Even as three 44. rounds tore threw her slender frame, Naamah pivoted like a ballerina, bringing the katana directly down on the bodyguard's neck. The carefully honed blade sheared neatly through collarbone, flesh and vertebrae, as the head came rolling off freely, almost instantly. Her facial expression was distant as she shifted her gaze to the bodygaurd's panicking partner. "What do they teach you young ones these days?" Her voice was as perfect as the grace with which she shifted her grip. "Guns... Against goddesses!? No, no... F**k no. You must do things in the proper fashion." Her grip tightened. "Like so."
Naamah audibly drew a breath, and something seemed to gather around her. Something... palpable. Her gaze settled on one of the blackclad bodyguards, then the other, but lingered for no more than a second on each. Both men grew very pale, one tried weakly moving his hand toward his shoulder holster, but stopped instantly at the sound of her voice. "I said this conversation was private. Leave. Now." They file out in a fearfull panic.
Naamah neatly snapped her knuckles into the Masterminds neck... One... then plunged her fingers precisely into his eyesockets... two. One-two, quicker than a child could draw breath and harder than any mortal could strike. She smiled tautly as the formerly regal Metahuman who now clawed in a panic at his ruined eyes and crumpled windpipe. No sight, no voice... and no chance to invoke his otherworldly power over the mind, hypnotic majesty he called it. Now she could do the rest at her leisure, something she intended to take her time with.
A man walked out of the jungle treeline, crossing the stretch of barren earth parallel to the coast. His path ended just a few yards beyond the jungle, when a large wooden fence, ten feet high, ran up and down the land as far as the eye could see. The man kept his head bowed, his tattered blue baseball cap concealing his features. He carried a black duffle bag in his hand, and glanced over his shoulder to ensure that he wasn't followed. The stranger walked up to the wall and hurled his bag over it. A moment later, an old backpack flew over the wall and fell at his feet. He unzipped it and counted the stacks of money inside, smiling and running off into the night with his prize.
On the opposite side of the gate, inside Bandari, a young man dressed in appropriately dark clothing. He opened the duffle bag and looked at the bricks of white powder inside. He closed the bag and ran off towards the city lights just beyond the fields. Instead, his path was cut short as he hit a wall in the darkness.
The boy fell to the ground, panicking as he looked up and saw a pair of stern, powerful eyes looking down on him from the night. He drew his gun, frantically rising to his feet and shaking the dirt from his clothes.
"You know me, son." said a calm voice in the dark.
"Of course I do!" the boy replied shakily.
"Then you know that will not work." Despite his words, the young man kept his gun trained on him. "Put the gun down. Leave the drugs. Go home."
The boy held the duffle bag close to his chest and cried out hysterically, "I can't just leave it! How else am I to eat?!"
The man in black took a step closer, the boy nearly pulling the trigger, but he was too afraid. The man spoke, "I have built this country for one reason, to give you every opportunity. I want nothing more than to see you thrive, to see you become the best of humanity."
"You have given me nothing, Akube!" the boy shouted, "It is no different here than it was in my home! Fight to survive, or die a weakling."
"You don't really believe that."
"I have no other choice!"
"You always have a choice." said Akube, "You have a choice to seize the opportunities here and uncover your true potential. I refuse to think that this is it. What you are now, what you are choosing to be... you embarrass me. You embarrass yourself." With that, Akube simply turned and walked away, vanishing like an apparition in the night. The boy was left there, shaking in the cold. He lowered his gun. He looked at the duffle bag, and slowly dropped it to the ground, walking towards the road to the city. It was about time for him to go home.
A man with striking blonde hair and rough features arose from his bed. Walking to the window, he leaned one arm against the top of it, his piercing ice-colored eyes staring upon the city of New Orleans. The Frenchman was far from home, and often times he missed it, wishing that he could return home. To see Armel. It had been too long since his frère. Letting out a heavy sigh, he dressed himself in plain black jeans and a blue.. 'soccer' jersey. He almost walked right out of the house when he remembered to grab his mask in case, stuffing it into his back pocket. Opening the door to his apartment, he walked out into the chilly midnight air. He couldn't drink, as it was nearly impossible for him to become intoxicated. He did not feel like finding someone to have sex with, as he'd just barely woken up, so he figured he might as well just go out to the waterfront about a half-dozen blocks from his residence.
Basile walked quietly, block after block, forcing himself to walk at a more.. human pace. If he so wished to, he could cross the span of 6 blocks in very little time, but there were people about even at this hour. After some time, he heard a scream. Normally he would of kept going.. but it reminded him of Cerise. A woman he had once loved so greatly, that he had been utterly destroyed upon her death. Originally, he was just going to go to the waterfront, rip off a couple people, and head back home. But that pesky dormant sense of morality forced itself upon him. Letting out a heavy sigh, he took off sprinting down the alley way in direction of the scream. Jumping up, his hands and feet landed on the side of a nearby building and stuck. Pushing off in the opposite direction, he stuck to another taller building. Making haste, he crawled upwards. When he finally reached the rooftop, he looked towards where he had heard the scream. Sure enough, he saw a few women beset upon by a group of men.
Taking his mask from his pocket, he donned it and jumped off of the building, landing a few feet behind the men. One turned when he heard the noise of Basile's feet touching the ground. "Hey, **** off, blondie." Basile audibly popped his neck. "Leave the women and go home." Basile put his arm behind his back, a quiet, sickening, wet noise heard if one listened close enough.
"Oh yeah.. what if we don't? You gonna smack at us and hope we run away cryin'?" The man speaking walked close to Basile and shoved his shoulder with a prod of his meaty finger. Little did they know, Basile had already ejected one of his stingers. Choosing a less.. lethal poison, he filled it with the venom of a wolf spider. It would incapacitate and hurt like hell, but not kill. In a rushed movement, he jammed the singer into the man's exposed neck and shot his poison into his blood stream. Pulling it out, Basile locked arms with him and pulled, dislocating the arm holding his weapon. Letting go, the man fell to the ground as the poison began to take effect. Slowly, he slid out the stinger on his other hand and ran at the remaining four. The first two were promptly stung in the neck, this time with the venom of a black house spider, instead of the more painful wolf spider. They would fall very sick, but again, would live to go to trial. Dodging a bat when it was swung at his head, Basile turned around and jammed his knee up into the next man's rib-cage, grabbing his weapon arm and breaking it. Slamming their heads together, he tossed him to the side and grabbed the fourth and final man, slamming his face into a nearby brick wall. They would come out of it with injuries and illness, but they would live. His stingers withdrew into his body as he turned to look at the women.
"As I told them, go home. And next time you go about wandering the New Orleans streets at midnight, it would be wise to carry a weapon or learn to defend yourselves. It's doubtful that someone like myself will be there next time." Turning around, he ran off and scaled a building across the street. He needed to go con someone before he decided to do another good deed. It left a bad taste in his mouth.
Naamah and Cynthia walked calmly into the darkened office, then stopped and without a sound scanned the opulent surroundings. No more than a minute had passed before Naamah spoke: "There... The right bookend, three shelves down on the south wall."
Cynthia strode to the bookcase and lifted the grostesque Olmec statue from its perch on the shelf. She turned it over to inspect the base, nooded, then sank her fingers into the stone and pulled. The statue split apart with a crack, and a tiny phial tumbled to the floor in a shower of bits of rock, dust, and hingework. "Good eyes doll face." Cynthia says with a smirk on her own.
Naamah's gaze slowly works its way over to Cynthia. "Okay love... Take that phial and get it back to the HQ... I sense that we are not alone, and that is to important to risk." Cynthia nods as she flee's via nearby window, as she quickly scales down, and exits the property by way of Motorcycle speeding away threw the nights streets and sidewalks.
Naamah suddenly froze... then threw herself down and to the left. There was a sudden, dull noise as the book she'd been holding was bisected by the razored metal blade that sliced through the air. She came up in a roll, muscles bunched, and growled.
The woman facing Naamah grinned, her teeth startlingly white against her dark skin. "Naamah. It would seem that I still give myself away to your ears." Her voice was smooth as the silks that she wore, and her hands shifted their grip on the scimitar she carried. "I suppose this will be a challenge, then. As always."
Naamah slowly draws her katana from its scabbard, and her growl turns into a purrr. "Lucretia... It has been far to long. Your not still holdng a grudge from me slicing your father into halves are you?" The redheaded womans eyes burn with hatred for a moment, and then it fades as a smooth smile crosses her lips. "I know what you are doing... You are trying to make me angry... It won't work however."
The two women stand face to face with sword drawn, circling around one another like beta fish before the death act. Lucretia makes the first move as she trys to claim Naamah's head yet again. Naamah rolls forward and sticks a tranquilizer dart deep into the womans thigh with her left hand as she strike with a right armed sword attack to the back of the neck of Lucetia.
Lucetia blocks the sword strike, but not the dart. "You bitc..." she says as the fast acting incompacitating agents take effect and cause her to fall into a deep torpor. Naamah places a kiss on her fallen foes forehead before following in Cynthia's footsteps leaving much in the same fashion. It would be hours before Lucetia awakes, and decides her next plan of action, which will hopfully be to go practice some more.
A sliver of moon broke free through the gray clouds as Princess Serinah reached the top of the hill. The night wind cut through her battered armor,chilling her overheated body. Her limbs ached as they had never before and they cried out for much needed rest. But she had not meditated all day and would not let her body collapse until she had done so.
The warriors of the Order of Shadows had been on a forced march since dawn, chasing the faster, lighter-armored rival Shinobi clan, of the silver falcons. Lord Sun Pao had reluctantly allowed them to stop only when nightfall made further travel impossible, due to the rivals, they had set ambushes all along their territory. Lord Sun Pao, would not play into their favor, if they would make encounters, they would do so during the light of day, when all were at an equal footing.
After setting up camp, the Shadow Clan gratefully collapsed onto their bedrolls, and straw mats. But the Princess did not. She had needs greater than sleep. High Priest Yumma's energetic chants against the rival clan were stirring, but his perfunctory prayers gave little consolation to the Princess. The Gods had decreed the warriors must meditate, and keep their own council, with a clear mind. So she would usually sit in her own private chambers, and Serinah had diligently followed the teachings of her father, everyday since childhood. But their were no private chambers in the wastelands of the enemy, so the desolate, windswept hilltop would have to suffice.
The princess paused at the peak of the hill and looked down. From her perch she could see the entire campsite of her clan etched in cold moonlight. A dozen watch fires glowed reassuringly around the perimeter, warding off the terrors of a night assassination attempt. Most of the clansmen slumbered, bone weary from the day's forced march. Even some of the watch dozed fitfully at their posts. All was quiet, except for a few unarmored servants who scurried about the camp, hauling sacks of rice, digging a shallow cesspit and preparing for the morning meal.
And so, for the first time that day, Princess Pao felt at ease. She pulled off her heavy, battered helmet and let it clatter to the ground. The cold night air lashed her long, black hair, which was matted and dripping wet with sweat. She rubbed her eyes with a mailed fist, wiping away rust and sweat mingled with grit of the road. Her armor was battered and in need of repair. The golden cloth over her mail hauberk was torn in many places and streaked with the dull, brown dried blood of her enemies. But the green dragon across the chest was still as bright and proud as the day she first wore it. Her limbs ached from weeks of marching. But Serinah was not ready to rest. She drew her sword from its scabbard, plunged the tip into the crust of the dry earth and knelt before it. She pressed her feverish brow into the hilt, closed her eyes and meditated to herself quietly.
In her first sixteen years, Serinah had never struck a blow in anger. In the little Japanese village of Wok, she had raced against, wrestled and mock, dueled every lad and able bodied man. She won most of her bouts and always emerged unscathed, as if protected from the Jade Emperor himself. Until the day a wild boar had thundered across the village. The boar charged the villagers, who scattered before it like geese, jabbering in terror as the boar snorted and slashed. Two watchmen panicked and fled, dropping their hatchets as they ran past slower-moving villagers.
Serinah easily outran the massive pig, but the scream more piercing than all the others cut through her like a razor. She turned and saw that the boar and trampled a small child, who lay crying on the ground. A white-hot fury ignited in Serinah's chest. She stopped, and held her ground as the slower villagers ran past her. In a moment, the village was empty except for the child, the boar, and Serinah.
The massive pig wheeled to survey the damage it had done. It snorted with satisfaction and lowered its yellow tusks to charge the screaming child again. Then it noticed Serinah, now very alone on the green of the village. It charged in her direction, testing the lone, impudent creature who did not fly from his wrath. Serinah quickly stepped sideways, toward a hut, narrowly evading the creature. The boar sped past her and hurtled back around the village. Satisfied the Serinah no longer defied him, the boar returned his attention to the squalling child.
Serinah grabbed a guan dao from the nearby hut and approached the child. The boar snorted with rage, stomped the grass and charged Serinah, determined to punish this act of defiance. Serinah crouched low, planted the butt end of the spike in the ground and braced against it. She faced the beast and lowered the sword end toward its onrushing jaws. The guan dao snapped like dry kindling as the boar toppled Serinah and gored her right shoulder. The beast snarled a blast of hot, foul breath in frustration, right into the guan dao. It stomped its hooves and ripped at Serinah's chest, tusks inches from her face. But the sword-head had torn through the boar's gaping mouth and shattered its neck bone. Its monstrous head glowered with impotent, disbelieving rage as the light slowly faded from its eyes.
The villagers poured back into the area, cheering. They hauled the monster off the gasping and bleeding Serinah. The village elders held a week-long festival in Serinah's honor, and for those seven days, she was great as her father."Serinah, the gods have given you a great gift of courage,"the elders said."You are meant for greater glory than life as a guard, fisher, or baker! Perhaps you shall become the youngest village elder."The vainglory felt sweet but also embarrassed her and lavished her with honeyed praise.
"Serinah, you are the bravest in the Kingdom! Blessed is he who weds this woman!" The lads also admired her. "Serinah, you should fight for the glory of our Lord. The glory of your father. The glory of the great Lord Sun Pao!" But Serinah barely heard of any of these words. All she could see in her mind as they praised, was the massive, oppressive face of the beast inches from her face. Angry. Hateful. Fire in its dead eyes.
In her first eighteen years, Serinah had never killed a man. The hot sun beat down on her and a roaring filled her ears, drowning out the angry clash of steel on steel. Sparks flew before eyes and her head spun around as the barbarian's axe struck her helmet from the right. Serinah was certain she was dead. She prayed that her Lord Sun Pao would find her body in the midst of the battlefield wasteland and blindly gave her sword one final thrust. The pommel rattled painfully in her hand as her blade hit deeply into flesh and struck hard bone. The barbarian collapsed like a straw man at a harvest festival and lay still.
The ringing in her ears subsided, and her vision slowly cleared. She tugged at her sword, which had pierced the barbarian's heart. The weapon did not budge. It was caught on the barbarian's ribs, and would not dislodge. She gripped the hilt with both hands and yanked furiously. The barbarian's corpse vaulted upwards, as if rising from the dead. The shattered chest bones groaned like the hinges of Hell and snapped open as the sword burst free. The broken body crashed back to the earth, shuddered and lay still. One hand stuck straight up, as though begging Serinah for absolution.
The Jade Princess stared down into the dark pits of the dead mans hollow eyes. The piercing black pupils stared back with the same accusing disbelieving look as the boar. She looked away but knew the sight would never leave her for all her days.
Serinah finished her meditation. She still felt ill at ease, and the meditation brought her no comfort. Her attention drifted from her inner self. She opened her eyes and peered down the hill to the troops slumbering below. The camp was quiet, except for a few servants finishing their chores. Though they carried heavy packs that weighed as much as she did, with her arms and armor, they were expected to labor while the troops slept. All seemed well.
Serinah was closing her eyes again when she realized that a guard outside Lord Sun Pao's tent was swaying drunkenly at his post. Serinah opened her eyes and watched as a small servant in a hood and tunic whispered into the ear of the tall guard. The guard fell backwards, neatly toppling into Lord Sun Pao's tent. But the short servant effortlessly pulled the large man away from the tent and quietly lowered his body to the ground. Then the servant darted toward the guard at the opening of Lord Sun Pao's tent.
The Jade Princess pulled the sword from the ground as she leapt to her feet. She tried to cry out but no sound emerged from her mouth. She charged down the hill as the small servant gently lowered the second guard to the ground. Weary solders glowered at Serinah as she stormed past them. Only when the servant disappeared inside Lord Sun Pao's tent did she finally find her voice.
"Alarm! Alarm!" she shouted breathlessly, bursting into the tent. The servant was already crouching over her father. Who lay atop his mattress, drugged, dead to the world. Serinah's sword flashed in the torchlight and crashed down on the servants head, where it bit deeply, with a satisfying crunch. The skull caved in, and a chunk of bone and gristle flew across the tent. But the servant did not fall. Instead he turned and glowered at Serinah with eyes that were black pools of hate. Serinah froze. For a moment, all was still in the tent as the servant locked eyes on her. Dead eyes. Full of hate.
Then the servant snarled and clawed at the princess with long, cracked fingernails encrusted with filth. Serinah dimly noticed her sword bouncing silently off the cold earth at her feet, and her right arm suddenly felt cold and faraway. The servant paused to wipe his eyes clean of blood that flowed freely from the gaping wound Serinah had delivered. The servant crinkled his ashen face into a wicked leer. His thin dry lips peeled back to reveal long, glistening yellow teeth. The yellowed fangs flashed in the torchlight as he silently lunged toward Serinah's unarmed head.
The stillness abruptly shattered with a roar, as shouting men in clanking mail burst into the tent. The servant unlocked his grasp on Serinah's arm and pushed her toward the charging solders. Serinah stumbled backward, blocking their path. The servant howled a hideous, high pitched snarl and turned, shredding the back of the tent with a sweep of his razor-sharp talons. He bounded through the hole and ran, toppling a solder who stood in his path.
Serinah found she could suddenly move again and charged after the servant. She ran headlong through the dark, past groggy troops rising from their deep and troubled sleep. An uproar swept through the camp. Finally, Serinah slowed. She peered into the darkness but to no avail. The creature had vanished into the chill of the night. Fear replaced exhaustion in the hearts of the solders and banished all hope of sleep as word of blood-mad devil raced from man to man. Two of Lord Sun Pao's officers found the shivering Princess and led her back to her fathers tattered tent, which flapped in the night wind despite the efforts of several servants to mend it. The tent was now ringed with a barrier of Lord Sun Pao's retainers, who muttered angrily to one another, debating the most fitting punishment for the servant, once they caught him. Lord Sun Pao's steward parted them and beckoned for the Princess to enter. The retainers stepped aside to admit Lord Sun Pao's officers, but they scowled suspiciously at Serinah, who appeared indistinguishable from any other young, front-line solder, until she got up close that is. Then they quickly changed their expressions.
Inside the tent, the white-haired company empiric was examining a pale Lord Sun Pao, who looked weary, but solid as granite. At length, the old man gruffly announced. "Tis the will of the gods that Lord Sun Pao be delivered from the devils grasp! He is whole and well... Just drugged with sleep poison." The officers roared with relief and toasted his health. But an impatient Lord Sun Pao pushed past them and strode out of the tent. Outside, the anxious troops erupted in cheers.
With an abrupt wave of his hand, Lord Sun Pao cut them off, and the camp fell silent. Lord Sun Pao surveyed his men for a long moment before speaking. "Saved," he hoarsely bellowed,"by the grace of the gods!" The troops cheered again, louder. Serinah tried to follow her father out of the tent, but the empiric blocked her path. The old man peeled back the blood-soaked mail from Serinah's right arm and gripped her bicep to stanch the blood flow. He forced the Princess to sit on a barrel. "The demon unleashed a torrent of blood from my arm." the old man scolded, pouring wine over the jagged claw marks. "Your life leaks out upon the uncaring soil!" He gently rinsed grit from the wound and wrapped it tightly in fresh linen. 'Disturb not this dressing." he said sternly. When he finished, the empiric retrieved Serinah's sword from the ground. The old man scowled as he handed the Princess the weapon, saying, "When next you are inclined to chase the spawn of Hell... Do remember to bring your sword!" And just for a moment, Serinah thought she saw a hint of a smile on the sour old face of the old man who had witnessed so much suffering and death.
Outside the tent, Monks intoned, "In the name of our Lord Sun Pao, for His glory and for exaltation of His holiness. The barbarian dogs felt the sting of the Gods wrath in our swords, and they fear us. They flee our wrath like cowards! They cannot win by honest force of arms, so they have sent a devil to our camp to slay your Lord and master, Sun Pao. But the Lord was with us this day and drove the devil from the sight of the truly righteous men!"
The solders cheered again, louder. As the monks continued his litany, Lord Sun Pao stepped back into his tent. He approached his steward and said. "Give the men an extra tot of Saki tonight, or they will never rest."
"But is that wise?"the steward asked."We must rise before dawn! If we should delay further, that barbarian hoard shall surely."
"We've lost those jackals," Lord Sun Pao snapped. "We could wander these hills for weeks and not find their trail. The filthy barbarians wear armor of fur so that they may run like deer and hide like mice. But it will protect them no more than it did the beast they skinned!" He paused and composed himself. "No... Let the men sleep past sunrise. We've pushed them hard enough for one week."
"Where do we go after sunrise?" asked the steward.
"To the barbarian supply camp! We shall seek for it here in these Nanman hills. It was doubtless the hoards destination. And we are close, by the Gods, or their demon master would never have risked entering our camp, even by night!"
"Yes my Lord!"the steward replied."But they will continue to seek your murder!"
"Aye. My retinue will protect me, if the Gods will it. Now fetch the men their Saki. Tomorrow we scout these hills. I want the men full of vigor when we find the barbarian camp."
"It shall be so,"the steward nodded, turning to leave.
Lord Sun Pao glanced at his daughter.
"What has happened to the Princess?" he snapped at the steward.
"She was injured as she smote the demon and drove him from this tent!"
Lord Sun Pao studied Serinah for a moment and then motioned her to approach. She stepped forward, trying to conceal the trembling of her knees. She had never been so scared for her father before this night. Serinah fumbled as she clumsily sheathed her sword and knelt beside him.
"You may go now!" Lord Sun Pao, said to the steward, as he did so quickly saying nothing in return.
"What possessed you to risk your own precious life, to save mine?"Lord Sun Pao says as he pulls Serinah into himself and embraces her with a loving hug.
"I feared for my Lord." she says as tears filled her eyelids.
"You are not to do that again... Do you understand me?"Lord Sun Pao gives his orders, before continuing.
"It was not sleep toxin that the assassin Vampire used against me... It was meant to kill me. He did not know that we too our Immortal. And by the time we march tomorrow those wounds on your arm will be healed. But you must remember to act the part. Wounds do not normally heal overnight."
"Yes my Lord... I will obey next time." she reverts her gaze from his, not wanting to show him her face with such weakness painted upon it.
"We are alone now my dear sweet daughter... You can call me father in times like these... Times when it is just us, the way you used to."he puts her hair to his mouth and kisses her forehead.
"I remember father." she says as her face finally starts to relax.
Lord Sun Pao smiles brightly as he holds his daughter in his arms, and they comfort one another.
Lights passed by in blurs as police drove Desiray to the asylum thinking her insane they were going to get her the first padded room available. Of course this was all apart of her half a** plan, she was a mechanic a really good mechanic but that was all. Puzzler could hack the JLI, Surkit could construct a fairly good plan for the assault coming their way. Desiray lived for the moment she thought as far as the road she was on and rarely the destination as much. That was the hard part, she was so not the one to try and make a clever prison escape. Her idea, went as far as to go out the front door, the good part nobody really knew her or what she could do. Surprise that was the element she had going for her. "You know Micky Oblivion will get all we need from you. Guy has a way with people, you'll be locked up nice and tight for years."
"Please mister PoPo shut up" her head looking out the window in annoyance. "By noon tomorrow you three will be dead. The voice in my head commands that at the least you crispy cream crunchers and Attorney Micky Mouse get a quick end. It's a matter of principle cheres' see in this world you need to be packing better hardware. Your software needs a moral boost, right now theres you guys and the C.O.P guys, and the Justice League guys and the militaries and none of you are like lets work together! Your idiots that could be outsmarted by mechanics. Gota use de noggin else shadows gona swallow ay." She giggled, a hollow sound a creepy thing "ohm nom nom. I can taste a hint of a sprinkle." It was delirious a fusion of serious and suspicious the results effect the mind in a way brilliantly vicious at the end the boys are superstitious.
From one dingy hall to the next she was lured, past ugly room upon rugby room. They bound her in white institutionalized and yet never had they realized. A collar to disable the obvious genes of a meta human, tech was low budget though. How many had really paid money to keep these people in, perhaps the next president would focus on security somewhere to bind the insane. It was not here though, first gene tech trying to contain a host like infection of supernatural origin. Simply it had failed, darkness which the asylum was no stranger to let the woman use tendrils like keys. A life around thugs, gangsters and garages it was a trick younglings often picked up on. The mind that was not split and yet not one while not known for a locksmith could undo her shackles. A surprise was just waiting to be used, come the morning sun and Cain would be allowed to have his fun. Desiray was no ninja or assassin, she was perfect as the unpredictable ramification of the modern worlds love of isolation.
Sitting in the dimly lit padded room her right eye glowed an ominous read seaming to give off a dark mist. Lullabies were sung as she sat and waited for someone to come. Hours pass her strike fast run faster lifestyle slowing to a crawl. Time ticks by first hour, she was a poised singing flower, three hours in and she was dreaming of manic ways to exploit power, thirteen hours and her attitude was sour. They drag her to a back room, poorly lit total calling card for doom, some lights would of been nice to bypass the gloom. Crispy Cream Cruncher crew was back and there was her Micky Mouse. The crew was behind her and the mouse before her, the cat in the center. Bubbling was her attitude sizzling like a volcanic fissure, this was not going to be a pretty picture.
"What is your name."
"Spitfire of Hellequin"
"What does that mean? All these names mean something."
"Spitfire refers to my nature I respond on the dot, live on the spot, the wild thing never caught, you think you got me but you do not." The crispies nodded that she had to be crazy.
"And Hellequin."
"There is a jester a monster, a demon who is backed by brethren there for the slaughter, Hellequin had an illegitimate daughter. Shadows they are tricksy, the games oh so risky, you never know when they plan to get frisky." She was a fine actress and there were traces of truth in the words. To the mind that spoke them if nothing else.
"Did you use this weapon." His voice was silken and soft spoken true persuasion.
"Yes" Was her reply, she had no need worry if they did pry. Give it a few minutes and they would die.
"Motive" again tweaking mental resistance. People would speak without resistance.
"It's simple, to make a point. You see Micky Mouse this is just a ugly house, somebodies eventually not going home to the spouse. You need structure, it isn't in the now however and that means some arteries are going to rupture. A tug and the sleeves were undone, pushing back to undo the chair. It only took a nudge and she could force the rest. Free to move the straight jacket was flung at Crispie number one wrapping around his throat a sharp tug drove him into the light, fractured skull, good shock value visually and literally, he really did look a bit crispy. Second Crispie came at her, baton at her head in aim. Gam had over their few months taught her some basic hand to hand beside her kick boxing generics. A mix of week martial arts and motion control redirected the baton to slap the man. A few teeth to the floor weapon air born, easy for the torque twister to snatch. That was when the butcher, the street fighter, the bar brawler came out. The weapon became a bat a few sped up swings to get some nice crunch noises.
"I believe this is mine" the movement manager removing the evidence from its bag. Micky Mouse backed against the wall wide eyed. "There's a hero in here, theres a psychotic. A beautiful figure, a alcoholic. The manic creature, hyper and fun mechanic. I live in duality, complexity, perhaps insanity, and you." The creepy Russian chuckled sitting on the table as if posing for a photo. "Well chere de love of mine said ye gota die" her playful attitude mimicking the accident of someone she hoped to be more to. The blade of a impractical weapon great in the hands of the Diva slitting his throat. The walls receive a quick paint reading "Only unity quells the impurity." As a hero she wanted to tell the world how to improve. As a Forsaken Rider it was a warning of sorts, as a simple girl trying to impress it was simply an artistic element before the model ran away from the prison stealing Micky Mouse's car.
And other shenanigans that tag along Page 253 onwards
@Kratesis: Fowler observed the new member of the League, so far he is impressed to say the least... her battle prowess makes him want to pull off a tommy lee on her sometimes later.
"I heard that you love to fight"
@Rumble Man: Kratesis observed the strange man, and answers his question with a simple answer.'Correct.'
@Kratesis:
The fifteen foot bioroid moves closer to her and sat in a crossed position to maintain an equal height and eye contact, he gets close to her "I sense technology within you love, so I see that you are one of the smarter fighters around here then"
@Rumble Man: Cunning Kratesis was unsure how to respond to such a comment. It was no question, rather a statement. Perhaps true, perhaps not. She worried herself not with comparison, she was who she was. Others were who they were. Having no question to answer, she simply says nothing, stoic and silent.
@Kratesis: "Nothing to worry there either, I am mostly flesh but truly machine or at least that is how I know I was created." Fowler observed her again as his eyes map her entire body, not through scans but just by instinct that she is genocide walking on humanoid form. He senses more of 'killer' than 'fighter' but he is nonetheless interested to see her develop into something great. "Would you like to spar sometime?"
@Rumble Man: 'Yes.' With a little flicker of pleasure at the offer. Kratesis lived for such things.
@Kratesis: "Lets walk this way love" with a flick of his fingers the Yeti forces mobilize and guide Fowler towards a big empty cave that has a space comparable to that of a baseball field, inside there are an assortment of stalagmites that can be used as hiding places or makeshift weapons. This location effectively isolates them from the base as it is located within an avalanche area in the mountains. A fluffy yeti points at Kratesis and tries to spell out directions, but after an arduous process of expressing thoughts the snowman decides it would be better to guide her to the cave. Fowler had trained them to be a special ambush force, not to mention extra layer of surveillance within the Himalayas.
Its called fred
@Rumble Man: Cunning Kratesis observes the cold mountains and cold yeti's with an indifferent eye. A simple slayer she had little need for amusement or emotional engagement. Her sonar mapping the surrounding rock and ice, creating a 3d map inside the savage assassins quantum computer mind.
[[ Fred is cute :-) ]]
@Kratesis: Fowler welcomes her as he is at the center of the cave, 'Fred' walks at a pace in front of her. Fast enough so that she can make it on time, but slow enough so that she can catch up. As Fred guides her through the cave three little yetis emerged from its back, apparently the young latching on for some warmth to sleep upon. They are awoken by the presence of danger, but in this case an odd feeling of a friendly danger. Fowler waved a big fresh cattle and the snowmen leaps into the cave, there is a stairway carved with what seems to be deeply buried fist marks, a rigid surface that prevents slippage. Just a decoration set up to welcome all those leading up to the caverns.
"Whenever you are ready"
[[you can have em if you want, Fowler plans to train the yetis with Impero because they can learn mush from him. In terms of intelligence they are like human toddlers, because exchanging thoughts from different species are not as easy as thought. They are startled with technology and thinks that there are 'little' people inside of TV. But they are very strong]]
@Rumble Man: Kratesis was always ready. She attacked without hesitation or warning-
-teleporting behind the massive mauler. The trion nano-blade sprung to life on her arm as the millions of tiny particles assembled into a razor sharp sword. Nanites programmed to attain a molecular level of sharpness, the sword slashed toward Fowler's lower legs with stunning speed.
@Kratesis:
He'd figured her for a go getter but this is just amazing, as her blade was already cutting into his artificial layers. At heart he felt a moment of glee seeing how close she is to him, at the very same moment the Yeti's escaped the caverns while more of them shouted outside to trigger an avalanche, one not meant as means of offense but as means to prevent escape as he wanted to have fun in this battle.
But he also knows that she will stay regardless of the conditions, given his speed and reactions he has the privileged to calculate while being caught under attack. He notes that she can apparently pull out a melee weapon at a whim, this gives him an idea of putting a parameter around her,
Luckily for Fowler this opponent is limited to a human range of movement, while he is not. The blade did cut him but with his feet anchored to the ground he can bend his limbs to accommodate his needs, such as curving it to get assess damage on a personal level while maintaining a level safety.
A straight leg would be offed, however bow curved leg which returns at the same speed the blade is pulled back can fool people. If he was limited to more 'human' limbs he would be a pirate by now. His 'prehensile layer' mimics the appearance of a deep gash to give her a 'feel' that she has made her attack successful in damaging him.
He already likes her for going at the legs, and he returns fire with a basic left jab aimed at her head. Since his about fifteen feet tall with the additional fact that his limbs are stretchable he keeps it simple. Nothing graceful or out of a martial arts flick, just an efficient way to get from A to B.
A being his whip like fist and b being her beautiful face, which might change after this fight. After his scratched leg readjusts into normal position, Fowler establishes a solid orthodox stance.
His feet a little wider than shoulder width with the left foot forward and body at a 45° angle to her body, which he has locked on. Left hand ready in front of his about six inches and his right hand tucked under his right eye. Fowler closes his right eye and look across all five of his left knuckles which has demolished meta-humans in brawls. Some compares their position to a gun sight, but Fowler's is more akin to a sniper scope.
Taking his shot Fowler twists his elongated his wrist and dips his hips as he fired his left hand. Just before reaching Impact he converted his hand into a fist, snapping his punch. He fires, but he does not forget and he pulls back to re-chamber his fist. Ready to load another one.
He expects for the best and prepares for the worst, because he will enjoy what she has to offer.
@Rumble Man: The adaptability and form altering functions of the fifteen foot tall fighting machine catch Kratesis's combat computer by surprise, as she was already intellectually aligned toward another path. The shockingly powerful strike catches her in the jaw, whipping her head back and tossing her body across the room. Her trion re-enforced bones, and divine DNA augment her already high mutant durability, but the force of the blow still great enough to fracture the joint in her jaw.
Experiencing a brief flash of sharp pain, before the horde of nano-bots in her blood cut out the afflicted nerves, leaving her face numb. The short experience shocks and surprises her, but calm Kartesis is born for such things. Completely composed, she quickly alters her calculations to incorporate the new streams of valuable data. Her mind stays pure and focused on the battle.
Clearly the robots reach was considerable, and her quantum brain contemplated his versatility and skill in the mere fractions of a second she flew though the air. She searched a million options, walking down a multitude of methods she could follow. Her digital mind had flawlessly recorded thousands of styles and millions of moves, and she could perform any of them perfectly at will. It was simply a matter of calculating every possible event, and selecting the proper motions to move down said path until victory.
Twisting her agile and coordinated form into a flawless landing, her sword morphing into a trion bow. Drawing the ten ton bow, forming a trio of trion arrows. Programming the three arrows with specific instruction, she takes perfect aim and releases the string. A deafening sonic boom echo's out, as the trinity of projectiles break though the sound barrier, shattering the silence of the cave. Programmed to adopt the proper aerodynamic form as they fly though the air, and then swiftly shift into an armor piercing dart, each trion arrow is capable of penetrating modern tank armor from simple force alone.
@Kratesis:
The initial slash from her attacks have made him weary, because that technology reminded him of a certain friend. He held his punch because he does not want to punch her head off her shoulders, but the fact that she is not knocked out means that she deserves his respect. Thus he will make this session a little funner for both of them, his fist had contacted her chin and he can feel something moving when he jabbed her jaw. Her movements, not combat but subtle movements reminded him of two people whom he recognized as friends. But he dismissed at the idea.
He made a plan to go along with this certain opponent, she has been tested by a jab to be durable. She has been assessed by her striking to be fast, and she also possesses a unique weapon which may present with unknown variables. The good thing about not being human is that Fowler can afford damaging his body to get closer for a strike, however he has taken into consideration that his enemy is of a human stature. This means that even though she might be high on certain statistics her range of motion is limited to that of a humanoid opponent.
Her arms based on their observed length and motion maxes out at a certain point of radius where it is an imminent danger zone. Her legs extends that reach of danger by a certain distance which is not too much. In between would be a range for elbows and knees, and before that would be the range for grappling. With this in mind he draws the schematic of a vitruvian man, but he imposes the images on her frame. Now in comparison to his range of non-human limbs this presents as a huge advantage when fighting humanoid opponents.
However she has not shown much yet, so at the moment Fowler keeps his body on the same stance. His left eye, however show a different color which gives him a thermal set of images through her body. In combat this allows him to monitor her health at all times, similar to a CT scan or an MRI and micro-cameras aid him in discerning the nature of her weapons. With his eye he knows that a there is a fracture in a joint on her jaw.
One of her shot took a small chunk off his 'shoulder' he takes this damage to assess her capabilities but was he was affected. Her arrows are 'special' in a way that they cannot be taken lightly. One of them took him nearly by surprise, but as the other two are at an arm's reach he activated his 'slip layer' in which he wobbled in his stance to allow the arrows glance and slide off his frictionless body.
His movement resembling a wavy mirage in desert heat, his body seemingly distorts and readjusts into normalcy after the projectiles pass. He has taken damage and he does not heal so he uses his 'prehensile' layer to temporarily patch up his wound. His body was in repair but he did not show signs of hurt, he wanted her to believe that he was unfazed. If he stood still those arrows would have him turn into a pin-cushion.
He does have a bad feeling that they are coming back , at the speed in which they exchanged attacks the fight would seem like a series of blurs to the human eye. The mach arrows that were ripping the air, the slashes that would turn an army into a confetti and a punch that can only be felt after it was retracted. A punch that Fowler repeats from a size-able distance. A problem in which he does not have because of his elongating limbs, taking steady aim like the cigarette snail (conus geographus) he waited until she had descended.
Because things that go up tend to fall down, and evasion would be affected by certain laws of physics. She might be able to move in mid air, he does not know but it would be more awkward compared to the ground. The sniper, chambers his bullet and Fowler fired again. This time the hunter is out to take a body shot, one fist guided towards the liver. He waits in the shroud of battle and packs a paralyzing power in his fist (as how the snail uses its venomous barb). Sneaking closely under the guise of weirdness, striking close with the precision of a machine.
A piece of shoulder is a good price to pay.
@Rumble Man: A single punch tears though the air toward Kratesis, the impressive speed and striking power of the battle hungry machine on display. The sheer force of the punch would no doubt kill a mortal human, and unknown to cunning Kratesis is the chemical toxin concealed within the precise machine fist.
This, however was already predicted as a potential path by her complex collection of algorithms. A thousand futures played within her mind each and every instant, and this one had already been prepared for. The moments ticking away as the powerful punch flies toward her, her quantum computer mind sorts though the thousands of potential possibilities.
Having selected the long ranged attack to increase the time for calculations and reactions, cunning Kratesis experiences a moment of relief she has chosen correctly. A single long ranged attack is relatively simple to solve, compared to the complex maze of attacks some supers unleashed. None the less she could not help but worry the combative robot had not selected this attack in order to draw out more information from her, and gain a longer term advantage.
As the micro-seconds ticked slowly away, her calculations come to an end, and her perfect reflexes allow her to act without delay. Before the punch even arrives Kratesis-
-teleports to behind the massive mauler. The bow re-morphing into a meter long blade, cruelly sharp and filled with a powerful electric charge. Spinning into a swift slash toward the joint of the extending arm, her photographic reflexes granting her motions the flawless skill of a thousand grand-masters, as she hacks down toward the weakest point of the arm. Never one to rest or delay she-
-teleports again, only this time activating her invisibility matrix. As all electromagnetic radiation was absorbed by the trion, her quantum computer routed it though her armor and directly out the other side, making her completely invisible to all types of light, radar, and so forth. The same process was completed with sound, the sonic energies absorbed and re-written to remove her sonar signature along with all other sounds of her presence.
Swiftly stabbing her utterly invisible sword toward the giant robots center of gravity with all her utterly perfect skill and astounding speed, she aims to discharge the entirety of the electric shock directly into the battle brawling bot.
@Kratesis:
And his fist punched the air, which is odd because he should hear the sounds of ribs imploding to puncture their organs. Well it was expected because his moves are too straightforward, In an essence predictable. But he wants it exactly that way, keep her at complacency then strike when the time is right. Its a usual plan that can be molded in to a variety of tricks.
Her mind works like a dice, counting odds and chances that will give her the windows of opportunity. Or at least that is what Fowler had in mind, because given the tech he would opt for the same procedure.
Everybody has a chance to win, his duty was to reduce hers. So from the information so far he has listed a few things; she has a humanoid frame; she can manifest a melee weapon which can be reconfigured into a projectile weapon at will; she can apparently teleport and that she might be related with somebody that Fowler works with.The variables are mixing together like ingredients for a good meal. Now it is just a matter of choices and timing.
The fact that she can re-appear before his arm is chambered means that her stats are good. Everything that is happening right now is being kept within his memory banks, a slash that is supposed to meet the arm did not occur. But it was diverted towards a vanishing act, Fowler is disappointed because he wanted to tag her then and there.
The human limb only has a limited series of movements because of the joints, Fowler does not carry that restriction and can manipulate his limbs at will.
He had intended to striker and disarm her at the same time but it appears she pulled a Houdini on him. He was about to curve for a take-down but she was somewhere else. In this contingency his red eye activates and three hundred sixty degrees of vision is accounted for within the entire arena. He did not see a blip or an individual, however he can pick up faint changes within the surrounding proximity.
Micro-cameras recalibrate with this new setting, not pinpointing on one target but focusing a scan on everything within the areas. She might be a blank, but all else can give hints and clues. Such as the odd movement of the air currents and oxygen flow besides him, he cannot see the light or the sound but the vibrations are his domain and he takes the piercing shot while leaping upwards to curve his body.The several layers worked together to create a 'sheath' to absorb and reduce the damage from the sword, the electric layer buffers the shock.
Because everyone fighting him is bound to have an EMP device somewhere, but in his body there is a system that works better than a Faraday cage. His body is now squid like with a skewer held on the beak, his four limbs however have her somewhat caught. In this situation she is a stray fish entering an anemone, however she is not a clown fish so Fowler decides to lasso her body with his limbs. Not in a slithering motion of an anaconda but with a stern gripping motion that mimics a human hand crushing a scrap of paper.
His layers are a bit damage, his shoulder is missing a chunk, his leg is wounded but the electricity damage is mitigated. Now he clamps shut.
@Rumble Man: Cunning Kratesis has maneuvered herself into proper position at last, her every altering avenues of attack at last opening the gap she needed. As the ever adaptable Fowler's arms wrap around her, she preemptively severs her pain receptors and alters her trion armor to an incredibly rigid state.
Slowly but surely her trion armor is crushed by the incredible power of his exotic arms. Collapsing in carefully calibrated segments, each break only re-enforcing the whole, the process is slow. None the less it is inevitable, and she is made aware of a divinely durable rib giving way under the colossal crusher.
Even cold Kratesis admits to being impressed by the versatile brawler, his horde of abilities and out of the box thinking are almost never found in even the most exotic warriors. But his dedication to robust and sturdy technologies, as well as to the time honored techniques of skillful fighting found a place in Kratesis's warriors heart. Few could stand against her for long without falling, and she felt a true moment of respect for the mechanical being. Perhaps he would agree to being a regular sparing partner after this bout was over.
Her trion nano-blade leaves her hand, flowing into the wound in Fowlers layers of protective flesh. Each nanite alters its form and function, taking advantage of the specific properties of trion materials according to a carefully calibrated plan of attack. Every nano-bot simply attaching itself to any bit of matter, and utilizing its quantum scale and energy absorbing properties to drain all energy from each and every molecule they contact. It is a deathly cancer of the purest cold possible, an ever thirsting evil that leaves nothing but lifeless, rotted matter behind it.
'Slake.' She speaks its name, a grating, cruel sound. Such a thing must be acknowledged before she-
-teleported out of his grasp, leaving behind the cosmic cold horror of slake squirming and slithering though the wound toward the robotic beings core. Her invisibility now deactivated, she observes the aftermath of the assault, calmly calculating her next combat as her jaw and ribs re-knit themselves together.
[[ That attack was hard to write without goddmodding, and hard to make clear. Basically the trion absorbs all energy from the atoms around it, rendering them inert matter. (Its also impossible without exotic matter like trion, for those of you who think I've fell off the science bandwagon.) Like all attacks, it doesn't automatically succeed lol! I just wasn't sure how to explain it clearly, yet cool. If you've any questions just ask, I'll try to make it more clear. ]]
@Kratesis:
As his grip tightens he can feel a substance slowly crumpling inwards, it was strange but the momentum was on his side. Slow, yet moved at a steady pace towards a goal. This friend is very respectable indeed, withstanding an attack that gave him submission victories in various underground metahuman death match circles.
It is one of the qualities that earned him the title of 'champion'. It is very weird because his friend is still cloaked, it looks from an outside view as if there is a hairy and rubbery thing that attempts to become a floating donut. A donut that slowly contracts inwards as it grew thicker all around.
If she wasn't a killing implement she would be a great fighter, but he thought that she could be both. One side of the argument to efficiently run through hordes of opposition and another side of the argument to relish herself in the ecstasy of battle. Living for the truest experience shared by all facets of humanity, the fight as the reason to continue on living.
Her killer instinct complimented by her relentless combat tenacity made him adore her as he tightens his body around hers, because it is not often that Fowler spends himself fighting a cerebral opponent.
Apparently her blade has more venomous qualities that both fused with and propagated throughout his body, he takes care of this with the fire break option. Because only the outer most layers are used to create the sheath, the electric layer creates an EM force field below it with further applications of technology.
It was fortunate enough that this layer that buffers her shock gave him extra time to shed his outer layer, a layer that dessicated and bloats up like a cauliflower on all angles. A mixture of slip and prehensile are gone, as the layers work like how graphite atoms slide over each other. Externally the effects resembles flaky dandruff with mozzarella melt, as the excess energies from the previous shock is fed to the nanites Fowler secretes a thin membrane under his layer that he detonates to remove the cancer.
The process leaves him relatively uninfected with the cost of damaging himself further; cauterized leg injury; cauterized shallow shoulder wound; the loss of two external layers because of distribution of the 'slake' and detonation which jolted Fowler. On the other side the electricity gave him juice. He uses this moment to re-wrap his body and repair with available resources.
His next course of action is to fire his arms at the cave ceilings, bringing down a bunch of sharp stalagmites.
[I gotcha, its like cap's shield. Holy O_O did I just crunch trion armor... daam]
@Rumble Man: [[ Yeppers you did! We'd have to ask Impero if that could actually happen (its his invention), but I'm a believer in selling attacks. I'd rather have PIS then no-selling! I'm about to go out for dinner so I'll reply after I get back. Really enjoying this battle :-) ]]
@Rumble Man: @Kratesis: (tempted to sneak attack you both XD) - Omegablast452
@omegablast452: [as long as you don't kill the yetis, because they have hulk strength and freeze beams (capt cold type). Plus we are in a cave at some random place in the mountains, buried in deep avalanche. Just give a roast turkey to a yeti and it will guide you there. Or use Fred]
Just learned english, intelligent as a kindergartner
@Kratesis:
[[But then again my character does have striking power to bring down majestic/superman lv character, I mean he might not have the strength set required to lift things (olympic weightlifter/charles atlas) but he does have the strength set to break people's jaws (boxing champ/tyson). In terms of speed its similar, he cannot outrun speedsters (usain bolt) but when it comes to combat speed he can outstrike others (bruce lee/mayweather).In the team I cannot say I am the strongest but I can say that in terms of punching power I am up there .So the trion alloy is not weak, likewise and have a good meal]]
@Rumble Man: @Kratesis: (Just let the Trion thing slide. I mean, it's just a thread battle anyway. I don't wanna get into specifics but it's harder than what Cap's shield is made of) - Impero
@Impero: (Just like superman red/superman blue, it kinda never/did happen and will not get mentioned again)
@Rumble Man said:
Just learned english, intelligent as a kindergartner
That made me laugh lol - Surkit
@Surkit: well since the base is at the himalayas and there are yetis in the himalayas then why not use them as special troopers? gamby is okay and they provide comic relief. They tend to gather in groups of five and stroll around the mountainside, we train them basic english and basic math.
@Rumble Man: Impressed at the robotic rumblers resilience, Kratesis's violet eyes flicker with a faint spark of enjoyment. Taking careful note of his impressive defensive systems as she removes the devouring slakefrom his body, she issues the short quantum command, and the deadly techno-virus deactivates and teleports back to her hand.
Having a few moments to run further calculations while he detonates his infected shell, reforms it, and attacks the roof, she uses that time to finish calibrating her armor to absorb his strikes, and form her trion weaponry into a shield and bow. Analyzing the energy absorbed from his surface layers, adding the data collected to her extensive knowledge of the cyborg warrior.
The relatively slow speed of the falling stalagmites gives her all the time needed to hoist her shield above her head, blocking the falling projectiles and absorbing additional kinetic energy from the heavy spikes of ice. However the dozens of shattering shards striking the ground around her fill the air with sharp shrapnel, some slicing her face severely.
Cold Kratesis ignores the wounds with stoic resolve, and unleashes fires another deadly arrow at the rough and tumble robot. Springing free from the archers bow at hypersonic velocities, the supremely sharp trion dart shatters the sound barrier in a deafening boom, leaving a mach cone behind it while it travels about a foot before it-
-teleports. Programmed with the transportation technology to teleport after mere micro-seconds, across the cavern to only foot in front of Rumbles chest, retaining all its hypersonic speed. Carefully calibrated to expend the energies absorbed by slake in an directed charge on impact. Shaped specifically to defeat the wrecking robots outer defensive shell, thus leaving the way clear for the trion spike and its kinetic kill impact.
@Kratesis:
It seems that she holds a large measure of control over the nanite carcinogens, and now Fowler has deducted that they all originate from the same material. His specialized vision sensors also shows that she is the process of recovering her previous wounds from his striking. His experience told fowler that they must be connected somehow from within her body, because when she materialized the constructs there was no dimensional shifts or traces of unnatural elements. He can feel mechanical energy within her attacks, so he will try with a sleight of hand.
The arrows come along and they tore him at the 'abdomen' to the right side of the stomach area which caused Fowler to stagger, it was patched up but not completely repaired by a depleting layer. Those arrows are her second deadliest weapon next to the 'Slake', what happens next was a blessing. Sharp attacks like what she used constantly against him works wonders against his outer layers, however blunt force attacks will have their effectiveness reduced significantly. What occurs next can only be described as a miracle.
The kick which was concentrated into a single point was distributed throughout Fowler's large frame, and as so his body folds itself into a sphere. One that has been set into continuous motion because of the kinetic energy. Essentially becoming a large bouncing ball. With the difference being that this ball is armed with super-weapons, as it gains tremendous velocity with each reflection. Essentially continuing on and on until it has become a pinball within the cave.
While it ricochets through the area four protrusions have budded out of the sphere a pair of hands and a pair of feet. The sphere and revolves his entire body to mimic a tornado, a tornado with even sides that creates a perfect ball of spiraling rotations. Scooping the debris around him as he moves and preparing to fire everywhere else.
With the aid of his sensors he aims not to assault her with a gentle breeze but however to use the frigid ammunition that has been observed to cut her face. As his hands contacted the ground it reshapes the remaining layers to create a launching platform, the explosive shell has some membrane that is recently secreted. Viscous fluid that coats the deadly shrapnel, and a remaining charge to create some EM applications. Namely a forcefield, not used for defense but as a means of high velocity propulsion.
Imagine a motorcycle in a dome, now imagine it going double at every turn add the fact that it sprinkles the cave with enough explosive shrapnel to resemble a shaken snow globe. Damages received so far; patched abdomen, cauterized leg wound, cauterized shoulder wound, loss of two layers.
@Naamah_Obyzouth: "I dunno about you love, but im going through the front door, like a gentleman" Ash winked as he pulled out two blaster pistols and slowly waltzed up towards the police station. A few policemen stood outside by their cruisers and noticed the little furry guy. "What the hell is that?" Asked one of them while pointing. "I dunno'...I think it's one of the strays from mutant tow-" The cop couldn't finish his sentance on the case of a laser through the skull. Ash continued to walk calmly as he had his blasters out in front of him. He shot down three other officers before they could react from the fact a raccoon shot down their partners let alone draw their earth weapons. "Oi you may wanna get a clean up down here!" Ash yelled as he walked up the stairs casually.
Inside the police station was normal, arrested teen goons sitting with their hands cuffed, ladies of the evening trying to flirt their way out of an arrest and failing. A cop was about to open the front door, before it exploded open with a scatter of green plasma, turning the cop into a bloody mess as he flew straight through the receptionists glass counter protection. Ash waltzed into the building, revealing he switched to his scatter gun. A cop immediately to his left went to punt to raccoon, but Ash disagreed by blowing his foot into chunks and then his head before his body hit the ground. "Alright ladies and blocks, get the F!CK OUT OF HERE!" Ash yelled while firing a blast into the ceiling, causing most of the civilians to flee in terror. The bounty hunter chuckled as he pulled out a black back and zipped it open, revealing fifteen pounds worth of home-made explosive. "Luv, could you hold off these guards while I set the charge for these little guys? And try not to go too meta on them, we wouldn't want things to be easy now would we?" Ash said with a grin before he went to work.
@Ash_Walmer:
Naamah explodes forward she doesn't waste anytime following Ash and as he takes out the front and center, there was a few officers standing on the top of the building taking a smoke break and talking, as they carry on a conversation. They see a what appears at that height to be a psychotic teddy bear, with way too many guns. Ruby sees one of them pull a rifle off his back and she puts her wings to good use. She spreads them out as far as they extend then she takes flight, soars up to both men, grabbing them by the jacket collars, and taking off with them into the nights sky. The man with the rifle drops it to the ground in his panic, as they both start screaming for help. She soars up to about fifty feet above the building. Then she takes them for a little ride as they try to struggle their ways out of her iron grasp, but to no avail. She goes straight through the rooftop, along with the two men, still in hand.
Her body holds up to the impact, but the cops do not. Their bodies are broken and busted to pieces of busted flesh, and broken bones. A loud smash, echoing with cracking, snapping sounds. Four floors of cracking, snapping, sounds. Until she reaches the desired location, and drops the thrashed bodies, of the ones resembling people forms. She slowly stands up and starts grabbing weapons and starts stuffing them into the large empty duffel bags also found in the same room."Convenient." she mutters. "You coming!?" she shouts out to Ash.
@Naamah_Obyzouth: The ceiling detonates open with a hailing rubble down into the armory, Ash lands on one knee, covered in cuts and bruises, even a small chunk of his large ear missing. As soon as his knife clicks back into it's sheath, a few dozen bodies of police officers drop down from the same hole Ash came from. "You know..When I ask you to cover me, I would have hoped you did" He grunts while spitting some of his blood on the floor and walked over to the duffel bags, starting to load them up. "I mean not all of us can just CRASH trough bui-" The raccoon pauses for a moment to pull out his pistol right as a swat officer kicks the door in, the human almost instantly got shot between the eyes, Ash stared for a moment then holstered his gun and continued packing. "Sorry. -Crash through buildings like we are bloody superman! Though I gotta admit, it makes you look pretty f!ckin' sexy.." Ash chuckles while loading an armful of SPAS 12 shotguns into the bag.
As he sifted through the lockers of guns he opened one that made his jaw drop. "Sweet mother of Christ..." He mumbled with a quivering lip. Inside the locker was a chrome laced minigun with a thermal charger, making ammo not a problem, just a cool down time. It was a prototype issued for taking out the bigger mutants that resided in the hell that was Grimm. Ash carefully started to place it inside the bag but was interrupted. "ATTENTION! This is the Grimm city police force, come out with your hands above your head!" The commissioners voice echoed through the wrecked precinct. "OH BLOODY HELL! Can't just have a MOMENTS PEACE!" Ash yelled as he lifted the minigun out of the bag and hauled it up the stairs. Not before placing a small black orb inside one of the lockers with a digital timer.
The police surrounded the front of the building and their bikes, firearms trained at the front door, or what was left of it. A very pissed off Ash walked out of the station while carrying the minigun and growled as he went down the stone steps. "STOP! OR WE WI-" Ash loaded the minigun up, making it produce a low charging sound, enough to vibrate the glass in the police cruisers. "SHOOT!?" The rodent finished the commissioners sentance and pulled the trigger fashioned after a fighter jet's. The gun whirred up in a matter of point ten seconds and started to unleash hot led onto the police force, the entire street became an orchestra of glass and steel shattering, the feint cries and screams of men falling to the ground whether it was by choice or not. The attempted to fire at him but couldn't get good fix for more then moments before they would have to duck again to avoid getting decimated.
"COME ON! COME ON YOU HUMAN SONS OF B!TCHES! YOU P*SSY A$$ PONCES!" Ash cackled like a bat out of hell as he continued to fire, but one cop managed to get a fix on him and shoot him straight in the heart. "HRNN!" Ash grunted loudly as he was swept right off his feet and on his back, reamining completely still. The raccoon managed to kill sixty men before one of them managed to hit him in the chest. They all slowly started to peer their heads up with curiosity, only to be met with Ash sprining back to life, his metal chest plate under his uniform was revealed. "NICE F!CKING TRY THOUGH!" He yelled while pulling out a net full of thermal detonators, as he was about to let go, the net opened up. The explosives scattered throughout the entire battalion of police officers and their cruisers, causing them to flee from the ever quickening beeping of the small silver orbs.
"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" Ash raised his hands in the air just as the battalion transformed into a storm of steel and fire, killing at least eighty more officers. After the explosions cleared the path was also clear. Either the officers managed to get away or were incinerated in the fire. "Oh Naamaaaah dearest! I think we are done our little grocery trip!" Ash laughed and groaned in pain at the same time, he was f!cked up good to say the least.
@Rumble Man: Avaritia was immediately annoyed by the attitude the obviously inhuman being was using with his ridiculous post. With a flick of his wrist a flame quickly burnt up the flowers and evaporated the holy water, which just added another layer of annoyance to this ruined day at the park.
"Get away from me, whatever you are. If there were any other demons here I would have to fry you just to not look bad!"
@Rumble Man: The demon grumbled and took another sip of his chalice, "And now your little 'experiment' is over. Repeat it, and there will be Hell to pay!" He chuckled at his own play on words before waving a dismissive hand at the thing before him, "Now remove yourself, you're standing in my light."
@Avaritia: Fowler replied while talking in third person" Note to self registry, this demon specimen possesses empotions as well as readings suggests that it can in fact be annoyed."
@Rumble Man: In response to the machine's ramblings, Avaritia sent another quick flicker of flames at its feet to try and encourage it to leave."You just don't know when to quit do you? I should turn you into cinders, especially since you now know what I am. Count yourself lucky that I choose not to!"
@Avaritia: Fowler laughed like a jerk against the fellow but opposite minority sitting on the bench, the display of fireworks was hilarious and he couldn't keep laughter in his mouth "Light me up hell boy, I don't mind melting a bit to see you get swarmed by every available hero around this park'
@Rumble Man: "I don't care if Zeus himself comes after me, you won't live to see my demise." He looked up from his chalice at the laughing robot with disdain, taking a sip before slowly spitting at the ground in front of him, "I'll ask again, leave before I'm forced by my pride to do something you'll regret."
@Rumble Man: For a second the demon was taken aback by the machine's blunt words. No one just fought demons without a reason. "Why should I fight one such as you? I have no need for such a pointless conflict. And who says other demons wouldn't come to my aid?" He doubted they would since he hadn't met that many since his return to the Earth, but it was a bluff he regularly called on.
@Avaritia: "I love to fight, I love even more to fight strong things, as a demon you must be strong be default. Win or lose I won't regret this decision knowing that I fought a good opponent. Bring as many as you want, I just want to punch something until my hands break."
@Rumble Man: This was an odd one to say the least. His desire to fight started to make Avaritia laugh not out of disrespect, but in a love of the thrill. "I prefer to fight my opponents on a different sort of battlefield. Fighting isn't my kind of pastime." He grinned, standing up and walking over to the challenger before him, "How about we make a deal? Or maybe play a game of chance?"
@Rumble Man: He hated it when people rejected his games. It seemed like the only way to communicate with this one was in a fight, and that was something he didn't feel like having to do. "You're a very persistent one aren't you? Are you sure there's nothing your little non-human heart desires?" He began his own little game, stalling as he began formulating a plan.
@Rumble Man: "You're more of a brute than I thought. A demon of my caliber isn't going to reduce himself to such a level as to face you in combat." He sat back down on the bench and crossed his legs while trying to think, "So you're a...homonculus of some kind designed purely to fight?" Avaritia began channeling his power.
@Rumble Man: He grunted in contempt while flames flickered in the hand behind his back, "Homunculus, cyborg, whatever you are. Either way I have no time to deal with such insolence!" He spit the last word out while looking over what he saw as a mechanical waste of time."What makes you think you would stand a chance anyway? You are a mere machine while I am a demon of nobility from the underworld itself!"
@Avaritia: "humans have slain demons, humans have outwrestled gods, swords have slain demons and swords have been known to vanquish gods. I was made to replace them"
@Rumble Man: "Swords can be elegant and graceful, but so far you seem incapable of such." Avaritia rose from the park bench, walking towards the machine with a slow swagger, "You need to realize that your attempts to fight me are both unwanted and a very quick way to get yourself scrapped." He smirked, "I'm tempted to consider you suicidal."
@Avaritia: "Death is but a small prie to pay for a good fight, now demon sir can you kindly cease with your rhetoric and put your horns where the battleground is?"
@Rumble Man: Avaritia sighed, knowing that his opponent wouldn't back down anytime soon, and slowly walked away. The demon continued until he was about twenty feet away before slowly turning around, his hands behind his back, and snapped his fingers. In front of him ten small pits of fire sprang forth from the ground, and crawling out of these pits were small red imps that stood about three feet tall, had razor sharp teeth and claws, long pointed tails, and hooves for feet. These imps had the same maniacal smile as their master, cackling among each other before seeing their target and charging at him with the intent of ripping him apart.
@Avaritia: Fowler dashed forward as the three imps attacked him, the little buggers are gnawing at his ankles. With his strength he is carrying more than a dozen on each leg, some of them trying to make love with his feet like dogs would. Crossing an obstacle of horny imps to get his hands towards the demon lord's face, curious if demon skin is like leather.
@Rumble Man: Avaritia couldn't help but laugh hysterically at the sight of the imp-covered machine, even as he dashed to the side to avoid his opponent's strike. As he moved his human disguise disappeared, revealing his true form right before a ball of hellish fire was sent hurtling towards the face of the one known as Fowler.
@Avaritia: As the little buggers try to latch on his head to bite an ear he moved both his hands up, on his wrists are a bunch of imps hugging and tugging against his skin. Demons which might have resistance against the energies created from realms, demons which are then used by Fowler as a meat shield so he can move closer. Something smells like bacon but its doubtful that these little hell monkeys will die. He takes another step as more little ones drag behind his feet. Now its fowler with makeshift imp armor versus the daemon lord.
@Rumble Man: At first the imps antics amused him, but as always they began to simply get in the way. Avaritia's smile vanished and was replaced with a look of annoyance as he snapped his fingers, immediately sending most of the imps back to the oblivion from whence they came. The few that were left knew they had to do their master proud or they would be sent away as well, encouraging them to scratch away at Fowler's body with an increased ferocity. The red genie then raised his hand and released a stream of fire towards his opponent with the hopes of simply incinerating him.
@Avaritia: With the Imps reduced In numbers Fowler thinks fast, rather than serving an opponent who keeps a distance at all times he decides to get closer. Who would stand in place as a directed river of fire streams towards him at rapid speed? nobody. With that thought in mind Fowler activated his jets and flew through an alternate airway five feet besides the burning stream. Still carrying the imps as they chew his skin which has the consistency of bubblegum, what he has now are a pair holding on each hand. With demonic boxing gloves he will retaliate in kind, but his concentration is off as one of the hornier imps tries to make love with his ear socket. That is not allowed as he is a machine, not a sex toy so with further ado a portion of his face activated the slip layer to loosed the grip of the horny imp. As the naughty one falls down Fowler kicks the little bugger at the demon lord.
@Rumble Man: Through the fire it seemed as if he had caught his enemy in the attack, but when the machine dashed to the side with his jets Avaritia knew he was dealing with a more troublesome opponent than he thought. The demon was about to send another attack his way, but before he realized it there was an imp flying towards and then colliding with his face. Instinctively he ripped the creature from his face and threw it into the dirt, mercilessly stomping on it and cursing until its life was extinguished. Once finished, Avaritia straightened out his wrinkled outfit and smirked at his foe.
"Forgive me, I was distracted by the failures of my henchmen." he chuckled while trying to get the imp's blood off of his expensive shoes and fix his red tie, "You just can't find good help these days!" The annoyed demon snapped his fingers and ended the lives of his remaining imps before releasing more flames, forming the fire in his right hand into the shape of a rapier while the left hand held its fire in a ball, "I hope this didn't ruin the fight for you sir barbarian!"
@Avaritia: "I don't mind whatever it is you bring demon, as long as you are in this to fight. I will return your gesture with fisticuffs" Fowler paid attention and decides it will be better for his adversary to strike first.
@MasterofChaos: (I know right? Aren't they just the cutest little expendable soldiers?)
@Rumble Man: "It's your funeral machine!" Avaritia lunged forward with his sword of fire, sending some quick jabs towards his opponent's stomach before swiftly striking at his face in the hopes of setting him on fire. During this flurry of attacks his left hand tossed the fireball at Fowler's feet to take him off balance. Avaritia has been in countless fights over the centuries during the struggles of mankind, and his martial experience has proved useful both on and off the battlefield.
The heat is very different but this is very very useful because hellfire is not something that is found everyday, however because he encounters such a wonderful foe Fowler might as well learn to build some resistance towards it. The piecing sensation as the sword punctured the abdominal are is different, and his machinery is analyzing while trying reseal the wound at the same time. Had his enemy exerted full strength then the result would be different. The light slashed towards his face only dazed him momentarily as the cuts are shallow, his upper body was damaged. The slow fireball was easily dodged as he distorts his elastic legs in mid air. Because his opponent is a demon letting loose should be acceptable, returning fire with a punch. An odd looking one as he made his hand coil around the demon's sword hand, to strike him at the face. Should that fail he can always pull back and break a joint.
@Rumble Man: Pride was what Avaritia felt as his swordplay did its job, inflicting a moderate amount of damage to his inhuman foe, but was disappointed that his fireball had no useful effect. Before he had a chance to strike again the machine attacked, bending its fist around his fire and delivering a punch to his noble face. As Avaritia flew backwards from the force of the attack, all he could do was feel rage at the one that dared to strike him. The park bench he landed on broke under his weight, and as the demon rose from the dirty heap a look of barely contained rage could be seen on his face. His dress jacket now had a tear in the sleeve.
"You will...regret that very much." He slowly removed the ruined article of clothing and tossed it on the ground. Snarling he then took off his tie and white long-sleeve shirt, leaving his chest bare. "That was an expensive jacket you fool, and now you have to pay the price of your aggression." He began growing larger, transforming into his true demonic form to unleash his full power against the machine-man. Everything about him grew to twice its size, the rest of his clothing tore to shreds trying to contain his increased muscle mass, his eyes turned from a golden yellow to a hellish red, and demonic wings sprang forth from his back. Now in his ultimate form, the demon laughed at what seemed to be the puniness of his opponent.
"Now either we come to an agreement," his voice had gone from smooth and noble to loud and bellowing, "Or you will witness the power of a true demon!"
Felling better as the punch yielded a result Fowler returned to his calculations, the flames have not been classified into the list of things he can counter as of yet. It would be wise to steer away from that certain type of energy until further notice, the good feeling that comes from punching a demon is immense. Because he respects this opponent that fights him head on then the next punches will be charged. As far as they are both concerned the kid gloves are off, they do not want to waste each other's time. Fowler would like to feed the birds as this demon had other agreements to make. Fowler is merely a person blocking his path towards an array of gullible fools waiting to sign the last contract on their lives. As the lord assumes his real form, fowler took measures on his new girth. He takes form by growing approximately twice its size, but most importantly his horns also enlarge. Fowler now has an object that he personally wants. A fine set of demon lord horns to call his own. Fowler answered his call "My agreement is with the true demon, my signature will be in a punch, and that specific object I am interested in will be your horns" Fowler then deactivates his jets and descends to the park, assuming his fisticuffs stance. Now fighting something that claims itself to be a true demon. In a burst of curiosity and excitement the machine-man will find out what's it like to battle a full power demon. He is certainly pleased as he shows a grin before closing in.
@Rumble Man: All Avaritia could think was that the machine must have been built by a mad man. It was seriously threatening to take his horns!
"You're nothing to me but insignificant trash!" As his opponent charged at him Avaritia opened a pit of fire underneath Fowler, sending a pillar of fire up to incinerate him. He would pay for his transgressions.
@Avaritia: As the pit opens under his feet he notices a split second gap that would be the difference between a molten pile a of slag and a second opportunity. Opting for the latter Fowler then took a dive into the opposite side of the hell pit before the flames reach to the top, barely making through as his feet are cooked by the eruption the machine re emerges in front of the awakened demon. Fighting with the burnt legs that the demon wanted at the beginning of the match, fowler prepares to launch a . This time fowler coils his entire left arm into a spring and chambers it to deliver more power in the punch, as this configuration adds additional range and force toward the impact. Throwing a left hook towards the demon lord with added rotational force to leave a mark deep through its ribs. With this, Fowler is able to launch his left hook at incredible speeds, in order to deliver a powerful strike enhanced by a high magnitude of momentum. A powerful attack done with the sacrifice of his legs.
@Rumble Man: The melting of his enemy's legs brought forth an eruption of laughter from the overconfident demon, who failed to realize the strength of the incoming punch and took it on to demonstrate his power further. Instead, he felt a sharp pain in his rib cage and stumbled backwards before falling to one knee in pain. He hadn't been injured like that in a long time, and it was then he knew the time for playing around was over. Avaritia extended his right hand and summoned his golden chalice, filled to the brim with blood that was imbued with the energy of the souls he's collected. With his chalice in hand, Avaritia stood up and raised his drink in honor of his opponent.
"A toast...." He said with a grin before chugging down most of the chalice's contents, immediately feeling revitalized and empowered by the souls of his victims. Now feeling even more powerful, he began to laugh once more as he summoned ten more imps and ordered them to surround his foe. "You have the option of surrendering and offering me tribute for your actions, or you can get dismantled by my minions. Your choice."
@Avaritia: "What I want is your horns, on my hands which I will graft into my head. That is all." His layers resealed the damage on his feet, the outer skin resembles the inner lining of rugae which may be repulsive to look upon. Maintaining the structural integrity of his lower legs would be difficult but this improvisation should do. Fowkler now coils and chambers both arms in preparation to land a heavy punch at the demon's head, trying to gauge the necessary amount of force to remove the demon's prized horns. The demon picks up second wind every time he is in a pinch, the recent stunt involving the chalice of souls is impressive. Something that might be of value when presented to his guild mates. So far the demon lord summoned more imps, ten imps which are greeted by fowler as they pounce on his body to maul him senseless. What felt like a thousand angry baboons is being inflicted against Fowler. The stench of individual imp is magnified by their bodily fluids, their sweat reeks of industrial waste. Fowler is unfortunate that his sensors include smell, he would like to vomit but he does not have the means to do so. While rummaging through the imps around his body the same situation presents itself again, now he has imp gloves ready to punch.
@Rumble Man: "You have quite an odd fascination with my horns." Avaritia pondered as to why the robot would want them as his imps did their work and the machine defended itself, "Why do you want them so badly?" While the machine was distracted with his imps, Averitia created a ring of fire around his unfortunate foe before moving his hand around and around. The flames followed his hands, moving around Fowler and slowly becoming a whirlwind of fire.
@Avaritia: while he is dancing in mid air trying to keep the imps from humping his ears Fowler noticed at the circular but somewhat horizontally bound flame construct that is beside him. Hoops of fire expand into a whirlwind of fire, in the eyes of the hurricane Fowler decides to do something fun. Because there is a central area where the flames cannot touch to remain as a whirlwind Fowler carefully took aim across the blurry curtain of fire that envelops around his field of vision, effectively blurring his thermal sensors. Judging by the source of witty banter He did the same trick as before and soccer kicked an imp towards the demon lord.
@Rumble Man: As his hurricane of fire surrounded the machine Avaritia assumed that his opponent had finally been defeated and started laughing maniacally, but his tune quickly changed when he received yet another imp to his face. He stumbled back before removing the imp from his face, the ten foot tall demon crushing its head in his hand before tossing the remains aside. He had just about enough of this one's tomfoolery.
"This. Ends. Now." The demon began moving his arms around just as he did before, but this time the whirlwind of flames began constricting. Soon there would be no escape from the flames, and as he watched his handiwork Avaritia began returning to his regular form. Once finished transforming he picked up his shirt and the remains of his jacket, putting them on even though his pants were ruined to the point of being tattered black shorts. His expensive outfit destroyed, Avaritia took solace in the fact that the person responsible for it would soon perish.
The boastful demon met a little imp along the way, its buttocks making impact to the face. If Fowler can see through the curtain of flames then he would laugh his cybernetic ass off but unfortunately he can only hear the hisses of anger that emanated from a general direction. When something is about a grown male polar bear aiming is not difficult especially when their range is so close. Demons exhibit the seven sins better than anyone as the are creatures of desire, Fowler is predicting anger and pride right about now.
Readying his will Fowler with his makeshift armor of nine imps which fowler improvised upon, using quick pulse of his vibrational energy to pulp the imps. In a dash of regret he wished he didn't have to clot his body with nine imp corpses, now resembling an eight foot thing covered in chunky Bolognese sauce Fowler decides the next viable course of action. Redistributing the form soft thick lumps evenly so it extends to both of his legs, the current course of action would be to break through the curtain of flame. Doing so would prevent his legs from completely melting off the structure. With a jet burst that damages his feet Fowler bursts through the barrier of fire, vaporizing his cover at the same time. The outer layer of imps barely protecting as all the hair on the surface of Fowler's skin melted inwards. As their distances close into melee range Fowler releases the coils on both arms, launching double hooks aimed at the midsection. Doubling the force delivered in the previous punch, which staggered the great devil as the left is aimed to strike the liver behind the ribs while the right one is extended to strike a kidney. Fowler treats his adversary as one with a human anatomy seeing as how his previous attack worked. The high velocity blow is further reenforced by a nasty surprise. As Fowler's face emerged from the residues of charred imp ana metallic skeletal visage presents itself with red glowing eyes. Adding to the force of a strike is seismic vibrations which would be rated 3 on the richter scale, which quantifies the amount of energy released by an earthquake. III on the mercalli intensity which quantifies the effects on the earths surface, objects of nature and man made structures. 4.0 on the moment magnitude that is based on the movement of the earthquake, equal to the rigidity of the earth multiplied by the average amount of slip on the fault and the size of the area that slipped. A TNT equivalent of 29 tons. This is the kind of earthquake that can be felt indoors, and that can rock cars. Each of his hooks carry this amount of seismic energy, Fowler does it since that demon's are tougher than humans.
His entire face is somewhat melted off like mozzarella on a hot pizza, his lower legs are barely functional but still there but in return he gave a good shot.
@Rumble Man: The supposedly victorious demon was just fixing his tie when he saw the machine emerge from the flames, its face melted down enough so as to see its metal skull, and send two powerful punches at the stunned Avaritia. Pure disbelief held him in place long enough for the attacks to get too close for comfort, and even though he was able to barely avoid one punch the second was a direct hit. The force of the blow was enough to send him flying backwards, knocking down a few trees before finally coming to a stop. For a moment Avaritia simply laid there, the pain from the attack running through his body and resulting in him vomiting up some blood. It seemed as if he had perished from the power of the attack, but soon the sound of laughter could be heard rising from his body. Quickly the laughter got louder and louder, even though it hurt his chest to do so, until Avaritia's good cheer could be heard by all in the park's vicinity.
"You...little scamp." He looked up and smiled before slowly rising to his feet, clutching at his body in pain, "There is too much fight in you to deal with right now, but I will deal with you in the future." With a flicker of his hand a wall of fire emerged before him, "Don't you ever forget that." Grinning, the demon used his remaining strength to flee into the woods and escape his attacker, swearing vengeance on the strange machine that had wronged him. He was glad that he still had his horns at least.
Whereas his left failed his right connected, which went better than anticipated as it made the demon lord speeding fast towards several trees before the momentum halts. It was momentarily dazed, looking rather groggy in an awkward position which made the bigger being emit a small amount of blood from its mouth. Fowler was happy because he punched a demon and knocked it down, but was surprised that it bled a blood-like substance that was not fire. In this moment of joy he thanked his adversary. Something like this is good enough for the meantime. Sometimes a new experience can beat the joy of obtaining material goods, and those horns will have to wait. The devil's laughter made him feel even more rejoiced, knowing that there are other beings that like a good fight as well. This noble demon fought like a man, and took the result with dignity. It did not faint, it did not run, it simply made an announcement. A rematch announcement sometime in the future, with this knowledge Fowler can finally rest.
Feeling exhilarated he drops head first onto the soft grass beneath him, his temple bouncing off into the pond next to it as the ducks swam besides his resting body.
Mardi Gras was in full swing, although not everyone in the New Orleans area was celebrating it in the same fashion. In a small clearing, in a bayou not far from the city itself, a small group of robed individuals were engaging in the type of festivity that one would be hard-pressed to find on any tourist brochure (even in the French Quarter). Wearing dark robes that marked them as members of one of the countless demon cults that proliferated in the underbelly of society, they were gathered around a crudely constructed “altar” (which an astute observer might correctly identify as a modified picnic table), upon which a bound and gagged young coed, no doubt having traveled to the area to experience the famous Fat Tuesday revelry, writhed and struggled with obvious futility against her restraints.
The group chanted in almost unison, repeating phrases gleaned from a dusty grimoire one of them had no doubt stolen from the public library, with each repetition growing faster and more frenetic. One of them, whose especially pretentiously tailored robes marked him as the leader, stepped forward and raised an ornate if impractical-looking dagger over the helpless girl, whose pleading eyes went wide in sheer terror. The leader’s arm descended…
…only to be checked in mid-air. The leader’s head snapped up in shock as he realized that a figure, who had somehow approached their ceremonial site undetected, had stepped right into the middle of their circle and caught his arm. Crying out in enraged surprise, his followers stepped forward to rend limb from limb this brazen blasphemer who dared to interrupt the most sacred moment of their vile ritual. Their rage, however, was quickly replaced by fear as each finally got a clear look at the newcomer, a look that froze them in their tracks nearly in unison.
For the most part, the interloper epitomized the concept of “unassuming.” At just under six feet tall, he wore a dark duster and boots. His mop of black hair was slightly unkempt, but overall there was nothing about him to suggest that he wasn’t any other man you might pass on the streets or sit next to on public transit. That is, until you got to the eyes, both of which glowed red like angry coals in the Louisiana night.
“Your sacrifice is adequate,” the stranger intoned, in a deep but strangely quiet voice, “but I’m afraid that it will not be reaching its intended destination.”
Steel flashed in the moonlight, and the stunned cult leader’s head rolled off his shoulders. His body slumped to the ground as the newcomer released his arm. Absolute silence reigned for several seconds.
Then, as one, the rest of the cultists regained enough of their senses to flee shrieking in all directions. The stranger ignored them, instead stooping to retrieve their former leader’s dagger and using it to cut away the gag on the terrified victim that lay, forgotten by her captors, on the makeshift altar. As soon as the impediment to her voice was removed, she began adding screams of her own to those of the cultists, already fading into the bayou.
The stranger gazed at her for a moment, with something that resembled amusement briefly flickering across his visage. Then, his hand shot forward, splayed fingers covering the girls face and forcing her head down on the table. Her screams abruptly ceased, and her struggles became less and less violent until they too utterly subsided, as a vaguely mist-like substance began to pour out of her mouth and eyes and into the waiting hand of the stranger. When he removed his hand from her face, the mist had coalesced into a small ball in his palm, which he gazed at for a time with a somewhat disappointed scowl. Then, he closed his fist, and when he opened it, the ball had disappeared.
The rogue demon known as the Shadow Thief then unceremoniously shoved the girl’s drooling, insensate body off the altar as he sat upon it, gazing into the darkness of the night.
Things were in motion, the Talon was at the moment stretched incredibly thin, the only Crawler cell in New York was being bogged down by crazed elements of the united states army which kept it well over a hundred miles from city limits. Thus the heroes would be on their own unless by some miracle the American forces had their defensive positions broken, which judging by just how well dug in the Americans were, seemed unlikely for the chronically short handed Order.
John noticed that Mercury was quickly sweeping through satellite footage of New York after taking the young Boy's advice. He smiled under his gearwork helmet after seeing that Mercury spotted Y's limo moving through the city of New York. As the others took off, John spread forth his clockwork wings and summoned up a massive gust of wind to lift him into the air, the metallic appendages spread out and catching the gusts, propelling him forward at supersonic speeds across the Mediterranean and Atlantic.
As he left sight of land, he brought the wind speeds up to hypersonic velocities to make the journey in an incredibly short amount of time, the world just zipping beneath him as he flew through the air with enormous speeds. It wasn't exactly teleportation but it was still faster than most jets known to public knowledge, all done through what should have been antiquated technology and wind manipulation.
John always found flying at these speeds to be exhilarating. To fly above the clouds under one's own power, he laughed and cheered as he flew, but the sheer speeds he was going at ensured that he was outrunning the sounds he was making.. Meaning that he was silent to outside observors until he passed them, upon which a thunderous sonic boom would split the air and shake the ground through it's sheer noise factor and the titanic overpressure wave generated by an armored figure violating the sound barrier much in the same manner that a bullet violates a rice paper wall.
As he approached Manhattan, he began to come under fire, but he was outrunning the bullets being shot at him, the rounds failing to ever touch him. But he quickly analyzed the situation and determined that the only way to make a landing at the cathedral where Alceus was was to make a skidding landing on a nearby alleyway, full of mind controlled metahumans. The alternative was swinging around for a pass that would likely take far too long, so he decided to go in, gatling gun and automatic crossbow out at the ready.
Swinging by a nearby building and sweeping around to kick off of it, descending down at the alleyway of metahumamns, he let loose with all of his guns, filling forth an entire area with a deadly stream of tracers, immediately cutting down two of the metahumans, one of whom was reduced to nothing more than a red paste by the hellstorm of adamantium bullets, the other being impacted by a half dozen rocket propelled crossbow bolts that proceeded to detonate within her chest and blow her torso apart, spraying her upper body all over the place.
Sweeping his gatling gun around, he hit a burly cyborg in the chest a few dozen times, causing it to shake back and forth, stumble, and fall off the overpass it was on. Throwing his legs forward, John's clockwork boots hit the ground with a ferocious impact, crushing a hulkbuster suit equipped soldier beneath his boots through the sheer force, the alloys comprising the soldier's suit crumpling up like aluminum foil as he decelerated onto it's form, his spring systems working overtime to prevent the shock from reaching his body, even with the aid of vibranium, this was a monumental task. Deploying heel mounted skate wheels, John spun around in a circle, his guns extended, firing on full auto. A figure in a mars pattern syndicate battlesuit, in the midst of turning it's railguns to fire at him, was quickly riddled with countless bullets from the minigun before the crossbow lodged three arrows into it's helmet and exploded, blowing it's head apart.
Surrounded by cascading crimson fireballs that thundered out in all directions, John brought out the sword of Constantine and plunged the ambriarcially heated blade into the gut of a being made out of grey stone, the golem snarling at him before the sword impaled him in the midsection, at which point John lifted him into the air and spun him around before slamming him into the ground with such force that the golem was splintered into pieces.
Bringing out his minigun once more, he shot into the face of a Hulkbuster suit equipped soldier, the hail of adamantium bullets ripping through it's composite armor like so much tissue paper and breaching it's power core, causing the machine to explode in a fiery eruption that engulfed it's pilot, ending his blood rage in a fatal manner. Bringing out his crossbow, John fired no less than eight times into the face of a gray skinned alien, the bolts impacting all over it's body and igniting it before detonating, spraying his viscera in all directions.
Speeding past a corrupted Robot, John briefly turned around and brought out his thermobaric cannon and took aim before firing off a thermobaric spray that was quickly ignited, creating a fiery explosive cone that blew the machine apart into superheated gas that rapidly expanded outwards in all directions only to be blown away like dust before a storm's winds. Turning back around to meet the frenzied charge of a metal skinned demon with the horns of a ram, John quickly slashed the sword of Constantine in a long arc, the mighty sword easily cleaving through the skin of the demon's midsection and severing it's spine, bisecting the creature horizontally, it's two halves carrying on through the air through sheer momentum.
As he went on, he came across a psionic woman clearly about to launch a mental barrage against him, so he decided to deal with her by getting withihn melee range before she could act, sliding towards her with such speed that her telekinesis couldn't come into play before he swung his left arm upwards to knock her arms into the sky, followed by a uppercutting swing of the sword of constantine which cut upwards from her waist all the way up to her collar, letting all of her organs spill outwards from the burnt injury. A bloody death to be sure, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and to pull any punches when the world needed to be saved was the ultimate form of cowardice short of collaborating with the enemy.
Continuing forward a bit, John came across another massive cyborg preparing to bring it's heavy weaponry to bear, but the Knight never allowed it that chance, quickly ducking down slightly, John brought the sword of Constantine forward in a stabbing motion, jabbing it into the cyborg's gut to stun it before yanking his blade out and running past the machine, jumping up a bit to swing the sword behind him and decapitate the machine midleap, while to his other side, an alien who had dropped it's weapon in the mad scramble for cover after John began firing was reaching over to pick up it's devices, an opportunity John never allowed it to take before swinging the warhammer of Richard into the back of it's skull as he passed it, shattering it's skkull in a rain of blood and bonechips before the ensuing detonation of it's built up energy blew apart the remainder of it's upper body.
Now only one thing stood in between him and Y intercept, an enormous war robot meant to deal with high powered metahumans. The one optic possessing machine turned it's ruby red gaze towards the boy knight and let loose a vicious barrage from it's hulking arm cannon, creating a cascade of explosions that forced John to leap up and over to avoid them as a storm of missiles hit the ground. As he hit the ground with the roll to duck under yet another missile fired from the behemoth's arm cannon, John took out the thermobaric cannon once more and set it to lance mode, and with a pull of the trigger, a massive lance of superheated molten material shot forth from the barrel and speared through the robot's right pectoral region, stunning it and ending it's barrage.
As the machine fell to it's hands, John brought forth a set of spiked knuckles on his right fist, standing up out of the roll and bringing his right fist forward with terrifying amounts of strength and momentum as the Machine began to stand up. With a fierce battlecry, John brought his fist forward and smashed straight through the entire left side of the machine with such force that the left side of it's abdomen practically exploded from the force, spreading metal shards in every which way. But still the machine would not fall, as John got a closer look at it while he and the machine turned around to face each other again, he saw that the war-robot had battle scars from dealing with numerous heroes within New York city who proved to be immune to y-intercept's control, many of them very recent.
Indeed, one prior battle had been so fierce that it's optic was somewhat dangling out of it's head, hanging by some wires. Deciding to take advantage of this, John brought out his hammer once more and swung it to the right with a mighty amount of force, hitting it upside the head and causing it to lurch to the side, but still it would not fall But it did have the effect of more completely knocking it's optic out of it's head, leaving it hanging only by the cabling, which John could see ran through it's throat. "You die!" John shouted over the chaos of battle as he grabbed the machine by the throat and brought it down for a chokeslam, sending the machine of battle crashing to the ground with enough force to crack the asphalt.
Grabbing the battle damaged robot's optic cabling by the throat with his right hand, John yanked until the optic hit the eye socket, and then pulled even harder, rupturing the eye socket and destroying it's head mounted circuitry, shutting down the machine as he pulled the oil slicked optic through it's throat and yanked it free. Throwing it away with a hand motion, John grabbed it's arm cannon in both hands and aimed it at Y-intercept and fired off a full buckshot spread of missiles at Y-intercept to get her attention before taking off at her, taking out the shield of the unknown paladin and the sword of Constantine. He was more than ready for battle now.
The sound of glass breaking echoed through the night. Then, silence that hung in the air for what seemed like ages. Within the blink of an eye, events were hurled into motion. A flash of bright light went off, coming from a broken window at the top of a tenement. A shadowy form dove into the opening, executing a swift roll that transferred into a crouching position. Around him, ten men stood, two of which were new to the drug game. Twisting upwards, he jammed his open palm beneath one of their jaws, sending the man off of his feet. A wild haymaker was flung at the assailant's head, only to be quickly blocked and deflected. The sound of bones snapping followed, then the vigilante's fist collided with the attacker's face.
By now, they were recovering. Flipping his body into a backwards somersault, he narrowly avoided a hail of bullets as they screamed past his torso. Landing on his feet, he whipped a pair of sidearms from his belt into a shooting position and dropped the threat with a pair of shots to center mass. Pointing the guns to the side, he took down two more, but had to compromise his position in order to dive away from more fire. He came to a stop behind a table. Considering it was made out of aluminum, bullets tore through it. One sailed through the clone's shoulder, but he didn't do so much as flinch. He decided to make a gamble.
Standing up, he fired off a few shots to suppress the closest shooters. Hooking his foot around the leg of the table, he lifted it up (with some effort) and tossed it into the air. The seconds passed by at a painstakingly slow pace, but the table eventually came to the right level. Thrusting his foot out, he sent the table flying across the room, flooring two thugs. Flipping his guns around so that he held them by the barrel, he chucked them with deadly accuracy. They hit their mark, temporarily incapacitating another duo of assailants.
That left one. Abel stepped over, grabbing the man by the wrist of his gunhand. There was a crunch as the bones were snapped. "Who's your supplier?"
"I don't-" Abel moved his hand upwards, then snapped another bone. This time it was the radius. "Yes, you do." The vigilante stared him down for a few moments, before it became apparent that he actually didn't know. He was one of the rookies. Abel grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, then jammed his thumb up into the idiot's occipital ridge. He was out within seconds, and Abel turned to leave.
Standing atop a gargoyle 2b looked intently across the city trying to make out the weird shapes she was seeing in the sky. Dead friends & enemies jeered mockingly screaming obscenities at her from the half formed faces in the sky. "What is going on here STOP IT PLEAS!!YOUR KILLING ME!!" suddenly her arm felt cold as her space suits mini chemical factory & compound manufacturer injected a drug that would temporarily block the receptors in her brain that induced schizophrenia.
"Oh wha ahh thank freck for preprograming AI" her other arm felt a warming sensation that quickly traveled through her body igniting a fever as the combat drugs took effect. Spinning around she searched for her target on scanners & found the epicenter of the disturbance. As it was soon obvious from the local population that this city had gone to hell fast. People in the streets dropped what ever they were carrying food phones & children on to the ground. then they all simultaneously turned at once to look up at 2B and scream.
by expression alone Their faces had undergone a terrifying transformation . They surged forward like a tidal wave of humanity towards her building each scrabbling over one another with a manic frenzy the bodies piled up quickly as more & more people came. The dying crushed beneath as a fresh wave of bodies broke against brick wall.
2b started tapping the teleport sequence into her suits pad as it became obvious that more and more people were flooding towards her from all over. She saw a woman across the street smash through a window fifty floors up her baby still in a sling both staring madly at her as they fell. Suddenly she started getting pelted by pigeons as one after the other they smacked into her with enough force to knock her off her feet. Lying on her back now totally covered in dead birds that continued to dive bomb her the teleport sequence activated.
Once on board her ship the pigeons that were still alive flew off down a corridor. Standing up to brush away the dead birds she flipped a com channel open and spoke quickly "Lock onto these coordinates and teleport a bomb NOW!!". Lying back down 2b closed her eyes tightly trying to block out the memories of what had just happened.
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