Prison System RPG

Devon Sanctuary 7:31 PM

Alezra was not here to break anyone out nor to stage some chaotic uprival. No she left that to the League they were envited to come and inflict whatever anarchy they wished. Azra was here for a singular reason to call a Lebaue out of hiding. They'd been in how many fights just to escape at last minute? Not so long ago the king of kings fought her, ran and had two goons asail her with posion. To be blunt Alezra fealt that the family she deemed as noble friends were sliping. So today she was calling them out, she wished to see the warrior. Measure their worth before coming to a conclusion to gauge if they deserved life or not. The current Sifu of the League stood on the cost of the cold island dressed in her usual black and red atire. A raven sat upon her shoulder waiting for the letter to be finished being writen.

"Dear Kazarian of your family I find you the most compeling and insulting. What litle about you was left in the LoS data banks made me want to witness your talents and think of you as a warrior. Something of merit rather than just a assassin claiming to be the best. So im asking you to come to this island put your blade to the test. You suggest that your going to execute all assassins, heres an opening to start from the top. Hope to see you at the latest island for housing the criminaly insane." The fast traveling raven would deliver it personaly, and vanish as soon as delivered. Blair had no enterist in long winded speaches it was simple he could show. Or he could define the family unworthy of respect in the eyes of the daughter of Death.

Lets Start A Riot

"Your insane lady seriously what the f*ck are you going to achieve doing this?" It was Cain's essence again rattling on in her head like the ever anoying pest he was. Desiray had once taken a drill and pushed it in her forhead to try and shut that arrogant psycho up. Cain wouldn't let go of his vessel though, Des woke up three weeks later in a hospital doctors amazed she was alive. Her life had been good subjectively normal for awhile again though everything seamed to fall apart. No more Justice League to tell her to try and be a better person. Forsaken Riders was fun but the associated bunch of thugs and bikers seemed to be a disasembled long forgoten pack of wolves. The Motor Mynx tried to join up with a school to help students and maybe herself and yet it seamed vacant. No home to go to, and the person she had a fling with seamed to vanish and never call out to her again. So the answer of the motion manipulating mad hatter was a very simple one.

"You see my dear inner voice I need friends, I must return to the play ground. And the school we go to has such a big play ground." The words of a slowly unravaling mind rolled from the bubble gum colored lips like velvet. She was a person who belonged in this prison and wasn't there. Sense they failed to confine her logic suggested the place fail to contain anyone else. So the boat sped forward faster than its engine would emit Her abilities pushing it to go at such speed as to make the engine burn a red iron hot. The blond with pig tail tips and clothing red and black climbed along the boat to the front where a motorcycle stood armed with twin fifty calibur machine guns on each side. The boat aimed for a rock jaging from the coast in what could work as a ramp. Which the vessel hit acurately, the boat shooting upwards in an arc. The walls were thick enough to take bunker buster rounds easily Desiray though sped up the ship to be impossibly fast it speared through the walls at impecable speed crashing into a cell with destructive force.

Hellequin of the engine rev ramped the motorcycle of the boat and manipulated the boat to go forward. It crashed through the walls its hull turned an individual to mush. Motorcycle landing into the make shift opening engine purring loud. Alarms rang, seaming like church bells to the lunatic behind the wheel. "F*ck I forgot my clever line." Des remarked in anoyance before Cain replied in turn. "Oh please model gone bad im sure it was a cliche. Just kill more stuffs!" Of course what was being discussed between two people esentially looked to most like one person.

The silently stealthed discharge of a thrusting jet propulsion engine reverberated through the cargo hold with a low hum as Kazarian sat in a cross legged lotus position, entranced in deep meditative thought. Having hours earlier, while training in the diligently tendered garden underneath the hypnagogic allure of the flourishing cherry blossoms, received a Raven delivered message from the somewhat misguided caretaker of the fading League of Shadows, Azrael. For within her letter she had proclaimed the Arashikage an assassin while hinting that he shared an ego driven obsession to be known as the best, but he was neither. Kazarian wasnt the LeBeau Legacy, the LeBeau heir, nor was he his father. He was Arashikage, and had always followed the code of his fallen clan with a strict dedication incomprehensible inside the fame seeking family he had separated from as a child. Principles instilled from birth with accelerated absolution building the foundation of his martial arts architecture through his late mothers unwavering supervision. The illustrious Lady Tlieso not only shielding her only son from his father's unmitigated desire for legacies, but the life of an assassin as well. Azrael's lack of knowledge however only meant that in her inaccuracy lay the unpredictability of a destructive demon, her focus on the LeBeaus placing the Authenticated Arashikage's daughter in immediate jeopardy.

So adorned in his micro-woven black vibranium bodysuit decorated with the traditional 63rd hexagram of the I-Ching, and Nth metal visor, the outlawed LeBeau set off to confront the autocratic demoness turned assassin. Not for self gratification or the need to prove himself a warrior, but to end her meddlesome machinations before his family, his real family, paid the price for Azrael's need to legitimatize her new found position of leadership through the demise of the man who had handed it to her on a silver platter.

Stepping to the edge of the opened back hatch of the jet the Black Mamba dove off letting the air circulate around his perfectly postured body, arms extended, his base tight and parallel, serving to glide his silhouette through the sky as if free falling in slow motion before bringing his arms together instantly perpetuating his rapid descension. Rocketing towards the edge of the island the shadow in the sky waited until the last minute to flash open his arms activating the thin layers of fabric between his body and underarms, using the squirrel suit technique to alter his speed just enough to allow the acrobatic ninja to land in a full sprint completely undetected by the pre-occupied guards. He had no interest in taking the lives of innocent bystanders and with his myriad of unparallelled abilities he could easily maneuver throughout the prison without detection.

Slipping inside slowly snaking his way through the halls and mentally off-set residence like a black cloud of smoke, all Kazarian could do now was wait for the Devil's favorite Demon to show herself.

Perhaps Azrael was not the perfect person as a individual to lead a clan of assassins. After all she was more warrior then ninja, more dragon then snake. Assassins were like serpents and rats delivering their toxin of choice and then abandoning the scene. Alezra was more a cat, she enjoyed playing with her prey she wanted to bat at it and have it bat back. In a way she was both honorable and contradictary. One hand, it was noble to want every being to be a seaker of change and revolution. However on the other hand it was somewhat childish for a demon to care if a opponent was worthy of life when at some point she would likely see them in their time after death.

However one also needed to know this was not to aquire some sense of acknowledgement by the Lebaue's. Azra attacked to see if the latest creation of Jean deserved existance. She saw him as a friend and yet history so far showed a series of failures do to short attention span. A legendary killer had slowly made himself a legendary flop in the eyes of the demonic queen. What legend could be born by things that fell apart regularly. In the same way Kaz likely thought little of her to have tried to make something of a pressumed carcass Jean left. No matter how either saw eachother though one thing was sure, failure to be a challenge of worth would likely be the marking of Lebaue head hunt. There was a history of egotism and over confidence death, or a cheap run from a fight would declare it a dead ideal in her eyes. Soon enough the target of choice was spotted droping from a plane and using a military based flight suit to help make the landing. The ninja going into a parkour roll on impact to quickly be on his feet. Leading to a running skillfull stride into the prison, bypassing gaurds by stealth and free runing grace.

Rather then come at her face to face spotting her on the beach head he ran into the prison. "Just like his father, why go toe to toe when one can maybe hit and always run." Alezra followed blending in with the darkness as she gave persuit, when in the actual cell blocks she was not so subtle. Somebody had staged an attack anyway so why bother. Rather the daughter of Death walked through the halls at a casual pace. If a gaurd jumped in her way she crushed the armor gore oozing from openings as they were made a tragic mess. Kaz was easy to follow though it was definantly a marvel to observe. Abilities over elements ment she could feel what transpired around the prison. Outlaw of Lebaue had soft footsteps like any assassin they were like the ripples of a peddle in the ocean. The heavier footsteps were in a way of performing acrobatic briliance something stellar to witness in person she was sure. The cat chased down her toy mouse soon enough to see those nimble tricks in person.

"Tell me Lebaue what is it with your family and running? So far it seems the only fun one is your sister." The demoness smiled as she entered the same cell block. Her blades popping into place at the ready. Light was flashing a bit do to warning alarms but never overly distracting. "I trust I don't need to restrain myself while playing with you do I?"

Her ramblings did nothing to sway the Arashikage as he slowly turned to gaze upon the LeBeau obsessed demon. Instead a camouflaged smirked resonated from within his mask somewhat underwhelmed by her presence and rudimentary taunts as if the notion of a combatant having calculated the impending scenario with analytic precognition was something to be dismissed. But then again such dialectic decisions were the foundation of a fighter who utilized his mind as well as his abilities, perhaps for a common demon preparation meant nothing, but for Kazarian, the location of their predestined confrontation was an important key that would be exploited throughout the fight. Azrael's apparent disappointment at the LeBeaus for not playing her game the way she wanted was a satisfying secondary achievement in its own right. And had the Black Mamba been privy to such enticing information before hand, he would have used it to his benefit. As it stood however, he had managed to obtain enough intelligence that he knew the crumbling League of Shadows had not accompanied their self-proclaimed leader to the island meaning if she were to fall, no one of notoriety would even know.

Reaching around his back allowing his gloved fingers to wrap around the ceremonially tied hilt of his sheathed katana, the Arashikage hesitated and then inexplicably let go. Then quickly without hesitation he extended his left hand towards the demonic death dealer unleashing a telekinetic assault with but a thought, targeting not the hell harlots body, but her mind. Concentrating all his efforts on an attack that if successful, would collapse the devil's cerebral cortex through a continual increase in pressure shutting down her basic motor functions before the billions of neurons ceased to communicate with the axon's and her brain collapsed under the immense pressure.

Desiray raced through the prison a motorized mayhem bringer hard to keep pinned down. Every corridor she traveled saw plenty of casings on the grounds from forward mounted guns and her side arms. The motorcycles guns mowed down security with unnatural force. The armor of the guards would have stopped any conventional bullet. Spitfire though curved them and sped them up making short work of those caught in the path. Her side arms would hit as many locks as they could unlocking cell doors. Every corridor she left was stirred up by escaping inmates who would kill whoever it took to be once again free. Sure many would be put down by the guards, ultimately though it would come down to numbers and conviction. And prisoners craved freedom like the Americans pursued it to be theres so long ago. The only fluctuation was these revolutionists in a few minutes would be the ones with firepower on their side.

Hellequin of the engine made way to the wardens office, its door was thick and locked her bike was fast and a marvelous projectile. An artistic theatric backflip and she was off the speeding bike. Acceleration kicked in at a speed impossible for it to obtain naturally. The door shattered like a frag grenade the bikes front wheel colliding with the back of a guards head, it spun at such speed it dug deep into the mans skull as it smashed into the back wall. Pictures dropping and shattering from the results. Four curved bullets followed, the mirrors of the bike showed a reflection of two guards near the door. At an impossible angle the bullets moved through the door turned unnaturally and found the hearts of two more guards. Next up the warden, he at first drew his pistol and opened fire, Spitfire cackling like an insane inmate shot each bullet.

Naturally the warden begged and preached of law, and perhaps in the old days it would of swayed her view. This life she lived though had taught her law was a dying art. She had seen a band of heroes fall, a school rise and seemingly be abandoned and more promise of an apocalypse every weekend then a moment of peace for even a singular day. So the motor minx retracted a flail based weapon. On one end was two ax heads the impractical weapon was twirled and then swung straight into the wardens jugular. From there she went to kick punch hack and shoot the controls. By the time she was done the power dampeners had been shut off, the locks removed. The prison became a trampling stampede. Some would die in the escape but it was for the most part the time that once again the prison system failed. Order did not exist in this world, and with a struggling fractured mind leading them who knew what an army of criminals would do. All of them looking to the bubble gum pink lipped model as their savior.

A Dual Cut Short

Her mind felt like it was in the grasp of a mighty hand squeezing and aching extensively. Of course she was accustom to this pain for the brief moment it gripped her. It was going to take longer to recover from but it was nothing new to Hells Queen. Her daughter Salem Hex was a woman with telekinesis and the mother and daughter fought to the edge of death. This attack was something the witch used knowing her mother to be vulnerable to such an attack. Those unseen years of training mixed well with masochistic tendencies to allow the demoness to laugh through the pain she underwent. Her creepy laugh seeming to echo through the room, and in an instant the red head vanished. A thick red mist lingering in her presence and going behind the Lebaue.

As soon as she disappeared she had rematerialized attempting to ram both blades through the lungs of the stray of the legacy. Blades of demon and Symaarian origin likely to be effective if they sank into flesh. Another flicker of blood red mist and the demoness was on the second floor a playful motion made as she needlessly added theatrics to her following attack. Grabbing the rock concrete and steel of a few floors above and pulling it down. Several tons of earth and industrial material being used to attempt to burry the rogue legacy. At this same time though the security had failed and a man above had been hit by falling debris, One of the living bomb types he exploded in a blast that leveled the entire cell block.

As the redhead climbed from the wreckage she kicked a stone in aggression. Kaz could of escaped the attacks, she was robbed the chance to see how effective her attacks were. The explosion could of been the success, that was even worse. What if Kaz had died and it was by that bomb and not her how insulting would that of been. Whatever the case the demoness was willing to consider her urge to see Jean wasn't a complete man of creation and failure was sated enough. The family didn't need targeted today, though that was her one opening of grace. If the warrior of Inferno saw another act that made her feel her friend had become just a man of a cycle of actions she would hold nothing back. Her lust for war demanded more then chasing mice or watching them be the shapers of change.