Warsman vs Chameleone: A New Kind of Warfare

Location: Moscow IV, formerly London, in Russian-occupied Europe, circa 2008

Weather: hazy and cold

Time: 6:42 a.m.

Warsman surveyed his empire in a leather chair in one of the towers he had constructed for such a purpose all around Neo-Russia. One was found in every major city and was maintained by under-czars when Warsman wasn't around.

This one inparticular was located in London, or rather Moscow IV, or the Upper Islands, once called the British Isles. It looked over the remains of the city, which were watched and pillaged by his soliders. Even though only a sixth of the city was occupied by Russian soldiers, they were the most potent of military forces there, as they took over the more efficient parts of the city and left the shambles, the falling pieces, to the ones they were hunting down: Old-Londoners.

Warsman had had his eyes set on conquering London, and all of England, for months now and he was close to victory as he watched the wars in the streets grow more violent and shift deeper in his favor with each passing day.

The Wind blew through Chameleone's nostrils. He was here. The sun was rising on the streets of London and the fog provided poor visibility. That combined with the cold weather, was not ideal for any engagement, but it was something that had to be done. The Cyborg known as Warsman was looking to take over The British Isles. For the sake of Hellfire Club, he could not let that happen. It contained many bases that were vital to Hellfire's goals, not to mention Britains considerable nuclear stockpile.

Police roamed the streets in cars for their morning patrols. He had to stay hidden if he was going to get into a position to strike, and strike Warsman hard. He had been given detailed information on Warsman's whereabouts, as his dossier was very extensive. Chameleone looked up into the sky at one of the towers. He was there, Chameleone could smell him and feel him. He spread his wings and flew into the air up to the top of the tower. There he was sitting in his throne, looking so proud at his empire.

He would need to take him out quickly and quietly. It was his specialty. His claws came out and he rushed at his enemy, hoping to slash his arm off, before it could be used against him.

Warsman smirked.

As the claws came rushing at his flesh, his shield instantaneously came over his body in a capsule-like formation, blocking the claws with enough force to cause severe delfection. The lizard was strong, more powerful than the Red Dictator had known or had studied. The windows broken at in shards across the room, Warsman stood and watched as Chameleone, the one he had plannd to kill early-on when reading about the Hellfire Club in a secret database, made his presence known as his great wings beat against the wind.

"I take it you aren't too happy about what I'm doing, Chameleone."

Taking steps away from his opponent to allow him room to land, Warsman took a bottle of vodka and poured himself a glass. Pointing the glass at Chameleone, he smiled wider, the thought of fighting such a foe too intoxicating for him to ignore for much longer.

"Anything to drink? I have plenty of fine wines."

Taking a swig of the vodka, he pressed a button on a panel to the side of his desk and revealed a great gallery of wines aged from the Dark Ages to the early twentieth century, all stockpiled and sorted according to their dates of origin.

Outside, the sounds of battle grew fiercer as the screams of the dying were cut short by a loud crack.

The sounds of explosions echoed through the room, as well as the screams of the dying. London was all but destroyed. His initial attack failed. his claws ricocheted off Warsman's shield and sent him flying backwards. His hand ached badly. All Warsman could do was smirk, and it made Chameleone angry.

"I'm sorry, I don't drink," said Chameleone roughly. "You've been a bad boy Warsman. You should know better than to get in the way of Hellfire's interests. I'll admit I underestimated you at first, but now I understand what you can do."

Chameleone camouflaged himself. He was a ghost, invisible to him. The screams were louder now. In the distance, he saw a mushroom cloud erupt from the Earth. He crawled onto the ceiling, making his way to his foe, quietly. He moved behind him, and let go of the ceiling. He opened his mouth and Unleashed a belt of fire at Warsman. When he hit the floor, he went for a bite at Warsman's neck.

Warsman began to laugh, pressing the button to close the vault of wines his new guest had promptly denied. He had kept his shield up ever since the initial attack and the flames licked it ravoneously. Finding it unsporting to be kept behind a shield all the time, Warsman reached out to grab the lizard's upper and lower jaws in an attempt to snap them apart.

"I promise that you have not seen anything like me!"

The Russian drew a knee back and aimed it with lethal power and precision at Chameleone's chest. Throwing another knee, he resorted to kicking fiercely at the lizard before extending his claws and slashing at his armored skin.

"This is'nt even the half of what I can do, live and I promise I'll show you more."

Warsman retracted his claws and glared into Chameleone's eyes with his own evil, gleaming red ones, hoping to distract him long enough to land a punishing kick to his temple.

"I rule these lands, lizard, it's a wonder you didn't get shot down on your way up here."

The Russian made a grab for Chameleone's throat in an attempt to force him through the opposing metal wall and into an area more suited for fighting.

Warsman had heard him, even through his camouflage he had found out he was there. He heard his jaw bones snapping under Warsman's unbelievable strength. He kicked him repeatedly in the stomach, and the concussions radiated through his body, but luckily his natural armor was more than enough to take care of it. The claws were a different story, as they slashed his skin open, ruby red blood dripping onto the metal floor. Warsman aimed a punch at Chameleone's temple, but with one last ditch effort, he dodged it and stared into Warsman's eyes. Chameleone saw through this ruse. It had been done to him before, and without hesitation, he unleashed a stream of fire into the direction of the Russian's face. Their close proximity made it even easier for him.

Warsman made a grab for Chameleone's throat. He broke free of his grasp and slid several meters away from him. He watched as his chest began to heal and his jaw began repairing itself. His healing was going into overdrive, and it wouldn't be able to take much more if the fight didn't end quickly. It was then that Chameleone realized he had been going about the fight all wrong. He took a deep breath and lunged out the window, his wings keeping him afloat. That deep breath that he took had a purpose, and it was going to be fulfilled. He exhaled and unleashed a ball of fire so severe it mirrored the atomic explosions going off behind him. It enveloped the entire tower, turning the steel into liquid, and he saw the tower begin to collapse rapidly before his eyes.