She was still for a long moment, thoughts twisting and turning in her mind. Then she replied to Lichter.
"Okay. We talk. But this be short talk. One way or other."
"Talk is this. First, I am not Shogun now. Abdicate. Back to Strigidae. Second. I need blood sample. Your blood, Alexander Donn blood."
The former Shogun wasn't going to explain it twice.
"Land. Come to me. I have syringe; we take sample now. Reasons.. maybe we talk about later." Her shrug could almost be heard through the communicator. "Maybe not."
If I tell him reason now, he fly away. Unlike the Black Bat, Lichter was well above the cloud cover and sitting in a jet; not trapped on the same rooftop.
Throughout she turned the tactical situation over in her mind. Satar on the field. Chemical fires in the streets. Mob and gang violence burning just as fiercely. Twenty five accounted for, fifty seven's current position unknown.
My blood? he thought, narrowing his right eye as the left focused in on Ivana's image. He saw the gun barrel change slightly in position, then readjust. Intently he listened, glancing out one of the windows as a fire erupted in Curve's zone, dust spreading throughout the streets. Was that a roar he made out over the din? He sighed, raising the comm unit back to his face.
"You know, Sh-"
Strigidae.
"-Strigidae Ivana, you couldn't have chosen a worse time for this," he said, looking out the desecration beneath the plane. "But I figure as I have nothing to hide, I might as well sate your curiosity," he said, tapping a button and instructing the VTOL to land at her position. He shook his head.
Bad moves all around. She might want me dead for one reason or another. And after all I did for her...
Before the craft landed, he scowled, almost tasting imminent betrayal. She could've called and asked for blood at any time, no? Why now, now that he was in the midst of helping turn the tide of a historical event? Had she simply missed her first shot? He would be more vulnerable here, of course, but not entirely. He still had about twenty aces up his sleeves. He'd signal one now, pressing a button on the other side of the comm unit. Their eye in the sky would already be on his way to his location, but for the time being, there'd be no need to risk provoking hostilities. Anthony would observe from afar.
The building grew closer, Ivana discernible now with regular vision atop the roof. An old ally, turned enemy? Who could say. Best to be prepared. She'd have her tricks, he had his. As he approached the landing ramp, he grabbed two metal cylinders from the wall, sliding his wrists inside each. Biting his lip, he tapped out a series of commands on one's flipped-open panel, watching yellow energies course through the wiring. The palms began to glow for a moment, luminescence filling the now-darkening cabin before going out. He pulled the mask back on and sighed, the doorway opening.
After the momentum that carried The Son of Gothic and his bike onward died, Donatello just lied in the dirt for a bout of humanity; self-inspection. One leg underneath a black dirt bike, motionless there in the dirt in the midst of this insanity came a brief moment of weakness. 'I'm gonna die here.' His mind perplexed by insidious insanity, instigating imminent internarnal insurrection involving his innate insecurities, his cold collection came crumbling due common consternation. 'What was I thinking? I'm no hero for f***s sake. Still a gambino, child with a stolen cowl.' Gloved fingers dug deep into sediment, his heart pounded a thousand times louder than thunder under the sway of anxiety. 'I can fix the sink and deal with a couple of triflin' riders but not clock Satan's super-spawn... Shit!
"I wouldn't stick around to see what it does."
“Huh?”, gulped the stressing vigilante at the sound of voices nearby. He lifted his head to see over his chest and scout out what was happening. A cradling feeling surged through his body then, for a second soothing his soul. Two people who apparently weren't out to see him hang. Or atleast yet. This brief moment of clarity was instrumental as it seemed for Donatello to recollect all 8 year old pieces of his adult self. 'Oh right...' He brought his elbows to support a portion of his upper body. '...I'm still in a war zone.', he briefly planted his hand over the cowl's glowing eyes. 'I really hope none of these guys are telepathic.'
'I forgot the why in Why am I'm doing this?..' Slowly, through a mundane and difficult process that used some of his weight struggling due to mud underneath army boots, Donatello lifted his dirt bike off the ground and sat on it. The suspension wobbled slightly as he came down and a genuine smirk could be seen underneath the transparent portion of his gas mask. “Wanna play follow the leader?”'...Because nobody wants to be alone in the night...'“Keep... it around the sewer lid. The sewage system's been flooded for a few weeks now. I got a plan.” '...not even me.'
The vigilante kicked the engine into motion and set off into the city. Cripled capabilities of the cowl registering something he had been especially waiting and preparing for.
[bOS//Analysis: GAMMA RADIATION INFLUX DETECTED!]
╔════╗ ║▒▒▒▒ Gothic City; USA ║▒▒▒▒ DuPont Retrieval ╚════╝
The DIY Vengeance drifted to the city's shoreline in a few minutes of intense driving, in the exact opposite direction of the action. He parked his mechanic stallion infront of one of forgotten Strix projects and his place of employ immediately post-boot camp. It's insides of the warehouse were long abandoned and it's piping rusted extensively, a shadow of what it once was. The stripped Strix project served to restore the port after Satar's previous act of terror using a peculiar piece of technology acquired from Avalon: an Atlas. Indeed, a human workforce couldn't clear the waters in the required time nor was it equipped to dispose of submerged city-chunks. Which is why the state-of-the-art exosuit was needed even though the effort itself was sabotaged in it's final phases, leaving the machinery to wither and corrode.
“Let's do this.”
At a first glance the facility was empty save for a few rusted chains entering a port inlet, but there in lied the deception to the uneducated. Donatello walked up the elevated platform and hit a lever by the pool's edge thus awakening a suit retrieval mechanism, the Atlas emerged out of the water. It's exterior covered in barnacles and sea weeds, one might have dismissed the machine as defuct yet the water it was in was also what kept it alive: using hydrolysis to fuel it's systems.
“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?”
The cockpit opened and Donatello disappeared inside the lumbering exosuit. For a moment there was nothing, the titan just dangling in the wind, but then it's arms lashed out and severed the suspension. With a colossal splash it dove under the water's murky veil and entered the sewer canal connecting to Chamberlaine Hills.
Xae nodded in the direction of Omega in response to his greeting. As their new companion ran off to enact his plan she quietly drew her plasma pistol. "Alright...keep it in this spot, sounds like something we can do for about five minutes, so I hope he doesn't take longer than that." @curve Gale Xanders targetted the back of the NDevil and fired. Her pistol released a small burst of energy hotter than the sun, which tore through the air like a meteor. The air in front of and around the ball was obliterated by the heat, the pavement between the weapon and the target melted into grey-gooey lava and the otherwise silent passing of the small orb was trailed by a thunderous CRACK! as particles suddenly filled the void left by its passing. If the shot struck the beast in the back, she expected it would survive but not before suffering impact from one of the most powerful plasma weapons on the planet, Xae had essentially shot him with a miniature man-made star.
The purpose of the shot was not to kill or even injure a creature she suspected would shrug it off but to grab its attention, to get the NDevil to turn around and stay in the area while their erstwhile hero ran off to enact whatever plan he happened to have. Already Xae was considering possible combat scenarios and her hand dropped to her belt and removed the long coiled whip that rested neatly at her hip. This weapon was entirely different than the plasma pistol, it relied only on the target having nerves. Could it over come the pain? Possibly, but it would take the lightest of caresses with the whip to light its nerves on fire. An enraged foe is often a less capable one, let the creature be driven mad by pain and it may very well make the sorts of mistakes we need it to make in order to survive.
Finished talking, danger finally queued at the perfect time. Resurfacing from the smoked barrels a pack of bandits were rushing towards her direction..walking into the area protected by her watch. Jumping down from the buildings above, she was just another defender that would block their path. Bowing, the young blonde introduced herself. "Hi, you should walk away now." her voice teased them as if they were just comparable to a class of children. "It is most recommended" She said as she aimed her right gauntlet towards them, its large barrel facing them down with a orange cinder inside. "Cause..You know.. or else you'll go boom~" She smirked. It wasn't intimidating at all, it was more so a call for battle, cause it was the only thing she knew how to do.
------------------
The Mad Dogs and other members of the Brotherhood had no intention of backing down, tonight was a night of fire and blood, it was a night of revenge in the name of Satar (a man none of them realized was actually present). Six Mad Dogs opened fire, their AK 47s barking into the night air as they spat large caliber bullets down range at Lass, intending to rip her to pieces...kind of hoping they didn't so they could do it with their bare hands. Each of the six was also infused with Konite. One added an entirely different attack to his bullets, he ceased fire and flung a ball of roiling blue/green plasma for Lass. The ball was not terribly fast moving, slower than a bullet, but there was no mistaking the side walk melting, oxygen destroying heat it produced.
The Road King paused in his walk into the city to gaze upon Lass. He waited to see if the Mad Dogs had this situation handled or if his particular set of skills would be required to take her down. He casually drew a long barreled chrome revolver from a hip holster and leveled it at Lass, but for now he did not pull the trigger. Each of the six bullets loaded into the gun was composed of silver and each had a hollow core. Inside of the core was a tiny amount of CIF3, enough to light someone in fire from the inside.
Lightning dealt with the Mad Dogs in the area rather swiftly, the bolts of energy more than enough to dispose of the lowest level members of the Brotherhood, men and women who's purpose it was to die and fill the ranks, not necessarily in that order. Today however the House of Vipers had opened itself to the world. The whole of the Brotherhood was not present, but more than two thirds of its members could be found here. Many were now engaged directly with military forces...but the rest? The Mad Dogs primarily? They were tasked with one goal and one goal only...krush, kill and destroy. So it was that their vehicles roamed the streets, the sound of their over charged mega engines roaring in the night like viscous animals.
So loud were their vehicles that they produced enough noise to make one's body shudder with vibrations when they were more than a block away...stealthy? Not so much no. The revamped Brotherhood had taken noise and obvious presence and turned it into an art. Where often times Satar would come out of nowhere and attack with his Brotherhood, Sahi was a Time Siphon and Time Siphons loved the theater of chaos. This was her game now, there would be no stealth, only terror, obvious terror, terror that stalked through the night gunning down anything and everything that moved. When the vehicles finally arrived on the scene there was, perhaps mercifully, only one. It was an armored vehicle made from the scraps of ruined cars and provided with treads. The treads moved the vehicle at exciting speed, ripping apart the pavement and moving it across debris and obstacles with ease.
A weapon emerged from the front of the vehicle and aimed itself for the girl known as Soliton. The single long barrel barked once, a three foot explosion roared from the barrel as it released its payload, a high explosive tank shell meant to incinerate and destroy exposed flesh. The single shell was packed with more explosives than a dynamite crate. When it had crossed only half the distance between it and Soliton it would explode. The released explosion would shatter windows, bring down loose bricks and shake the earth itself. The blast radius was just enough to potentially catch Soliton on the shockwave, an impact that would threaten to rupture organs and potentially launch the girl backwards several dozen feet. The vehicle itself was rocked hard by its own weapon and plating fell from the car top but no legitimate damage was done as the prow of the vehicle had been heavily reinforced to absorb such shockwaves.
The nDevil's path of annihilation had begun, and already, assailants had come to end his journey. Civilians still screaming in attempts to get out of the city ran past him, and he stood, a giant amongst them, huffing and puffing, with wild black eyes spying every little thing that came across his path. "Hr..." It muttered, looking down at it's own hands, hands that were once gentle, were once fatherly. Deep down, the same man remained. "HRRRRRRRRAH!" The monster growled, now, upturning one of the nearby cars in frustration. A woman screamed, and he turned, sharp teeth snarling at her, primitive intellect not knowing how to convey sorrow, or grief.
Soon enough, a motor bike had come along, driving straight towards him. Threatened, he snarled at it, even went as far as to roar, massive palms swinging out and forward. But the vigilante known as @sonny_barbaro was quick- quicker than the beast. Turning to find his prey, the nDevil felt a quick sensation in his chest, as a dart penetrated him. To something of his caliber, it felt like no more than a fly landing on him, but radiation flowed into his bloodstream, illuminating his skin like a Christmas tree. With a bark, it thumped on it's own chest, about to chase after the man.
But before he could, something much more hurtful came into contact with him. A bullet of plasma with the power of the sun burst straight through his chest, going off to crash into the ocean beyond. Faltering, the titan fell to his knee for a brief moment, sputtering, and watching as blood of all sorts of colors dripped to the floor below. However, the hole soon repaired itself, fragments of flesh coming back together, and popping out of his skin came brand new armor, bone-like shielding coating his arms and back, making sure that such an attack would not work twice.
Now, the beast whirled around, eyes immediately finding @gale_xanders. The nDevil let out a guttural screech, before leaping high into the air, raising it's fists overhead in an attempt to slam them down onto the puny woman and her companions. Even if he missed and hit the ground, the shockwave would be enough to send anyone flying back, hopefully to their deaths. As the beast did this, a shred of humanity came back to it, and amongst the anarchy of it's screams, yelled out, "CUUUUUUUUUURVE!"
____ From the other side of the city, Curve sat, lounging atop the Tierra Mia with crossed legs and a cup of tea in one hand, three weeks worth of Sunday comics in hand. The battle did not concern him, for he had already won. The Devil would see to that. Beside him, the antidote to the beast sat neatly packed away in a briefcase, handcuffed to the Mad Clown himself. Whistling, he listened to the sounds of chaos below, the gunfire, screaming. It relaxed him. Smile widening, he glanced over the top of the paper as he heard his name yelled out, recognizing the voice of the screamer.
"And here's to you, big fella." He giggled, raising his glass as if to say 'Cheers' before sipping it carefully. "Merry Christmas." With a wink, he continued reading, leaning back in a lawn chair and humming.
The sound of twisting metal was one of overwhelming assault and thankfully it had done so physically as well. Van of the hero slain from the crushing weight. Regretfully though the heroes and criminals still stood strong and defiant. A rocket goes off casting iron and glass to the air like rain in wake of the blue bloods attack. Evading it Stone opens fire formidable in skill for sure along with the other hero not to far away however Rose was free of harm and only one attacker looked to be interested in the jester. Amongst the brush and cracked asphalt a flower grew the baseball bat of Cally hovering above. As the flower blossomed a puff of fire burst free. Carefully Rose had guided a section of the volatile chemical fire toward this street. Its hungry flame encompassing Calamity's baseball bat. CIF3 fire cared little about agents that might otherwise hold of a fire, it burned asphalt granite and well damn near anything. However while her targets were deeply at risk of the flame Cally was safe thanks to being almost unharmable when in motion. A high tech weapon points the jester's way and without question or worry Cally steps forward.
Before breaking into a mad dash, running forward with seemingly reckless abandon she charges at the red mask. Energy spears through the air, its light brilliant and dwarfing any other in the immediate area. The air is hot from the touch of such a weapon alone. There was nothing the clown could do, she was hit dead on. Having no where near that speed energy struck her swinging arm. However despite potency of the weapon accuracy of the shooter and the speed of which it was used the clown continued to charge appearing unharmed. Movement was the greatest tool in the clown's arsenal. She didn't have a billion dollar suit or some stylish tech heavy cowl with animal ears. In motion though she had a resistance to rival the greatest of armor or durable ability. All the foliage from the environmental companion broke at her stride and so not slowed at all Calamity descended upon the carmine mask first.
With a downward swing the clown looked to bash apart the particle gun. Using the recoil of her swing that'd make any base baller proud she used the upward momentum to transition into a second swing aiming to slam into the back of the masked figures hood. And while perhaps her swings alone might not do enough to make an impression with every move came that most hazardous of chemical fires. One that'd caused an issue for almost anything outside of energy absorbent materials or power. Not one to slow down however the chaotic jester continued to sprint forward. Rebounding off the hood of an abandoned car the clown looked to bring her bat down on the forehead of Stone a trail of fire trailing behind her vicious swing. And not wanting to leave the other hero out in a swift turn the clown would draw her revolver aiming to fire a classy forty five slug between the eyes.
Rose on the other hand sitting off behind her forrest like wall shed made of the street took control of vines and brush. Like hundreds of hands the plants would look to grab vigilantes and thugs alike. To attempt to pin them in place and grow around them. Nature looking to cast a coffin around anyone living who wasn't dressed like a circus freak. If successfully ensnared then roots would begin to search the armor and flesh. It would look for the cracks in steel and cut skin, openings one might find where the plants could then begin to try and grow inside the body. Of course no plant was going to survive long with CIF3 fire but that was fine. For pumping through the forest life was an excess of the sewage water, water being explosive once met with such a flame. With any luck an infectious suffocating coffin would become a bomb.
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