#1 Posted by Soul_Heirs (8 posts) - - Show Bio

Humid air latches onto the pale porcelain white face of the missionary priest Johnathan Judge as he steps off of the poorly sanctioned airplane, the sun leaning down from the cloud barren sky on his black clad suit, sweat dripping from his Alaskan bred body. "Hola! Welcome to Peru Padre Yudge." The portly sweat stained Peruvian says, combing back his red hair and reapplying his bambu colored and woven fedora, smiling behind circular black sunglasses. "I just want to say on behalf of Peru's finest, we appreciate you accepting this mission...Dio knows, we've only had a few brave enough to answer the divine call" John scratches the back of his neck with a white hankerchief, his eyes low and black ringed as he steps onto the tarmac and into a putrid yellow cab, "I'm glad I could be of service Captain Cusi. The lord works in mysterious ways, I trust those ways will illuminate my path each day. When the file for La Libertad found it's way on my desk, which I'm not even sure how that happened, my heart ached for you and yours. There is always a solution. I trust, we will find it with both my, and the holy lords help"

As upbeat Peruvian music wails from the old rusted speakers, Judge looks out on the children kicking deflated soccer balls, old woman with bandanas tied at the chin over their weary and creased faces. The town of La Libertad was the decrepit of decrepit.

As the road winded on, they pulled past the community shopping square, eager boys banging on the windows in hopes of some over seas knickknack or maybe some foreign currency, having heard tales of men from America, not thinking but in their minds knowing, that all Americans were wealthy. "Stop here please Senor." The driver hits the pedal but the car doesn't stop for a few feet. As John opens the door Captain Cusi grabs his sleeve, "Padre...not all men are god fearing, keep this in mind. I would escort you, but the police captain alone on the town with a priest-" John smiles with his lips his eyes sending waves of his unbidden depression, touching the captains hand, "It's alright Senor Cusi, I understand. I'll be down to the station to speak of the first steps of bringing this place to a higher plateau." The captain remove his grip, so proud to have met this caring man he borders on being jealous of his nature, turning back to the cabby and signalling him on.

Translated from spanish*

"Sir, sir! You have a dollar, a coin? I give you dvd, big booty hoes! you like eggs?" John looks at the boys, "What? No please I'm just on a walk about-"One of the boy reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, enclosed was the only picture of his recently deceased wife."Stop! Someone stop that boy!" The bystanders watch for a moment then continue on their way, "Damn it!" He utters before pushing threw the crowd to chase him

Just around the alley

"Here, all he had! Where's my reward?" the boy says to a man in circular black sunglasses who wore a bambu colored fedora over an orange head, "Good boy, as promised you're reward" He places a hand on his shoulder, the homeless urchant trying to swat his hand away but to no avail, "A one way ticket out of this hell and into another" Sticking a jagged nailed thumb into the boys shoulder sends a lightning strike of pain through his malnourished arm "AAAAAHHHH! AAAAAH! AAAAA-MPH!" Captain Cusi shoves a thick hand down the boys gullet, choking him in the process

John Skids to a stop as he hears the screams, sweating with wide daunted eyes, before swallowing his fear and running in the direction of the now muffled shriek. He sees a cab pull off on the other end of the alley, as he stops at the boy who lay bleeding and choking on the cold shadowed ground. "Oh lord..." he kneels down and notices to prongs of some kind pushing at the boys throat from with in, opening his mouth to see a glinting thick piece of silver."Hold on, stop moving!" He says without thinking, knowing these were the thrashes of a boy fearful of his short demise. Father judge slides two fingers into the boys gullet, pulling on the chain connected to the emblem, that he pulls out realizing it resembled a cross. He curls it in his fist and smacks the boy lightly on the face, "Are you alright child?!" The boy sits up and gasps while holding his wounded shoulder. In shock, his self preservation skills kick in, throwing dirt in the helpful fathers face and darting off into the crowd yet again. John was winded and unable to chase again, falling while rubbing his red eyes on his behind. He realizes he was still holding the heavy cross.Adjusting his eyes he stands, moving into the light to examine it above his head. He turns it left then right. the light catches it for a moment in a hollow hole in the center, beaming into his eye.All he saw was light for a moment...

and darkness for an eternity

To be continued...

#2 Posted by _Sojourn_ (19598 posts) - - Show Bio

It starts with wanting to do better, good intentions. Man has, I believe always wanted to do better by his fellow man by nature. The singularity though, therein lies with the word man. It it were true, man would be just Adam according to Christian Biblical text, but there is now, and for some time have been, Adam, Steve, Matthew, Paul, Christopher, so on and so forth. Along with the massive abundance of human kind, along with wanting to do more, and to do better comes a pressure that many can not handle. Maybe they could, but rather not have the daunting task of caring just a bit to much. This, has manifest into something that we in modern society call villainy. People, creatures, aliens, all populace who instead of remaining neutral, or even taking it upon themselves to do good, instead choose to commit crimes. You see, it is much harder to do bad by all than to good by a few. Because there is one aspect of humankind that exists, and has for centuries, envy. Rather than content for ones own possessions, ones own life, we look to external forces to provide us with a standard for our own success and progression. Truthfully, it was a rather apolitical statement to believe that everyone should be happy with what they have instead of longing for what they don't. But, honestly, that would take some force of miracle no man woman child or in between possesses...And so, it ends with wanting to just get by...Day by day. Forgetting our obligations to our fellow man, forgetting that we indeed are our brothers' keepers, and that no man should suffer the indignation of poverty while you bath in a bathroom as big as his home. No child in this age should no not know how to read because his parents can't afford to send him to school when he is young...No woman should be forced to leave school because her mother is sick and no one else can or will care for her. The lives we lead are impactful, however brief or long, they leave a mark and we all are touched by them. Legacies are what we leave behind us when we go to the final place, and it is much more important, what we do for those we never knew than for those who saw our characters first hand.

This was the third time he'd read the speech over, as there was nothing else to do while on a plane. Sitting along in a small private jet, rented for the weekend, Atticus gazed at the sun, allowing its rays to fill his eyes, and wash over him through the filleted edges of the window he sat next to. This moment for him was glorious. The tapestry of sand and golden light against a blue sky was perfection. Broken by the intercom "Sir, we will be landing in a few moments. Please adjust yourself, and buckle your seat belt." Atticus did as so, readying himself to leave the confines of the plane. He could hear the skid marks on the tarmac when the jet touched down, and exited as soon as the door swung open from the outside. Attendants directed him to a small makeshift customs building, about the size of a old timey post office.

He was here on a sort of vacation, no business to attend to, no speeches to give, and no babies to kiss. This campaign had survived and thrived on his work ethic, him giving direction from top down. That drive had dwindled down to a ship at sea with no wind. This vacation was well deserved, and more importantly, needed, to regain some semblance to sanity. Egypt, a place that he'd always wanted to visit, was a mixture of splendor and destitution. It was nice to be in a place where no one recognized him. Atticus could walk through the markets of Luxor without being hounded by media, or fans, or dejectors.

It had been three days, and the life of an unknown had once again become familiar to the rising politician. The smell of freshly ground Sumac, filled the air, marketeers yelled out prices and objects for people with little money to waste their money on. Dressed in coo-lots and a billowy short sleeve button up, sandals and a aviator sunglasses, Atticus ducked down beneath a tent. It was rank to be quite honest. There was the faint noise of water running, little known that there was a crack in the street that allowed the scent of raw sewage seep out and just cover this little stand in the most awful stench. But oddly, it was not enough deterrent for Atticus Blaire, he felt compelled to rummage through the garbage...Literally, there were used pieces of paper with price tags written in Hebrew, which was odd, because Arabic was the main literature used in the country of Egypt. Among the garbage were inspiring robes, embroidered with golden threads and silver tassels hanging from the hood. So suddenly, did a man, enter behind him, speaking broken English. "You buy. You no buy...You no buy" Atticus was confused, there definitely seemed to be importance placed upon the more fabulous items, and yet still, the man seemed to not want anyone to look at the worst of the bobbins. Clearly, he was unwelcome. And as he stood there, kind of confused, a little old lady, withered down to about ninety pounds entered behind him. "I wish to buy this." He dug in his pocket, pulled out the local currency, it was clear that it was a lot more than the man had seen in probably ever. Marveling for a moment, and then rejecting the money, the man pushed it back into Atticus' hand and shook his hand..."You no buy" he repeated. There was just confusion, until the mother spoke, softly and precisely, one hand resting on her walking stick the came up to her neck on account of her hunch, and one poised in the air, silencing all others. "Choose" she said, with confident directions. Atticus picked up the robe, and folded it over his arm, and took a step, but pulled back. Laying, mundane, unnoticed, under the robes was a rather hefty book, gauging it, it was about three to four hundred pages in length. The cover was still fully intact, which was unusual for its obvious age. He placed the robe back onto the pile, and instead picked it up. His hand traced over it, in an effort to feel it once words had been engraved or alleviated from the cover. Nothing. He opened it, and to his amazement, no words were written. Quickly, flipped through it, and nothing. But even as disappointment set in, there was an overwhelming compulsion to keep this instead. It was interesting, to say the least.

The mother allowed for its sale, and they watched him leave the hut, with blank faces. As a mother to a child, there was an immediate and unnatural possessiveness that Atticus felt for his new trinket. When he boarded the plane, he kept it beside him, allowing no one to gaze upon its aged countenance. Once home, he sat it down at his desk, and opened it up, and still no words were written. He didn't know why, but he stared for hours at the very first tan page waiting for...something. Trance-like, the world happened around him, and this book held his attention like nothing had ever before. He was in a state between sleep and the most excitement he'd ever felt, just waiting for it...Whatever it was. Loosing control over his powers, which had not been used in almost a year now, his eyes glazed over black, and it happened. The words came, and they made perfect sense. It was the most of joy, the startling contrast between the page and the words. He read, and read and read...And as if someone was speaking to him from the pages, telling him stories of the books own rich history, he listened.

#3 Posted by PaperRonin (1057 posts) - - Show Bio

The serene Sancta Camisa garden was a place of deep meditation and introspective viewing that one could not get anywhere else in Falcon's eyes. Its lush vegetation and calming sounds of still water allowed the young man to be as introverted as he wished to be with no interruptions from the chaos that constantly moved like the wind outside of the League of Shadow's monastery. Here he was one with the universe and his existential thoughts flourished as if they were cherry blossoms blooming in the beginning of spring,he could ponder his true path and somehow tap into a pool of peace that contradicted the very mantras he hummed in his head. The life of a Death Dealer seemed to be taxing on his conscience,and yet he loyally pursued the goals of his masters will with out hesitation and second thought. As his arms extended over his bent knees and formed ohm he dug deep into the recess' of his mind and gathered all that he wished to know without little effort,a hummingbirds beating wings could be heard and the light touch of the suns beams kissed his sculptured physique.

In the distance he could hear footsteps that were trained to be totally silent,he could feel the vibrations that wood sandals made as they hit the cobblestone pathway that led to the secret flora field. Falcon could tell immediately that he was soon to be visited by the monk that first ushered him into the game of killers, Jiang Juryi who was also head overseer of the training of new recruits. Carefully exiting his mind and outer-body experience the Ronin slowly stood from his praying posture to greet the monk that arrived simultaneously to possibly discuss a mission of importance. Falcon had always viewed the man as some holy reverend immersed in the darkness for the sake of producing world-changing assassins who would somehow bring peace. Jiang spoke calmly as he met Falcon face to face.

" I see that you are still tormented by the souls you have ushered into the underworld. Is that why you chose not to participate in the battle with the righteous heroes of the Justice League?"

Falcon peered into the monks eyes before answering,he knew that Jiang was well aware of the battle that was fought in his mind's eye.

"You know me better then anyone Jiang. Why ask questions you know the answer to ?"

The red cloaked reaper-priest smiled at his greatest disciple after testing his mental fortitude and began exiting the garden,silently commanding young Bishop to follow him. He seemed to want to show the Shinning Shinobi something of importance and continued the conversation. "I understand your thoughts indeed. I know that you seek a balance between your mother's wishes and this life that you have delved yourself into. She wished that you would not follow her path,and tested you from her grave by bringing you to a place that would nourish the killer in you. In retrospect,it was not wise. " Jiang chuckled a little as the duo walked through the monastery on some unknown adventure,then continued on. "To me,you are what we Monks view as the Sacred Warrior,a death dealer with knowledge of both sides of the spectrum fighting to maintain a balance between the two. A very humble mission,and now in order to help you decide your true way I shall guide you into the very fabric of our foundation hoping that you come out of it with a sound idea of who you truly are."

During the speech Falcon had remained silent and followed his teacher to a secluded area of the monastery,unaware of the change of scenery due to his focus on the man's words. The two now stood in a dimly lit cavern of skulls and sage,its existence unknown to even the De-Facto leader Gambler. The narrow hallway of cadavers led to a room which was empty to the untrained eye,its contents somehow hidden. Falcon's curiosity peaked as the two walked into the chamber,his previous thoughts seemed to cower in light of what was coming. " What is this place?" he asked.

"The League of Shadows have always been harbingers of death,and this room is where it all started." The shroud of Jiang swayed as he walked to a single stone in the chamber and pushed it forward to unveil the item that had been hidden from plain sight. A shift in the ground was followed by an emerging pillar that held a spherical object that had a skull etched into its ivory surface. The Monk continued on as he began to circle the artifact. "Centuries ago,the founders of this great organization constructed a weapon that could control the very souls they gathered from people they killed. Its energies are truly evil and thus hard to control,which is why until now it has been locked away. The priest cultivated its energy from a source of power unknown and even with the scrolls we have on its origin we could scientifically nor mystically figure out it's true use."

Things were beginning to seem so clouded in the Paper Ronin's mind,he was unsure of what exactly the Monk was trying to tell him. Sure this object held great evils,sure it could not be controlled,and sure it's true purpose was unknown , Falcon pondered deeply as to what he had been brought here for. Nonetheless he allowed the answers to come to him from Jiang.

"Recently, the artifact has been glowing with a strange hue and energy signature. I immediately had our mystics scan the globe to see if it was the only energy of its kind ,and it is not. There are 12 other signatures of the same kind in various places on earth. I am not even sure as to what other objects produce the energy. I know of no one else but you who would be fit to even begin to try and tap into its powers ,all previous bearers have not survived even touching it. Falcon. I am asking you to try and tame this thing,and thus discover the mysteries behind it. Hopefully this will also help you find yourself in some unknown way...." Jiang's sentence was cut off by the Paper Ronin.

"I accept."

Upon touching the sphere an immense clash of forces produced a shock wave of immense proportions and knocked back both Falcon and the monk. The ninja instantly blacked out...

#4 Posted by EdwardWindsor (14517 posts) - - Show Bio

"The darkness rises once more from the shadows, the balance of power must be maintained. Send forth the Angelus."

The prince of power lays asleep his body at rest but his mind alive. Visions of a city of lights bombard his mind an odd sense of something calling to him, hounding him from within the brightness an object hidden amongst the towers of shimmering light. A lone voice lingers location less through the air "Angelus" the voice dissipating sending fragments of the word hissing around the champion. As the words fell from the air a white hot stabbing pain shot through his chest. . His eyes wide open now as his face contorts trying to locate the source of the burning pain spreading like wild fire from his chest. Tearing the bed sheets off the champion writhe's in pain as the room is hit with a burst of blinding light "Be still Edward its nearly over" a soothing and unfamiliar voice spoke from within his head. Struggling to deal with the pain the prince tried to focus his mind enough to speak back "What are you doi..." "Crack" a loud noise like thunder echoed through the room as the champion body rolled onto his side two great white feathered wings burst forth from his shoulder blades the surge of pain sending Edwards body into overload. A darkness came over his mind, a dreamless sleep as his brain blacks out.

A few hours later

" The source of the in balance has been located i'am tracking it to its location" an angelic like figure stood in front of the champion his form almost completely transparent like the lines of his body simply floated on the air suddenly forming a solid object in front of his eyes. " I see you are regaining use of your full functions Sir. The mind of the Angelus is strong and its memories gives it great strength. The quicker we get to the dark one the easier it will be. The nature of the darkness requires the bond and practise to wield it affectively. The light made sure to give you the advantage of the knowledge of all the previous encounters between sides in the war of the balance." Edward looked at the form in front on him gesturing his hand slightly his form faded from sight "Presume to tell me the details of the balance. I'am the balance , I'am the Angelus. Pinpoint the source of the Darkness and lets end this now" the sun begins to rise and his wings open up to greet the incoming morning breeze. Two more angelic like forms appear as if out nothing "The dawn brings our greatest advantage find them quickly with the light of day the Darkness will have few places to hide. Locate , observe and report to me" Standing atop an unknown building the champions shadow casts itself on an unfamiliar skyline.

Far from champions City and far from his usual self Edward Windsor stood his metallic like form glistening in the morning sun his wings gently flapping. Deep within a light springs back on as the champions mind reboots itself. At once there is both confusion and conflict ion as Edwards consciousness tries to re-grasp its control.

#5 Posted by Ghetto_Romeo (45 posts) - - Show Bio

Every one year consists of twelve months ... Thirteen. The one Sun of the solar system is surrounded by twelve main constellations ... Thirteen. The one Son of God was accompanied by twelve disciples ... Thirteen.

Thirteen is a principle number of Power.

However, power must be accompanied by wisdom and approached with love, otherwise it will only bring pain and chaos. The history of the world is marked by pain and chaos. Wars, famine, disease and other plights have kept humanity in disarray for thousands of years by those who did not exercise power with wisdom and love. Great power rests in a set of thirteen artifacts.

One such artifact is The Spear of Destiny.

To Be Continued
#6 Posted by Kratesis (4266 posts) - - Show Bio

Kratesis laughed. She chuckled. Chortled, snickered, and giggled. Such mirth that tears of amusement ran down her face.

She spoke her only words this day. 'I accept.'

The Beforetime

There were only three times. The beforetime. The nowtime. The aftertime. Those three and those only were the times of life. A thing could be farther into the aftertime the another thing, this she knew. Or deeper into the beforetime. These created the sequences of life. But there was only one Nowtime.

She walked down the filthy streets of a Hong Kong slum. Vile smells assailed her, and the foulness of humanity filled her ears. But her eyes only saw the hunt. Seven men she saw, and seven men ran from her. Shouting and yelling, legs pumping as they dashed and scrambled. She only walked.

Two summoned up their courage and turned toward her. Short black sub machine pistols in their sweaty fists. Squeezing the triggers they spray hot lead toward her and everything in her general area. Little chunks of death shattering the sound barrier in a rain of metal raindrops. She stepped between them, hands folded behind her back as she twisted and turned. Bullets were not the only thing which was super-sonic.

Reaching them in a pale blur she struck the first with three finger tips, shattering his ribs and punching her hand into his heart up to the wrist. The other she kicked in the jaw, a perfect motion of her foot and leg which splintered his jawbone into dozens of fragments.. and snapped his neck like a twig.

And now there were five.

Trapped at last the final five had found the exit closed, bricked off several weeks ago. Kratesis's all seeing slayers eyes had seen this, and her quantum computing brain had calculated the exact rout the foolish men would flee. She held no need to run, for she had seen the Beforetime, and by knowing it she also knew the Aftertime.

The first leveled a heavy pump action shotgun at her and begin firing. Cold Kratesis stood still. Buckshot struck her face, torso and both arms. Unable to penetrate her trion weave enhanced skin the majority of the slugs simply mushroom and bounce from her body. Several impact her eyes, however, and both violet orbs were obliterated by the heavy lead. She was blinded. And pleased.

The simple sounds of life around here were more then enough to create a full picture of her surroundings with her sonar hearing. The terrible pain in her eyes shooting though her skull with every instant that passes, she finds herself only amused.

Five charge her, all together, blades and weaponry drawn. Strong and quick, skillful and experienced they had killed many before her. A careful calibration of her quantum computer directed her course. Leaping into a spin, twisting her foot though the air she kicks the first two in the jaw in a single motion of flawless accuracy, whipping both heads to the side with enough force to snap their necks. The force of the spin is enough to carry her completely around, a backhand shattering the skull of another, and her the flowing motion driving her knee into the now closest ones chest, crushing his heart.

Only one remained, unaware of his companions deaths, simply not having time to see and understand. His blade stabbed though the air toward her airborne heart. Driven by the full force of his charge the blade is enough to knock her flying form backwards, unable to penetrate the trion weave under her skin. Entirely as predicted her legs wrap around his neck as he crashes into her, unbalanced by her leap and the failure of his blade. Kratesis simply let gravity take its course. A course she had already predicted before the first shotgun buckshot struck her eyes. Tumbling to the ground she smirks in satisfaction at the crunch of his neck breaking, improperly entangled with her falling form.

'Impressive.' With a frown she stands. An audience is not who she preforms for, only her own enjoyment of her art. Turning and observing cunning Kratesis sees a woman limping toward her, leaning on a cheap metal cane.

'I require your services.' The strange woman spoke once more. 'There is an object I need. Desperately need, as my form is failing me. My life has been extended to many times now.' Kratesis watched her dispassionately, for she did not care. This woman was a person of words, and words meant little to cold Kratesis. The explanation was meaningless.

'The coin of Solomon.' As if that meant something. It did not. The objective was as meaningless as the words, the only thing that mattered was her deeds along the way.

'I will pay you.' The odd crippled woman fumbled in her dirty pockets, bent fingers struggling to dig out something. Unmoved Kratesis simply waited. No doubt an account with millions of dollars, if not more. Perhaps priceless jewels, or valuable information. For mortals offered her many things of great price, her skills were beyond priceless. Kratesis could command any price she wished, and she often made insane demands simply to experience amusement at how far the humans were willing to go. Ones such as this woman, who's life was in the balance would go far indeed.'

Her crooked and feeble fingers drew forth a wrinkled and filthy bill, American denomination. 'One dollar.'

The Nowtime

Kratesis laughed. She chuckled. Chortled, snickered, and giggled. Such mirth that tears of amusement ran down her face.

She spoke her only words this day. 'I accept.'

#7 Posted by _Sojourn_ (19598 posts) - - Show Bio

His fingers traced over the pages, reading with the physicality of a blind man. But it was the exact opposite. Atticus could see... as chill bumps rose over his entire body, a briskness that came with an exhilarating rush. The pages flipped furiously as he read, or was read too. Spoken in a silent voice, an ageless narration depicted a time long since passed. The regailing wrapped Atticus in a picturesque scene...


He witness the man, old and of bronzes skin. He was whethered, and slow, but there was an intention in every step he took. From his distance, he could be heard clearly, speaking the words over and over, tantric, steady... Consumed by his mission. Lights flashed and danced at the base of the mountain, a fire had been set and the smell of unleavened bread, bitter herb and meat wafted up withe carrying current. With the distance, he could see the heathen men and woman, worshiping a golden calf. Naked, drunk, wrathfully thrown into the wiles of hedonism. The clastic juxtaposition of the steadiness of the singular man, and the throng of wild people, the most earths shattering voice announced his prescience and put an end to the mix of sweat and sex. It carried over them like a holy plague among the unholy, the unrighteous, the worshippers of false idols.

Only now did Atticus recognize the scene. This was Mountain Sinai, the place where Moses, had cast down the tablets enscribed with the ten commandments. But what was distinctly missing were those tablets. Instead it was this book, the one that he was currently being enthrawled by. But how could it be, how could a book with such age be in the possession of that man and his mother, and now in his hands. Moses looked up at him, only after the very ground split open and swallowed the demons bring them home. His eyes were covered in darkness, but there was a divine emminance radiating from his essences... Atticus could feel it, it was his, it was right. "This is the burden of loyalty. Part from your path and those who follow shall be cast to fire and death. Do you accept." as if the plug had been pulled, all the color drained into the center of his view, images stretched and condensed into one singular orb of light. Atticus knew that it was him, he was that light amidst the darkness, he was salvation among the desolation. "I accept"

It was dark outside, and he was haunted by an eerie feeling. A connectivity unlike anything he'd known prior. Atticus knew this was part of a structure only the lord could weave, and quite honestly he was scared of the task he had received. To be salvation required sacrifice, but was he willing to make it?

#8 Edited by Bloodcroft (164 posts) - - Show Bio

"Who are you?" the words heart her ears felt like they were ringing from this mans screaming. "Your mother" the snippy remark coming from the brown haired teen. "Your related to that Strife b!tch who was up in that giant war ti!t aren't you?" Did he have to yell, seriously "if you were smart, not that you are. You would shut the f*ck up." Pistol whip was the response to that one, "ow, maybe I'm not into that what man." Another one from the opposite side, Fera moved her jaw trying to snap it back into place, it would heal soon enough. "When you want a person to talk maybe you should not break the jaw huh?" That got her a boot to the forehead, it was at this time that she really wished her body would get used to the changes already.

"Alright, god damn. Yes I'm Fera Velasquez my mom's Bloodstone. It doesn't mean sh*t Selene killed my sister even if you could contact her, not that you got those brains." There went her chair and bag Fera now looking at her captives while bound on the floor. " Either A. she wouldn't give a f*ck, kind of like your girlfriend last night" rib snapped, that sucked hardcore. "B. she would care and come kick all of our asses like we were Longshot without gear against a bloodthirsty Lady Liberty. Or C. cops knowing you would track the cell and come in here like Raid. So either way I am no good to you." A brow raised at that with some gestures she would rather not think about. "Yeah that would be clever wouldn't it what with the acid blood and all." It was then decided that she would simply be ditched in the sewers, Fera bit back laughter at the idea of it.

After her sisters death somehow these goons had found her unconscious body and brought her back to Martial City planing to get a nice ransom. Problem being mom was a horsemen of apocalypse, sister Nira killed by said horsemen. Little sister missing in action dad military somewhere, leaving Fera now with just the memoirs. Bloodstone's katana and Lupo's bow. Nira had on her trip here had to come to terms with the fact she was now on her own again. She tried to hold true to the families justice based ideals. It seamed promising to be hard however seeing how bad her temper was. A good girl at heart but animal in nature. Now though she was just a chick in ripped clothes in the sewers.

"I f*cking hate sewers" the first words to come from her mouth as she was left to die. The water was green and well Fera was not going to focus on the details of that. It reeked with a smell potent enough she thought somebody died. Then she realized somebody probably did, probably a few. Round the right corner and then bang a alligator munching on some pore sap. Animalistic teen shimmied tearing up knuckles on rope and concrete blood burning through the rope the crimson drops carrying acid. Soon as she was free though she found herself being tugged like a magnet. In effort to dispose of evidence tossed Fera's gear in with her. The one thing the teen was thankful from those people. Guided by a unseen force the sole survivor of the Celist Velesquez bloodline walked for hours.

A voice in her head telling her to dig into this wall, why she knew not. At this point though she was feeling rather at the bottom of the totem pull what did she have to lose. Using the kana gashes were made into her arm acid covering it the slender appendage easily went through the concrete. Cold water seamed to rush over her hand and then something latched on Fera dropping to the ground writhing in pain. A metamorphosis kicking off, things would change radically soon. First she had to bear with what she was feeling.

#9 Posted by Rumble Man (11198 posts) - - Show Bio

Penthouse NYC

"The time is now father!" A rich man in his early thirties storms out of his personal chamber after he wore a certain medallion of crimson, he knows what it does and he wishes to use it tonight at its highest optimal performance. In doing so he has broken a familial code, even when he wins he will be exiled and disowned from the family because of this disobedience. There are dire times when the medallion must be equipped; to Wilhelm Bartz tonight is the right time to do so. Revenge can do so many things to a person, they can cloud rational judgement with emotion, they can control a person to do certain regrettable things, and they are like drugs.

Meet Wilhelm, a brother of a person who was recently killed by Fowler. It happened not long ago in the underground metahuman fight club, his brother Wilbur Bartz made hefty a bet on himself that he would be the first person ever to land a knockout hit on the champion. Fowler accepted the challenge and so a fight was scheduled to take place on September seven, The match was an interesting one for the ages and the fans recalled it as a brutal display of punches. Especially because of the death-match rule that was set up by the shady backers of the organization.

In this exchange of blows Fowler sold the crowd by taking a few shots and playing to the other side. But as with every punch that passed on Wilbur found out that his strikes are useless, as if somebody was pulling choreographed WWE punches on the same ring as Tyson. In this special exception decided to have fun, in a sadistic sense as a cat would play around with its prey before devouring it. He sways and punches, but takes them head on by moving right on the path of the strikes. Kicks are landed on him, Knees are placed right on him, and more variations of combos that can only be seen on videogames are materializing right inside the ring.

what could be finished in one round under one minute was extended into eleven rounds, five minutes each. The bioborg takes his time as he punches away his opponent, hand appearing from inhuman angles that makes conventional fighting experience obsolete. Guards are passed like hot knife through butter, Punches pulverize the body until the muscles have the same consistency as hamburger and Fowler is simultaneously giving Wilbur special 'drugs' slipped through punches to prevent him from losing consciousness. A metahuman was transformed into a punching bag, and his family stood by the sidelines as they cannot do anything about it. The memory was branded into Wilhelm's mind as...

The chains bonded into his skin and the medal fused with his chest. As a metamorphosis began his hand began the process of spreading another layer over its skin, "Get the stealth ready, we are going for war..." a warping series of black spread that resembled a tree like substance that burns with the orange of hot coal. Dermal features that were once fair now submit to ebony scales with an orange lining on it tips, flames began to gently exhale from his mouth as he breathed.

He wishes to initiate the fight.

The same substance had covered portions of his face, searing off doubt with a wave of heat. "Son' you can't do this, your brother was reckless and what you have in your hand is a family heirloom." said a more elderly man confined in a wheelchair "Wilhelm please rethink your opinions, this is madness!" his father gasps for air as his condition worsens, but his son did not heed his calls "I don't care old codger! That bastard killed my brother and he will die tonight, sit your spineless ass back on the wheel"

But he does not know how to battle.

The old man sat at an impotent rage, staring aghast at his offspring. They are alone in the room, several servants are present but they have no right to move. Two powerful men amongst living furniture of a lower class, the servants can only watch as their masters are having a hasty argument. There is an obvious contrast between a defiant and young man to an elderly husk as it lied there with his balding hair.

He is scared.

Wilhelm stepped into the Stealth carrier and awaits for his arrival at the metahuman fight club. What happens next will be a historical moment.

"I am waiting"

To be continued...

#10 Posted by Urbs (817 posts) - - Show Bio

Beary took another puff on his cigar. He usually wasn't one to smoke, but Beary just happened to pick the habit up. His attempt to become president of the US had been cut short because of some... complications. Namely, the entire government trying to put him behind bars. Once he had revealed who he was, it wasn't soon after that the government had attempted an attack. The only reason they didn't capture him is because in Brazil, he was regarded as a hero. Not as Beary Cook of course, but as Urbs. So that being the place he would receive the most sanctuary, he just couldn't help but be drawn there. The warm beach he was laying on, accompanied by the nice women didn't hurt either. Neither did the business.

Beary had more business here than any other international country in the world. And that was saying something if you knew about the man's connections. Still, Urbs had been saddened by the lack of action. When he had first been sent here, thieves, thugs, mobsters, and even a few slave owners ran these streets. It didn't take long for Urbs to deal with them, and Brazilians had an odd sense of cowardice. Or maybe it was just smarts, either way, once Urbs had made his name, crime went down a lot. A LOT, LOT. With Beary in control of almost all profits, and nobody to challenge him, it was like living in paradise. And while pleasant, it was dreadfully boring.

Sighing, Beary put out his cigar in the sand. Instead of digging deep into the earth like it usually does, it stopped. Probably just some hidden cocaine. Beary thought to himself. But instead of ignoring it like usual, he was drawn to it. And for some odd reason, he started digging. There was no reason for it, or even a thought running through Beary's mind while he did it, he just did. Once he had removed a large portion of sand, Beary was surprised to find a long, glossy black box. One that had a very intricate key lock on it. The key hole being that of a slit, almost like the point of a dagger. And just like he had dug without reason, he put his own sheathed dagger into the key hole and twisted. Opening the lock.

Hmmm. Beary had never seen the box before, nor had he seen the lock, yet he had known just what to do. And when he opened the box, he was impressed to see a single red Katana, it's hilt black and interlaced with diamonds as red as the blade it self. It had no guard, meaning that you had to be stronger than most opponents, and a lot more skilled. The blade reminded Beary of something, he couldn't remember what exactly, but once he touched the handle, it came rushing to him. As if that part of his life and this part were meant to intercede.

Back when he was with Grandpa, the old geezer had told him a story. A story of an inhuman swordsman. The man's strength was incredible, his speed, agility, and skill matched. And his Grandpa had been frank with him and said, "Sh!t, i wasn't gonna win this one." Laughing, young Beary asked what had won it for him. "Well, at one point, the warrior had stopped fighting, as if there was a conflict between himself and someone else. And listen to this... there had been." His Grandpa's voice always had a way of telling a good story, and Beary's eyes widened in anticipation of the next revelation.

"After i had dealt the final blow, the man said to me, 'the sword... is a key... to an untold war. If it doesn't have a wielder and steal blood, then a war between this universe and a group of demons known as the blood whisperers, will come about.'" Grandpa spoke as if he had been smoking all his life, imitating the dead man's words. "'But even though this is true, I'm done working for the devil...I don't even have control of my own movements... I'm just a shell' with that, the warrior had died." Scratching his head, Beary had asked, "Why didn't you keep it?" Grandpa used his trademark laugh, "Because i wasn't gonna be a slave to a demon. So i hid, forever. Not even your father could find it, and he looked for 3 years."

Beary had his eyes closed in in thought while reminiscing, and when he opened them he was jumped slightly as he stood staring into the eyes of a giant, red samurai. It's dress something straight out of a Scooby-doo movie, it's size something out of a Godzilla film. Regaining his composure and looking at the demon, he realized that they were in an odd black canvas. Smirking, Beary said, "Let me take a guess. The demon of the blade i presume, this place, an area where we can commute, or in laymen turns. My mind."

"To be exact, it's your soul." The demons voice was... crunchy and gurgly. As if he was crunching fresh bones from a dead warrior. Yet at the same time, it was smooth. "Whatever." Glaring into the demons eyes, Beary spoke with the same confidence he always does, "Either way, where you stand belong to me, same as my body, so since you're here, you now work for me." The red samurai laughed, a very unpleasant sound "Little man, i don't think you know how this works. My will, my power, and my mind are stronger than yours, that's why i run the shots, and the blade is considered a curse, not a blessing."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Beary said shaking his head. He looked at the samurai with a smile, "I am not one of those slaves, you usually find." Beary started to grow, fur started forming on his forearms, thighs, head, and upper torso. Claws grew from his fingers, his teeth becoming as sharp as a shark and as wild as one too. To cap up on the transformation, his eyes grew blood soaked. When done, he looked like a giant, literal bear, though more humanoid in form. He also towered above his opponent. "Now, what was it you said about mind, will, or power?" His voice was deeper, rustier than his usual smooth voice. And the laugh that followed his words matched it.

He stepped on the smaller being, exemplifying the difference between their power, showing who was at the top, and had settled to the bottom. "Now, your power will be mine, correct?" Struggling to get from under the foot, the demon spoke as if choking. The smoothness that had been there, now gone, "The more you kill... the stronger i will become."

"Oh, goody for me then." Beary said with a laugh, "Don't you get it, you picked the wrong guy, I'M STRONGER THAN YOU! And nothing, absolutely nothing you do, can, or will change that." Pressing down with his foot a little harder, he asked, "Got it?" The demon stopped trying to break free, he now realized it had been a futile task, "Got it." Beary smiled, "Good."

Opening his eyes a second time, Beary looked around the beach, and then back at himself. His muscular body glistening in the sun, his swim shorts hiding the goods, Beary's body had been covered in a red misty aura. His eyes had been turned completely black except for the pupils, which had been converted to the blood red of the blade. Killing to keep the demons locked up in hell. Beary smiled, It's time to head back to America.

#11 Posted by Ethereal Murk (67 posts) - - Show Bio

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

The last lines of Coleridge’s epic poem hung in the air, gently diffusing along with the coffee-scented steam that drifted toward the ceiling from dozens of mugs. There was a polite round of applause (fingers barely touching) and then the orator stepped down from the old orange crate and returned to his table, where he was greeted with a round of decaf-iced-soy-orange-macchiatos. Just a normal day down at Algernon’s Wheel, the trendiest little coffee shop you’ve never heard of. So ahead of the current fashion trends that it looks ugly, Algernon’s Wheel looks like a total dump from outside, but also looks like a total dump inside. The walls are made of unfinished black-and-yellow boards, decorated with numerous chalk drawings and fragments of unwritten pieces. Greasy, dog-eared books sit on each table: The Raw Shark Texts, House of Leaves, Batman and Philosophy, and, of course, Flowers for Algernon.

Behind the counter was Caroline Mayhews, carefully standing a few paces away from burbling coffee machine. Behind her was the ‘pick of the day’ board, which steadfastly refused to ever contain coffee. This week it had listed lychee-sage tea, orange galoshes, Crime and Punishment and Gargoyles, ‘the epic bromance of Poe and Lovecraft’, Plaid+paisley, and ‘those weird gel pack drink things’. Today’s ‘pick of the day’ was ‘fateful encounters’.

A new poet had taken the podium now. Caroline didn’t recognize him…the regulars were going to tear the poor guy apart. They weren’t fond of people impinging on their turf, especially not ones with better fashion senses (thought the girl in the hazmat suit). He was tall, with blue-black hair and Antarctic eyes. He wore a suit that at first glance appeared white, but on second seemed to be tinged with the faintest blue. His periwinkle suede penny loafers clashed terribly with the orange grinning orange that no one had been able to get off of the podium box. He cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and began:

The Amber of Ice: A Last Look at the USSR

Rime glistens on amber waves of grain

Frozen in formation.


A body always seems to draw the heat away from a room.


The road to hell is paved in ice.

It slickens the way for good intentions.


Not even the sun can bear to see the sight of all

The barren snow.

It leaves me alone in the dark for the winter.

This is the time when dismal fairy tales thaw

And walk the Earth.

I feared them as a child. I fear them again now.


We sent a man into space to bear the torch of knowledge.

He found only a new type of frost

The torch went out for lack of oxygen.


When we were children, my brother had his toes bitten by a stray dog.

Now, thirty years later, mine are bitten by frost.


Children are baptized in the river Styx,

The Neva by another name.


Crystals are beautiful, but they are like an infection

They multiply until all is a polar wasteland.


In days of old the glaciers rolled.

(Once upon a time…)

In days of old the glaciers rolled.

(There was a castle of ice)

In days of old the glaciers rolled.

(And in it lived a queen with skin the color of frozen cream)

(And a heart colder than she was pale)


I cannot take any more.

Frigid orators tell me that a hot new dawn is rising.

Disagree and go north, but at least I hear they have the Northern Lights in Siberia.


The crystal infections took my brother

The wind-hound that roared across the tundra was rabid.


They say that entropy is the loss of all the heat in the universe.


Brother? Tell the Snow Queen I love her, and she can show me her true form.

I’m not afraid


In days of old the glaciers rolled.

Let them come again and freeze us in our sin

A translucent wall of ice to display us in our clockwork lives

Pompeii’s death by ice.


Rime glistens on my tear glazed eyes.


His words melted away into the silent air. It was as if no one had even noticed he was there, a non-polar particle in a polar world. But his glaciatic demeanor did not change in the slightest, and he stepped off the podium, unphased, and walked straight to Caroline. “Give me a latte…hot as you can make it. I’ve been cold for much too long.” He put a few bills on the counter. Caroline shrugged, and turned to the coffee machine, careful not to spill any of the fluid on her gloves. She trusted the HAZMAT suit would keep her safe, but still…she’d rather not be reduced to primordial soup due to a small tear. She handed over the coffee to the man, who gave Caroline a dazzling smile. “Thanks…stay cool,” he said, and walked out the door. Caroline watched him, and she could have sworn he melted away…

Well, that was an interesting and totally irrelevant bit of history. Caroline scooped up the cash to put it in the register…and a small cerulean pendant fell out onto the counter. She picked it up, and suddenly there was ice in her veins, and she heard the man’s voice in her head, rubber band cracks of shattering ice keeping time:

And when immortal cold and gloom

Began at universe’s end

A new beginning came to loom

In heat and fire to depend

And neither without other lived

And neither without other died

But constantly the two did strive

And destroyed worlds with their strife


And from the tundra frost was wrought

A pendant born among the snows

And from there into the stars was shot

To where, to where, nobody knows


And after many centuries of unaccelerating flight

Upon a virgin world it crashed

Bathing hot continents in its light

Extinguishing volcanic fire’s flash

And so the glaciers rolled upon

A million feet of jagged ice

And a billion years were gone

‘fore land was freed from its vice


It is the yang to flaming yin

Though do not be fooled by its slow dance

For in Hell it will freeze all sin

And leave the world in eternal trance

Ice will heal and ice will mend

But when the final night does rend

cold stars ice will reclaim its prize

And forever more will grasp

The Earth in frigid paradise

#13 Posted by Bloodcroft (164 posts) - - Show Bio

Granite and cement dissolved like paper as acidic blood hammered into it. Falling apart in chunks like the shards of broken glass, cold water could be felt by the hand that reached in. Skin crawling from the bite of the icy waters before finding a welcoming warmth, her arm was nearly shoulder deep in the crevice. A stretch a compulsive longing to find the welcoming warmth leads to straining muscles she has to have it. Smooth metal graces her finger tips Fera pushing against the wall as if she could move the wall closer by sheer will. Reaching and reaching objective is suddenly, oddly, obtained not by grasp but by the item itself.

Like spiders it crawls along her skin up to her wrist, every 'step' felt like a pin pricking her skin. Mass suddenly seams to form as the youthful teen falls to the ground watching in wide eyed aw. Tendrils of metal like barb wire encircle her hand cocooning in a way. The feelings pure euphoria feelings of pain mixed with those of excitement. Agonizing yet empowering it strangely enraptured the woman. It conformed and shaped to her perfectly like a glove as if made for her. From near the elbow and wrist a red and blew gem seamed to look at Fera. As if they were not a jewel but rather a eye, it was almost as if this painful bliss was weighting her. Not externally of course, from the skin she looked like a tan anorexic. It was rather looking at the inside who she truly was. Then blood splashed along the floor as something stabbed into her wrist. The body fell mind washed away in a see of memories hers yet not her own.

Great Alexander had fought her as she defended her home, memories of driving a spear through Macedonians like a tiger bites into a gazelle. Saxon's were barbaric she remembered how they hacked and cleaved and so much more like animals. Fera remembered how sick it made her, how she was so desperately wanting to be the butcher of these animals. How in the same way she was also an animal as she ravished the idea of driving ax head into their skulls. A skilled man and person who made her heart melt every time he was near. It made her heart skip a beat when he handed a sword, only thing she loved more then him was the art of the blade. Like a cliche figure of pop culture she cut down other swordsmen like they were little more then tall strains of grass. Her arm was taken, she was bleeding out and yet she was here. Memories told of how god spoke to her, told her what to do. How she led these men, her men to fight for faith and their land. Memories told her of how she refused to dress like a lady when almost violated while in prison. Tied to the stake flames danced about her, she remembered praying and promised to be saved. Of how she learned a secret of her jewelry and told it no thinking god would not forsake her in such a way. Repulsed by this the gem refused to save her and how her last thought was to be was this perhaps god had she forsaken him.

Blood, bath tubs full of it, screams images that plagued nightmares. She remembered the countess and her vile ways. Running away after knowing full well she had condemned a child she ran. Hellsing taught her how to fight these horrors and more. Memories telling her of the rush that came from ending these nightmares. She remembered commanding a mighty ship, how she was considered one of the greatest commanders of the sea. How this chance to be someone came from the death of her father and this mighty discovery. The rush that was leaping onto the deck of a ship belonging to the allied nations. The thrill of feeling like a juggernaut among these mortal men and their guns. Recalling the lives of six others that no way could be her and yet they were. Her mind told her of six different times of death, yet she was alive and well spry as ever. Years upon of years of sleeping and patience waiting to wake again. Her soft brown eyes flutter open as she looks to see herself surrounded by tattered clothing.

A cold chill could be felt along her skin. Struggling to her feet she looked to see metal forming a strange poor concept of armor. It revealed far more then the eighteen year old was comfortable with and all the while she had a sense of security. As if this god awful metallic swim suit could be armor like that of Editman practically if ever needed. Her sword and bow were picked up and as if dipped into the sea seamed to sink into the armor. A distinct feeling that her more personal and important belongings kept safe. Clicking claw like fingers together and laughing at the sound Fera realized full well what she was going to do now.

Powerful legs flung her out of the sewers the manhole lid flying aside effortlessly. Uncomfortable and yet also relaxed in her new get up Fera walked to the small two story building she had been held in. A long blade coming from Fera's forearm as subtly she showed being subtle was not in her nature. The wood door falling to the ground as the teen kicked it in. A bullet reflected of her shoulder the hole in the sealing, as Fera pounced on the man and slammed her blade down spearing just below the heart he would die or be in the hospital for awhile. Another two ran down the stairs guns raised, outstretching her hand a bow formed. Rapidly grown from her palm was her bow the blade on her right hand forming into a pair of arrows that with a sharp twang shot off. Both thugs pinned to a wall, the arrows dissipating to reform into the blade again as Fera walked by.

Next thug faired no better his head dropping to the floor leaving only the leader that had beaten on her. "Oh baby don't crawl into the corner like that I'm not going to hurt you." He tossed his gun at her in means of surrender, sirens could be heard approaching. "Sorry jack as* I knew your friends down there wouldn't get much of a sentencing you though you can. So I figured I would add to your sentence." Fera tossed the blade at the mans feet before leaping out the window and climbing the wall. Looking down she saw the man holding the blade and looking up at her before the screams of police were barked at the man. He had just been framed for at the least three homicides, justice in her book. It was time to go try get answers on this artifact of hers though. Something pulled at her mind telling her there were others with similar new toys and possibly answers.

#14 Posted by Rumble Man (11198 posts) - - Show Bio

Press Conference

Fowler waited in a gargantuan tuxedo as he and his coaches wait for the late arrival of the rich boy, custom designer shades obstruct his eyes and a one-way view gives him leisure over awkward eye moments. There is a large crowd in front of him, one of every five persons operating high tech recoding devices. Some taking more than thousands of still images, while others take this conference for a live feed, so far the participation is overwhelming. They have eyes, which hunger for a sight of violence, and hearts that palpitate for carnage. They represent parts of his kind of audience because they are the kind that would be arrested for several violations in terms of ethical and moral norms. Such outdated quandaries that does not exist within this platform for 'real' human nature, the essence being the ability to 'fight'. People from all corners of the world have gathered here, some of them had come from various military organizations who themselves want to scout a potential WMD or are interested in new kinds of tech/magic/powers to exploit, others are just here trying to assess the champ's skill so they can create something better because they may belong to big camps, and others who serve as fans of the sport. Tonight is where somebody is about to get sacrificed for the sake of the bloodthirsty fans, a token of humble reciprocity for their loyalty. In these events a tribute is always essential, sometimes they settle for one but at other times they settle for more. It will be an audiovisual meal to whet their appetite, a vapor of blood to stiffen their desires and an erasure of life to lubricate their fetishes.

The crowd then stood up with a mixed reaction of boos and hoorays as the challenger walks up into the podium, one of Fowler's fans threw a brick that was easily dodged (if that hits then that man has no right to stand in the ring with the champ), Wilhelm Bartz. Wilbur Bartz was his brother, whom like many meta-humans tend to ignore the very basic of training because they somewhat 'feel' that their powers will give them the life that they have in their dreams. As the champ has proved constantly through his reign that notion is as wrong as trying to drink lethal poison when angered and expecting the aggressor to die. For his errors Fowler personally takes his time to 'educate' him and anybody who watches the spectacles, eleven rounds was done in favor of one. In that last match an exhibition of reductionism was done, vivisection where the cage served as an operating table and where Fowler's entire body serves as the surgical tools. Layer upon layer of bravado peeled away, revealing the crumbling state of recursive willpower. Every round revealing a man reduced to shadows of his former shelf, like an onion except that with each layer that Fowler removes the more prone the man is into crying.

Both of them have now sat on opposing sides of the podium, separated by the head of the meta-human fighting league Leopold Bohannan who wants these two hotheads to 'chill out' before the fight starts. Obviously there was bad blood between Wilhelm Bartz and Fowler, but he bioborg simply chose not to care. Life is not a right given, it is a privilege earned and as his brother was tested the results are just below standard. Now the panel has been opened to the crowd, several fans and reporters raised their hands.

A woman of 5'6 height and long blond hair posed a question "My name is Camille Grey, reporter from metadeath.com and I have a question for Fowler Friday" the Bioborg smiles "Go ahead love, fire away". She activates an app on her tablet and read out her question from a poll made on their website " Is it true that you extended that match into eleven rounds even thoug when you can end it quicker?", Wilhelm Bartz who is sitting across the bioborg was visibly set off by this question as a man with integrity there is so much that his pride can take. "Yes, I am guilty of that very act miss Camille but I am also an entertainer am I not?" the fans cheered through the roof with that answer "I am alive to give interesting fights against similarly interesting opponents, when they cannot deliver the second part of my condition I make it my obligation that the fans don't go home dissapointed" Immediately before Fowler got a chance to conclude his answer the unruly sibling interrupted his speech "You bastard! I grew up with that man, you heartless machine! your filthy kind would never understand human emotion." Now this is unsettling, it is said that in a fight all is permitted and Fowler can take an insult or more but throwing discrimination sets his circuits. His coaches tell him to calm down as they do not want him to cause a ruckus too early. The bioborg just responded, "You are so wrong little brother, as I understand human emotions well. Right now you are having mixed feelings of anger and grief, one given at yours truly because I robbed the meatsack of a continued existence and grief because I know you are about to become an uncle soon." Wilhelm immediately exploded and raised a towering plume of flames behind his back, distorting the light in a heat mirage."I will f*cking burn you out of this earth, I will burn your kind until they revert into tools, I will burn your ashes until not a single atom is left and I will burn everything you know!" Fowler laughed and the crowd paid attention as the tension ignites between them, the bioborg gives yet another reply "I like dumb people like you and I do my very best to make sure that your petty revenge is naught, nothing gets me high compared to denying one's vengeance. Many have tried, many have failed and that is why I left his children alive so that they grow up to avenge him because this cycle gives me more enemies to fight" after that flash force-barriers encapsulate the individuals within the area. Further questioning has been suspended indefinitely because Leo does not want Wilhelm to go nuclear on his premises, the fans are endangered but they feel alive.

#15 Posted by Frenemy (1240 posts) - - Show Bio

Cold. Very cold. Her hands were aching from it. The last rays of sun light just fell behind the horizon and left her in the dark forest. Anything beyond her immediate vicinity was veiled by a thick fog, the only thing visible now was the silhouettes of trees. The fog crept closer as it glided over the ground until it wrapped itself around her ankles. Chills and goosebumps shot up her legs as it slunk its way up her shins on to her thighs and into her skirt. A long howl in the distance followed by growling nearby caused her to shudder. She stumbled backward then turned to run. She didn't know where she was or why she was here, she couldn't remember. All she knew was that she needed to get away. She pushed her legs in front of each other. Her cheeks went taut from the cold friction brought on by the breeze that brushed against her face and her hands were ready to burst open from the pangs of the icy wind. The moon revealed itself from behind a set of clouds, lighting her way through the thick of trees.

She wished she were back in LA where it wasn't so cold. She wished she were in her apartment, sitting on her sofa, sipping hot tea and reading a book. She wished she were with her godmother, Angelou, listening to her go on about the importance of prayer even though normally she wouldn't be interested in hearing about it. She wished so much to be in the company of her friend, Cain, conversing over a cocktail in a nightclub somewhere. No matter what she wished for she was still here, and the growls coming from behind her were a good reminder. She turned to look back and saw a pack of vicious wolves emerge from the fog. She pushed her legs even harder but the cold was relentless. Every breath she took was accompanied with pain, it was too much. She stopped in front of a large redwood and wrapped her hands around her neck, panting with an expression of grimace on her face. The pack circled around her and the tree. The alpha male paced from side to side, snarling at her. They had her cornered. Was this how it was going to end? She dropped to her feet and propped her back against the tree. With nowhere left to run she waited to be devoured by the pack when she heard a voice.


It was soft and warm. Mature and motherly. Familiar. It resonated deep within her. The cold was all but forgotten by now.


The alpha male whimpered then scampered off with the rest of his pack following closely behind him.


She stood up. Innately she knew the voice would guide her through the forest. A hand rested on her shoulder and with its touch came an explosion of strong emotion and a powerful surge of energy pulsing through her body. Then, a vision. One of something she'd never seen before.


She awoke with a gasp as her godmother shook her shoulders. A cold sweat was on her forehead and spread over her bosom.

"Kyona, are you okay?"

"Mmm. Yeah, Angelou. I think so."

Her godmother held out her cellphone in front of her.

"It's for you."

She sighed then sat up on the sofa she was laying on then reached for the phone and pulled it to her ear. "Hello."

"Kyona. It's your boss." Said a man from the other side of the line. "Listen, something's come up and I'll need you to come to the office early tomorrow."

She sighed again before replying. "What time do you need me there?"

"6 am, sharp."

"Yes, Mr. Milne,"

She hung up then set the phone's alarm to 5 am and placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

"Kyona, did you have another dream?" Her godmother asked.

"Yeah, Angelou."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. It's the same one I always have. I'm just going to try to get some sleep, I have to go to the office early tomorrow."

"Alright. If you want to talk about it later we can. Good night, Kyona."

"Good night, Angelou."

She lay back down on her sofa as her godmother walked off into another room. She thought about the dream she just had. Contrary to what she told her godmother, it wasn't quite the same dream she'd been having. It's never gone past the wolves before, and what was that strange relic she had seen in the vision?

#16 Posted by Hollow_Cost (6 posts) - - Show Bio

"Do you know your purposssse...." A shrouded figure asks in a room of infinite yet confining darkness. Jon backs away fearfully, confused so badly that he threw up with a vertigo like sensation, "Wuh Wuh..."

"Sssshhh you are meant to lead the world, and follow my word. Whether YOU understand is irrelevent, HE will."

"The lord is my shephard, hollowed be thy name..." Jon says on both knees praying with the new found cross gripped tight to his face.

The Shadow figure laughed with a goat snout face visible just at the edges, giving off a red hue, "You only pray to me here Jonathan Judge. I am your new god."

"You, my newest harbringer, you will be the one to make this world what it must be, for the arrival of the ending two. The true and his anti-thesis."

John feels the cross burn his hands though was unable to let go, the red hot silver melded with his skin, "GAhhhh!"

The shrouded figure approaches and towers over him, "You now bare the mark, you are his casing boy. Return to the world you no longer hold stake in...and prepare it for it's end."

John looks up with tearful eyes, anger spewing past the tears, "What the fck are you talking about?! I just want to help the world!"

"You have no choice in the matter, though if it givesss you solace, you are helping the world; to move forward to something larger."It says with a shining yellow grin "You will be placed in Iraq, and you will destroy every living soul that crosses your path"

"No, I won't I can't!" The shaken priest says with his conviction apparent

"It, is not your choice, you are no longer John Judge, you are, The Rapture." An overly long fingered blood red hand places on his forehead with intense heat, as john feels the wind escape his chest. Opening his swollen eyes he realizes the feeling of sand between his fingers, and knew it wasn't a dream.

As he approaches the war torn city just outside of the desert, he feels a swell in his chest, just behind the dangling cross. With each step he feels his skin gain rigidity, his eyes blister with heat like two personal suns. The skin cracks and swells, rising and expanding with trails of heat waves comming off, the skin flapping awau in the wind to show cracked black stone with leaking crevices of hell's magma. A different man fell into the desert a few moments ago, and he has left.

#17 Posted by Blades (122 posts) - - Show Bio

"No matter what you do, where you run, wether you fight or hide, theres a thing or two that resides as absolute. One your going to die, its tragic but that is reality, in this world even gods die on a rather regular basis. Two, people can not be trusted they just can't give them a day and they will dump you, hurt you, betray you, break you, take advantage, lie, cheat steal its going to happen. Three whoever you are, why you have me after you, what you think you have to stop me, I don't care. Like I said we are all f*ckn dead what do I care if I am at a risk, better to do what the man providing me with drugs wants leave it at that. Four, nothing hits like razor sharp skin. No really have you ever really gotten to dig your hand through a mans chest in slow motion? And five, back to the philosophical bull sh*t. Darkness is everywhere, even in the brightest room a shadow still lingers, world became dark as soon as the filthy f*ckn degenerates we are stepped into it." A man cloaked in shadows remarked.

"Those were the words of Amy, her real name was Rayne Amilia Edgona but that was a name she generally tried to drown out with drugs. For the longest time life had been good, then her mutation kicked in. Bangs turned white making her an obvious mutant worth treating like crap. Could of been ok if the girl she liked would pay attention to her, no life couldn't be that simple however. Eventually that girl was picked on and it was Rayne who stepped up, real sweet an all up until blood was soaking her hands and shirt. Now you may not know this and hopefully you would never experience this, but when your thirteen misunderstood and soaked in blood you tend to freak out. This isn't some pg13 action film based on the easy life of a young Champion of Peace, no this is gritty sh*t. So little Rayne ran home, only logical you turn to mommy and daddy when everything goes south. What that gothic b*tch didn't realize however was that her clothes were getting torn up, side effect of her other power. Time comes for a group hug and its game over for the parents."

"So after being on the run and hanging out in homes for the homeless eventually she was picked up by Trinity. Thats good, kid had a few good felonies under her name she needed somebody to take her in. Problem was Trinity's school was a bust in the end, and when whatever happened in that little make shift paradise over there made it so Ms. Edgona was back on the run. Now she does whatever pays good, doesn't give a f*ck what it takes. It's a ticking time bomb with the timer at three seconds, just poke her to set her off." The man hidden in the lack of light concluded to a potential buyer.

"I wan't her, give me her whereabouts so I can send somebody to pick her up."

Happy Birthday

"amy…Amyyyy…Amy! AMY! Amy amy amy amy amy" the voice was raspy and carried a faint hiss. The sounds a lot like a rusty nail on a old chock board. An erie sound that made skin go sharp the tossing girl shredding sheets as she did so. Turning to the side she looked to the only person it could be, that stupid retarded but good looking thug she hooked up with last night. It had been eighteen drinks before the duo was about willing to do anything. Which let the birthday girl have a brief rare moment of vulnerability, now he was gone. The results a fist straight through the pillow and mattress. Stuffing and springs scattering about like specs of blood, of course it was more like leaves. That was not what this mind liked to picture though she was hostile and boiling tempered.

"You see it don't you, don't you don't you? You were right people are sick, lying liars who deserve whatever you can dream of." Maybe it was her conscious, sounded like it had her thinking even if it was mildly annoying. "Why should you give a damn what his needs are right? It's your bday and he couldn't so much as stay for awhile." Rarely did she try and make a day dedicated to herself. This was it the only one and that jerkoff had to go and screw her over. Throwing on a see through long sleeve shirt and some jeans she headed to the bar across from the hotel. The guy was a moron he couldn't of gone far.

Umbra Pub was a seedy place run down smelled god awful, dust chocked the air like mustard gas it was a total sh*t hole. It's appeal came from Ray, the bartender owned the place and some how that dude, who Amy swore looked one hundred and ninety two was laid back do to all the cocaine he did. Age, ha like that mattered hell Amy had been able to buy some kids bottles of jack. Ray totally saw it just didn't care, kept the tikes out of trouble trying to get it he said. Activity, couldn't care less three times Rayne had butchered a man in the back room, Ray just helped clean the mess. And that was just her these other low lives that came in here they had about as many morals as she had flying f*cks, which she had none incase that wasn't obvious. Umbra Pub was such a rut that police actually had said to hell with it. Helping it was futile, the connections Ray had would chip in to purchase any bail needed and so it stayed open.

"Ray I think I'll save the colorful vocabulary for another day. Just tell me where the f*ck did that f*ck go? I went back to my place last night with him, a bday gift to me sense nobody else is going to do jack sh*t." Ray laughed at her before responding.

"Went outside around back, pretty thing was with him Nevana I believe" Oh how she loathed that w**re. "He looked rather happy with himself" fantastic, was so much nicer when she could drive that smile down their throat like they always tried to do with their verbal loads of bullsh*t. Leaping over the counter and pinning Ray to the wall, her voice demanding he put down the drugs a second and confirm things. "Yes rush your skinny tight a** out there and you can do well whatev it is you do." A black nailed hand went for the illegal substance with a over the shoulder look to accompany it. "Consider it my gift to ye luve." Rayne popped it into her mouth and ventured out of the grungy complex a trusty car iron was by the garbage bend. Probably thinks to a car theft, the story behind it didn't matter however to her.

Glorious was the violence from the get go a rainbow pattern of blood splashing along the wall as iron introduced itself to cheek. Adrenaline kicking into her system from the rush achieved by fracturing a jaw with cold steel made the skin take its special state. That was when her more gritty self came to the very forefront. Over and over she stomped and stomped again and again. Gore splashing about as she stomped repeatedly wanting to reduce the woman to a sickening mess. That soul who witnessed could spot a measure of joy from the brutality of it all. repetitious violence was treated almost with a form of ecstatic excitement. "Amy what the f*ck! Come on b*tch!"

Yeah that was it, forget playing gentle soon her family secret was revealed. Back long ago at roughly one year B.C the Darkness came to be. From this time on this artifact slowly weaved from one host to the next. When a man had reached the end of his use his life would find a closing. That power of his transferred to his child. Where in the woman to wield this rune would die giving birth to the next wielder. The Darkness coming to be at the age of twenty one for men and eighteen for women. Some memories of the pryer twenty two was shared, enough for Amy to know what she was. Though no lessons were specifically taught she did know of her lineage and a base understanding of what powers dwelled in her. Cold violet eyes admiring the black that was the shadow of this building. From her back shoulder on the right hand side came a serpent like thing. A infectious mixture of dragon and snake in appearance. The demon like maws closing on this mans torso and pulling him towards her. A low whisper asking if he knew what day it was, he did not.

"Just another low life taking advantage" Rayne's voice cold, eyes lacking any emotion. The gnashing maw throwing the body up and into a ladder of the fire scape the strength of the move rupturing heart and ripping apart the throat. "Happy birthday Rayne…or should I say darkness?" Looking to the building near by the teenager grinned wide. "Tweety! Come here my lil dove." The words echoing off the walls. That just so happened to be Angelus, despite only seeing the user a few times on the news Rayne felt she had also known him forever. By default the two were natural foes the tie to the abyss ever at conflict with the link to the light.

#18 Posted by Rumble Man (11198 posts) - - Show Bio

His face exploded in a confetti of gore, the fight before the main card lasted one round as the fighter in the contention level rose one rank after planting his diamond hard fist inside then out of his opponent's skull. It was a picture perfect right straight which gibbed the opponent, fans are happy and they scream in ecstasy as a humanoid face was rearranged in ways that make it resemble a beef goulash. In the premium seating several men and women lauded at the spectacle, praising the winner for his achievement. A child who watched the event for his first time vomited as he saw a piece of eyeball bounce against the fence, his father laughed and patted his back as they are both on camera.

The commentators are going wild, Maxwell Hunter the vet sat to Rick Hackley who just got this job not long ago after the last co announcer got accidentally killed in a freak accident involving two penguins and a scuba diver. "Rick, mutilation is why I love this sport. Heck I had dreams of becoming champ back in the day, well at least before they introduced the champ into the ring" Maxwell laughed as his partner began to add some opinion "I dunno about you rick but most of your co-commentators usually end up dead, but this was great. I did not regret my decisions at all, heck I killed my wife before I got here so there is nowhere else to go" the two men suddenly look at each other, at first Maxwell was a bit shocked at this revelation. Ten seconds later they stopped their gaze and laughed it out, because tragedy is golden comedy in the ring. "Hey maxy before the fight starts I got a question for ya", the senior commentator sipped his diet mister salt soda as he wipes the sweat off his brow "fire away junior, fire away" today was special even for a decorated man such as himself. "So what is your favorite battle so far in this card?" that question struck Maxwell like a bullet through a grandmother's heart, this is very hard because so for all the fights have been finishes. To make it easy Max decides to narrow it down to three choices; the fight where a purple speedster was repeatedly stabbed by a halberd wielder until her stomach resembled sloppy mincemeat, the fight where a Frenchman decapitated a french nobleman with a guillotine choke so tight that the head popped away like a wine cork, or the one where a lizard man was flayed alive by a gravel statue who lost its leg in the process. As Max was about to announce the lights dimmed...

A song from Metallica can be heard as red lights and yellow flashes pollute the scenery, "Seek and destroy" welcomes Wilhelm Bartz as he walks the ramp with his entourage. Jet-black scales cover his hands and feet as they form hexagonal patterns with neon orange outlines, behind the challenger is a flame arrangement that resembles that of a gas stove, his chest is bare but his mouth is sealed by the ebony layer that covered his hands. As W.B. walked up the stairway the young man turned back at the spectators and lets out a towering cone of fire that nearly went as high as the jumbotron on the opposite side. The cage is behind him and the challenger enters his area, waiting for the champion to arrive.

Moments after the challenger’s moments in the limelight entire arena was overwhelmed with Beethoven’s ode to joy, the Bioborg used his vibration modules to rearrange the atmosphere of the arena. Emulating an orchestra by using vibrations to affect the air molecules to create music, and conversion to transform that in the form of soothing natural light. Essentially transforming from what was a savage den of beasts into a venue that even nobles can enjoy, his soothing sounds radiate through every crack of the arena. Sounds that reach out to every sapient being with a sense of hearing, they can hear and feel the gentle breeze of a spring morning. The rays of the sun that uplifts them in the morning, as his sounds expose another level of emotions within them. Wiping out their previous notions and predispositions to clear their thoughts for the upcoming fight. They bioborg opens his mouth as he walks towards the arena with the eyes closed as his hands mimicked a opera composer…

“Freude, schöner Götterfunken,

Tochter aus Elysium,

wir betreten feuertrunken,

Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Deine Zauber binden wieder,

was die Mode streng geteilt;

alle Menschen werden Brüder,

wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt. ”

It was his arena, under the light he is God and within the arena he is worshipped as such. His arrival herald the birth of a great battle, the fans go wild as they cheered and sang along while the bioborg takes his sweet time with the crowds before going to the steps. His body may be that of a towering devil, but in some instances he has the voice of an innocent cherub. This is where he feels most alive; his entire body was adapted for this specific purpose. He breathes in fighting, yet there is something else that is taking his air. Fowler simply must correct that error.

Now both combatants are in the ring and the official metahuman fight club announcer steps in. Willard Watson, the voice of violence himself an old and respected figure on the cage,

“ Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls this right here is the main event of the night. Two fighters have entered the cage, one of them which is our champ and the other which is the distinguished challenge.”

“We bring you entertainment, live from parts unknown

Its time the to kill or kill faster!

This is the absolute weight division

Which will consist of twelve five-minute rounds”

“Standing in the blue corner this man is the challenger

He has recently became a fighter

He brings bad blood to the table

Currently holding a record of exactly one win and no losses

Standing at 6’2

And weighing 205 lbs.

Fighting out of New York

Ladies and gents we welcome the usurper

The brother of the recently Wilbur Bartz

Wilhelm Bartz!”

“And now introducing his opponent

Here on the red corner

The eternal champion

Holding a record of over a hundred wins and no losses

Standing tall at 15’

Weighing at 1500 lbs

Fighting out of Triton

Our reigning champion

The battle maniac

The finisher

Fowler Friday”

Challenger Perspective

Luckily I managed to survive all the way into round two, the crafty bastard tried to yank the medallion at precisely the right moment when the bell rang. I had planned to do a hit and run tactic earlier in round one, but in reality all I did was the ‘running’. I remember going after him after he made an attempt to steal the heirloom, however when I tried to land a hook a hand struck me from behind.

The sudden attack literally knocked me out of the air, I had to gather every ounce of my strength just to barely hold on.

Right now things aren’t any better then what they once were, even as there is no movement between us there is an ominous wall made of fists that restrict my movement.

Suddenly the crowd jumped their seats, as there is an explosion

I cannot feel anything, everything is moving at slow motion yet I cannot move. That hand is getting bigger every passing moment, It calls my name and if nothing is done I will disappear. Even now the mat under me is collaborating with the enemy as it was cutting the distance, it approaches the back of my head with amazing speed as it slowly crept upon my back. All I see are the lights above, however half of my sight was black. My side is deathly cold, for I cannot grasp what just happened. I lay motionless as there is a figure slowly walking towards me. There seems to be a red puddle around me, continuously expanding as my vision begins to leave me. It feels very cold, I am alone, and everything fades away…

Post Fight Conference

Fans I apologize for the anticlimactic fight, but to make it up for you I will host a party at his penthouse!” Fowler was covered in several burn marks from the first round as the challenger mostly applied strafing as the main means of attack, It was not expected to say the least but it was very disappointing that he did not use the full potential of the item.

Well whatever it does Fowler snatched it from the dead man, now it lies hung on his neck as a piece of jewelry. A symbol of victory proudly adorned after defeating yet another foe, but this item seems remarkable different from everything else that he has acquired before.

There is an energy that can be felt, yet almost another being inside. Now the bioborg and his fans are headed to New York.