Warsman vs Hawk - Terror from the Skies

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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#1  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

The ring was uncomfortable, but necessary. It was ruby red and gleamed in the artificial light of the city known as New York. The hundreds of millions of light bulbs flickered here, there, anywhere they could find room to expand. It was nothing unlike staring into a flashlight. And it annoyed a certain killer; madman; psychopath. In his head, there were thoughts of annihilation, preservation, and utter lunacy. He threatened his body to bend to his will, to murder everyone in sight, to make them suffer for insulting his eyes and visage with blinding displays of color and heat.

However, this was necessary. All things leading up to a climaxing zenith of reason; a point in thought; were necessary. He was to arrive on the top of the Empire State Building and test out his newest suit, which was capable of flight, cutting, slicing, rending flesh, and for use as a second set of arms through two razor-sharp limbs extending from his upper back. They were wings implanted into his spinal cord, held by muscle tissue and even with their supply of organic electricity powered by the madman's cruel heart. They were a part of him. And now, it was to be decided that their maiden voyage would be contested among the skyline of the most famous American metropolis.

"It's beautiful..." he muttered to himself, staring upon the visage of the skyscraper he longed to leap from.

He bent his legs, crouching, and soared to the eighteenth set of windows; the eighteenth floor. Punching the window, he made for the elevator and closed the doors on security, who were patrolling that particular region. He heard music from the walls and stood silently, not in enjoyment or admiration: for it was a butchery of Handel's Messiah put to a jazzier beat. He deciphered the source and punched the wall behind him, effectively turning the music to an abrupt end.

After about ten minutes, the elevator stopped. The doors refused to be opened. Warsman looked to the lights and they shorted out; they were cutting the power to his ascension! He cursed the operators of the tower and leaped, breaching a hole in the ceiling with his shoulders. Taking another jump, he grasped the wall in his fingers and leaped again to the opposing side at an exaggerated angle. He continued this pattern, finally coming to the last door: the roof. Kicking it aside, he gasped once for breath and held his arms out wide in the night air. The roof was closed: no one was around; and he spread the metallic wings he grafted into his body and prepared to dive.

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Hawk

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#2  Edited By Hawk
Hawk this is ICE headquarters, what's your 20?His radio buzzed on the patio table in his back yard. With one more push of his son on the swing he walked over to the squawking annoyance. What......? I'm in my backyard with my kids. What...do...you...want. His voice dripped with sarcasm and frustration. Sorry sir, there is a disturbance that requires your skill set. A large winged creature is terrorizing New York. He turned toward his son clicking off the radio for a second and whispered. Why is it they always called me for the ones who fly? His son giggled and pointed to his large wings. Hawk ran over and picked him up flying him around the backyard.What are you laughing at? Huh....? HAHA! Sir, sir are you there? The annoying operater squawked again. I'm on my way.

With that he sat his son down and yelled to his wife. Work called. I'm off....! She yelled back. Try not to destroy anything I like! Hawk grabbed his ipod and plugged in his earbuds before grabbing his gear he walked back out the back door and took to the sky. From what his intel told him nothing was in mortal danger yet, so he toke his time flying. Though he was flying close to 700 mph he breezed through the air with the greatest of ease.

Suddenly a voice came through his earbuds with an alert. Recent intel suggests that the target is Warsman. Hawk shook his head  SHIT! and turn his ipod in his hands, as he selected the right song. Let the bodies hit the ......FLOOOOOOOOOR!An explosion of air followed Hawk as turned up the speed. The boom was echoing below as he broke the sound barrier. The skies were a blur until they filled up in front of him with skyscrapers just as the song was ending. Hawk scanned the sky looking for the man who was said to have new wings.
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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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#3  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

Whoever said, "Let's paint the town red," could not have been more horrified. Literally, and entire street was littered with bodies and the splattered remains of people dropped from the sky to their demise as a smear on the concrete. Vehicles fastened themselves in a locked position on the streets, their drivers scurrying for cover or a way out. There was no way out. It was fate that they should die.

Weaving a way to the concrete aisle, he plucked another sack of water and flesh, this time a woman. It was like grabbing fish from a stream; they couldn't keep still, even when their world was coming to a crashing halt. She screamed and her demon carried her higher, higher; it was in his hands the decision to kill her and yet she couldn't let go from his wrists. Finally, he reached the point of maximum impact power and snapped her wrists with a cruel grip. She let an agonizing yelp from her throat and was falling, turning around to see an angelic figure before crashing into the roof of a car and dying amidst her blood and shattered glass.

"Humans...so frightened, they seem like ants. They don't even bother to help each other anymore."

Slapping at the air with a rigid beat of his metallic wings, Warsman grabbed the hitch of a stationary eighteen-wheeled truck and flipped it over, subsequently crushing anything underneath it; he didn't bother to look, just as long as it made a panic. However, Warsman was sensing this was all too easy. The humans were leading him this way and that and he smelled sea salt. He realized that he made it to the outer rim of the city, near the Statue of Liberty no less. He saluted it sarcastically, making a stereotypical military stance before razing the streets once more, burning the road into a smoking trench with his passing. Stopping momentarily, he made a perch on a brick building and scanned the surrounding area; his handiwork. It was remarkable how little time seemed; how meaningless it was beyond creating a form of entertainment. He muttered an incoherent laugh. A solitary jet had made its way through time and distance to the location of a growing amount of chaos. It was a joke to the killing machine and he leaped from rooftop to another, smashing those he touched into avalanches of stone and dried adhesive. As he made his way closer to the interruption of water vapor in the air, he realized:

"That's no jet..."

By then, he was in too close of a distance to carry himself away and hide for a guerrilla war. He braced himself against the sturdy architecture and prepared for an imminent strike.

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Hawk

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#4  Edited By Hawk

The towers of stell flew by as Hawk let out a scream. Swords drawn and ready to strike he cut through the air with a razor like precious. The blade of the sword broke through the air aimed at the midsection of the death machine. He was hoping more than anything that this would end quickly, these two men could bring down the whole city without breaking a sweat.

The tall buildings shuddered as he flew by striking out against his foe. Glass exploded and rained down onto the streets below. His eyes glowed with rage and fury, war was at his door and he had answered. On a dime he stopped with the spread of his wings. Just as quickly as he flew his bow was pulled and arrow launched. Fire filled the air as Hawk let the mist of fire breathed from his arrow tips. The air burned like wildfire as it made it's way to the devil in a metal suit.

Hawk watched and measure the damage. He knew this would not be a battle of just strength or power, speed or quickness, but a chess match where the people below would become pawns and if white didn't win the world would burn. As he looked at the sky on fire, he thought it had already started.

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#5  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

Warsman let his neck loll to the side menacingly. Underneath the scar-stricken skin, his vertebrae cracked and slipped against each other. He sighed as he felt the sensation of a thousand years of war suddenly rush into his brain. The adrenal glands overreacted, like they always did. Pumping the excess nervous impulses elsewhere, he twitched violently and watched as the hawk-man stirred the buildings around him into a similar reaction: vehemence and destruction. Chunks of old brick and mortar crumbling to the streets more than thirty stories below him, Warsman lowered his body crouching. Touch; it was a curious sensation. He felt the old stone on the overhang to the building his perch was made on. Even though the man with wings had soared for speeds unheard of to the half-machine, Warsman saw him in slow motion, as he did all things. He saw the frames of motion that the wings made; every feather that rippled. His eyes were red with malevolence as he let loose a fiery projectile.

He leapt as the arrow was fired, the head piercing where his skull would have been. Warsman’s measurements were keen and precise; no detail was ignored. This creature of angelic visage was odd, powerful, and dangerous. Movement: random, the wings seemed to make their own decisions. The air was his domain, and Warsman was impeding upon it. Spreading his own wings, the metallic sheen almost blinding in the surrounding firelight, Warsman swept upwards at the hawk-man’s feet, to try and cut him off from a viable resource of retreat and engage him in melee combat. If Warsman would be successful in this movement, he would strike mercilessly with a few punches and knees, but then move away.

Danger; he forgot that important aspect about opponents of this caliber. He would keep his distance, moving in a circle around the hawk-man. He reminded himself of a vulture and thought that detail obscenely strange.