Posted. I'll get to the other ones a bit later.
Brahma_Bull's forum posts
As the city burned and waned into concrete dust, infrastructure yielding to the fervor of his rampaging black flames, the Gothic City Nightmare's mind remained transfixed on his tactically apt adversary, the iconic Paragon of Patriotism, Lady Liberty. And yet, as the Earth trembled before his monstrous power and conceded in the face of Death's fires, the Avatar of Americanism had all but vanished. Nowhere to be found, but yet to perish. And he felt it, he did not taste her soul. She had retreated. Still afflicted with deafness, a partially torn ACL, and disrupted balance, the Militant Mammoth's condition was impaired, not at it's optimum, though he would stop at nothing, and nothing would stop him from mounting the world and forcing his ideology down it's throat.
And as he lamely rose to both feet, ebony flames wildly radiating from his leviathan frame, the Brahma Bull's vermilion eyes set on the darting malachite figure of Director Deadman. "So the American Government's hairless troll has come, heh.. you piece of trash", he growled with voiced derision. Bombarded by Amphetamines' gargantuan shoulder as it drove into his midsection, a loss of breath impacted the Brahma Bull, adjoined by the tackle's crushing pain. Reacting with instinctive ruthlessness, the Goliath of Gore commanded his merciless hellfire, instructing it to completely engulf his emerald adversary, accumulate, grow to otherworldly temperatures foreign to the world of man and burn the flesh of even the Jade Mammoth's bones. Conjuring the elephantine Pale Horse of Death and directing it to ram into his adversary with the force to plow through mountains, intent on blasting Amphetamines across the battlefield, the Brahma Bull nimbly repositioned himself.
Though having escaped an intended pugilistic onslaught from the S.H.I.E.L.D. director, the self-proclaimed Gangster of Guerrilla Warfare soon found himself antagonized by a consuming cluster of supernaturally aggrandized bats. Each flying rodent viciously gnawing away at his skin, tearing off flesh, and rousing the Brahma Bull's indignation. "RAGH!", a roar with the bass to shatter the sky and the land heralded his reaction. Violently swinging his right arm, his machete materializing in the grip of his hand, it's ebony blade tearing open a gate to the depths of Hell, threatening to swallow not only the bats, but the arriving Dark Vengeance as well. "You scum..", addressing both his indomitable adversaries, "After I sever your heads, I will cut both your faces off and wear them as my new mask".
And as the cluster of bats waned, torn bits of the fabric on the lower back of his iconic mask left a subtle tear, partially unveiling the Militant Monster's legendary birthmark, صفر, the Arabic etymology for 'sifr', zero. The mark of he who inspired many with unmitigated brutality, with the most radical of ideologies, with the reputation of a monster who destroys all who do not accept his vision. The mark of the unofficial first. The mark of 'Strigidae Zero'. "RISE!". And so they did, corpses of fallen civilians and his cronies alike were raised from the dead, an army of decomposed, soulless minions, all given one common object, to swarm and lay waste to both heroes who dared defy him, who dared reject his vision.
Following the fruits of his fulminant, incipient assault, the Baron of Brutality combated the immediate instinct to viciously maul his patriotic target, remaining conscious of his ceaselessly agonizing ACL tear, the Brahma Bull opted for a course action governed by a tame, calculating approach. So as to optimize his otherworldly regenerative abilities and remain an enduring fixture in the endeavored bout, he would rely on that which would not aggravate his injury. His fear-inducing illusions to psychologically disarm the Paragon of Patriotism, his searing hellfire to burn the flesh from her bones, and his myriad of other supernaturally acquired abilities. "Heh, red and blue backed by smoke and mirrors".
His taunt, deriding what he perceives as the United States' imperialist agenda represented under the false pretense of patriotism. Lady Liberty's response? A sky-shattering scream that aromatically tore through their encompassment, bringing down the surrounding infrastructure, internally ravaging his cronies' partially decomposed tissue, topographically rearranging the battlefield, and bringing the Fourth Horsemen to his knees. His machete's bloodstained, ebony blade plunged into the concrete pavement as his eardrums were viciously ruptured, yielding to the force of the seasoned crime-fighter's scream, their deafening vibrations robbing the Brahma Bull of both his sense of hearing and physical equilibrium. And for that moment, he felt 'rocked', as if cracked by an overhand right from God Himself. He could hear nothing, for now, until his regeneration offers due recuperation, his surviving followers' tactical input was of no use to one who could not hear.
And as he lamely rose to his feet, his balance betrayed him. A stumble backwards as he struggled to walk, his superficially sustained wounds having little effect on him, the internal discombobulation of his ears being the true source of impairment. And as his indignant eyes searched for the Paragon of Patriotism and found nothing, again he taunted, he could not hear, but his voice would roar, a voice that bruises egos, psychologically dismantles, and aggressively antagonizes American patriotism. "You scum. You fight for a country with a checkered history of supporting puppet dictators in geopolitically important countries and covert operations, the assassinations, the coups, supplying and creating the rebel and terrorist forces this land of demons claims to despise. Sponsoring bombs dropped on your children. Supporting Israel's bombardment of high-rise apartment buildings during the invasion of Lebanon, inspiring the destruction of your Twin Towers", he continued, "Dress yourself in stripes and stars and rock 'Liberty' as your name but you are a false idol. You are no hero!".
He could not see her, but he would hope that his words would draw her out, would rouse her anger, plunge her into a rage that would recklessly guide her into a physical brawl. And if not? De-materializing his machete, the Gothic City Nightmare violently slammed his fists into the ground, fingers digging, plowing into them as his titanic arms ebulliently jerked from side to side, leviathan seismic vibrations reverberating throughout, collapsing the neighboring infrastructure, segmenting the very ground, tearing it apart as miniature earthquakes raged all about, seeking to vehemently ragdoll his adversary. And from his gargantuan frame, black flames radiated, flailing outwards as they spread all across, engulfing their environment with scorching hellfire, intent on burning his strategically concealed adversary into ash, or draw her out. With a torn ACL, partially rocked state and forsaken sense of balance, he for now, would do battle at a distance, but in order to do so, he would need sight of the American Icon.
@antonia: BB's boys? They're all mutants but for the most part just gifted with peak human stats and various superhuman senses. As for weaponry, almost all of what's in BB's bio except for his supernatural machete and his really lethal chemical agents.
The epicenter of the commenced apocalypse, the Brahma Bull's meticulously orchestrated 'Mental Colonization' plot sought to realize the titanic terrorist's dream, his vision of what he irreversibly believes to be the ideal world. One dominated by mutant supremacy, one where the weak, the disabled are no more. Only the most indomitable, the strongest of mutants flaunting the necessary qualities to survive under the world of the Gangster of Guerrilla Warfare. Speaking into a miniscule communicative device telemetrically fitted into his iconic mask's interior, the Brahma Bull addressed his rallied cronies, both alive and undead as he partially replicated the same strategy implemented during Gothic's destruction.
"Surround the perimeter. You are the Brahma Bull's eyes and his attack dogs". With no seeming opposition in sight, the Gothic City Nightmare sought to put in motion the incipient stages of his ideologically-motivated goal. Nonchalantly unstrapping the gargantuan wooden gourd from his elephantine back, it's fall leaving behind structural cracks across the concrete pavement, the Harbinger of Death quickly maneuvered it to his side, again speaking into his mask, this time, directing his commands to a distant branch of his militant cronies. "Kill as many of these bags of trash as you can. Let their souls fill this gourd, to increase my power", or rather his illusionary ability so that he may cast his widespread illusion across the entire city when at his absolute maximum, to render them all obedient constituents of his ideology.
Yet as he readied himself to begin the slaughter of those who would cross his path, the Fourth Horseman succumbed to the agony of a torturous, stinging sensation in his left knee. Growling in gruffly voiced pain, instinctively clutching his knee, the fired kinetic beams having partially torn ACL disrupting his knee's stabilization when planting or turning. Though never having been one to allow injury to impair his movement regardless of how severely his actions may gradually aggravate them, the Brahma Bull's inherent mental fortitude and otherworldly toughness and endurance as well as his famed regenerative prowess would enable his immersion in combat. If not for the sheer thickness and durability of his body, the anonymously generated kinetic beams would tore through his knee without mitigation.
Retaining mental tameness while instructing his cronies to pinpoint the direction and elevation from where the beams had originated, the Militant Mammoth's luminous, vermilion eyes surveyed his burning encompassment, their bloodthirsty features searching for a victim to maul, brutalize and dismember. "Heh, coward!", he barked. If his adversary was a warrior, then from a psychological standpoint, their pride could be exploited, and so the Brahma Bull would do just that as he would taunt, ridicule, and deride, to draw them into his favored game, a physical war. "You cannot stop me. I'll burn this whole world down while you watch from the den with all of the other dogs!", he roared. Assuming his attacker was an American, he continued, "And this nation of scum, of thieves and slaves will be the first to fall. Nobody will ever know it ever existed. Your president will have no grave. You are all complete and utter waste of hominid blood!". "Sir, the barren house to your left".
The tactically informative words of his cronies unveiling his attacker's location. Instead of lunging, instead of charging, the Harbinger of Death's footsteps were temperate, the ground quaking with each one, his injured knee failing to fully impair his movement, though the pain stung with ire of a thousand burning needles. His movement was predatory, halting only when he stood before the abandoned home. Ebulliently ramming his left fist into the walls, it's monstrous force shattering the home into concrete dust, leaving behind only his opponent, an American icon, Lady Liberty. "No matter who they send, what they do, what anyone does, it will never be enough to stop me, to get rid of me. A paraplegic cannot feel his legs, but it will always be a part of him". Using his XM25 CDTE grenade launcher, the Brahma Bull shoots a succession of grenades, intent to sequentially detonate before his approximated adversary with behemothic force. Though with an injured ACL, he would have to primarily resort to his newfound illusionary powers.