Shogunate of Venezuela
The audible boom of a shattered sound barrier, an uncanny blur of scarlet and blue, and willingly suspended among the snowy white clouds was the Prodigal Son of the Cosmos himself, Amarth. His cape resonantly fluttered, eyes emblazoned with anticipation. Illuminate optics surveyed illustrious Venezuelan establishment beneath, and with a simpering curl of the lip, he could inhumanely hear the astonished whispers of mutants far below, gazing up at the figure messianically hovering above them.
"Is that... an alien?"
"Someone testing out their powers?"
"Just some poser. Heh, have fun, kid."
"Wait, did he just come down from space?"
"No way... hes not actually some kinda god, is he?"
It was amusing to hear, but nevertheless, simple speculation compared to what was to come.
The ivory sun was hidden behind the gargantuan clumps of cloud, and the brilliant azure of the sky was veiled as well. A depressing grey reflected upon the world beneath, and hardly a ray of sun was visible. A definite problem in the eyes of the New God, whom, for but a moment, glanced upward into the visible, atmospheric masses of condensed water vapor.
Darkevius sidewardly extended both grey clad arms, uncovered palms spread. In a swift and sudden action, however, he slammed them together in the familiar motion of clapping. The effect was simply deafening, like a literal thunderclap reverberating from the heavens. The lone man in the skies was met with horrified cries and mesmerized stares as, in a supernaturally surreal instant, the snowy white skies had begun to part from the godlike clap, revealing the sun, which cast a vibrant beam down upon them all.
The muscled contours of his frame shadowed before the uncovered sun, for a fleeting moment, Amarth pleasurably shut his eyes, cells vitally saturated with solar power from the galaxy's most prominent star. The godlike vigor coursing through his veins drowned out the many cries of Venezuela's sheep. They would understand, understand his plight, his natural mission...
His body quivered as he mentally seized his personal gravitational field. Another reverberating boom and he hurled himself downward, cape now violently beating against the flowing wind. Roughly aiming his descent within the utopian city before the royal palace, Amarth landed with an ground shattering, earth rumbling impact, sending concrete debris in various directions.
A cloud of dust had been raised by his plummet. Coldly disregarding the thick crowds of scurrying citizens in all directions, Darkevius gracefully smoothed his arms alongside his frame, hovering beyond the dust cloud, just beyond the magnificent rooftops. His eyes burned with cosmic fury, fiery heat brought to the forefront of his irises.
He knew that his actions were being nationally surveyed, possibly even broadcast; counted on hordes of citizens using cellular devices or other communicative means to spread word of his presence. And thus, with a booming, commandeering inflection, he loudly spoke to all whom watched, whether or not with their own eyes. He spoke to the New Gods he sought to counsel and bring together. But above all, he spoke to the terrorist he presumed was seated upon her throne, to the one of the world's most prominent terrorists, to Ivana Strigidae.